The Perfect Husband

by Lisa Gardner

  “He left it to you, goddammit. The least you could do is accept it!”

  “No. He was the bastard, Marion, the fucked-up will only proves it. Take everything. You . . . you deserve it.”

  “Don’t you mean I earned it?”

  The world stopped spinning. He couldn’t quite grasp all the memories, emotions, and reactions that flooded his head. He whispered faintly, “So you do remember. You really do remember.”

  “No!” she declared immediately. Neither of them believed her.

  “Marion . . .” He reached out his hand. She immediately shrank back. “What he did to you was so wrong,” J.T. whispered. “My God, he raped you—”

  She flinched, but he couldn’t stop. It had to be said. He didn’t know any other way to move on.

  “I wasn’t your fault, Marion.” The words tumbled out. He said them almost desperately, not sure how long she would allow him to speak, and having so many things that he just needed to say. “You have to understand that it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. He was a sick, twisted man who ruined us both for sport. But he’s dead now. He’s dead and we’re alive and we can get through this. We’ll stand together, you and me. Don’t you remember?”

  He tried to take her hand, but she still wouldn’t let him.

  “Leave me alone,” she whispered. “I am nothing like you, J.T. I’m not some drunken failure.”

  “When we were kids, Marion, I used to wish I was a girl. You want to know why?”

  She stared at him dubiously.

  He continued. “So he would’ve left you alone. I figured if I’d been born the girl, at least he would’ve left you alone.”

  He looked at her openly, no more wisecracks, no more defenses, no more protection. He couldn’t be more honest.

  And he saw the ice crack. Marion was gone and Merry Berry sat before him, and she looked so unbelievably lost and so unbelievably alone that tears stung his eyes. Oh, God, what had the colonel done to them? And why now, even after the man’s death, couldn’t they make it right?

  “I remember the pillow forts,” he whispered with a voice so hoarse it couldn’t be his. “Tell me you remember the pillow forts. Tell me you remember how we used to throw socks at the maid and she’d throw them right back and we would screech and howl and laugh.”

  She shook her head. He could see the tears in the corners of her eyes.

  “You would come into my room at night, and we would huddle beneath the sheets with a flashlight to read GI Joe comic books. You liked the character Snake. You thought someday he’d come and rescue us.”

  “No.”

  “And we were always moving and there were new cities and new schools and new kids, but at least we had each other. You used to hold my hand the first day of school and I would tell you everything would be all right.”

  “No.”

  “And once I told a school principal that the colonel hit us. And I told the man that the colonel went into your room every night—”

  “No!”

  “And he told me I was a liar and gave me detention for spreading rumors. The colonel beat me so hard, I couldn’t sit for a week, and you wouldn’t even talk to me. I had no idea what he’d told you or why no one ever believed me. Why someone like Snake didn’t come at night and save us.”

  “Damn you, damn you, damn you.”

  “I hated him, Marion. But I never hated you. You were the only good part of my childhood. The only person who gave me hope. The only one I loved.”

  “Shut up!” The tears escaped and trickled down her cheeks. He wanted so badly to touch her. He wanted to wipe away her tears and hold her close, because he could feel the tears in his own eyes and the rage that never quite went away because so much had been taken from them and they couldn’t get it back. Now there was only emptiness and rage and an unbelievable hurt he’d never known how to mend.

  “I don’t want to hear any more!” she whispered brokenly. As he stared at her, she drew the cigarette back up to her lips with a hand that shook so badly, it took her three times to actually thrust the cigarette between her teeth.

  “Marion,” he said urgently, “we have to talk about this.”

  “I . . . I can’t.”

  “Merry Berry—”

  She leaned over, her blue eyes desperate and pleading. “Jordan Terrance, if you ever loved me, then you will swear to me now that you will never bring up Daddy again. Swear to me!”

  He shook his head.

  “Swear to me!” she demanded fiercely.

  “And that will make it go away?”

  “Swear!”

  He shook his head again. It didn’t deter her. He pleaded with her. It didn’t matter. She was adamant, and he felt too much guilt to fight her. She won. “All right, Marion. All right.”

  She released her breath, leaning back with a shaky sigh.

  “I’m not like you,” she said at last. “You did the right thing, J.T. Leaving him. Hating him so purely. I . . . I can’t. It’s all twisted inside me and . . . I can’t make head or tail of any of it. I used to think I was so strong, but maybe I’m not strong at all. Maybe I just can’t handle it.”

  “You’ve made it this far. Talk to me. Trust me that much—”

  Her head turned slightly. Her eyes were filled with guilt and anger and pain. He began to understand just how much he’d failed her all those years ago.

  Oh, God. “Marion . . .”

  She looked away. He heard the sound of Tess’s footsteps behind them, and with a blink of an eye Marion’s expression shuttered. His sister was gone and only the cold, composed FBI agent remained. They’d grown up in a household filled with masks and where everyone was a quick-change artist. Some habits couldn’t be broken.

  “You swore,” Marion reminded him under her breath. “I’ll hold you to your word.”

  Tess arrived at the table. She stated without preamble, “I have a plan.”

  She planted her hands on the table. “We’ll take it back to where it all started. Williamstown, the old house. We’re going to give Jim what he wants more than anything. We’re going to give him a second shot at killing me.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  MR. DILLON, THIS is going to hurt a bit.” “No kidding.” The doctor gripped the fingers of J.T.’s injured hand and tugged hard. Tess heard the grind, then crack, as the bone snapped into place. J.T. paled, the pain blinding, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes remained expressionless on the far wall as Tess winced for him.

  The doctor finished inspecting the freshly aligned bone while Tess and Marion waited in metal chairs. Marion wouldn’t look at her brother. She stared at everything else in the tiny room—the mechanical bed, the tray of tools, the X ray of his left arm lit up on the wall, the countertop covered with swabs, tongue depressors, and a blood pressure cuff. When the doctor forcefully aligned her brother’s arm, Marion flinched. Otherwise she sat quiet and motionless, as if she weren’t even in the room.

  Tess recognized the signs. Marion felt her brother’s pain and resolutely shut it out. J.T. felt his pain and her pain and resolutely shut them both out. Tess wondered how many times they’d gotten to practice this drill growing up and figured it was more than a few. She had her drills too, the distant place in her mind she hid in so she wouldn’t hear the sound of her father’s hand smacking against her mother’s cheek, or feel her husband’s body laboring above hers.

  The past crept in on people in the most insidious ways.

  The doctor finished drying the special polymer blend that now wrapped from beneath J.T.’s elbow to his palm. J.T.’s fingers stuck out ludicrously from the white prison. The polymer substance was waterproof so he could swim. Other than that, his arm was pretty much out of commission. The doctor finally handed him a sling.

  “Give it six to eight weeks to mend, then you’ll be good as new.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You don’t have to wear the sling, but I’d use it the first couple of days to keep your arm fully immobilized so the fracture
can begin to heal.”

  “Uh-huh.” J.T. tossed the crumpled sling onto the floor and let it lie.

  The doctor frowned. “No running or undue activity until that cast is off. Fall or jar that arm again, and you’ll have a serious break.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The doctor looked even more uncomfortable. “Any questions?”

  J.T. stared at the man for the first time. Tess saw the doctor recoil instinctively. She didn’t blame him. J.T. looked demonic.

  “Treat a gunshot wound in the last few days?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Treat a gunshot wound? Probably to the shoulder. Man’s bald, doesn’t even have eyebrows. He would be hard to forget.”

  The doctor glanced over to Tess and Marion as if pleading for help. Marion flashed her FBI creds.

  “Answer his question.”

  “Ah . . . no. Honestly, no. I can ask around though, if you’d like.” The combination of Marion’s coolness and J.T.’s fierceness made him suddenly eager to please.

  “You’re telling the truth?”

  “Mr. Dillon, I’m a doctor, not a felon.” The doctor sat up a little straighter, reclaiming his dignity.

  J.T. shrugged and hopped down. “If you say so. How much do I owe?”

  While the doctor continued blinking his eyes, J.T. unclipped a thick wad of bills from his pocket and began counting out the hundreds.

  IN THE PARKING lot of the doctor’s office Marion said good-bye. She’d agreed to talk to Special Agent Quincy about Tess’s idea, though Tess could tell the blonde had her doubts about the wisdom of Tess serving as bait.

  Tess wanted her to run it by Quincy. Maybe he’d take it more seriously if he heard it from a fellow FBI agent.

  Marion crossed to her car. Her gaze flicked to J.T. twice before she finally opened the door.

  “Remember,” J.T. said tersely. “You can call—anytime.”

  Marion hesitated, then nodded.

  Tess heard J.T. release the breath he’d been holding. He watched his sister drive away, his eyes hooded.

  “You okay?” she asked quietly.

  “Just fucking dandy.”

  “I thought as much.”

  He climbed into the passenger side of their rental car. Tess got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She wondered if he would offer any information, or make her pry it out of him with a crowbar. She suspected the latter.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “Lay off, Tess.”

  She couldn’t though. “I want to be there for you, J.T. The way you’re there for me.”

  “When Marion becomes a serial killer, we’ll talk.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “No, I suppose it’s not.” His gaze went out the window. “Just drive, please. I appreciate your offer, but for now, just drive.”

  She gave in. Thirty minutes later she pulled into the motel parking lot, turned off the engine, and got out of the car. She’d made it two steps across the parking lot when he finally spoke.

  “I’m going for a drive.”

  “J.T., that’s a lousy idea.”

  “Tough. I’m doing it anyway.”

  She turned on him. “And what am I supposed to do? Sit around and knit? Wait for Jim’s next attack all alone? Some bodyguard you are!”

  “You’re right. Get in the car.”

  “What?”

  “Get in the car. Or get left behind.”

  He was already sliding behind the steering wheel. Clearly the matter was no longer open for discussion. She stalked over to the passenger side, sat down hard, and glared at him mutinously.

  “You can’t drive, you have only one arm!”

  “You’re probably right.” He started the engine. He looked at her long enough to smile grimly. “Fasten your seat belt,” he drawled, then slammed the car into gear. He roared the car through intersection after intersection while she gripped the dash with both hands.

  “Slow down! For God’s sake, slow down!”

  “Scared, Tess?” he murmured, turning and staring at her as a sharp curve appeared in the narrow back road. “Hell, you’re planning on taking on Beckett. My driving oughta be boring compared to that.”

  “The corner, the corner!” she screamed.

  He smiled at her and jerked the wheel, sending her careening against the door. “No problem.”

  Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She could taste the sweat beading up on her upper lip. She understood what he was doing now, and that he wouldn’t slow down. He was angry, and angry J.T. could be juvenile, selfish, and dangerous.

  “I’m not going to change my mind, J.T. And I’m really tired of games.”

  He didn’t reply. His jaw set, his biceps bulged as he corralled the speeding fury of the automobile and bent it to his will. A dirt road appeared to one side, looking bumpy and forgotten. Maybe meant for tractors or heavy pieces of equipment that traveled at five miles per hour.

  Tess squeezed her eyes shut.

  Pedal to the floor, J.T. attacked the road. The car hit a bump squarely and for three seconds they were airborne. The vehicle hit the dirt hard, shocks groaning, car doors rattling, trunk heaving. Tess felt her teeth grind and her bones crunch. Beside her, she heard J.T.’s breath and knew it had hurt him as well.

  She opened her eyes and whirled on him.

  “Enough!” she cried. “Stop this idiocy now! Right now!”

  Just like that he slammed on the brakes.

  The car came to a heavy halt. Unprepared, Tess landed harshly against the dash, but J.T. didn’t apologize. He yanked open his door and rocketed from the vehicle.

  Tess scrambled to follow, having no intention of backing down now.

  Dust still swirled around their feet, the crisp fall chill immediately bracing their skin. She saw no house, no vehicles. Just flat, barren fields that were beginning to frost over, and the distant promise of mountains.

  J.T. stalked around the car, his eyes boring into hers.

  “You won’t serve as bait,” he declared. “I forbid it!”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he stormed right up to her, backing her up against the car, trapping her with his body. He smiled, but it wasn’t pleasant.

  “So eager to die, Tess?”

  “No,” she said breathlessly. Her hands were pinned to her sides by his body. She jerked them free and planted them against his chest. If he wanted to fight, she’d fight. She’d learned to give as good as she got.

  “You’re not going to do it,” he said curtly.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “There’s a flaw in your plan, Tess—a man like that isn’t afraid of pain. If he attacks, the only way to stop him will probably be to shoot him. And then what, Tess?”

  “He’ll be dead.”

  “And Sam? What about Sam? With him dead, how are you going to find your daughter?”

  “I . . . I—” She didn’t know. “I’ll make him tell me where she is,” she said stubbornly. “I will.”

  “Dammit!” he roared. “I won’t let you do this!”

  “Like hell!” She heaved with her hands, trying to push him away.

  He pushed in closer, his eyes dangerous. “Attacking an injured man, Tess?”

  “Whatever works.” She wiggled her hips, determined to break his hold. It was useless.

  “This injured man is trying to save your life!” he snarled, leaning closer, his breath hot against her cheek.

  “Save my life? What do you care about my life? You haven’t even acknowledged its existence for the last two hours!”

  “Feelings hurt? Because I didn’t flatter you or gaze longingly into your deep brown eyes?” Abruptly his right hand slid down her sweater and cupped her breast. He knew her body too well. One flick of his thumb and her nipple grew hard. She resented him doing that to her. She arched helplessly into it anyway, wanting him to touch her again. />
  “I thought of you,” he whispered. “I thought of your breast in my mouth. Your hands in my hair. I thought of bending you over backward and fucking you. Is that what you want to hear? Is that romantic enough for you, Tess?”

  His hips rotated against her suggestively. She bit her lower lip, hating him for making her want him and treating it as if it were nothing.

  “Damn you,” she whispered.

  For his reply he caught her lower lip and sank his teeth into it. Her hands uncurled on his chest. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, drawing him closer while her mind screamed white-hot fury and called her a fool.

  She yanked her head. “Stop it. I’m not your toy!”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” His thumb began a more insistent pattern around her taut nipple. Her back arched into it.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said hoarsely. “I’m still going to set the trap. I’m still going to do exactly as I planned. If you want to be angry, fine. If you want to torture me until then, fine. But I know it means nothing to you, and it changes nothing!”

  He swore. Then he kissed her hard. It was an eating kiss. His tongue plunged in, hot and thick and filling her. She accepted it greedily, her hips pressing against his groin, feeling his growing hardness. He ground into her and she met him halfway.

  Then abruptly he pulled back. She cried out her disappointment shamelessly, her hands reaching for him. In a smooth movement he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. She landed facing the hood with his breath hot against her ear. His hips rotated suggestively against her buttocks.

  “Unbutton your jeans,” he whispered. “Do it for me now.”

  She shook her head but her hands were on her zipper. His fingers curled around the thick denim and tugged it down the minute she unzipped the fly.

  She felt the cold winter air against her exposed hips. She felt him push up her sweater, her hands planted on the trunk of the car.

  He thrust his foot between hers, parting her legs, pulling her hips closer. It was crude and coarse and she arched her back, her eyes already shut as the anticipation swelled in her veins.

  “I’m not going to let you bait Beckett,” he growled.