“Your brother was older.”
Kent nodded.
“He abandoned you to your stepfather, who abused you.” And for a borderline personality, the effect had to be devastating.
“He trained me.”
“Your stepfather hurt you, Kent. You’re a smart man, you know what he did was wrong. You know trying to train me is wrong.”
His eyes traveled to hers, revealing physical pain. And in that moment, she felt sorry for the boy inside the man.
“How do you want this to end, Kent?”
“I want you to go away with me.”
She tried to look as empathetic as possible. “They will never let that happen. And I’m in love with someone else.” The confession, the realization of how deep her emotions for Glen were at that moment had tears in her eyes. “You need someone to love you and take away some of the pain inside.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I fucked this up.”
“You can unfuck it up.”
“How? How can I? You’ll never want to see me again. They’re going to throw me in jail.”
“They will and then you’ll have an evaluation.”
“I’m not crazy.”
She hesitated to say more. “I didn’t say you were. Maybe they can help you so you don’t mess up like you said you did this time. But you need to end this first without anyone getting hurt. You survived your stepfather, have learned to live your life with a respectable job. You can survive this. You work with lawyers, Kent. You know I’m right.”
Kent didn’t respond with words. He started tapping the back of his head to the wall behind him.
The fifteen minutes were up and the phone started to ring.
Kent ignored it.
Mary didn’t know police procedure, but she could guess that no communication would make the police think the worst. “Please, Kent. Answer the phone.”
He kept hitting his head, ignoring her and the ring.
“I don’t want them to hurt you.”
The ringing stopped for less than a minute and started again.
Kent slid the phone across the floor until it hit her legs. He followed with the knife in his hand.
Mary tried not to flinch as he twisted her around and sliced away the cord binding her hands. Blood rushed into her fingertips with such a force they were difficult to move.
“Answer it,” he told her before scrambling back to where he’d put the impression of his head into her wall.
Her fingers shook. “Hello?”
“How are you doing, Mary?”
“Good. Better.”
“We got a little worried when you didn’t answer the phone.”
“Kent was removing my restraints.”
“Wonderful. Perfect. Can I talk to him?”
Mary moved the phone toward him. “She wants to talk to you.”
He shook his head.
“He doesn’t want to. I’ll call you back when he has something to say.”
“I’m calling back in ten minutes.”
“Okay.”
Mary disconnected the call and rubbed her wrists. The red welts would eventually give in to purple bruises, much like the rest of her body . . . but she could deal with that.
“I can’t feel my toes,” she told him. “Can I take this off?”
He glanced at her, then returned his stare to the wall.
She took that as a yes and the hope that she’d actually walk out of the house without the need for gunfire looked more like a reality. Removing the knot he’d placed in the cords on her feet took five minutes and three broken fingernails. The swelling and pain in her right ankle made her wonder if she could walk on it.
The blank stare on Kent’s face told her he wasn’t really listening, but Mary spoke anyway. “I’m going to call her back, tell them I’m walking out.”
He turned his head and stared.
If she were being honest with herself, she would say she felt sorry for the man. Then the mental inventory of the pain shooting from all over her body reminded her that he’d done this to her. His twisted logic of training her.
Not his fault, not completely.
He pushed away from the wall. “I’ll walk you out.”
“No!”
He looked hurt.
“They have guns.”
The knife he’d held sat at his fingertips. They both looked at it.
Kent pushed the knife across the floor, out of reach, and rested his hands on his knees.
Mary picked up the phone.
“Mary?”
She hesitated.
Waited.
“I’m sorry.”
Chapter Thirty-One
When the sun started to rise, the magnitude of law enforcement standing by came into full view, and Glen started to panic.
The last phone call put everyone on edge.
SWAT surrounded the house from all angles. Their angry guns and full gear brought back every action movie he’d ever seen. Only this wasn’t something he was watching while eating popcorn and trying to move to second base with a woman.
No, the woman he wanted to run every base with for the rest of her life depended on these people to do their job and get her out safely. The inability to do anything but watch gutted him.
The phone in Fiona’s hand rang and they all stared.
Relief washed over the negotiator’s face. She placed a hand over the receiver and yelled to everyone listening, “The hostage is coming out.”
Every sense in Glen’s body stood at attention.
Fiona turned back to the phone. “Slowly and with your hands up.”
Glen inched his way to the front of the squad car.
Officer Taylor pulled him back. “Don’t panic now, Fairchild. Let us do our job.”
A hush went over the posse as everyone watched the front door as if their lives depended on it to open.
The door squeaked as Mary’s frame filled the doorway.
She had her hands up, like she was the criminal, and she walked as if every step was an effort. Once she walked out of the shadow of the house, Glen felt a knife in his chest.
Her face was swollen, bruised, with a big section of her hair matted to the side of her face with blood. She limped like a zombie from one of those apocalyptic movies. And she was crying.
He started to push his way past Taylor.
“No, you don’t.”
Glen resisted at the same time that one of the SWAT team members rushed to Mary’s side, grabbed her by the waist, and all but picked her up off her feet to bring her behind the police line.
Only then did Taylor let him go.
Glen reached her in six strides, pushed his shoulder under hers, and relieved the SWAT officer of her weight.
“Baby, I’m here.” He was in motion; his free arm came up behind her knees and lifted her off the ground as he ran her to the waiting ambulance.
Mary buried her head in his shoulder as she wept and repeated his name.
The paramedic guided him toward the gurney. He gently laid her down, but she wouldn’t let go. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her vise grip broke his heart.
“Let them look at you, baby. I’m right here.”
He pried her hands free of his neck and held on to one of them while the medics pushed the gurney into the ambulance.
Chaos erupted behind him. A male voice barked orders over the loudspeaker, telling Duvall to walk out on his own.
The media, who had set up cameras before Glen had arrived, were in a state of animation as they scrambled to capture shots of Mary, of the house . . . of the officers in motion.
Glen climbed into the back of the ambulance along with the gurney and continued to tell Mary she was safe and he was there.
The noise from behind them disappeared when the doors of the ambulance slammed shut. The sirens proceeded to drown everything else out.
He glanced down at their clasped hands and noticed the welts on her wrists.
A litt
le part of him died inside.
Everything moved around her as if she were in a tunnel.
All Mary saw was Glen.
It was as if her body and mind stopped functioning on their own the moment she was out of crisis. She knew she was safe and allowed everything to shut down.
Glen kept asking her if she was all right.
She told him she was.
They both knew she was lying and neither one of them acknowledged it.
The staff in the emergency room handled her as if she were a frightened child.
She took five stitches to her temple, had a nasty ankle sprain that required an Aircast and crutches, and a stupid broken clavicle, which made the crutches nearly impossible to use. Mary couldn’t remember the shove, the blow, or the training that had managed that injury.
The police questioned her in the hospital. A psychiatric crisis counselor insisted that Glen leave the room long enough for them to talk.
No one told her what had happened to Kent and she didn’t ask.
It surprised her. The desire to not ask and not want to know the outcome of the man who’d put her through hell for nearly twelve hours.
Someone would eventually tell her what happened, but for now . . . she only thought of herself.
She held Glen’s hand in silence, their communication nothing more than a look and a smile.
Later, Mary overheard Trent talking with Glen outside her temporary room at the hospital. “Dakota and Walt are on their way and Mary Frances and Burke have already landed.”
Glen spoke in a hushed whisper before returning to her bedside.
“The doctor isn’t going to admit you.”
She attempted a half smile. “Too many germs here anyway.”
He smiled and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Exactly.”
“I’ll sleep better at . . .” The word home twisted in her gut. She placed a hand over her lips to keep from vocalizing her distress. Tears welled. The very tears she’d finally gotten control over once she’d reached the hospital and the doctor stitched her up. “I can’t go back there.”
“Of course not. I have everything arranged.”
Mary nodded and didn’t even ask.
Between the medications she’d been given and sheer exhaustion, she fell asleep in the back of a town car as Glen took them to a hotel.
It registered that she’d made it to a room; a suite . . . and Glen tucked her into bed.
“Don’t leave,” she told him as the lights dimmed.
“I’m right here, sweetheart. You’ll never be alone again.”
Mary woke with a start. The dream was part memory, part horror.
A gun had gone off . . . there was blood.
“Shh! It’s okay.”
Glen held her in her sleep. She attempted to move closer and whimpered in pain.
She rolled back to where her body didn’t protest. “God, it hurts.”
Glen scrambled out of bed. “I have medicine for you.”
Mary pushed herself up, noticed it was full dark outside.
When Glen stepped back from a small service bar with water and a pill, she accepted both.
“Thank you.” She swallowed them down and smiled. “Even smiling hurts.”
Glen kissed her temple as softly as he could to still register a kiss. “I wanna lie and say you look better.”
She managed a breath through her nose and counted it a blessing. “I do feel a little better. I think there might be a spot on my left thigh that doesn’t hurt . . .” She was joking . . . but now that she took stock of her pain . . . maybe not.
“You hungry?”
“What time is it?”
“Doesn’t matter. I have a half a dozen people waiting to run for you.”
“That’s sweet. Nobody has to jump.”
“You’ve slept for eight hours and I can’t imagine you ate since dinner two nights ago. Besides, the pills I just gave you say you need food with them.”
“Fine . . . something simple. Soup.”
Glen sprang from the bed, poked his head out the door, and said something to someone on the other side.
He told her it was after three in the morning.
Dakota and Walt had rushed home to find they couldn’t get back in the neighborhood, and the three of them were in a room down the hall.
Mary Frances and Burke had been diverted to the hotel when the hospital had discharged her and had finally retired in another room. Trent and Monica were in a conjoined room to the suite Mary and Glen were now in, and Monica was working on getting her some hot soup.
Mary’s only comment was “Mary Frances and Burke had better have separate rooms.”
Glen started to laugh. “You sound better . . . you look like shit, though.”
“So we’re being honest now?”
He leaned close to her on the bed. “I’ve never been more scared in my life, Mary.”
“This ranks up there for me, too.”
He kissed her hand.
“I didn’t see this coming, Glen. I probably should have, but I had no idea he was a hot mess inside.”
“I know . . . it’s over now. He’ll never be given the option to hurt you again.”
A part of her wanted him to clarify his prediction, but she didn’t want to know. Not yet.
Glen told her anyway. “They took him into custody.”
“He’s certifiably crazy,” she told him.
“I’m sure they will figure that out.”
She thought of her home . . . the dining room. “I can’t go back to that house.”
Glen gave a tiny shake to his head. “Done. You never have to go back.”
“But I—”
“But you nothing. I’ll take care of it. I’ll pack your stuff, hire a real estate agent . . . we’ll get it on the market.”
“And where will I live?”
“I’m taking you home with me.”
She stared at him.
“You already have a drawer there . . . why not half the closet?”
“Glen . . .”
“No. I thought I was losing you tonight. I thought your good-bye meant that was it. I’m being given a second chance here and I’m taking it. So unless you’re appalled at the idea of moving in with me, then this discussion is over.”
Maybe it was the medicine kicking in or her head still spinning from the day, but his plan sounded really good.
“And my clients?”
“There are people in need of counseling in Connecticut, too.”
“What about Dakota? Leo and Walt?”
“What about them? Jump on a plane.”
She started to shake her head.
“No.” He took both her hands in his and ducked until their eyes met. “I’ve fallen in love with you. So unless I’m completely alone in this feeling, I need to push this idea into your head.”
Adrenaline rushed through her veins with his words.
Then her inner counselor kicked in.
“It’s not uncommon for people to label affection as love in times of crisis. What you’re feeling might be fleeting.”
Glen shook his head. “That is not what this is. I thought of you every day I was in London. I leave you and can’t wait to get back. I look at my phone ten times more a day just hoping I missed the buzz in my pocket to find a text from you. I can’t think of tomorrow without you. I love you. It’s that simple.”
Mary felt a tear on her cheek.
She sat forward, ignored the pain in her shoulder, and kissed him. “You’re not alone,” she told him. “I kept thinking you were the wrong guy for me, and then you had to go and prove me wrong.”
Glen smiled and pushed into her kiss.
Her body whined and he instantly released his hold.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. We have all kinds of time for that later.”
Epilogue
“I can’t believe you’re getting married.” Mary stood beside Mary Frances wearing a mauve dress suitable f
or a maid of honor, while Mary Frances wore cream.
“Well, I can’t live in sin, now can I?”
Mary was positive the comment was meant for her. Mary Frances kept her opinions about Mary’s living arrangement with Glen to herself. After the crisis in California, true to his word, Glen had a moving company pack up everything she owned and ship it to Connecticut. Within a month, Dakota and Walt listed their condo and moved to a crazy big house in San Diego. A month into the move, Mary was well enough to miss her BFF and ask Glen to send a plane.
Adjusting to life on the other side of the States was made easier with an airport close by and a man who loved her at her side.
The network of marriage and family counselors Mary belonged to happily took her referrals of clients.
Here she stood, three months after relocating her life, putting the finishing touches of makeup on Mary Frances before she accepted a husband into her life. “You could live in sin . . . but my guess is that wouldn’t fly with the people on your Christmas card list.”
“Could you imagine the gossip?”
They both chuckled at the thought.
Mary sat back. “There. Perfect.”
Mary Frances looked at her reflection in the mirror and smiled.
She really was a beautiful woman, made more so by the light inside her soul.
“Now, as much as I might not like your questions . . . I feel the need to ask if you have anything you need to know about your wedding night.”
Mary Frances started to chuckle, and then started to belly laugh. “Oh, dear . . . that is funny.”
“I’m serious.”
Mary Frances laughed harder.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, boy.” Mary Frances got ahold of her laughter. “Sweetheart. I’m old enough to understand the mechanics of sex, and I’m fairly certain Burke will be careful with my delicate frame.”
It hurt to keep smiling when Mary wanted to cringe at the thought of Mary Frances doing the naked tango with Burke. But she endured the pain and listened.
A knock on the door of the church was followed by a voice. “Five minutes, ladies.”
Mary Frances actually appeared nervous.
Mary took Mary Frances’s hands in hers and met her eyes. “I know today is about your becoming a wife. A proper wife with all the things that come with it . . . but . . .” Mary had been contemplating this question for years, and today seemed the best time to ask.
Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5) Page 27
