His Missing Wife

by Jaime Lynn Hendricks

  Jerk-off.

  The screech of the door revealed a smiling Robert and a tight-lipped, downtrodden, defeated Solomon entering the room. Prick.

  “Well, Mr. Montgomery,” Solomon started after throwing some papers on the table, “some new information has come to light.”

  “I bet,” James said under his breath, knowing full well those were the last words Solomon wanted to utter. He wanted his arrest. He wanted his initial accusation to be correct. James glanced at Robert and held his wrists in the air. “Is this legal?” His head whipped to Solomon. “Can you get these fucking cuffs off?”

  Solomon smarted at being spoken to in that fashion but strode over and unlocked the handcuffs. James immediately rubbed his wrists, then his face, and looked again at Robert. “What’s going on?”

  Robert nodded in Solomon’s direction. “My guy talked to him. I told him I was there during the interview with Maribel. Ralph from the electronics store gave them the information. They worked with the company. They—they have a recording, James. From last Thursday.”

  Jae swallowed; his eyes were wide. “And? What was on the recording?”

  Robert and Solomon looked at each other, but Solomon took the reins this time. “There’s a lead. An address. We’re getting a tactical unit together. They’re coordinating now, but they should be dispatched in the next fifteen minutes.”

  James stood. “I’m coming.”

  “No, Mr. Montgomery, you’re not.”

  James looked at Robert. Pleading.

  “Detective Solomon, I do believe you have to let my client go at this time,” Robert said.

  Solomon resigned, and nodded. “We’re going to drop the charges, Mr. Montgomery. You’re free to go.”

  James thanked Robert and Robert gave him a signal with his eyes. James read it as hurry up and get up and let’s go now. So he did.

  Robert walked swiftly to the back door of the station and James had to speed walk to keep up. “Robert, where is she? Is she okay? Is she alive? Who has her?”

  Robert put a finger to his lips. “Let’s just get you out safely back here. The reporters are out front.”

  “I don’t care about that. I care about Tessa. What’s going on?”

  Robert pushed on the door and pulled right to the curb was Evan’s car. “Get in the front,” Robert said. James did as he was asked, and Robert got into the back seat. “I have a transcript of the recording.”

  “Give it to me,” James demanded.

  “No. Not yet. I—I don’t want you to see it yet.”

  Tears sprang to James’s eyes. It wasn’t good news. What was on the recording that Robert didn’t want him to hear? “Is she dead? Oh God, is she dead?” He looked at Evan, whose face was as crestfallen as James’s felt. “Please, tell me.”

  Robert took a deep breath. “I don’t know, James. I know she was shot—”

  “Oh my God!” James exclaimed as pictures of her beautiful, smiling face flashed through his head. Unfortunately, those images were followed by Jane Doe on the table. Cut up, tortured, and shot. Of Rosita shot.

  “She might be okay. Maribel took Tessa somewhere—they knew each other. I have the address where she might be. This is where they’re sending the tactical unit.” He looked at Evan. “It was 899 Centaur Parkway.”

  Evan plugged it into the navigation and turned to James. “We can beat them there. Ready?”

  Robert held up a hand. “I don’t want to be disbarred. I can’t go. If anyone asks, you saw the address on the papers Solomon threw on the table. Now go.”

  “Robert, I don’t know what to say,” Evan said, and they did their little finger-gun secret handshake again. “We’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  James yanked on Robert’s suit jacket and actually hugged the man from the front seat, then turned to a smiling Evan. “It’s time.”

  Robert exited the car, and Evan sped away.

  39

  Tessa

  I open the bedroom door and run.

  “You fucking bitch!” Drew screams behind me.

  There’s a hallway. Stairs.

  I almost make it, and then my hair is yanked from behind. I fall to the ground and now I’m being dragged backward as my noodle legs fight for stability against the hardwood floor. He lets go unexpectedly and my head clunks onto the floor. Then he grabs my injured arm and the pain from the bullet wound makes me go limp as he pulls me back into the bedroom.

  Drew grunts and lifts a leg, about to stomp on me and I instinctively clutch my abdomen. Don’t you dare hurt this baby. I will fucking kill you.

  He puts his leg down. This asshole really thinks this baby is going to be his.

  But he still doesn’t give a shit about me, evidenced by how he leans down and punches my face. Twice. Jesus, between Damon’s punch and this one may have been the longest I’ve gone without being hit in two decades, and the pain isn’t familiar anymore.

  I’ve grown accustomed to being loved.

  I’m on the floor, spitting blood. Weak. Drew puts his hand on his head and paces.

  “You just never fucking learn, do you?” he says.

  Oh, I’ve learned a thing or two, you psychotic asshole. Like when I dropped a wine glass and you picked up a shard—and cut me with it, so I would “learn” not to break things.

  Thank you for that, darling husband of mine.

  The next time he turns to pace away from me, I grab a piece of the shattered lamp and I stab it right into his Achilles.

  The sound that emits from his mouth is animalistic and he drops to the ground and grasps his ankle. He’s still wailing in pain as I crawl on the rest of the broken glass, cutting freedom into my palms as I head toward the door. I stand as he reaches for me, a last desperate attempt to keep me in his clutches.

  I find the stairs and rush down. There’s a front door. I open it and I can’t believe my eyes.

  Two men are running up the lawn. I squint, and I see Evan. And the other is James, shouting my name.

  Is this a dream? My bloody arms are outstretched, reaching for him. I scream his name for help, because I’m free.

  I’m free.

  I’m about to run toward him but seeing James caused me to let my guard down, and I don’t hear Drew drum down the stairs behind me. He’s bigger and stronger than I am. I should’ve known it was going to take more than a shard of glass to take him down, and he grabs my hair again. Now I feel the familiar touch of a gun barrel at my temple.

  James and Evan stop cold. James’s face is twisted.

  “Andy?” he says. “Andy, what are you doing to my wife?”

  Right. That’s what Maribel told me. James doesn’t know yet, that the person he was working with is Drew. My abusive ex-husband.

  “Get back!” Drew shouts. “I’ll shoot her!”

  “He’s my husband, James,” I say. “The one I was running from.”

  Tears are running down my face as James takes a step closer, and in a flash, the gun is pointed at him instead.

  No. Not James. I stop struggling beneath Drew’s arm. I’ll go with you, Asshole. Just don’t hurt James.

  James is a mixture of relief and confusion and rage. His hands are up defensively, as are Evan’s. James doesn’t take his eyes off me.

  “It’s okay, Tessa. It’s over. They know. They’re on their way,” he says with a nod. “He’s not getting away with this.”

  And then I see the black vans speeding over from a distance, and the best feeling I’ve ever had washes over me as Drew loosens his grip. He knows he lost.

  He lets me go.

  I run to James and collapse in his arms. “You saved me,” I say. “Again.”

  He holds my face and it doesn’t hurt, and he kisses my lips despite the blood. “I never stopped looking. I told you I’d always protect you.”

  It’s the best movie ending I’ve ever seen.

  Until the gun goes off behind me.

  40

  James

  It was weeks later,
on a Monday morning, and James was officially a free man. Exonerated. All charges dropped. Ralph from the electronics store was right. The record button was in an awkward spot, and Tessa forgot to turn it off when Maribel showed up at the house. Maribel then stole the device and erased everything from that evening, but she didn’t know about the Moon backup. The entire incident, along with Maribel’s explanation on who she was, and what she was going to do to Rosita, was on there. So was the interview she did with James as Bella Johnson. Uploaded to the Moon.

  Evidence. The whole thing was open and shut.

  Between the recording, Tessa’s testimony, Maribel’s body in that basement, and Andrew Grant’s decision to take his own life by eating the barrel of that gun instead of facing what was coming to him, James was free. So was Tessa. Finally.

  Of course, Trey got out unscathed. Rosita’s being pregnant was attributed to some boyfriend no one knew of, and James decided not to let the cat out of the bag. There was no reason to hurt Trey’s wife, Aleesha. Even Jane Doe was identified in the interim. She was from out of state, and they arrested her boyfriend in connection with her murder.

  The paperwork was filed and expedited, and Tessa’s current ID was legal. For the next few days, anyway.

  “You ready?” he asked her as he finished his coffee from his favorite mug.

  World’s Greatest Dad.

  “Yeah, I think I have everything,” she said. “Everything I could find, anyway.”

  She’d been working hard on the nursery, all grays and yellows—daffodils—with pops of pink and blue. They didn’t know the sex of the baby yet and they planned to keep it a surprise.

  She stood by the door with a small bag over her shoulder. James washed out the mug at the sink, then set it on the shelf to dry while they were away. His bags were already packed and in the trunk. He hooked Candy up to the leash.

  “Come on, girl. You want to go visit Grandma and Grandpa?”

  Her butt wiggled, and they closed the door to their home behind them. They were driving down to Florida so James could formally introduce Tessa to his parents. Evan and his parents, and Hobart and Pearl, would follow in a few days.

  And they would be the only witnesses on the beach, with the pastor, when she legally became Tessa Montgomery.

  Acknowledgements

  So many people have lifted me on this journey, so I’m going to gush. The first and most important is Anne Tibbets, my fantastic agent, whose hard work, fierce loyalty, dedication, and friendship have propelled my dreams into a reality. Thank you for taking a chance on me, and by giving me the freedom to write what I want to write without hovering. I feel so lucky every day that you’re my agent. I’m crossing my fingers for a long and prosperous career for both of us, together.

  Thank you to Luisa Smith, my beyond brilliant editor, for picking this book up, dusting it off, knocking it around, shining it up, and making it great. You’ve been a dream to work with! I look forward to taking your direction in the future, with a smile. To the rest of the team at Scarlet—thank you to my publishers Charles Perry, Otto Penzler, and Jake Shapiro in publicity for getting this book into the hands of so many wonderful readers. And to the creative team who developed my cover—excellent job!

  Barbara Poelle. I still owe you that martini. Okay, three.

  Vanessa Lillie, I wouldn’t be here without you. You’re not only a talented author and go-getter, but you’re someone I’ll always be proud to call a friend. I’d also like to shout out amazingly talented authors Jennifer Pashley, Danielle Girard, Lynne Constantine, and Wendy Walker. Thank you for everything you’ve done for the newbie. And to my additional critique partners and great authors, Mary Keliikoa and Dr. Jessica Payne.

  My beautiful and amazing cousins Victoria Overpeck and Nicole Slininger: blood made us family, we made us friends. And special thanks to my good friends Krista Tully Nelson, Wendy Crimmins, and Sue Principato for your encouragement.

  Other amazing support has come from Steve Viner, Katerina Ermolin and Crystal Smalls-Wright. Utmost thanks to IG Book Blogger @Ludwigreads—putting me on a list of 2021 anticipated thrillers with bestselling authors I idolize made me feel like I finally made it. Thanks to Marc Bonagura and everyone in his Brookdale Spring ’17 Creative Writing class, especially my poodle, Matthew Mazzucca.

  Chris Mormando—you keep acting, I’ll keep writing. I’m convinced these paths will cross again someday. And I have to mention my cheer section of close friends. Jami Hooker, Tara Feehan, Keri Feeney, Carolyn Skoczek, Meghan Kretz, Diana O’Malley, Connie Hirsch, Morgan Mann, and of course, Tracey Ramponi, who is watching over all of us from heaven. And to my newest friend Lauren Mikucki who became one of my closest… we’ll always have Huddy’s.

  Old friends are the best friends, so special shout out to Suzanne Cohen, Jillian Jaques, Tara Reilly, Jennifer Higgins, Ginny Kotler, Janina Vitenas, Stacey Figueroa, and Gina Bonczek. I’ve known you all for multiple decades and your continued friendship and support mean the world to me.

  Of course, one stands out in particular. My BFF, my ride-or-die since I was four years old. The one who has been there for every single thing in my life, no matter distance or obstacles, the one who always drops everything when I need her: Ann Marie DePaulis, you are the best friend anybody could ever ask for, you always have been, and you will be when we’re drinking coffee and eating cheesecake like the Golden Girls we always said we’d be.

  The rest of my family—my sister Kristin Homrighausen, my goddaughter Bethany Walter, Angela and Paul Sala, Susan and Gary Claypool, and the best decisions my cousins ever made, Jim Overpeck and Mike Slininger. This is also for my grandparents in heaven, John and Helen Gallo.

  My parents, Hank and Geri Sbordone. Where do I start, where do I end? You’ve both always been there for me with unconditional love and support, encouraging me to live how I wanted to live, and you allowed me to spread my wings to make my own dreams come true. I am where I am because of you.

  To my husband and doggie-daddy John: when you say, “I didn’t do anything, you did it,” it’s much more than that. When life threw me a curveball, you swept in and saved the day, giving me the ability and time to make a go of this whole author thing. A lot of people aren’t that lucky. I’m among the luckiest to live forever with you. In fifty years, you’ll still be the one I run to, the one I belong to, and the one I want for life. I love you (and Cosmo, too!).

  And finally, to the readers: Thank you for taking a chance on a debut author. I hope I’ve entertained you and will continue to do so for years to come.

  About the Author

  Jaime Lynn Hendricks is an author with nearly 20 years’ experience in print media and marketing. His Missing Wife is her first novel. She lives with her husband in New Jersey.

  First published in the USA in 2021 by Scarlet, an imprint of Penzler

  This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2021 by Canelo

  Canelo Digital Publishing Limited

  31 Helen Road

  Oxford OX2 0DF

  United Kingdom

  Copyright © Jaime Lynn Hendricks, 2021

  The moral right of Jaime Lynn Hendricks to be identified as the creator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781800325531

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Originally published as Finding Tessa in the USA and Canada

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