It's payback time. And I'm just the guy to do it.
She and the kid were alone. Monk had seen her man drive away just past dawn. Big guy he was, built for strength and speed, and moved like he could take real good care of himself. Reminded Monk of the master sergeant at Camp Pendleton. A tough bastard, Sgt. Ruiz was. Ramrod of the commando unit Monk had been part of for a while—before the bastard had washed him out for beating up a Mexican whore who'd cheated him.
Monk tugged the bill of his cap lower to hide his face as he climbed out of the vehicle. It was frigging ninety degrees, and the new fishing vest he'd bought a few weeks back to help him blend in was damn hot.
Being's as how the sarge was always ramming the concept of prior planning down their throats, he figured Ruiz would be damn proud of him. A clean kill was the mark of a skilled warrior, he'd said.
No noise, no mess. Just the way he'd handled those two brats he never wanted.
Twenty minutes tops, he told himself, checking his watch as he walked toward the door. He would allow himself a moment to enjoy the terror in the woman's eyes, and then with one quick snap of his wrists, it would be done. When he left, there'd be one less interfering woman in the world.
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
It was the fifth time in as many minutes that Jimmy had come into the kitchen to check the new clock with the big red numerals Grady had bought in order to teach their son how to tell time. Every night they put in an hour's practice. Jimmy still mixed up nine and six, and sometimes one and eleven, but he was learning.
"Grady's never been late before," he grumbled, plopping down at the kitchen table.
Ria tucked the container of deviled eggs into the cooler and closed the lid before she allowed herself to check that same clock. Jimmy was right. Grady was twenty minutes late.
"He'll be here," she assured her anxious son.
Jimmy upended the salt shaker and let salt pour out onto the table. When he had enough, he laboriously traced an A with a fingertip in the grains. It was an exercise Grady himself had invented when he was a kid.
"Mom, is Grady mad about something?"
"I don't think so, sweetie. Why do you ask?"
He shrugged. "He's real quiet when we go fishing, and he never talks about doing stuff together anymore."
Ria caught the quick flash of hurt in the glance he sent her way. "What stuff is that, sweetie?"
"You know, guy stuff. Like going to the 500 next year so I can see the cars the way he and his dad used to do. Or maybe fixing up an old car together."
"I'm sure he's still planning on all those things."
"Maybe," Jimmy muttered, going back to his task.
Trying not to think about the three nights that Grady had spent watching the late show instead of making love to her, Ria poured herself a cup of the coffee she'd made in anticipation of his return and carried it to the table. Though Grady still treated them both with easy affection, he'd been different since the night she'd come to think of as Jimmy's real homecoming.
She'd seen the hurt stagger into his eyes when he'd realized Jimmy blamed him for not coming to his rescue. It was as though he'd shut down a part of himself at that moment.
She frowned, checked the clock herself, then got up to walk to the sliding glass doors to look out at the lake. The fisherman in the orange cap was gone, she noticed. In fact, the lake seemed surprisingly empty.
"Have you seen Old Whiskerface again?" she asked, turning.
"Uh-uh. Grady said we'd try again this weekend."
"Then you will." She took another sip, then frowned. Maybe he forgot the time they were supposed to leave. Or gotten tied up in a meeting. She glanced at the clock again and then at the cell phone on the counter.
"Sweetheart, would you be a love and fetch me the green-striped beach towel hanging on the clothesline? We'll need it to use as a tablecloth."
"Okay." Jimmy slid from his chair and headed for the side door.
As soon as he disappeared, Ria set down her cup and picked up the phone. She had just punched the last number when the front door opened.
"Oh, Grady, thank goodness—" Her voice faltered, then dammed.
The man standing in the doorway was a bulky, black-haired stranger with dead eyes. "Make a sound and you're history," he ordered, closing the door behind him.
Panic screamed in her mind as he walked toward her. Somehow she battled it down. "All right," she said, praying that Grady would pick up the phone she heard ringing in her ear.
"Captain Hardin's office." It was Grady's assistant.
The man moved like lightning. Before Ria could cry for help, he snatched the phone from her hand and smashed it against the counter.
"Think you can put one over on Monk Benteen, do you, bitch?" His lips pulled back in a snarl, and her stomach lurched. Her mind started to splinter into pure terror. Somehow she pulled back.
She had to get him out of here before Jimmy came back with the towel.
"Of course not, Mr. Benteen," she said as calmly as she could. "Would you like a cup of coffee? I've just made some fresh."
If she could reach the pot—
The blow caught her across the face, sending her reeling into the refrigerator. She hit hard, and pain exploded in her head. Her vision turned gray, and she slid bonelessly to the floor. He was on her instantly, grabbing her by the hair to jerk her head up.
"Where's my wife, bitch?"
"I … I don't know, really I don't. I've called and left messages, but—"
"She's gone. She ain't got no friends but you."
"I swear, I don't know."
He drew a knife from his boot, his eyes animal sly as he slowly drew the tip down her cheek. Her face exploded in fire. "Now, I'm gonna ask you one more time. I don't get an answer, the next cut goes deeper."
Ria felt the blood dripping down her cheek. Her mind hazed, and her throat clogged with bile. Somehow she stayed on her feet. Don't panic, Ria. Think! What would Grady do?
Bluff, she thought. He would bluff.
"I … have a number for her," she said, watching his eyes instead of the knife only inches from her face. "It's in my DayRunner."
His eyes narrowed. "You'd better not be lying."
She let him see her fear. "I'm not. I swear I'm not. We'll drive to the Center and I'll get it for you."
His pupils were pinpricks, and he smelled of sweat and stale cigarettes. It was all she could do to keep from gagging. "All right, but if you're lying, I'll blow you and that precious Center to smithereens. I got enough plastique in my kit in the van to do it and more."
"I'm sure you do." Blood was soaking her shirt now and wetting her skin. The spreading stain was making her queasy. She swayed, and he grabbed her arm, shoving her hard against the counter.
"No tricks, bitch."
"It's not a trick. The sight of blood … if we're going, we'd better go now. I'm feeling a little faint."
Please, please take me out of here, she wanted to beg. Anything to get him away from the house. Away from Jimmy.
"All right," he said, "but if this is a trick…"
"It's not."
He grabbed her arm and shoved it up behind her. Suddenly awash in pain, she cried out. "Shut up, or I'll pull it clean out of the socket."
"Please, I'll be quiet," she managed, and he eased off.
"When we leave here, you're gonna walk in front of me real nice like, as though we were good friends. One trick and I'll put this knife through your spine. Might not kill you, but you'll never walk again, neither."
"Whatever you say."
He released her, and she moved toward the door. She heard him follow. She had her hand on the doorknob when he grabbed her hair again. "Thought you said your DayRunner's at the Center."
Before she could answer, he spun her around. "Then what's that?" he demanded, pointing toward the table with the knife stained with her blood.
She didn't need to look. She knew. It was her calendar.
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* * *
Jimmy knew he had to get help.
He'd seen the strange guy walk in the front door without knocking and was about to yell when something stopped him. Instead, he'd gone to the window and peeked in. He was about to run for help when he'd seen the guy hit his mom.
Scared, he took off running toward the lake. Maybe the guy in the boat could help, only the guy wasn't there. Then he saw the flag flapping in the wind, and remembered what his dad had said.
"Upside down. I have to make it upside down."
Darting glances at the house every few seconds slowed him down some. His hands shook real bad too, but he managed to get the flag down the pole far enough so he could snap it free. His hands shook so bad it took three tries to get the slippery material twisted the right way. Finally, sobbing in frustration, he got the hooks through the holes, and then he was pulling on the rope as hard as he could.
* * *
Grady saw the phone company van as soon as he pulled into the tree-lined drive and remembered the chewed line he hadn't gotten around to fixing. Guilt curdled the already-sour beer in his belly.
He slammed on the brakes and killed the engine, calling himself a few choice names as he jerked the keys from the ignition.
Well, she even called the phone company to take care of the wiring. Hell, Ree had managed, hadn't she?
Damn straight she had. She didn't need him to take care of her. Too bad he needed her, he thought as he pulled open the door, his apology already half-formed.
His instinct kicked in one step too slow. Still, he had time to twist into a half crouch before the man's boot caught him a glancing blow in the groin. Pain took his breath, and he went down hard. He took another kick in the ribs and played dead. The odds that the guy would buy it were about as thin as the line between consciousness and oblivion he was riding, but it was all he had.
"Don't kick him again," he heard Ria scream through the white haze.
"Bastard cop was asking questions, putting the screws on the cow I used to be married to."
"No, that … that was my brother-in-law."
"Yeah? How come this guy has a badge clipped to his belt."
Grady knew it was coming and tried to brace, but the pain was murderous. The bastard had steel in the toes of his boots, and he felt his ribs give under the blow.
"Don't hurt him anymore!" Ria begged. "I'll do whatever you say, only please don't hurt him anymore."
"You cost me my wife, you bitch!"
"No, I—"
Grady heard the sickening sound of a blow, heard her scream. Somehow he managed to roll, to get a hand on his weapon.
The next kick caught him in the belly. He folded, even as the bastard slammed his boot down on his wrist. He felt bones splintering.
"Freeze, or you're dead!"
Grady heard the harsh rasp of surprise, smelled the bastard's fear.
"Drop the pigsticker, you son of a bitch, or I'll gut shoot you where you stand."
Grady heard the sound of a blade hitting the tile and sent up a garbled prayer of thanksgiving.
"Step away from him, Mrs. Hardin, while I cuff the bastard."
Grady fought blackness long enough to see the lethal calm on Tom Delaney's craggy face. Old Tom sure looked funny in that orange cap, but damn, he was still one fine cop, he thought, just before he let himself sink.
* * *
They gave him the same room—416 West. He had a couple of the same nurses, too, who'd laid down the law damn near as soon as they brought him back from the OR after fishing the splinters out of his lung.
Behave yourself buster, they'd warned, or we'll cuff you to the bed with your own handcuffs.
He was trying, damn it, but the tube in his side was driving him crazy. Every time he moved, a hot poker stabbed a hole through his chest. Pain he could handle; it was the sick knot in his gut that had him climbing the walls. After all the promises he'd made—to himself, to Ria, to the boy—he'd messed up again.
This time Ria had nearly died—and maybe Jimmy, too. All because he'd been drowning his sorrows in beer instead of keeping his word. A frigging thirty minutes late, only it might as well have been a lifetime.
He wasn't exactly sure when he'd given up trying to measure up. Sometime after the paramedics had dumped him onto a cold table in the ER and before he'd jerked awake to find her curled into a chair by his bed, begging him not to die.
Jimmy needed him, she'd said. Jimmy loved him, she'd said.
For Jimmy's sake she didn't want him to die.
For his own sake he wished he could, so he wouldn't have to face himself in the mirror every morning, knowing he'd let them down again. Hell, maybe he'd just grow a beard, he thought, closing his eyes.
He was drifting, trying to keep his mind blank, when he heard her voice murmuring a greeting to one of the nurses. A split second later she appeared, carrying a huge bouquet of roses that nearly hid her face. Her skin was still pale and swollen around the dark bruises on one cheek. On the other, the deep scratch from Benteen's blade was still bright red. Every time he saw that thin, angry line he bled a little more.
"Jimmy sends his love," she said as she bent to kiss him.
Somehow he kept himself from hooking his good arm around her neck and drawing her against his chest. He'd lost the right to need her the moment he'd stepped inside the cottage a half hour too late.
"How's he doing?" he asked as she fussed a little with the vase before pulling the chair closer.
"Pleased as punch that he'd been the one to bring that friend of yours running full tilt to the rescue."
"He should be pleased. He kept his head."
"He must have told your dad a dozen times how you'd explained about the flag. He thinks you're a real hero."
"Sure he does." He shifted, then remembered why that was a bad idea.
"So do I."
He managed a grin. "You're aiming all that gratitude at the wrong guy, sweetheart. I was the half-drunk jerk passing out on the floor, remember? Tom Delaney's the one who crashed through the door in the nick of time."
"Because you had the foresight to hire him to watch over us when you weren't there."
"Nice try, Ree, but we both know I let you down." Because he couldn't quite meet her eyes, he looked at the roses instead. Do it, a voice prodded. Now, before you lose your nerve. But he couldn't. Not yet.
"Flynn stopped by earlier. He said your friend, Brenda, has agreed to testify against her husband."
"Yes. He admitted to killing both of his daughters. Flynn said he feels pretty sure she'll be a creditable witness." She pulled up a chair and sat down. "All the time I was trying to reach her, she was staying with another member of the support group. She'd sworn Callie to secrecy, and Callie was trying to figure out how to get a message to me without Brenda knowing it when they saw the story on TV about Monk's arrest."
He heard someone laugh in one of the other rooms. Outside an ambulance screamed its approach.
"He could have killed you, Ree."
"He didn't."
"I promised…"
"Grady, I love you."
His heart stuttered. All that was in him yearned to believe her. Somehow he made himself look at her. Because he needed distance, he deliberately evoked the memory of her scream when Benteen's fist connected with that elegant cheek.
"You want to love me," he said, echoing the words she'd spoken to him once. "Maybe you even think you love me, but you don't."
Her mouth trembled a little, giving his heart a hard jolt, before she controlled herself. "I've always loved you. I was afraid to admit it, afraid that if I did I'd lose you the way I lost my mother and everyone else I let myself care about."
"Honey, I appreciate the gesture, but you're fighting after the bell. You and me, we had our shot. You tried to tell me that a hundred different ways, but I was too stubborn to listen."
"I was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. But you wouldn't let me go, and now I'm glad." She put one hand on his forear
m, and he flinched. "I won't hurt you," she said with a gentle smile that tore into him.
"No, but I'll hurt you. No, don't say anything. Just let me get it out, okay?"
She drew a breath and nodded. "All right."
"You used to accuse me of putting my job first, and you were right, even though I hated to admit it. Still do, but that doesn't mean it's not true. Me and Kale, we've had this competition all our lives. He's bigger and he's tougher, but I'm sneakier. I've been sucking up big-time to the chief." Somehow he found a grin. "Bastard has an ego the size of Texas. Bought every fawning word I slipped him."
She looked confused. "You hate those kinds of games. You said so a dozen times. You'd rather retire a patrolman first-grade than kiss butt, you said."
He shrugged, sending a jagged slash of pain deep into his side. Absorbing it helped him to focus. "Sure, I hate it, but sometimes a man has to bend a few principles to win the big one."
"I don't believe you."
"Hey, have I ever lied to you?"
"No, which is why I know you meant it when you said you loved me."
Damn, this was hard. Ask anyone in the Lafayette PD about Grady Hardin and the answer would be the same; the man was a tough SOB who took the hits without whining, stayed on his feet if he could. If he went down, he kept the pain inside. And he never, ever, gave up. But this was almost more than he could handle.
"Sure, I love you, honey. I especially love you when you make those little noises in your throat when I have my hands on you."
Shock settled into her eyes before that soft mouth he loved curved into a shaky smile. "I don't believe a word you're saying, Grady Hardin. Not one word. You're just saying this to give me an out, but it's not necessary, my darling. I don't want an out. I love you."
She took his hand and pressed it against her battered cheek. It was all he could do to hang on to his control. "Maybe you don't believe me now, but you will, I promise. We have so much to look forward to now. All three of us."
This was killing him. Flat-out killing him. "Ree, I tried, really tried. But I can't be the kind of husband you want. It's just not in me."
"How do you know what I want?"
He expected relief. She gave him impatience and the simmer of anger. "I know because you've told me a thousand different ways. When I came home late, when I didn't come at all, when I left our son standing on the porch with his football in his hand. When I was too tired to make love to you for weeks at a time."
ONCE MORE A FAMILY Page 20
