The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [100]
“I’m the professional.”
“I’m the client.”
“Tess, you’ll only make a mess of things. Now, get back in the car.”
She stared at him mutinously. “He already has Sam. How much messier could it get?”
“A lot,” he said bluntly. He pinned her in place and leaned closer. She didn’t shrink or cower. Her brown gaze remained steady. God, she’d learned. A regular hellion these days. Marion would be proud. He said, “Beckett isn’t a hay bale, Tess.”
“I know. I felt some pity for the hay bales. I don’t feel any toward Jim.”
She pushed against him hard, but his body didn’t budge.
“In the car.”
“Nope.”
She pushed again, and while he was steeling his body against that feeble effort, she ducked beneath his arm. Step, twirl, and she was free, striding beyond his reach with a grim smile.
“You have to admit, I’m getting a lot better.”
He scowled. “It’s not a game.”
He wanted her in the car. He wanted her someplace where he wouldn’t have to worry about her.
She headed toward the front door. “Do you really think he’s here? He already has what he came for.”
“I don’t feel like taking any unnecessary chances.” He briefly debated knocking her out cold and stuffing her into the trunk until it was over. It would serve the fool right.
“He has Sam,” she said flatly. “He’ll have to stay with her in the evening.”
“Or find a beautiful blonde to watch her for him.”
She paused. He caught a slight tremor racking her frame. But Tess brought her chin up stubbornly. The wind stirred behind her, bringing him the scent of China Rain. The moon highlighted her sable hair and caressed her heart-shaped face.
“Christ,” he muttered, and turned away. She looked beautiful, precious, and he didn’t want to see that—not knowing what he did to beautiful, precious things. Thirty-six years old and his life was still locked in the same old patterns, spiraling toward the same bitter end. He hated that. “You got your gun?”
“Yes.” Now she sounded shaken.
“Get it out.”
“You think he’s in there?”
“Get out the damn gun. You wanna play soldier? Soldiers do not question orders. You do as you’re told when you’re told. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’d better believe it.” He took out his gun and removed the safety. Cocked, locked, and ready, the only way a marine made an entrance. “Follow me and do what I say. Don’t make any noise, don’t leave my side. Disobey me once and I’ll shoot you myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know what a clock is?”
She gave him an exasperated look that clearly stated she knew what a clock was.
“Good.” He ignored her attitude. “Anything happens, this is how it works. You’re responsible for the six to twelve position, I’ll cover twelve to six.”
“You mean . . . you mean shooting, don’t you?”
“Well, you can shake his hand if you want to, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Okay, okay,” she said hastily. Her uneasiness had returned. Then she cleared her face and set her shoulders, the good little soldier. She was killing him.
“The car,” he attempted one last time.
“No.”
“Stubborn ass.”
“Yes. Are we going to talk all night, or do this?”
“Fine.” He sounded angry and couldn’t help it. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Don’t worry, I give you full permission to engrave ‘J.T. was right’ on my tombstone.”
“Gee, thanks. I look forward to that.”
He looked back at Tess one more time. Her hands were trembling slightly, but she was holding the gun the way he’d taught her.
J.T. gave up on indifference.
Okay, God, he bargained shamelessly in his mind. You got Marion. You got Rachel. You got Teddy. The colonel’s prostate cancer was a nice poetic touch, but thirty years too late. Give me Tess. Just give me this one.
Then I’m willing to call it even if you are. It’s a helluva deal.
He received no answer but then he never had. He smiled grimly.
“We’re going in. Semper fi.”
J.T. ENTERED FIRST, his back pressed against the entryway wall, his arm making smooth, level sweeping motions as he pointed his gun at each shadow. His left arm was cocked back, beaming a small flashlight into the entryway. He looked like Rambo.
She