The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [104]
“Is that why he didn’t come back?”
“I’m sure of it. You’ll have to come to terms with it, Roger. My brother is no longer some dashing rebel. He’s just an alcoholic. And wherever he is right now, I’m sure the tequila is golden.”
TWENTY-TWO
THE MOTEL ROOM was brown, shit brown. Brown floor, brown beds, brown curtains. Not even a traveling salesman would like the room. Tess thought it was fitting.
J.T. was fetching ice. She stood alone in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around her middle. She could hear a faint ringing in her ears. When she inhaled, her throat felt scratchy and raw.
She’d called Lieutenant Houlihan and told him what had happened. The APB had been updated with the information on Jim’s recent sighting, and local search efforts intensified. The lieutenant wanted her to come in. She didn’t see what that would accomplish. They would put her in a house. She’d sit and wait as she’d waited two and a half years ago. The mouse pinned by the cat, living day in and day out waiting for him to finally pounce. She just couldn’t do it anymore.
You were going to be so tough. Instead, you walked right into Jim’s trap.
She found a thick wool sweater in her bag and pulled it out. Her hands were trembling so badly, it took her a few tries to get it on. She could still hear her teeth chattering with the unrelenting chill.
Where is Samantha? Is she asking for you right now? Is she curled up, wondering why you haven’t come to save her?
Why didn’t you save your daughter?
The night was too dark. The room was too empty. The truth came crashing down on her and there was no way to escape it: She had failed her daughter.
J.T. walked into the room. The slamming of the door sounded loud in the silence. “You okay?”
“No.” She sounded raw.
“Have a glass of water.” He stuck the plastic cup into her hand without waiting for her argreement. “Drink it up. Pull yourself together. We need a new plan.”
She looked at him at last as he sat down by a warped brown table. He’d bought cigarettes while fetching the ice and now he lit one up. He used only one hand. The other remained tucked against his ribs.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your arm.”
“You know how to set a bone fracture?”
“Not really. My father always took my mother and me to the emergency room so we could tell naïve interns that we’d fallen down the stairs.”
“Well, we’re not going to any emergency room. I’m fine.”
She looked away. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke stung her eyes. She could feel the hot, salty knot of tears in her chest, but she couldn’t cry.
Samantha. Difford. How much are you going to let Jim take from you?
“I shot him,” J.T. said at last.
Her eyes widened.
“Jim and I had a little get-together in the back bedroom. He brought his bat, I brought my gun. Next time I’m leaving the 9mm at home and bringing an AK-47.”
“Is he seriously wounded?”
“No.” J.T. sounded furious. “Probably just a flesh wound. He sure as hell didn’t slow down much.”
“I don’t understand why he was there,” she murmured. “Why did he come back and where was Sam?”
“He came for you, Tess. He planned it like a two-for-one sale—get his daughter, kill his ex-wife.”
“Where did he come from?” she whispered. “One moment I was all alone, and the next . . .”
J.T.’s jaw tightened. “I screwed up,” he said tersely. “Didn’t secure the perimeter, didn’t scope out the full house before leaving you behind. I didn’t really expect . . . Well, I screwed up. It’s that simple.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should’ve.”
“What do we do now?”
“Sleep. Eat. Regroup in the morning.”
The room drifted into strained silence again. She snapped on the TV to fight it. The first image she saw was Sam’s.
“Samantha Williams was kidnapped late last night from a police safe house in Springfield. Two officers were killed by her father, convicted serial killer Jim Beckett, who is considered armed and dangerous. Samantha is four years old, wears a pink winter coat, has long blond hair and blue eyes. Anyone with information on Samantha