The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [105]
“Once again, Jim Beckett is considered armed and dangerous and should not be approached. He frequently disguises himself as a police officer or security guard. Police are currently combing the area with the aid of the FBI and the National Guard. Beckett escaped three weeks ago from the maximum security block of Walpole after killing two corrections officers. . . .”
Tess couldn’t stop staring at the screen. It showed one of Samantha’s preschool pictures. She was looking over her shoulder with a toothy smile, her blue eyes bright, her blond pigtails curly. Tess fell to her knees.
“Let it out,” J.T. said quietly behind her. “Let it all out.”
She couldn’t. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t yell.
What are you going to do, Theresa? Fight me? We both know you’re too weak for that.
“Pull it together, Tess,” J.T. said more sharply. “Take a deep breath. Focus on the carpet if it helps.”
You’re weak, stupid. You couldn’t even stand up to your father. What did you do when he hit your mother? Watch? And what did you do while he hit you? Wait?
“Tess! Dammit, don’t do this!” J.T. grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard.
For a moment she lolled like a rag doll. She couldn’t find her strength. She had no mass, no muscles, no bones. She had no spirit.
“Tess?” J.T. whispered roughly. “Sweetheart, please . . .”
The dam broke. She began to sob, her throat burning, her shoulders heaving. So many tears. J.T. sat down beside her on the ugly rug. He wrapped his good arm around her shoulders and cradled her against his chest. She cried against his T-shirt, big, messy tears that soaked through to his skin and made her feel worse. He stroked her hair.
“Shh. Shh. I’ll help you. We’re going to find Sam, sweetheart. I promise you, we’ll find Sam.”
She cried harder. He rocked her against him.
“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay. I know. I know.” He kept murmuring against her hair. She pressed her shivering body against him.
Hold me, hold me, hold me. Don’t ever let me go.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
“WE SHOULD ICE your arm.” It was an hour later. She’d sobbed, J.T. had smoked. Now they both sat on the edge of the too-soft bed, looking worse for wear. “Can . . . can I look at it?”
He shrugged and pursed his lips around the thin white cigarette. The pungent smoke stung her eyes.
“Can you stop smoking?”
He arched one dark brow.
“In return for my health services,” she negotiated.
“I thought you didn’t know much about first aid.”
“I know better than to smoke, so I’m obviously more qualified than you.”
He didn’t give in right away, but after a few moments he ground out the cigarette. “Self-righteous Tess,” he murmured.
She ignored his comment and sank to the brown carpeting before him. His knees parted, allowing her closer. His thighs brushed her shoulders. She placed her fingers on his arm and heard his harsh breath.
She had told him the truth earlier. She had no idea what she was doing. In her mother’s house she’d learned to put makeup over scrapes and bruises, not Bactine. She’d learned to mend broken bones with carefully scripted lies to health care professionals. She’d learned how to pretend most of the beatings didn’t hurt.
Now she examined J.T.’s injured limb helplessly. His left forearm appeared furious—beet red, swollen, and hot to the touch. She risked a glance up, her fingers still resting delicately on his skin. His face had gone pale. Sweat beaded his upper lip. She could tell he was biting the inside of his cheeks to keep from making a sound.
“I think you need a real doctor,” she said quietly.
“Do what you can, Tess. Or I’ll fix it the old-fashioned way.”
“Amputation?”
“Bourbon.”
“Oh.” She poured ice into a towel and placed it to bring the swelling down. He could wiggle his fingers a little, but not a lot. Did that mean it wasn’t broken, just badly sprained, or did that mean something worse? She had no idea.
Finally she gave him a couple of aspirin from her purse.
“Two? My arm’s been pulverized by a baseball bat and you hand me two aspirin?”
“You’re right.” She doled out six.