The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [17]
“I don’t believe you,” he said softly, dangerously. “I don’t believe a woman abandons her daughter and comes halfway across the country to a mercenary’s house just because her ex-husband is stalking her. And I don’t like being lied to and used.” He planted his hands on the countertop.
“Why shouldn’t a woman hire a trained professional?” She licked her lips nervously, then caught herself and stated more fiercely, “Husbands, boyfriends, fathers, kill women all the time.”
“Hire a bodyguard.”
“I don’t want a bodyguard! I want to know how to fight. I want to know how to protect my daughter. I am so sick and tired of running scared. You”—her finger jabbed his chest—“you probably don’t know anything about being vulnerable, being frightened. But I know. And I’m sick of it. I want my life back.”
She grabbed one of the porcelain bowls and shattered it against the sink. She raised one jagged shard and wielded it like a knife. “I might have been slow once. I might have actually thought that if I was just good enough, just obedient enough, just sweet enough, it would keep me safe. Well, I don’t do ‘sweet’ anymore and I don’t do ‘obedient’ anymore. So don’t mess with me, Mr. Dillon. You have no idea what I am capable of.”
She pressed the sharp edge against his bare chest with enough force to line his skin. The edge ran against the scar that zigzagged furiously down his sternum. That scar had been inflicted by a man known for his sharp temper, fast hands, and utter lack of remorse. J.T. explored Angela’s eyes now to see if she had that in her.
He wouldn’t grant her speed. He wouldn’t grant her skill. But in her gaze he found something better: dispassion.
“Jesus, you are a dangerous woman.”
“I’m learning.”
A sound split the air, startling them both. High, shrill. Sirens. Wailing sirens approaching his house. He took a step back.
His first thought was Marion, but then he noticed his house guest. She’d frozen. And she appeared terrified. Why would the cops frighten a woman running from her husband? Then he knew, absolutely knew, that he’d been used.
“What have you done?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” she muttered.
The sirens wailed closer. Three cars, he figured. Three police cars pulling into his driveway and shattering his peace.
“Why are you so afraid? What are you hiding?”
Her eyes were no longer so certain. She tried to push away, but his grip was too strong.
“Let me go. I didn’t do anything. I just don’t want anyone to know I’m here. Especially not the cops.”
“That shy, Angela?”
“It’s not safe. He has contacts—”
“He? Sure, Angela, this omnipotent he. The mystery man who may or may not be stalking you, who may or may not have injured your leg, who may or may not even exist. I am tired of he, Angela. You want my help, you’d better do a helluva lot better than that.”
“I’m not lying! Jim wants me dead. No, he wants me to suffer horribly. I saw the pictures. I saw what he did. . . .” Her voice trailed off. Then she went wild, beating at him furiously. She tried to jab his shoulder with the porcelain shard, but he deflected the blow, knocking the makeshift weapon from her hand.
“Let me go,” she cried.
The sirens came to a screeching halt on his driveway.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Maybe he’s already found me.”
His hands gripped her shoulders, but suddenly he wasn’t so sure. Her fear was too genuine, her panic too real. He could feel the tremors beginning now, snaking down her delicate frame.
“Talk to me, Angela, tell me the truth. Come on.”
“He was a cop! Don’t you get it? He was a cop!”
He stepped back in shock, automatically letting her go. He was surprised but didn’t know why he should be. There was no rule saying cops had to be good guys, just as there was no guarantee that well-respected army colonels didn’t torture their families as a hobby.
Angela moved into the middle of the kitchen. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her thin waist. “I need my gun back. Give me my gun.”
“I can’t do that.