The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [61]
His hands slipped from her throat. And she slammed her fist into his nose.
He fell back with a guttural cry and she didn’t wait. Her flailing hand reached for the lower drawer, scrambling with the handle.
“You bitch!” He rolled off her. She heard the heavy swish of air as he raised the baseball bat.
“Please, please,” she whispered hoarsely, and ripped the drawer from the nightstand.
A sharp sound, a whistle. She ducked and rolled, and the floor shook with the force of the bat hitting the carpet.
“I’m going to kill you!”
She was crying and rolling and crying and fumbling with the damn drawer, scrambling through the contents and praying for one last miracle to save her.
Another whistle.
The bat came down on her thigh.
She heard a loud crack, then felt a red-hot bolt of pain fire through her leg. And suddenly she wasn’t frightened anymore, she wasn’t exhausted. She was just really pissed off.
She tried to leap to her feet, but the blinding pain toppled her. Savage, fierce, stabbing agony that ripped up her leg and brought tears to her eyes. She sensed more than saw the autographed Louisville Slugger arch and suspend.
Her head turned. She stared at him as he stood tall and majestic in an icy sliver of moon, his fake blond hair waving over his forehead, his smooth, hairless chest like sculpted marble.
And she thought that no one had ever told her the devil would be so beautiful.
The bat came down.
Her hand curled around the gun she had sought.
And she moved through the pain, screaming her terror and agony and fury as she rolled over her cracked femur bone and raised her trembling arms.
The bat slammed into the carpet.
She started firing the gun.
“YOU HIT HIM,” J.T. said at last. She was into the fourth beer now and swaying a bit. Her eyes were flat and glassy.
“Yes.” Her gaze fixed on the shimmering water of the pool. “I hit him in the shoulder, enough to take him out. The police heard the gunshots, Difford came bursting through. They took him away. It was over.”
“But you never stopped being afraid.”
“No. He was right. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I sold the house, took Sam and we ran. For two years. New names, new towns. I go by Tess Williams now, but Samantha only calls me Mommy. She can’t keep track of the names and she’s always scared she’ll get them wrong. So she doesn’t learn names anymore, she’s too frightened. It’s a horrible thing to do to a child.”
“You did what you had to do.”
“It wasn’t enough. I dreamed about him every night, and every night he was coming after me. A man like that . . . he shouldn’t be left alive.”
“No. He shouldn’t.”
“He killed two prison guards last week. Beat them to death. He’s very strong, you know. I wish Massachusetts had the death penalty.”
“Angela—”
“You might as well call me Tess.”
“No, I don’t think I should. You’re using an alias to protect yourself. From everything you’ve just told me, that’s an excellent idea. But, Angie, Marion took your fingerprints. She faxed them through the Nogales Police Department to the FBI. That’s how I found out your real name.”
She was silent, minute turning into minute. “Oh.”
J.T. found himself reaching out and taking her hand. It felt cold. “She was just doing her job. She knew you were lying and she wanted to check up on you.”
“I understand.”
“She knows she screwed up. Given Beckett’s background, it’s understandable that you wanted to keep your identity secret even from the law. Well, that ship has sailed. Marion would like to bring you in now. She’ll escort you back to Quantico personally, set up a safe house, and provide round-the-clock protection.”
“Didn’t you just listen to the story I told you?”
“The police made a mistake the first time, but they’re smarter now—”
“It doesn’t matter!” She yanked her hand from his and stood. “Don’t you get it? He’s a cop. He’s knows their procedures, he thinks like them. As long as I’m with them, I’m not safe, because let’s face it, cops operate with rules and Jim has none. He can anticipate them, outmaneuver