The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [7]
“You were going to attack me,” she whispered at last. She clutched her wrist closer, the harsh red imprint of his hand staining her pale skin. It shamed him.
“I was going to carry you out of here!”
She didn’t say anything.
He thrust a finger at her. “This is my home! You shouldn’t go barging into homes uninvited, unwanted and . . . and . . .”
“Untrained?” she supplied.
“Exactly!”
She didn’t argue. She merely worked on getting to her feet. She swayed slightly when she stood. She didn’t seem to be aware of it, smoothing down her skirt and clutching her jacket shut as if that would somehow protect her.
“I know you don’t want me here. Vincent’s been trying to call you, and you were never home. And I . . . I couldn’t afford to wait, so I got your address and I just . . . well, I just came here.
“Train me,” she said abruptly. “Just train me, that’s all I want. One month of your time. I’ll give you one hundred thousand dollars and you teach me everything you know.”
“What the hell?”
“One month, that’s all I’m asking. You never have to leave the villa, you don’t have to do anything other than lounge around and tell me what to do. I’m stronger than I look. I learn fast. I don’t whine.”
“Who are you?”
She hesitated. “Te—Umm . . . Angela.”
“Te-um-Angela? Uh-huh. Well, just for the sake of argument, why does a happy homemaker like you need training, Te-um-Angela?”
“I . . . I’m being stalked.”
“Of course. Who?”
“Who’s what?”
“Who is stalking you?”
She fell silent. He shook his head. “You don’t need a mercenary, you need a shrink.”
“A man,” she whispered.
“No kidding.”
“My . . .” She seemed to debate how much to admit. “My husband. Ex-husband. You know how it goes.”
She spoke too quickly. She glanced at him to see if he believed her or not.
He shook his head again, this time in disgust. “You came all the way here just because of a domestic disturbance? Lady, you track a man like me down and the least you could do was have half the Medellin cartel after your hide. Jesus Christ. Go get a restraining order and leave me alone.”
She smiled wanly. “Do you really think a piece of paper scares away a monster?”
“It beats hiring a professional. What did you do, run into Vince at a Tupperware party? You’re looking at stay-fresh seals, he’s hawking his connections with retired reprobates—”
“We were introduced. By a mutual friend who understands that I need real help.”
“Real help?” he snorted. “You’ve seen too many Sunday night TV movies. Go to the Nogales police. I’ll draw you a map.”
“The police are the ones who lost him,” she said quietly. “Now, I’m turning to you.”
He shook his head. He tried his best scowl. She remained standing there, somehow dignified in her ugly white suit, somehow regal with her bruised wrist held against her stomach. And for once in his life, J.T. couldn’t think of what to say.
The night grew hushed, just the sound of the water lapping against the edge of his pool and the lonely cry of the crickets. The mesquite tree fluttered with a teasing breeze behind her, while white rocks at her feet glittered in the porch light. The night was warm and purple-black, deceptive in its softness.
“J.T.,” she whispered, “did you save the orphans in Guatemala?”
“What?” His heart began to beat too fast.
“Vincent told me about the orphans. Did you do that? Did you really do that?”
“No, no. You can’t blame that one on me.” But his denial was too sharply spoken, and they both knew it.
“One month,” she repeated. “One month of intensive training. Self-defense, shooting, evasion, stalking—”
“Population control, intelligence gathering. Ambushing and counterambushing. Sniping and counter-sniping. Evac and evade, infiltration and penetration. All SpecWar goodies—”
“Yes.”
“No! You don’t get it. Do you think killing machines are made overnight? Do you think Rambo rose up out of the ground? It takes years to learn that kind of focus. It takes decades more to learn not to care, to site a human being in a scope and pull the trigger as if the target really is nothing but the watermelon you used in practice.”
Her face