The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [92]
“It’s okay.”
He looked up. Tess stood in the gray-filled hallway, her gaze understanding. She took his hand.
“Give her until morning. She isn’t ready to listen to you now.”
“I tried,” he whispered dumbly. Failure, failure, failure. Pussy-whipped mama’s boy.
“I know.” She touched his cheek. “It’s okay. You were just a little boy, J.T. It wasn’t your fault.”
He buried his lips against her hand, squeezing his eyes shut against the unbearable darkness that had lived inside him for so long. He wanted to hate someone; for a moment he even wanted to hate her. But he hadn’t enough energy left inside him. He was wrung out and empty.
He felt her guide him to his feet. She led him to his room and tucked him into bed. He simply lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and going insane with the memories. He wanted a drink. Wouldn’t someone give him a drink?
Push it away, push it away, Rachel whispered in his mind.
But he couldn’t. The memories had been seared into his head and he couldn’t get them out of his mind.
Tess pulled out a chair and sat down.
“I’ll stay. You shouldn’t be alone on a night like tonight. Not with tequila in the house.”
“Stop it,” he muttered. “Go away. Isn’t a psychotic ex-husband enough for you? Can’t you just leave the rest of us alone?”
“I’ve been inside the darkness too, J.T. I know that sometimes the light seems too far away. We all get lost in the dark, and it’s such a scary place. Such a lonely place.”
Her words hurt him, looked inside him, and laid him bare. He was thinking of all those nights, listening to the colonel’s jump boots ring against the floor. With no one to tell, no one who would help him or Marion.
Night after night, lying there, wanting it to stop, needing it to stop. And always facing it alone.
He gave in with a groan. He grabbed Tess by the hand and yanked her into bed. She fell against him easily, already whispering his name.
“I know,” she murmured against his hair. “I know.”
He buried his face against her neck.
“I won’t leave you,” she whispered. “I won’t leave you.”
His hands dug into her back and brought her closer.
DIFFORD WAS UNEASY.
Long after the sun went down, he and Sam ate their macaroni and cheese dinner. They watched Jurassic Park and saw the children survive the monsters. Difford checked out Samantha’s room, but there were no demons beneath the bed or in the closet. He tucked her in, brushing back her hair and retrieving her fancy talking doll that did more things than any doll he’d ever heard of. Tonight she had him read her “Snow White.”
She went to sleep. He prowled the living room and wondered why his nerves were on edge.
The phone rang. He almost jumped out of his skin. He lunged across the living room and caught it before the second ring—he didn’t want it to wake Sam up.
“Lieutenant?”
“Yes.” Difford’s voice was wary. He waited for the security phrase.
“It rains upon the plains in Spain,” the caller said. “Difford, it’s Sergeant Wilcox. Listen closely—”
“I heard you had some kinda stomach bug.”
“No. I had a bad case of Halcion poisoning.”
“What?” Now Difford paid attention.
“We don’t have much time, all right? Some guy calling himself Detective Beaumont showed up yesterday, claimed to be from Bristol County with an urgent message for you. The man spiked my coffee while I was questioning him in the interrogation room.”
“Beckett.”
“Yeah, it was Beckett. He rifled through my notebook, he asked me some questions. Lieutenant, we’re pretty sure he knows where you are and that he has a copy of the house key. We have to get you out of the house now.”
Difford was silent. And then, finally confronted by a danger he could act against, he felt calm. “What is the plan?”
“Okay, the minute you hang up with me, look out your window. Officer Travis is going to get out of the back-up vehicle—he’s a big guy, you can’t miss him. Just drift casually toward the front door, okay. No sudden moves, Beckett might be watching. Why don’t you have a cup of coffee in your hand for the officer. It’ll look like the man