She Can Run (22 page)

He was pretty sure Sean was kidding.

His cousin nodded toward the parking lot and raised a hand in a short wave. “Look, there’s Mike. Let’s ask him what the deal is with our resident lecher.”

Police Chief Mike O’Connell pulled his cruiser into the space next to Jack’s SUV and got out of the car.

“What’s up?” Mike lifted off his hat and tossed it into the passenger seat through the open window. His red hair caught the sun and blazed bright orange. The navy uniform, unbuttoned at the throat, strained at the buttons across the former collegiate wrestler’s massive chest.

“First of all, you gotta lay off the weights, man.” Sean shook his hand. “Your neck is MIA.”

Mike snorted. “You want to keep that weak-ass body, you go right ahead.”

Jack grinned. At six-four, Sean had a few inches on his old schoolmate, but Mike outweighed him by at least thirty pounds of pure muscle. “If you ladies are done comparing your figures, I was going to ask Mike an important question. What do you know about Will Martin, from the feed store?”

Mike wiped a hand across his brow. “Christ. What’s that asshole done now?”

“Intimidated my caretaker. Crowds her. Won’t take no for an answer, if you know what I mean.”

“Martin’s a bully, that’s for sure.” The police radio crackled, and Mike stopped to listen to the dispatcher on his car radio for a second before continuing. “I’ve had a few discussions with him about his behavior with women. Bump-and-grabs in a crowd. Lewd suggestions. That sort of thing. We’ve had a few verbal complaints, but so far no one will press charges against him. He knows how to pick a victim.” Mike sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll go have a talk with him. Let him know I’m aware of the situation. If she’s willing to file a complaint, call me. I’d love to haul his smart ass in.”

“Thanks, Mike. I will.” Jack already knew she wouldn’t.

Mike returned to his car. Jack and Sean headed back to the estate, where all was quiet. Jack left Sean checking wires and swearing while he went looking for Beth.

He found her in the kitchen, coffee pot in hand. Stowing his cane by the back door, he limped into the room.

Fatigue lined her face as she poured some of the steaming brew into a mug. “I can barely keep my eyes open. Do you want a cup?”

At his nod, she poured coffee into a second mug and handed it to him.

He gestured toward the wooden table. “Sit down. I want to talk to you about something.”

She slid into the nearest chair. Jack sat across the table where she couldn’t avoid his eyes. The spoon she held to add sugar to her coffee shook.

Despite the kick of guilt, Jack persisted. “Jeff Stevens told me an interesting story today about Will Martin bothering you in the grocery store a while back. Why didn’t you mention it?” Jack looked at her over the rim of his cup.

Beth swallowed and stared into her mug. “He didn’t actually do anything. That’s why.”

“According to Jeff, Martin pinned you up against the dairy case and said something to you that upset you,” Jack prodded. “What did he say, Beth?”

“He made some vulgar comments,” Beth answered vaguely.

“Like what?”

The trembling in her hands increased. She set her coffee down. “Jack, I really don’t want to repeat it.”

“Did he threaten you?” Jack took her silence as an affirmative response. He fought to keep his voice level. “Martin pushes you up against a wall and makes obscene threats, and you don’t tell me about it? Come on, Beth. That’s not smart. I talked to the chief of police, and he said Martin’s done this sort of thing before to other women.” Jack reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You could press charges.”

He wasn’t surprised when she shook her head.

Jack sighed. “If he comes within a hundred feet of you, I want to know about it.”

She nodded, but doubt and disappointment crept into Jack’s chest as she pulled her hand out from under his, rejecting him and his help yet again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Black numbers swam across the monitor. Beth blinked and rubbed her eyes. The figures were clear for a few seconds before blurring again. She glanced at the digital clock at the bottom of the screen. Nearly midnight. Definitely enough accounting for one night. Jack had gone to bed an hour before.

She saved her spreadsheet and closed the software. The Web browser was still open on the screen, beckoning like a crooked finger. Her hands hovered over the keyboard. Why hadn’t she thought to Google James before tonight? Maybe because her life was one long string of crises.

She typed his name into the search bar and tapped enter. After the confrontation with Jack earlier in the day, she needed a backup plan. She needed to talk to James. He’d been adamant that Daniel O’Malley’s estate was the right place to go, but so much had happened since then. Would James have wanted her to stay if he knew about Danny’s death? And what would he say about Jack’s ex-cop status? James wasn’t too keen on authority.

And, dammit, why was his phone disconnected?

She scrolled through the search results. Nothing relevant. With a deep breath she pulled up the Web page of the
Richmond Gazette
, then searched through the archives for James’s name in the days after she’d left. Bingo.

Beth felt the blood rush from her head. She grasped the worn leather arm of the chair.

No
.

Two days after she’d come to Westbury, James’s bar had burned down. He was missing. The body of Anthony Cardone had been found in the rubble. He’d been killed by a knife wound to the back. The fire was classified as arson.

Cardone was a repeat violent offender who’d been in prison for robbery and assault. Two years before, Cardone had been charged with murder. The charges had been dropped when crucial evidence disappeared. Authorities were still searching for James Dieter. Due to Cardone’s criminal history and the fact that the till had been emptied, the police suspected a robbery attempt gone wrong. An investigation was underway, but so far, the police didn’t have any leads.

If Cardone had tried to rob the bar, where was James?

There must have been more than one man. Could the other criminals have turned on Cardone for some reason? Killed him and left him to burn?

The police were either clueless or hiding the real story. The way she saw it, James had been kidnapped and then most likely killed because of her. Thanks to her stupidity in marrying Richard, the only person even close to being family was dead.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She wiped them away and drew in a shaky breath. Her chest constricted with sorrow.

She was all alone now.

Despair edged into her mind. She pushed it away. There was no use lamenting her past when her children’s lives depended on her. She’d make it through somehow.

She scanned the article one more time before she stabbed the power button on the tower next to her feet. Windows would bitch at her in the morning for not closing the browser properly, but she didn’t care.

With no desire to face her dark bedroom with only her thoughts for company, she opted for a distraction and a change of scenery. Sleep was out of the question. Tucking the thick volume of
The Practical Guide to Estate Taxation
under her arm, she headed for the living room. Not exactly light bedtime reading, but if she was going to be awake most of the night, she might as well do something useful.

She settled on the sofa, curled her feet under her body, and opened the thick volume.

She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the veranda. The suite overlooked a beach fringed with lush tropical greenery. Beyond, the Pacific Ocean stretched into the horizon. The sky blushed with a pale pink sunset. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the sea air.

Nerves that had settled after yesterday’s formal wedding were renewed as she faced the prospect of her honeymoon. Last night she’d squashed the small seed of disappointment when Richard had fallen asleep on the couch in their suite, but it had been late. The reception had gone on until nearly two in the morning. Still, the fact remained that he hadn’t wanted her enough to stay awake. And this morning they’d awakened at dawn to endure the fourteen-hour trip from Philadelphia to Maui.

She was exhausted, but also exhilarated. She’d had sex once since Brian died, about three years ago, with a man she’d met at a friend’s wedding. He’d been very kind and hadn’t freaked out when she’d burst into tears afterward. But he hadn’t called again and she’d been relieved.

Inside the suite, she heard her new husband speaking to the porter. With a smile, she turned back into the luxurious living room as he peeled off a few bills and handed them over. Clad in elegantly tailored casual slacks, a polo shirt, and sport coat, soon-to-be congressman Richard Baker was a beautiful man. A thrill skipped up her spine as she pictured him naked, all those smooth muscles gleaming.

He closed the door behind the porter and tossed his wallet onto the mahogany writing desk. “We should unpack.”

“Can’t it wait?” Crossing the room, she slid her arms around his neck. “We finally have some time alone.”

He lifted her arms by the wrists and unwound them with a small frown. “I made a nine o’clock dinner reservation.”

“We could stay in.” She flattened her palms on his broad chest, rising up onto her toes to press her lips to his. His mouth didn’t respond.

This was getting downright bizarre. While they were dating, she thought his insistence that they wait to have sex until after they were married was charming, even practical considering the intense public scrutiny he endured as a political candidate. But now it seemed like the real truth was that he just didn’t want to sleep with her. But that didn’t make sense. He’d married her, hadn’t he?

She ran her fingers along his muscled biceps and forearms, sliding them down to grip his hips and pull them against hers. He was soft against her belly. Oh no. Was he impotent? Or maybe just tired and tense? Whatever it was, they could deal with it together. And even if sex wasn’t a major factor in their relationship, she could live with that. She’d married him more for companionship than passion anyway. She’d had the fairy tale once. Surely fate only allowed one per person. She’d been lucky to have those precious years.

She didn’t want to love another man the way she’d loved Brian. She’d never survive another loss that soul-splitting deep. Friendship would have to be enough this time around.

But still, some benefits to go with that friendship would be nice. Maybe Richard just needed a little more stimulation.

She moved her hand around to the front of his trousers and stroked him through the fabric. Still nothing.

“I should have known you were a slut.” His frown deepened as disgust flashed across his face. He took hold of her hands. “Just another dirty whore.”

She pulled back in shock, an oh-no-what-have-I-done feeling lodging deep in her belly. Obviously his lack of interest went much deeper than simple erectile dysfunction. She chose her words carefully. “Richard, we’re married now. There’s nothing wrong with a man and wife making love.”

“Well, if that’s what you want.” The fingers of one hand encircled both her wrists and yanked them above her head. His free hand grasped the front of her silk blouse and tore it down the middle. He reached inside and squeezed her breast hard.

“Richard, stop. That hurts.” She tried to pull her hands free, but he held them fast. “Let me go or I’ll scream.”

“No, you won’t. Remember, my parents have your children.” His chest heaved, and excitement flashed in his eyes as the threat loomed between them. “From now on, you’ll do exactly what I say.”

She froze, lightheaded with disbelief and horror as he shoved her backward. The back of her head bounced off the wall. Pain ricocheted through her skull. Her shoulders hit the sheet rock, knocking the breath from her lungs. He pinned her against the wall with his body, still soft against her stomach.