Part 19 (2/2)

He'd been having bad headaches, too. Worse than they'd ever been. Which iswhy he'd come home early a few weeks ago and found the note she'd made toherself after Callie had called, reminding her of the Healing Friends meetingthat night.

It was her fault he'd lost his temper and knocked her around in the parkinglot outside the Center, he'd told her when he'd finally calmed down. Hadn't heasked her real nice not to go back to the support group? But had she listened?Had sheobeyed, the way a wife should?

No, she had not.

Any man worth the name would have lost his temper when he found out his wifewas deliberately defying him. Still, he'd only shoved her a little instead ofbeating her the way her stepfather had beaten her mother. And then afterward,Monk had turned up real sweet, loving on her so nice she almost forgot howmuch he'd hurt her.

She felt a sharp pang of guilt and told herself she'd only gone back to thegroup just one more time after that. She wasn't sure why. Maybe because she'dfelt safe there withRia and Callie and the other women, like she wasn't reallyalone the way she felt sometimes.

And because she'd been hearing Missy crying in her dreams.

It had gotten real bad for a while. Sometimes she actually thought her babywas in the house. It wasn't like she was crazy, exactly. More like scared,which is why she'd tried to callRia at the Center. OnlyRia wasn't there.

By the timeRia had called back, she'd already calmed down to realize shecouldn't ever tell anyone about ... things. Not evenRia . Still, she'd felt realbad, hearing the concern inRia's voice on the machine.

Going to the Center was a dumb mistake, she knew now. No one understood Monkthe way she did. Callie was wrong about him. He didn't beat her. He loved her.And he'd promised to make her pregnant again.

Maybe a little boy this time.

Men always liked sons better than daughters. Look at her own father. After heand her mom had split, he'd taken her two brothers, leaving her behind to dealwith her mother's drinking bouts. She'd never seen her father again.

Juggling two bulging sacks of groceries, Brenda hurried through the pouringrain toward her apartment. She had her key out, ready to unlock the door andher mind already searching for ways to get a meal on the table as quickly aspossible, when suddenly the door jerked inward, throwing her off balance. Shelost her grip on the already-sodden sacks, and they fell, sending thegroceries flying.

She gave a startled screech before she realized that it was Monk who had hisbig hands wrapped around her arms.

”You b.i.t.c.h!” he shouted, spraying her face with spittle. ”You really done itthis time.”

”I c-couldn't help it,” she stuttered, backing away. ”The b-battery diedand-”

”I should have killed you, too, while I was at it.”

Brenda felt the scream tug at her throat, but some sixth sense warned her notto give in to the terror pounding like a fever pulse in her veins.

”I'm sorry,” she whispered. ”Whatever I did, I'm sorry.”

His eyes were black holes filled with fury, and his face had turned afrightening shade of purple. ”I told you to get rid of that brat before shewas born. I warned you.”

”M-Missy?”

Standing only a few feet away, clenching and unclenching his ma.s.sive fists,he gave no sign that he'd heard her. ”It wasn't my fault.”

Brenda tasted bile and struggled to gulp it down. ”What ... what wasn't yourfault?”

”She wouldn't shut up. You said you'd keep her quiet. You promised.”

Oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d! It was true.

Somehow she knew she had to get away from those fists and those terriblyhollow eyes. But how?

”Why ... why don't I fix you a sandwich and a beer. I got the kind you like-”

Before she could get out a word, he backhanded her, sending her cras.h.i.+ng tothe floor. Instinctively she braced herself with her arm, only to feel herwrist give way. The pain was crus.h.i.+ng, bringing tears to her eyes. Sheretched, but managed to keep from vomiting.

”Please, Monk, I didn't say anything.”

He stood braced, looking down at her for a long, frightening moment before hereached into the pocket of his jeans. He took out a business card and droppedit to the floor in front of her.

Though she'd begun trembling violently, she managed to pick up the card withher left hand. She had to blink a few times to bring the name printed thereinto focus: ”Detective Sergeant Flynn A. Hardin, Homicide Division, LafayettePolice Department.”

Raw terror squeezed all the air from her lungs and her vision clouded. A partof her wanted to give up, but the part that had started hating him the momentshe'd realized just how wrong she'd been urged her to fight back.

It was then, at that moment, she heard again the echo of her child's cries.Missy had been the one pure thing in her life, and this man glaring down ather had taken even that from her.

”Where ... where did you get this?” she asked, calmer now.

”From my ex-brother-in-law in Gary. Seems this son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h Hardin was upthere talking to my ex, wanting to know if me and Arlene had any kids who died under mysterious circ.u.mstances.”

Brenda stared. ”You never told me you were married before.”

”What I done before I met you is my business, just like I never ask you noquestions about what you did with that p.i.s.sant stepfather of yours.”

Brenda felt ice form on her skin. ”I didn't have anything to do with this,Monk,” she said, holding up the card. ”I swear I never said anything.”

”No? Then how come this cop has the same name as the woman who runs thatfrigging Center?”

”How do you know he does?”

His face twisted. ”Her face and her name were plastered all over the frontpage of theJournal-Courier when that place opened.” He sneered a smile thatmade her flesh crawl. ”Them other two, they were real pretty ladies. But Ms.Hardin, now that's one cla.s.sy broad. Be a real shame if a lady like that endedup with her face burned off by acid, wouldn't it?”

Riadug her toe into the webbing of the chaise and watched Jimmy hunker down,his face screwed into a knot of concentration as he sighted a line between hisball and his daddy's. From the glee on her son's face, Dad was a dead duck.

The three of them had been halfway through the rubber game of their dailycroquet tournament when Flynn had called to fill her in on his progress. Sinceshe'd been losing big-time, anyway, she'd been happy to retire from the field,leaving father and son to battle it out for the ”Champions.h.i.+p of the World” asher son had put it.

”Is the fact that Benteen had another child who also died from SIDS enough tobring charges?” she asked when Flynn ran out of words.

”Not without more evidence. Evidence we ain't got, sugar.” His sigh drippeddisgust. ”The guy who handled his case originally was three days fromretirement when he caught the squeal. From the looks of the file, heinterviewed the Benteens' neighbors, ran a check for priors on the parents andcome up empty. Bottom line, he did a wash on digging any deeper.”

An outraged male bellow sliced through her thoughts, drawing her gaze toGrady's irate expression. His green ball was now hopelessly wired against awicket. She smiled at the show her husband was putting on for their son, whowas loving it.

Ex-husband, she reminded herselffirmly. And likely to remain that way.

Grady had said he loved her-only not recently. He said he wasn't leaving. Hesaid he wasn't interested in proposing-which should have eased her mindconsiderably since it was much too soon to think about anything more thanJimmy's well-being. Instead, she got a funny, sinking feeling inside when shethought of telling the boy that his parents had been divorced for nearly threeyears. That they'd been living apart and would continue to live apart. Thatwhen they left the lake he would be living with each of them in turn,according to whatever custody arrangement they hammered out, pa.s.sed betweenthem like a football.

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