Once More A Family Part 19

"He was evil. Vermin of the worst kind." The wine sloshed over onto her hand,but she didn't notice, just as she didn't notice when he plucked the gobletfrom her fingers.

"Tell me," he urged. "Tell me how you hurt. How I let you down and how youhate me for it. Take a swing at me if you have to. Or scream. Just let itout."

"No, I'm ... fine now." The words seemed torn from her, and her face was white.She blinked, then jerked her gaze toward the window. "Jimmy?"

"Still whacking the heck out of the ball."

"He's been practicing for hours. He's determined to win, just like his dad."Her voice was a croak, and she cleared her throat. "He called me Mom today. Imade a fool of myself and dripped all over him."

"Hey, that's great, honey. About the Mom thing, I mean. Really great."

She narrowed her gaze, back in control. "It would have been if he'd come upwith it himself."

He could almost hear the whine of a bullet headed straight for his head. Likeall wise cops, he ducked first. "Come again?"

"You tricked your own son-and don't try that innocent look on me. I have mysources, too."

He'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd feel guilty. "I consider it more a case of finessinghim in the right direction."

She snorted."You ran a street con on a six-year-old."

"Hey, now that hurts." He did his best to look wounded. Even pressed his handto his heart. It didn't faze her. "You know what cats are like. Independent ash.e.l.l."

"Youtrained that animal to come when you whistled."

"Honey, it takes a professional to train a cat. I'm just ... hey, wait aminute. Let's examine this more closely. How is it you know about thewhistling?" He crowded her against the counter, his chest rubbing a littleagainst her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and his thighs molding her. She sucked in, her eyesdarkening.

"I might have overheard part of your conversation with Jimmy," she hedged,angling her chin at him. Like mother, like son, he realized, smiling tohimself.

"Listening at keyholes can get a lady in deep trouble, sweetheart." Hebracketed her waist with his hands and held her still.

"It was ... inadvertent," she declared haughtily. "And don't try shunting yourguilt onto me, Grady Hardin. You suckered your own son into a bet you knewhe'd lose." She poked him in the chest. "Didn't you?"

"I'm pleading the fifth."

He bent suddenly to kiss her hard on the mouth before drawing back again. Sheglared, but her mouth was suddenly as soft as rose petals. "Sneaky, Hardin.Really sneaky."

"Yeah, but like you said, I'm cute."

He inched his hands up higher until he could run his thumbs along theunderside of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her breath hitched, but she wouldn't yield easily.Maybe she never would. But he knew now he'd keep trying. The alternative wouldleave him too empty and lost.

"You're impossible," she sputtered, but her gaze was on his mouth. The impactshot him past his troubled thoughts and right into sharp, angry need. Pridehad him taking his time instead of yanking down her shorts and driving intoher.

"But s.e.xy, right?"

"What you are is exasperating." Her voice was strained and her eyes weregoing smoky.

"Admit it, honey. You're crazy about me."

She winced. "Don't use that word."

He called himself a few choice names. "Sorry, I forgot you hated it."

"I hate the memories it evokes," she whispered, resting her head against hisshoulder, her body still tense. He sighed and pulled her closer.

"How would you feel about a little dip after Jimmy's tucked into bed?"

She lifted her head and looked up at him. The bad memories were still there,deep in the backs of her eyes, but they were dimmer now. "The last time yousuggested a little dip I ended up with sand in my bikini bottom and..." Hervoice faded.

He lifted a hand to brush back her hair. "And a marriage proposal," he finished softly, aching a little.

"Grady-"

He used his mouth to cut off the sweet little speech he saw forming in hereyes. About how much she liked him, and needed him.

"The only proposal I'm interested in right now is an indecent one." Tosweeten the pot, he slipped one hand beneath the elastic at her waist. He feltheat through the damp silk of her panties and bit off a groan.

"How about you, honey? Are you interested?"

She drew a shaky breath. "I just might be-later," she whispered.

"It's a date." Reluctantly he withdrew his hand and straightened her shirt.

She lifted a hand to his cheek, her gaze on his. "About that trick youpulled," she said softly. "Thank you."

Don't thank me, he wanted to shout. Just love me. Instead, he offered her alazy grin and kissed the tip of her nose. "You can pay me back later, honey."He leaned closer to whisper a very graphic suggestion in her ear.

When she blushed, he kissed her again and felt the tiny shivers run throughher.

It was enough, he reminded himself. At the moment it was all he had.

Chapter 12.

Brenda pulled into the apartment lot, her stomach feeling like she'd eatensomething rotten. Her heart was beating so violently she felt faint.

It was almost five-thirty and Monk was due home sometime tonight. He'd beenon the road for a week, and like always, he would expect dinner to be readywhen he walked in the door.

It wasn't her fault the battery in the old Chevy had gone dead, she toldherself as she scrambled out and reached behind the seat for the groceries.With the rain and all, it had taken her forty minutes to find someone to giveher a jump start. The old guy who'd helped her had been real nice, too,offering to follow her back to the apartment, just to make sure the rusted-outjunker didn't stall out.

Brenda had been tempted, what with the gangs taking potshots at each other inher neighborhood the way they'd been doin' these past months, only she'd beenscared that Monk would find out.

Monk didn't like her talking to strangers. He hated anyone knowing theirbusiness. Things were real bad right now, so more trouble was the last thingshe needed.

Monk had always been moody, but he'd never been mean. Oh, maybe he got alittle rough in bed, but that was the way men got sometimes. Her stepfatherhad been a lot rougher when he'd raped her when she was twelve.

Monk really loved her, she was sure of that. But since Missy had died, he'dbeen kind of weird, sometimes staring at her with the strangest look on hisface. Like he was trying to figure something out in his head.

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 crashing tothe floor. Instinctively she braced herself with her arm, only to feel herwrist give way. The pain was crushing, 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 "Championship 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.