Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

A manda should have used the time wisely. It was nice having Mark there to help with the girls. Before he'd moved out, he'd tucked them in a few nights a week, giving Amanda time to tidy up the kitchen or check her emails or her calendar for the following day. That's probably what she should have done tonight.

Instead, she stood in the kitchen and fed each of the roses into the garbage disposal, one by one.

As soon as they'd gotten home that night, the girls had oohed and aahed over the flowers—her own stupid fault for moving them from her office to the kitchen. Having her daughters near anything that came from Sheppard made her sick.

Their sweet scent mixed with the remnants of the day's garbage in the disposal and made her stomach roil. She swallowed rising bile and fed another flower to the monster. If she ruined the thing, she didn't care. Mark could install another one. It would be worth the cost.

Twelve flowers, down the drain. She turned to grab the vase to find Mark standing behind the bar, watching her. His lips twitched at the corners. "Shall we take it outside and smash it? "

She considered it. "If I thought we could get rid of all the fragments. But with my luck, one of the girls would cut herself, and we'd end up in the ER because of him."

Mark's smile faded. "That's what I'm worried about, Amanda—you ending up in the E.R., or worse."

"Gabriel won't hurt me," she said, though the knot in her stomach tightened. She grabbed the vase off the counter and made her way toward the front door. "I'm going to throw this out."

He reached for the vase. "Here, let me."

"I've got it." She yanked open the door and slid into the cold night. The scent of a wood fire filled the air. The bins were on the far side of the house next to the garage. Just as Amanda reached them, she felt Mark's presence behind her. "I can do it myself." She hadn't meant to sound angry, but her frustration always managed to vent itself onto Mark.

He lifted the heavy black top off the bin and said nothing as she dumped the vase inside.

Silently they made their way back to the house. Once inside, he closed and locked the door behind them.

"You don't believe that," he said.

"What?"

"That he won't hurt you. If you did, you wouldn't be so afraid."

Amanda opened her mouth to speak, snapped it closed. How could she explain what she felt?

"You want something to drink?" she asked.

"Water?"

With a glass of water in each hand, Amanda joined Mark in the living room. She pushed Madi's sketch pad and crayons to the far edge of the coffee table and set each glass on a coaster. After kicking off her shoes, she curled her feet beneath her at the far end of the long sectional .

"I admit, I'm afraid, but not that he'll hurt me." It was true. She was pretty sure it was true, anyway.

He nodded his head once.

"He had such a . . . a hold on me. I know it was a long time ago?—"

"Were you . . . ?" His Adam's apple bobbed above the neck of his Naval Academy sweatshirt. "Do you think you could be . . . sucked in again?"

"No, no. Not at all. In fact, I was disgusted. To think that . . . well, you know. But he's so persistent, and I don't want him in my life. It's like . . . like the flowers. I thought . . ." She let her voice trail off. How could she tell her husband what she'd thought?

"You thought they were from Alan," he said flatly.

"We're just friends."

"Right," Mark said. "I sent flowers to Chris last week, thanking him for the poker game."

"Don't be sarcastic."

"Yeah, my sarcasm. That's the problem."

The wind whistled through the house's old windows. The heat kicked on. Amanda stared at her knees. "Nothing happened between us."

From the corner of her vision, she gauged Mark's reaction. His forearms were propped on his thighs. He fisted his right hand and covered it with his left, looking down at them in a familiar gesture he'd used as long as she could remember. His wedding band glinted in the pale light. He never took it off. She'd asked him about it years earlier when she'd stopped by a house he was renovating. He'd been using his band saw, and she'd asked if it was safe to wear his wedding ring while he used power tools.

He'd swung her into his arms. "If I want you to wear yours all the time, I'd better do the same." He winked at her. "Otherwise we'd both be fending off advances all day long."

Amanda glanced at her left hand. She hadn't put her ring back on since she'd removed it the day she left for the conference. Obviously he'd noticed—nothing got by Mark. But did he really care?

He cleared his throat. "You need to be more careful."

“What your talking about?”

"What you just did, taking out the vase—you can't do that by yourself, not at night, not when nobody's around. That's why I followed you."

"That's a little?—"

"Protective, I know."

"I was going to say paranoid."

"He knows where you live, Amanda. The flowers were delivered to your house—where you sleep. Where our children sleep. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah, Mark. I'm not an idiot."

He yanked his sweatshirt off and tossed it onto the sofa beside him, revealing a fitted navy blue T-shirt. "Man, it's hot in here."

"Yeah, well, I don't have to keep it at sixty-five anymore, do I?"

He closed his lips tightly.

She braced herself, waiting for some cutting remark.

"Nope. I guess not." He seemed to fight to don a mild expression." I don't think you're an idiot. I think you don't see the danger. You're worried Sheppard might manipulate you? I'm worried he might try to shut you up. Permanently."

"You don't know him. He's not violent."

"The gentlest dogs in the world, when backed into a corner, will fight their way out. By publishing this memoir, you're backing him into a corner. And I wouldn't describe him as gentle. Subtle, maybe, but with people like him, when subtlety doesn't work . . . Let's just say he's used to getting what he wants."

"You've never even met him."

"I read your memoir. Was it true?"

"Of course it was true! What are you trying to say?"

He sat back and lowered his head to the sofa cushion. "It wasn't an accusation." With a puff of cheeks, he exhaled a long sigh. "I'm saying you're na?ve. You fell for this guy, and even now you're not willing to accept that he might be dangerous. And that's okay—I understand you had feelings for him once. I know it's hard for you to see past that. But I'm telling you, he's dangerous, and I don't want you to get hurt."

She would have argued with him, but she could almost feel the way Gabriel's hands had squeezed her thighs in the hotel lobby only a few days earlier. The memory choked off the words.

"You have to consider the possibility that this whole accidental meeting”—Mark used air quotes to frame the word accidental —“was orchestrated by Sheppard to convince you not to publish it."

She tried to relax her thumping heart. "It doesn't matter, Mark. Even if he has someone feeding him information about me, it doesn't matter."

"How can you say that?"

"Why did you join the Marines?"

He cocked his head to the side. A moment later, he smirked. "That was different."

"You joined the Marines to fight for your country. You put your life on the line because you thought the cause was worth it. Well, maybe I think this cause is worth it. Gabriel needs to be stopped. Who knows how many other young girls he's taken advantage of over the years. "

"You're saying this is about justice?"

"Exactly."

Mark slid across the long sectional, reached out, and took her hand. Gently, he said, "This isn't about justice, it's about revenge."

"No, that's not true." She heard the doubt in her own words. Was he right?

"You're not going to find what you're looking for in revenge."

"I told you?—"

"Or in justice. You're seeking peace, but this isn't the way to find it. Believe me, I've had my share of regrets." His eyes darkened, seemed to reflect a sorrow she couldn't place. He turned toward the wall. When he shifted his gaze back to her, the haunted look was gone. "Revenge, regret—these things won't bring you peace."

"I'm not looking for peace." Her words were too harsh. She started over in a softer tone. "I just need to know Gabriel can't hurt anyone else. Why can't you understand that?"

"And then you think you'll be at peace."

"And then . . . it doesn't matter how I feel. I have to do this, to protect other girls."

"What about our girls? They need you." He squeezed her hand. "I need you."

She jerked away. "I'm publishing it. If Gabriel comes after me . . . no, he won't come after me. He's not violent."

Mark rested his forearms on his knees again and squeezed his hands together. She studied his biceps, bulging beneath the T-shirt, his forearms as they lay across his knees. She'd always loved those arms, and until recently, she'd felt safe in them. But now, being with him felt anything but safe.

He smacked his hands on his legs. "Not violent. Right. Whatever. Can you write down those names for me? Chris and I are going to do some checking, see if we can find a link between you and Sheppard."

"Don't you think getting Chris involved is a little over-the-top?"

He grabbed Madi's sketch pad and a purple crayon off the coffee table and held them out to her. "Please?"

She took the paper and crayon and wrote down the names of everyone she thought might have known she would be in New York. There weren't that many. Her agent, her editor, her roommate, and a woman on the conference committee she'd emailed once.

Why was Mark willing to spend so much time investigating these people? Probably for her daughters' sake. If only she could believe he was doing it out of love for her. With a yank, she tore the sheet off the notepad and handed it to him. "Here you go."

He glanced at the list, folded it, and slid it into his jeans' pocket. "Thanks. I know you're not convinced, but the safest course is to assume he'll do whatever he must to protect himself."

"That's crazy?—"

"So I got my gun out of the safe deposit box for you."

She gasped. "What? No way. I don't want your gun. I don't even know how to use it."

"I'll teach you."

"Absolutely not. You know how I feel about guns around the girls."

"If you keep it where they won't see it?—"

"Then it'll be so well-hidden, it'll be useless. No. I'm not having a gun in this house."

Mark studied her with pursed lips. They stared at each other before he finally shrugged. "Fine." He walked to the dining room table, where he'd dropped a sack earlier in the evening. "I anticipated that and bought you a few cans of pepper spray. "

Pepper spray. She flashed back to when they'd first met. He'd bought her pepper spray back then, too. She felt her lips slip into an unbelieving smirk.

Walking back to the couch, he continued. "Worse case, if the girls get ahold of it, they only hurt their eyes. I didn't get the ones that look like perfume or lipstick because I thought that might be more enticing to them." He handed her a black spray can. "You remember how to use it?"

"It's not that complicated."

"You're right. Just point and shoot."

"You're crazy."

"The thing is," he continued as though she hadn't spoken, “this guy is arrogant, and arrogance lends itself to overconfidence. You should have time. He's not going to start with violence."

"You talk like you know him."

"I have good instincts. Anyway, it should give you plenty of time to grab the spray. I got three. I thought you could carry one on you, have one somewhere downstairs, and keep one in your bedroom."

"I don't know?—"

"This isn't optional, Amanda. Tomorrow I have?—"

"Wait a minute! What do you mean this isn't optional? You can't make me carry pepper spray."

His eyebrows rose, then relaxed. Turning toward the rack by the door, he continued. "This black coat—this is the one you wear most of the time, right?"

It was. She vacillated between nodding and throwing something at him. He grabbed the coat off the hook and carried it to the couch, laid it across the back near her and opened it up. He stuck his hand in the inside pocket. "Perfect." He slipped the pepper spray in the pocket.

"What if I'm not wearing my coat? "

"Wear it or keep it by you when you're not at home."

She considered that. It was cold enough outside that she usually had the coat on when she left the house. The inside pocket was the perfect place for the pepper spray.

When she didn’t argue, Mark continued without the slightest hint of smugness. "Tomorrow night I have a guy coming over to install a security system. He should be here about six. He's a friend of mine, and he's actually pretty backlogged, but he said he'd work late for me."

"No. I have a class tomorrow night. There'll be a houseful of women."

He grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket, pressed a button, and studied the screen. "I don't have that on my calendar."

"Do I have to run my schedule by you?"

"If you need me to watch the girls?—"

"Jamie's watching them."

His lips flattened into a thin, white line. "Why? Why wouldn't you ask me?"

"Whoa." She raised both hands, palms out. "Don't get mad. After this weekend, I didn't want to impose."

"Impose? They're my daughters!"

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'll call Jamie?—"

"You weren't even going to give me the option?"

"I thought you'd want a break, that's all."

Lips pursed, he shook his head. "And you accuse me of not knowing you ."

Another uncomfortable silence filled the air. Mark stretched his hands, which had suddenly clenched into fists. "Okay, so tomorrow night's out. He gave me the option of tomorrow morning, too, but I figured you'd prefer the evening. I'll call him and try to get him over here in the morning."

"I really don't think I need a security system. "

"Also, not optional. You'll need to keep it on whenever you're home, and make sure?—"

"You can't make me." She sounded like a petulant child, even to her own ears.

"If I don't think this house is secure, then I won't allow my daughters to stay here."

Amanda stood. "Is that a threat? How dare you!"

He dropped his chin to his chest. After a deep sigh, he looked up again. "I don't want to take the girls away from you, and I don't think I'm asking that much, Mandy. I just want you—all three of you—to be safe."

She stared at him. But . . . was it really that much to ask that she set an alarm and carry a can of pepper spray? No, of course not. She not only sounded like a petulant child, she was acting like one, too. She pushed her hair back with both hands. "You're right. I'm sorry. Thank you for taking care of this stuff."

"Of course. It's my job to protect you, you know. I just wish . . ."

His voice trailed off, but she didn't ask him what he was about to say. She already knew.

"Thanks for putting the girls to bed."

He slid on his sweatshirt and grabbed his untouched ice water off the coffee table. "Anytime. And I mean that. I really miss them."

She grabbed her own glass, following him to the kitchen. "I wasn't trying to keep them from you, I just thought . . ."

After a moment, he said, "Yeah." He set his glass in the sink. "I'll be over about seven."

"The class starts at seven, so?—"

"Seven in the morning, to meet my friend."

"He must be quite a friend if he's willing to get here that early."

"He used to work for me. I throw a lot of business his way. "

"Oh. That makes sense. I can let the guy in. You don't have to be here."

"I'll be here. Then you can do what you have to do without worrying about him. And I'll get the girls after school tomorrow. Can I keep them overnight?"

She shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

One hand gripping the front door, Mark turned to her. "Will you at least think about not publishing the memoir? We don't need the money. Your book is selling, your business is doing great, and so is mine. I mean, there's no reason?—"

"I'm sorry, Mark. I'm publishing it. I get that you don't understand, but it's something I have to do."

He studied her face. "Is it really worth risking your life?"

"My life's not in danger."

He let out a halfhearted laugh. "Whatever you say. Will you be okay here alone? I can spend the night if you want—on the couch."

"That would only confuse the girls."

"Right. I can see how having both of their parents sleeping under one roof would confuse them."

"You know what I mean."

"Fine. See you at seven."

Mark backed down the long driveway and turned onto the two-lane state highway toward the center of town, past beautiful old homes and an ancient cemetery, which seemed small tonight in the shadows of the tall trees lining the road. Everything about this street screamed country lane except the line of traffic.

Mark pulled into the small lot of a corner store and parked. Leaving the car running, he slipped his hand into his front pocket and retrieved his cell phone and the piece of scratch paper Amanda had given him.

He pressed Chris's speed dial number.

"Hey, pro," Chris said.

"You still at work?"

"Yeah. Long day."

"Do you have time to look up some names for me?"

"Did you get the list already?"

"Nope. I decided we should start with a smaller list and work our way out. She wrote down the names of the people who knew she was going to be there. I can text them to you if you want, or?—"

"Just read 'em. Who has time for texting?"

Mark chuckled and read the list.

"Are these people all writers?"

"Tim is her editor, Roxie is her agent, Suzie is a writer. Not sure about the other name."

"All from New York?"

"I think so. Susie's from upstate. I don't know about the rest, but she said it was a small conference. If you need more information?—"

"Nah, this'll probably be enough. I can print some stuff out, but I won't have time to look at it for a couple of days."

"Can you bring it to me?"

"Sure. How about I drop it by in the morning before work?"

"That's fine. Bring it by our house. I'm having an alarm installed at seven."

"Great. See you?—"

"Wait! Did you dig up anything on Sheppard?"

"A little. I'll have something for you in the morning."

"Thanks. I owe you one."

Chris snorted. "You saved my life. I'll never stop owing you. "

"You know what? You help me keep Amanda safe, and you'll be saving my life. Then, we'll be even."