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Feeling like a ruthless bastard, Seth waited.
“You don’t understand,” she said softly.
He kept his own voice quiet. “But I want to.”
Her eyes met his, so much hurt in them he dreaded seeing.
“I can’t take a chance. I just can’t.”
The flat finality of her statement had him studying her. What was really going on here? The battered-woman scenario worked in some ways, but not in others. It took a strong woman to tell a detective to his face that she wasn’t going to cooperate in his investigation. She had no trouble ordering him to get out when she’d had enough.
And yet, he did believe she was genuinely afraid. Of something.
After a minute, he nodded. “I’ll leave you in peace, then.” He paused. “For tonight.”
Her eyes dilated.
“Helen, you can’t keep your secrets from me. You might as well resign yourself. I’ll find out what I need to know, one way or another.”
Pale as a ghost, eyes huge and dark, she stared at him as he turned and then left.
When he got outside to his vehicle, he planted his hands on the roof, let his head fall forward and swore, long and viciously.
He hated the terrified look in her eyes and couldn’t help wondering why he had gone into law enforcement.
* * *
ON TIPTOE, ROBIN stretched to reach for a box on the shelf closet, the one that held her few precious mementos. It was stupid to risk so much for them, she knew that, but recovering even this little bit would feel like a victory, a step toward regaining her dignity. She wasn’t the pathetic creature who’d numbly put up with Richard’s vicious treatment.
I’m not her. Not anymore.
She managed to get her fingertips to each side of the box and tug gently so that it inched forward.
Two minutes, and she’d be out of here.
The softest of sounds came from behind her, and the hair rose on the back of her neck.
Before she could whirl, hard hands gripped her from behind.
“Here you are, right on time,” a man growled. Not Richard. Thank God, not Richard.
She wrenched free but fell to her knees. Furious, scared. So stupid. She managed to crawl, throw herself toward the bedroom doorway, but he grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back. A knee in the middle of her back drove Robin to the hardwood floor. She was screaming, still fighting. She twisted enough to sink her teeth into the fleshy part of his hand.
Yelling, he hit her. Momentarily, her vision dimmed, but then she realized the blow had sent her flying toward the bed. Robin kicked behind her, felt her foot connect with some part of her assailant’s body. She scrambled almost upright and grabbed the lamp on the bedside table. Not one of the pair she’d chosen, of course; Richard had smashed those and replaced them with obscenely expensive art deco metal-and-stained-glass monstrosities.
Heavy. She had barely a second to get a good grip. To spin, applying all the force she could muster. To see the lamp base smash into the man’s head. To see the shock on his face, to watch the life leave his eyes, to stand stunned as he crumpled.
Only now did she see that the bloody face was her ex-husband’s. She shook as she stared down at him. I killed him.
But then she heard a creak in the hall outside the bedroom. Someone else was here. With her hands trembling, she could hardly hold on to the lamp, yet somehow she lifted it again as if she were a baseball player stepping up to the plate.
Another creak.
* * *
“MOMMY?”
Muddled, Helen shot up in bed. It wasn’t Richard there that night. It wasn’t. So why did she always see his dead face?
Shaking off the sticky web of sleep, she focused on the small shape hovering beside the bed. Jacob.
She couldn’t let her little boy see her crying. Oh, God. She pulled up her covers and wiped her cheeks, although she still tasted the salt of tears.
“Jacob? What’s wrong?”
“I heard scary sounds.” His voice sounded...soggy. As if he was crying, too.
“Oh, honey! I’m sorry.” She must have cried out in her nightmare. Please don’t let me have actually screamed. Helen sat up, but didn’t turn on the lamp as she usually would have. Instead, she bent to scoop him up and snuggled them both beneath the covers, where it was warm and felt safe, if only she never slept again, never dreamed. “Better?” she murmured against his head.
