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The deep, accented drawl had come from behind him.
Cursing himself for not checking behind the open door, he took a breath, then spun around. Wesley Tucker—Stella’s father, stood before him, flanked by two very large men dressed in dark jeans, brown Pendleton jackets and cowboy boots.
“Wesley? What the hell?” John exclaimed. “You almost gave me a heart attack, but it’s great to see you,” he continued, trying to lighten up what felt like lead-laden air. “I wish we’d known you were coming. Stella’s at a party and I’m about to join her. Can I get you a drink?”
He realized he’d been speaking much too quickly, and eyeing the two hulking men, a cold hand gripped his chest. He gulped. Wesley wasn’t smiling.
“Sit down,” his father-in-law ordered, stepping towards him.
John quickly backed up, then frantically looked around, not sure where he should go.
“On that couch there,” Wesley continued. “What you’re gonna do then is listen, and listen good. Got that?”
With an icy chill shivering down his spine, John half-walked, half-staggered to the green tweed sofa, then flopped down and took a large swallow of his drink. Apparently waiting until he was settled, Wesley ambled across the room and leaned against the fireplace mantle, while the two burly men took up positions at each end of the couch.
John was trapped.
He thought about putting his glass on the coffee table in front of him, but his hands were shaking. He didn’t want to spill it, and he definitely didn’t want Wesley to see his fear.
“Did you really think I’d let my little girl come all the way out here to La La Land and not keep my eye on her? I’ve never trusted you and your smooth talkin’ Yankee ways. I always knew you were nothin’ but a yellow-bellied snake.”
Under normal circumstances, John would have laughed out loud at the absurd speech and tired cliché, but there was nothing funny about the dire straits in which he suddenly found himself.
“My Stella, she’s a sweet, trustin’ girl, and you took all her money and started tellin’ her what she could have and couldn’t—“
“Did she tell you that? I invested it, and I—“
“Hey, don’t even try to go there,” Wesley snarled. “What she didn’t say told me a whole lot more than what she did, and I also know you’ve been screwin’ around with whores.”
“I don’t think you quite understand what—“
Suddenly lunging forward, Wesley delivered a forceful slap across John’s right cheek sending him into the sofa cushions. The glass flew from his hand, spilling the whiskey all over him before hitting the floor.
“You’re a fuckin’ pussy,” Wesley growled, grabbing him and roughly pulling him back up. “I told you to keep your mouth shut and listen. Are you payin’ attention?”
Trembling uncontrollably, shocked and tasting blood, John slowly nodded his head.
“I should take my girl home, but I know she likes livin’ by the beach and she’s made some nice friends here. That’s good. But you—you’re nothin’ but a slime ball, and you’ve made my baby unhappy. Very unhappy.”
John watched, quivering, as his terrifying father-in-law moved to the crystal decanter on a side table. Pouring himself a drink, he sipped it, then screwed up his nose and put the glass back down.
“Shit. You don’t even know good whiskey,” he grunted, strolling back towards him. “Does the name Sue Jackson ring a bell?”
“I—uh—we—“
“Seems you raped her,” Wesley continued, cutting him off and glowering down at him.
As the realization hit him, John let out a long, low groan.
Wesley was behind the Sue Jackson drama.
The old coot had set him up.
“That girl is traumatized. She even went to the police and suffered through a rape kit. Reliable, credible witnesses who live in your apartment building saw her runnin’ out of your place cryin’ her eyes out and with her clothes torn. Rape is serious jail time. Did you know that? Huh? Did you know that asswipe?”
Totally defeated, John just shook his head.
“She’s just not sure if she’s up to goin’ through a trial an’ all. It’s tough on a young woman.”
