Authors: Janice Kay Johnson
“She'd been running from him,” Max said.
“I'm sure of it.”
“Why didn't anyone pursue this? They had the neighbor's testimony.”
“The guy was high at the time. And drinking. He couldn't remember some pertinent details and his testimony would never stand up in court. There's no way the LVMPD would bring up one of their own on such flimsy evidence. Most particularly when you were talking about a decorated officer with a clean record who was in with the commissioner.”
Chantel's fingers squeezed harder around his wrist.
And Max asked, “Do you know if Meredith ever filed charges against him?”
“Not in Las Vegas she didn't. I'm not saying she didn't talk to someone about Steve, but if she did, no one came to her rescue. You have to understand, Doctor, the job we do, it requires a certain bit of steel around the edges. Sometimes that steel can be misinterpreted, or come up against something soft and....”
“Surely you aren't condoning a man getting rough with his wife.”
“Of course not! And neither would the LVMPD or any other police force I know of. But at the same time, the force might be more apt to suggest anger counseling, or some other assistance, before they'd ruin a man's exemplary record with formal charges.”
“Cops are generally controlling by nature, Max,” Chantel reminded him, in a tone that probably told Diane Kolhase that Chantel and Max had had the conversation before. “That doesn't make them abusive.”
Jill had been a control freak. He'd teased her about it. And she'd not only admitted to it, but been extra careful to control her need to control.
“Is there any way for you to find out if Steve Smith ever had anger management counseling, or any other assistance? To find witnesses from the night his girlfriend was killed? Or to see if anyone knows where he is now?” he asked, staying focused because if he didn't he wouldn't be able to remain calm.
“I can do some checking. It might take a few days.”
Max nodded. They walked. The night air chilled his ears. And kept him from burning up inside. He wasn't a violent man.
He was a man who'd dedicated himself to saving lives.
And right then, he wanted to end one.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
L
ITTLE
O
LIVIA
HAD
a G-tube, which they'd planned for. She needed it only until she could swallow on her own.
That was where Jenna came in. Helping the little girl learn to swallow again.
She worked with Olivia for an hour, in five minute spurts, in between which she kept up a steady flow of light conversation to avoid any chance of Yvonne asking personal questions.
The woman whose house they were using wasn't at home, but had already arranged different homes for them to meet at every day for the next week. Jenna agreed without hesitation to the plan. One thing she and her sister victims had learned was how to be savvy.
It was good, felt healthy, to be living part of the life she'd loved. To stay in touch with that self, even if only for an hour a day.
Or so she told herself.
In the end, this time wouldn't change things for her. But it could matter a whole lot to Olivia. And Yvonne.
Still on a high from seeing Yvonne's relieved smile as Olivia moved her tongue slightly, in the manner they'd practiced before surgery, she left the house, slipping through trees in the neighborhood, silently apologizing to homeowners as she cut across lawns, and made it to the closest bus stop just as the bus was pulling up.
She'd planned the trek well, and had waited out of sight until she saw the bus one street over, on its way to the stop.
She had to know the routes. And she prayed that if Steve was in the area, if he'd already figured out that she hadn't run, that she was off her normal course, that he wouldn't try anything out in the open.
That had never been his way. Steve had a reputation to protect. His public image mattered to him.
It was a fact that had nearly gotten her killed the time she'd dared to tell someone at the LVMPD about his problem. The LVMPD family counselor she'd sought out had gone straight to Steve, supposedly out of respect. Steve had been humbly embarrassed, begging for the whole thing to be forgotten for her sake, because she was a jealous fool who'd lied to try to make him pay for a supposed liaison that had never happened. She'd had no bruises at the time, no proof. She'd expected her cry for help to be protected by confidentiality laws. Apparently those didn't apply when the psychiatrist worked for the police force.
She'd never spoken to an LVMPD official again. Partially because he'd made certain she never dared get close to one. The scar on her thigh was her reminder.
Two stops, a transfer and a shortcut through a neighbor's yard and she was at her next carefully planned destination.
A place for necessary business. Nothing more.
Keeping her eyes trained only on what she had to see to complete her task, she pulled the spare shed key out of her pocket, a key she'd stored with a spare house key in the magnetic holder on the underside of the glove box in her car. Coming from the back side of the shed, keeping trees between herself and the house, she hurried to the door, had it unlocked and was inside in fewer than thirty seconds.
The box was right where she knew it would be. Right where she'd left it. She only had the one pair of black dress pants and a white blouse to go with them and she tried to keep them clean as she climbed over the lawn mower, up onto the trunk behind it, and reached behind a can of nails for the box that held all of the drill bits.
Opening the box, she lifted out the top tray and reached inside for the mint tin. That was all she needed. The mint tin.
Shoving it into the waistband of her pants, she reversed the order of her activity, until she was once again standing on the floor in front of the lawn mower.
She didn't glance out the shed's small window. If the roses were wilting there wasn't a thing she could do about it.
And if... No, Caleb wasn't there. He'd be at the day care, going every day now, she was sure, which was just what his father had thought in his best interests from the beginning.
Children needed to be socialized. They needed to learn how to take turns and stand up for themselves at the same time. They had to learn pecking orders and how to get along in groups. They had to find their own inner strength, without relying twenty-four-seven on the parents who were there to protect them.
She didn't disagree with any of that. They were all necessary lessons. She just didn't think Caleb needed to learn them before he was able to speak up for himself. Until he could tell someone if he was mistreated.
She didn't think he needed to join the track team before he could run.
Still, Max had never taken an unscheduled day off from work since she'd known him. He had patients and he'd be at the office. Which meant Caleb wouldn't be home.
Which was why she'd chosen that particular time to visit.
With fumbling fingers, she pulled open the little metal tin in her hand. The five one-hundred dollar bills were there, just as they'd left them. Max had teased her the day she'd insisted on stashing the money. He'd had both hands on her waist as she climbed up to reach the shelf, and had lifted her down, sliding his hands up her body as he'd done so.
They'd made love in the seat of the riding lawn mower.
That had been before Caleb. Or maybe the day their son had been conceived.
Those five one-hundred dollar bills had been the first she'd earned as a fully licensed speech pathologist. They'd symbolized freedom and a new life to her. All the things Max had been telling her she had. She'd wanted to give them backâto them. She'd told him they'd put those exact bills away, hide them ceremoniously, and get them out on their thirtieth anniversary to spend on whatever they wanted.
The vow they'd made that day, even more than their wedding vows, had bound them to a lifetime together.
They'd vowed to be together thirty years from then. To spend the money together.
Trembling, she took the dollars and shoved them into her bra, the side opposite her untraceable cell phone. She wasn't going to cry.
It would serve no purpose, and might call attention to her as she made her way back to the bus stop.
Back to The Lemonade Stand where, for now, her secrets were safe.
Closing her mind to voices from the past that would weaken her ability to take care of the task at hand, she closed the box and strode for the door. All that was left was leaving the tin box where Max would be sure to find it empty.
A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Something had moved in the yard.
Flattening herself against the wall of the shed, she moved toward the window, looking sideways and tilting forward only enough to see out.
Steve was back. She just knew it had to be him out there someplace.
She'd underestimated him. Again.
Without conscious effort her mind began cataloguing everything in the shed. Things she could throw. Things she could use as tools. Tools that could be used against her if Steve got his hands on them.
She was on her own property. He was there uninvited. It would be self-defense.
She had to know how much time she had...could she get out the door and to the other side of the tree trunk before he knew she was there? She had to get him away from this house. Away from Max and Caleb.
She wasn't ready for the showdown. Was only just beginning to figure him out and didn't yet know how best to use the information to get the better of him, other than some half-formulated idea of getting him to confess while she had her phone on so that someone else could hear the whole thing.
The plan, in its current state was too simplistic. Implementation didn't stand a chance against Steve's powerful mind. At the moment, a plan didn't matter. All that mattered was getting him away from Max's home.
She stole another glance out the window, formulating her next move.
It wasn't Steve standing out there.
Shaking from the inside out, Jenna pulled back, pressing against the wall of the shed she'd helped Max build. He was in their driveway with another woman. The image of him and Chantel Harris played over and over in her mind.
She'd never met Chantel Harris, but she knew that the woman standing there with Max had to be her.
She'd seen pictures. Knew from Wayne Stanton that she'd been helping Max. And the cop uniform was a dead giveaway.
She just hadn't realized the woman had been staying with her husband and son in their home.
But if that duffel bag slung over her shoulder was anything to go by, she had been. Jenna should have looked at the house before she'd come into the shed. She'd have seen the unfamiliar car parked in the driveway.
She wondered what had happened to her van. Did Max have it back? Parked next to his in its usual place in their garage?
She couldn't leave. Her legs were too unsteady to carry her as quietly and quickly as she'd need to go.
And her heart wouldn't bear the stress of a run. Not in that moment.
Her Max. With another woman.
Someone who'd had the hots for him. He'd told her how she'd come on to him the night he'd finished his residency. How she'd been there during the funeral. And how he'd left town, partially to get away from memories of Jill, and partially to avoid breaking Chantel's heart.
Like some kind of masochist, she took one more peek and pulled back instantly.
Max was hugging her.
Where was Caleb? Already at day care?
Why wasn't Max at work?
And how was she going to gather the strength to get herself out of there?
She didn't blame Max. She'd left him.
But maybe she hadn't known him as well as she'd thought she did. Maybe he hadn't loved her as much as she thought.
Yes, he'd known Chantel a long time, before Meri even, so something could form between them quickly.
But this quickly?
And what about Caleb? Was Chantel even interested in a package deal?
Jenna slid down to the floor of the shed, falling apart in the most inappropriate space. She couldn't afford to do this. Had to get out of there and back to the safety and privacy of her room at the Stand.
She couldn't let Max see her. One look at him, one touch, and she'd be done. She needed him more than she needed air.
She needed to rest her head against his chest, feel his comforting heartbeat and believe, once more, that life really could be good. But this wasn't about what she wanted or needed. Not anymore. It was about the love she felt for Max and Caleb.
She'd thought that if she took the cash they'd put away for their thirtieth wedding anniversary, he would finally get the message that he had to move on with his life. Turned out he already had.
She should be happy. She was doing this for him. Honestly and truly wanted him happy.
But her heart was going to need a few minutes to catch up with the plan.
She heard the slam of a car door. The car started, and pulled down the drive.
She held her breath. Would Max come out to the shed? She'd closed the door behind her. There'd be no way for him to know that it was unlocked.
But maybe he'd need something. Ant killer. Or...
The French doors off the kitchen opened. She heard the squeak as the latch stuck, just as it did every time the door was opened or closed. Max had offered to fix it more than once.
She'd asked him not to. She liked knowing any time a door opened or shut. The alarm in the house told her when a door opened to the outside, but it didn't distinguish between doors.
The garage door had its own slightly echoing sound. The front door was solid. And the French door to the backyard squeaked.
It squeaked a second time as Max shut it. And she knew it was time for her to go.
No need to leave the tin for him to see. He no longer needed her message.
Sliding it into the front pocket of her pants, she took one more glance outside, and as stealthily as she'd arrived, she slipped out of the shed. Out of Max's life, taking a small piece of him, of their dream.
She'd cherish that five hundred dollars. It had his kiss on it, and hers. A promise to each other to stay together, no matter what.
She'd made the promise even knowing, deep inside, that Steve was out there, able to prevent her from keeping any promise she made.
And now she had to pay the price.