Saving Sarah

by Nan Reinhardt

  “I had a housekeeper who came in once a week to clean. Otherwise, I did the daily stuff—Paul insisted, and what else was I going to do all day? He lost his shit whenever I suggested getting a job. Besides, who would I tell?” Her stomach churned. “My friends, hell, even my parents believed he was right next door to Jesus Christ.”

  She stared out across the waves, unable to look at him, even though she could feel him squirming next to her. “He’d drop little hints about me being spacey or forgetful. Said with love of course—creating an image of me that almost had me convinced I couldn’t function without him. He was brilliant and cunning and terrifying.” She met Tony’s eyes for a brief moment. “Don’t you get it? I didn’t have any cash of my own, any skills, any support from anyone. Just years of being mentally and physically beaten down.”

  The emotional struggle on his face was so evident Sarah almost reached out to comfort him. However, touching him would be the end of her. She squared her shoulders instead and continued in as steady a voice as she could muster. “The last time was the first time he ever touched me in anger when Macy was at home. Back then, I would’ve told you I provoked him that day, but—”

  “Jesus!” The word exploded into the darkness as Tony clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “I know better now,” she said, but it took a herculean effort to sit still and ignore the waves of anger radiating off the deputy.

  Although all her common sense told her he’d never ever direct any of that rage toward her, he still scared the bejesus out of her. As subtly as she could, she put another few inches between them and glanced down to make sure she could drop to the jetty and run if she had to.

  “It was a Sunday and Macy was sunbathing on a lawn chair in the driveway. She did that when the patio out back was in the shade—set her chair up in the big turnaround behind the garage. I was in the kitchen cleaning up after lunch and Paul was clearing the table. That seemed like a sign—he never helped in any way. That day he was carrying dishes and we were laughing about something that had happened at church that morning.” Sarah paused, eyeing Tony, who wasn’t looking at her; instead, he stared straight ahead.

  “A sign of what?” he asked, still focused on the beach and the village lights in the distance.

  “That maybe things were better—it had been months since he’d hurt me, except—” She was loath to bring up Paul’s deviant sexual proclivities. That would only fuel Tony’s anger and that part didn’t matter to the story, not really. “He’d been calm and kind for almost a year, and, yes, I was always on guard, but this day had been…normal. So I mentioned talking to a therapist about his anger issues.”

  When Tony turned his head toward her, had you lost your freaking mind? was written all over his face as clearly as if he’d spoken the words out loud. He thought she was an idiot. The same look she’d gotten from the attorneys who’d come to see her in the hospital.

  Great. Another self-righteous bastard.

  In a wink, Sarah rose, slipped behind Tony, and down the stairs onto the jetty. “You don’t know. You couldn’t possibly know,” she said, turning to face him, her arms folded over her belly. “I had to take my opportunities when it seemed safe.”

  “Obviously not safe that day, huh?” He set his palms on either side of his body and boosted himself off the stoop, landing, agile as a panther, onto the jetty below. “I assume he didn’t take that suggestion well?” Was his voice seriously dripping sarcasm?

  Sarah dropped her hands as frustration and hurt jolted through her.

  How dare you judge me!

  “Screw you, Tony.” Heart pounding in her chest, she spun around and raced down the breakwater toward the beach.

  FOURTEEN

  Oh, good Christ in heaven.

  Tony sprinted after her, cursing himself, the sandy surface of the breakwater, and the darkness. He was an ass. His reaction had come from straight from his gut—fury at Paul Prescott overshadowing every clear thought in his head. “Sarah!” he called, not at all surprised by how swiftly she moved. “Sarah, wait!”

  She didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder, just kept barreling toward the beach.

  He finally caught up to her when the sand slowed her pace. Grasping her elbow gently, he swung her around to face him and tried to catch his breath. She, on the other hand, wasn’t even panting, even though her eyes were shooting turquoise sparks in the lights from the parking area behind the beach. “Wait, please.” He puffed and swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  She shook his hand away and put a couple of feet between them. She didn’t bolt, simply stood there staring up at him.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t—”

  “Judging me?”

  “No, I wasn’t. Not at all.”

  “Coulda fooled me.” Her eyes never left his face, and even in the dim light, he could read the pain in them.

  “I wasn’t judging you—I’d never do that. Never. I-I was…” He stumbled over the words, trying to find the right ones. “It was him. I’m so angry at him.”

  She raised one brow, but she was still there.

  He took a deep breath. “My reaction isn’t about you, Sarah. I would never judge your actions that day…or any day you spent in that hell. I’m sorry if it seemed that way.” He walked closer, then stopped, aware that he had to maintain space between them…and keep his hands in his pockets. “I’m just so furious. I want to strangle him with my bare hands. I want to do to him everything he did to you and then shoot him and then do it all to him again. I couldn’t hold the anger in and it came out at the wrong time. Cruel and stupid and unthinking. I’m an asshole. I’m sorry.”

  She bit her lower lip. “You know, I’ve never told a man this story before, except the police officer who took my statement in the hospital and the attorneys. And they all gave me that look—that what were you thinking? look.” Her gaze shifted until she was looking out at the lake. “The women who know—the one in my group—reacted with tears and horror and sympathy. They’d all been in that same hell. And they were new to the shelter, still shrinking into a corner whenever a man walked past them. Anger wasn’t in their repertoire—it had been beaten out of them. And Julie knows enough.” Her eyes came back to him, glistening with tears.

  Good God, how he wanted to take her in his arms. Hold her. Protect her from everything wicked—even from himself. Instead, he stayed out of her space and let her talk.

  “She was pissed, as only Jules can be, ready to collect up torches and pitchforks and head to Georgia.” She inched a foot or so closer to him. “It was Julie, you know, so it was a…a sisterhood kind of angry. Not directed at me.”

  Tony swallowed, unable to stop another apology from bursting forth, even though his sensible brain told him to shut the hell up and let her talk. “Neither is mine. Never.”

  She merely nodded. “Okay.”

  “What about the attorneys at the trial?” He asked the question quietly, hoping he could engage her enough to keep her there. “Were they men?”

  She gave a derisive bark. “There was no trial, only a hearing. He copped a plea because the neighbor saw everything and testified, as did the policemen who came. His attorney worked out a deal with the prosecutor and the sentencing judge was an old family friend. The pictures they took of me at the hospital weren’t even admitted into evidence.

  “My statement”—she wrapped her arms around her middle—“my story never entered into it, either. Interestingly, the judge gave him the maximum sentence—sixteen years—then he immediately cut the time in half. The prison they sent him to was one of those white-collar country-club places.” Her face contorted before the cool mask he was accustomed to seeing slipped back into place. “Afterward, I had to get as far away as I could. I packed up, got in my car, and headed for the Orlando airport.”

  Tony dug his toes into the sand, his heart heavy as he imagined a defeated, grieving Sarah fleeing the home that had turned into her wor
st nightmare.

  Dear God in heaven.

  Now he’d blown it. He’d be lucky if she ever spoke to him again. She’d probably leave Willow Bay and he’d never see her after tonight. “I didn’t mean to hurt you or frighten you.” He hung his head. “Jesus. Those are the very words I never ever wanted to have to say to you, and here I am saying them on our first date. I like you. I like you so much and… God, I’m a jerk.” He put one hand out. “Here, let me take you home.”

  Silence stretched between them, widening the gulf he was sure was getting bigger with every word he uttered. At last she sighed. “I believe you’re not judging me, Tony. I–I’m not used to normal men, to normal male reactions.” She stepped closer to him, reaching out to touch his arm before snapping her hand back. “And I’m prickly, especially when I talk about…then. I struggle everyday with the fact that I’m a victim. I hate it.”

  “Were a victim,” he corrected, longing to pull her into his arms or at the very least, take her hand, but knew that touching her would be a colossal mistake. “You are a strong woman, Sarah Bennett.”

  “Not so much.” She gave him the faintest of smiles. “I’m mostly a basket case—hopped up on mood-enhancing drugs and just trying to make it through each day without screaming like a banshee.”

  Encouraged by the smile, however faint, Tony extended his arms toward the sky. Time to bring in some levity. If he was emotionally exhausted, poor Sarah had to be drained. “You feeling the need to scream right now? I’ve been told I can sometimes incite that urge. Hey, we can stand here and howl at that puny-ass moon if you want.” He threw his head back and let out a low coyote yowl, side-eyeing Sarah the entire time and praying he hadn’t ruined their tentative friendship.

  * * * *

  Sarah stared in disbelief as Tony took a deep breath and let out another howl that echoed over the bay. The silver threads in his salt-and-pepper hair shone in the lights the lined the sidewalk to the beach and she clenched her fists to keep from stroking the strands that curled over his shirt collar. Inanely, the thought occurred to her that he could use a haircut. Dimples bracketed his grin when he glanced over at her and nodded.

  Dammit, he was handsome. Not suave, sophisticated handsome, but good-looking in a rugged, plaid-flannel-and-denim kind of way. He exuded gentleness. Even though he was a cop, she couldn’t picture him ever deliberately hurting a living soul. She realized that now as she studied him standing there at the edge of the water yipping at the moon. Tony Reynard was the kind of man you instinctively trusted even if you were a woman who’d never consider trusting any man again. Ever.

  “Come on, join in,” he said. “It’s very cathartic and kinda fun.”

  “Um, I’m not all that much of a howler,” she said, even though the idea was intriguing. How many times in her life had she wished she could let go and wail? She’d never done it—not once in all the years of her marriage…or after.

  Maintaining an iron clamp on her emotions was what kept her sane. If she let herself howl, she might not ever be able to stop, and then they’d surely lock her up in a rubber room forever. “Besides, there are people down there.” With a little jerk of her head, she indicated a group gathered around a beach fire in the distance.

  “Nobody cares. Hell, I’m surprised they haven’t already joined in.” The words were barely out of his mouth when a yowl that sounded like a wounded hyena, followed by laughter, came from the direction of the bonfire.

  He chuckled. “See?” He howled again, grinning as several of the beach partiers responded in kind.

  “I seriously wonder about this town.” Ambling closer to Tony, she put her head back and let out quiet yelp. She sounded pretty pitiful, so she took a deep breath, opened her arms, and gave it another try. This one came out more like an owl’s hoot. However, her effort got an answering cheer from the group in the distance, most of whom were on their feet, dancing, yowling, and whooping. When she glanced at Tony, he was beaming at her like a proud father whose kid had just hit a home run in the little league championship game. She faced him, turning her palms up in a self-conscious shrug. “I imagine I’ll learn to howl better.”

  “You howl just fine, Sarah Bennett.” Tony extended his hand. “Come on, wanna go shoot some bad guys?”

  * * * *

  Sarah pushed the button to bring the paper silhouette of a man up to the booth. She’d hit his heart twice and even managed to put one right between his eyes. Not bad for only an hour of practice. She glanced at Tony, who was leaning against the wall behind her, his neon green earmuffs glowing in the semi-darkness of the shooting range. A poster with a likeness of Thomas Jefferson and the words…the right of the people to keep and bear arms…was tacked up beside him. The words gave her pause—she’d been so anti-gun since her parents died, yet here she was firing a Ruger and doing a damn fine job of hitting her target. Most surprising of all was how good the weapon felt in her hands—how empowering.

  “Nice job, dead-eye.” Lowering his muffs so they sat around his neck, he came forward to examine the target. “Where’s the gun go?”

  Sarah set the safety on the pistol, released the magazine, and laid both pieces on the counter before removing the muffs he’d presented her with when they’d arrived at the shooting range. They were neon pink and matched the frames of the safety glasses that were also in the box, along with pink foam earplugs. She kept those in place and pushed the glasses up on her head. “Thanks again for the ear and eye protection. I didn’t think of that.” She hoped she wasn’t talking too loudly—the earplugs made it hard to tell.

  A smile bloomed on his handsome face. “You’re welcome. Sorry about the cutesy pink. You’re so little, I knew they needed to be smaller, so my extra pair wasn’t going to work well, and this hot pink kit was all Harry had in stock this afternoon.” His deep voice came through the foam loud and clear.

  “I kinda like the pink,” she said and touched one finger to the muffs around his neck. “Yours are pretty snazzy. I had no idea there was so much gear involved.”

  “Safety’s number one when you’re shooting. Noise reduction, too, especially indoors where the gunfire can hurt your ears; that’s why we use both earplugs and the muffs.” He tilted his head toward the target. “You did well. He’s dead.”

  Sarah scrutinized the target, proud of her effort, but not convinced she wanted to shoot to kill. “What if I don’t want to kill an intruder, only stop him?”

  “Asks the woman who had a gun pointed directly at my heart the first time I ever met her.” Tony’s lips twitched and his eyes gleamed amber in the light above their heads as he stepped into the booth with her.

  Sarah chuckled. “You should’ve knocked.”

  “Next time.” He nodded, dimpling when he allowed the smile he’d been hiding to show.

  Her heart sped up. This attraction was unsettling as hell, mostly because she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to do anything about it. The very thought of intimacy with any man filled her with dread, yet pangs and zips of heat sparked through her at Tony’s merest touch.

  She’d been worried that he’d want to stand behind her while she was shooting, perhaps put his arms around her to guide her hands. But he hadn’t. Instead, he demonstrated the proper stance and arm positions, explaining how most women instinctively want to lean back, away from the recoil of the gun and away from the target.

  She found he was right—at the moment her whole body ached from the conscious effort of leaning in, keeping her weight forward, and unlocking her knees to maintain the correct position. “So where do I aim to maim, not kill?”

  “Look, deadly force is deadly force under the law.” Tony took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t matter where you shoot someone, you could potentially kill him or cripple him for life. If you aren’t prepared to kill someone who’s threatening your life, you shouldn’t have that gun.” Pausing, he quirked one dark eyebrow. “Here’s the thing, if he comes after you, adrenaline is going to kick in
. Your hands will shake and your focus will be off. Besides, he’s not going to be standing perfectly still like that target there—he’s going to be moving erratically and doing unexpected things. And I think it’s safe to say that your ex-husband will be playing mind games with you.”

  Suddenly chilly in the air-conditioned metal building, Sarah wrapped her arms around her waist. He was right about the mind games—that was how Paul had always cowed her before any actual physical abuse had started. He was the master of the crushing reply and had the uncanny ability to find just the right words to turn her into a sniveling mess. She stared at her shoes as Tony continued.

  “During a shooting, an officer may only hit the target a small percentage of the time. They’re aiming at someone who’s fleeing or lurking in a poorly lit place where the suspect may or may not be returning fire. And these are trained cops who’ve practiced for hours. They have mere seconds to react. You’re going to be in the same boat in the remote possibility he shows up out of the blue. Chances are good you won’t even have your gun handy.”

  Her head up snapped up. “Are you trying to scare the crap out of me?”

  “Of course not.” His voice was quiet.

  “You think this gun is a terrible idea.”

  “I think all guns are a terrible idea.” Tony covered her Ruger with one big hand. “If having this thing makes you feel safe, I can’t stop you from carrying it. I’m just trying to make sure you know how to use it and that you’re in reality. Frankly, I’d rather be like the police officers in England who don’t carry a gun on patrol.”

  “That’s kinda radical thinking for a cop in this country, Deputy Reynard.” Sarah’s reaction to Tony’s big warm body so close to hers in the confines of the booth bewildered her. She was dying to smooth back the lock of hair that flopped over his brow, run her fingers over the slight stubble on his cheek. Part of her longed for him to gather her close against his muscled chest, while at the same time, the certainty that he could break her neck with his strong hands made her stomach roil.