A smile curved his lips as he calmly walked through the park and back into his unsuspecting life.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“She was badly beaten,” Selene told the social worker over the phone, only then realizing how hard she was clutching it. “He broke her nose, knocked out two front teeth, and literally turned her skin black and blue.”
The victim’s name was Ruth Glade. She was a twenty-eight-year-old housewife who was brought to S.A.W. House last night by her sister, after Ruth’s abusive husband fell asleep in a drunken stupor. She’d refused to go to the emergency room for fear that her husband would awaken and come after her.
“Why on earth do these women put up with this?” the social worker asked with exasperation.
“There are more reasons than I have time to tell you,” Selene responded tersely. “What’s important is that she’s safe—at least for now.”
“Maybe it would have been better if she’d just gotten a gun and shot the bastard before he eventually kills her.” The social worker quickly retracted her statement. “Forget I said that. Guess I’m just feeling the frustration of repeatedly having to deal with this, which I know you must be going through, too. What we really need is a way for women to identify these abusive men before they become their victims so they can avoid them at all costs.”
Selene sighed. “Unfortunately, there’s no surefire way to identify batterers in advance.”
She had read her fair share of books on intimate violence and abuse. It was true that most abusers had certain characteristics women could look for in potential mates and avoid them. But there were just as many men with the same characteristics who did not beat up the women they were supposed to love and respect.
Selene believed it all came down to choice, and too many males were making the wrong choice in becoming abusers and recidivists.
Ashley Leighton came to mind. She wondered if the policewoman had sought any professional help for what was obviously a difficult and precarious personal situation. Or had her attorney husband prevented her from doing so?
Selene set up an appointment for the social worker to meet Ruth Glade and hoped it would lead to Ruth getting all the help she needed to get on with her life. Selene knew it would be an uphill battle, but worth the effort it took to save women like Ruth from self-destruction.
Selene hung up, and looked at her desk. What a mess! There was neglected paperwork everywhere, which had taken a back seat to dealing directly with those who sought refuge at the shelter. At times, it seemed like an impossible task with no end in sight. But Selene felt certain that her mission in life was to help others just as she had been helped.
She stood up and went to the lone window in her office. Peering through the blinds, she took in the sunshine, but not much else. The view was partially obscured by the back of a taller building, and a large oak tree that had begun to lean somewhat in the last few years.
There was a knock on the office door. Selene turned and saw Harriet enter with a big smile on her face. She was holding a long, narrow, white box.
“Someone is very lucky today,” Harriet gushed.
“Oh...” Selene met her halfway. “Is that for me?”
She nodded. “Just delivered. Must be your man is trying to get back on your good side.”
Selene blushed. “My man is always on my good side.” She took the box and lifted the lid. Inside, were three long-stemmed red roses and a card.
“What’s it say?” Harriet asked impatiently.
“Just a minute,” Selene said with a chuckle, setting the box on her desk. She opened the card and read it to herself.
Hello, baby.
Sorry about everything that went wrong between us. Give me a second chance and I can make it right. You’ll see.
Love, forever.
Your husband, Michel
* * *
“What is it?” Harriet asked with alarm as she saw the strain on Selene’s face.
Selene stared at her. “The roses aren’t from Quinn.”
“Who are they from?”
Selene could barely utter the words. “My ex-husband—” Feeling wobbly, she leaned against her desk for support.
Harriet frowned. “You mean the one who—”
“Yes, that one,” Selene said tonelessly. “He’s back in town and apparently plans to make my life a living hell—again.”
“Oh, honey. We’re not about to let that happen.” Harriet hugged her sympathetically. “That man will never hurt you again. Why if he so much as shows his face around here—”
“We’ll call the police.” Selene pulled away, tears burning her cheeks. The last thing she wanted was for Harriet, battle scarred as she was, to inherit her problems. Especially when there were plenty of other abused women at S.A.W. House they had to focus on. “It’s not a big deal, really. I mean, what harm can the roses do?”
Harriet pursed her lips and planted a hand firmly on her hip. “Selene, you’re talking to me, remember? The roses show he still wants to own and control you and doesn’t seem to be prepared to take no for an answer.”
Selene knew Harriet was right. She had been down this road too many times as both a victim and counselor. Michel wanted to dominate her and make her live in fear of him again, and seemed to be daring her to do something about it.
The phone rang, startling both women. Selene took a breath and tried to relax, remembering that as director of S.A.W. House there was more going on demanding her attention than Michel Giovanni.
“I’d better get that,” she said.
“Are you going to be all right?” Harriet asked.
“I’ll be fine.” Selene put up a brave front, though she was still shaking inside. “The other women in here are in more immediate need.”
“Okay, but if you want to talk...or whatever, you know where to find me,” Harriet said.
Selene nodded and picked up the phone. “Hello, this is Selene...”
“Hope you liked the flowers, baby.” Michel’s deep, acerbic voice was unmistakable.
Selene seethed. A man she thought was out of her life completely had suddenly resurfaced, bringing back all the dark days and fearful nights.
“What do you think you’re doing, Michel?” she asked bluntly, trying to keep it together.
“It should be obvious. I’m trying to win you back as a gentleman. Is that so bad?” he asked sweetly.
“When are you going to get it through that thick head of yours we are NOT getting back together now or EVER! Some roses and sweet talk aren’t going to change that. I have a new life now—one that you’re not part of. I intend to keep it that way.”
“Is that so?” Michel snorted. “So what other ideas has this dude who took you away from me been putting in your head?”
Selene switched the phone to her other ear. “This has nothing to do with Quinn,” she snapped. “It’s about you and me and what was over a long time ago. And no one took me from you, Michel. You did that all by yourself. Now will you please stop this! You’re just going to get yourself arrested and thrown in jail for harassment—or worse. Is that what you want?”
“Going to the cops wasn’t your smartest move,” he said. “They can’t protect you from me any more than the punk who got into our business in that grocery store parking lot. No one can.”
Selene started to perspire. She thought about the flowers being delivered and Michel phoning right on cue—as if he were on the premises. She forced her legs to move toward the window and froze when she saw Michel standing across the street with a cell phone to his ear.
“I can get to you any time I want,” he said smugly. “Think about it, Selene.”
“There’s nothing to think about.” She backed away from the window. “You need help!”
“Oh, you’ve got that right, baby. Getting my hands on that reward money is all the help I need—along with getting back what belongs to me.”
Selene felt like she had stepped into a nightmare. Only she was wide awake and the dang
er was very real.
“I’ve got a few leads I’m working on regarding this Woods Strangler...” Michel continued mysteriously. “Too bad he had to strangle another broad at the park. Wonder if that means you and your rich neighbors will up the ante? Half a million sounds pretty damned good to get rid of your killer headache once and for all—”
“What do you know about The Woods Strangler case?” Selene asked.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he said sarcastically.
“Did you kill those women?”
Michel’s wry laugh crackled into the phone. “So now I’m a murderer too, huh? Don’t even think of trying to pin that on me. Maybe you need to look in another direction...”
“What direction?” Her head was beginning to pound. Was he being deliberately cryptic?
“All I’m saying is that I’m looking for a little respect, not accusations,” he said evasively. “As for this killer, don’t worry, he’s gonna get what’s coming to him—”
Selene thought Michel was speaking as though he knew more than he was letting on. Or was that only what he wanted her to think?
“How do you know?” she pressed.
“Isn’t that usually the case for killers?” He breathed loudly into the phone. “Look, I’ve gotta go take care of some business. I’ll be in touch...”
Before Selene could utter another word, she heard a dial tone. When she looked out the window, Michel was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Michel Giovanni drank beer as he drove away from the downtown area. He had sized up the shelter that Selene operated before calling her. It was smaller than the one she had run off to back in the day. The women coming and going did not interest him at all. He only wanted to know where Selene spent her time when she wasn’t at the house she shared with that asshole named Quinn Herrera, or playing devoted neighbor while they did their daily community patrols.
Michel was pleased that he’d gotten under Selene’s skin, even though she’d tried to sound tough and in command. She would be thinking about him, what he knew, and what he didn’t know about the local strangler. At the same time, she would be looking over her shoulder, wondering when he would come to collect and reclaim her.
Michel grinned wickedly.
You have good reason to be concerned on both counts, baby. Your troubles have just begun. And they won’t end till you’re mine again.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, he reached his destination. The area was a part of Bluffs Bay that seemed far removed from The Woods, but a place Michel was all too familiar with. It was home to many of the city’s streetwalkers, drug addicts, gang bangers, and other lowlifes. It hadn’t changed much since he moved to California.
Michel parked in front of a dilapidated tenement and finished off the can of beer, before he headed inside. He dodged broken glass and used hypodermic needles along the way.
After climbing three flights of stairs, Michel knocked on door 328. He heard a baby crying and two adults yelling at each other before the door opened. A husky African-American man with cornrows and a half moon scar on his right cheek stood there.
“What?” he growled.
“I’m looking for Samali,” Michel said tentatively.
“You found him.”
“I’m Michel. A friend of a friend said you could hook me up with—”
“Oh, yeah,” he cut in. “Wait here...”
The door closed in his face and Michel started to have second thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t the way to go. But his reservations quickly disappeared when he realized there was no turning back. The more he got involved, the more he would need protection.
A couple of minutes later, Samali came out holding a brown paper bag. “Let’s walk down here,” he said.
Michel followed him to the end of a long hall and out to a back stairwell. He watched as Samali opened the bag and removed a semi-automatic pistol.
“You got the money?”
“Yeah.” Michel took out the two hundred he’d counted twice and folded, passing it to him.
Samali didn’t bother to count it. He stuffed the wad in his back pocket and handed Michel the gun.
“We never met,” Samali said gruffly.
Michel had no desire to argue, though he certainly knew where to find the man if worse came to worse.
“Yeah, no problem.” He started to stuff the gun in his pants, then thought better. “Mind if I take the bag?”
Samali grinned. “I ain’t got no more use for it.”
Five minutes later, Michel was back in his Cadillac putting his plans into motion for shaking up this town like never before and getting what he wanted for his trouble.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The million-dollar colonial redwood house was located in the east end of The Woods. Ashley considered it a definite improvement from their previous old ranch style residence in Bluffs Bay. They’d lived in the brand new, two-story home for six months. The move up the residential and economic ladder was a reflection of Robert’s increasing success as a criminal defense attorney. Though Ashley made a decent income as a police officer, she knew that without Robert’s income and investment strategies she couldn’t even begin to dream of living in such a place.
But her dream had turned into a nightmare. At one time she’d been able to gauge her husband’s moods and his likelihood to become abusive, allowing her the ability to at least brace herself or try to defuse the situation. Now Robert was becoming more and more unpredictable in his violence. He had refused to take anger management courses as promised or seek counseling, insisting they could work out their problems alone.
Tonight that seemed highly unlikely. Ashley stared into the mirror at a face she barely recognized. It was swollen and bruised. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of her lower lip and Ashley dabbed at it with a tissue, wincing from the pain. Tears rolled down her reddened cheeks and she wondered if it was worth it anymore to put up with his abuse. She didn’t need the house or his damned money that badly. She certainly didn’t need Robert, if this was what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life.
I’m better than this. I deserve to be treated with respect not as his punching bag.
Ashley sat down on the toilet seat lid. She’d fled to the bathroom to escape after Robert had another one of his temper tantrums, threatening to kill them both. But not before he had smacked her around pretty good to prove what a big man he was over his wife.
Ashley had a department-issued Glock pistol that she knew how to use, though she’d never had to. She also had access to the numerous guns Robert kept in the house. Thus far, Ashley had steadfastly resisted the temptation to defend herself by shooting him. She had a feeling that Robert wanted it to end violently. But it wasn’t up to her to put him out of his misery.
However, she didn’t want to die from his hands either. Or become a source of gossip in the department over her inability to handle the situation. But she knew she couldn’t continue to let him hurt her. She’d been raised with more self-esteem than that.
The sudden pounding at the locked door broke Ashley’s reverie. She began to tremble.
“Open the door, Ashley!” Robert’s voice boomed.
“I’m tired of you hitting me, Robert.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I’m not going to let you do it anymore. I mean it this time!”
Or so she tried to convince herself. She realized there was no escape except through the door. She was trapped.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Robert said. “I don’t know what came over me. I just lost it. Please forgive me. You know how much I love you and need you.”
She’d heard it all before. “Those are just empty words,” Ashley said. “I can’t take this anymore.”
“Can’t we talk about it?” he pleaded in a gentler voice. “Unlock the door, Ashley. I won’t hit you, I swear. I’ll do whatever you want me to, as long as we’re together. Give me just one more chance. Please...”
Ashley’s instin
cts told her it was all just a trick to get her to open the door so he could finish what he started. But she wanted to believe that Robert really did love her and that maybe, just maybe, he was finally ready to get some help this time. She wanted that more than anything.
* * *
Robert Leighton had to use all the patience he had skillfully practiced in the courtroom not to break the door down. He didn’t appreciate one bit that she’d locked it, as if he was a criminal in his own damned house that she was trying to hide from. But he was smart enough to know that a cooler head was necessary right now. Robert sensed he was losing Ashley—or would—if he sat back and let it happen like so many other men did when things seemed like they’d gotten out of control.
He wouldn’t buckle under pressure or to outside forces.
Yeah, he’d lost his temper and hit her a few times. But she’d instigated it by getting on his case when he was already under a great deal of stress. It was almost like she was asking for a beating. So he obliged. Maybe he went too far this time.
Maybe.
As always, Robert was counting on his charm to win Ashley back. Along with the same gritty determination that had catapulted him from poverty to the top of his profession, and the money that came with it.
Ashley was his and always would be. And no one was going to come between them—including Selene Herrera and that damned shelter she ran.
Robert could still taste the scotch he’d downed earlier. He considered taking a more aggressive approach to getting Ashley out of the bathroom, but that turned out to be unnecessary, as the door was unlocked and opened.
Ashley stepped out, looking scared and wary in her police uniform. Robert felt her uniform represented a position of power and a direct challenge to his role as her husband and head of the household. He feared that sooner or later she would undermine his authority in making all the important decisions. He’d merely tolerated her being a cop so he didn’t rock the boat too much.
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