Sweet Vengeance

by Fern Michaels

  Sam looked at her, then stepped over the contents of the boxes on the floor. When he reached her, he took her in his arms and held her tightly. Then, before either of them realized it, his lips were on hers. He kissed her with such tenderness that tears filled her eyes. She tried to free herself from his embrace, and said, “I’m not your kind, Sam.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide what my kind is? I think you’re perfect, Tess. In every way that matters.” He kissed her again, and this time she kissed him back and felt a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach and parts lower. The familiar shiver of desire coursed through her, fogging her mind with images that told her that she wanted Sam in ways she had never wanted Joel.

  Joel.

  “Sam, I can’t,” she said, forcing herself out of the safe circle of his embrace.

  “You can’t or just don’t want to,” he whispered.

  “Both. Neither. Not yet.” She was so confused, she sounded like a schoolgirl with her first real crush.

  He released her, and she felt empty.

  “I know the timing isn’t right, but it will be. Someday. I promise.”

  She nodded because she didn’t know what else to say or do. She and Sam together seemed wrong in some ways, but now wasn’t the time to contemplate the why and why nots of a relationship.

  “Sam, what is going to happen when Chen goes to Judge Crider? Is the case against me going to be dropped? And if it is, when will we find out? And if it isn’t, when will we get a trial date?”

  “Soon; we’ll know very soon. Once the polygraph results are in Chen’s hands, establishing that you could not have committed the murders on Friday since the victims were all alive on Saturday, they will have to drop the charges.

  “As to establishing the actual facts of the murders, Harry’s the key. He’s good, and he’s fast. I’m guessing we should know everything there is to know about the murders in a week at most. But by that time, the charges against you should have already been dropped since not knowing who the adult male was who was killed and who killed the girls is irrelevant to whether or not you were the killer.”

  “What if things don’t work out? What if Rosa fails the polygraph test? What if the DNA results are useless?” She hated sounding wimpy and childish, but her veneer of toughness was breaking down moment by moment, especially when Sam was around.

  “We will deal with it. Together. Tess. You and me.” Sam smiled, and her heart melted. Despite all the negativity that surrounded her, he gave her hope, and if that’s all she walked away with, she was okay with that because, until Sam, she had had no hope.

  “Thank you, Sam.” While her words were simple, their meaning was deep, and they came directly from her heart.

  “We’ll work this out, Tess. But later. First we need to find a place for you to stay. I would have you stay at my house, but I don’t think we should. Yet.” He grinned, and she smiled back.

  Which reminded her. “Did Jill ever return my call? I can’t believe I forgot all about her.”

  “She didn’t call my cell, but obviously I can’t tell you about the landline.”

  “I should call her again, let her know what’s happened.”

  He handed her his cell phone. “Call her and see if she’s okay.”

  Tessa scrolled through the recently called numbers, found Jill’s cell number, and hit the CALL button. “I need one of these gizmos.” Jill’s voice mail picked up, and Tessa left another message, telling her it was urgent that Jill return her call.

  “No answer.” Tessa gave him the phone back. “I do not think she would be at the office this late. She told me she had one appointment scheduled for early this morning, said it couldn’t be rescheduled. This isn’t like her. I’m starting to worry.”

  “It’s just after three now. Are you sure she told you she would stay here tonight?”

  “Yes, she was going to cancel her appointments for the rest of the week, so we could spend time together. The Jill that I know always does what she says.”

  “I can drive by her house, check to see if she’s there. Her office, too.”

  “You’re sure? It would ease my mind. I can start cleaning up this mess. I can stay here tonight; the beds aren’t damaged. I know you’re my guardian, and if you’d rather go to your place, I’m okay with that. As long as this”—she pointed to the ankle monitor—“is allowed to be wherever we go.”

  “I’m fine staying here. It’s messy, but that’s not a problem for me. There should be some Windex in the kitchen under the sink if you decide to clean the print powder. I have been told that it usually does a decent job.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Tessa said.

  “Are you sure you’re okay being here alone?”

  Honestly, she wasn’t, but it was the middle of the afternoon, the place had already been searched and trashed, and surely that was enough for one day. Chances of anything happening for half an hour or so were slim.

  “I’ll be fine. Just check on Jill and make sure the alarm is on when you leave.”

  “Here, put this in your pocket just in case.” He handed her his cell phone.

  “What if I need to call you?”

  “You’re right, give it back, but use the landline. The phone in the kitchen wasn’t smashed.”

  “Okay, I’ll get started then,” Tessa said, and began scooping up handfuls of her past, Joel’s past, and her children’s past. She wasn’t crying. That was a good thing, she supposed.

  Sam left without saying good-bye. Why was this thought running through her head when she was in the midst of cleaning up after someone who obviously thought she had something they wanted?

  Taking her time, Tessa sifted through the contents as she picked through the mess. An old John Grisham novel; he’d been Joel’s favorite author. Two sweaters, one red and one purple. She held them against her face, inhaling the scent, hoping for that familiar little-girl smell she loved so much. Sweet honey, fresh strawberries would always remind her of them.

  But the sweaters smelled musty, and she placed them inside an empty box. She would pack up their clothes and take them to a place where they would benefit other little girls. She would keep some of their clothes, like the Harry Potter shirts, but she wasn’t even sure how long she would have the freedom to pack up their belongings, so it was best to do as much as she could while she was still a free woman.

  She bent over to grab a handful of Joel’s dress shirts when an old photograph caught her attention. She dropped the shirts in a pile and reached for the small frame. She didn’t remember this. It was a picture of Joel, maybe when he was in the seventh or eighth grade. A school picture. The background was the typical sky-blue color most school photographers used, but this photo looked different. Standing by the window to capture the light, she viewed the picture closely, then removed it from the frame. She traced the face, feeling the texture of the photo. It was sturdier than your typical, stock school photos. She looked at the back of the picture. On the bottom left of the picture in gold script it read: Canterberry’s, Savannah, Georgia. “Joel never lived in Georgia,” she said out loud.

  She looked at the face in the picture. It was definitely Joel. But why hadn’t he told her he had lived in Georgia? It was odd as he was a true Florida Cracker, born and bred, his words. There weren’t many true Floridians, it being such a tourist state. Something they’d both shared, their birth state. The pharmaceutical company started by Grant was in Florida. Joel went to college at Florida State University in Tallahassee. That’s where he met Sam, though Sam continued his education in Georgia. He’d said he went to Emory Law. Maybe there was a connection? It was perplexing, to say the least. She tucked the photo in her pocket and would ask Sam if he knew that Joel had gone to school in Georgia.

  She started scooping up another handful of clothes when the thought struck her that there was something odd about the picture. She took it from her pocket and went back to stand by the window, where the lighting was better. The boy was Joel, but ther
e was something different about him in the photo. She turned the photo left and right and viewed it from every angle possible before she realized what was slightly odd. It was the eyes in the picture. Joel’s green eyes sparkled, it was one of his best features, she thought. But in this picture, his eyes were empty.

  Lifeless. Could this be a picture of Joel’s twin? And could that be the other man who showed up at the house the day of the murders?

  She shoved the picture in her back pocket. Sure that Sam would know, or maybe Rachelle, she focused her attention on the massive amount of junk that had been tossed across the wood floor.

  What had they hoped to find? Could it have been teenagers? Knowing the history of the house, maybe they thought trashing her house was a great way to spend their day? She knew that kids did this kind of thing for kicks, but it was a huge risk given the presence of the media vultures lurking outside like shadows. Had that been part of the challenge? The thrill of not getting caught? She could go on with a thousand different scenarios, and not a single one would help her in getting the house back in some kind of order.

  She had boxed up most of the clothes when she realized that Sam had been gone longer than thirty minutes. She had assumed that Jill still lived in the same house in Whiskey Creek, south of here. It used to take her about fifteen minutes to drive there, ten extra if you were caught behind a school bus. Then it hit her. It was December. Prime tourist season for the Sunshine State. It would take at least half an hour to get to Jill’s house. She felt better knowing the traffic was probably bumper-to-bumper. Plus, if he drove downtown to her office, he’d be at least another hour.

  These were the issues of daily life that she hadn’t had to deal with in prison. In prison, you did what you were told to do—nothing more and nothing less. She had lived by the rules of the prison, and maybe she would have to live out the rest of her life and die by those rules, but negotiating, planning, gauging driving times—these were things she would have to get used to, assuming that Sam was right and she would avoid being returned to prison, that she could live the rest of her life as a free woman.

  This was only the third day she was away from prison, yet it was beginning to feel like her life in prison belonged to someone else. Still, adjusting to the day-to-day activities of normal life was going to take some time.

  She hated the word adjusting. That’s what they called acclimating to your situation in prison. In reverse. Prisoners adjusted to their new seven-foot-by-ten-foot living quarters. They adjusted to every-other-day showers. They adjusted to lights out at the same time every evening. She prayed she wouldn’t have to return to that hellhole. She had made no friends in prison; though a few of the convicts had tried to befriend her, she wasn’t stupid. She knew what went on when the lights were turned out. And she swore to herself that she would never allow herself to be victimized for however long she was there, and in ten years, she hadn’t succumbed to participating in the nighttime passion that most inmates engaged in.

  Her thoughts were careening all over the place when she thought she heard a noise downstairs. She stopped what she was doing and went to stand by the door of the master bedroom. Nothing. Probably her imagination. She turned around and was ready to go back into the room to do more cleaning when she heard the noise again.

  She paused just outside the master bedroom door, waiting.

  Footsteps. That was what she had heard. Someone was making crunching sounds as they walked over the broken dishes in the kitchen. The phone was in the kitchen. Damn. She inched her way past the bedroom’s entrance but kept close to the wall. She waited, careful not to bump into anything. Again, she heard footsteps walking over broken glass. Whoever it was, they were trying to be quiet.

  They knew she was alone in the house.

  Tessa dared to ease away from the wall where, if she could lean far enough, she could see past the wall into the kitchen. Stretching as far as she could without falling, she saw a pair of feet clad in black boots. Obviously, it was a man.

  Wishing she had kept Sam’s cell phone, she tried to remember if there was a phone jack in Poppy’s or Piper’s room. Not that it would matter since the portable phone she had had was crushed in a pile downstairs, most likely by her intruder.

  She watched the black-boots-clad feet move around in the kitchen. Back and forth, back and forth; then the man stopped walking and stood still. Tessa could tell by the position of the boots that the man was now facing in her direction. She practically mashed herself into the wall.

  The man just stood there. Had she made a noise? No, she was being very careful. She listened, then stretched out a second time for another look.

  She could not see him anywhere in the kitchen. The booted man was gone.

  Or he was in another room.

  Her heart rate quadrupled. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.

  Think. Think. Think. I have to get out of this house!

  This place was evil; she could feel it in her bones.

  There. A noise. She heard it again.

  Afraid to chance a look, she tried to place where the sounds were coming from.

  The hallway.

  Her bedroom.

  Had the son of a bitch forgotten something? Had he returned to steal her clothes?

  Suddenly, it occurred to her she had only one chance, to race down the stairs to the kitchen, where the phone was.

  If only he stayed in the bedroom long enough.

  Or should I stay put? Wait for Sam?

  No! Sam could die! Whoever it was could kill him when he came into the house.

  She wouldn’t let another person she cared for die.

  Never.

  She strained to hear.

  Yes!

  He is still in my room.

  For now.

  Carefully, she removed her ankle boots. One, then the other.

  If she kept them on, they would make noise.

  If she took them off, she would only risk cutting her feet.

  She would take her chances on her feet. They would heal.

  It was now or never.

  Without a second thought, she flew down the stairs, as quietly and quickly as possible.

  She stopped when she reached the bottom of the steps.

  Holding her breath, she inched her way around the wall.

  Only half of the living room was visible from where she stood.

  Lowering herself onto her belly, she eased her way across the main living area, behind the leather chairs facing the pool.

  One inch at a time. Move. Stop. Listen.

  Move. Stop. Listen.

  She was almost there.

  Move. Stop. Listen.

  She didn’t hear him.

  She eased her way across the threshold into the kitchen.

  Her hands met slivers of glass.

  Blood trickled from her palm to her wrist.

  The phone was on the countertop.

  Only a few feet away.

  What was that?

  She heard him.

  Closer.

  She smelled him.

  Oh. My. God!

  “You thought I was dead, didn’t you, Tessa?”

  Was she dreaming?

  Yes.

  “Didn’t you?” He shoved her face into the glass.

  He pushed harder. She felt the glass slice into her skin.

  But you didn’t feel pain in dreams.

  Or did you?

  This was not a dream.

  “Answer me, Tessa.”

  This was real.

  The voice. The smell. The positioning of those black boots.

  “Joel?”

  Wrapping his fist around her hair, he jerked her head back so far, she thought surely her neck would break.

  Cold, hard steel touched her neck.

  “Please, don’t do this.”

  “You bitch! You ruined my life! Get up!”

  Tessa pushed herself into an upright position as soon as he released her. She leaned against the bottom cabi
nets, using them to steady herself as she tried to stand. Her legs felt like Jell-O. She tried to think. Think. Think!

  Joel is alive. Here in the kitchen. Their kitchen.

  The telephone rang.

  “Answer it, and you’re dead.”

  She nodded.

  The phone continued to ring. Was the answering machine on? Did she even have an answering machine?

  The ringing stopped.

  She must reason with him. “Joel . . .” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. Fear stole her breath, her voice. Fear took her daughters’ lives.

  Shaking as if the temperature were more like the North-east at Christmastime and not Florida, she tried to speak in as normal a voice as she could muster. “Joel, listen to me. Please. I don’t understand anything. Please. Tell me what you want.” There. Now I sound more like myself.

  “You were planning on leaving me. Just like Jack did. He didn’t want to be around me. All he wanted to do was play with Mommy. All the time. He was mine. She said she was going to send me away. You’re just like her, you know that?”

  Tessa focused on the man she had once loved. He had aged badly—his hair was thinning, and his green eyes glinted with pure evil. His skin looked like old leather. The sun. Wherever he’d been, he had lived in the sun.

  “Like who? Who am I just like? And who is Jack? What are you talking about?” she dared to ask, almost sure that she already knew the answer. Understanding, finally, why the body in the pool had seemed strange. Understanding why Joel was so upset when he found out that they were going to have twins. Understanding why he never spoke of his mother and had never told her his mother’s name.

  “Mommy. Jack’s very best friend. Lois. The whore.”

  Dear Lord, he was totally mad!

  I have to keep him talking. Surely, Sam will be here soon.

  “I never met your mother, remember?” she said, hoping he would focus on what he was telling her and not on what she was doing. The drawer where Sam put the knives was just within reach.

  “You’re just like her. Stupid whore.”