No Good Deed

by Susanne Matthews

  “I chose you, Alexa, because you’re exactly what I need, what I want, but there are two ways we can do this. If you like pain, keep fighting me; if you don’t, obey. I know, deep down, you like it rough, otherwise you wouldn’t be so willful. Pain or pleasure—the choice is yours.”

  What a fool she’d been. For two years, she’d walked on eggshells, fearing his next outburst, believing him when he would beg her forgiveness, claiming he couldn’t live without her. He promised to see a therapist about his anger issues, and things seemed better until she discovered his “therapist” was nothing but a masseuse at a Bloor Street massage parlor.

  Filled with pain and anger, she’d confronted him. He’d hit her so hard, he’d bruised her cheekbone, blackened her eye, and knocked out a tooth. Luckily, it had been school break time. How could she tell anyone what had happened? And even if she did, who would believe her? After all, it was her word against his. She’d gone to their dentist and claimed she’d fallen.

  Back home, she’d packed her bags and had gotten into her car, but she’d been forced off the highway and hit a tree. The car that had caused the accident fled the scene. When she woke up, badly bruised but without anything broken, she’d been on the psychiatric ward for seventy-two hours of observation. Richard had informed the hospital that she’d threatened to hurt herself, and had used her mother’s psychiatric history to support his case, claiming the accident was really an attempted suicide. No matter what she said, the doctor in charge of her case saw it as evidence of her delusional state. At Richard’s insistence, she’d been released into his custody, with antipsychotic medication she’d refused to take.

  “Don’t ever try anything like this again, my dear,” Richard said under his breath, his teeth gritted despite the smile on his face as he nodded to people he knew. He pushed the wheelchair the hospital insisted she use until she was outside. “That vile tongue of yours will cause you nothing but pain. A man’s home is his castle. I may have chosen you to be my new queen, but I decide what you can say and do. This little act of defiance hasn’t hurt me, but if you continue to be willful, I’ll see you committed, like your mother was.”

  “You couldn’t do that,” she said softly, her head fuzzy from the medication they’d given her. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  He laughed. “My dear Alexa, you’re forgetting who I am. If you ever try to leave me again, I will call the police, cite your psychiatric history, and have you arrested for your own safety.” He blinked and smiled. “Now, darling, let’s go home so that you can soak your bruised body. I have some wonderful surprises for you.”

  The fear he would make good on his threats dominated her actions, and life was bearable for the next three months, until another argument when he’d punched her, leaving her black and blue, with two bruised ribs. She’d told her colleagues that the horse she rode had thrown her, but she’d applied for a gun permit, convinced that one of these times, in his black moments, he would kill her. He’d discovered what she’d done and shoved her into the wall. Contrite as he always was after the beating ended, he’d bandaged her wrist. She’d missed too much time from school to take more and had gone back to work the next day.

  “I went to the emergency room for an X-ray, and the nurse asked me if I was being abused. Despite the fact I denied it, she gave me a card for one of the women’s shelters in the city. When Richard found the card in my purse, he went crazy. He was a different person—a real Mr. Hyde. He’d been angry before, but never like this. I was sure he was going to kill me.”

  The room vanished, and she was back in the loft she’d shared with Richard.

  The cloying scent of lilies and roses, the two flowers she detested, almost made her sick.

  “Richard, for God’s sake. It’s the law now,” she said trying to calm him, but it was like pouring gasoline on a raging fire. “She saw the bruises on my face, the X-rays revealed my healing ribs, and my wrist has a hairline fracture. The law says they have to ask, have to provide assistance even if I deny it. You’re a doctor. You know that.”

  “The law has no business meddling in mine. What I do know is that you’ve defied me once more. You had no reason to be there in the first place,” he answered angrily, getting more furious by the minute.

  “Listen to me. She must’ve put it in my purse when I wasn’t watching,” she begged.

  He reached for her, grabbed her by both shoulders, slamming her bandaged wrist into the wall. The pain almost blinded her in its intensity.

  “I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed me. So, you think so little of me that you can question my medical competence? How does that make me look to my associates?”

  “I wasn’t questioning anything. I was at work, and I couldn’t hide the pain. My principal insisted I go. He drove me there.” Tears crawled down her cheeks.

  “The son of a bitch who had the nerve to grill me about the way I spoke to you at that last affair you dragged me to? What did you do? Go crying to him? Launch yourself into his arms?”

  Richard shook her again, harder this time, and she bit her tongue. Her mouth filled with blood.

  “Were you dressed like a trollop? Were you wearing those trashy clothes with the short skirts I told you to get rid of? Out of all the women I’ve met, I picked you to replace my Camilla and you do nothing but disrespect me.”

  He released her forcefully, pushing her away from him so hard that she lost her balance and stumbled back against the glass doors that separated the bedroom from the en suite bath. The door shattered under the sudden weight and pressure. Fire burned along the side of her face moments before her head struck the ceramic floor and everything went dark.

  She blinked, her hand raising automatically to rub the scar along her face. She hugged herself. It was just a memory. Richard couldn’t hurt her now.

  “Why didn’t you charge him?” The anger in Mike’s voice was palpable.

  “Charge him?” she shrieked. “You’ve got to be kidding. Richard has friends in both high and low places. The chief of police is on his Christmas card list. When I woke up, he’d stitched my face, bandaged the rest of my cuts, and put me to bed. The next morning, I called in sick, and I was going to leave right then and there, but before I could, he came back to the apartment with a dozen mauve roses, diamond earrings, and a nurse to look after me. My jailor made sure I didn’t go anywhere by myself. The day before I returned to work, a story appeared in the Globe saying I’d been mugged in a parking lot near my school. Do you understand how powerful he is? He manipulated the press and the police. I saw the incident report. He showed it to me when he told me he’d made an appointment at the clinic for me to have plastic surgery to eliminate the scar.”

  Mike didn’t say anything for a moment, but his fists were clenched at his sides, the muscles in his arms flexed. He looked ready to do battle.

  “That’s when you decided to leave again?” he asked.

  “Yes. My choice was simple. I could live that way the rest of my life, a slave to a man who believes women, like dogs, are meant to be controlled in whatever way is necessary to keep them in line, or run away, leave everyone and everything that mattered behind, before one of his lessons killed me.”

  “That’s why you agreed to testify. Dead, you had your freedom, but alive—”

  “He’ll keep looking for me until he finds me, no matter how much it costs. For Richard, money grows on trees. The more he spends, the more he has. I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. I’m trapped, not only by my broken body, but by this country’s borders. I have no documents. I don’t even have a name. That brandy you showed me earlier is his preferred brand, imported especially for a select group. My God. The man who owns this place and Richard could be drinking buddies, and if the video of me was taken by that pervert, and Richard sees it . . . ”

  Where could she go now? There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

  Mike moved over to the recliner and squatted in front of her. He reached for he
r hands. Comforting heat flooded her. Could she let down her guard and trust this man?

  “I won’t let him get you. You have my word on that. I won’t leave you until I know you’re 100 percent safe.”

  He squeezed her fingers encouragingly.

  “How’d you manage to escape?” he asked, still holding her hands in his.

  She licked her lips. “After being caught the first two times I’d tried to run, I planned carefully. I needed money and a destination he wouldn’t consider.” She shook her head. “I thought fate was on my side; it certainly seemed that way at the time, but . . . Before Mom married Anderson, she opened a joint bank account for us. She called it our ‘wish account’ since it was supposed to cover special things. I’d forgotten all about it until I got a call at the school telling me that unless I made a deposit or a withdrawal, they would put it in the inactive file. I went to the bank and discovered there was more than ten thousand dollars in it. Mom had put money in it each month until her death. I got a new bank card, took out half of the money, and bought a used car, registering it in her name. Richard had a trip to Africa scheduled, and as soon as his plane took off, I emptied my regular bank account and made my move. I told my principal I needed a leave of absence—that I was still shook up about the mugging—then I grabbed a few things from the apartment, including Benji, and left. Everything was falling into place until I ran into the snowstorm, and you know what happened next.”

  “Alexa, you’re incredible. You have nothing to be ashamed of. If I ever get my hands on that bastard, I’ll rip him limb from limb. We’re going to stay safe. You’ll testify against Zabat, and then you’ll disappear. I’ve got a few friends I can contact. Without mentioning your name, I can make sure they have a close look at the doctor and his activities—maybe he’s overbilling OHIP or cheating on his taxes. That endless money of his has to be coming from somewhere. They’ll keep him so busy looking over his shoulder, he won’t have time to search for you.”

  “Thanks,” she said, releasing his hands and immediately missing the warmth. “I know you mean what you’re saying, but I’ll never stop worrying.”

  “I have no intention of letting anyone get to you,” Mike said. “That’s more than a promise, it’s an oath.” He stood. “How about we lighten the atmosphere a bit. Maybe we can watch one of the tapes I found in the attic. I think we both need to laugh.”

  “What did you find?”

  “A few comedies. They must’ve been hidden away just to make your time here even gloomier.”

  She chuckled. “If that was the intent, they succeeded. I’ll make popcorn again.”

  Moving from the recliner into her wheelchair, she went into the kitchen. Surprisingly, she felt better. Maybe it was because she’d shared the burden, but it was probably because she trusted Mike to keep his word. Hopefully, this time her trust wasn’t misplaced. He hadn’t told her everything about his thorough search of the chalet and outbuildings, and he hadn’t shared any more about his wife, but maybe that was just as well at the moment. He was right. They needed to laugh.

  As much as she would need to know eventually, now was not the time to learn how he’d gotten his wife murdered.

  • • •

  Mike examined the new sealant around the shower in Alexa’s bathroom. While he hadn’t found any C-4 in the garage, he’d located something far worse. From the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out the piece of black cellophane wrapper he’d discovered behind the trashcan under the workbench.

  Finding it had been nothing short of a miracle. He’d gone out looking for oil or lubricant to fix the squeak on her wheelchair and had dropped the screwdriver. Bending down, the bright yellow lettering had caught his attention and made his blood run cold. CHARGE DEMOLITION WITH TAGGANT (1¼ lbs. comp C-4). There was part of a serial number under the writing.

  While he was no expert, the putty-like substance in here looked to be the right color and consistency for the explosive. White and grainy, C-4 could be molded into any shape and placed anywhere. Who would suspect a shower stall could be a deathtrap?

  On his hands and knees, he examined the caulking, looking for wires leading into it, anything that could be used to detonate the explosive, but couldn’t find anything. Without a strong electrical charge to set it off, C-4 was stable. Hell, he could set fire to it and nothing would happen, but with the right charge, it would blow the place to bits.

  It was possible the wiring and the rest of the explosive was under the floor, and if that was the case, it meant whoever was keeping her here, watching her, had intended to blow up the place all along.

  He had to go outside and crawl under the cottage to check. If he was right, there would be wires leading to the fuse box, and it was possible that the initial jolt of electricity this place would get when the grid was up and running again could set it off.

  “What on earth are you doing crawling around on my bathroom floor?” Alexa asked.

  He jumped at the sound of her voice, probably looking as guilty as a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

  “I was just looking around,” he lied. She didn’t really need to know they were standing on a bomb, did she? “Nice shower. It’s a bit more modern than I expected.” He stuffed the wrapper into his front pocket.

  “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?” he parried.

  “Damn you, Mike Delorme, I’m not an idiot. What are you really doing in my bathroom, and what was that piece of paper you shoved into your pocket?” She narrowed her eyes, her cheeks red. “And don’t you dare lie to me, not after I’ve bared my soul to you. I thought I could trust you, but you’re as big a liar as the rest of the men I’ve known.”

  Mike sighed. She deserved the truth, but how much honesty could she take?

  Instead of speaking, he pulled the wrinkled wrapper out of his pocket and handed it to her. She smoothed it out, and as she did, the color left her face.

  “Is this what I think it is?” she asked, her voice petering out on the last word.

  “It’s a wrapper for military grade C-4, the kind that was found in the drug raid last week and in the convenience store the night you were shot. It’s why your shooting wasn’t reported. The feds believe this poses a clear and present danger.”

  “Zabat’s involved with this?”

  Mike shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been after the guy for more than five years, the last three almost exclusively, and I wouldn’t have suspected terrorist ties, but the evidence speaks for itself.”

  “This doesn’t explain why you’re in my bathroom. What does this wrapper have to do with that?

  “The waterproofing around the tub. It’s new.” Let her reach the same conclusion he had.

  “Of course it’s new. The shower was put in—” She stopped speaking, her eyes growing huge as what little color she had faded. “My God. You think C-4 is what they used to caulk my shower? The stall is a giant bomb?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I think so.”

  “Do something. Rip it out,” she cried, beginning to shake.

  “Alexa, listen to me,” he said, stepping over to her and cupping her face in his hands, gazing into her frightened eyes. “C-4 is not dangerous unless it’s detonated, and you need a powerful electrical charge to do that. If I try to rip it out, it’s possible I’ll trigger some hidden switch. I’m going outside to cut the main feed so that the regular power can’t come on again, and then I’ll go under the chalet and look for wires. I’ll check around for more caulking, too.”

  “Why can’t we just leave now?” she asked, trembling, her lips tightly compressed.

  He rested his chin on her head. Holding her like this felt right. But it was wrong. He couldn’t get involved. Doing so could get them both killed. He pushed her away slightly and looked down at her.

  “Because the weather’s still too bad. It would be too easy to get disoriented, and we’d freeze to death or feed the wolves. I know you’re scared, so am I, but I need you to hang in
there a little longer. Sitting on a bomb isn’t my idea of a good time, either. If I can’t neutralize the detonator, we’re out of here, no matter what. Okay? I said I would keep you safe, and I will.”

  She took a deep breath, but she was still chalk white. She stepped out of his arms, in control of herself once more. “Okay, but now that I know I’m supposed to die here, I want to leave as soon as I can.”

  “Understood.” He stepped toward the hallway. “Come lock the door. While I’m out there, why don’t you start supper?”

  She nodded. “I can make an omelet, or would you prefer something more substantial?”

  “I would, and you need something with more meat to it, too. You’re downright skinny.”

  “I am not,” she answered indignantly. “I’m fashionably slender. I was the envy of half the staff at school. Believe it or not, I’ve actually gained weight here.”

  “Right. Well, you can stand to put on a few more pounds.” At her scowl, he raised his hands defensively. “Hey, not complaining, but we can’t risk you getting sick. It’s going to be rough when we leave here, and I need you as fit as you can be. There’s too much riding on this.”

  “I’ve got lasagna and garlic bread in the freezer, and there’s enough lettuce left for a Caesar salad,” she answered soberly. “Will that do?”

  “Pasta—my favorite. Lasagna will do nicely. It’s been a hell of a day for us both—you more than me. I’ve got to go. The sooner I neutralize this, the better.”

  He was about to go out the door when she grabbed his arm to stop him.

  “This is what you were looking for, isn’t it? Not mittens but explosives.”

  “Both actually, but I hadn’t found any C-4 when you asked, so technically I didn’t lie.”

  “Don’t use semantics on me, Mike. I want your word now, this very minute, that you will not keep anything from me, no matter how bad it is.”