“You know just what it means,” Jo snapped.
“I have to go.” Melanie grabbed her bag and turned to leave.
“Damn it!” Jo reacted in a heartbeat. Shooting Cash a furious glare, she stepped around him to grab the other woman’s arm and draw her to a stop. “Don’t leave. You came here for a reason, didn’t you?”
Green eyes flashed quickly toward Cash and away again. “Yes.”
“Then ignore him and tell me.”
“So what is it, Melanie?” Jo asked, fixing her gaze on the other woman. “What brought you all the way out here to see me?”
Several long seconds ticked past and the only sound was the sigh of the wind through the trees and the rumble of Nana’s whispers from the kitchen.
Finally, though, Jo’s valiantly maintained patience was rewarded.
Melanie took a deep breath to steel herself, then blurted out, “I have to leave him before he kills my baby. And I need you to help me.”
Seventeen
“The last time I was pregnant,” Melanie said, pacing nervously, digging her heels out of the grass over and over again, “Steve—hit me.” She stopped, looked over at Jo and corrected herself. “No, that’s not true. He’d hit me before, but that night was different. He beat me until I was on the floor, begging him to stop. He didn’t want children, he said. Had no intention of having an anchor around his neck. Then he kicked me in the stomach.”
She shuddered and reached for the back of the lawn chair. She curled her fingers around the top rung and held on until her knuckles went white. “I lost the baby.”
“Oh God.”
“After that, I was careful,” Melanie said, not reacting to Jo’s sympathy, not allowing herself to be silent—as if she’d been quiet for too long already. “I wanted children, but after that, I was careful. Until now.” She shook her head. “This pregnancy was an accident. Steve doesn’t know about it yet and it terrifies me to think of what he’ll do when he does find out.”
“And you want his baby?”
“I want my baby.”
“Then why don’t you leave?” Jo felt bad for asking it, but dear God, to stay with a guy who used you for a punching bag?
“Because he wouldn’t allow it.” Melanie huffed a breath and almost laughed. “He said he needed me to get elected. I look good in pictures. Know all the right people—my father sat on the State Supreme Court until he died two years ago.”
“What about your mom? Does she know what’s going on?” Cash asked.
“My mother died five years ago. And no one else knew about the abuse until today.” She looked at him. “Who’d believe me? He’s rich, handsome, charming. People don’t expect snakes to come in such a nice package.”
“What’re you going to do?” Jo asked. “And why did you come here? To me?”
Melanie’s gaze shifted to hers. “You stood up to him. You hit him. When Steve came home that night, he was furious. I thought sure he’d turn on me, he usually does. But he didn’t. He was so angry he couldn’t speak, but he just locked himself away in his study.”
Good, Jo thought, relieved she hadn’t been responsible in some way for Melanie taking another beating.
“Linda, his assistant, told me that you had hit him, and I knew that’s why he was so furious. Because a woman had stood up to him. And who knows, maybe that’s why he steered clear of me that night.” Her gaze locked with Jo’s. “All I know for sure is that when I found out about you, I thought—maybe there’s a way. Maybe I could get out. Take my baby and get out.”
“You should go,” Jo said, then worried. “Is there anyone you could go to? Somewhere you’d be safe?”
“My sister lives in Michigan. I could probably go to her. Yes,” she said, and nerves tugged at her lower lip. “Probably. Most likely. But the more I think about this, the more I think that coming here was a mistake.”
“No. No it wasn’t,” Jo said quickly, moving to lay one hand on the other woman’s arm. “It was brave of you to come.”
“Brave.” Tears welled up in soft green eyes and Melanie sighed. “If I were really brave, I’d have left him before he killed my baby.” Her hand moved to cup her still-flat abdomen, as if she were already trying to protect this child. “But I was just too scared. Too tired. Too hurt to think of trying to cross him. And he won’t let me go. Won’t let himself look bad to the constituents.”
“But if you stay now, you’ll lose this child, too.”
She covered her face with her hands. “God, I can’t—I’m just not as strong as you. I thought I could be, but—”
Jo understood. God, she understood that mind-numbing fear and the sense of humiliation that somehow, without even noticing how, you’d lost control of your life. Her heart twisted as she looked at the broken woman in front of her. Steve had done this, too. But he hadn’t completely succeeded yet. Melanie was broken, but she wasn’t shattered.
Reaching out, Jo took Melanie’s hands in hers and pulled them away, so that she could meet the woman’s eyes. “I do understand what you’re feeling. Because he put me through the same thing. The terror. The shame—”
Melanie gripped Jo’s hands hard, as if clinging to a lifeline—and maybe she was.
Taking a deep breath, Jo continued, “It’s not easy for me to admit this, but it took me ten years to find the guts to look Steve in the eye and tell him what I think of him. Courage isn’t always that easy to find.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Melanie said softly. “I know what I want to do. I just don’t know what to do.”
“It’s a big step,” Jo agreed. “But it’s a step worth taking and you already know that, because you’re here.”
“Talking about it’s one thing. Actually doing it is something else.”
“Believe me,” Jo said, “I know that.”
Melanie gave her a brief, wistful smile. “I’m glad I came here,” she said, “talked to you. Whatever happens, I feel better for it.”
“I’m glad.” Releasing the other woman’s hands after a hard squeeze, she urged her to “Just think about it. You don’t have to make up your mind this minute.”
She wished she could do more to help. Old feelings of guilt resurfaced and simmered on the oil slick floating in the pit of her stomach. No matter how much she wanted to jump in with both feet and fight Melanie’s battles, she knew that sometimes, you had to find the will all on your own. No one else could decide for you.
To fight your demons, you had to do it standing on your own two feet.
“It won’t be easy,” she said, meeting Melanie’s eyes and trying to will strength into her. “But if I can help,” she promised, “I will.”
Jo waved until the dust cloud behind Melanie’s BMW had settled back onto the driveway. Only when she was sure the other woman couldn’t see her, did she spin around and screech, “That son of a bitch!”
“I wish to God you’d have let me hit him.” Cash’s growl came, filled with heat and ice.
But Jo hardly heard him. Her insides jittered, her stomach quivered, and her blood was pounding in her head. Fury, raw and unshakable, held her fast. “This is all my fault.”
He grabbed her upper arm and turned her around to face him. “How the hell do you come to that conclusion?”
She yanked free of his grasp and squinted up into the late afternoon sun to look at him. “If I’d stayed at college, pressed charges, Jesus, even told people about that bastard ten years ago—Melanie would never have been in this position.”
“I don’t believe this,” he ground out. “You’re going to take the blame for what’s happening to Melanie?”
“It’s not just her.” Jo kept going, riding a swell of incensed rage that had her eyes glazed over and her breath hitching. “Who the hell knows how many women he’s brutalized over the years?”
“You can’t take the blame for this.”
“If I’d had the guts to take him on ten years ago, he might have gone to jail,” she shouted, waving her arms a
s if looking for something to hit. “And he sure as hell wouldn’t be running for state senate now.”
Cash grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close. Anger churned in her eyes, but sorrow and misery were there, too, and they tore at him, damn it. “This is that smooth-talking, rat-faced bastard’s fault, and nobody else’s.”
She got that stubborn look on her face, so he kept talking.
“You were a victim, too, Josefina.” God, it cost him to say that. To remember that she’d once been young and vulnerable and alone. “He hurt you as much as he’s hurt Melanie. Don’t you dare take the rap for him.”
Her mouth worked, but some of the misery faded from her eyes, disappearing behind a flash of temper he was glad to see.
Pulling free of him again, she took a step back and said, “Fine. Okay, even I know I can’t take the blame for all of this. But don’t you get it?” She slapped her chest. “I understand her. I know just where she is, because Melanie’s right where I was ten years ago. She’s scared. Ashamed. Alone.”
“You’re not that girl anymore.”
“No, I’m not. And I’m not afraid to take him on.”
Pride filled him as he watched her find her balance again. Find her strength. The woman had more spine than anyone he’d ever known.
“I want to help you in this.”
She almost smiled, a soft tug at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks, but this is something I have to finish alone.”
He felt a door slam in his face and realized that he was being shut out. And what’s more, he didn’t much like it. Made no sense, of course, because hadn’t he been trying to shut her out lately? Hadn’t he convinced himself to let her go so that when she left it would be on his terms?
But this was different.
“You don’t have to do every damn thing on your own, Jo,” he said, with more control than he was feeling. “Alone’s not always everything it’s cracked up to be.”
“Is that right?” She looked him up and down, then frowned at him. “Well, if you think alone sucks so much—why are you so determined to stay that way?”
He didn’t have an answer for that one. Not that she’d have heard him if he had. While he stood there like a statue carved out of stupid, she turned on her heel and marched off to the house.
Leaving him more alone than he’d ever been.
“So what’re we gonna do about this?” Mike demanded from her spot on the couch.
“Yeah, assemble the warriors,” Sam cried, lifting one fist in a power salute. “Let’s go to the city and take this creep out.”
“Good plan,” Jo said, nodding. “Get the bazooka.”
Sunlight washed through the wide front windows of Mike’s house and lay in a thick slice of gold across the matching green sofas that sat facing each other. The area rug beneath the couches looked like a life raft on the imaginary sea created by the cool blue tiles on the floor.
Jo paced a wide circle around that area rug, shooting her sisters occasional eye rolls as the two women shouted out ideas on how to kill Steve Smith and get away with it. Tempting. Too damn tempting. The heels of her polished work boots rang on the cool blue tiles as her mind raced along, looking for ideas. Hell, any idea would do. Okay, an idea that wouldn’t put them all in jail for the rest of their young lives.
It had been three days since Melanie’s visit and Jo had hardly slept. She kept worrying about the other woman. Was she safe? Had her bastard of a husband beat the shit out of her again? And what could Jo do about it?
“Come on, we should be able to do something about this guy,” Mike complained.
“Don’t see what,” Jo said, stopping suddenly to drop onto the end of the couch. Lifting both feet, she rested them on the coffee table and crossed them at the ankles. “If we go busting in, then Rat Boy’s going to know that Melanie’s been talking. Which won’t make life any easier on her.”
“True, but—”
“No buts. We can’t do this for her.” Jo studied the shine on her boots and faced the one truth she hadn’t been able to shake. “If Melanie’s not ready to leave, there’s no way we can do anything about it.”
“Fine, if you’re going to use logic,” Mike sniffed. “Hand me that cookie, will you?”
“Aren’t you afraid you’re gonna pop?” Jo asked, reaching for the snickerdoodle and tossing it to her sister.
“Actually, I’m sort of hoping I do,” Mike whined around a bite of cookie. “Shelley says I could go any day, but the babies are so not cooperating.”
“Apparently they didn’t get their patience from you. Just don’t give birth at my graduation, okay?”
“Oh please.” Mike snorted, licked one finger and used it to snag the crumbs off her bodice. “I want a hospital and lots of drugs.”
“All right, you two, back on track,” Sam said, reaching for Jo’s thick work binder. “If we can’t save the world, or kick a deserving ass, we should at least figure out the jobs for this week.”
Jo’s eyes bugged out and she made a panicked lunge for the binder. “Give me that.”
Sam pulled it away and out of reach. “God, you are so freaking territorial. Take it easy, will you, I just—” Her voice faded away as she pulled a loose sheet of paper from the binder. “Hmm. Someone seems to have written the word ‘Cash’ a few hundred times. Now what do you suppose that’s about?”
Jo snatched the paper, crumpled it into a tight ball in her right fist, and felt her cheeks flush as both sisters stared at her. “I was worried about cash flow. I was working. Doing the spreadsheet. Figuring out the bills . . .”
They were nodding, smiling—okay, smirking.
“Fine,” Jo muttered, stuffing that wad of paper in her jeans pocket. “I wrote his name. Shoot me.”
“Ah,” Mike said on a dreamy sigh, “pit bulls in love.”
“Pregnant or not, you watch it, twit.”
“And is Cash writing your name on his homework, too?”
“You know,” Jo said, glaring at Sam, “you were the sister I actually liked.”
“Uh-huh,” Sam said, clearly unconcerned with the sarcasm—and why wouldn’t she be? The Marconi girls had gotten their sarcasm inoculation as children. “You’re avoiding the question. Does Cash Hunter feel the same about you?”
“You know,” Jo said, slumping farther into the feather-soft couch, until it looked as though she were being swallowed by the cushions. “Sometimes there’s a reason for avoiding questions.”
“So he doesn’t love you?”
Jo glared at Mike. “Who said anything about love?”
“I think you did,” Sam pointed out.
“God, why was I cursed with know-it-all sisters?”
“Just lucky?” Mike ventured.
“That can’t be it,” Jo said. “Trust me.”
“Well,” Sam snapped, “he’s clearly not good enough for you.”
“Thanks for that anyway.”
“What the hell’s wrong with him?” Mike wanted to know.
“How much time have you got?” Jo snarled, crossing her arms over her chest in self-defense, though she knew it was a useless gesture against her sisters.
“How much time do you need?” Sam asked.
The small, hard ball of hurt and misery inside her slowly deflated into a puddle of goo. They were willing to sit and moan with her. Willing to listen to her talk even if it took days. Damn it. Just when she thought Mike and Sam were about the most annoying human beings on the face of the earth, they went and did something nice. Something touching. Something . . .
“I’m in love.” Jo reached up and yanked at her hair in frustration over her own stupidity. “In love with Cash Hunter.”
“Yeah,” Mike said. “We got that much.”
“The question,” Sam asked, “is what’re you gonna do about it?”
“What the hell am I supposed to do about it?” Since she couldn’t sink any farther into the couch, she gave up on it altogether and leaped to her feet instead. Immediately, she felt b
etter. She was through hiding away from what she was feeling. Never again was she going to bury herself under a blanket of lies and secrets. “Why do I have to do anything about it?”
“Atta girl. Don’t go after what you want. Stand here and complain.” Mike choked out a laugh and stretched her hand toward the last couple of cookies.
“Who’s complaining?” Jo asked, shoving the plate of cookies closer to Mike.
Her youngest sister blinked, shook her head, then thumped the heel of her hand over her ear. “Geez . . . sounded like you.”
“Funny.”
“Did you tell Cash?” Sam asked.
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“Uh, so he’d know?”
“Like I want him knowing. For God’s sake, he’s made it perfectly clear he didn’t want a ‘relationship,’ and Lord, I hate that word.” Jo bent down, grabbed up one of the cookies and took a bite.
“Hey!” Mike shouted.
Jo ignored her. “He says he ‘healed’ me and now I should go away.”
“He what?”
“Thank you,” Jo said to Sam. “Exactly how I felt.”
“Just how did this mystical healing take place?” Mike wondered.
Scowling, Jo took another bite of cookie. “I went back to his place. Forced him to have sex with me again—”
“Forced him?” Mike interrupted. “Did he cry?”
“You really do love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” Jo finished off the cookie and reached for another, but Mike was too quick for her and grabbed up the last three, as if she were a survivalist planning on not getting another meal anytime soon. “The point,” Jo said, “is that this time, I, uh, you know, I . . .”
“Saw fireworks?”
“Exactly.” Jo pointed a finger at Sam, as if she’d just won the grand prize on Jeopardy. “So anyway, I’m all, This is great, and Hey, fabulous, and really trying to not say anything stupid like ‘I love you, you big moron,’ when he pulls out the ‘We’ve had sex and now you’ll leave to join the Peace Corps’ thing.”
“To give him his due,” Sam said, “that is what most women who’ve been with him have done.”
“Yeah, but I’m not most women, am I? I’m not going anywhere. And I told him so.”
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