Jan Coffey Suspense Box Set: Three Complete Novel Box Set: Trust Me Once, Twice Burned, Fourth Victim

by Jan Coffey

  “Why? Are you afraid of losing?”

  Léa shook her head and watched him move behind her.

  “Then are you afraid that others might not think too highly of you?” His hands slipped around her waist. Watching her in the mirror, he lifted the hem of her T-shirt up enough to expose one of her breasts, then lowered it again. “Are you concerned that you might not measure up?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then just answer my question. Was Ted weak?”

  “No.” Léa was fighting a losing battle with the tingling sensations running through her body.

  “But you took care of him, didn’t you?”

  “We took care of each other.”

  “How about your aunt? You did all the work and—”

  “No! Janice took care of us for years before she got sick. She was strong. Vibrant. Capable. She was a very independent woman.”

  “Then I’m betting she had the strength and intelligence to manage everything in her life. It takes that balance to keep life from throwing you. God knows, raising teenage kids isn’t easy.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t.”

  “She must had allowed friends and neighbors and teachers to help her. And letting them be part of the action didn’t make her less strong or less independent, did it? It certainly didn’t make her needy. Her ego was not bruised because other people cared.”

  “I know what this is all about. You’re bringing all these things up because I’m not behaving like the other woman you go out with.” She turned around and faced him. “I’m not asking you to run my life, so I don’t fit the expected mold.”

  “Wrong on all counts. I don’t compare people, and I am finding it challenging enough running my own life.” He drew her tightly to him. “And the only thing I know about molds is that we make an incredible fit together.”

  It would have been so much easier to let go of everything but this minute. Léa knew she had the power to distract him. She could let him make love to her. They would both stop thinking and questioning why she was scared, why she felt the need to run, even why he couldn’t let her draw away from him.

  But that, too, would be using him. She couldn’t do that.

  “What do you want from me, Mick?”

  His blue eyes darkened. His hand came up and cradled her cheek. “That’s easy. Friendship. Passion.”

  “I want that, too.”

  “And trust,” he added. “But I know that is something earned and not given.”

  Léa felt herself wavering again. He had given her his trust, through Heather. But what had she given?

  “I do trust you, Mick.” Her voice trembled as the words came out.

  “Do you?” He forced her to look up at him again. “Do you trust me enough to confide in me, to ask for help, to let me be there for you when you are alone? Do you trust me enough to let go of this belief that your independence is bruised by me wanting to share in the hard things and the joys?”

  This was the core of it all. Not the independence, but the sharing. Being alone for so long, she had learned to survive on her own as a matter of necessity. Léa didn’t know how to put any of this into words, how to communicate the fears that regardless of what was going on between them now, one day soon she was going to be there again. Alone.

  He was waiting for an answer.

  “I can try,” she finally got out. “But no promises. The problem is not with you, it’s with me. I know it takes great patience dealing with me. But I need to learn how to do these things. How to function with someone. Be nice to them, I guess.”

  “You don’t have to be nice to anybody but me.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Maybe Heather, too. You could be nice to her, I suppose.”

  Léa was relieved to hear his tone lighten. “No hard feelings? No ‘do it my way or else’?”

  He shook his head and kissed the tip of her nose. “No running away?”

  She looped her arms around his neck and let out an unsteady breath. “No running away.”

  “Good.” He swept her off her feet and stood her in the tub, climbing in after her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Commemorating our agreement with a wet-T-shirt contest.”

  “I cannot believe what a kid you can be.”

  She laughed as he turned on the spray.

  “Well, maybe I should just soap you up while we’re in here.”

  “If you insist,” he replied, taking her mouth in a kiss.

  ~~~~

  He was back from physical therapy.

  The buzz of the van’s lift lowering the wheelchair to the gravel drive drifted in through the open windows. A minute later, Bob’s wheelchair rolled up the ramp, and Stephanie saw the driver open the front door of the house ahead of her husband.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Slater.”

  “Hello, Sandy.” Stephanie dropped the pictures and the envelope from her lap onto the coffee table. She crushed out one cigarette and reached for another.

  “You would have been very proud of this guy today. The therapists said he worked really hard.” She held the door back until Bob came through. “Come and see him sometime. When I went to get him, he was finishing up his balance exercises. You wouldn’t believe how much better he’s getting.”

  Stephanie left the comment unanswered, lit the cigarette, and leaned back in the chair. She watched her husband maneuver his wheelchair around the furniture until he was in front of the pile of mail she’d left on an end table. This was the one thing that he looked forward to since his stroke.

  Sandy looked down at her clipboard. “I have you down for Wednesday at ten and Friday at one o’clock for this week.”

  “R-right.” Bob answered absently, thumbing through the envelopes.

  “Have a good one, Mrs. Slater. See you later, Bob.” The woman gave a half wave before closing the door behind her.

  Stephanie took a deep drag from the cigarette and stared at her husband’s profile. His gray hair was thinning. His face had grown pudgy and pale. Since his stroke, he’d put on a lot of weight, and there were at least two distinct rolls added to his gut. She leaned forward and picked up the pictures again.

  The one she’d left on top was the most flattering of the bunch. Bob was wearing his bathing suit and a short sleeve shirt with the buttons left open. Marilyn, of course, had to be topless in the picture. The slut was sitting on his lap on her backyard patio. His erection was visible in the bathing suit.

  Bob must have sensed her staring at him, for he turned his chair around.

  “G-good day?”

  “No. It was horrible.”

  His legs were much skinnier now than before, too. Stephanie leafed through the pictures until she found the one of him lying on the bed with Marilyn preparing to suck his cock. He definitely used to have nice muscles.

  “W-what happ-pened?”

  “Somebody is trying to put me in an institution, and they’ve almost succeeded.”

  She took another deep drag and looked to see if there were any shots of him standing up.

  “T-tell me. W-what happ-pened?”

  “When I was at the bank, someone put a stuffed animal on the front seat of my car. One like the tiger Hanna used to carry around. I lost it for a couple of minutes. I got confused again.” Her hands were trembling, so Stephanie leaned over and crushed the cigarette out.

  “M-maybe acc-cident. S-some kid l-left it there.”

  “It was no frigging accident.” Out of reflex she reached for the cigarette pack, but then leaned back and clutched the pictures instead. “This wasn’t the first time something like this has happened. Last week, some creep jammed a tricycle under my car when I was at the cemetery. It looked just like the one I bought Emily on her fifth birthday.”

  “Y-you d-didn’t tell me.”

  Stephanie shrugged. “I told Rich Weir.”

  “Y-you should…have t-told me.”

  “Why? You don’t tell me everything.” She looked d
own at the pictures again. “There is not a single one of you standing. I don’t think I have a picture of you standing.”

  “What’s th-that?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? These came in today’s mail from some unknown admirer of yours…or maybe an admirer of mine, since the envelope was addressed to me.”

  She tossed the pictures onto the coffee table, and they spread like a fan in front of him. Bob with his hand on his stepdaughter’s crotch. Bob squeezing Marilyn’s tit as he humped her from behind. And all the others.

  “There are twelve of them in there and not one of you standing.”

  She lifted her gaze from the disgusting pictures to her husband’s face. He was pale, and she could hear him wheezing. His eyes were closed, and she could see every one of his eyelashes. She could have counted them. It struck her as almost funny how clear and distinct things became sometimes, particularly after those confused moments. Colors. Lines. The line between light and shadow.

  “I assume,” she said, “this is not the first time you’re seeing these.”

  “I…m-made mis…mistake. She p-promised y-you wouldn’t know. She s-said she’ll dest…troy these. She l-lied…l-lied.”

  “That she did,” Stephanie commented tersely. “But I had the good fortune of not having to wait for these pictures. She called me. Yes, she did. She told me in graphic detail how she was screwing my husband. Graphic detail. My own daughter! She warned me that I’d better shut up and mind my own business about the custody of those two girls, or there was no saying what she might do to embarrass you and the bank and all of us.”

  Every nerve in her body was jumping. The focus was shifting, distorting. Her anger at the betrayal was stabbing at her mind, puncturing her brain, cutting out chunks of her reason. She could feel the confusion coming on again, and she fought against it. She grabbed for a cigarette and somehow lit it.

  “I should have told her to go and fuck herself. I should have taken the girls away. Pushed Ted to speed up the divorce.”

  The tears began to roll down her face. He’d loved them. Ted had loved them. But then he’d killed them. He’d betrayed those children, too. He’d betrayed their trust. Her trust. Hers. She’d been burned, too. Twice burned. Damn the fathers. Damn all men.

  “I tried to protect you. To save your reputation. Your name. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. She was a viper. A slut. An unnatural monster. I didn’t want to believe her.” The tight control she’d been fighting for snapped and fell away. “But you weren’t worth it.”

  “I h-hated her. Hated her.” Bob’s hand shook violently. “Sh-she sent you these bef-fore she died. Sh-she said sh-she wouldn’t, but did. I saw th-them first. I dest-troyed them…because I loved you. I was t-tricked. Tricked. I was…am…s-sorry.”

  “Sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry that after she died, you couldn’t find another whore like her? Sorry that you had a stroke and turned into the half man you are now?”

  “S-sorry I d-didn’t s-stop her soo-ner. She was evil. She…she d-deserved to die. She had to die!”

  She had to die! Stephanie had given birth to the devil’s own spawn. Dusty and Marilyn. They were cut from the same vile cloth. Father and daughter, living only to taint anything within their reach. The only good that had come from her—ever—was Emily and Hanna. But it was because they had Ted’s heart. She closed her eyes and saw the convicted and broken man in her mind. Grieving. In pain.

  Sorry I didn’t stop her sooner. Bob’s words echoed in her mind again. Stephanie’s hand, the cigarette dangling and forgotten, dropped onto the arm of the chair.

  “Stop her sooner?” She peered at him through the tears clouding her vision.

  “I did. I f-fell for her…and saw her sh-shed her s-skin. S-snake. Evil. Sh-she planned to de-destroy you…me…us. Sh-she had to die.”

  Bright shafts of light were blinding her. Stephanie didn’t think she could stand the glare.

  “That night—the night she and the girls were murdered—I was down in Delaware. You were here alone.”

  “Y-yes.”

  “I called you. Several times. But you never answered the phone.”

  He looked away. “L-long t-time ago.”

  Stephanie felt her claws come out. She’d been blaming Ted. She’d been crushed by the pressure of his betrayal. But she was wrong. “You killed her!”

  “N-no. N-no. No!” he shouted.

  “My precious girls were in that house. Those innocent babies were upstairs.” She rose to her feet.

  “No…No!” Tears were coursing down his face. “I…d-didn’t.”

  Stephanie couldn’t control the violent quaking of her body. The cigarette dropped from her fingers, but she didn’t notice. She stared at the ruined man who had been her husband for nearly a decade. She glanced at the array of photographs that depicted his betrayal.

  “Just once. Now. Tell me the truth. I need to know. You killed Marilyn.”

  “No!” He moved his head. “N-not me.”

  Her vision was clearing. The beams of light were softening. Bending over the table, she hurriedly scooped up the pictures and stuffed them into the envelope.

  “W-what you do…with th-them?”

  “I’m taking them to the police. I’m not holding back. I’m not protecting you or anyone else anymore.” She headed for the door. “I want Rich to figure who is trying to punish me now. So late in the game.”

  Chapter 22

  “Léa was really touched by what you did today.”

  “I just painted a room.” Heather turned to her father. She still couldn’t shake off the warm fuzzy feeling that had surrounded her when she’d seen Léa’s reaction. She’d laughed. She’d cried. And then she’d taken Heather in her arms and hugged her so hard and so long that she could hardly breathe. Heather had been embarrassed, but she’d also loved every minute of it. “It was no big deal.”

  “It was a big deal. I am very proud of you. And, of course, I am a little ticked off.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter what I do for her now. It could never top your surprise.”

  “Well, don’t get her a flower basket. She won’t even notice it.”

  When he threw a questioning look her way, she continued.

  “That big, expensive basket of wildflowers in the living room? That was sent by Andrew Rice this morning. She didn’t even give it a second glance.”

  “Now, could that be because you had a drop cloth covering it?”

  “No! I told her about it before we walked into her house. Before she saw the room. No. I just don’t think of Léa as a flowers-and-chocolate kind of woman. She is more the touchy-feely type. You know, holding hands, hugging, good conversation… lots of sex.”

  “Heather!”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m just trying to help!”

  “I think I should be able to manage in that department by myself, thank you.”

  She hid a smile and turned her eyes on the houses and neighborhoods they were passing. “You did make an appointment for her to have those stitches checked out, didn’t you?”

  “For tomorrow afternoon.”

  “And you are going to drive her.”

  “Yes, I am. Anything else?”

  “Take her someplace nice for dinner.”

  “She doesn’t want to go out. You saw her before we left. She was already in her work clothes and determined to burn the midnight oil in that house.”

  “Yeah, but still…bring something nice home for dinner.” She looked at him sternly. “And no pizza. We had that last night.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The doctor’s office had been jammed. They’d been told all the appointments were running forty-five minutes to an hour late. By the time Heather had been in and out, it’d been more like an hour and a half. But she didn’t care too much. She’d called Chris once she realized how late they’d be. He’d suggested a quick bite to eat before going to a second show.

  Heather fidgete
d as she thought this was like a real date. Things were going to be just fine, she told herself.

  “Why didn’t you mention your sleeping problems to the doctor?”

  “Because I don’t have them anymore.” She glanced over at her father’s serious profile. “I think I was just too wound up or something. But I don’t need the pills anymore.”

  He didn’t say anything, but she could tell he was relieved.

  “Are you going to be okay for dinner?”

  “Sure! Chris thought we could stop at Hughes Grille or swing by a fast food place, depending on what time I get to his house.”

  “What movie are you two going to see tonight?”

  “Something triple-X.” She laughed at his fierce glare. “Relax, Dad. I’m just kidding.”

  “Just remember that sixteen-year-old boys, with their hormones running wild, shouldn’t be kidded in that department.”

  “Yes, sir.” Heather gave him a mock solute. “And to answer your question, sir, we are probably going to see whatever is playing downtown.”

  “I want you home right after it.”

  “Dad!” she drawled loudly and exaggeratedly. “I’m not a kid.”

  “No, you’re not. You are mature far beyond your years.” He pulled to the curb in front of the Webster’s house and turned to her. “But he is a kid, and I want you home right after the movie.”

  A week ago, she would have argued the heck out of this. But right now, Heather liked this new rapport between them.

  “Fine!” she grumbled, opening the door.

  “Take my cell phone.” He handed it to her. “Léa has already been chewing my ear off on the safety of having it when you’re out alone.”

  “Does this mean I’ll be getting my own back?”

  “Yes, brat. Probably tomorrow.”

  “Cool! I should get her talking to you about the safety of having a sports car.” She hopped out. “Red, convertible, preferably late model. Nothing like this tank, got it?”

  “Keep dreaming, babe!”

  Heather was smiling as she walked up the driveway to the Webster’s house. Despite being waved to go, Mick sat in the Volvo waiting until she’d rung the bell. Even then, it wasn’t until Chris opened the door that she heard the sound of the car moving off.