He reached the shore and stumbled through the woods to where he’d left the truck. He had parked it far from Jesse’s house, but it was closer to where he now was. And he could navigate those woods like a sailor on a lake. He found the truck and started it before he’d even closed the door. He tried to shake away the trembling in his hands as he pulled into his drive and turned off the truck. His heart threatened to burst.
He’d almost killed her, twice. It was an omen that she’d survived. An omen that she belonged to him.
He had lost the chance to raise his baby. The woman he’d loved, the woman he would have laid down his life for, had denied that it was his. She’d spat at him, swearing she would never let him touch her child. Another man had raised his son as his own.
Marti was pregnant, as his love had been, carrying high and remaining small. Yes, she was meant to be his.
Holy hell, he’d almost lost the chance to regain what he’d lost. He raised his face and thanked God for sparing her and giving him this message.
Now his only choice was to get rid of Jesse.
CHAPTER 13
Marti wailed and trembled violently in Jesse’s arms. He held her so tight his muscles ached, but he managed to stroke her hair and whisper calming words against the top of her head. His eyes never left the open window, his emotions warring between staying with her and going after the son-of-a-bitch with a rifle. Marti’s grip was too tight to even think about leaving her.
“Tell me what happened. Can you do that for me, doll?”
Her cheeks were wet with tears streaming down her face. She was still sucking in deep breaths, but she nodded. He tucked the strands of hair that stuck to her face behind her ears.
“I thought … dream … not a dream … standing there … came at me.”
He pulled her close again. “Doll, I can’t understand what you’re saying. Come on, walk with me to the kitchen. I’m going to call the sheriff’s office, then get you something to drink.”
He helped her to unsteady feet, then guided her into the kitchen where he poured her a shot of whiskey. Damn, she wasn’t supposed to have alcohol. He tossed it down his throat instead and poured her water instead. She gulped it, then coughed and sputtered.
He put his hands on her arms, facing her. “Marti, did you see him?”
“He was black.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not right. He had a KKK-type hood, only it was black. He was tall, not heavy, not skinny.” She was trembling so hard, her teeth were chattering.
“Think. Could it have been Paul?”
She bit her bottom lip, obviously trying to conjure up a painful memory. “It could have been, but I don’t know. I just don’t know. It was dark, and he … he … “
“It’s okay, doll.” He rubbed her arms, pulled her close, and called the emergency number.
Lyle answered. “‘lo?” Then he cleared his voice and seemed to come awake. “Deputy Thomas here.”
“This is Jesse West. Somebody just broke in and tried to kill Marti. Get over here right away.”
“Oh, m’gosh! Should I call an ambulance?”
Marti was already shaking her head, clutching tighter to him. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. She’s just shaken up.”
“Okay, let me call Carl, and we’ll be right over.” To his wife’s urgent inquiries, he answered, “Marti just got attacked.”
Jesse knew Eileen would be on the phone until sunrise telling everyone about it. No matter; it would get around anyway.
Jesse called Helen to tell her what happened and warn her that he was bringing Marti over after the questioning. Then he took Marti’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m going to get you some clothes.”
She nodded, but her grip didn’t lessen, so they both went into her room. He picked out some clothes and led her to his bedroom. “I want you to stay right here, lock the door behind me, and get dressed.”
Her eyes filled with panic. “Where are you going?”
“Outside to take a look around.”
“I’m going with you.” She ripped off her nightshirt and changed while he turned away to give her privacy.
He grabbed his rifle, took his fishing flashlight out of the closet, and led her by the hand outside. He found the half-moon shaped glass on the ground outside Marti’s window but saw no footprints in the mat of oak leaves.
The sound of flapping ears preceded Bumpus, who appeared out of the blackness, glistening with water.
“The son-of-a-bitch went to the river.” Which would end tracking completely.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to something on the ground up ahead.
A single blue glove lay on the damp leaves. He didn’t touch it but trained the flashlight on it as he crouched down closer. “It’s a golf glove.” His eyes narrowed as he tried to remember if he’d ever seen it before. Who noticed golf gloves, anyway? But he did know one thing: Paul played golf.
His anger boiled as he imagined Paul running through the woods. Jesse stood when he heard sirens wailing in the distance.
Carl was the first to show up, and Jesse clenched his fists as he walked outside. Carl was as put-together as he always was, even at 1:15 in the morning. Still, his face was stiff with tension.
“What the hell happened? Lyle told me someone broke in and tried to kill Marti.”
“What happened is that the bastard who’s been running around since November is still trying to kill my wife. Where’s Paul?”
“Paul’s asleep on the couch. I saw him when I left. Did she see the man?”
“No, he wore a head over his head. There’s a golf glove out back. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Lyle’s car slammed into the driveway, lights flashing in silence. He jumped out and met the two men near the front door.
Carl took charge. “Jesse, show Lyle where Marti was sleeping. Lyle, interview her, find out if she can identify the man who broke in. I’ll take a look outside and go over the window for prints and anything else I can find.”
Jesse didn’t want Carl to walk around back alone, where he could do away with any evidence that could convict his son. But he didn’t want to leave Marti alone either. Damn, but things were complicated.
Before Carl reached the corner of the house, Jesse said, “Sheriff, don’t lose the evidence this time.”
Carl turned around in a bull-charging stance, fingers curled like claws at his sides. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means. I think you’ll do whatever it takes to protect that good-for-nothing son of yours.”
“Paul had nothing to do with this. If I thought he did, I’d throw his butt in jail as fast as I’d throw yours in.” He pointed to Jesse. “And I’d watch what I’d say if I were you, or I’ll do just that.”
With every passing second, Jesse was surer that it was Paul. He led Lyle to Marti’s bedroom, then took her aside.
“I’m going to keep an eye on Carl.”
Her eyes widened. “You really think it was Paul, don’t you?”
He put his hand on his stomach. “Right here in my gut, I do. Carl would be a fool to get rid of the glove, because he knows I’ve seen it. But there might be something else I missed. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
“I need you now,” she whispered, then said, “No, go. It’s important.”
With a last look at her, he went outside to monitor Carl. The blue glove was in a plastic bag on the ground. Carl was dusting the window with one hand, holding a flashlight with the other. He gave Jesse a sidelong glance before returning to his task.
“I don’t see any prints on the outside. We might find some inside. There probably won’t be any on the glove, but I’m going to check to see where it was bought.”
Jesse watched him work without comment. After they’d dusted the bedroom, Carl and Lyle packed up. Marti had stayed in the living room, huddled in a blanket.
“Lyle,” Carl said. “Why don’t you go on home? I’ll take this stuff in and go over i
t tonight. It seems that I’ll have to find this guy so Mr. West here won’t think I’m covering up for my son.”
“That’s the only way I’ll believe Paul’s innocent,” Jesse said, Carl’s comment grating on him.
When the sheriff and deputy left, Jesse packed up a few things and reached down to take Marti’s hand. “We’re going to Ma’s for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll fix that window, but you’re sleeping with me from now on.”
She nodded instead of giving him the protest he expected. Probably tomorrow he’d hear one, but she wasn’t going to win that argument. If she’d been sleeping next to him tonight, the bastard would be dead.
Once at Helen’s house, she led them up to Jesse’s old room and settled Marti into bed with a cup of chamomile tea. Bumpus curled up at the foot of the bed.
Caty sat next to Marti. “The tea will help you sleep.”
Marti shivered. “I don’t want to sleep. I keep seeing floating eyes.”
Jesse rubbed her shoulder. “Floating eyes?”
“That’s the first thing I thought when I saw him. All I could see were his eyes and, in the dark, they appeared to be floating.”
“You didn’t notice anything about them? Like their shape or color?”
“No, it wasn’t light enough to see color, and the shape … I don’t know.”
She drank the rest of the cup, then snuggled under the blankets.
Helen looked expectantly at Jesse as he moved closer to the door. “And where are you sleeping?”
“Right here. When I get back.”
Both women looked at him with worry in their eyes.
Marti sat up. “Where are you going?”
He tried to keep the hatred from showing in his eyes. “I’ve got some checking to do.”
“Jesse…” Helen warned.
“I’ll be back shortly.”
“I’ll stay here until you get back,” Caty said, giving him a knowing look. “Be careful.”
Helen followed down the stairs. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s trouble.”
“It’s trouble all right, but not for me. For the guy who tried to kill my wife. And my baby.”
“Jesse, don’t—”
“I have to. I can’t let him get away with this. He’s going to keep trying until he succeeds. Again.”
Her look of worry gnawed at him as he drove. The anger gnawed harder, right down to the bone. All his life, Paul had tried to invade Jesse’s life: sports when they were kids, racing and golf, and even Desiree, although that hadn’t succeeded. Now he was trying to destroy his future. Jesse was going to invade his life back.
There were no lights on outside the brick colonial and only Paul’s black truck parked in the drive. Jesse felt the hood: cold. Maybe enough time had elapsed for the engine to cool down, so inconclusive. The doors were locked, and it was too dark inside to see anything out of the ordinary.
He pounded on the front door until a disoriented Paul opened it. He blinked twice, as if he couldn’t believe who he saw. Before he could react, Jesse shoved him inside and slammed a punch to his jaw. Paul went down instantly, almost too easily.
No wonder. The smell of liquor permeated Paul’s skin and breath.
Jesse picked him up and shoved him against the wall. “You son of a bitch, that’s the last time you ever touch her.” He drove a fist into Paul’s stomach. “You got drunk and did it. What’d you do, sit there drinking and thinking that she might remember you were the psycho who tried to rape and kill her by the side of the road? Did it get to you?”
Paul was more cognizant now, standing on his own. “I didn’t do anything to Marti. I had too much happy hour and came home. I don’t even remember lying down on the couch.”
“Where’s your golf glove?”
He gave Jesse a confused look. “My golf glove? It’s at the club with my irons. What does that have to do with anything?”
“What color’s your glove?”
He seemed to search his muddled brain. “Gray and white. I just bought it last week. You can go down and check if you want.”
Jesse leaned back on his heels, daunted only for a second. “What about your old one?”
“Uh, blue I think. Light blue.”
“It’s your glove, isn’t it? You left it in your hurry to get out of there before I got hold of you. But you’re not safe yet, Paul. Not by a long shot. We have some things to discuss…”
Marti woke the next morning, her head still fuzzy from sleep. She sat up suddenly as the room came into view. White walls, dark blue curtains covering two windows facing the rising sun. A queen bed and white ceiling fan overhead. Not her bedroom. Caty sat up and yawned, sprawled out at an angle on the bed next to her. Then everything came back, the horrifying nightmare that was real.
“Where’s Jesse?” she asked, searching everywhere.
Caty searched, too. “Maybe he’s already up. I hope he’s up, that he’s—”
“All right,” both said at the same time, scrambling out of bed.
Marti was already grabbing her clothes. “He’d be in here, if he’d come home. He would have let us know what happened.”
“I can’t believe I fell asleep.” Caty flew out the door.
Helen was on the phone when Marti raced into the living room, kneading her blonde hair with nervous fingers, pacing frantically.
“How much? … Sheriff, that’s ridiculous. I get that, but surely you can understand what he’s been through. … Fine.” She slammed the phone down, startled to see Marti standing there.
“Something happened to Jesse?”
Caty came downstairs, half-dressed, her face pale. “They arrested him, didn’t they?”
“Oh, my God,” Marti muttered, falling back onto the couch. “He killed Paul.”
“No, but he nearly did. Paul’s at the hospital now. If his ribs are broken, it could be a felony. Jesse’s been in jail since four this morning, but Carl didn’t want to wake me up any earlier than now to tell me.” Her mouth tightened into a furious line. “He’s so thoughtful, that one. Jesse is scheduled for his twenty-four hour hearing at ten-thirty. Bond will be set then. Carl’s going to press for seven thousand dollars if it’s a felony.”
“What?” Marti stood and curled her hands into fists. “That jerk deserves everything he got, even if he wasn’t the one who broke in last night. Jesse didn’t want you to know so you wouldn’t worry, but Paul and his two fiendish friends jumped him the night we were Christmas tree shopping. They hurt him pretty bad.”
Caty started heading upstairs. “That’s it. I’m calling into work and going down there myself. I’ll show that sheriff—”
“Oh no, you’re not,” Helen said. “You go into work. I don’t need two of my kids in jail, with Billy sure to jump into the fray. Lord knows he’s been in the tank enough times already. Marti and I will head down and straighten this whole thing out. If we need your help, we’ll call.”
“But—”
“Go to work.”
Caty sputtered before stomping back upstairs. Helen sat in silence for a minute, weighing the situation. Marti wanted to join Caty’s army and head to jail to raise some hell, but something in Helen’s quiet deliberation showed more strength. She only wished she had that strength.
Helen brushed her hair from her face. “I’m going to get dressed. Gget some food in your stomach so that babe doesn’t think the whole world is coming to an end. Last night was enough of a scare. Then we’ll go down and see what we’re in for. After that, I can talk to the lawyer I work for and see how we’re going to get out of it.”
Helen calmly went to her room, and Marti walked into the kitchen. She put her hand on her belly.
“I didn’t even think about how all this affected you. It’s not that I don’t care, but I think you’re in this little cocoon all sheltered and snug. We’ll go see Dr. Diehl tomorrow, just to make sure. It’s okay, though. Your daddy’s going to take care of us at night from now on. Well, after he gets out of jail.”
She buttered a piece of bread and forced it down. She thought of those strong arms wrapped around her while she slept, his bare chest pressed against her back. Then she thought about him spending the morning in jail on an old, stained mattress without a pillow. She could have died last night, and the last conversation between them was about Abbie. Why did the thought of his marrying Abbie after Marti was gone drive her mad? How could she explain that she was jealous? He would ask, What does it matter if you’re leaving? What else could she tell him but the truth: I don’t know, but it does, dammit. It does.
“Are you ready?”
Marti jumped at Helen’s voice, then turned to see her standing in the kitchen doorway dressed in a coral suit. Marti felt like a ragamuffin in her jeans and long-sleeved top.
Caty came sliding down the wooden banister. “You have to let me know the second you find out anything. I’ll go nuts wondering.”
“We will.”
Helen and Marti followed Caty down the road until she turned off at Bad Boys Diner. Marti knew Caty was using her utmost self-control to keep from heading to the jail.
“Helen, how do I become like you, so strong and calm?”
Her coral-painted lips softened into a smile. “Practice and determination. Every time you resist doing the wrong thing, you become stronger. It keeps building on itself. When you do the wrong thing, you fall down a notch. Then you pick yourself up and keep striving.”
“What if you’re not good at resisting temptation? What if you have nothing to build on?”
“You have to start somewhere. Something small, like not eating the doughnut when you want it. Then you keep growing, taking on bigger challenges.”
“Oh, how I wish you’d been there to teach me this stuff when I was growing up. All I keep thinking about are the mistakes I’ve made, over and over again. Weakness is like strength, too. It keeps building, small things at first, then larger and larger.”
Stranger in the Mirror [Shades of Heaven] (Soul Change Novel) Page 18