He had physical, external scars. But her scars were just as deep, just as permanent. On that awful night four years ago, while she’d waited to hear whether her husband would live or die, she had miscarried the baby they’d both wanted so badly. It had been the last link that had bound her to him. So as soon as she was sure he would be okay, she’d filed for divorce, because she couldn’t bear losing anyone else.
“I just couldn’t do it,” she whispered, her fingers still lingering on the tightly drawn skin over his cheekbones. “I couldn’t face years of that. Not again. Sitting at home, afraid that this might be the night you didn’t make it.” Just like my father.
She touched his mouth, the little lines that laughter had put there. “But, oh God, it was hard. You’ll never know how hard it was to leave you. I miss your laughter.” She shook her head. She must really be upset, to be talking to herself like this. She didn’t miss the danger, she reminded herself sternly, looking down at her terry-cloth robe, where the blood was already drying. The danger more than canceled out the fun.
She was content now…she was safe. She was no longer in love with Cody…not at all. She certainly was not responsible for him anymore. She’d shed that responsibility along with her wedding ring four years ago.
Sighing, she lay down next to him, her eyes still tracing his beloved features, trying not to notice the paleness in his face, trying not to hear his ragged breathing, trying desperately and without success not to care what happened to him.
When he woke up, he’d have to leave.
FONTENOT SAT UP into the night, soldering, wiring, testing, until he was satisfied with his latest creation. Finally, he stood, stretching cramped muscles, and walked around it, surveying it critically.
His face creased in a slow smile. Perfect. Naturally. He held up the bottle of spring water, toasting himself, then took a sip. No alcohol, nothing but natural substances went into his body. Chemicals interfered with brain function, and nothing was going to interfere with his perfect plan. His perfect revenge.
Nothing and nobody.
He stared out the window, thinking about the booby trap he’d rigged at Maxwell’s apartment. His lip curled in disdain. Maxwell wasn’t as smart, or as quick, as he’d given him credit for being.
He’d heard the sharp retort of the gun, at the very second he’d predicted. Then a few minutes later Maxwell had come rushing out and headed for his car. But Fontenot had overestimated the detective. He’d timed the trigger mechanism perfectly, to a reaction time designed for a man in Maxwell’s physical condition. But the stupid man had been too slow, so the bullet, which should have harmlessly hit the wall behind him, had instead caught him in the shoulder.
He had to give Maxwell credit, though. Even with his shoulder bleeding, and his face pale with pain and fear, he’d still cranked up his car and headed for Metairie, for his ex-wife’s house, just like Fontenot had known he would.
Fontenot chuckled. Just wait, Maxwell. I’m not through with you yet. Before I’m done you’ll suffer for every minute I spent in prison. You’ll wish you were dead.
He finished his water and went back to his creation, considering the best way to set it up for installation. He had to be able to set it up in five minutes, and not one second more.
The sweet throb of anticipation began within him. This would be even better than the booby-trapped gun. He took a long, shuddering breath and went back to work.
Chapter Three
Cody was in hell. He was doing his best to fight his way out, but he wasn’t having much luck, because Satan had his pitchfork rammed through Cody’s shoulder, and he wouldn’t let go. Cody jerked against the devil’s grip.
Damn, that hurt! He tried to turn around and attack but for some reason, he couldn’t move. He took a long breath, preparing to try again, but mingled in with the sulfur and brimstone in the air was the delicate scent of roses.
“Ahh!” Cody jerked awake. His shoulder felt as if it was still in hell, but as he came to consciousness, he remembered where he was. He was at Dana’s. How had he gotten all the way out here to Metairie?
His head cleared slowly, and he remembered the rest of it. The booby trap at his apartment. The pain. The fear that Fontenot had rigged a similar trap for Dana, and his relief when he’d found nothing wrong. Then his surprise when he’d discovered her in the bathtub. She had changed her plans. Dana never changed her plans.
He sniffed the air again. Roses. Without raising his head, he opened his eyes. He was in her bedroom, in her bed, and she was lying next to him. He looked at her across the hills and valleys of white cotton sheets. She was asleep, on top of the covers, still wrapped in the bloodstained terry-cloth robe. Her hands were clenched into fists and curled against her breast.
It was how she’d slept during the last few disastrous months of their marriage, all scrunched up, like she was sleeping as fast and as hard as she could, like sleeping was just another chore, along with taking out the garbage, or paying the bills, or putting up with him.
He frowned. She’d always hated his job. Sometimes he didn’t blame her. Sometimes he hated it, too, like last night when he’d opened his apartment door and realized a split second too late what Fontenot had done.
The quiet click of the hammer should have been enough warning. But it wasn’t. He was lucky the bullet had only torn through the flesh of his upper arm. If he’d been a split second slower, it would have caught him square in the chest. He snorted.
That’s what Dana would say. Four years ago he’d have responded by saying that a split second faster and it would have missed him. But it hadn’t missed him, and Cody knew why. He’d been preoccupied with worry for his ex-wife.
The day the jury returned the verdict that sent Fontenot to prison, the madman had smiled serenely at Cody and promised he’d be back, his gaze resting briefly but meaningfully on Dana.
Cody got the message, and Fontenot knew it.
Now Fontenot was free because of an overcrowded prison system and slick lawyers, and Cody still remembered that smile and his meaningful look. Cody had no doubt that Fontenot would make good on his threat. He had no doubt Dana was in danger.
She stirred and murmured softly, and memories of the two of them crowded thoughts of Fontenot out of Cody’s brain. As he watched, she moved a little closer, and briefly, he saw the young, serious law student he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. She appeared carefree and relaxed, without that tiny double line between her eyebrows, without the ever-so-slightly turned-down mouth that made her look older than she was.
He lay there, ignoring his aching shoulder, and watched her sleep. The faint lines around her eyes smoothed out, and a hint of a smile curved her mouth.
God, she was gorgeous. His mouth turned up. She’d always objected when he said that. She never got over the idea that he was just teasing her. She’d never quite believed how much he loved her olive-green eyes, the dark blond wavy hair she complained about, even the crooked front tooth that made her look impish when she grinned.
With an effort, he moved his injured arm and curled his fingers loosely around hers. The tension in her clenched fist made his chest ache. She’d always been too serious. Always worried about the damnedest things. She obviously hadn’t changed much, he thought wryly.
He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, savored the softness of her skin against his. He loved to touch her. She was like silk over steel, her skin as soft as an angel’s. But it was the steel that fascinated him. He admired her determination, her certainty. She never had doubts, never made mistakes.
Except for him. He was her only mistake, and he knew how