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Longing to flee, to throw his arm away from her, to spit in his face, Jamie walked slowly beside him. There’d been times during the last thirteen years when John’s softer mood would linger for a week, even a month or two. Dared she hope this was one of those times? That the mood might remain? With head bowed, she stared at the ground every time someone stopped them to offer condolences, nodding when the pressure of John’s fingers forced her to acknowledge a comment here and there.
Sure they were all sorry. Sorry her mother had died. But what about being sorry she’d lived? Was Jamie the only one who felt that? She’d rather her mother had been spared the whole sorry business.
“At least you have each other. You’ll need that now.” Pastor Hammond was talking to them outside the limousine provided by the funeral home.
Jamie studied the way her black dress shoes matched the darker patches in the pavement. Pastor Hammond didn’t have a clue. He was supposedly a man of God. A man with divine knowledge. And he didn’t have a clue. Not that she could tell him. If, by some miracle, Pastor Hammond did believe her, which she doubted, John would kill her. She could take that for granted. There was no law powerful enough to keep John from killing her.
The reception at the church passed in a total blur. Some of Jamie’s friends from high school were there. She knew she spoke with them, though she had no idea what their conversation was about. Jamie was used to putting on a facade. Hell, she’d taken gym class with broken ribs the year before. No one had guessed there was anything wrong.
“I can’t believe we’re finally seniors,” Loretta gushed, her hungry eyes checking out all the men in the room.
Following her gaze, Jamie wondered how many of those men had another, uglier, side. One the world never saw. Their superior physical strength gave them all an edge that women couldn’t possibly fight.
“Yeah.” Jamie finally answered Pastor Hammond’s daughter. “Just eight more months.” Loretta’s enthusiasm to leave high school was one of the few things Jamie had in common with the other girl.
A high-school diploma meant freedom to Jamie. Without her mother there, needing her protection, she couldn’t get away from John fast enough. And once she was eighteen, graduated from high school, he wouldn’t be able to make her stay.
Somehow the rest of the afternoon passed, night fell, and Jamie was at home with John. Alone. Her aunt had left for the airport a few minutes before, and Jamie, having changed from her black dress to a pair of jeans, sweatshirt and tennis shoes, was hiding out in her room. Hoping she wouldn’t be noticed by the man she heard slamming things downstairs. Was it possible he actually felt some compassion for her? That he’d realize how much she was hurting and leave her be?
Studying her second-story window, she thought about climbing out. The bushes below were full enough to break her fall. She had nowhere to go, but that wasn’t what stopped her. It was knowing how bad things would be when John eventually got her back. He’d broken her arm the last time she’d used that window.
And then refused to allow her to see a doctor to have the arm set. It had healed eventually. But it still ached whenever she used it too much.
She’d rather just take her chances on being slapped around until John had finished venting his rage. Bruises didn’t hurt much after a day or so. And they didn’t last.
“Jamie!”
Her heart skidded to a stop. The bellow was ugly. Oh, God, here it comes.
“Yes?” She ran quickly to the top of the stairs, eager to appease his anger, not intensify it.
He was such a bastard for doing this to her.
“Get down here now!”
Fear was a familiar companion, yet it still grabbed her by the throat as she hurried downstairs. Maybe this was one of the times he’d be content just to holler at her for a while.
Her long permed hair, tied back in its familiar ponytail, bounced on her back with the force of her descent. And then she was at the door of his study. God, if you’re around, please go in there with me.
“What?” she asked, forcing herself to sound amenable. She leaned against the door frame.
“Don’t ‘what’ me.” John’s handsome face was twisted in a sneer. “You know we have some things to discuss.”
Not sure what to say, what to expect, Jamie just stood there. She knew from his tone that she wasn’t in his good graces. She just didn’t know why. Or how bad it would be. She didn’t move, barely breathing, not wanting to do anything that might further raise his ire.
“Your mother being gone changes things.” He sat behind his desk, going through papers. He was still wearing his dark suit from the funeral, but he’d removed the jacket, loosened the tie. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his forearms.
Trembling, Jamie couldn’t take her eyes off the muscles that flexed in those forearms with each object he moved.
“Now that your mother’s gone, I owe you nothing,” he said. “Not a stitch of clothing, not a meal or a bed.”
Was he going to kick her out? Adrenaline pumped through her as she straightened in the doorway, waiting for him to continue. If he kicked her out, she’d know there was a God after all.
“I’ve been supporting you all these years out of the goodness of my heart, out of love and devotion to your mother.”
If she hadn’t been so excited, suddenly, sensing freedom within her grasp, Jamie would have burned with rage at his lies.
Please let him kick me-out. She was barely aware that he’d stood up, that he’d walked to the front of his massive oak desk and rested his lean body against it.
She could get help if he kicked her out. There were places she could go—as long as she didn’t have to worry about him coming after her. As long as she was free from the lies, the threats. The violence. Loretta had a huge room. Jamie could probably stay there. She could finish school. Get a job. If he’d just let her go...
“But then, I wouldn’t be the man I am if I tossed your little butt out in the gutter where it belongs, would I?” he asked.
Of course not. Jamie’s heart sank. How stupid could she be? He wasn’t ever going to let her go. Because he’d look bad if he did. He could explain away her tripping on the stairs, falling during a family hike or being thrown from a horse. He’d never be able to explain leaving his seventeen-year-old stepdaughter homeless.
His eyes were gleaming as he watched her squirm in the doorway. Why did it always have to come to this? Why did she always end up reacting just the way he wanted her to? Like...like a helpless bug at his mercy?
“So, my dear daughter, you’re going to have to earn your keep.”
So, what else is new? The words almost escaped. She’d been doing the majority of the housework for years.
He came closer, slowly, gaining on her inch by inch, his height throwing a shadow on her in the doorway. Jamie didn’t want to shrink from him. She forbade herself to give him that satisfaction. Not anymore. Her mother had gone to her grave a beaten woman. Jamie wasn’t going to do the same.
“I’m curious.” He stopped, pinning her with his cold stare. “How does it feel knowing all of those people were crying today because of you?”
“What?” She shifted away from the door frame.
“You killed her,” John said.
His expression had softened and he smiled sadly as he gazed at her. Jamie’s heart began to thud so heavily in her chest it constricted her breathing. But she still didn’t shrink from him.
“I didn’t,” she whispered. She wasn’t going to let him convince her of something so horrible. She refused to accept any guilt. She’d risked her life for her mother—many times. Sadie Archer had been the one person in the world who loved her. Jamie would have killed herself before she ever did anything to hurt her mother.
“Of course you did,” John whispered hoarsely. He’d stopped a couple of feet in front of her and stood with his hands in his pockets. “Won’t do you any good to pretend, Jamie. You killed her as surely as if you’d put a gun to her head.”
“No!” Jamie felt the tears start to flow, deep inside, where no one could see them.
“That night you called to ask permission to stay later at the library.”
“You said I could.” Jamie hadn’t wanted to leave her mother alone with John, but he’d been in one of his nicer phases. And she’d needed to get a few more references for an English paper she was writing.
“Yes, well, unbeknownst to me, your mother had already left to get you.”
He was a raving lunatic, his story so obviously unfounded. “She knew where I sat in the library. If she’d come, she would’ve found me.”
“Her car broke down on the way.”
Thinking back to that night a couple of weeks ago, Jamie remembered her mother and John picking her up when the library closed. They’d been in John’s car.
She wasn’t sure where this was leading, but she was suddenly scared. Too scared to run. Too scared to move when John took a step closer.
“It was raining that night,” he said.
His voice was still soft, but Jamie trembled anew when she heard the lilt of victory in his tone. He advanced another step.
She was confused now, doubting herself. And if she’d had anything to do with the illness that had finally taken her mother’s life, she didn’t care if John hit her. She didn’t care if he killed her.
“Your mother was exposed to that rain when she had to walk the half mile to a phone, then wait there for me to come bail her out of her troubles again,” John said. His hands were still in his pockets, but the muscles in his forearms were bunched.
His dark hair left menacing shadows on his forehead.
“The next day, as you know, she came down with a cold that led quickly to the pneumonia that killed her.”
Jamie stared at him. Horror made her sick, weak. Surely she couldn’t be blamed for the rain! Or the run-down state of her mother’s car.
“If you hadn’t been at the library, forcing Sadie out in the first place, she’d never have been exposed to that rain at all.”
“But...”
“Or if you’d found another way home, a friend maybe, like most teenagers do, rather than relying on your mother all the time, she wouldn’t have been out in that rain.”
“But...” Desperate to end this nightmare, to be certain she wasn’t to blame for her beloved mother’s death, Jamie meant to tell John that if he’d only kept her mother’s car in better shape, Sadie wouldn’t have had to worry about the rain. But she never got the chance.
“Or—” he took another step “—if you’d called sooner, before seven, when she left to pick you up, none of this would have happened.”
He was right. Dammit, he was right. She’d been so caught up in her reading that she hadn’t noticed the time. Her mother always got her from the library at 7:30; it was a standing arrangement. Jamie should have called earlier, saved her the trip.
John took another small step, pulling one hand slowly out of his pocket.
Jamie shrank back.
SHIVERING, Jamie clutched her stomach with both arms, her gaze darting frantically around her cheery kitchen, trying to connect with the present, to bring herself back. To hold on. But the memories just kept right on coming, right on hurting....
“YOU’RE LUCKY I’m willing to keep you, considering what you’ve done.”
John’s soft voice penetrated Jamie’s numb mind. So filled with guilt was she that for a second or two she almost believed him.
She saw his hand coming toward her, braced herself for a blow to the side of her head.
And felt a gentle caress, instead. His hand stroked from the top of her bent head, moving slowly down to her chin, lifting her face to look at him. And suddenly Jamie knew fear like she’d never known before.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop the tears that ran down her cheeks when she encountered the hot fire of lust in her stepfather’s eyes.
“You took my companion from me,” John whispered. “A man has needs, natural, powerful needs.”
Unable to make a sound, shaking convulsively, Jamie just stared at him in horror. God. No. Not this. Let him beat me to death. Let him stick a gun to my head. But not this.
“Wouldn’t look right for me to search out another woman to take to my bed, not so soon after your mother.” His caress continued slowly downward, along the length of her neck.
She stood frozen beneath his touch, completely unprepared.
“So you see how lucky it is that I don’t have to search. You took her from me.” His hand reached her collarbone, his fingers sliding inside the neckline of her sweatshirt.
Jamie flinched. And just that quickly, the caress became brutal, a vicelike grip bruising her collarbone as John pulled her closer.
“The very least you can do after depriving me of my wife is to take her place yourself.”
“No!” Her scream tore past the constriction in her throat. She was burning up. Sick. And freezing, too.
“Yes.” John bit the word out through clenched teeth as he planted his other hand firmly on her breast.
A part of Jamie just evaporated as her stepfather’s big hand kneaded her soft flesh roughly, touching her where she’d never been touched before. Where he should never have been touching.
His eyes gleamed, almost glassy with lust. Still holding her in a bruising grip, he moved his hand to her other breast. “Oh, yes, I’m going to like this,” he murmured.
And almost before she knew it was happening, he’d pushed up the hem of her sweatshirt, ripping her bra in his hurry to get to her naked flesh.
“Nooooo!” Jamie screamed. She yanked away from him, not caring if he broke her neck with his violent grip.
“Get back here, you little bitch!” He grabbed her hair, his fingers tangling in the tightly wrapped curls, wrenching her back to him. “You owe me, and I’m going to have you.”
Only if he killed her first.
Filled with a strength she wasn’t aware she possessed, with a purpose that hadn’t been there seconds before, Jamie suddenly knew exactly what to do. John was too busy groping her again, too caught up in his crazed lust, to be wary. With one perfectly aimed swipe she kneed him squarely between his legs.
And ran for her life.
CHAPTER THREE
LOOKING BACK, Jamie wasn’t sure just when she’d made the wrong turn, which decision had been the one that catapulted her from a damaged childhood into a hellish life. Though she desperately didn’t want it to be so, she couldn’t help wondering if maybe she’d always been tainted; maybe there’d never been any question as to what course her life would take.
Lord knows, she’d tried to be moral, to do what was right. She’d tried to make the proper decisions, to search out the best choices available to her. There just hadn’t seemed to be much to choose from.
Leaning her head against the kitchen cupboard, she closed her eyes, wishing that sleep would come. The night was already half over. And there she sat, a full nine years after she’d last seen John Archer, still alone, still frightened.
Had it been wrong to run? Slowly shaking her head, Jamie couldn’t believe that running wasn’t her only choice. She’d run to Las Vegas. Because it was close. And because she knew enough about the city to realize that if there was any place in the United States that she had a chance of not being found, it was in the city that never slept. Where “no questions asked” was an accepted standard.
She’d left her purse on the front table when she’d come in from the funeral that day and had grabbed it again on her way out. She had enough money for a couple of nights’ cheap lodging, but other than that, she was broke. She’d tried to get a job immediately. Had spent two days answering every want ad she could find. She was a high-school dropout, though, and the most anyone offered her was a fast-food position that didn’t pay enough to cover rent and expenses—let alone any extra to cover the education she’d need to better herself.
Jamie studied the uneven grain in the cupboard across from her. Maybe she should have known when she’d visited the community college, passed the entrance exams without her diploma and applied for scholarship money that she was reaching too high. The guidance counselor she’d seen had tried to tell her, suggesting Jamie go home to John, apologize, ask him to take her back until she finished high school. She was told to save her money and move out when she’d established herself, became “independent”
Maybe that was where she’d gone wrong, Jamie thought now. She hadn’t listened.
But she couldn’t possibly have returned home as the counselor had encouraged her to. Nor could she have begged her stepfather to take her back. What he’d asked of her had been wrong. Very, very wrong. And illegal.
The possibilities floundered in her weary mind, a cacophony of might-have-beens and should-have-dones. Still, she’d known even then that she couldn’t have gone to the authorities for help. After thirteen years of silence, of John’s generous example to the community, of his breaking down her own credibility, who’d have believed her? And what if they had? Could she really have faced her stepfather across a courtroom? Could she have told a roomful of strangers, of reporters, what he’d done to her?
But more, could she have hidden herself from John? After thirteen years of living with the man, of witnessing his diabolical abilities, she knew that even the witness protection program wouldn’t have been able to keep him from finding her if she’d turned traitor on him. And that was exactly how he’d see it; what was self-protection to her would seem betrayal to him.
