Who was Debra? And why did the mention of her parents make his eyes harden?
„It’s okay, Ruth. I’m sure we can manage to coexist peacefully for one evening.“ He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, the movement practiced, as if he’d done it many times before. „If it looks like trouble is brewing, I’ll leave. I promise.“
„I don’t want you to do that, Abe.“ Ruth’s voice thickened and she closed her eyes. „I’m sorry. It’s just that you’ve missed so much. I don’t want you to miss this.“
He glanced over at Kristen, his expression slightly embarrassed. Good manners dictated she look away, but again she remembered the look of desolation on his face and gave him what she hoped was a supportive smile instead. He’d been good to her, this relative stranger. Caring for her when he hadn’t needed to. Ruth said that it was important he take care of her and whatever his reason, Kristen believed that was true.
„Now don’t go getting squishy on me,“ he said. „You know how much I hate that.“
Ruth grinned tearily. „It’s just the damn hormones. Kristen, it was so nice to meet you. Keep your foot elevated.“ She leaned up and kissed Reagan’s cheek. „Dinner on Sunday?“
Kristen watched in fascination as Reagan’s stubbled cheeks reddened at the little kiss. „Me miss ham? I don’t think so. Let me walk you to your car.“
Kristen gave Ruth a little wave. „Thank you.“ And she watched them leave, Reagan’s arm around Ruth’s shoulders, the sight making her eyes sting. Hating herself for wishing for things she could never have, she turned and stared at the box.
He was here because of the damn box. Because of all the damn boxes. And as soon as their humble servant was safely put away, he’d be gone. She drew in a deep breath and let it out. And focused on the damn box.
She wondered who the vigilante had targeted this time and tried to make herself care, but it was hard to care about the loss of such twisted, evil people. Harder still after tonight. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what those men would have done to her had she not gotten away. It didn’t take imagination to conjure the picture of herself at their mercy.
Memories sufficed.
„Spinnelli will be here soon,“ she murmured to herself, and it wouldn’t do to be sitting here bare-legged when he arrived. She needed to change her clothes. Summoning all her energy, she pushed herself to her feet.
Friday, February 20,
9:15 p.m.
He didn’t knock. He banged hard enough to wake the damn dead.
Zoe opened her door. „Do you have any concept of self-control?“ she snapped.
He pushed inside and slammed her front door so hard the building shook. „Obviously not, since I was stupid enough to get tangled up with you.“ His body shook with barely suppressed rage and for the first time, Zoe was afraid.
„Calm down, for God’s sake. Do you want a drink?“
„No, I don’t want a drink.“ He grabbed her arms hard and she cried out. He hauled her up on her toes. „What I want is for you to back off. No more stories about Mayhew or vigilante killers.“ He pulled harder and she bit back a whimper. „Understand?“
She struggled, but he held firm. „It’s my job. I’m doing my job.“
„Then go find another story, because you doing your job will make me lose mine.“
„You’re overreacting. Nobody’s going to lose their job.“
He shook her, hard. „That’s because you’re going to stop.“
She threw her head back, stared him in the eye. „Or what? What could you possibly do to back up your spineless little threat? Tell the world I’m sleeping with you? I’m not married. I don’t care.“ She narrowed her eyes. „Or maybe I’ll turn up as one of Kristen’s gifts.“
He paled as she’d known he would. „What are you talking about?“
She lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. „The power of the press, the spoken word. A whispered allegation. Association with a vigilante. It could ruin a man’s career.“
He stared at her for a moment, then threw her away as if she burned him. She hoped she had. Nobody threatened Zoe Richardson. Nobody.
„You’re insane,“ he whispered.
„Unfortunately for you I am quite sane.“ She settled her hands on her hips, well aware of the picture she made. „You want to stay or what?“
Horror flickered across his face. „You think I’d sleep with you now? My God.“
„Pity. Press conferences and interviews with the Contis really get my blood stoked. Sleeping hadn’t crossed my mind.“
His eyes narrowed. „Conti? What does that sonofabitch have to do with anything?“
Zoe laughed. „So sanctimonious suddenly. Go on home, sugar. You can probably just catch the interview if you leave right now.“
He shook his head. „You’re poison.“
„Probably. Oh, and I’d be careful about that sleep-talking thing if I were you, sugar.“
He paled and went still. „What are you talking about?“
It was too rich for words. „You talk in your sleep, honey. I’m sure your wife knows all about us. Or will soon.“ She tilted her head, her smile patronizing. „Sleep well.“
Friday, February 20,
10:00 P.M.
He’d chosen the next name from the fishbowl. It was a good choice. He stared at the name, thinking of the vileness of the man’s crimes. It would be too much of a pleasure to see this man dead.
He sighed. He really should admit it, if to no one but himself. He’d started this mission to avenge Leah and the countless other victims denied justice. After the second one, Ramey, he’d felt satisfaction, and that was okay. With King it had been more than satisfaction, it had been almost… exhilarating, beating that man’s face to a bloody pulp. But with Skinner… it had been pleasure.
Watching Skinner’s eyes, so horrified. The way Skinner tried to struggle, gasping and gurgling at the very end. And he’d felt pleasure.
Was it wrong? Would God be displeased?
No, he told himself. God’s people often were commanded to kill and afterward, celebrated. There was precedent. Even Skinner would have appreciated precedent.
He stood up to go to the computer when the flickering television caught his eye. He’d been watching it all day, off and on. Watching for mention of himself, gauging public response. He was ahead in the polls if the public demonstration at the courthouse had been any indication, he thought, then stilled when Zoe Richardson filled the screen.
He hated that woman. She was vile also, prancing around, portraying Kristen as an incompetent. He was glad Reagan had taken her videotape earlier this evening. If Reagan hadn’t, he would have done it himself. He sat down, grabbing for the remote and turned up the sound. Richardson was interviewing that murderer, Angelo Conti. „So what was your reaction when you learned of the ‘Humble Servant’?“ Richardson asked and Conti swaggered in place.
„I wasn’t too surprised,“ Conti replied.
Richardson tilted her platinum blonde head. „Why were you not surprised, Angelo?“
„The way she went after me, like she was crazy or something. I was innocent.“
„Actually, the jury was undecided, Angelo. ASA Mayhew could try you again.“
Angelo’s face flushed dark red. „Yeah, and she’ll lose again. She’s incompetent, you know? That’s why she hired this guy. She can’t win, so she takes the fight outside.“
Richardson looked taken aback. „Are you suggesting that ASA Mayhew somehow hired this vigilante to kill the people she was unable to convict? Like a hit man?“
His stomach roiled as Richardson’s accusation rolled from the television. „Wo,“ he whispered, his hand clenching the medallion around his neck. „It wasn’t like that.“
Angelo Conti shrugged. „Call it what you like. I’d just like to see somebody checking her financial records the way she’s checked mine.“