Savage Rage Read Online Free PDF Page A

demeaning questions, comments and oh so subtle displays of wealth and breeding.
    And why did Jack take it? Why did he tolerate being Hawthorn’s punching bag? Because he loved Karen, who idolized her father. She was aware of the tension between the two men in her life and did her best to soothe both of them. For her father, she continued her education despite working full time as a public-school teacher and attended his social functions, smiling and chatting politely with the eligible suitors he paraded before her. Soothing Jack was much easier and considerably more fun. He often wondered what Hawthorn would say if he found out just how uninhibited his special little girl could be.
    Jack smiled and sipped his cider. He had developed a liking for it after Manny introduced him to it at a beach party the previous year and now he always brought his own supply to any function of Hawthorn’s. Savouring the tart taste, he let his free hand slide down from Karen’s waist. He knew she was wearing stockings and a garter belt under her little black dress; she had shown him outside their SUV before the long trek up the driveway. A down payment on the reward he would receive later for enduring the party and he liked to remind himself by feel every so often.
    For the moment, Jack was chatting with a couple closer to his age — twenty-nine in a few months, closing in on the big three-oh — than most of the other guests. Whether it was the age or that Scott was the only other guy Jack had seen not wearing a tie didn’t matter. Age and an aversion to ties were about the only things they had in common, but they tried.
    â€œPlay any tennis, Jack?” Scott asked.
    â€œNo. Played some rugby in university. You?”
    â€œSorry. Do you sail?”
    â€œSome canoeing in the summer.”
    The small talk fell into a lull and both men filled the gap by taking a drink, Jack his bottled cider and Scott something straight over ice. They were standing by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth and sound as the flames licked the real logs. No gas fireplace for Hawthorn. Jack found it slightly annoying that he agreed with his father-in-law on this one thing. But then again, Hawthorn had had the brick painted and Jack thought anyone who covered up brick or stone with paint was an idiot.
    â€œYour parents have a beautiful home, Karen.” Scott resorted to gesturing with his drink hand.
    â€œIt is, isn’t it?” Karen gave Scott a stunning smile and Jack noticed Scott’s wife’s eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “Mom and Dad just moved in, although they bought it some time ago. It took a while for the contractors to get everything done.”
    Trust Hawthorn to buy a fixer-upper, a freaking huge fixer-upper, then hire someone else to do all the work. His idea of do-it-yourself was writing the cheques. The house was a turn-of-the-century estate and Jack had to admit Hawthorn’s money had been well spent; the old home was magnificent. Jack’s only problem with the place, other than the painted fireplace, was its location. Stouffville was a beautiful historic town just north of Toronto and far too close for his liking. Jack would have preferred it if Karen’s parents had moved somewhere a touch farther away. Alaska, for instance.
    Scott was a likable enough fellow, but, like the rest of the high-end guest list, he was unwilling to ask about Jack’s work. No doubt they all knew the story, Hawthorn’s version at least, of how Jack had witnessed his partner’s murder then shot the killer to death inside Jack’s home after his wife, Hawthorn’s only precious daughter, had been taken hostage. Jack wasn’t quite sure what spin his father-in-law put on the story when he told it but was sure it was not favourable to him. It was as if they all saw Jack as some savage animal or barbarian, only marginally tamed and totally unpredictable.
    Don’t ask him about work, my dear,