beamed at him, married one year, already eight months pregnant and as eager as a lapdog for his sparing praise.
Later, Lieutenant Difford had explained to her how ammonia was one of the few substances that rid surfaces of fingerprints.
Now she couldn't smell ammonia without feeling ill.
Her gaze was drawn back to the bed, the rumpled sheets, the covers tossed and wilted on the floor. For a moment the impulse, the sheer
need
to make that bed — and make it right because she had to seek to improve herself, you should always seek to improve — nearly overwhelmed her. Sweat beaded her upper lip. She fisted her hands to keep them from picking up the blankets.
“Don't give in. He messed with your mind, Tess, but that's done now. You belong to yourself and you are tough. You won, dammit. You
won
.”
The words didn't soothe her. She crossed to the bureau to retrieve her gun from her purse. Only at the last minute did she remember that the .22 had fallen on the patio.
J. T. Dillon had it now.
She froze. She had to have her gun. She ate with her gun, slept with her gun, walked with her gun. She couldn't be weaponless.
Defenseless, vulnerable, weak
.
Oh, God. Her breathing accelerated, her stomach plummeted, and her head began to spin. She walked the edge of the anxiety attack, feeling the shakes and knowing that she either found solid footing now or plunged into the abyss.
Breathe, Tess, breathe
. But the friendly desert air kept flirting with her lungs. She bent down and forcefully caught a gulp by her knees, squeezing her eyes shut.
“CAN I WALK
you home
?”
She was startled. “You mean me?” She hugged her schoolbooks more tightly against her Mt. Greylock High sweater. She couldn't believe the police officer was addressing her. She was not the sort of girl handsome young men addressed.
“
No,” he teased lightly. “I'm talking to the grass.” He pushed himself away from the tree, his smile unfurling to reveal two charming dimples. All the girls in her class talked of those dimples
, dreamed
of those dimples. “You're Theresa Matthews, right
?”
She nodded stupidly. She should move. She knew she should move. She was already running late for the store, and her father did not tolerate tardiness.
She remained standing there, staring at this young man's handsome face. He looked so strong. A man of the law. A man of integrity? For one moment she found herself thinking
, If I told you everything, would you save me? Would somebody please save me?
“Well, Theresa Matthews, I'm Officer Beckett. Jim Beckett.”
“I know.” Her gaze fell to the grass. “Everyone knows who you are.”
“May I walk you home, Theresa Matthews? Would you allow me the privilege?”
She remained uncertain, too overwhelmed to speak. Her father would kill her. Only promiscuous young women, evil women, enticed men to walk them home. But she didn't want to send Jim Beckett away. She didn't know what to do.
He leaned over and winked at her. His blue eyes were so clear, so calm. So steady.
“Come on, Theresa. I'm a cop. If you can't trust me, who can you trust?”
“I WON,” SHE muttered by her knees. “Dammit, I won!”
But she wanted to cry. She'd won, but the victory remained hollow, the price too high. He'd done things to her that never should have been done. He'd taken things from her that she couldn't afford to lose. Even now he was still in her head.
Someday soon he would kill her. He'd promised to cut out her still-beating heart, and Jim always did what he said.
She forced her head up. She took a deep breath. She pressed her fists against her thighs hard enough to welt her skin. “Fight, Tess. It's all you have left.”
She pushed away from the dresser and moved to her suitcase, politely brought to her room by Freddie. She'd made it here, step one of her plan. Next, she had to get J.T. to agree to train her. Dimly she remembered mentioning her daughter to him. That had been a mistake. Never tell them