The Chesapeake Diaries: Coming Home Page 17

  He nuzzled the left side of her face without speaking, and before she realized it, he’d run his hand from her neck to her breast. His hand stopped moving, then slowly, with one finger, he traced the jagged line that ran from the nipple to just under her collarbone.

  “What happened here?” he asked.

  “I, ah, walked into a knife.” She moved his hand away and pulled the blanket around her, but he pushed it down again.

  “Who was holding it when you walked into it?” His voice was calm but she detected something disquieting below the surface.

  She pushed him away and sat up.

  “Ness?” He sat up with her. “Who did this to you?”

  Her insides twisted and her stomach knotted and she couldn’t get any words out. She hadn’t wanted him to see, hadn’t wanted anyone to ever see the disfiguring scar that had kept her from wearing clothes that didn’t cover it, had kept her from getting naked those few times she’d almost let a guy get close. Why had she dropped her guard with Grady? Now that he saw, now that he knew, he’d be outta there.

  Yeah, well, he was leaving anyway, she reminded herself.

  “Vanessa, look at me.” He turned her face to his. “Tell me who did this to you. What’s this scar …?”

  She wet her lips and took a breath.

  “Just something I could have avoided if I’d been smarter and faster. It’s not a very interesting story.”

  “Let’s say I’m interested.” When she didn’t respond, he reached over her to turn on the light on the bedside table.

  “Don’t. Please don’t.”

  He sank down next to her.

  “All right. But from what I can feel, I’m guessing it’s not a surgical scar. It’s too ragged. Any doctor who cuts like this should be behind bars.”

  “He is behind bars but he wasn’t a doctor.” Vanessa sighed. It was clear Grady wasn’t going to give up.

  “Who was he?”

  “My second husband.”

  “Why would he do something like this to you?”

  “Why?” She laughed, her voice harsh. “Because he was angry with me, and because he could.”

  Grady ran his finger along the scar very gently. “You loved him?”

  “I thought I did.”

  “That boils down to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You loved him, and he did this to you?”

  “He was very angry because I told him I was leaving. He didn’t want me to. He picked up a knife, said that he’d make it so that no one would ever love me again, no one would want to make love to me again. He’d cut off both of them.” In a defensive motion, she raised her arms to cover her breasts.

  He was so silent for so long she wasn’t sure he was still awake. Then he gathered her to his chest and stroked her back softly, but he still didn’t speak.

  “Such a cliché, right?” She covered her face with her hands. “Woman wants to leave an abusive husband, he disfigures her.”

  “How did you stop him from cutting the other one?”

  “I kicked him straight up the middle, and he dropped the knife, and I ran outside, to a neighbor’s, and they called an ambulance and the police. As you can imagine, there was quite a bit of blood—”

  “Did you press charges?”

  “I did. Yes, I did.” She twisted the end of the sheet into a point, first one way, then the other. How to tell him what that time had been like? Why even try? “And there was a trial. That was the worst part of it.”

  “It couldn’t have been worse than the abuse.”

  “Oh, yeah. His whole friggin’ family was there in the courtroom all day, every day. They whispered at me when I came in, and they whispered at me when I came out. They threatened me with everything you could imagine. The day he was sentenced, at Maggie’s insistence, I went back to Illinois with her. That night, they set my house on fire. Burned it to the ground. I lost everything I owned.”

  “I’m guessing the police figured it out quickly enough.”

  “Oh, sure. One of his brothers and one of his cousins were arrested and brought to trial, but there was no physical evidence and the jury didn’t convict them.”

  “Where is he now? Your ex-husband?”

  “He’s still in prison. He got seven years and he had to agree to anger management while he’s in prison.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Three years and a couple of months.”

  “Any chance he’s out?”

  She shook her head. “No. Someone would have contacted me. The district attorney promised me that if I’d testify, they’d make sure that I was notified before he was released.”

  “And where did all this happen?”

  “Back in Wisconsin.” She sighed. “Anyway, that’s why there’s that scar. And that’s why I didn’t want to turn on the light. I didn’t want you to see how ugly my body is.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shook her head.

  “Vanessa, there is nothing ugly about your body. If anything, yours is the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen up close and personal.”

  “You’re just saying that because you think you’ll get lucky again.”

  He cupped her face in his hands.

  “I got lucky the day I walked into Hal Garrity’s backyard and stood on his deck and watched this beautiful woman float across it. She took my breath away,” he told her. “She takes my breath away every time I look at her.”

  She felt as if something inside her cracked, then broke.

  “Stop it.” She swatted at him, tears welling in her eyes.

  The tears became a torrent. She had no words, only emotions, too many at one time for her to separate shame from the relief that he had not recoiled in disgust, or from the mind-numbing pain she felt every time she thought about the night that Gene had pushed her back against the kitchen table and sliced through her shirt into her flesh. It had been hard for her to admit even to herself that she’d left one bad marriage only to fall headfirst into another. She was embarrassed to remember what she had been like back then. It had been a long time since she’d talked about it, longer still since she’d cried for the woman she had once been.

  “You must think I’m the stupidest woman in the world, to let someone do this to me,” she sobbed.

  “I doubt very much that you let him do that, Ness. I don’t think abuse was what you were looking for when you married him.”

  “But I took it, and I kept taking it.” She hiccuped. “I let it get worse. I should have walked that first time but …”

  “But he promised he wouldn’t do it again, and you believed him because you loved him, right? You made excuses for him because you loved him.”

  “I am such a cliché, aren’t I? Pathetic,” she wailed.

  “What’s pathetic is a man who is so small that he has to hurt someone else in order to feel like a man.”

  He gathered her up, blanket and all, and let her cry until there were no tears left to fall. When finally she stopped, he asked, “What’s his name?”

  “Gene Medford.”

  “Is that Eugene?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Just curious. He’s in prison in Wisconsin now?”

  She nodded, then rested against him, sniffing and wishing she’d left that box of tissues on her nightstand instead of taking them into the bathroom on Saturday morning.

  “Damn good thing that makeup woman used the waterproof mascara.” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. “Otherwise, I can’t even begin to imagine what I’d look like. Bad enough the nose is red now but I could have raccoon eyes to go with it.”

  Grady leaned back against the pillow and tucked the blanket around them both.

  “Grady?” she whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “It’s been one hell of a night, hasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. It’s been one hell of a night.”

  She lay against his chest, watching the s
hadows from the branches of the tree outside her window move across the floor until she closed her eyes, and, feeling safe for the first time in a very long time, fell asleep.

  Grady lay awake in the dark, unable to get the image of a bleeding, terrified, wounded Vanessa out of his mind.

  So many times as an agent, he’d seen the victims of vicious attacks not unlike the one Vanessa had survived. Husbands attacking wives, wives attacking husbands, their children, parents, siblings, best friends, strangers … there seemed to be no end to the number of ways in which to hurt someone.

  He’d certainly seen injuries a hundred times worse than Vanessa’s. More than once, he’d seen women for whom the threat to cut off one or both breasts had been carried out. But this ate at him. How heartless could a man be that he’d do something so heinous to a woman who loved him? No one deserved to be treated like that.

  Vanessa was as sweet, caring, funny, smart, capable, and yes, as beautiful and as sexy, as any woman he’d ever met. She wore her heart on her sleeve when it came to those she cared about and he really liked that about her. In fact, there were a lot of things he liked about her.

  And she was strong. She hadn’t fallen apart when she realized her shop—which obviously meant everything to her—had been broken into, nor did she freak out when he told her that he thought both the burglary at the shop and the vandalism to his car were somehow a message intended for her. She hadn’t backed away from what was obviously a strong physical attraction between them, but met it head-on without pretense. She’d been brave enough to walk away from a bad situation, and courageous to have faced her abuser and his entire family in open court, and despite their threats, she hadn’t blinked. And somehow she hadn’t lost her sense of humor. What she had lost, however, was her self-confidence. How could she see herself as anything less than beautiful? Anything less than wonderful? What did that tell him about her? How had she come to believe that her scar defined her?

  As if she knew he was thinking about her, she stirred slightly, then sighed in her sleep, one hand on his chest like a badge.

  That she’d suffered made his heart ache—that she’d suffered at the hands of someone she’d loved made him sick to his stomach.

  The longer he thought about it, the sicker—and more angry—he became.

  First thing tomorrow, he was going to contact someone at the Bureau and have him check the release status of Eugene Medford.

  He awoke to the sound of water driving against glass. He sat up and realized that Vanessa was not beside him, and the sound was coming from the shower in the bathroom across the hall. He got up and dressed in the tuxedo he’d worn to the wedding. Vanessa came out of the shower, her hair in a towel, a robe wrapped around her.

  “Hey, you’re awake.” She came into the room with a smile on her face. “And I know I said it before, but you do look good in that tux.”

  “Thanks. Admire it while you can.”

  “Oh?” She looked momentarily disappointed. “Are you leaving?”

  “Yeah. The tux goes back to the shop tomorrow. And right now, I’m on my way back to the Inn. I want to grab a shower and change. There’s a black-and-white parked out front, by the way, so you won’t be alone. I already checked the rest of the house. There’s been no unwanted visitors overnight.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s already nine-thirty, and the brunch is … what, eleven?”

  She nodded.

  “So I’ll take your car, and come back to pick you up around ten of eleven?”

  “All right.” She found her keys on her dresser and tossed them to him, and he caught them with one hand. “But I’d like to be there on time since I am hosting the brunch. Are you punctual, or are you more of the, I’ll-get-there-when-I-get-there type?”

  “I worked for the FBI, remember? I’ll be here at ten-fifty.”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her mouth.

  “I will be here on time,” he promised.

  He started out of the room, when the phone began to ring. On his way down the steps he heard Vanessa say, “Good morning, Hal. Yes, I’m fine. Well, we didn’t want to disturb you … yes, I really am fine …”

  By the time he’d showered, dressed, and returned for Vanessa, and arrived at Let’s Do Brunch, it seemed that everyone had already heard about the break-in and the vandalism to Grady’s rented car. The discussion of last night’s crimes even threatened to overshadow the rehash of the wedding.

  “Did you call your rental company yet?” Andy asked Grady.

  “I called this morning before I left the Inn,” Grady replied. “They need a copy of the police report, and they want to come for the car as soon as the police release it. In the meantime, they’ll give me another car. I just have to go pick it up at someplace right outside of St. Dennis. Vanessa said she’d drive me out.”

  Hal came into the room two steps behind Maggie. Grady glanced around for Vanessa, to see if she’d noticed, but she was conferring with the hostess and had her back to the group.

  “I can fax the police report to your car company if you give me the info.” Hal had apparently overheard Grady. “Speed things up a bit for you.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” Grady nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Hal lowered his voice. “I hear you kept an eye on my girl last night.”

  Grady nodded, wondering what else Hal might have heard.

  “Thank you.” Hal folded his arms across his chest. “Anyone hurts Vanessa, he’ll bring down the wrath of God. I guess you know what I mean.”

  Grady nodded again. He was pretty sure he knew exactly what Hal meant.

  “Yeah, when we get this guy who broke into her shop, tossed her place, there will be hell to pay. Like I said, no one hurts our girl.” Hal slapped Grady on the back and went for the coffee.

  Vanessa’s mother had helped herself to coffee from the large carafe that stood on the buffet table, and had strolled over to the doorway to look out upon the passing cars. Grady grabbed a cup for himself and joined her.

  “So did you enjoy the wedding, Mrs. Turner?” he asked.

  She turned and looked up at him as if surprised that he’d sought her out, but she smiled and said, “It was just beautiful. I’m so glad I came, even if my son wasn’t happy about it. I must say, though, that your sister made me feel welcome.”

  “She’s a welcoming kind of person.”

  “I hope Beck appreciates her.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Grady toyed with an idea for a moment, then asked, “Mrs. Turner, whatever happened to Vanessa’s first husband?”

  “Craig?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Last I heard, he was remarried and the father of three little ones and living in New Mexico. Why?”

  “Just wondering.” He took a sip from the cup. “And the one she sent to prison …”

  Maggie wrinkled her nose to show her displeasure. “Gene. The bastard.”

  “Do you know for a fact that he’s still in prison?”

  She nodded. “He was, last I heard, maybe six, seven months ago.”

  “Has anyone in his family ever contacted you to find out where she is?”

  Maggie shook her head. “Nope. Not a one. Fact is, no one has ever even asked about her.” She paused. “Well, except for that girl a week or two ago.”

  “What girl?”

  “A girl Ness went to high school with was sending out notices about their upcoming reunion and wanted Ness’s address.”

  “Now, which reunion would this be?” he asked.

  “Well, let’s see now.” Maggie thought it over. “She graduated in 1998 … that would make it her twelfth reunion.”

  “That’s odd, don’t you think?” Grady said. “Usually reunions are the tenth, or the fifteenth. Did anyone notify her about the tenth reunion?”

  Maggie shook her head. “No. Nothing before this.”

  Vanessa walked over, a mimosa in her hand. She eyed Maggie suspiciously.

  “I was just telling Grady about Shannon callin
g about your upcoming reunion,” Maggie explained.

  “I still have no idea who she is,” Vanessa said.

  “You didn’t have a friend named Shannon?” Grady asked.

  “I had no friends at all back then,” Vanessa told him.

  Maggie frowned. “That is simply not true, Vanessa. Don’t make this nice young man think you were a social outcast.”

  Vanessa turned to Grady. “I was.”

  “I guess you wouldn’t have a copy of your high school yearbook handy?” he asked.

  “I never got one. There wasn’t anything I wanted to remember. Why? You want to see how weird I was back then?”

  “Maybe if you looked at Shannon’s picture, you’d remember her.”

  “There was no Shannon in my class,” Vanessa insisted.

  He was staring, prompting her to ask, “What?”

  “I’m going to have someone track down this ex of yours. I want to confirm that he is in fact still in prison.”

  “I told you, the D.A. promised to let me know if he was going to get out.” She sighed, exasperated.

  “Did you provide the police back in Wisconsin with a forwarding address?”

  “Well, no. But I’m sure they’d contact Maggie.”

  “How many times has Maggie moved since the trial?”

  “Twice,” she told him.

  “Maggie”—Grady turned to Vanessa’s mother, who’d fallen silent—“have you given the D.A. your new address?”

  “Ahhh … well, actually, now that you ask, I didn’t.” Maggie appeared slightly embarrassed to admit it.

  “So the D.A.’s office would find you, how?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Maggie shrugged her shoulders. “I guess the same way Shannon did.”

  “And how was that?” he persisted.

  Maggie tilted her head, as if considering the question. Finally, she said, “I don’t know. I guess she could have asked around the neighborhood where I was living during the trial. I still have friends there.”

  “You moved to Indiana after that,” Vanessa reminded her, “and from there, you went to North Dakota.”

  “Yes, but Shelley always knows where I am. We’ve kept in close touch.” Maggie turned to Grady. “I suppose someone could have come around asking about me. My upstairs neighbor from those days knows where I live.”