The Wild Zone (19 page)

“Who?”

“Dr. Bigelow.”

“Suzy’s husband,” Will said, although there was no need for clarification. “Yeah, he’s a pretty scary guy.” He transferred the eggs from the pan to the plate and placed it in front of Kristin.

“Mmmn. This looks fabulous. Aren’t you having any?”

“I might have some of yours.”

“Not a chance,” Kristin joked, pulling the plate closer to her and lifting a forkful of eggs to her mouth. “These are the best scrambled eggs ever.”

“Glad you like them.”

“Somebody
should
shoot the bastard,” Kristin said, swallowing another mouthful.

“What?”

“Sorry. Just thinking out loud. I mean, the guy’s obviously a psycho. Threatening you guys the other day, coming into the club last night, hitting on me.” She speared another forkful of eggs. “I guess I should be grateful he was hitting
on
me, not actually hitting me. He saves that for Suzy. Guy deserves to be shot,” she added between swallows. “I can’t believe I actually found him charming.”

“You found him charming?”

“He offered to introduce me to this famous photographer who just happens to be a close personal friend. The oldest line in the book, and I almost fell for it.”

“You found him charming?” Will asked again.

“Well, he’s not a complete Neanderthal. I mean, there has to be a reason Suzy married him. No?”

“I guess.”

“First comes the charm, then come the fists. Poor Suzy.”

Will lowered his head, tried not to see the bruises marring Suzy’s beautiful complexion.

“I really don’t understand how a man his size,” Kristin continued, clearly on a roll, “not to mention a doctor, a man who’s taken an oath to do no harm, how somebody like that can justify hitting a woman, especially someone as delicate looking as Suzy. She’s skin and bones, for God’s sake. What satisfaction can he get from slapping her around? You wait—he’s going to kill her one day. And when he does, it’ll be partly our fault because we knew about him, and we didn’t do anything.”

“What are we supposed to do? Call the authorities?”

“Yeah, like that’s going to do any good. They’ll ask for proof, we’ll tell them we don’t have any, and they’ll tell us to mind our own business. Maybe they’ll question Suzy. But if she’s like most battered women, she’ll just deny everything and we’ll end up looking like idiots. Later on, she’ll get the crap kicked out of her even worse.” Kristin finished the last of her eggs, pushed her plate aside. “No, there’s nothing we can do. Which is why I feel so damn . . .”

“ . . . impotent?”

“Exactly.”

Will nodded, understanding the feeling well. He felt that way most of the time.

“Oh. I didn’t save you any eggs,” Kristin said, looking at her empty plate.

“No problem. I can always make more.”

“Promise?” Kristin pushed herself off her chair, leaned over, and kissed Will on the cheek. “You really are the sweetest thing.” In the next second she was gone, sweeping from the room in a flash of pink silk.

The unmade bed beckoned as she returned to the bedroom, and for a brief moment Kristin toyed with the idea of crawling back inside it, drawing the covers up over her head, and trying for a few more hours of sleep. But it was too late for that, she decided, walking to the window and opening the curtains, almost tripping over Jeff’s discarded jeans in the middle of the floor. She smiled. Interesting that Jeff would bother to change into a fresh pair of jeans when he was supposedly so pressed for time, she thought, bending down to pick them up, about to toss them in the hamper when she felt something in their back pocket. “Getting more interesting all the time,” she muttered, returning to the kitchen, object in hand. “Jeff forgot his wallet,” she announced, waving it at Will.

The doorbell rang.

“Probably him.” Kristin ran to the door. “Forget something?” she asked, opening the door, then taking a quick step back.

Lainey Whitman strode into the center of the room. She was wearing a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and a deep scowl. “Kristin,” she acknowledged, her gaze quickly shifting to Will. “And you must be the famous little brother.”

“Lainey, this is Will. Will, meet Lainey, Tom’s wife,” Kristin said, introducing the two and wondering what other surprises the day had in store.

“Nice to meet you.” Will thought that Lainey wasn’t nearly as unattractive as Tom had made her out to be. A little unconventional looking, perhaps, her features maybe a touch too imposing for her face, but pleasing nonetheless.

“Is Jeff here?” Lainey asked. “I need to talk to him about Tom.”

“He’s at work.”

Lainey suddenly looked as if she was about to burst into tears. She stood motionless in the middle of the living room, saying nothing.

“Why don’t I walk over there and deliver this?” Will offered, taking Jeff’s wallet from Kristin’s hand. “Give you two ladies a chance to talk.”

“No, that’s all right,” Kristin began.

“I’ll check in later,” Will told her, ignoring the look in her eyes imploring him to stay. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about Tom.

“Nice meeting you, Will,” Lainey said.

“You, too.” He reached the door, gratefully pocketing Jeff’s wallet. My brother came to my rescue without even knowing it, he was thinking as he closed the door behind him. He’d have to find a way to thank him.

NINETEEN

“W
OULD
YOU LIKE A
cup of coffee?” Kristin asked, gathering her robe around her and tightening the silk belt at her waist. “Will made a large pot. I think there’s some left.”

“Will made coffee?”

“And scrambled eggs.”

“Tom never makes anything,” Lainey said. “Except trouble,” she added unnecessarily.

“Can I get you a cup?” Kristin asked again.

Lainey shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“Would you like to sit down?” Kristin motioned toward the sofa, where Will’s blanket lay neatly folded at one end. She hoped Lainey would say no, as she had with the coffee, and mumble apologies for having disturbed her first thing in the morning, but Lainey seemed grateful for the offer, sinking down into the soft cushions and taking several deep breaths. “Are you all right?” Kristin asked, sitting down beside her.

“Not really. You heard about Tom’s latest stunt?”

Kristin nodded, tugging at the bottom of her robe so that it covered her knees.

“We didn’t want to call the police. We really didn’t,” Lainey said. “But what choice did he leave us? What else could we do?” She lifted her hands into the air, palms facing the ceiling, fingers opening and closing, as if grasping for answers. Kristin noted she was still wearing her wedding ring. “He’d been following me around all day, first to the lawyer’s office, then to my hairdresser’s, where he made the most terrible scene, screaming at me in front of everyone, saying such awful things, you really couldn’t believe it. And then later, at dinnertime, he parked himself down the street from my parents’ house, just sat there for more than an hour, staring at the house. My mother was so upset, she couldn’t eat a thing. My father was so angry he wanted to go out and confront him himself, but we begged him not to, so he called the police instead, and they came and took Tom to the station. But they couldn’t hold him—technically he hadn’t done anything illegal—which is why we have to go down there this morning to take out a restraining order against him. Not that I think it’s going to do any good. I think it’s only going to make him angrier. But what choice do I have? I tried reasoning with him, but that didn’t work. He doesn’t listen. He never has. And I can’t have him following me day and night. I can’t have him upsetting my parents and scaring the kids. And I’m really frightened, Kristin. What if he does something crazy? What if he tries to kidnap the children?”

“I don’t think he’d do anything like that.”

“That’s what I used to think. I used to think that no matter how crazy he got, he’d never do anything to hurt me or the kids. Now I’m not so sure.”

“He’s just upset. Your leaving took him by surprise.”

“How could he be surprised? I’ve been warning him for months that this would happen.”

“He didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.”

“What else could I do?” Lainey demanded. “What choice did he give me?”

“No choice,” Kristin said quickly. “Believe me, Lainey, I understand. Frankly, I’m amazed you hung around as long as you did.”

“He’s my husband, the father of my children. I tried to be patient and understanding.” She began nervously tugging at her wedding band.

“I know you did.”

“He hasn’t been the same since he came back from Afghanistan. He doesn’t sleep; he barely eats; he has nightmares every night. God only knows what he saw over there, what he did. . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“He needs help,” Kristin offered.

“Of course he needs help,” Lainey shot back. “But he won’t even consider counseling. He says that if Jeff doesn’t need therapy,
he
doesn’t need therapy. There’s no way he’ll go.”

“Then you’ve done everything you can,” Kristin told her. “You have to look after yourself and your children.”

“I told him this would happen. How many times did I tell him?” Lainey asked. “I said that if he didn’t stop drinking, if he didn’t stop staying out half the night, I wasn’t going to stick around.”

“You gave him plenty of warning,” Kristin agreed.

“As far as he was concerned, I was just a convenience, someone to cook his dinners and keep the bed warm. I tried talking to him, but you can’t tell him anything. He doesn’t listen. Why should he? He knows everything.”

“Nobody blames you for leaving him.”

“I did everything in my power to make him happy. I never pressured him to get a better job, I never complained about money, I let him go out with Jeff whenever he wanted. All I asked was that he be home at a reasonable hour. But some nights he wouldn’t come back until three, four in the morning. And maybe you don’t care what time Jeff comes home . . .”

Kristin was about to interrupt, but Lainey wasn’t finished.

“ . . . but we have two kids, two kids who don’t need to wake up crying in the middle of the night because their father’s too drunk to keep his voice down.”

“It can’t have been easy for you,” Kristin offered.

“Easy?” Lainey repeated. “Are you kidding me? Try impossible.”

“You gave it your best shot. You have nothing to feel guilty for.”

“Who says I feel guilty?” Lainey snapped. “I don’t feel guilty. I feel angry. I feel frustrated. I feel frightened. The man’s lost his mind. He said the most hurtful things to me yesterday. You can’t imagine.”

Kristin nodded, conjuring up the string of invectives her mother had hurled at her after finding Ron on top of her more than a decade ago, the words as lethal as if they’d been shot from a gun, as immediate as if they’d been uttered yesterday. Lainey was right: She couldn’t imagine; she didn’t have to.

“And now he’s all upset about the kids? Bullshit! He never cared about them,” Lainey said. “Not from day one. How many times did he tell me he never wanted them, that I’d used them to trap him into getting married, that I’d gotten pregnant on purpose, even though he was the one who refused to wear a damn condom? But that was Tom. Nothing was ever his fault. Nothing was ever his responsibility. He blamed me for everything. Hell, he’d blame me for Afghanistan if he could.” She swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “He even said he didn’t think the kids were really his. And now he suddenly sees himself as father of the year? He’s screaming that I can’t take his kids away from him? He’s telling me he’ll quit his job before he’ll pay a dime in child support, that we can starve to death for all he cares? Does that sound like a man who loves his children to you?”

“He’s just angry and upset. Once he calms down—”

“He’s not going to calm down. He’s not going to be reasonable,” Lainey said, releasing a deep, tremulous breath. “He’s going to be Tom.”

“What would you like us to do?” Kristin asked after a long pause.

“I need Jeff to talk to him. He’s the only one Tom listens to, the only one who stands a chance of getting through to him.”

“I think he’s tried.”

“He needs to try again. He needs to try harder.”

Kristin nodded.

“My father wants him out of the house by the end of the week,” Lainey said, “or he says he’ll have him charged with trespassing.”

“Maybe that’s not such a good idea,” Kristin cautioned. “Maybe you should give him a little more time to get used to what’s happening.”

Lainey shook her head vehemently. “My lawyer says that prolonging things will only strengthen Tom’s resolve, not to mention his legal standing. Something about establishing a precedent. I didn’t quite understand. . . .” She folded her hands in her lap, nodded once and then again, as if trying to convince herself. “No, Tom has to leave. Jeff has to persuade him to find his own apartment.”

“Can Tom afford one?” Kristin asked gingerly. “Does he even have enough money for first and last months’ rent?”

“He has enough money to go out drinking every night, doesn’t he?” Lainey burst into tears, buried her face in her hands.

Kristin edged closer, put her arms around Lainey, half expecting to be rebuffed or pushed aside. Instead Lainey grabbed her tight around the waist and burrowed her head into the pillow of Kristin’s chest, sobbing without restraint.

“It’s okay. It’ll be all right,” Kristin said soothingly. “I’ll talk to Jeff.”

“Is Jeff here?” Will asked the pretty, young receptionist behind the desk at the entrance to Elite Fitness. He was winded from having run up the steep flight of stairs, and he smiled self-consciously as he looked around the gym for his brother. I should probably sign up for a few sessions, increase my stamina, he was thinking, watching several people working out with weights and a trainer in a sleeveless gray T-shirt instructing two women doing a series of push-ups. Where was Jeff?

“I’m afraid he’s not in this morning,” Melissa said.

“What do you mean he’s not in?”

Melissa stared at him blankly.

“He has to be here,” Will persisted. “His boss called first thing this morning and asked him to get here early. He rushed out so fast he forgot his wallet.” Will held out the wallet for her to see, as if this was proof she was mistaken.

“I don’t know what to say,” Melissa said, looking toward the man in the sleeveless gray T-shirt. “Jeff called in sick this morning. Believe me, Larry wasn’t very happy about it.”

“Jeff called in sick?”

“I took the call myself.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe you should lower your voice,” Melissa urged. “I’m sure you don’t want to get Jeff in trouble.”

“Is there a problem?” Larry called from between the two women now doing bicycle kicks on the floor.

“What? No. No problem,” Will said, still trying to get his head around his brother’s absence. “I was just hoping to see Jeff.”

“So were we all. He should be back by this afternoon.”

Will handed Jeff’s wallet to the receptionist. “In that case, if you wouldn’t mind giving him this when he gets in . . .”

“Of course.”

What the hell is going on? Will wondered, barely noticing the scent of freshly baked bread as he hurried down the flight of stairs to the sidewalk. Where was Jeff and why had he lied?

He knew three things for certain: Someone had phoned the apartment at six thirty this morning; Jeff had rushed out soon after; he hadn’t gone to work.

So where was he?

There was only one logical explanation, Will concluded, walking quickly down the street: Tom.

It had obviously been Tom who’d phoned, talking the same crazy talk as last night, and Jeff had raced over to his house in an effort to calm him down. He hadn’t told Kristin or Will where he was really going because he hadn’t wanted to worry them. Or maybe Tom had specifically asked him not to say anything because he didn’t want Will tagging along. He wanted only Jeff.

Just as Lainey had come over several hours later, also wanting Jeff.

Everybody always wanting Jeff.

The image of a lovely young woman with deep-water blue eyes, fading bruises marring her otherwise lustrous complexion, suddenly filled his head. He smiled, tried to get her attention, but she was looking just past him. Seconds later, Will watched as Jeff emerged from the shadows of his mind to surround her with his muscular arms. In the next second, he watched her willingly disappear inside his brother’s embrace.

Will shook his head, trying to dismiss the image.

Was it possible that Jeff, in a stupid, ill-advised effort to win Suzy’s favor, was at this very minute meeting with Tom, that the two of them could actually be on their way to murder Dr. Bigelow?

No, it wasn’t possible, Will assured himself immediately. His brother was no murderer, no matter how many men he’d killed in Afghanistan. Jeff would never allow himself to be swayed by any of Tom’s idiotic ideas. Will checked his watch. Ten minutes after nine. In less than an hour, the stores would be opening, and Tom would be at work. Will decided he’d take a leisurely stroll over to South Beach, visit Tom at the Gap, find out exactly what was going on.

He straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and started walking.

BY TWENTY MINUTES
after nine o’clock, Jeff had finished his bacon and eggs and was on his fifth cup of coffee. What the hell was he doing here?

He looked toward the entrance to the no-frills coffee shop. No one had come in or out of the wood-framed glass door in the last twenty minutes. He’d been sitting in this oversize booth at the back of Fredo’s for almost an hour and a half. He’d finished the morning paper from first page to last. He’d read the daily specials handwritten on the half-dozen chalkboards along the wall so many times he could recite them by heart. His hands were shaking from all the caffeine in his system. It was all he could do to keep from jumping up and fleeing the premises.

For the tenth time in as many minutes, he went over the events of the morning. The phone had roused him from an unpleasant dream, the particulars of which he could no longer recall. He’d answered it in something of a fog, snapping into consciousness only when he heard the familiar voice. Now he was wondering whether it had really happened or if he’d imagined the whole thing. Was it possible he’d still been dreaming?

Except Kristin had heard the phone ring, too. In fact, it was Kristin who’d roused him from his sleep in the first place, he reminded himself, and Kristin who’d sleepily swallowed the series of lies he’d told her. Although she’d been alert enough to question that lame story he’d given her about Larry having a hangover. God, he’d have to be more careful. No, he amended in the next breath. He’d have to tell her the truth.

Whatever that was.

Wasn’t that why he was here? To find out?

Again he glanced toward the entrance to the coffee shop. Maybe he’d gotten the name wrong. Maybe it wasn’t Fredo’s. Maybe it was some other coffee shop with a similar name, or maybe in his semicomatose state, he’d misheard the address. Maybe there was a competing Fredo’s on Federal, and he was sitting in the wrong one.

What the hell was he doing here?

Jeff checked his watch, noting it was less than five minutes since the last time he’d looked. Hell, it wasn’t that late. Not even half past nine. He had only himself to blame for getting here so damn early. The least he could do was wait another fifteen minutes. This wasn’t the easiest place to find. And Miami’s rush-hour traffic was the worst.