The Next Always Read online

  they would. Time for a firm hand there, but he’d forgive her, of course. Women were weak.

  Opening her closet, he stroked dresses, blouses. He remembered her wearing most of them, thought of how she looked walking down the street or pushing a cart in the grocery store, standing behind the counter in that silly bookstore.

  A whole new wardrobe was called for. He imagined how excited, how pleased she would be when he helped her select it. He should probably do the selecting himself, until she acclimated to her new status.

  Yes, that would be best. He’d teach her how to dress.

  Curious, he crossed to her dresser, opening drawers, touching, studying. Obviously, she needed his guidance on nightwear, on what went under her new clothes. A woman, certainly his woman, needed style and status even in very private moments.

  He came across two pieces unlike the others—sexy, seductive. His pulse picked up as he brushed the material with his fingers, pictured her wearing them for him.

  Then he realized, no, not for him. She’d worn this for Montgomery. He ripped a froth of lace from the bodice. She wouldn’t wear them again, he determined. He’d make her burn them. She’d have to apologize—he’d accept no less—and burn the slutwear she’d worn for Montgomery.

  Then she’d wear what he bought her, what he told her to wear. And be grateful.

  Anger, so acute, roared in his head. He nearly missed the barking dogs.

  He closed the drawer, quietly, carefully, and slipped into her closet moments before he heard the door open downstairs, and the sounds of the brats running through the house, shouting like hoodlums.

  They’d be taught, too, he assured himself. They’d soon learn to live by his rules if they knew what was good for them.

  HER SUPERHEROES RUSHED to the back doors as a team to let the dogs in. Five minutes, she thought, as fresh mayhem began. She’d give them another five to settle down before getting ready for bed.

  They wouldn’t be the only kids in Boonsboro Elementary the next day who’d gone to bed a bit late and hyped on sugar.

  She put the bags of Halloween treats far back on the counter—away from curious dogs and sneaky kids—and thought just how much she wanted to yank off the wig, peel out of the costume, scrub off the Storm makeup.

  Fun while it lasted, she decided. But she was ready for the fun to end. She let them chatter about their big night, thrill the dogs with games of tug—then brought the hammer down.

  “Okay, boys, time for bed.”

  She got the expected But, Moms, the protests, excuses, negotiations—and stood firm against them as much for herself as the boys.

  She wanted her comfortable pj’s, some quiet, maybe a big mug of tea and a book.

  “I guess you’re not that interested in going to the arcade on Sunday.”

  “Yes, we are!” Harry shot her a stunned and appalled stare.

  “Boys who argue with their mothers don’t go to arcades. I want you in your pajamas. And you’re all going to brush your teeth extra well tonight. Let’s move out, troops.”

  She herded them upstairs, stood in their doorway a moment to make sure they got started. “Don’t throw your costumes on the floor. Put them in the costume box—I mean it. I’m going to get in my pajamas, too.”

  “Can we wear our costumes to the arcade?” Liam asked her.

  “We’ll see. Put them away for now.”

  She crossed to her own room, started to yank off the wig, but caught her reflection in the mirror. The grin snuck up on her. “Well, you’re no Halle Berry, but not half bad.”

  Pulling off the wig, she let out a long, long sigh.

  In the closet, his breath shallow, his eyes riveted to the thin opening in the slats, Sam wondered what he was doing. The moment of clarity sent his heart into a gallop.

  He’d broken into her house like a thief, and now he hid in her closet like—it didn’t bear thinking about. What if she opened the doors? What would he say? Do?

  She’d put him in this position, this terrible position, and now . . .

  The moment passed as she tugged the ridiculous costume off her shoulders, drew the snug skirt down her body. Her hair tumbled free down her back as she folded the skirt, laid it on a little chair.

  She wore a plain white bra, plain white panties. He hadn’t known plain and white could be so arousing.

  He knew what he was doing, he reminded himself. He was taking what he wanted.

  He reached up to open the closet.

  “Mom! Harry’s hogging the toothpaste!”

  “There’s plenty for everybody. I’ll be there in one minute.”

  The brats, he remembered, and quietly lowered his trembling hand. He’d forgotten them. He had to be patient a little longer. He had to wait until they were in bed.

  Had to wait. Had to watch.

  Clare stripped off her panties, tossed them in the hamper before pulling on cotton pants. She unhooked her bra, tossed that in as well, pulled on a faded T-shirt.

  Hearing sounds that didn’t strike as teeth-brushing, she grabbed her hairbrush on the fly.

  Harry and Liam stopped their sword fight with their toothbrushes, Murphy stopped making bomb sounds as he dropped a dog ball in the sink he’d filled nearly to the rim.

  Mad with excitement, dogs leaped at boy and dripping ball.

  “We brushed.” Murphy sent her a cherub’s grin. “I’m going to wash the ball ’cause it got slobbered.”

  “Let the water out, Murphy.” She bent down to Liam. “Open up.”

  She sniffed when he did, caught the distinctive scent of their bubble-gum-flavored toothpaste. “You pass. Into bed. Harry.”

  He rolled his eyes at her, but opened up for the sniff test. “And you’re clear. Bed.”

  Grabbing a towel, she homed in on Murphy.

  “The ball’s clean now.”

  “I bet. And your pj’s are wet.” She set her brush aside to tug off the damp top, then dried his hands, his arms, his sweet little chest. “Open up.”

  “I brushed real good.” He opened, and huffed out a big breath to prove it.

  “Very nice. Go get another pajama top.”

  “I have to change the bottoms, too, or they won’t match.”

  “Murphy—” She bit back the impatience. Two minutes, and they’d be tucked in. “Of course you do. Make it fast.”

  She used the same towel to wipe up the water on the counter, the floor, draped it over the shower bar to dry out before it went in the hamper.

  When she went into the boys’ bedroom she spotted Murphy in a dog’s bed with Yoda, and Ben wiggling under the covers in Harry’s bed. Liam sprawled in his own with the glazed, droopy eyes of the nearly passed out.

  “Murphy, you’re not sleeping in the dog’s bed.”

  “But he gets lonely.”

  “He won’t. Ben can sleep with him.”

  “But Mom!” Harry clutched at the dog as she wondered how many times she’d heard those two words today.

  “He can’t sleep on a top bunk, Harry. He could fall out, or try to jump out, and get hurt. You don’t want him to hurt himself. Come on now. It’s late.”

  She managed to get the dog down, set him in his proper bed while Murphy—executing impressive fake snoring—continued to curl up with Yoda.

  “No chance.” Clare hauled Murphy up, dumped him in his lower bunk. “Stay,” she ordered the dogs, and kissed Murphy, then Liam, then Harry. “And that goes for boys as well as dogs. Good night.”

  She’d made it halfway to her bedroom when she heard the distinctive sound of puppy toenails crossing the floor, and Murphy’s muffled giggle as, she imagined, the dogs joined him in bed.

  Discipline started, in earnest, tomorrow, she promised herself. Remembering her brush, she backtracked to the bathroom. She brushed her hair out as she walked back. Once she got the makeup cleaned off, she’d go make that tea. Check the boys one more time, then settle down.

  She really should write the copy for the store’s upcoming newsletter
, but she was too damn tired. She’d get an early start on it tomorrow.

  She caught the movement as she crossed the bedroom toward her little bath, and whirled toward it. The hairbrush dropped with a clatter as Sam stepped out behind the bedroom door, closed it.

  “You’re going to want to be quiet.” He spoke casually, with a smile on his face. “You wouldn’t want to disturb your sons. They could get hurt.”

  AT VESTA, BECKETT took another pull on his beer. It felt good to kick back, hang with Avery, talk about nothing important or in particular.

  “Are you heading over to Chuck and Lisa’s party?” she asked him.

  Only a couple blocks over, he thought, and plenty of his friends, and both of his brothers would be there. “I’m going to pass.”

  “Aw, no partying without your girlfriend?”

  “Smartass. What’s your excuse?”

  “I was going to, but my feet betrayed me. What’s wrong with us, Beck? We’ve always been up for a party.”

  “You’re right. Tell you what. You can be my date. We’ll go for an hour. Buffy and Carpenter X need to preserve their reps.”

  “Can I have a piggyback ride there and back?” she asked as Hope came in.

  “I was hoping you were still here.”

  “Problem?” Beckett asked her.

  “I can’t get into the inn. My key won’t unlock the damn door, and there are lights flashing upstairs. I was going to check, see if it’s some electrical glitch, but I can’t get the stupid door to open.”

  He got up as she spoke, looked out the front glass door of the restaurant. The glass in the doors leading from E&D to the porch flashed on and off like lightning strikes.

  “She’s been in a mood the last few days.” At Hope’s arched brow, Beckett shrugged. “I’m just saying. I’ll go check it out.”

  “I’m coming with you. This key thing is infuriating. It worked fine a few hours ago.”

  “Wait for me!” Avery hurried after them. “Vampire Slayer, remember?”

  “I don’t think you’ll find any vampires at the inn,” Beckett commented as they crossed the street.

  “You never know. Plus temperamental ghosts are cake for the Slayer.”

  Beckett pulled out his keys, jingling them in his hand while they walked down the sidewalk to the back of the building.

  “Could you try mine?” Hope passed it to him.

  Beckett slid it into the lock, turned it. And glanced at Hope when the lock clicked, and the door opened smoothly.

  “I’m telling you it wouldn’t work five minutes ago. If it’s your ghost playing games, I don’t know why she’s mad at me.”

  “Like I said.” Beckett flipped on the light in Reception. “She’s been in a mood.”

  At that moment, the light he’d just turned on began to flash. Upstairs doors slammed sharp as gunshots.

  “Some mood,” Avery murmured.

  “I’ll go see what’s going on. Stay here.”

  “Like hell.” But Avery grabbed Hope’s hand as they followed Beckett. “Maybe it’s a Halloween thing. Her way of marking the date.”

  “Doesn’t sound celebratory,” Hope stated.

  “I think she’s been kind of sad the last couple days,” Beckett began. As he approached, the porch doors in E&D flew open. Inside the lights flicked like a strobe.

  “Maybe pissed.”

  “Maybe we need Ghostbusters,” Avery whispered.

  “Okay, Lizzy, cut it out!” Beckett raised his voice, put irritation in it. As he strode in, steam billowed in rolling clouds out of the bath. “Well, what the fuck? You don’t like the tile pattern, the goddamn tub? Change rooms.”

  “Beckett.” Hope laid a hand on his arm, squeezed hard as her voice trembled. “Look at the bathroom mirror.”

  Through the clouds he watched letters appear, as if someone wrote with a finger on the steamy glass.

  “Help,” he read. “Lizzy, if you’re in trouble—” He broke off as the writing continued.

  Help Clare.

  Hurry!

  “Oh God.” Even as Avery turned to run, Beckett bulleted by her. “Call the cops. Call my brothers. Now. Tell them to get to Clare’s.”

  “I’ve got the cops.” Hope punched numbers into her phone as she ran.

  “I’ve got Owen. And we’re coming with you.”

  DON’T SCREAM, CLARE ordered herself. The boys would hear, would come. She wouldn’t risk it. “You broke into my house.”

  “What choice did you give me? It’s time you and I had a private talk, time for you to understand how things are going to be. Why don’t you sit down.”

  “I don’t want to sit down.”

  “I said sit down! One of the things you’re going to understand is doing what you’re told when I tell you.”

  She sat, braced, on the bottom edge of the bed. “You made a mistake, Sam, breaking into my house. If you leave now we’ll let it go at that. Just a mistake.”

  “No, you made the mistake when you set the cops on me.” He held up his hands. “Well, I can let that go, but you’re going to learn to show me respect. You’re going to remember who I am.”

  “I know who you are.”

  “And I know you lack self-confidence. I know that lack caused you to play hard-to-get, make me work for it. Didn’t I give you time, when you came back? I couldn’t have been more considerate, more patient, given the situation you’d gotten yourself into. Running off with Clint Brewster that way.”

  “Clint was my husband.”

  “And he’s dead, isn’t he? Left you with two brats and another in your belly so you had to come crawling back here to this hole-in-the-wall town.”

  Temper wanted to war with fear, but she beat it back. If she pushed him, he might hurt her. God knew what he might do to her boys if she couldn’t stop him.

  “I came home. My parents are here. I—”

  “You should never have left in the first place. But that’s spilled milk. You led me on, Clare.”

  “How did I lead you on?”

  “You think I didn’t know what you were doing every time you smiled at me? Every time you’d tell me you couldn’t go out to dinner, or just for a drive? I saw the way you looked at me. Wasn’t I patient? Wasn’t I?”

  His voice rose to nearly a shout, so she nodded. “Please, let’s not wake the children.”

  “Then start paying attention. I want this game to end now. I can only be pushed so far, Clare. You used Montgomery to make me jealous, and that’s beneath you. I don’t want you to so much as speak to him again. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now—”

  “I’ll call him right away, break it off.” She rose, started toward the door.

  He grabbed her arm, shoved her back. “I said you’re not to speak to him. Sit down until I tell you different.”

  “I’m sorry.” She bent down, picked up her hairbrush, took it with her back to the foot of the bed. As a weapon, she thought, staring down at her hands, it was pitiful.

  “That’s better.” He let out a breath, smiled again. “Much better. Now, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to pack a bag—you won’t need much. I’ll be replacing all your things right away. But you’ll need your essentials for tonight. We’re going on a trip, just you and me. We’re going to take a few days. I’ve already made reservations for one of the private villas in this resort I like. They know me there, so be prepared to be treated royally.”

  It appalled her to see that familiar wide smile and wink.

  “You’re going to see how much I can give you, Clare. All you have to do is what I tell you, learn your lessons, give me what we’ve both wanted for so long.”

  “It sounds lovely. I have to arrange for someone to come take care of the children. I can call my mother. She’ll—”

  “The children, the children.” Red rage stained his face. “I’m sick of hearing about the children. They’re asleep, aren’t they? Safe in bed with their drooling dogs. I’l
l call my own mother when we get to the resort. She’ll arrange for someone to deal with them. There’s an excellent boarding school in upstate New York. We’ll enroll them as soon as possible. You’ll learn no one comes before me. I can be generous and pay for the education of another man’s children, but I won’t have them put ahead of me or my needs. Do you understand me?”

  “Perfectly. Should I pack now?”

  “Yes. I’ll show you what’s appropriate.” His tone changed, became sticky with indulgence. “Don’t be ashamed of what you’ve got to choose from now. I’ll take you shopping. You’re going to have lots of time to enjoy yourself, to be with me, to live the life I give you without those kids and that bookstore hobby of yours in the way.”

  She got slowly to her feet. The fear had ebbed, and in the void fury filled her. She could only pray it didn’t show. Leave her children alone? She’d see him in hell first.

  “I want to thank you.” She kept her gaze downcast, hoped it appeared subservient, as she took a tentative step toward him. “I’ve been so confused, so conflicted. But now it’s all so clear.”

  She looked up then, into his eyes. Cocking back, she swung the brush with all her strength, all her fury into his smiling face. As blood erupted from his mouth, she leaped toward the door. Her only thought was to get to her boys, keep them safe.

  Her hand closed around the doorknob as he wrenched her back. Fear sprang up again, bright as the blood on his face as he dragged her to the floor. She kicked, tried to claw at his eyes but he slapped her hard enough to have stars erupting.

  “Bitch!” He used the back of his hand, shooting pain into her cheekbone. “Look what you did. Look what you did to me. I’m giving you everything, and you don’t learn. You’ll learn now.”

  When he tore at her shirt, she raked her nails down his face. He reared up, shock and pain mixed with the blood.

  Rolling, she struggled to pull herself free, and suddenly his weight lifted. She crawled for the door, breath sobbing as she tried to pull to her feet, run to her boys.

  Arms came around her.

  “Clare, Clare, Clare.” Avery held tight until Clare stopped fighting her. “You’re okay now.”

  “My babies.”

  “Shh. Hope went to see. Shh.”

  “I have to—” The sounds finally broke through her shocked senses. Slumped against Avery, she turned her head.

  At the foot of her bed, Sam sprawled on the floor with Beckett straddling him. With Beckett’s fist slamming, again and again, into the already bloodied face.

  “Oh God. God.” Dizzy, she pushed to her feet, and Hope was there helping Avery steady her.