Lisa Jackson: Malice

Bentz was slipping away from her.

Olivia could feel it.

And it pissed her off. Yes, she was sad, too, she thought as she tore down the road in her old Ford Ranger, a relic with nearly two hundred thousand miles that she would have to trade in soon.

She loved her husband and when she’d vowed to stick with him through good times and bad, she’d meant it. She’d thought he had, too, but ever since the accident…

She braked for a curve on the long country road winding through this part of bayou country on the way to her home, a small bungalow built near the swamp, one she’d shared with Grannie Gin before the old lady had passed on. She’d lived in it alone for a few years, but eventually, when she and Bentz had married, he’d moved from his apartment to the bungalow tucked deep into the woods.

His daughter had lived with them for a while, though that hadn’t worked out all that great. Kristi was a grown woman and had needed her own space. But they’d been happy here for the past few years.

Until the damned accident.

A freak occurrence.

Lightning had cleaved an oak tree and a thick branch had come down on Rick, pinning him and nearly severing his spine. Even now she shuddered thinking of those dark days when she hadn’t been certain whether he would live or die.

He’d clung to life. Barely. And in that time she and her stepdaughter had finally bonded, clenching each other’s hands in the hospital when the doctors had given Bentz a dire prognosis.

She’d thought she’d lose him, expected him to die. And in those heart-rending days, she’d regretted not having a child with him, not having a part of him to carry on. Maybe it was selfish. But she didn’t care.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Worried amber-colored eyes stared back at her. She didn’t like what was happening.

“So do something about it,” she said. She’d never been one to hold back. Her temper had been described as “mercurial” on more than one occasion. By Bentz. The first time she’d met the man, she’d gone toe-to-toe with him, reporting a murder she’d witnessed though her visions. That had set him back a bit. He hadn’t believed her, at first. But she’d convinced him.

Somehow now, she had to convince him of this as well.

She put the truck through its paces and tried not to dwell on the fact that the warmth in their home had seemed to fade after he’d woken from the coma. He’d become a different man. Not entirely, of course, but somehow changed. At first, she’d passed off his lack of affection as worry. He’d had to concentrate on getting well. But things hadn’t gone as she’d expected. As the weeks had passed and he’d gained strength, she’d noticed a sense of disillusionment in him. She’d told herself his mood was sure to change the minute he was back to work, doing what he loved, solving homicides.

But as the weeks passed she became concerned. Though they had talked about having a baby together, he’d become less and less interested. Bentz had always been a passionate man; not as hot-tempered as his partner, Montoya, but steadfast, determined, and courageous.

In bed, he’d been an eager lover who had derived some of his own pleasure from hers.

But all of that had changed.

She didn’t doubt that he loved her; not for a second. But instead of mellowing with age, their relationship had grown…stale, for lack of a better word. And she didn’t like it.

She flipped down her visor. Sunlight dappled the warm ribbon of pavement meandering through this lowland and a jackrabbit hopped into the underbrush at the side of the road.

She barely noticed.

What her relationship with Bentz needed was a kick-start. Or maybe her husband just needed a well-timed kick in his cute behind.

She turned in to the drive, her tires splashing through a puddle from an early morning shower. She parked in the garage and walked inside where a Bryan Adams song from the eighties was blasting. Her husband, sweating in a T-shirt and shorts, was working out on a small weight machine tucked into the den. He glanced over as she walked to the doorway and leaned against the doorjamb. “Hey, Rocky,” she said, and he actually laughed.

A rarity these days.

“That’s me.” He finished a set of leg lifts, his face straining, the muscles bulging in his thighs. For the past three weeks, ever since his boss had suggested he might want to retire, Bentz had redoubled his efforts, throwing himself into regaining his strength with a vengeance. For the most part he’d ditched his crutch and was using a cane, though sometimes he walked unaided, just as he had when he was supposed to be using a crutch. He’d ignored his doctor’s warnings and pushed himself harder than he was supposed to. Big steps, but not big enough to satisfy him.

Olivia couldn’t help but worry about him, aware that exercise had become one of the few de-stressors in his life. His sleep was restless, his only connection to the department, Montoya, was busy with the job and his own family commitment. Even his daughter Kristi was wrapped up in her own life as she planned her wedding. “What do you say I take you out to dinner?” she asked.

“It’s Monday.”

“That’s why we’re celebrating.”

He snorted but smiled as he climbed off the machine and swabbed his face with the towel. “Life must be pretty boring if Monday is cause for a celebration.”

“I thought you might need to get out.”

He arched an inquisitive, thick brow. Yeah, he was in his forties, and yeah, he’d had more than one life-threatening scare in the years that she’d know him, but he was still a hunk. Big-time. Still turned her inside out when he made love to her, which, unfortunately had been spotty since the accident. She thought about trying to seduce him right here and now, but knew he’d suspect she had an ulterior motive of getting pregnant. Which wouldn’t be too far from the truth.

“How about Chez Michelle?” he suggested.

“Oooh, upscale. I was thinking more like a hole-in-the-wall kind of place where they serve curly fries and spicy Cajun shrimp in buckets.”

His dark eyes flickered with the memory of their first “date.” With a chuckle, he said, “That’s what I like about you, Livvie, you’re a true romantic. You’re on.” He snapped his towel at her as he passed and made his way to the bathroom.

Two hours later they were seated at a table in a brick courtyard where doves cooed and pecked at crumbs while the sun began to set. Shadows crept through the pots of herbs that bloomed and scented the air.

The restaurant itself was narrow and dark, its walls strung with fishing nets, the tables butting up to huge tubs of shaved ice packed with bottles of beer. Luckily, this place had been spared the wrath of the hurricane.

Olivia sipped from a glass of iced tea and ate heartily from the spicy Cajun shrimp and crisp French fries. Conversation buzzed around them and rattling flatware echoed through the courtyard. It was her favorite place, one they patronized often. Bentz had walked into the courtyard without the use of his cane and his movements were surer now, steadier. But there was still something bothering him, something that he was keeping from her.

And she was sick of waiting for him to open up. It wasn’t happening.

“So,” she said, pushing her plate aside and wiping her fingers on the lemon wedge and napkin provided. “What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t do this, Rick.” She met his gaze. “You and I both know that things are strained. I suppose it’s partly due to the accident. Heaven knows you’ve been through a lot, but there’s more to it.”

“Using your ESP on me?” he asked, taking a slug from his zero-alcohol beer.