Jennifer Crusie - GETTING RID OF BRADLEY

She was a terrible woman, Bradley said, “She wanted the bonds, and she thought she could get them if J.B. was arrested.” He put his tea down on the counter untouched and leaned forward to take her hand, speaking to her earnestly but without warmth, as if she were an important depositor at the bank. “But it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we’re back together again. From now on, you’ll trust me. We’ll be fine.”

“No,” Lucy said gently. “We’re divorced.”

Bradley tightened his grip on her hand. “We’ll get married again.”

“No,” Lucy said, not gently, and tried to pull her hand away. “We won’t.”

Bradley gripped her hand even harder, and she winced. “I know you’ve been upset with me. But it’s over now. It’s just us. They’re both gone, J.B. and the policeman. I’m back, Lucy. And I’ve missed you so much.”

Lucy heard the determination in his voice and opened her mouth to tell him firmly to get lost. Then she looked in his eyes and saw something she hadn’t expected to see.

Passion. Not sexual passion, but a blinding, possessive, obsessive passion for her, all the same.

She closed her mouth and blinked instead.

ZACK WENT OVER THE conversation for the millionth time. “Thank you very much for helping my wife.” Zack glowered at that memory. Claiming her as his wife and then bitching at her for throwing his stuff on the lawn and in the basement. He was lucky she hadn’t thrown it in the river. Zack pictured Bradley’s face when he’d seen his clothes all over the lawn. It was petty, but it helped.

It couldn’t have been pretty seeing his chair smashed at the bottom of the basement stairs, either…

Zack froze.

When had Bradley seen his chair at the bottom of the basement stairs? Lucy had done that after the locks were on.

He hadn’t been in Kentucky.

He’d been in the house.

He’d helped John Bradley set the bomb.

And now he was in there alone with Lucy.

Zack started to get out of the car so he could kick down Lucy’s front door, but then he stopped.

“He was crazy about her,” Deborah had said. “He could be very jealous,” Lucy had said. “He wasn’t really sane when it came to Lucy,” Tina had said.

Zack closed the car door quietly and walked around to the back of the house.

“I CAN’T, BRADLEY,” Lucy said, trying to sound calm. “I’m sorry. I can’t go back to you. It’s over.” She tried again to disentangle her hand from his, but he held on tight.

“This is because of that detective, isn’t it?” Bradley clenched his lips until there was a white line around his mouth. “You even dyed your hair for him-”

“I really dyed my hair for me,” Lucy temporized while she tried to think of something soothing to say, but Bradley plunged on, not listening.

“-so he wouldn’t have to wake up in the morning and see you with brown hair.”

“Green,” Lucy said automatically and then raised her eyes to his face, startled.

“I loved you with brown hair,” Bradley said.

“You read my note,” Lucy said around the icy lump that suddenly filled her throat. “You read it, and you took it.”

Bradley stepped closer, and she took a step back, bumping into the counter. “You don’t need to change for me.”

“You were here,” Lucy said. “You helped that man put a bomb in my bed.”

Bradley shook his head. “It wasn’t supposed to hurt you. J.B. was going to call you and warn you about the bomb so you’d be scared and leave. But the phone was busy.”

“That bomb had a hair-trigger fuse,” Lucy said, her voice shaky with fear and anger. “Anything would have set it off. It could have killed me.”

“I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.” Bradley blocked her against the counter. “I love you.”

“No,” Lucy said, trying to push him away. “No, you don’t. You don’t even know who I am.”

“I know who you are.” Bradley’s jaw clenched so that he could hardly speak. “You’re my wife.” He shoved her arms away from him and pulled her to him before she could protest, and then he kissed her with as much passion as he could.

It was horrible.

BRADLEY HAD TO HAVE gotten in somehow.

Zack prowled around the outside of the house, trying to think how Bradley could have breached the security of Tina’s locks. They were all fine. He’d tried every one, and now he was back at the basement doors. He yanked on the locks again, but they held.

“This makes no sense,” he said aloud, and then out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of yellow fur.

He spun on his heel, startling Phoebe, who stopped practically in mid-leap. “Back off, you furry little bitch,” Zack snarled. “I’m not in the mood.”

Phoebe snarled back at him and leaped away.

Oh, good. He was up against insane house cats now. Lucy took care of armed men, and he repelled flea-bitten unhinged…

He stopped in mid-thought.

Unhinged.

He reached down for the door and, this time, instead of tugging at the center of the bars, he tugged on the hinges to the left.

Nothing.

But when he pulled on the hinges to the right, they lifted away, the double doors fused together with Tina’s locks, swinging up smoothly on the left-hand hinges.

Bingo. Zack started down the stairs.

So did Phoebe.

LUCY DUCKED AWAY, shoving hard to break Bradley’s hold. “No. Stop it.”

“It’s that policeman, isn’t it?” Bradley’s face was wooden, but he let go of her.

Lucy backed into the corner of the kitchen nearest the door, giving herself an escape route. “No, Bradley, it’s you. You let that man in here to bomb this house and try to kill me. You knew he was dangerous. He shot his wife. You knew that.”

Bradley stepped forward to reach for her again, and Lucy stepped back, grabbing the back-door knob, and then they both froze, trapped by the scream of a cat in the basement.

“That’s Phoebe.” Lucy moved toward the basement door. “How did she get in the basement?”

“I know,” Bradley said, and when she turned he was holding a gun.

“Bradley?” Her voice came in a squeak.

“Get away from the door,” he said calmly. “There’s a prowler down there.”

Lucy edged away from the door, praying Bradley wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. How rude had she been?

How out of touch was he?

He moved slowly toward the basement door, like an avalanche gathering speed. Just before he opened the door, he stopped and looked at her. “You stay here. We still need to talk.”

“Right,” Lucy said, bobbing her head frantically. “You bet.”

STIFLING HIS SCREAM WHEN Phoebe went for his leg had been one of the hardest things Zack had ever done, but he’d managed it, smacking her away with his fist and provoking a scream from her that could have peeled paint. She ran back up the stairs to the outside, and he froze for a moment until he was sure no one had heard.

He was on the first step up the stairs to the kitchen when Bradley opened the door and pointed the gun at him.

“Back.” Bradley let the basement door swing closed behind him, and then he walked carefully down the stairs until he was halfway to the bottom.

“Where’s Lucy?” Zack asked, backing away. “Is she…”

“Forget Lucy,” Bradley said coldly. “Lucy is my wife. She’s staying with me.”

Zack tried to think. Present tense was a good sign.

Maybe he’d sent her out for milk. Maybe she wasn’t bleeding to death on the kitchen floor.

He hadn’t heard any shots.

“I’m going to have to kill you.” Bradley sounded as if he wasn’t positive that killing Zack was a good idea, but he was willing to chance it.

“Hey,” Zack said, wishing Anthony was there. “I think we should talk about this. You’re not a bad guy. I’m not a bad guy. We’ve got a lot in common. How about you put down the gun, and we discuss the situation?”