Justine Davis - Backstreet Hero

His brow furrowed. “I thought…Then why ‘Mrs.’ Mercer if it’s your maiden name?”

“I dropped his name. People assumed the Mrs. because they knew I’d been married, and it was just…easier.”

And kept men away? he wondered. Not that it would keep some away, but the some it wouldn’t deter would be the kind she wouldn’t be interested in anyway. He knew that much already.

“What about him?” he asked.

“Josh suspects that if these things are more than accidents…he might be behind it.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Past history. But it’s as impossible that it’s him as it is that it’s Stan Chilton or Santerelli.”

He could see that she didn’t want to get into it, so although he knew they’d have to talk about it eventually, he changed tacks. “Where is he? Local?”

“That depends,” she said, finally giving him the level look that was her norm, “on whether you consider Chino local.”

He shrugged off the first thought that hit him; half the kids he’d grown up with were in Chino. At the California Institute for Men. But there was no way…

His thoughts faded as the way she was looking at him slowly registered.

“Yes,” she said, that weariness he’d heard before echoing in her voice again.

“He’s…in prison?”

“Has been for nearly two years.”

He was beyond puzzled. The only thing he could think of was that the man had committed some white-collar crime.

“He’s on the Level I side? Minimum security?” he asked, although he didn’t understand why the man wasn’t in some country club kind of place instead of a hard-core lockup like Chino. Guys from his world went to Chino. Not hers.

“No. Medium security.”

Belatedly it hit him. If Josh suspected her ex might be behind what had been happening to her, then he must have a reason.

“What is he in for?”

She held his gaze with that nerve that had only wavered for a moment. “He tried to kill me.”

She’d seen that look before. The shock, the incredulity. It was nothing new to her, that kind of skepticism.

So why did it hurt, when she’d thought herself inured to it long ago? Had she simply gotten unused to thinking about it? Or was it more complicated—was it that it was this man doubting her that made it sting?

She gave herself a mental shake. She’d left all the doubts behind, and she was not going back. She stood up abruptly. “If you don’t believe me, then you surely can’t believe there’s any need for this. Tell Josh so, and we’ll both get back to business.”

He was on his feet before she could take a step. “I never said I didn’t believe you.”

“You didn’t have to, Mr. Alvera.” She saw him wince slightly at the formal appellation, but didn’t stop. “I’ve seen that expression too many times to mistake it.”

“What you saw was…shock. Amazement. Astonishment. But not disbelief. You wouldn’t lie.”

That flat, bald assessment mollified her somewhat. But the way he was looking at her still made her uneasy. She studied him. Tried to separate the tough and efficient agent she knew he was from the darkly handsome, rakish appearance. Tried to think only of his dedication to Josh and to Redstone, and not how the dimple that carved his right cheek when he smiled took him from dangerous to charming in a split second.

“This isn’t just going to go away, is it?”

He shook his head. “Nor am I. So we might as well get started.”

She was, she thought tiredly, going to have to explain. She sank back into her desk chair, wishing herself anywhere else, confronting any other onerous task.

And when did wishing ever help you out of a bad situation? she asked herself.

“Never,” she muttered.

“What?”

She grimaced; she hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “Just reminding myself that wishing is for children.”

He sat back down himself, and was silent for a moment before he said softly, “Yes, it is. And the day you outgrow wishing is a sad one that comes too early for too many.”

Something about his tone enabled her to get it out, what she never talked about. “You want the condensed version?”

“For now,” he said, and the implication that there would be more later was nearly as unsettling as his presence.

She braced herself, then began. “Daniel Huntington. Pillar of the community. Wealthy family. Perfect manners. Charming. Polished. Urbane. Blue blood. Only one little glitch in his perfection.”

If the staccato presentation registered with him, he didn’t show it. His expression never changed when he said, “Which was?”

“He beat his wife.”

The emotionless mask vanished for only an instant, but Lilith didn’t miss the suddenly feral look that flashed in his eyes.

“The perfect cover,” he muttered.

Startled at his quick understanding, she nodded. “Exactly. His stature in the community, his background, his Ivy League upbringing, it all made it nearly impossible for anyone to believe.”

Something changed again in his expression. “If it was anyone but you telling me…”

She didn’t miss the implication of what he was saying, recognized a second assertion that he’d never not believed her, specifically.

After a moment, he went on. “I didn’t think things like that existed in…your world.”

A wry sort of amusement quirked one corner of her mouth upward. She perhaps could forgive him more than most; the world he’d grown up in was so radically different, hers must seem like some perfect dream. It spurred her to more explanation than she’d given to anyone in a very long time. “I was as…surprised as you. I never would have believed it if I hadn’t lived it. It took me a long time to realize that in Daniel’s case, he could only have become what he was in his world.”

“But it was your world, too.”

“Yes. But I had parents and grandparents who had worked incredibly hard to get where they were. Daniel’s family was a few generations down from the workers and felt it was now their place to lead their lessers.”

Tony snorted inelegantly, then muttered an apology. She merely smiled. “Exactly how I feel,” she said.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but all he said was “Go on.”

“He was the only son, and was catered to and fawned over from the day he was born. He was raised with a powerful sense of entitlement, that he was born to the elite and deserving of all their privileges. What started as a quick temper and a sense of superiority in the child became a brutal arrogance in the man.”

“But he took it out only on you.”

She nodded. “He limited it to inside his own home, yes.”

“Which makes it worse,” Tony said, his voice rough. “It means he had some control. He chose when and where. He chose…”

His voice trailed away, and she finished it for him. “Me. Yes, he did.”

“Bastard.” He didn’t apologize for that one.

“Yes,” she agreed calmly.

And she was calm, somewhat to her surprise. Tony Alvera was angry enough for both of them. And that not only surprised her, it warmed her in an odd sort of way. Enough that she was able to go on.

“I found out much later, thanks to Josh and John Draven, that he’d done the same thing to his first wife. But he’d managed to hush it up.”

“Did he kill her?” Tony asked, his voice harsh. The possibility obviously didn’t startle him.

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Draven is. He found her, talked to her. In her case they paid her off. She took the money and ran. I can’t blame her. If I hadn’t had Josh standing behind me, I might well have done the same.”

He gave her a long, level look. “I don’t think so,” he said, and something in his gravelly voice touched her. “How did it start with you?”