Tara Taylor Quinn - Husband by Choice

Eventually he wound up in their bedroom. And turned right around and headed back out again. Caleb was still sleeping in a crib. He wouldn’t be up wandering in the night, looking for his parents to be in their bed. No risk of him finding it empty and being frightened.

The guest bedroom wasn’t finished yet. A bedframe, mattress and bedding. An empty nightstand that Meri had seen at a sale and had to have because it reminded her of her childhood, back before the car accident that had taken her family from her—both parents and her younger brother.

Without turning on the lamp, he sank down onto the edge of the bed. And because it was the most sensible thing to do, he slowly lowered his head to the pillow.

He hadn’t brushed his teeth. Was still wearing scrubs minus the lab coat and purple tennis shoes. But sleep was wise.

Hands behind his head, he closed his eyes. Opened them again. And found himself staring at the ceiling, looking for a pattern in the circle of plaster he could see illuminated from the small night-light in the hall.

Ah, Meri, you didn’t have to do this.

The thought was followed by another that had him sitting straight up in bed. Maybe she’d thought she did have to do it.

Meri was always paranoid, but she knew that and took her overreactions into account before acting on anything.

She’d meant what she said in her note. Clearly he’d believed her, the way he’d been slogging around all evening feeling sorry for himself.

And Caleb.

Feeling lonely as hell and wondering how he was going to live through the loss of another wife.

What a jerk he’d been, thinking about himself, his own heartache, instead of putting Meri’s first.

She’d meant the note, but she wouldn’t have left just because she was feeling paranoid. She’d at least have talked to him first. Looked for other options. She loved them too much to just walk away out of fear that her paranoia would hurt their son in the future. They still had three years before Caleb started school. And there were other options to help her deal with her fears.

Anything could happen between now and then. Which was why she took one step at a time.

A motto she lived by. Had taught him to live by.

And all of that meant there was something else going on.

Swinging his feet to the floor, Max sat on the side of the bed in the dark. Why would she just up and leave? Their mail hadn’t arrived until four—long after she’d left the house. It had still been in the box when he got home.

No unusual calls showed up on her cell phone records—he’d checked their usage online himself.

She hadn’t logged into her email account—all of the messages had still been on the server, unread.

And that left physical confrontation.

There’d been no sign of a struggle.

So she’d gone willingly. To avoid physical harm? To herself or to him and Caleb?

Meri would give her life to protect Max or their son. But they hadn’t been threatened.

Would an abductor have waited for her to write a goodbye letter and leave her keys in the cup holder?

He would if her abductor was a determined ex-husband who would want to make certain that Max knew that she was leaving him of her own accord. Steve could have made her write the note.

But why put the keys in the cup holder instead of under the seat? If Steve didn’t know she’d hidden them, or even if he did, what could it have mattered to him whether they were in a cup holder or under a seat?

No one but he and Meri knew about the hiding place.

Which was why they’d had the predetermined keys-under-the-seat agreement. An overkill safety measure agreement, in his opinion, but one Meri had insisted on having so that they’d have a way to signal each other if the other was being taken against their will.

Leave the keys under the driver’s seat if you needed help.

She’d left her keys in the cup holder. She hadn’t taken them with her, or disposed of them, so he could imagine that she’d been unable to leave them. They’d been in the cup holder. Where she’d deliberately left them. Not under the seat.

Her message to him was clear.

She didn’t need his help.

The Meri he knew would never have left such a message.

It had to be Steve. He’d found her and she’d reverted back to the terrified woman who did as he demanded so he didn’t beat her senseless. The woman who believed that the former detective, with all of his underground contacts, was more powerful than the laws that were there to protect her. Who believed, deep down, that she’d never be free of him.

She hadn’t wanted to talk about Steve. Seeing how much it upset her—and honestly believing, after years of no sign of the ex-cop, that he posed them no danger—he hadn’t pushed her for more information.

Lying there in the dark, Max feared that in not doing so, he might have made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

* * *

DAY TWO.

Sometimes the part of me that takes on different names scares me. She’s so capable, but like an automaton. She goes through the day, doing what is expected of her, even watching for and trying to help others when opportunity or necessity presents itself.

She adapts to the situation in spite of her own needs.

And she doesn’t cry. Ever. It’s as if she can’t and that worries me. She is me and if I’m reaching the point where I can turn off so completely, I fear that my heart is really and truly dying.

Pen suspended over the page, Jenna read what she’d written. And shook her head. Sitting at the antique desk in her room just after dinner that Thursday night, she bent over her diary once again.

I just need to trust, like Max tells me so often. Jenna is impressive. She’s the part of me that holds all of my strength. And dispenses it as I need it. Today, she agreed to a group counseling session that I’ll be attending once a day for at least the next week, when all I really wanted to do, when the invitation had been offered, was shake my head and run.

I don’t need any more counseling. But I do need this time here, to mentally prepare myself to get into the psyche of a man with no moral boundaries, and to figure out when and how to meet him to somehow end his reign of terror. And if I must do counseling to keep up appearances, to maintain my cover of an abused woman seeking help, to satisfy those around me that I am getting the help I need, then so be it. After a full day here I am completely committed to my course of action and know from within the deepest chambers of my heart that I am doing what I have to do. Steve’s torment has to stop. And if I can’t find a way to make that happen—legally and for good—then I am willing to die trying.

Because if I don’t, if I live, and don’t live with Steve, Max and Caleb are at risk. Steve knows how much I love them. He knows I’d do anything for them. And he wouldn’t hesitate to use that knowledge as power against me.

Only if Steve is gone, or I am, will Max and Caleb be safe. Unless I go back to Steve. The third possibility isn’t even an option.

I choose death over life with Steve. Better to watch my boys from above (after all, what better place to watch over and protect them?) than to bring Steve’s rage into their physical space. Because I know my Max. He thinks he has all the protection we need in that small police force of his. If I’m with Steve, Max would come charging in to rescue me. And get himself killed...

Jenna’s hand came to a halt as a tear splashed onto the page. Meredith was hurting. Understandably so. And Jenna had to keep a firm hand on those emotions right now. She would be steady on her course. Reach her goal. For Max. And Caleb.

If there was an opportunity to deal with her heart and soul later, then she could cry buckets.