Danielle Steel - Malice

“Why did you do that?” Grace asked, still shaken by what he'd done. She just couldn't believe it. None of their children had ever run away. But they'd also never been under that kind of pressure.

“I didn't want you and Dad fighting over me,” Matt said sadly. But it had been scary outside, and he was glad to be back now.

“We weren't fighting over you, we were just talking.”

“No you weren't, you were fighting.”

“Everybody fights sometimes,” Charles explained, and pulled him down on his knee as he sat down. The police had just left and they had promised Charles not to tell the papers. There had to be something private in their lives, even if it was only their eight-year-old running away for half an hour. Nothing else was sacred.

“Mommy and I love each other, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know … it's just that everything has been so yucky lately. People keep saying stuff in school, and Mom cries all the time.” She looked guilty as she thought about it. She did cry a lot these days, but who wouldn't?

“Remember what I told you the other day,” Charles explained. “We have to be strong. All of us. For each other. We can't run away. We can't give up. We just have to stick together.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, only half convinced, but happy to be home again. It had been a dumb idea to run away and he knew it.

His mother walked him upstairs and tucked him in and they all went to bed early that night. Grace and Charles were exhausted and Matthew was asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow. Kisses was lying at the foot of the bed, and snoring softly.

But the following week, another photograph was released and this one showed Grace full face, staring into the camera, with glazed eyes and a look of surprise on her face, with her eyes wide-open as though someone had just done something really shocking and deli-ciously sensual to her. They were the most erotic series of photographs she had ever seen, and little by little, bit by bit they were driving her crazy.

She called information then, and wondered why she had taken so long to do it. He wasn't in Chicago. Or in New York. He was in Washington, they told her finally at Thrill It was perfect. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? She knew she had absolutely no choice. It didn't matter what happened to her anymore. She had to.

She opened the safe and took Charles's gun out, and then she got in her car and drove to the address she'd jotted down on a piece of paper. The kids were at school, and Charles was at work. No one knew where she was going, or what she intended to do. But she knew. She had it planned, and it was going to be worth whatever it cost her.

She rang the bell at his studio on F Street, and she was surprised when someone buzzed her in without asking who she was. It meant either that they were very big and busy, or extremely sloppy. Because with a lot of valuable equipment around, they should have been more careful, but fortunately, they weren't.

It was all so easy, she couldn't imagine why she had never thought of it before. The door was open, and there was no one there, except Marcus. He didn't even have an assistant. He had his back to her, and he was bending over a camera, shooting a bowl of fruit on a table. He was all alone, and he didn't even see her.

“Hello, Marcus.” Her voice was unfamiliar to him after all these years. It was sensual and slow and she sounded happy to see him.

“Who's that?” He turned and looked at her with a surprised little smile, not recognizing her at first, wondering who she was, he liked her looks, and … then suddenly he realized who she was and he stopped dead in his tracks. She was pointing a gun at him and she was smiling.

“I should have done this weeks ago,” she said simply. “I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. Now put down the camera, and don't touch the shutter or I'll shoot you and it, and I'd hate to hurt your camera. Put it down. Now.” Her voice was sharp and no longer sensual and he put the camera down carefully on the table behind him.

“Come on, Grace … don't be a bad sport … I'm just making a living.”

“I don't like the way you do it,” she said flatly.

“You look beautiful in the photographs, you have to give me that.”

“I don't give you shit. You're a piece of slime. You told me you never took my clothes off.”

“I lied.”

“And you must have had me sign the release when I was practically unconscious.” She was icy cold with fury, but she was in complete control now. It was entirely premeditated. This time it really would be murder one. She was going to kill him, and looking at her, he knew it. He had driven her too far, and she had snapped. She didn't care what they did to her this time. She'd survived it before. And it was worth it.

“Come on, Grace, be a sport. They're great pictures. Look, what's the difference. It's done. I'll give you the rest of the negatives.”

“I don't give a damn. I'm going to shoot your balls off. And after that, I'm going to kill you. I don't need a release for that. Just a gun.”

“For chrissake, Grace. Give it up. They're just pictures.”

“That's my life you've been fucking with … my children … my husband … my marriage …”

“He looks like a jerk anyway. He must be to put up with you … Christ, I remember all that prudey bullshit nineteen years ago. Even on drugs, you weren't any fun. You were a drag, Grace, a real drag.” He was vicious, and if she'd been less wound up she'd have seen that he was coked up to the gills. He'd been using the money from Thrill to support his habit. “You were a real lousy piece of ass even then,” he went on, but at least she knew the truth about that.

“You never slept with me,” she said coolly.

“Sure, I did. I've got pictures to prove it.”

“You're sick.” He started sniveling then, whining about how she had no right to come in here like that and try and interfere with how he made his living.

“You're a rotten little creep,” she said as she cocked the trigger, and the sound of it startied both of them.

“You're not going to do it, are you, Grace?” he whined.

“Yes, I am. You deserve it.”

“You'll go back to prison,” he said in a wheedling tone, as his nose ran pathetically. The past nineteen years had not been good to him. He had stooped to a lot of things in the meantime, few of them legal.

“I don't care if I go back,” she said coldly. “You'll be dead. It's worth it” He sank to his knees then.

“Come on … don't do it … I'll give you all the pictures … they were only going to run two more anyway … I've got one of you with a guy, it's a real beauty … you can have it for free …” He was crying.

“Who has the photographs?” What guy? There had been no one else in the studio, or had there been while she was sleeping? It was disgusting to think of.

“I have them. In the safe. I'll get them.”

“The hell you will. You probably have a gun in there. I don't need them.”

“Don't you want to see them, they're gorgeous.”

“All I want to see is you dead on the floor, and bleeding,” she said, feeling her hand shake. And as she looked at him, she didn't know why, but she suddenly thought of Charles, and then Matthew … if she shot Marcus, she would never be with them again, except in prison visiting rooms, probably forever. … It took her breath away, thinking about it, and all she suddenly wanted to do was hold them, and feel them next to her … and Abby and Andrew. … “Get up!” she said viciously to Marcus. He did, crying at her again. “And stop whining. You're a miserable piece of shit”

“Grace, please don't shoot me.”

She backed slowly toward the door, and he knew she was going to shoot him from there, and all he could do was cry and beg her not to.