Chapter Eight
The next afternoon, Etta couldn’t keep her mind on the task at hand. Namely, getting her mail at the post office.
Every time she tried to concentrate, her thoughts went winging to her joy ride with Justice. When they’d gotten back to her place, he’d stolen a quick kiss and then drove off, leaving her breathless and agitated on her front porch.
Etta couldn’t believe, she’d let him strip her down on the kitchen counter, and make off with her underpants. If she hadn’t come to her senses at the last possible second, they would’ve had sex by the silverware drawer.
It was even harder to believe that she wanted more. Sex had always been fine. Now and then, she’d had an orgasm, but she never craved it, like most people did. But she craved Justice. She wanted his mouth on hers, his body on top of her.
Etta simply didn’t do this sort of thing. She prided herself on being sensible about men, these days anyway. Her last encounter with love had been an epic fail by any metric. But Justice smashed through all her border walls and defenses, and strangely, she didn’t seem to mind.
Who are you and what have you done with Etta?
“You’re lookin’ well.”
Etta nearly dropped a fistful of junk mail. Instantly, she recognized the voice. She’d heard it every damn day for years. And at night it still echoed in her ears, jarring her out of a restful slumber.
And now he was back.
Okay, let’s do this.
Bracing herself, she turned. “Grady.”
At one time, Grady had been a handsome man. When she’d first caught a glimpse of him, he’d made quite an impression. He was older, a college student, and he’d seemed so sophisticated. Back then, he’d had an easy smile and mournful brown eyes. She’d noticed him straight away, though they hadn’t formally met until he’d saved her at the library one night.
But Etta hadn’t seen him since he’d gone to prison. Grady was hardened, more muscular, and he’d gone entirely bald. Before he’d been sentenced, his hair had been thinning. Either it had fallen out, or the bare spot on the crown of his head had widened, and he’d decided to shave it all off. She liked to think it was the former.
Grady must have spent his days working out because his arms were corded with sinew, and his veins were visible. He wore a pair of jeans and a skin-tight T-shirt, probably to show off his new muscles. Prison tattoos now covered his forearms. Strange. He’d been so preppy before, nothing but khakis and polo shirts.
“It’s been a long time, Etta.”
Not nearly long enough.
Etta should have felt relatively safe, standing in a public place, in broad daylight, and surrounded by others, but she didn’t. People walked right by them, chatting on their cell phones, or talking to their children, oblivious to her plight. Long ago, he’d robbed her of any sense of security, among other things.
At least she had a handgun tucked into her purse.
Etta had purchased it after they’d legally separated, while she waited for him to be tried and convicted. While Etta had a protection order in place at the time, it wasn’t a guarantee. She’d seen countless cases on the evening news of men who’d murdered their partners anyway, regardless of any official paperwork.
His gaze slid over her, and she felt it, almost like a physical touch. She’d shared so much of herself with this man, and it disgusted her. Although, she wasn’t sure who she was more upset with, him or herself. Why hadn’t she seen him for the reptile he was? Love was, without a doubt deaf, dumb, and blind—she certainly had been.
“What are you doin’ here?”
His lips thinned. “Why, I missed you and thought I’d check in.”
Grady made a big show of patting himself down, and then retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He slipped one in his mouth but didn’t light it. And then she noticed the unmistakable outline of a Zippo lighter in the front pocket of his jeans.
Since when did he start smoking? Even the sight of him with a lighter disturbed her.
“As you can see, I’m doin’ fine.” No thanks to you. “I got the plant you sent.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talkin’ about. One of the conditions of my parole is no contact with you.” He smirked. “Unless we happen to run into each other at a public place. This is such a small town, I suppose it’s inevitable that our paths will keep crossin’.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
His eyes narrowed into slits. “You might’ve forgotten all about me, but I thought about you every damn day, kept track of you on the inside.”
“Did you?” She felt dizzy all of a sudden.
“Yeah, I googled you whenever I got a turn on the computer in the prison library.”
Apparently, he’d been cyber stalking her for years. Even the thought made her stomach twist into tight knots.
“You’ve done pretty well. Put yourself through school, got a job. Didn’t think you had it in you.” He sneered. “I always figured you weren’t the brightest crayon in the box.”
She swallowed a retort. Etta had always imagined how she’d act if she saw Grady again. She’d had this whole serene, “rise above it all” plan. Grady loved to hurl insults, hitting her where it hurt most. He took pleasure in getting under her skin, so she refused to play his game.
“It pays the bills.”
“Really? I heard it don’t pay much.”
“I get by.”
A white line formed around his mouth.
Etta bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. He was irked because she hadn’t taken the bait.
“Well, it’s a damn sight better than how my life’s been. Now, I’m an ex-con. It’s gonna be next to impossible for me to get a job, let alone a place to stay.”
“Hmmm.” Did he want her to feel sorry for him? Because she didn’t. “Well, I wish you luck.” You’ll need it, asshole.
Grady scratched his chin. “I’ve been locked up for eight years, with nothin’ to do but spend my days thinkin’.”
“Thinkin’ about what?” Etta feared she already knew the answer.
“You. Me. How things should’ve ended.”
Their last night together could’ve gone either way. She might’ve very well ended up six feet under. Or him. They were both alive, for now at least.
“You’re the one who started all of this, not me.”
“Well, I’m gonna be the one who ends it.” He stepped closer. “You wrecked everythin’. I can’t pick up where I left off. I don’t have a prayer of becomin’ a lawyer now.” He laughed bitterly. “I’ll be lucky if I could swing a paralegal gig.”
Etta might be frightened, but she was a survivor. After their last encounter, she’d woken up in the hospital, black and blue all over, hooked up to machines, Etta knew she could handle anything.
“I think it turned out just fine.” So much for staying calm and cool.
His nostrils flared. “You betrayed me.”
“No, you betrayed me. When we got married, you vowed to love and protect me for the rest of your life. Instead, you bullied and abused me.”
And all the verbal and physical mistreatment had been a picnic in comparison to the things he’d done to her sexually. She’d been forced to endure all kinds of degrading acts. Sex had been about possession, a show of superiority. He’d treated her like an object, a series of holes for his use and it always left her feeling disgusting afterward.
Every now and then, she’d imagined some big dude with enormous dick making Grady his girlfriend while in prison. The thought always made her feel better.
“Don’t be so melodramatic.” He hooked his thumbs in the loops of his belt. “You enjoyed parts of it.”
“No, Grady, I didn’t.”
“You lyin’ bitch.” His lips peeled back from his teeth.
“If I remember right, you’re the one had a lyin’ habit, not me.”
He used to tell her all kinds of stories. It wasn’t until later she found out, he’d been alley-catting around with half the women in town. Only he didn’t smack them around.
“Hey, Etta. Is everythin’ all right?”
Startled, Etta turned around to see two bikers approaching them, Pretty Boy and Ace. Both of them were friends with Justice, which meant he’d hear about this mess.
Oh no.
“Yeah, I'm all right.”
“Why don’t you introduce us?” Pretty Boy stood in between them.
The biker had big green eyes, blue-black hair, and wore a white T-shirt with a pair of black leather pants. Back when he’d been in high school, she’d been his social worker. He’d come from an abusive home, and she’d done her best to protect him from the worst of it.
Because of the mistreatment he’d suffered, Pretty Boy had a low tolerance for bullies. She’d seen him pick fights with guys twice his size, and win, through sheer force of will. When he’d been her client, it had scared her half to death, but she’d been impressed with his sense of right and wrong, nonetheless. Pretty Boy never backed down when he saw an injustice. Not everyone stands up for other people.
“Meet my ex-husband, Grady Williams.”
His brows lifted. The bikers flanked her, crossing their arms, and scowling in a very intimidating manner. Etta appreciated the backup.
“Look at that, a reunion. Well, isn’t that special, Ace?”
Ace nodded. “Yeah, but the visitin’ hours are over. Time to move on along, buddy.”
Grady’s hands curled into fists, and he didn’t budge.
Neither did the bikers.
Stalemate.
What happens next? A boxing match?
Etta hoped not because people were already gawking at them. Hell’s residents loved nothing more than gossiping, even if they’d made up the juicy tidbits themselves. Come nightfall, the townsfolk would’ve concocted fanciful a yarn that would make Stephen King jealous.
“Maybe we outta take this on outside?” Pretty Boy stepped closer.
Grady hesitated a moment, and then backed up.
“This ain’t over, Etta.” He shuffled off.
Etta sagged against the wall in relief. She trembled from the rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins, urging her to run. Now that Grady had gone, Etta didn’t have to be brave and stand up to him.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Pretty Boy pulled her into a hug.
“Nothin’.” She clung to him anyway, needing some support.
“No, it’s not. Come on, Etta, let me help.”
“I’m fine, Pretty Boy, don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, that looked real fine,” Ace said. “If you don't tell us, we’re gonna pass this info onto Justice, and he’ll take it from there.” He raised his brows at Pretty Boy who nodded in agreement.
Terrific. She knew Justice wouldn’t let this go. He’d want some real answers this time, and she doubted he’d be okay with her handling this one.
“Well, boys, it’s been nice seein’ you, but I gotta go.” Etta had to see an old friend.
***
An hour later, Etta sat on a creaky wooden chair in Hell’s police department.
She waited to speak with the town’s one and only detective, Benjamin Frost. Etta held onto a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Who knows how long ago it had been brewed? When she’d shaken creamer into the cup, it formed these gummy balls of yuck on top of the liquid. Still, she held onto it, because it gave her something to do with her hands.
Etta was unsettled from her encounter with Grady. Her heart raced, and she had trouble concentrating. She had at least a hundred items left to complete on her safety list, and it was overwhelming. Once she had some plans in place, she’d feel better.
To distract herself, she glanced around the office.
It was a tiny, postage-stamp sized place. Like the old television show, Mayberry, Hell’s police department only had a couple of jail cells and a few desks. There wasn’t exactly a crime wave in town, even if the bikers had literally set up shops. Most of the time, the police responded to minor emergencies like the time a water main burst at the tail end of town.
Frost was on the phone, speaking with someone while she waited for him to finish. Back when she’d pressed charges against Grady, he’d walked her through the process. After Etta woke up from the coma, she’d spent two weeks in an intensive care unit. He’d been at her bedside a lot of that time. If it hadn’t been for Frost, she wouldn’t have made it through the first few days.
She’d also met up with him in cases involving child abuse and domestic violence over the years since she worked for the county. It had been a long time since she’d been on the other side of the equation.
“Hey, Etta. What can I do for you?” Frost motioned to her, and she took a seat on the opposite side of his desk.
“I need a restrainin’ order.”
Etta knew the legal process by now. It took forever to push a case through the courts. She should’ve started the ball rolling the second she’d found out Grady had been paroled.
Shoulda woulda coulda. At least I’m here now.
“Grady paid you a visit already? I’m not surprised.”
She frowned. How had he known?
“I keep track of special scumbags. Ones who’ve earned my...” His lips twisted. “Attention. I heard he got released.”
“Yeah, he’s on the loose.”
“I’m sorry.”
Frost had short strawberry blond hair, a perpetual layer of stubble on his chin, and bright blue eyes. He wore a pinstriped blue suit, and it was perfectly pressed. He was a dapper dresser, and she’d always pictured him working in some large metropolitan police department like Boston or New York City. He’d once been a Marine, and he seemed out of place in this backwoods town.
“Me too.”
She was still having trouble wrapping her head around the parole board’s decision. They’d convicted Grady of a third-degree felony, and he’d never even shown one ounce of remorse for his reactions.
People who got caught with drugs did longer sentences than someone who’d nearly murdered his own wife. It didn’t make a lick of sense. Grady had been sentenced to ten years but had gotten out in eight.
“Guess he didn’t learn his lesson. So much for rehabilitation. Did he threaten you?”
“No, he walked up to me at the post office.”
The legal definition of a threat and an actual one were two different things. For a threat to be taken seriously, the person had to be specific. Something along the lines of, “I’m going to stab you to the death in the shower” like in Psycho.
Smart criminals knew better than to let their plans slip. It was one of many things about the legal system which irritated her. It was rigged against the victims.
“Let me guess, Grady happened to run into you?”
“Yep, he said it was a coincidence.”
“Bullshit. Too bad we can’t prove it.”
“I know.” They’d been through this many times on a variety of cases. “Oh, and a potted plant showed up on my desk at work.”
“Sticks of fire, right?”
“Yes, he busted out the same old moves.”
“I don’t suppose he left you a note.”
“No note, and I didn’t see any identifyin’ information from the florist if he used one. I also checked with the IT guy at my work, and the plant came in with one of our clients. She said a man in a pickup truck asked her to take it inside for him.”
“If you give me her name and number, I’ll follow up with her. It will be hard to prove though.” Frost shook his head. “Think he’s gonna ramp it up?”
Etta doubted anything would come of the lead. By now, Grady had learned how to cover his tracks.
“Grady’s going to finish the job he started.” In the back of her mind, she knew this day had always been coming. “He believes I ruined his life.” The nerve. She’d been the one who’d been put into a coma.
“Son of a bitch.”
“That about sums him up.”
His friends and family had even taken Grady’s side. Like she’d blackened her own eyes and tossed herself down the stairs. Her own parents had been horrified. Etta’s mother had pleaded with Etta to leave him on several occasions, but she’d stuck it out.
“We’ll see what we can do, but there’s no guarantee. No contact with you was a condition of his release, but this is a tiny town. The court makes concessions for the proximity. I’ll try to push for a protection order, but there’s no guarantee a judge will sign off on it, but at least, we can keep him away from your residence. When you’re in public, all bets are off.”
“Got it.” All of this was familiar territory.
The last time she’d gotten one, Grady had relocated to Crimson Creek, so it hadn’t been an issue. She wished he’d get the urge to move again.
Frost blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Etta.” He offered her a hand, and she squeezed it.
“Thanks.”
“It ain’t my place to say, but you’re gonna get through this. You’re tougher than anyone I’ve met.”
“Think so?” At the moment, Etta was nervous, and she didn’t feel particularly brave.
“Yeah, I’ll always put my money on you. And I know you don’t wanna hear this, but if this gets out of control, you should consider movin’. Since Grady’s on parole, he has to stay in the area, but you don’t have those restrictions. I heard Louisiana is beautiful this time of year.”
Screw that. She’d done nothing wrong. Why should she be the one who had to make a run for it?
“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” It had taken her a long time to crawl out of the depression and despair and pull herself together. She refused to regress into the beat down person she’d once been.
Frost nodded. “I thought you might not take my advice. I understand, even if I don’t agree. You’ve got my number, and I want you to call me if anythin’ happens.”
“I will.”
“I mean it.” Frost always took cases personally. It was one of the many things she admired about him, how much he cared about people. “Here’s the paperwork.” He handed her a stack of forms on a clipboard.
Etta took a seat in the corner once more and filled it out, though she doubted a protection order would do much to keep her safe. At least she was taking the necessary steps to build a solid case.
After she finished up at the police station, she’d call Justice up and invite him over to dinner. She knew Pretty Boy and Ace had already told him, but Etta wanted to be proactive.
She’d also document the encounter she’d had with Grady. The court needed a timeline of events. Etta knew what she was up against and she wanted to do everything by the book this time—be ready for anything that might happen, although Grady had a real unpredictable streak.
Grady had always kept her on edge, uncertain of what he’d do next, and he hadn’t lost his knack for throwing her off. His temper had been unpredictable, and his reactions were out of balance with the situation at hand.
Who knows what horrors he had in store for her this time?