quivering.
"Emma. What the hell did he do to you?"
"H have to go."
"Goddamnit, Emma." When he reached for her arm, she rammed back into the
wall. Her eyes weren't dull now, but glassy with terror.
"Don't. Please."
"I won't touch you. All right?" It was training that kept his voice
calm and quiet. He never took his eyes from hers. His expression was
controlled now, carefully blank. "I'm not going to hurt you." Still
watching her, he slipped the gun back in her purse and set it aside.
"You don't have to be afraid of me."
"I'm not." But she couldn't stop trembling.
"You're afraid of him, of Latimer?"
"I don't want to talk about him."
"I can help you, Emma."
She shook her head again. "No, you can't."
"I can. Did he threaten you?" When she didn't answer, he eased a step
closer. "Did he hit you?"
"I'm divorcing him. What difference does it make?"
"It makes a hell of a difference. We can get a warrant."
"No, I don't want to do that. I want it over. Michael, I can't talk to
you about this."
He said nothing for a moment. He could all but feel the terror draining
out of her and didn't want to frighten her again. "All right. I know
places where you can go and talk to someone else, to other people who
know what it's like."
Did he really believe there was anyone who knew what it was like?
"I don't need to talk to anyone. I'm not going to have strangers
reading about-about all of this over their morning coffee. This isn't
your concern."
"Do you think that?" he said quietly. "Do you really think that?"
She felt wretchedly ashamed now. In his eyes was something she
needed, needed badly if she only had the courage to ask for it. He was
only asking for her trust. But she had trusted once before.
"I know it's not. This is my problem, and I'm handling it."
He could see that one nudge too many would cause her to shatter. So he
backed off. "All right. I'd just like you to think about it. You
don't have to do this alone."
"He took all of my self-respect," she said quietly. "If I don't do this
alone, I'll never get it back. Please just take me to the hotel. I'm
very tired."
SO THE BiTell figured she could just walk away, Drew thought. She
thought she could walk out the door and keep going. He was going to fix
her good when he found her. And find her he would. He bitterly
regretted that he hadn't beat her more vigorously before she'd gone to
Florida.
He shouldn't have let her out of his sight, should have known he
couldn't trust her. The only women a man could trust were hookers. They
did their job, took the money, and that was that. There was a world of
difference between an honest hooker and a whore. And his sweet,