A Little Secret between Friends. C.J. Carmichael

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      She couldn’t stop herself from cringing. The memories of times in their marriage when she’d made love with him in order to avoid a fight came back in a rush of shame. Why had she married so quickly? So thoughtlessly?

      With hindsight, none of her reasons seemed compelling enough to warrant landing herself with Neil Anderson for the rest of her life.

      “Don’t look at me that way. I remember when you couldn’t get enough in the sack. But now that you’re about to become a judge, you’re too good for me. Is that it, Sal?”

      He’d moved to within touching distance. Armani started whining again.

      “Get out of my face, Neil. You may be scaring the dog, but you’re not scaring me. Those days are long over.”

      He could scream and yell and rant at her as long as he liked. She didn’t care. As long as he was mad about something that didn’t affect Lara, it simply didn’t matter.

      That’s what Sally told herself, but her body refused to take the presence of an angry, hulking man in her kitchen quite so lightly. She could feel all the old warning signs. Racing heart, damp palms, shallow breathing. She forced herself to fill her lungs with air and release it slowly.

      Neil watched her face with the fascination of a scientist observing slides under a microscope. “You’re a coldhearted bitch. You’ve been judging men for years. Now you’ll get to do it in court. Break their balls and send them to jail for as long as the law allows. God help the slobs who look for mercy from you.”

      Sally didn’t listen to the words. She was used to Neil’s diatribes. He had several favorite themes, from her dearth of maternal instincts for their daughter, to her hatred of men in general, and him in particular. She was frigid, a bitch, and worse…

      At some point he’d start swearing and then he’d throw something, maybe punch a wall, and leave.

      But tonight he was frighteningly calm and still.

      And close.

      He was a fanatically clean man, but he could not hide his own essence beneath the scent of his soap, his aftershave, his mouthwash. That essence, as familiar to her as his every expression, made her ill.

      Yet, she refused to back away. She lifted her gaze and stared him straight in the eyes, not caring if he saw the contempt she felt in her heart.

      “You always thought you were too good for me, Sal, didn’t you? Right from the beginning.”

      Though his words were uttered quietly, his jaw was tight. She saw a sheen of moisture on his brow, noticed his fist clench at his side.

      “Get out of my house, Neil.”

      “Your house? YOUR house?”

      His eyes glazed over and Sally knew this was it. He was gone. If any sliver of logic could have reached him before, now it was no longer possible. She watched him lift his hand. The wine bottle was nearby. She knew the way he thought, the way he operated. He was going to break the bottle, hurl it onto the tile flooring, or worse, throw it across the room.

      Red wine was going to be spilled all over her beautiful, spanking-new kitchen…

      But Neil’s hand didn’t stop at the bottle. It kept moving and just a split second before she went flying, she realized the hand was headed for her.

      He pushed her violently, letting loose a barrage of cursing at the same time.

      “No!” Feeling herself lose her balance, Sally threw out her arms. One hand glanced off the wok, the smoking, hot wok.

      She hollered in pain, and then he shoved her again, harder this time. She felt her legs fly out from under her. On the way down her head glanced off the edge of the granite counter with a thud.

      For a second all was numb. Then sensation returned in an explosion of pain.

      Oh, God!

      She landed on the floor, on the cold, hard tile and couldn’t stop herself from moaning. Her head vibrated with waves of pain. She couldn’t believe she was still conscious. She put a hand to the spot and felt the warm stickiness of blood.

      “Neil…” she moaned. Phone the ambulance, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t get out the words. Oh, my head, my head. Help me, Neil. Surely you didn’t mean to do this.

      “You always were clumsy in the kitchen, Sal.”

      She couldn’t see him, but she felt his breath in her ear as he spoke the words. He must be crouching on the floor beside her. Sally tried to open her eyes, but all she saw was darkness. White dots of light.

      “You’re never going to be a judge, you bitch. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be lucky if you aren’t disbarred.”

      She heard his pants rustle as he stood and she had a sudden fear of being kicked. She was so vulnerable here on the floor, writhing at his feet. She forced herself to be still, to stop the moaning. No matter that she could hardly breathe for the throbbing in her head. She couldn’t let him see her broken.

      Seconds ticked by. She waited for his next move. A kick? A punch? Would he throw something at her?

      And then she heard his hard-soled shoes clapping on the Mediterranean tile floor. The sound receded, then stopped. The back door opened, slammed shut.

      He was gone. Thank goodness he was gone.

      She curled her legs up toward her chest and tried to lift her head. No. Impossible.

      Armani’s paws clacked against the tile as he came to check her out. She felt his soft, warm tongue on her hand.

      “Good boy,” she tried to whisper.

      Blackness. Pain. The smell of blood.

      Have to get up. But she couldn’t. Armani continued to whine, to nudge her hand with his nose.

      Ow. Her burned hand hurt. Everything hurt. Need help.

      Beth.

      With her uninjured hand, she pulled out the cell phone clipped to her waist. Her thumb passed over the buttons, pressing a familiar speed-dial number by rote.

      Her fingers were slick with blood, her movements uncoordinated. The phone slipped to the floor near her head. The house was so quiet, she could hear the rings. One. Two. Three.

      Someone answered. It was a man’s voice. That was wrong. She didn’t want a man.

      Beth. She tried to speak, but didn’t know if any sound came out. Help me, Beth.

      Then all went dark.

      CHAPTER TWO

      CROWN PROSECUTOR Colin Foster was home watching the hockey game when the phone rang. He’d boiled himself some bacon-and-onion perogies for dinner, and a plate smeared with sour cream sat on his footstool next to a half-empty beer.

      The Flames had made the playoffs and were into СКАЧАТЬ