“Ah.” He rubbed the side of his face against the top of her head, gave her arm a light squeeze. “All right then.”
Chapter Eight
Day Eight
The bastard had left the bed once she’d fallen asleep, made good on his threat to sleep on the couch. Asshole, cock-sucking sonofabitch.
Louise stabbed her small spade into an innocent mound of dirt and turned it over with more zeal than care. Asshole. Gods, when she got her hands on him. As if she couldn’t recognize the imprint of his big, fat, dumb head in a couch cushion.
Rose had come over for a cup of tea first thing. Some ranting had been done. It couldn’t be whining when you projected your voice so well. Turned out Louise could project pretty damn well when she put her mind to it. Rose’s eyebrows had climbed higher and higher. It had felt kind of nice to have a girlfriend to confide in once again. She’d missed it.
In went the spade again, with great vigor and little skill. She’d pull a muscle in her arm at this rate. Asshole, asshole husband. She had sent him a com saying as much. Its succinctness had pleased her no end. He had not deigned to reply.
Normally the gardens soothed her—all the rich, fertile smells and the cool, damp air. Nothing could calm her today. She had tucked herself away in a corner of the overgrown jungle to spare the others her shitty mood. Not all displayed Rose’s patience or quick wit.
They stayed away in droves, wise people. Or they had.
Footsteps approached from behind, noisily thrashing through the undergrowth she was currently using as camouflage. Her khaki pants and blah beige T-shirt blended quite well with the surroundings.
“Ouch.” A man crouched beside her, sizing up the bruise on her face. He came closer than necessary, crossing one of those invisible social boundaries. It set off all sorts of alarms inside her. “How’d that happen?”
“Sorry, do I know you?” She knew she didn’t. The deliberate look she dealt him held more than a touch of “get lost”.
The man smiled broadly. He looked handsome enough—short blond hair and about her own age. He was pretty, and cocky with it. She’d seen the type before. Con had been of the same ilk. Arrogance didn’t turn her on as much as it used to.
“No, sorry,” he said. “I’m Josh Thoms. I’m from Security. Came down to alert you to an emergency communiqué from Earth. It should be waiting on your com unit.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Louise dusted off her dirty hands and retrieved her com from her pants pocket. Sure enough the message was waiting. She’d forgotten she’d muted the stupid thing on the off chance Adam decided to reply.
The message was from the district attorney. Shit.
“Mrs. Elliot, I need to ask.” Thoms motioned to her face with a finger, mouth small and expression serious. The way he looked at it, you’d have thought someone had taken a bat to her face. “Did your husband do that? Was it Adam?”
Without hesitation she looked him straight in the eye and lied. “No.”
“You don’t need to be afraid, you know.” Understanding eyes studied her, concern written in every line of his face. It felt false and a lot like fishing.
“I know.”
“Louise, you can tell me.” He leaned toward her, encroaching further on her personal space, with a face composed with calm reassurance.
“Rest assured, Mr. Thoms, if my husband ever deliberately raised his hand against me it would be his body I’d be burying in this shallow hole.” She didn’t even blink, because that part was the truth. “Was that everything?”
The man grinned more broadly than before and slapped the palms of his hands against his knees. He rose to his feet. “All right.”
“Thank you for letting me know.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Elliot.” He left, carefully moving through the jungle. Not making so much noise now.
She opened the communiqué. It had been keyed to her fingerprint, so no one else had seen its contents. The words didn’t make sense at first. Or her mind didn’t want them to.
A summation of Adam’s army service scrolled across the screen. Her husband was quite accomplished—impressively so. There were even medals and commendations. Adam had been a war hero, amongst other things. The record had been labeled top secret. At the bottom sat a bold red demand from the DA for her to board the next shuttle leaving Esther. Not so surprising. Her husband would be just about their worst nightmare in terms of secrecy.
All the strength leached from her. She sank onto the ground. Adam. Con’s death had broken her heart but this seemed different, somehow, sharper. Which made no sense, because she’d been with Con for years before he’d changed into someone she no longer knew. This was Adam of the eight-day marriage, and it hurt. It really fucking hurt.