Second Time Lucky (Club Decadence Book 5) (26 page)

He misunderstood. She had pain, although the ache in her heart far eclipsed the pain in her traumatized body. It was raw and deep-seated. Wanting only to escape, her thumb found the red button and depressed it. The pump beeped as expected.

“Sleep,” he urged. Before he would have touched her, held her hand, given her a gentle kiss, yet she’d destroyed all that and got nothing but words. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

She welcomed the opiate haze that lulled her to sleep, making her oblivious to everything around her, including the man standing at her bedside, the one she missed as she would her right arm, every second of every hour of every day for an interminable year. On that dismal thought, she succumbed to the morphine-induced blankness.

* * * * *

Sean followed the stretcher as the ambulance attendants carried it up the stairs and rolled it down the hall.

“Last room on the right,” he directed.

In one of his guest rooms, one man lifted her shoulders, the other guiding her injured leg, as they transferred her onto the bed. Despite taking care, she hissed in pain as they settled her on the mattress.

“Sorry, darlin’,” one murmured as the other held a clipboard out for Sean to sign.

They were gone the next instant, banging the stretcher down the stairs and out the front door. Sean watched the woman on the bed, an arm flung over her face blocking out everything.

It had been this way for the entire twelve days she’d been hospitalized, or at least the ten she’d been lucid. She asked him to stay away, making it very clear when he tried to help in any way whether to rearrange a pillow or assisting her with the god-awful contraption bolted to her leg. At every turn, she politely, but firmly rejected his help. Every day when he showed up, she told him to leave and when he didn’t, she tuned him out, often feigning sleep. When he tried to talk to her, she’d claim to be tired. Once when he asked how she was feeling, her mask slipped a little and she demanded to know why he still cared, but afterward, she’d gone back to her cool indifference. By the end of the twelve days, he wanted to throttle her, but only after he shook her or turned her over his knee. Whatever it took to get answers. Naturally, he didn’t do any of that and she remained tight lipped and stubborn.

Then came time for her discharge. Her social worker was there discussing options when Sean walked in uninvited as he had every day since she’d been shot. He could tell immediately Mara was being difficult.

“You can’t go home without someone to help you, Mara. You can’t walk, care for yourself or get to the bathroom alone, not with the hardware affixed to your leg. The doctor says you have to have help 24/7.”

“I don’t have any family. What about the rehab hospital?”

“Therapy can’t start until you get the fixator off, which is at least six weeks away, so a rehabilitation hospital is out for now. Here are the names of three local nursing homes covered by your insurance.”

“Nursing homes? You’re joking. She’s twenty-nine, not ninety.” They both started, unaware of his arrival. Mara quickly looked away, but not before he saw her distress.

“She can’t go home alone, Mr. O’Brien.”

“It’s fine. I’ll go to the nursing home.” Mara’s tone was quiet, but the strain was obvious, and she appeared defeated.

The thought of her in a nursing home for even a day was inconceivable. That’s when he made the decision. “You’ll come home with me.”

Her eyes flew to his. A tiny glimmer of emotion sparked in their depths before the damned mask of indifference fell over her features. Today, she hadn’t locked it down quickly enough and he saw something there. Relief, gratitude—maybe—or was it hope?

Her reply, when it came, was low and without inflection. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s settled and not up for further discussion, Mara. Let me make a few calls. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

As he left, he heard the social worker comment, almost wistfully, “Your husband is very take charge. He was in the Army wasn’t he? An officer I’m guessing.”

Sean paused, waiting to hear Mara’s response.

“He was a Master Sergeant, a non-commissioned officer, and yes, he is very take charge which can be extremely annoying, trust me. And he’s my ex-husband.”

Regret had twisted in his gut at the time, even now it burned deep. He rationalized his guilt. It wasn’t as though he knew where she’d been to talk it over with her. Not for the first time, it struck him as ironic after all the time and energy he’d spent searching for her, she’d been in San Antonio all along, hiding in plain sight.

As he considered her now, lying in his guest room bed, he wondered why he hadn’t gone ahead and told her. He’d had plenty of opportunity with her lying captive in her hospital bed for nearly two weeks, but it never seemed the right time for him as he experienced an upheaval of emotions. Relief at finding her, frustration that she was close mouthed and withdrawn, and most of all anger over how she had destroyed them both and refused to explain why.

For the next six weeks, he’d be sure of her whereabouts at least and maybe during that time he’d be able to wear her down enough to get an explanation, then if he was lucky, he might be able to move on. He snorted at the word lucky. It was cute when she’d called him that, but he’d never considered it true. Case in point, loving a woman who ripped out his heart and disappeared without explanation. And what kind of fucked up luck did he have when, after all that she had done, all the heartache and grief she had caused, he still loved her.

Chapter Eighteen

Six weeks of hell, that’s what her life had been, seven if she counted the days spent in the hospital, a year if she counted the time since she’d left him. Who was she kidding? Her entire life had been hell (discounting the brief time she had been with Sean and been happy) making it twenty-nine—no, thirty—she’d forgotten her birthday two weeks past, as had everyone else, which brought it to a grand total of thirty years of hell. Doubly hellish—if that was a thing—since Sean had brought her home.

Not to their home, though. Foolishly, she’d expected him to be living in the same house they’d picked out together. When the ambulance doors had been thrown wide, she hadn’t recognized the huge house she’d been carried into, or anything inside it. Everything looked new, although she hadn’t seen much of it, going from point A; the ambulance, to point B; a bed in a nice, albeit unfamiliar guest room. She hadn’t seen a single thing left over from their life together. Not one of the pictures she’d so painstakingly selected on their modest budget, or a mirror, or even a clock, of which they’d had several.

She silently called herself a fool. This is what she’d wanted for him, what she’d told him to do, in fact. To move on and forget about her. With the proof that he had staring her in the face, her heart, or at least what few remnants that remained intact, shredded even more.

His questions had started in the hospital. Why had she left him, the most prevalent. When she wouldn’t answer, he moved on to other probing questions. How had she hidden so well? Where was she living? When he found out she went back to school and finished the few classes she needed to get her bachelor’s degree in nursing, he wanted to know how she’d financed it. And he’d asked about Victor and the shooting that awful day, as did the police, who came to question her at length. Those questions had hit too close to home and she’d shut down. This only increased Sean’s anger and frustration.

When he brought her home, and it was only the two of them, with no doctors and nurses to act as a buffer, he’d demanded answers again, and again. They’d argued, near constantly until in exasperation Sean had done as she’d requested and left her alone. In his place, he’d hired a nursing service to stay round the clock. Depressed and heartsick, she’d gone through the motions, doing what her nurses asked, taking her medications, letting them help her get to the bathroom, bathe and dress. Other than that she slept, or stared hopelessly at the walls, like she was doing now.

Although this wall was different. This one was a pale, powder blue with frothy white curtains on the window that overlooked a huge garden with a small pond and waterfall, and a pergola with a fire pit beyond. This wall belonged to Joanna Davis. She and Lexie had stormed her room at Sean’s one day, becoming alarmed at her appearance. Pale and haggard, she’d lost weight, at least another ten pounds since the shooting, which was down at least twice as much in the year since she’d deserted Sean. Her clothes hung off her, more evident now that she’d gotten the contraption off her leg. For the first time in weeks, she could wear pants, and panties, which was a real treat. When she’d seen the doctor yesterday and he’d removed it, she’d felt a little burst of happiness. Although in a half boot and only ready for partial weight bearing, her therapy was set to begin and she was able to look forward. To what, she wasn’t sure, but she knew it couldn’t be in San Antonio near Sean. It was too painful. Before she left, however, she had one thing she had to do.

* * * * *

Glad for a break from the surveillance room, Sean walked toward Cap’s office hoping he had an assignment for him. Although he knew the importance of monitoring the dozen or more live feeds they had running, watching paint dry would be more fascinating. As he rounded the corner by Cap’s office, he came to a sudden halt.

“I’ve changed my mind. Please, give me my crutches so I can go.”

Her unforgettable voice sounded on edge, near panicked. He hadn’t seen Mara since the day Joanna and Lexie had rescued her from his negligent care, as they so aptly put it. Meanwhile, more news of Mara’s history had surfaced. He’d heard the details and seen the shocking proof. At first, he’d been in denial, yet the photographic evidence couldn’t be disputed. That he’d married someone so treacherous and deceitful made the bile sour in his belly.

Mindlessly, his feet carried him to Cap’s door.

“You can’t keep me here against my will,” Mara insisted, approaching a shout.

“Apparently, I can,” Cap stated calmly in return.

He scanned the office, noting her crutches propped against a bookcase on the far side of the room. She was stuck until whatever the hell kind of scene that was developing had played out.

With a growl of frustration, Mara reached into her purse, pulled out her phone and began dialing. Calling Joanna to rescue her, no doubt. For some reason, despite all that Mara had done, Joanna had taken her under her wing and become a staunch defender. As had Lexie, but that was understandable since Mara had saved her life. Sean wanted the answers only this beautiful duplicitous witch could supply. She could leave, but not before he found out what the hell was going on.

On silent feet, he moved alongside her and pulled the phone from her grasp. She glanced up, first at Cap who hadn’t moved, still propped against his desk, arms folded over his chest, then her gaze moved to him and those bewitching green eyes darkened with alarm. Once he would have cared enough to ease her distress. No longer.

“What are you doing here, Mara?”

She opened her mouth, but her tongue seemed frozen. The surprise of a second ago turned to frustration. After a brief hesitation, she swallowed before saying in a raspy tone, “I was trying to leave. If you’ll give me my phone, I’ll call for a ride and you can go about your day.”

Ignoring her, Sean pocketed her phone. He demanded of Cap, “Why is she here?”

Tony’s calculating gaze met his. “She hasn’t shared yet. I found her in the lobby. For some reason she was trying to get through the revolving door on crutches. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Wes is on today. He said she had the same problem getting out of her cab. She’s a menace on those things and needs a keeper.”

“Thankfully, that’s not my job anymore.” His words came out biting and cold, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her flinch. A nagging feeling of regret swept through him, quickly replaced by the images forever emblazoned in his mind. Her in black leather, holding a flogger, another of her wielding a tawse. He locked down any sympathy he’d once had, although anger, ever-present of late, simmered near the surface.

“Please may I have my phone back?”

“No.” Sean practically barked his reply. “If you’re not going to explain the reason for your visit, we’ll take this opportunity to ask you a few questions of our own.”

Her head came up. Nervously, looking to Cap who remained silent, unmoving. Tony was giving him his tacit approval to do what needed to be done with Mara. Always having his men’s back, Cap would follow Sean’s lead in whatever direction he decided to play this.

“Do you have the file, Cap?”

“It’s on Jonas’ desk.”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t let her leave. I only want to do this once.”

Silence encompassed the room as he walked out the door. He couldn’t imagine why she was here. What business did she have with Rossi that brought her hobbling in on crutches? Always impulsive, his Mara. No, he cautioned himself, not his anymore, if she ever was.

At Jonas’ desk, he skimmed over the files on top. Her name in bold print jumped out at him. He picked it up, flipped it open. On top was an image, grainy and of poor quality, but distinct enough to see it was definitely his wife. He snapped it shut without looking at the dozen or more below it. He’d seen them all. Damning evidence for sure.

Making a quick detour to his office to retrieve one more thing before returning. Cap was speaking quietly, but as he entered, he picked up the tail end of their conversation.

“End this today,” Cap ordered. “It’s gone on far too long.”

“I was shot. None of this is my fault. I’m the victim here.”

“Why don’t I believe that, Mara?”

She was glaring daggers at Tony from her chair in front of his desk. Sean hooked the leg with his foot, dragging her closer as he began to lay out pictures; awful pictures of offenses he’d never forget. One by one, he spread them across the top of the desk.

“I want an explanation,” he demanded.

Watching her, he saw she’d stopped breathing as she stared down at the proof of her infidelity.