Behind the Lies (Montgomery Justice #2)(85)

“Nick and I won’t leave either one of you alone. You’re safe,” he said. “I promise.”

“I know—and thank you.”

The door softly clicked closed. Anna clutched John’s hand. His eyes were closed, but his face had lost that grayish tinge that had terrified her when Caleb had first brought her into the room after she’d regained consciousness.

The heart monitor beeped steadily, its regular sound soothing.

She laid her head against his chest, feeling the sturdy thud of his heartbeat. “I thought I’d lost you. I was so scared. Please don’t leave me. Not when we just found each other.”

Fingertips fluttered against hers, the slightest of movements.

She stilled, holding her breath.

Please God, let it be.

He sighed and his hand squeezed hers. “Anna.”

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. His open, beautiful hazel eyes.

“John?” Her voice was choked through the emotions welling inside her throat. “John!”

She hugged him tight. He grunted in pain and she pulled back. “Sorry.”

He licked his lips. “Water,” he croaked.

She reached over to a cup of ice chips and fed him a spoonful.

John swallowed, then reached his hand to her face. “I’m sorry, Anna. I asked too many questions. Patrick. Something strange about his death. Didn’t…protect you…”

His halting words nearly broke her heart. Closing her eyes, she leaned into John’s warm touch, a touch she’d been afraid she’d never feel again. She turned his hand and kissed his palm. “I almost lost you. Do you remember what happened?”

“Bomb.”

“You saved my life,” she said. “I won’t leave you again, John Garrison.” She pressed the call button. “We’re going to be all right now, and I’m going to wrap you up so tightly and care for you so much…” Her voice broke.

His eyes fluttered opened.

“Love you,” he whispered. “My Anna.”

He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes, his breathing slow and steady.

“Oh, John. I think I could love you, too.”




Icy water splashed against Jenna’s face. She sputtered and immediately groaned. Pain, agony seared through her body. The crazy man…oh God…where was Sam?

She heard no crying, no whimpering. She forced her eyes open.

Her son stared at her, tears streaming down his face, utterly silent, his body frozen. She blinked at him, but he didn’t move.

Her captor chuckled. “The boy knows when to be quiet, like my Hamed. He doesn’t want to die.”

Jenna tried to smile at her son, to give him comfort from across the room. She had to get Sam out of here.

She struggled to think past the pain. Her captor had hit her and hit her and hit her, again and again and again. Each time he struck he invoked the name Setara, his murdered sister.

“Wake up!” he yelled, throwing more water in her face. “We are not finished.” He grabbed her hair and yanked it back. “You have no courage. Not like Setara. She went through the fires of hell on earth before they killed her. So shall you.”

Jenna swallowed and licked her cracked lips, swollen from his fists. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

“Yes. Beg. Like my sister begged. To no avail.”

The man leaned in and grabbed her chin. “Beg me,” he said. “Me, Farzam. Beg me for your life.”

He ran his palm across her face, then pulled his bloodstained hand away. He walked to Sam and smeared her blood across her son’s cheek. “Beg for your son’s life—as I couldn’t beg for mine.”

“Farzam, let my son live. Please. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Say it again. Louder.”

She heard a small clicking noise.

God, was that a gun?

She wrenched her wrists against the cuffs and moaned as they cut deeper into her open wounds. The pain was nothing compared to her inability to help Sam. She hated being powerless. Brad had made her feel that way for far too long, but this madman evoked a terror like she’d never known. He could kill them both, at any moment.

She could only plead.

“Please. Please,” she begged, sobbing. “Kill me. I don’t care, just let my son live.”




Brad couldn’t look away from the laptop screen.

Sam’s face, covered in blood. Jenna pleading for his life.

Farzam struck her again.

Brad’s mind swirled with memories.

“You went to the cops!” his father screamed at his mother. She bent over, coughing up blood. Streams ran down her face. “You’re as weak and stupid as your son.”

He raised the belt. “You.” Smack. “Will.” Slap. “Not. Talk. To. Them. Again.”

With a cry, Bobby ran to his mother and hugged her tight. Wet dampened his face, but not tears. Never tears. Bobby wiped his cheek. His hands turned red. He looked at his mother. Her eyes were swollen closed. Blood dripped from a cut on her forehead. She whimpered even as she held him close, trying to protect him from his father’s wrath.

Martin Swinton grabbed Bobby by the waist and threw him against the closet door. His father’s huge hand gripped Bobby’s throat. “You listen and listen good, boy. There is no room for mistakes. No room for talking too much.”