My Darling Husband(64)

“I was doing you a favor up there, so you know. I put on the TV. I made sure you were comfortable. I even offered you a snack that you flat out refused. I mean, I don’t know what else I could have done to make this experience any easier for you and your brother. Do you?”

Her glaze flits away and her fingers go to town, tapping out a silent rhythm on her thigh.

“What the hell is that?” I gesture at her dancing hand with my chin. “Do you have a tic or something?”

Her fingers freeze, and she crosses her arms, pressing both palms in her armpits. “It’s notes.”

“Notes to what?”

“Bach’s B minor partita. You wouldn’t understand. It’s classical.”

Partita—the same term Jade used downstairs. But it’s Beatrix’s other words I’m focused on. The ones that insinuated I’m stupid.

“Just because I don’t listen to classical music doesn’t mean I don’t know what a partita is. Of course I know what a partita is. You look like the flute type.”

She makes a face like I just offered her a bowl of shit soup. “The partita for flute is in A minor, not B. I play the violin.”

That expression, her snide tone. It’s a reaction I’ve seen a million times, as familiar as a favorite old coat. It’s exactly how Gigi would have responded at that age.

The nostalgia lasts only a second or two before dissolving into something sharp and hot. I breathe through it, a series of quick and shallow breaths.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t have a gun aimed at your head. Like you have a death wish.”

The little shit actually rolls her eyes, and this kid. This spunky little kid. From the second we walked in the house, she’s been a thorn in my side. Staring me down. Daring me to punish her.

“I’m serious, kid. Look away, or this gun is the last thing you’ll see.”

“Beatrix, for God’s sake, stop,” Jade says, and to her credit, she hasn’t moved. But she’s put some space between her chair and the bar and positioned herself at the edge of the seat.

But it does the trick. Beatrix swings her gaze to her mom. “What.”

Not a question, and even though she clearly doesn’t expect an answer, I give her one. “Don’t be a hero.” I flick the gun back and forth between the two. “Don’t either of you do anything you’ll regret.”

I’m talking to both of them, but my words are especially for Jade, whose expression is wild. Wide eyes glistening with a combination of fury and horror. Second cheek flushing purple to match the first. Her life or Beatrix’s? I can tell she’s already made the choice.

By now Beatrix is close enough for me to grab her by the shirt. One good tug and I’ve dragged her into the kitchen.

“That was a really stupid trick you pulled. Really reckless. You almost got your mother killed. You know that, right? She almost got a bullet in her brain because of you. Now say you’re sorry.”

I wait for some kind of reaction, a flicker of regret or a mumbled apology, but the kid gives me nothing. She doesn’t even blink.

A fire sparks in my chest, and I clamp on to her shoulders and give her a mighty shake. A bone-rattling, skin-quaking, teeth-jangling shake. I’m still fisting the gun, and the weapon presses hard into her shoulder, against bone, and it’s got to hurt. She flops around like a bobblehead, but I can’t pick up the slightest trace of regret in her eyes. No pain, either, not even a twitch.

Only hatred.

Yeah, kid. Sure as shit is the feeling mutual.

“STOP,” Jade screams, springing off her chair, and she’s fast, I’ll give her that. She’s lunged around the bar and into the kitchen before I can let go of her kid, planting herself directly behind me. “Stop! Take your hands off her!”

I let the kid go because one more shake and Jade would have jumped on my back, and beyond the fact that it’s still on fire from the screwdriver, I need to defuse the situation. I need to get everybody back upstairs and into the theater. Today is too important. I don’t have time for this.

I shove Beatrix in her mama’s direction, and now, finally, she makes a sound, a long, high squeal of relief. Jade sweeps Beatrix into her arms, murmuring words I can’t quite hear, squeezing her against her chest and patting down her hair. I give them five seconds. This little reunion would almost be touching if we weren’t running so short on time.

“Okay. So here’s how it’s gonna go. The three of us are going to march our asses back upstairs, where you—” I flick the gun at the girl’s head “—get yours strapped to a chair. And don’t expect any softballs from me this time. No cartoons. No reclining the seats until they’re the perfect angle. And no lightening up on the tape because it smelled weird or it yanked on your skin. Do you understand what I’m telling you here? There’ll be no getting loose this time. Now let’s go.”

I round them up with the Beretta, and order them to walk up the stairs.

Jade clutches her daughter by her shoulders, and she keeps her head high as she leads her across the living room. I don’t miss the look of longing she casts as she passes the front door, searching for someone—maybe Baxter—out on the street, praying for a happy accident or kismet, a person down there, a savior, who will look up at just the right moment. I keep the gun trained on her back and watch her for a reaction. But either there’s nobody out there or she’s a damn fine actress.