The Last Invitation (79)
“How so?” Dr. Downing asked.
The job of answering the questions fell to Retta because she was the member who had submitted Jessa’s name for consideration. More than once. As the sponsoring member, Retta had to answer for Jessa’s actions. “I brought transcripts of the communications. The originals are in this folder, along with some photographs.”
The women leaned in, each examining the evidence Retta had brought to the table. Their expressions ranged from unreadable to concerned.
“We need to take another vote.” Retta handed a thin file to each member. “We should take some time to walk through the gathered evidence to avoid making a second mistake.”
The women started reading. A few rechecked the original emails. All studied the evidence.
“We must act quickly.” Retta hesitated before continuing. “But this needs to be our final decision on the issue of Jessa Hall.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Jessa
Jessa arrived back at Faith’s place just after eight with a briefcase filled with documents and her laptop. She’d been using both since her brief call with Gabby earlier in the afternoon. They had to meet, but Jessa needed a few more hours to make sure she covered everything, then she’d call Gabby.
Tomorrow. The fallout discussion could wait until then.
Exhausted from the internal battle over betraying Retta and a day of racing around, filling in every possible hole she could think of, Jessa was ready for wine and fluffy slippers. She opened her car door and slid out. Faith had two parking spaces—one underground near the elevator, and one in the back by the storage lockers, where Jessa parked. It was a pain trying to maneuver into the tiny space, but Jessa appreciated avoiding a daily spar for on-street parking.
Her space sat under a light, but today the row nearest her car had blinked out again, bathing this half of the parking floor in a shadowy gray haze. Second time it had happened since she’d been staying with Faith.
She slung her bag over her shoulder as she locked the car. Awareness tingled to life. An initial rush of adrenaline vibrated through her. She shook it off. Keys in hand, ready to do battle, she turned toward the door to the building and gasped.
Darren Bartholomew. Right there. In the private garage. In front of her.
She dropped her keys as she bit back a yelp of surprise. When he put his foot over the key ring and kicked it away, she almost drowned in the panic flooding her. The kind of terror that made her teeth click together as if she’d been plunged into an icy lake.
She should have switched from heels to sneakers before she’d gotten in the car, but she’d been in a hurry. Now, outrunning him sounded impossible. She backed up against the car, slamming her body to the door. Putting what limited space existed between them.
“Darren.” Her voice sounded hoarse.
He smiled. “Surprise.”
She looked at him, heard that soft, coaxing voice, and understood his wife’s fear. The sensation of being trapped and having to scrape and claw to survive filled Jessa. She looked around, scanning, hoping to see anyone. With or without assistance, she’d run and scream, hit and kick. Do anything to avoid him. But, for now, she was alone in the closing darkness.
She tried to clear her voice, force some firmness into it, but failed. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t you want to ask why I’m not in prison?”
“Fine. Explain that.” She tugged on the door handle, but she’d locked the car, and the fob must have landed just far enough away to keep her out. Someone should have called and warned her about him being out. Detective Schone showed up unwanted here and there, but not when she was needed. “When did you get back?”
“Today. A few hours ago.” Hate pulsed off him. Those flat eyes didn’t show an ounce of fear or regret. “On a technicality.”
And he came to find her. He didn’t need to say it because his feral expression said it all.
Jessa knew the truth about why he walked free. Retta. The group. The unseen hand of assistance he didn’t even know he’d been lucky enough to receive. He had a group of women who despised him, and who he probably saw as beneath him, to thank for an unexpected release.
“I decided to see you first. Next stop, my wife and son.”
He was going to kill them. “You should see your lawyer, Darren. Get his advice.”
“He’s lucky he got me out. Another day in there and . . . well, you don’t want to know.” Darren slapped a hand against her car, right next to her head, standing far too close.
A kick. She didn’t care where she landed it so long as he went down. She tried to focus. Forced her lungs to breathe. “There’s a restraining order. You can’t go near—”
“Stop acting like you’re in control.” The rage boiled up and came out in an uncharacteristically choppy tone. “You messed up. Despite my warning, you sided with my stupid bitch of a wife.”
She ducked too late.
He hit her. The heel of his hand rammed into the side of her face. Her head banged against the car window, and her vision blinked. Before she could drop or yell, he grabbed her arm and twisted. Her skin burned under his fingers, stealing her breath.
“You didn’t listen to me,” he said, just inches from her face.
No! She wound up, gathering every drop of energy inside her, and screamed. He flinched, and that tiny bit of space let her inch away. She lifted her bag. Nailed him with one shot to his chin, letting the weight of her laptop do most of the work.