His Missing Wife by Jaime Hendricks (nice books to read .TXT) 📕

I stand and follow as he opens the door and moves through.

He turns back to me. “Let me stay in front of you. Just in case. I don’t want that jerk-off hiding behind any corners and trying to surprise us.”

It has never occurred to me that a gentleman always lets the woman walk in front of him. Because I’ve never been with a gentleman. Asshole may have been an alpha male with a stable job, but he was also a narcissist who got off on humiliating me and making me feel small. Opening doors for himself and leaving me to enter after him was par for the course. He didn’t give a shit if the door slammed in my face.

James moves cautiously through the hall and to the elevator, then takes every precaution through the lobby and through the lot to his car.

He opens the door and I slide in and buckle up. He pops the trunk and loads his luggage before rounding to the driver’s side. When he turns the car on, the satellite radio is already on the Howard Stern Show and he quickly flips it to a Top-20 type station.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

I happen to like Howard Stern. “You can put it back. He’s funny.”

“Oh yeah? Most women find him offensive. And I feel like you’ve been through enough shit tonight.”

I chuckle. “Nah. It’s just a persona for radio, I think. I saw his movie. The one he acted in, about his life. I think he’s loyal. Went back and got everyone from his past as soon as he started to make it. And they’re all still with him. For decades.” I train my gaze out the window as he pulls out of the lot that I hope to never see again. “Loyalty is important.”

He’s quiet for a quarter minute, then flips the station back on. “You’re something else, Tessa. I never looked at it that way.”

The short ride to the hotel is filled with conversation about the show, and it’s easy to talk to him. He pulls into the lit-up drive and stops at the top of the semicircle near the front door.

“Does Damon know you’re here?” he asks.

I shake my head. “He wasn’t much for talking.”

“Okay, good. Go inside. I’ll wait until the doors close behind you.”

“Oh. I thought you were staying here too?”

“I am. I don’t want you to have to walk from the other end of the lot after I park. I bet you just want to get inside and curl up in bed.”

“Yeah, you nailed it.” I smile at him and reach for the handle.

“Hey. Wait one second,” he says, then puts the car in park and gets out and rummages through the trunk. It slams shut and he comes to my side and opens the door for me, and hands me a Yankees hat. “Just in case you don’t want anyone to—you know—see.”

I nod. “God, I must be hideous.” I punch the inside of the hat and then place it on my head. That was something Kenny always did before he put one on, and I was the adoring, copycat little sister. Old habits die hard. I lift my head extra high to see James’s eyes under the lip of the cap. “Thanks, James. I mean it. For everything.”

“Take care of yourself, Tessa. And,” he pauses and reaches for his wallet, a small black leather one that folds in half. Inside the inner pocket he retrieves a business card. “My cell is on there. Let me know if you change your mind about going to the police. I was a witness.” He shakes his head softly again, in disbelief, then he smiles. “Or, you know, if you just want to talk or hang out or something. That’s okay too.”

“Thanks. Maybe I will.” I turn to go inside, and as soon as my hand is on the door, he calls my name again, so I whip my head around. “Yes?”

His smile is crooked and shy when he says, “I just wanted you to know you’re not hideous.”

I’m laughing as I open the door, and when I’m in the lobby I’m aware of the bright lights, and thankful for the hat. I pull it down farther over my forehead and keep my head down as I head to the elevator.

Once inside my room, I beeline for the bathroom and look at my face. Jesus, I can’t go out at all tomorrow.

Disaster.

I take pictures in the mirror with the cell phone, just in case. It’s always good to have evidence.

I took pictures of bruises when Asshole got really rough. The hospital reports would never be used as evidence, since I was always adamant about the fact that I “fell” or “walked into something.”

The nurses knew; they had to. They probably saw that shit on the regular. They didn’t even seem shocked by the third-degree burn on my arm from the boiling water, as the first ex-husband’s arm was around me, telling the nurses I’m clumsy. He was the tattoo artist. We were only married for three weeks total. I did it to get out of Foster Home Number Whatever, but decided that being burned was worse, so I went back. The marriage was annulled but it was never legal anyway since I was underage without parental consent. Whatever that was.

Plus, I’ll never forgive him for what he did to me. It was worse than the boiling water.

I grab one of the burners to see that a text came in from Asshole’s coworker Maribel Lopez—the one he’s been having an affair with. The one who, now, wants to see him go down almost as much as I do. I look at the screen.

It’s done. Now we wait.

16

James

When James got home, there were no reporters waiting in the driveway. He felt the tension ease from his shoulders as he pulled the car into the garage and brought the gun inside with him. He wanted to take Candy