Public Secrets

you for two weeks. Why, you might have been kidnapped.” He grinned. “You might have been murdered like your poor little brother.”
“Don’t.”
“Ah, it upsets you to talk about him, doesn’t it? The music upsets you, too. Shall I turn it off?”
“Yes.” She’d be able to think if he turned the music off. She’d know what to do.
“All right, then.” He took a step toward the recorder, then stopped. “No, I think we’ll leave it on. You have to learn to face things, Emma. I’ve told you that before, haven’t I?”
Her teeth had begun to chatter. “I am facing them.”
“Good. That’s good. Now, the first thing you’re going to do is call that fancy lawyer of yours and tell him you’ve changed your mind.”
“No.” Fear was storming through her system so that she could only whisper. “I’m not going back with you.”
“Of course you are. You belong with me. You’ve had your little snit, Emma, don’t make it harder on yourself.” When she shook her head, he let out a long, gusty sigh. Then his hand snaked out, quick as a whip, and smashed across her face. Blood filled her mouth as she slammed into a table, sending a lamp crashing to the floor.

Through a haze of pain she saw him coming toward her. And she began to scream. He kicked her full in the stomach, cutting off the screams and her air. When she tried to curl up, he began to hit her, slowly, methodically.
This time, she fought back. Her first blow glanced off his chin, but surprised him enough to give her time to crawl away. She heard pounding on the door, a demand to open it. She managed to struggle to her feet and take a watery step toward the sound, when he caught her again.
“So you want to play rough, Emma?” He began to tear at her clothes, raking his nails down her skin. Her struggles only drove him on. She would be punished this time, in a way she would never forget.
Emma heard someone pleading, begging, promising. She wasn’t aware it was her own voice. She hardly felt the blows as he continued to beat her. This time he used his fists, forgetting everything but the need to pay her back.
“Did you think you could walk out on me, bitch? Did you think I’d let you ruin everything I worked for? I’ll kill you first.”
Her body was a jelly of pain. Even the effort to breathe cut through her like dozens of dull-edged knives. It had never been this bad before. Even at its worst, it had never been this bad. Groggy, she grabbed a chair leg and tried to haul herself up. Wet with her own blood, her fingers slipped off.
She stopped fighting. There was no strength left to hold him off. She felt him lift her, then send her flying. Something snapped in her chest and she screamed again against the sickening pain. Half conscious, she lay sprawled.
“Bitch. Whore bitch.” He was panting as he started for her again. Dimly she saw that blood was running from his nose. His eyes were glazed and wild. She knew, looking at his face, that he had crossed some line. This time a beating wouldn’t be enough. He would pound on her until she was dead. Weeping, she tried to crawl.
The snap of his belt made her flinch. Her sobs rose up into wails as she pulled herself across the rug. He continued to snap the belt, snap it to the beat of the music as he stalked her. She collapsed. The jolt screamed through her ribs until her vision wavered.

She heard someone calling for her, shouting her name. Splintering wood. Was that the sound of splintering wood or was her body just breaking in two? The first slash of the belt across her back had her arm flinging out. Her fingers brushed metal. Blindly, she closed her hand around the gun. Choking on sobs, she pushed herself over. She saw his face as he raised the belt again.
She felt the gun jerk up in her hand.
Michael broke in the door in time to see Drew stagger back, a look of puzzlement on his face. Weaving, he lifted the belt again. Michael’s weapon was drawn, but before he could use it, Emma fired again, and again. She continued to press the trigger long after it clicked uselessly, long after he was sprawled at her feet. She held the trigger down, aiming at empty air.
“Good Jesus,” McCarthy said.
“Keep those people out.” Michael moved toward her. Peeling off his jacket, he wrapped it around her. Her clothes were torn to bits and soaked with blood. She didn’t move, only continued to fire the empty gun. When he tried to take it, he found her hand convulsed on it.
“Emma. Baby. It’s all