Unleashed

Her heart thumped and her knees buckled causing her to brace a hand to the back of the couch. A hundred questions spun in a flurry of disbelief, blurring her thoughts and reducing her words to a stutter.

Rounding the couch, she slowly lowered to one arm. “Wa-Wade?”

“Well, since you forgot that I’m your husband, I’m glad you at least remembered my name.”

She blinked and sputtered then finally managed to hiss, “You’re not my husband.” Not that that was the primary thought going through her head right now. She just wanted him to stop saying it.

More importantly, she wondered how he got her cell phone number, why he was calling her and how did he know where she was?

The thought put her feet in motion and she scampered to the front window, peering down to the street below. There were cars parallel parked up and down the quiet avenue, but other than that, it looked deserted in the wee hour of the night.

She heard him blow out another puff of smoke and she darted her eyes back and forth before seeing an old battered pickup parked two doors down in front of a pale yellow stucco. The windows on the truck were fogged and she caught a faint puff of smoke escape from the driver’s side.

“Yeah, well, that’s where you’re wrong, Sugar. You and I are still entirely conjugated.”

“You’re in jail,” she whispered, hoping that saying the words out loud would make it true.

“Not anymore, Sugar Beane. And I’ve come all the way to California to reunite with my loving bride.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your wife. You signed the divorce papers in jail.”

“You know, I should be angry,” he said through another drag of his cigarette. “Coming all this way only to find my woman leaving a bar with another man. You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type.”

Coward was more like it, but she shook the remark from her thoughts. She needed to stay focused.

“Most men would be barging up there with a shotgun.”

She snapped her eyes to the truck. “You—” was all she could utter.

Had Wade ever handled a gun? She didn’t think so, but then again, there’d been a lot of things she hadn’t known about Wade Griggs up until a year ago.

His laugh was raspy and cold. “I’ll forgive you as long as you give me the same favors you gave Officer Hard-On there.” Another suck off his butt and he added, “You always were the best at giving head.”

A wave of nausea stumbled her back a step. The image of her and Wade—

She cupped a hand over her mouth and tried to block it from her thoughts. No way would she let that animal turn something beautiful she’d shared with a deserving man into the dirt and grime he crawled from.

“My cock’s getting hard just thinking about—”

She snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the couch as though it were a grenade about to explode. Her desire to run from it underscored the feeling. Her heart raced, her hands went clammy, and as she glanced over the dark shadows of the room, she went dizzy with disgust and confusion.

What was Wade Griggs doing here? Why wasn’t he in jail? And if he was released, why hadn’t anyone called to tell her?

And then the big question: What did he want from her?

She and Wade were through. They were through the moment the cops had shown up at her house and informed her that the body shop she and her husband owned was a front for a car theft ring. That her husband was being indicted for grand theft auto. That she was considered an accessory until proven innocent. And that everything they owned was being seized by the county, the state and the Internal Revenue Service.

He’d lied to her from the start, her trust in him landing her in a pile of trouble so deep it took every last cent she had to get out of it. As such, she was left with nothing more than a quick divorce and a bad credit rating.

He’d drained her of everything, and less than twelve months later he was back—wanting what?

The phone rang again, and she reluctantly picked it up, her fingers trembling and tears threatening at the backs of her eyes.

This can’t be happening. Not now.

She pressed the phone to her ear in time to hear the end of “…used to love it when I talked dirty—”

“What do you want?” she snarled.

“I told you, Sugar Beane. I came to find my wife.”

“I’m not your wife.” How many times did she have to repeat it?

“Now, that’s where you’re mistaken, honey cakes. You see, that divorce you set up never got finished.”

She blinked, her nausea easing into simple confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and I are still blissfully wed, Sugar Beane. And that means everything that’s yours is mine.”

She stood up and stepped back to the window, this time to find Wade standing casually at the rear bumper of a red Honda Accord parked directly across the street.

“You’re wrong.”

Though he was one story down and across the wide street, she could see the rough-edged smile on his long, narrow face. He was tall and more bulky than she’d remembered. His jeans bagged around his boots and the button-down shirt made him appear more kept than usual, even though his right shirttail hung over his leather belt.

He’d apparently dressed himself up for the reunion.

“Check your papers, darlin’. You don’t have anything signed by me.”

Of course, she did. Though not recalling offhand exactly where the papers were allowed an inkling of panic to creep in.

She remembered specifically having them drawn up, signing them in her lawyer’s office and having them couriered to the county jail. She remembered that day as if it was yesterday. She’d signed them. They’d been notarized. Wade had signed them, too.

Hadn’t he?

“Things got a little hectic back then, what with Old Lady Hawley up and dying like that,” he drawled.

She squeezed her eyes shut. No, no, no. This was Wade playing games with her. He signed those papers. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. “The lawyer called and said you’d signed,” she contended, though a tremble in her voice watered down the affirmation.

“You sure about that? Are you sure you aren’t thinking about the call you got from that lawyer telling you old Granna Hawley left you all her money?”

Her eyes shot open and she glared at him through the window.

“Half of which is mine, you realize.”

Shaking her head, Jessie thought about the time, through a fever of distress and ire. The lawyer did call. She’d gotten the package in the mail. She was sure of it.