A Perfect Love (22 page)

I raised my brows in question.

“I don’t know that for sure, but my gut tells me it is. I pissed him off a few years back, and I’m convinced he’s linked to something else I’m dealing with. He
will
stop poaching on our business, though. While he pleaded ignorant, he gave me enough to reassure me his game was over.”

I was confused as hell. I wasn’t cut out for espionage or any of this cloak and dagger crap. A good old fistfight I could handle, but at the end of the day, I was an architect—a pretty damn good one, at that—and I tried to leave my days of needing to fight for survival behind me. “So, are you thinking it was a message for you or something? Is that why he did it? To get you to notice?”

He shrugged. “Possibly. Either way, he has my attention.”

“You know this sounds like some dodgy spy movie or something, right?” I laughed and took a gulp of beer. “So, what was with the ‘work from home’ order? Jo’s all freaked out.”

“Sorry, it was just a precaution. Wait twenty-four hours, though, just in case. That’ll give me enough time to check something out. Okay?”

I knew he was just looking out for us, so I agreed with a bob of my head. “You going to stay to eat?”

“Nope.” He drained his drink. “Thanks, though. I have somewhere I need to be.” He stood and headed toward the door. “Make sure you sit on Jo and tell her twenty-four hours.” He grinned, turned and left.

Our house arrest had long since passed and life went back to normal, or as normal as having an over-emotional pregnant wife could be. If she wasn’t bursting into tears, she was threatening to tear off my balls if I said the slightest things she misconstrued. I was amazed how a comment about how cold the nights were getting and pulling out the doona could be turned around into an accusation about her growing nipples and arse, but alas, there were many such moments. Regardless, life went on.

With only eight weeks left before Jo’s due date, we’d finally filled the baby’s room with a whole heap of baby-related purchases. Every time something else came up, I tried my hardest not to balk at the mounting cost. Babies were damn expensive.

Jo planned to be at work for another four weeks before she’d stay home and just do the odd bit of work when she could. She said she was looking forward to it, but I suspected she was as terrified as I was. While I couldn’t wait to be a dad, I still hadn’t figured out what that entailed exactly. David, my own sorry excuse of a father, was the furthest thing from a father figure, with the closest person I had who took care of me being Mace. Even then, we’d made it up as we went.

Jo’s dad was great, but I had no idea what he was like when Jo was a baby or growing up. Obviously, she was loved and had turned out amazing, but still, I was clueless. When I’d mentioned it to Jo, she’d gone teary-eyed and snuggled into me, which while awesome, wasn’t exactly helpful. She later said we’d work it out day-by-day.

It was a plan I could relate to. A half-arsed plan, but a plan all the same. She’d later sat me down to watch
Three Men and a Baby.
Other than drifting off a third of the way in and being punched in the ribs by Jo to wake up, it gave me some ideas of perhaps things not to try when our baby was screaming. At that point, I was open to every dodgy movie I could watch which could possibly help.

A few mornings earlier, we’d received a call from Terry Enfield, a police detective, giving us an update on David. I knew it wasn’t usual protocol for updates, but he was a friend of Mace’s, so we appreciated it. David had seemingly disappeared. It had been months since the warrant for his arrest came out, so the only thing we could assume was he was dead in a ditch somewhere. It must have been a deep hole, though, for there to be no news of him. I couldn’t imagine him leaving the state and going into hiding. Forward-thinking and planning had never been his strong suit; that and I imagined he was too high to do anything that required brain cells.

Meth was a lethal, dirty drug. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand the anxiety, depression, and obsessive behaviour it caused both parents. The hallucinations were the scariest. If anything, it taught both Mace and me to stay away from drugs early on. There was nothing like having to shower off your mum at the age of fourteen to try to remove the vomit to give you an idea of what not to pump into your body. In such a short period of time, my folks changed rapidly. Not only did they look far older than their age, but they were obscenely skinny, and even had a few rotten teeth. We learned early on to keep to ourselves, not to invite friends over to play. After watching Mum wither away over the years, if I were brutally honest, I was surprised she’d only a few months back.

We were heading to Ella’s surprise birthday party, which Preston had organised. I’d laughed when Jo told me what he was doing because, for one, I didn’t believe for one second Jo would be able to keep it a secret. Likewise, I’d laughed at Preston still being crazy loved-up. I loved Jo more than any previous day that had passed, but it was no longer about grand gestures. These days, a snuggle on the sofa, which ideally ended with me planted between her legs, was as romantic as we got. At the end of the day, it worked.

If she wanted huge gestures, I could give them to her, but she seemed more than happy with living the life we were given.

Once we were on the road to the party, I took Jo’s hand, smiled and kissed her palm.

She grinned in response before turning her eyes back to the road a fraction before I did.

Within that moment, her face constricted in horror and she screamed out, “Watch out!” Twisting my head sharply to the road, I slammed on the brakes at the same time I threw my left arm out to protect Jo. I felt her body hit against my arm as we swerved. Screeching tyres filled the air, mingling with Jo’s coarse scream. Spinning out, I attempted to right the car, getting us back on track. From my peripheral, I knew it was too late; we were going to slam into the tree. Bracing for impact, I threw myself in front of Jo as much as my seatbelt would allow, grabbing hold of her. Above everything, I needed to protect her and the baby.

Chapter Seventeen

Jo

The putrid scent of burnt butter filled the air, the tell-tale sign of burnt oil. Heaviness sat on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. It took a few seconds to register the weight was Liam. A dull pounding ricocheted through my head and I grunted in pain.

“Liam.” He shifted a fraction, causing a flood of relief to settle through my body. Immediately, tears sprung to my eyes knowing he was alive. “Liam, you’re squashing me. I need you to move.”

Groaning, he slowly pulled away. Blood trickled down the top of his head, dripping down his face. “Shit. Jo, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I sighed around a sniff.

“The baby?”

Reflexively, my hands covered my stomach. At seven months pregnant, my tummy was taut, filled with our growing child. “I don’t know. I’m not in pain, so good, I think. My head’s killing, though.”

“Shit, you’re bleeding.”

“Where?” I touched my face and a smear of red came away and painted my hand. “I think it’s yours.”

Sitting back fully, Liam unstrapped his belt and then mine before forcing open his door. It looked like we’d hit the tree with the driver’s side of the car, near the rear, which was a relief. He came to my side quickly and helped me out. On trembling legs, my feet touched the asphalt and I sighed in relief.

We were so lucky. I couldn’t even begin to navigate through the what-ifs.

When I’d spotted someone walking out on the road just a few metres ahead of us, my heart had constricted in fear. I looked around, wondering what had happened to the man, hoping desperately Liam was able to avoid him. “Where’s the guy who stepped into the road?”

Liam, holding my hand, glanced around. There was a small crowd gathering and a couple of people rushing our way from their now-parked cars. “I have no idea.” Turning his back toward me, he asked, “Did you see who it was?”

Confused, I shook my head. “No. I saw it was a man, but it was too dark.” His frown became more pronounced. “Why? What are you thinking?” My voice shook at the end. I needed to sit down before I collapsed or something equally as embarrassing. The last thing I needed was an over-the-top rescue of the pregnant woman passing out.

“I think it was David.”

“I need to sit down.” Liam reacted immediately. Walking me over to a small wall, he ushered me to sit while he spoke to a couple of the people who came over to help. I heard someone say they’d called for the police and ambulance.

I knew Liam thought I was losing my shit. And I was. But red-hot rage that the scumbag David could have caused this, which would no way have been an accident, pounded through my body, pushing charged emotions through my veins. I’d refused to live in fear many years ago. The thing was, I was beyond pissed with myself more than anything. After I received that letter all those months ago and discovered he’d been hanging around, I was on edge. While I tucked the news of his disappearance away in a deep crevice in my mind, I was forever vigilant. He made me afraid, which I hated.

Our lives being put at risk, Liam’s and our baby’s, turned that fear into something so very different. I wanted that bastard to pay. I turned my gaze to Liam, who was crouched in front of me, his blood no longer trickling out of the gash on his head but staining his face. “Call Mace.” He closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgment before laying a kiss on my lips and taking a few steps away from the crowd to call his brother. Exhaustion threatened to push me over the edge, from not only the trauma and stress of the crash, but of the last few months. I clenched my jaw, knowing I was made of tougher stuff than that.

It seemed an age ago when I was floundering at the very concept of being pregnant, being a mum. Even longer, that Liam and I said our vows. Yet there was nothing more real or important at that moment than those two lives. My unborn baby and Liam were my world, and no rapist bastard was going to steal anything else away from me.

Unsurprisingly, the roar of a Harley reached us before that of sirens. I watched on as Mace stormed toward us, a scowl set on his face. He looked as furious as I felt. I glanced to Liam who, rather than furious, looked a sickly shade of pale. “Babe,” I called him over.

He was easy to read. He knew how close he’d come to losing us, and he was still reeling in shock at our near miss. My own panic sat close to the surface, but was being suffocated by my fury. Liam sat next to me and took my hand, laying a kiss on my head. He barely anything, the emotion no doubt too thick and raw.

With Mace crouched before the two of us, Liam’s slight tremble in his hand stopped. I turned my gaze to him and saw a hardness there. The hard-arse Liam, not the creative architect, sat beside me. There were only a few times in all the years we’d been together that I’d met this Liam. And while nervous tension traced my spine, I was relieved his fear had morphed into the need to put this to an end.

The thought stopped my breath momentarily as I considered exactly what that was. I was not of the world of criminals, death or brutality. It wasn’t me, my life, or mine and Liam’s. At uni, I happily debated with fellow students about revenge, vengeance, the death penalty and the age-old ‘eye for an eye’ mantra. Morally, I was brought up with a clear code of ethics, which my loving parents instilled in me. ‘Have a belief in the law, the systems in place to protect the innocent, and if all else failed have a belief in God.’ While not an atheist, I wasn’t a firm believer, nor were my parents religious, per se. Even after my attack, I dealt with David’s sentence, and even though his sentence or time served was nowhere near enough to exact punishment for all he had done, I accepted it.

Until that moment.

Heart pounding fiercely, I began to hyperventilate. My breathing erratic, I clumsily attempted to push my head between my legs, not an easy task being so heavily pregnant.

“Shit.” Liam’s voice was gruff and laced with concern. He rubbed my back and sent me reassuring words. “I’m here, baby. You’re safe. Nothing is going to happen to you.” Hand still rubbing my back, he sat impossibly close to me, his attempt at reassurance. “Mace.”

“Yeah, Liam. I know. Hell do I know.”

“Oh, God!” I cried, a sob bursting free. I didn’t want to be this person. To wail, to cry, to thirst for a man’s death, but be horrified about what that made me.