Savage Rage (3 page)

Hawthorn taught political science at the University of Toronto and his most recent book of six was yet another tome on the post-economic, socially destructive mating habits of the rich and egotistical. Or something like that. Jack's eyes glazed over while Hawthorn was regaling his captive audience with his book's incredible insights. Jack had to admit, Hawthorn was intelligent and no doubt his writing would be beyond Jack's comprehension, but why that didn't excuse him from this fabulous shindig, Jack couldn't say.

But that was sheer bullshit, wasn't it? Jack knew perfectly well why he was here.

Hawthorn resented that his only daughter was married to someone as common as Jack, someone who had not even finished university and was a public servant and, yes, stress the
servant
part. There was an older son, George Jr., and he was off somewhere adding letters after his name and no doubt Hawthorn had expected his daughter to marry someone of equal education. All through their dating, engagement and marriage, Jack's in-laws slapped him down at every chance. And not just good old Dad but both of them, for Evelyn could be just as condescending toward Jack as her husband, although she disguised it as a mother's natural belief that no man was good enough for her daughter. His upbringing, his education, his job, his salary — none of it was good enough for their daughter.

At first, Jack had hoped they would grow to accept him as they realized his presence in Karen's life was more than just temporary. But that had been foolish thinking. If anything, their dislike of the future son-in-law had grown in direct proportion to the relationship. In time, it had become a mutual dislike and distrust, especially with Hawthorn. By the time Jack and Karen were married — on Hawthorn's bill, of course. Can't let the useless son-in-law forget that, can we? — Evelyn had become a side player in the game and the game was simple: every chance he got, Hawthorn reminded Jack that he was unworthy of his daughter and Jack would grin and take it, refusing to respond to the demeaning questions, comments and oh so subtle displays of wealth and breeding.

And why did Jack take it? Why did he tolerate being Hawthorn's punching bag? Because he loved Karen, who idolized her father. She was aware of the tension between the two men in her life and did her best to soothe both of them. For her father, she continued her education despite working full time as a public-school teacher and attended his social functions, smiling and chatting politely with the eligible suitors he paraded before her. Soothing Jack was much easier and considerably more fun. He often wondered what Hawthorn would say if he found out just how uninhibited his special little girl could be.

Jack smiled and sipped his cider. He had developed a liking for it after Manny introduced him to it at a beach party the previous year and now he always brought his own supply to any function of Hawthorn's. Savouring the tart taste, he let his free hand slide down from Karen's waist. He knew she was wearing stockings and a garter belt under her little black dress; she had shown him outside their SUV before the long trek up the driveway. A down payment on the reward he would receive later for enduring the party and he liked to remind himself by feel every so often.

For the moment, Jack was chatting with a couple closer to his age — twenty-nine in a few months, closing in on the big three-oh — than most of the other guests. Whether it was the age or that Scott was the only other guy Jack had seen not wearing a tie didn't matter. Age and an aversion to ties were about the only things they had in common, but they tried.

“Play any tennis, Jack?” Scott asked.

“No. Played some rugby in university. You?”

“Sorry. Do you sail?”

“Some canoeing in the summer.”

The small talk fell into a lull and both men filled the gap by taking a drink, Jack his bottled cider and Scott something straight over ice. They were standing by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth and sound as the flames licked the real logs. No gas fireplace for Hawthorn. Jack found it slightly annoying that he agreed with his father-in-law on this one thing. But then again, Hawthorn had had the brick painted and Jack thought anyone who covered up brick or stone with paint was an idiot.

“Your parents have a beautiful home, Karen.” Scott resorted to gesturing with his drink hand.

“It is, isn't it?” Karen gave Scott a stunning smile and Jack noticed Scott's wife's eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “Mom and Dad just moved in, although they bought it some time ago. It took a while for the contractors to get everything done.”

Trust Hawthorn to buy a fixer-upper, a freaking huge fixer-upper, then hire someone else to do all the work. His idea of do-it-yourself was writing the cheques. The house was a turn-of-the-century estate and Jack had to admit Hawthorn's money had been well spent; the old home was magnificent. Jack's only problem with the place, other than the painted fireplace, was its location. Stouffville was a beautiful historic town just north of Toronto and far too close for his liking. Jack would have preferred it if Karen's parents had moved somewhere a touch farther away. Alaska, for instance.

Scott was a likable enough fellow, but, like the rest of the high-end guest list, he was unwilling to ask about Jack's work. No doubt they all knew the story, Hawthorn's version at least, of how Jack had witnessed his partner's murder then shot the killer to death inside Jack's home after his wife, Hawthorn's only precious daughter, had been taken hostage. Jack wasn't quite sure what spin his father-in-law put on the story when he told it but was sure it was not favourable to him. It was as if they all saw Jack as some savage animal or barbarian, only marginally tamed and totally unpredictable.

Don't ask him about work, my dear, you may provoke him and there's no telling what he'll do. Did you know he killed a man? And right in front of George's poor daughter. Poor George, having such a brute for a son-in-law.

Lillian, Scott's wife, was a very beautiful Asian woman with a slinky red dress that seemed a touch too risqué for a cocktail party, but then maybe she was enjoying the slightly annoyed and peeved looks the other wives were shooting her way. Jack wondered if she had shown her husband what underwear she was, or wasn't, wearing before coming to the party. She stepped in to save the two floundering men.

“Do the two of you have children?” she asked, her voice no more than a breathy whisper.

Jack let Karen field that question; it was one of her favourites. She shook her head, tumbling her long blonde hair about her shoulders. Jack cast a quick look between the women, eyebrow raised curiously. He couldn't detect any hostility, but if that little hair manoeuvre wasn't some kind of challenge he'd sit down and gladly read Hawthorn's book cover to cover.

“We don't have any children yet,” Karen replied, her voice soft and not dangerous at all. “We hope to start a family soon, though. And you?”

Lillian smiled, a mere baring of teeth. “We haven't decided yet, but that doesn't stop us from practising.” She curled herself seductively around Scott's arm.

Jack had seen guys get in territorial pissing contests and outright fights, but this was the first time he'd been ringside to an alpha-female scrap.

Scott must have figured something was up as well, for he was quick to add, “Any dogs, Jack? We have two French bulldogs.”

“I'd love to have a dog,” Jack said as he felt the tension ease in Karen. Ease, but not disappear. “But Karen wants to wait until after we have kids.”

Scott wanted to know why. Lillian was content to remain quiet, smiling sweetly at Karen every now and then.

“I think it's best to wait until the children are older,” Karen explained. “It's safer that way.”

“Nonsense,” Scott scoffed. “Dogs and babies get along just fine.”

“That's what I keep telling her,” Jack said. “I grew up with black Labs. Hell, my dad's dog was considered the firstborn son.”

“Oh, no,” Karen disagreed, shaking her head, and this time there was nothing flirtatious or subtle about it. “My parents had a dog when they were first married and they had to get rid of it when my brother was born. Isn't that right, Dad?”

Hawthorn had obviously decided to see what the barbarian was up to and had casually sidled over to the small group. Jack saw with petty satisfaction that, as he approached, Hawthorn noticed Jack's hand resting on the curve of Karen's buttock. He tried to keep his face pleasant, but a tightening around the good doctor's eyes gave him away. Jack hugged his wife a touch closer.

“Is what right, sweetheart?” Hawthorn had a deep, rolling voice that must have sounded impressive in lecture halls. Jack bet he practised it before going to bed at night.

“You had to get rid of your dog when George was born.”

Hawthorn nodded solemnly. Jack groaned inwardly. All Hawthorn needed was a tweed jacket and pipe to complete his Serious Professor look. But Jack had to admit his father-in-law was a good-looking man. A full head of hair, black but greying — distinguishingly, mind you — and a clean-shaven, strong jaw gave him an enviable look. Despite being an avid runner, like his daughter, he was starting to develop a bit of a paunch, Jack noted. Again, with petty satisfaction.

“Dogs and babies just don't socialize that well,” Hawthorn explicated for those less knowledgeable and experienced than he. “Canines will commonly grow jealous of the newborn, seeing the baby as an intrusion into the family pack. Unfortunately, this jealousy can at times result in attacks on the infant.”

A few other guests had joined the group with Hawthorn. To Jack they were nothing more than parasites, weak social feeders trailing in Hawthorn's wake hoping to improve their status by sheer proximity to the professor. They were nodding wisely in agreement. Normally, Jack wouldn't have bothered to contradict his father-in-law in public; Hawthorn was a natural debater adept at twisting an argument to his advantage, not caring if his opinion was correct, but this was something too close to Jack's heart to ignore.

“Or,” Jack offered, “if the parents are responsible enough, they don't ignore the dog. They make him part of the baby's world. My parents said Shamrock slept under my crib and was very protective of me.”

“I'm surprised your parents valued . . . Shamrock, was it? . . . so much that they would be willing to risk their son for the sake of a dog.” Hawthorn smiled to take the sting out of his words. Not that he was criticizing Jack's upbringing . . . again. “Evelyn and I weren't prepared to needlessly endanger George Jr. or Karen. Anyone who truly loved Karen would never even entertain the notion.” Hawthorn smiled slyly as he rammed the barb home.

Karen slipped a calming hand over Jack's and Jack drew a calming breath, his angry words held in check. Typical of Hawthorn to turn every topic into an attack on Jack. As if it was his fault that Anthony Charles had invaded their home and threatened to kill Karen and Jack. And no need to mention that it was because of Jack that Karen was alive today.

A stillness befell the little group, as though they sensed the abrupt and sinister change in the conversation. The bottom feeders were watching their idol closely, adoring faces canted so as not to miss Hawthorn's obliteration of his clearly inferior son-in-law. Jack was aware of the attentive silence, Karen's hand holding, almost clutching, his against her hip, a soundless plea for civility, the fire popping at his back as a knot exploded. Lillian's eyes were fixed on him, watching hungrily, wetting her lips in anticipation of a fight. All this Jack saw and felt in the space of two heartbeats. His thoughts were clear, much as they were whenever he got into a fight on the streets. And what had Hawthorn's snipe been other than an opening jab?

“A parent's first concern should be his child, don't you think so, Jack?” Hawthorn smiled pleasantly, but his stare was challenging. He sipped his drink, the ice clinking loudly in the silence.

“Of course,” Jack agreed, hoping to turn this reasoning against Hawthorn. “And any loving pet owner would extend the same consideration to the animal or, at the very least, ensure the pet went to a good home.”

“Who did you give the dog to, Dad? I can't remember,” Karen said innocently.

Hawthorn favoured his daughter with what Jack thought was a very indulgent smile, as if she had made a poor assumption. “We didn't, dear. He wasn't a pup any longer and a change of ownership would have been just too traumatic on the poor fellow. We had him put down. It was the humane thing to do.”

“You what?” Jack hissed. “How old was he?” He already knew in his heart what Hawthorn would say but prayed even he couldn't be that uncaring.

“I can't exactly recall, Jack,” Hawthorn said with a hint of hesitation in his voice. If no one else in the group had heard the tightness in Jack's words, Hawthorn certainly had.

And Jack wasn't about to let this go. “How old? Five, ten, twelve?”

“Evelyn and I had had him only a short while,” Hawthorn mused, eyeing Jack warily. “No more than four, I'd say.”

Jack was speechless but not for long. He pulled his hand free of Karen's — desperate, Karen tried to keep hold of his, but he would not be restrained — and turned to face Hawthorn. “Four years old and you put him down?”

“Of — of course,” Hawthorn stammered, obviously wondering what he had said to upset his barbaric son-in-law.

“You lazy, uncaring asshole.”

“Jack!” Karen reproached, shocked by her husband's sudden anger.

But Jack didn't hear her or didn't care. He was too enraged to see or hear anyone in the room other than Hawthorn. “You could have found him a home,” he snarled. “Or a rescue society or the pound. Anywhere he could have been adopted. But that would have been too much effort for you, wouldn't it? And it was just a dog after all. You lazy, selfish . . .” Jack's words trailed off, consumed by his hate.