Society Rules (33 page)

He returned in an instant. In his hands were the papers on which he had been composing. “My divorce papers,” Indie realized with a small twinge. He knelt down next to her, taking her hand.

“Are you truly ready to do this?’ he asked in his deep silky timbre. She said nothing, but held out her hand for the papers, and glanced around for a pen. He produced an exquisite one, made of a nearly black polished wood, and passed it to her, wordlessly.

Indie hesitated for only an instant, then signed in all of the appropriate spots, and handed the papers back. Jackson gave her a grim smile. He leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

“Thank you!” he whispered, voice heavy with relief.

After surveying her face once more for just a moment, he rose and ambled into the kitchen with his particular style of heart stopping grace . . . masculine and sensual. Indie closed her eyes, and listened to the sounds of a mini feast being prepared again, just for her.

Returning with impressive speed, Jackson carried a tray loaded with salad and some sort of pasta dish. It looked wonderful. And somehow he’d managed to sneak off to the shower too, without her realizing it. The black t-shirt, sporting graphics from the band Oleander, and the well-fitted Levi’s made him look insanely young.

And obscenely hot.

The scent of Kenneth Cole wafted gently in his wake, and his hair was damp and disorderly. Suddenly, the dinner he’d prepared for her was no longer the most appetizing thing in the room. Indie felt she had to look away from him to avoid retina-damage.

It was like looking at the dangerous beauty of a solar eclipse. He grinned down at her as she struggled to compose her thoughts.

“I will be back in a flash,” he assured her with a quick squeeze of her hand. “But please, Indie, I
am
going to ask that you stay inside while I am gone . . . just as a precaution,” he added seriously.

“No worries.” Indie promised. “I have no desire to walk out that door anytime soon!” He planted another soft kiss on her neck and shoulder, and pulled away reluctantly.

“In a flash,” he repeated, and was gone.

Chapter 16

Will’s Darkest Day

“Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away thy ambition: By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, the image of his Maker, hope to win by it? Love thyself last: Cherish those hearts that hate thee . . .”

William Shakespeare

King Henry VIII, Cardinal Wolsey; Act three, Scene two

Will spun the cylinder of his old service revolver without seeing anything in particular. Nothing except the scene on his computer screen, that had played out a hundred times so far today. He was not feeling suicidal.

Homicidal, perhaps.

He shuddered at the dark thoughts trying to push their way to the front of his mind.

I
am
not
a
killer,
he snarled to himself.

Not that he hadn’t killed before. But killing someone when it was unavoidable, in the line of duty didn’t count, did it? Whenever it happened, it made him sick for days. He certainly didn’t
enjoy
killing, even an enemy, as some of his team members pretended. At least, he tried to tell himself they were pretending.

No, Will had never had an
urge
to kill.

Until now.

And he was not at all comfortable with the thoughts rolling around in his head, screaming for justice.

He clicked “replay” on the digital recording once more, and watched again as this . . .
creature
came into the house—
“My
house,” he growled, furious—and sat on the couch, telling his own wife, that she actually belonged to
him.
Will’s eyes narrowed as he watched the stranger slide off the couch and sit, crouched on his knees, in front of Indie.

“
I
was
born
 . . .
for
you!”
he heard the stranger say.

Again, it caused his stomach muscles to contract with rage. He clenched his hand tightly around the handle of the revolver.

Thank God, he had gotten his mother to pick up the twins today, he thought, relieved. It had been an awful and uneasy morning. The kids were unnaturally quiet and he could not bring himself to meet their eyes, fearing the accusation that he might see there.

Why
in
the
hell
should
I
feel
like
the
bad
guy
here?
He thought to himself, defiantly.
She’s
the
one
who
made
her
choice.
His thoughts were fraught with anger and disbelief, and he heaved a sigh and placed his head heavily into the palm of his right hand, covering his eyes.

He was glad it was Friday, and his mother was keeping the twins for the weekend. He needed time.

Time to continue torturing himself with the images that he replayed across his screen repeatedly, apparently.

Being the good agent that he was, Will had arranged to have several “nanny cams” installed throughout the house, back when they had to hire a babysitter to watch the twins when Indie was starting her new job at the hospital.

He’d seen no reason to trouble Indie with this information, and he’d simply checked the digital images randomly during that brief time. He had never had the motion activated cameras removed, and simply cleared them once a month or so now, without even looking at them. But now, they’d come in quite handy.

Will took a long, deep swig of the beer he had perched on the edge of the desk, savoring the cold, bitter bite from the hops. He held the liquid in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. Yeah, so he’d had a few. Indie was not big on drinking, and he had always limited himself, to keep the peace.

With more than a touch of defiance, he sucked down his fifth. The way he saw it, a few beers were definitely in order. Only the good stuff, though. Will hated cheap beer. He liked it dark and strong.

He took another deep swallow, and returned to his private viewing of Purgatory, watching and listening to every detail again; pausing to make sure he got the full taste of the parts that caused him the most pain.

One of the leading contenders for favorite scene was perhaps the one taking place now:
“William
Taylor
is
not
your
Equal,”
the one called Jackson said, and Indie had barked out a laugh.

“Like
that’s
supposed
to
be
news
to
me!
” she’d blurted out, before covering her mouth, looking embarrassed. Oh, but the damage was done.

Yeah, he had
really
liked that part. It was like a physical blow every time he heard it, and yet, he couldn’t stop.

He fast-forwarded to the place where Indie
invited
the son of a bitch in, to . . . to
touch
her!

Then the kiss. Let’s not forget that.

Will could not contain the expletive that that shot out of his throat, yet again, as it had for each ghastly viewing.

“
Bastard!”

Will stood and smashed his fist through the office door, rage consuming him. He focused the full force of his anger on this Jackson
thing
. This human-shaped monster. This freak was one of
them
!

The alien or whatever-the-hell-they-were, creatures that his government paid him to find, help capture and to interrogate.

They were considered a threat to society. “Super-human” creatures, they called them.

Human,
hell!

These beings had not been totally figured out, because no real information as to where they came from, or their origins had ever been obtained. However, he did know that the unknown constituted a danger. The agenda of these
things
was unknown, and one of them had marched right into his house and taken his wife.

Will allowed himself to dwell for a moment on the idea that, apparently, Indie was one of
them
too.

Right under his nose.

Closing his eyes tightly, he suppressed a sob.

What
an
unobservant
jerk
I
am.
I
really
never
studied
her
face
 . . .
or
paid
much
attention
to
her
at
all,
I
suppose,
he thought, with a shot of guilt.

“She just never seemed to need it,” he defended himself angrily, and out loud to no one in particular. “She always seemed to have a handle on everything . . . things just got done, and I never
had
to think about it.”

The truth of this slapped him hard across the face.

Time
to
wake
up,
jackass.

Indie
had
done everything for him, and he had just . . . let her. He had taken her for granted for years.

Will stalked into the kitchen and ripped open the refrigerator door, grabbing another beer, roughly.

No more after this one, though, he told himself. He couldn’t allow himself to get wasted, no matter how justified he felt. He had to remain in control of his faculties.

As he sought to open the dark brew, he realized he still had the revolver welded to his left palm, and shoved it hastily into the back waistband of his jeans. He resolved to get the thing back into its holster as soon as possible, because cold beer and loaded weapons seldom make good party favors when they are too close to one another.

Will despised anything he construed as weakness, and getting drunk and out of control was definitely weak. He sat down heavily at the kitchen table, taking a break from the torment he was inflicting upon himself.

In all actuality, he
had
indulged in a small act of weakness today; he had taken the day off from work. Not because he was weak, or to wallow in self-pity, he told himself, but to take care of business . . . figure out his next move. Yeah, that was it.

“Jesus, Max, would you shut the hell up!” The dog had not stopped pacing and whining restlessly all morning. Max folded his legs underneath himself, and dropped to the floor with an indignant huff.

Will’s head whipped around at the violent knock that shook the room. Frowning at the unnecessary force used, he walked briskly to the door, and yanked it open.

A kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen, stood on the porch, headphones on; the tune from his IPod clearly audible to anyone within twenty feet.

Fall Out Boy.

Will ground his teeth in disgust. “What do you want?” Will barked out, in his most drill sergeant-esque voice, irritated at the sight of the teen. The intruder jumped at the sound of Will’s command, which cut neatly through the music blaring into his ears.

“Uh . . . um, are you William Taylor?” the boy stammered, clearly uncomfortable. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, fidgeting. “Who wants to know?” demanded Will.

“Er . . . uh, I have something I was asked to deliver to him . . . to you?” The boy looked at him questioningly, and Will’s eyes dropped to the manila envelope the kid held. Sighing, he held out his hand.

“Yes, I’m William Taylor,” he growled impatiently. The kid tossed him the envelope, and turned and fled, quite obviously in a hurry to get the Hell out of sight.

Will stared after him for a moment, and then shut the door, shaking his head. After a careful examination of the envelope in question, he ripped it open and withdrew the papers inside.

It took only three seconds to comprehend the type of paperwork he was holding in his hands, as he scanned the words on the first page. It took another ten seconds for his body to react. Dropping the papers, he tore open the front door, and sprinted out into the road. No sign of the kid, anywhere.

Violently, Will kicked at a chunk of asphalt, to release the sudden rush of fresh rage and fury, sending it bouncing to the end of the street.

Divorce papers? What, not even twenty-four hours had passed, and he was getting divorce papers? His body seemed to lose all function at that moment.

He sagged to the pavement at the end of the driveway, and sat, trying to wrap his brain around the events taking place. How had things devolved into this sorry state of misery so quickly?

This was crazy.

As Will groped around mentally for something solid to latch onto, a movement in the wooded area across the street caught his eye. His body reacted instinctively, in full motion before his brain engaged, Will’s hand caught the revolver from the small of his back and leveled it directly at the figure across the street from him.

Only after the target was caught in the sight of his weapon did Will’s mind catch up. It took every single fiber in his muscular make-up to hold himself back from unloading the weapon as he recognized the . . .
thing
standing near the trees across from his house.

“
You!
”

Jackson held his hands away from his body as he stepped forward, partly annoyed at Will’s unexpected bolt out of the house, catching him off guard, and partly impressed at Will’s keen senses and rapid response.

“What in the hell could possibly have possessed you to come here? Come to gloat about your scoring of my wife, did you, asshole?” Jackson’s respect for the other man’s abilities dried up quickly.

“Not at all, William Taylor. I wasn’t planning a face-to-face with you, actually. Who knew you’d come stumbling out of the house like that?” He looked around stealthily to make sure no neighbors were nearby doing any dog or power walking.