Lawman's Perfect Surrender. Jennifer Morey
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and that’s why she’d lost her head. He was a cop. A handsome cop. Seeing him standing outside the community center in front of his big black Escalade had given her the impression of ominous power. He hadn’t disappointed close up, either. His blue eyes had riveted her. His wind-tousled blond hair made her imagine running her fingers through the thick, healthy strands. His height and muscular build only added to his general aura of indomitable strength and resolve. Sureness built from experience. And then there was the uniform. Something about it fascinated her. He was a lawman. A representation of everything Jed wasn’t.
Ford’s effect on her still lingered, warm and mysterious. Jed had made her feel things, too. Things that had turned out to be false. Just because Ford was a cop didn’t mean she could throw her heart at him and trust him to take care of it. She had to stop jumping into relationships that way. Heart first.
Getting out of her car and pressing the lock button on her fob, she walked toward the front door of the old house she’d bought. She glanced around to make sure Jed didn’t pop out of the fading light. The sun had sunk beyond the horizon but the sky still held a blue hue, casting her house in shadows. Two stories with gabled windows and a covered porch, it was painted a dark steel blue with off-white trim and had a maroon door. White daisies flourished along the front. Their glowing white pedals were eerie in the dimming light.
She stepped up the stairs and used her key to unlock the door, glancing around again. When she stepped inside, freshly treated dark wood floors, white trim and neutrally colored walls would normally welcome her. Instead she looked for signs of Jed. Pausing to lock the door, she listened for any sounds. Silence. Nothing had changed since she’d left. Everything was as it had been.
She turned and passed an open stairway on her way to the kitchen, flipping on a light to chase the shadows away. Still, she couldn’t shake the apprehension warning her that Jed might reappear. She’d had a bad feeling when he’d started sending her emails. It was as if he was stalking her. She’d shown the emails to Lacy, who’d been concerned and that had made Gemma worry more. He hadn’t threatened her in them, only pleaded with her to come home. Creepy. And then he’d shown up in Cold Plains, exactly what she’d feared.
She wondered if Lacy had been the one to tell Samuel about her attack. Lacy had been the first person she’d called. Since she’d moved here, they’d grown close. Gemma met her at the coffee shop and she’d invited her to a seminar. They’d struck up an instant friendship.
After opening the refrigerator, Gemma shut it again, no longer craving iced tea. She was too unsettled, unable to quell the feeling of lurking danger. Her gaze travelled over the soft green cabinets to the colorful window dressings above the darkened window.
She tried to redirect her focus, turning it toward the house she loved so much. All the furniture and appliances were the best money could buy, thanks to a long-building savings account she’d kept secret, and the sizable chunk of money she’d taken from Jed. It wasn’t all his money anyway. They’d been married and he’d lost that part of the court proceedings. The judge had given her even more than she’d asked for. Half of everything, and everything was a lot. His parents had left him a fortune before alcoholism killed them in their fifties. She figured Jed owed her anyway, after the way he’d abused her and hoarded their money. He was an animal disguised as a successful orthopedic doctor. He probably enjoyed setting broken bones for the pain it caused his patients.
Lifting her hand, she felt the sore skin around her temple where his fist had split it open. Then she glided it down to her swollen nose and mouth where a cut still stung. She still hurt deep inside her torso but those bruises were healing now. Her leg muscles were sore from trying to kick him or fight free of him. Her shoulders. Her whole body was sore from the violent struggle.
When I come back, you better be ready, he’d hissed in that evil voice she’d learned to dread. Full of warped love. You’ll either come back home with me, or I’ll kill you, Gemma.
Just before letting her battered body drop to the floor of this very room, he’d added, You’re my wife.
She wasn’t. Not anymore. He was just crazy. Pure crazy. Didn’t he remember the divorce? He’d been furious with the outcome, with how much the judge had given her of his money. Let her take it. Steal it, as he’d said. Maybe that was enough to make him snap. He’d snapped long before that, but he’d never threatened to kill her before. It didn’t matter. She believed him now.
Sighing, she looked around her beautiful kitchen, small but quaint with tiled countertops sparsely adorned with glass canisters and a basket of red apples. The single white-trimmed back door led to a courtyard-like backyard, bursting with wildflowers, and a terraced vegetable garden. She wished he hadn’t attacked her here. He’d poisoned her fresh start. Her new life in a safe town. He’d shaken her security and she hated him for that. She hated herself more for allowing it to happen.
Her mother would say, “I told you so,” speaking from experience. She hadn’t done any better with her own husband. Mom had always dreamed of finding that special someone who’d take care of her. Take care of everything, including her own thinking. Except she’d missed the part where she had to choose the right man. And now it looked as if she’d passed that lack of talent onto her girls. Gemma had most certainly chosen badly. Her sister, Gillian, didn’t appear to want to settle down yet. She was too busy sleeping with every man who’d have her. No good choice in any of them, either.
All Gemma had ever wanted was to find her way. Being raised by a mother who’d struggled to support the three of them had set her back. Not because of the lack of money, because her mother was incapable of taking charge of her own life. Gemma had spent too much time growing up without guidance. She’d needed guidance. It hadn’t been until she’d arrived in Cold Plains and met Samuel Grayson that she’d realized that. She was handicapped. But not anymore. Now she had the guidance she so desperately needed. With it, she’d find herself and she’d grow in the right direction and succeed. She’d be whole for the first time in her life.
It was exhilarating. Just knowing she had the power to overcome. Having the affirmation. The support. Her soul was starved for it. Living here gave her a glimmer of real happiness and the hope to prosper. No way was she giving that up. Somehow she’d have to deal with Jed. She’d have to face him, on his terms if necessary. With violence. Somehow she’d find the courage. Right now, though, she had her doubts. His timing couldn’t be worse. She was still weak. He’d made her that way. And he meant to keep her that way.
A sound at the front door sent her heart into a frantic rhythm. Someone had just tried the knob. Was Jed back already? He hadn’t said how long he’d give her. The sun had set now and it was dark in her living room.
Walking softly to the kitchen drawer, Gemma slid it open and lifted a butcher knife. Next, she went to the table where she’d left her purse and began digging for her cell phone and the card Ford had given her. Clutching both, she went to the front window and peeked around the edge of the swooping deep blue drapes to look through the open wood blinds. She couldn’t see very far through the darkness and she hadn’t yet turned on her exterior lights.
Her heart throbbed, fear tightening her throat and drying her mouth. What should she do? Had she imagined the sound? No. Someone had tried to open the door. Jed. She’d left it open for him before. Maybe he thought he’d get lucky again.
Going to the front door, she flipped the light switch beside it and peered through the peephole. Nothing. Just as she began to relax, breaking glass from the kitchen made her jump and turn. Jed stood on the other side of her back door, his arm reaching inside to unlock the door.
Screaming, she faced the door again and tried to release the lock. The knife and the phone made it difficult. She couldn’t put them down. She had to call for help. But how would she do that? She wouldn’t have time. With a frantic glance behind her, she saw Jed storming into her kitchen, deep-set, light gray eyes full of evil. He was almost six feet tall and well-muscled without being stocky. A terrifying sight.
The knife fell to the floor as she released the lock. She yanked open the door just as Jed reached her, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. She lost