“Almost there,” he says, stroking his long finger down her cheek. Andrea flinches away, turning her head to one side. “You look so much better now. Except for that shitty clown hair, but we’ll fix it up. We’ll make you right again, Jenna.”
“I’m not Jenna!” Andrea half screams, half rasps, her teeth chattering, her voice weak.
I get a sick sense it’s hardly the first time she’s said it.
“You will be.” Justin’s expression goes colder than the ice, his voice flat, his eyes a total black void.
“Justin!” I snap, just wanting to get his attention.
Anything to distract him from this shitshow. This senseless nightmare.
Anything to keep him from hurting her more.
“That’s Andrea. It’s not Jenna. Let her go. Let us both go.”
“You don’t tell me what to do. You’re not even his wife!” He whips toward me, his upper lip curled in a sneer. Even with that twisted, hateful expression, he’s still so empty it’s unnerving, his voice toneless. “Did you honestly think I’d let you take them from me? Take Chief from me? Take her from me?” His eyes glow eerily as he steps closer to me. “They’re family. My father and…and Jenna. You can’t have them.”
That’s when my heart stops and the gravity of what we’re dealing with sinks in.
Fear hits like a tsunami wave, making me numb, yet hyperaware. I can’t look away from this psychopath—from those chilling eyes, that blank stare.
“You can’t have them if you hurt Andrea,” I whisper. “She’ll die of frostbite like this. And Blake will never forgive you. He’ll never be your dad if you hurt her.”
I swallow hard.
Jesus, I hope I’m doing this right. It’s not like there’s a guidebook or anything for talking down someone who’s gone dangerously off the deep end.
I can’t even begin to understand what Justin’s going through.
What’s happened to warp him this freaking much.
But I remember overhearing it when they were washing dishes, that day we all had dinner.
How he’s always seen Blake like a father.
And Jenna Ford, Blake told me about her, how she died thanks to another man gone crazy with greed.
Whatever happened to twist Justin’s need for a surrogate to the point where he thinks Andrea is Jenna and Blake is somehow his father…
I have to stop it.
I’ve got to snap him back to reality before it’s too late.
But I flinch as he slams the heel of his palm into the ice next to my head, and nearly scream as my cheek pulls against the ice. It rips free from the thin skim frozen against my skin, leaving half my face on fire.
Breathing hard, I stop panicking, struggling not to burst out crying, fighting not to black out.
I don’t think I’m bleeding, just a little frost burned, but God does it smart in the nastiest way.
And Justin seems to enjoy it.
His mouth forms a vicious jack-o-lantern grin as he leans over me.
“I know your ways,” he whispers. “Siren-seductress-Medusa, destroyer of men. I won’t listen to your lies, witch. But if you really want to save them, you’ll do what I say.”
I lick my parched lips.
Andrea’s sob eats into me, but I can’t look away from Justin.
“What? What do you want me to do?” I ask, forcing the words.
“I,” he hisses, catching a handful of my hair and making me cry out, “want you to make them take me seriously.”
He jerks my head, neck whiplashing, and suddenly I can feel heat again as the sharp spikes of agony rush through me. He shakes me roughly a few more times, then stops, leaning closer, leering at me with his eyes too wide and his teeth bared.
I’ve never seen anything scarier in my life.
No movie monster compares with the insane terror of a man pushed over the edge.
“Everyone calls them heroes,” he hisses. “Everyone! When they bring nothing but pain and misery to this town. The real heroes die so they get all the praise. Jenna. My mother. They might as well have killed them themselves. And everyone always sees them—them! They’re so strong, they’re so brave, they’ve suffered so much…what about my suffering? What about my strength? What about what I’ve lived through? What I’ve suffered? What I’ve lost?” His voice cracks like a very dangerous, very lost little boy.
I don’t even know if I want to cry for myself…or cry for him.
I have to try again to talk to him. To reach him through the terrible pain he must be in that turns his world into this black-and-white projection of every wrong he’s ever suffered, amplified a thousandfold.
If I can ease my clients’ pain, I can stop this.
Can’t I?
Even if I’m shaking down to my core, in so much pain I could pass out, I keep my voice low, soothing. I try to channel Blake from his advice line, the voice that made me fall in love.