Black Widow
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Janice Kay Johnson
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15.8K
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19
A kiss good-night… Could be deadly Jordan Hendrick has had her guard up for as long as she can remember. It was hard enough surviving an abusive past with the "hometown hero," let alone the accusations and rumors that followed his death at her hands in self-defense. But someone wants revenge and Jordan is the number one suspect in a string of murders. Victims all connected to her — men whose only crime was going out with Jordan. So trusting her new next-door neighbor, Tom Moore, is no easy endeavor. He's handsome, a fierce defender and stand-in bodyguard when threats zero in on Jordan. The perfect catch…or the next casualty?
Prologue
The front door slammed. She straightened, the muscles between her shoulders knotting as her husband stomped toward the kitchen with a heavy tread that roused fear she hadn’t felt in a while. They’d been doing so well! He’d been especially unhappy at work recently, though, and if his supervisor so much as mentioned he’d been impolite to a customer, it would have festered all day. If he’d been fired...
The pie! After grabbing pot holders, she hastily took it from the oven, shoving the door shut with one foot. He’d be happy that she’d baked it for him, wouldn’t he?
A solidly built man who towered a foot over her average height, his hands were already tightened into fists when he came in sight and a dark scowl made his face ugly. “What’s that?”
“It’s...it’s a raspberry pie.” Hating herself for feeling timid, she held it out even though it was too hot for him to take into his hands. “Raspberries are just coming ripe. When I saw them, I thought about you—”
He advanced on her, menace in his body language. “Where did you see them?”
She retreated until her back came up against the kitchen table. “I...had lunch with Mom. We stopped at the farmers’ market after.”
“Who were you meeting?” snarled the man she had once believed she loved and had been trying to convince herself she could love again.
“What?” Her tongue tangled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Then why didn’t you tell me you were seeing your mother today?”
He was so close now, she felt his spittle on her cheeks. Her hands shook. If she didn’t set this pie down... “She called this morning—I didn’t think—”
“You thought wrong!” he bellowed, fist already swinging. Connecting with her right cheekbone.
Crying out, she staggered and dropped the pie. The ceramic dish shattered at her feet, splattering its hot contents on her legs and his. As she cowered, she couldn’t tell if her blurred vision was from the blow or from tears.
“You promised!” she cried. He’d sobbed when he apologized and swore he’d never hurt her again.
“You know the rules.” His next blow struck her shoulder as she turned away to protect herself. “You tell me if you have to leave the house before you leave it.”
She fell to her knees and then hands, which slid in the berry filling. Blood. It looked like blood.
He kicked her in the belly before she could curl into a ball to protect herself.
“No!” she cried. “I was trying to do something nice for you!”
“You think I’m a fool?” The blows kept coming.
After the time when she thought she might die, almost six months ago, she’d sworn that she wouldn’t submit to this again. Now, fear awakened anger. She wouldn’t be his punching bag because something had gone wrong today.
Even knowing it to be useless, she thrashed, kicking her feet out at him.
His booted foot slammed into her, over and over, as if her ineffectual struggles only enraged him more. Terrified, she looked up to see his gun in his hand. He always carried it somewhere on him. Nobody was going to tell him he couldn’t. Not even his boss.
Now, it was aimed right at her, and she saw death in his eyes.
He was supposed to love her. And now...was it too late to stop him?
No. Somehow, she calculated distance and angle. Sliding to her back, she slammed both feet up as hard as she could, with such effort her butt left the kitchen floor. Those feet struck him right where it hurt him most.
On a guttural cry, he clutched himself, letting the gun slip out of his hand. It fell into the mess from the dropped pie. This was her only chance.
She flung herself forward and got her hand on that gun. He bragged about having one of those cop pieces with no safety, so she didn’t have to think whether it was locked or not and take a chance of getting it wrong.
“You bitch!” he screamed, and followed that up with a string of the worst obscenities she’d ever heard. “I’m going to kill you. I swear I am.”
Despite his pain, he kicked her head. Ears ringing, she slid a few feet, but still managed to lift the gun and point it at him. Trying to scrabble away gained her mere inches. Pain splintered through her head.
Through chattering teeth, she cried, “Leave me alone—Let me go, or I swear...”
He threw his big muscular body at her.
She pulled the trigger. Once, twice...and he crashed down on her. Her head hit the floor, and the whole world went black.
