Be My Valentino. Sandra D. Bricker
“You sure do toss that wife label around lightly, don’t you?”
“Look,” he said, slamming the car door shut, “this is really none of your business. What are you, the new boyfriend? That’s . . . well, it’s adorable.”
Stanton’s sarcastic lilt set acid to churning in Danny’s gut, lifting a foamy fire into his throat. “Almost as adorable as you leaving one wife to flop on a beach with another. Grow tired of the little umbrella drinks, did you? Oh, wait, no. Once you were stupid enough to try and vacation in a country with an extradition treaty, you probably didn’t have much choice in the matter. You received your return flight ticket courtesy of the FBI, I believe.”
As Stanton turned away from him, Danny quickly patted every pocket with open palms in search of his cell phone. When he finally found it tucked into the front of his shirt, he grabbed it and redialed Rafe. Just as he answered, Danny spotted Stanton already at Jessie’s door.
“Rafe!” he exclaimed, sprinting up the driveway. “We need some help over at Jessie’s apartment on Pinafore. Stanton is—” His words came to a grinding halt as Jessie opened her door. “No! Jessie, go back inside.”
“Callahan?” Rafe bellowed over the line. “What’s going on?”
“Go back inside and bolt the door.”
He watched helplessly as Jessie’s terror-ridden face curled up and she pushed the door shut; but his insides flopped with a thud as Stanton pushed it open again, charged inside and closed it behind him.
* * *
Jessie backed away from Jack in three enormous steps, grabbing the first thing her hand touched and whipped it in front of her. The large candle fell to the floor as she wielded the holder like a sword.
“Are you serious?” Jack asked her, one corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.
“Get out of here now, Jack, or I’ll show you how serious I am.”
Danny’s thunderous pounding on the front door let her know Jack had locked it behind him. She scanned the bolts and realized it was just the doorknob latch he’d secured, and she almost laughed out loud. That flimsy thing wouldn’t keep Danny out for long.
“What do you want, Jack?”
“I just want to talk to you—”
“I’m guessing you’ve got about thirty seconds, so you’d better be succinct.”
“—make sure you understand.”
“Understand which part? There are so many facets to my confusion.”
Jack darted toward her and grabbed her by the wrist, twisting until the candle holder fell to the floor, bounced twice, and rolled away.
“Let go of me!”
“It wasn’t supposed to go the way it did,” he blurted, sparks of desperation flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to let it get so out of hand. I need you to know that, Jessie. I always loved you.”
She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but couldn’t manage it. She winced in pain.
“I need you to back me up. I need you in my corner, or they’re going to put me away.”
Not that she found anything about the current situation the least bit funny, but for some reason, she chuckled. “Are we even married, Jack? I need to know because there seems to be some confusion about whether you and Patty ever even divorced.”
“I . . .”
With that, the front door flew open and Danny stormed in.
“I really need to know,” she cried as Danny pried Jack’s grip loose. “Jack, you owe me the truth. Were we ever married?”
Before he could answer, Danny sent him flying backward with one punch to his midsection, and he crumpled like a wadded piece of paper on the floor. While he groaned, Danny stepped in front of Jessie, acting as a barrier between them, leaving Jessie to peer around the slope of his muscular shoulder.
“Please,” she appealed to him. “Just tell me.”
Jack raked back his hair with both hands as he glared up at them. Just when she thought she might have to give up on getting a straight answer out of the complete stranger on her floor, he let out a grumbly sort of sigh.
“No,” he stated. “I never divorced Patty.”
Those four words swirled around in her ears until she could hardly stand them anymore.
“Thirteen years,” she muttered. “You let me believe we were married for thirteen years.”
She collapsed to the arm of the slightly used charcoal chenille sofa that had replaced the pale sage Tommy Bahama in their sham of a dream house, and she rubbed her forehead until it ached.
She hadn’t realized Jack made it to his feet again until he spoke. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I really need you to understa—”
“That’s enough,” Danny declared as he stomped toward Jack and grabbed his arm. “You need to leave.”
“So this is the new one, Jessie?”
She jerked her attention to Jack and dropped her hands to her lap. What did he mean? The new what?
“He’s not doing a very good job taking care of you. I mean, look around at this place. It’s a dump.”
“But it’s my dump,” she muttered. An assertive wave washed over her as she added, “And I don’t need anyone taking care of me. I can do that all by myself.”
“Oh, come on. You’ve been wobbling around on those two feet for . . . I’ve known you for how many years?”
“Zero,” she replied, popping up off the sofa and planting herself next to it. “You don’t know me at all. And heaven knows I’ve never really known you either.”
“Jessie, listen—”
“I’m through listening to you, Jack.”
“On your way,” she barely heard Danny tell him.
“Jessie, listen. They’re going to be hauling you in to talk to you about—”
“Am I not speaking English?” Danny chided. “Move it. Let’s go.”
Jessie didn’t turn around until she heard Danny struggling with the door and turn the deadbolts, one by one.
“We’ve got to get you a new door,” he said. “I’ll take care of that tomorrow.”
“No,” she blurted, rigid as she yelled at him. “I’m not your project, Danny. You don’t have to replace my door . . . or even break it down when the big, bad wolf comes knocking. Although in this case, I didn’t entirely mind that you did.”
He moved cautiously toward her and touched her arm, speaking in the softest, sweetest voice. “You’re okay, angel. He’s gone now.”
For some odd reason, it galled her that he seemed to know her so well. She wasn’t angry at him at all, and he instinctively knew it. She wondered if he also discerned the direction of her anger; toward Jack and the words he’d so callously spoken. She despised the truth lingering in what he’d said, hovering over the accusations of frailty and weakness like a pregnant storm cloud. Frowning, she turned away from Danny and sighed.
“You can go now,” she somehow managed to say without whimpering.
“Jessie . . .”
“Please go.”
With her back to him and her ears perked, she listened as he considered her words and sighed. His footsteps creaked over the floorboards—those dumb laminate floorboards—and he released a soft groan as he wrestled with the door.
“Lock