Suzanna's Surrender

“I have to be at work in an hour or so.” With the bowl of eggs in her hands, she stopped to stare out of the window. He recognized the look in her eyes and rubbed a hand over her shoulder. “Don't.”

“I'm sorry.” She turned to the stove to pour the beaten eggs into the skillet. “I can't help but wonder what they're doing, if they're having a good time. They've never been away before.”

“Hasn't he taken them for a weekend?”

“No, just a couple of afternoons that weren't terribly successful.” She made an effort to shake the mood as she stirred the eggs. “Well, there's only thirteen days left to go.”

“You're not helping them or yourself by getting worked up.” His impotence grated as he fought to massage the tension from her shoulders.

“I'm fine. I will be fine,” she corrected. “I've got more than enough to keep me busy for the next couple of weeks. And with the kids gone, I can put in more time trying to find the emeralds.”

“You leave that to me.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “This is a team effort, Holt. It always has been.”

“I'm involved now, and I'll handle it.”

She dished the eggs up as carefully as she chose her words. “I appreciate your help. All of us do. But they're called the Calhoun emeralds for a reason. Two of my sisters have been threatened because of them.”

“Exactly my point. You're out of your league with Livingston, Suzanna. He's smart and he's brutal. He won't ask you nicely to get out of his way.”

Turning, she handed him his plate. “I'm accustomed to smart, brutal men, and I've already spent enough of my life being afraid.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said.” She lifted her plate, and the mug of coffee. “I won't let some thief intimidate me or make me afraid to do what's best for myself and my family.”

But Holt was shaking his head. That wasn't the answer he'd wanted. “Are you afraid of Dumont? Physically?”

Her gaze wavered then leveled. “We're talking about the emeralds.” She tried to move by him, but Holt blocked her path. His eyes had gone dark, but when he spoke his voice was softer, more controlled than she had ever heard it.

“Did he hit you?”

Her color deepened, then raced away from her cheeks. “What?” “I want to know if Dumont ever hit you.”

Nerves were tightening her throat. No matter how quiet his voice, there was a terrible gleam of violence in his eyes. “The eggs are getting cold, Holt, and I'm hungry.”

He fought back the urge to hurl the plate against the wall. He sat, waited for her to take the seat across from him. She looked very frail and very composed in the stream of sunlight. “I want an answer, Suzanna.” He picked up his coffee and sipped as she toyed with her food. He knew how to wait and how to push.

“No.” Her voice was flat as she took the first bite. “He never hit me.”

“Just knocked you around?” He kept his voice casual and ate without tasting. Her gaze flicked up to his, then away.

“There are a lot of ways to intimidate and demoralize, Holt. After that, humiliation is a snap.” Picking up a slice of toast, she buttered it carefully. “You're nearly out of bread.”

“What did he do to you?” “Let it go.”

“What,” he repeated slowly, “did he do to you?” “He made me face facts.”

“Such as?”

“That I was pitifully inadequate as a wife of a corporate lawyer with social and political ambitions.”

“Why?”

She slammed down the knife. “Is this how you interrogate suspects?” Anger, he thought. That was better. “It's a simple question.”

“And you want a simple answer? Fine. He married me because of my name. He thought there was a bit more money as well as prestige attached to it, but the Calhoun name was more than adequate. Unfortunately it became quickly apparent that I wasn't the social boon he'd imagined. My dinner party conversation was pedestrian at best. I could be dressed up to look the part of the prominent wife of a politically ambitious attorney, but I could never quite pull it off. It was, as he told me often, a huge disappointment that I couldn't get it through my head what was expected of me. That I was boring, in the drawing room, the dining room and the bedroom.”

She sprang up to scrape the rest of her meal into Sadie's bowl. “Does that answer your question?”

“No.” Holt pushed his plate away and pulled out a cigarette. “I'd like to know how he convinced you that you were at fault.”

Keeping her back to him, she straightened. “Because I loved him. Or I loved the man I thought I'd married, and I wanted, very badly, to be the woman he'd be proud of. But the harder I tried, the more I failed. Then I had Alex, and it seemed...I had done something so incredible. I'd brought that beautiful baby into the world. And it was so easy, so natural for me to be a mother. I never had any doubts, any missteps. I was so happy, so focused on the child and the family we'd begun, that I didn't realize that Bax was discreetly finding more exciting companionship. Not until I found out I was going to have Jenny.”

“So he cheated on you.” His voice was deceptively mild. “What did you do about it?”