83
In the parlor of the hunting lodge, door closed, Allison Parker sat slowly back on the couch that had been her hospital bed for the past few hours.
The pill had been humming like a quiet engine and she was nearly pain free. And not as groggy as she’d expected. It was one hell of a drug and she could see why Jon had fallen for it.
She watched her ex-husband pull up a chair and sit opposite her, the same chair, the same spot where Colter Shaw had just been.
Jon Merritt... the man who had once been her husband, the man with whom she’d shared so very much.
With whom she’d spent joyous and energetic and playful times in bed.
With whom she’d created a child, a beautiful and smart and unique child.
With whom she’d fought bitterly to save herself and that very daughter.
He sighed.
And as he did, Parker cocked her head and inhaled. She tried not to react but suspected the tiniest of frowns crossed her face.
Jon laughed. “Can’t smell anything, can you?”
“I...” She was blushing.
“It’s all right. No, I haven’t had a drink since the day of my sentencing. And for the record, not a wise idea to show up drunk in front of a judge.”
She glanced toward the door, referring, in silence, to the bottle of bourbon, which Colter Shaw had removed from the backpack.
“I bought it yesterday morning. I needed to see that I could handle it. Never even opened it. The most powerful stuff I’ve been drinking since I’ve been out’s been Pepsi. Straight, no chaser.”
She said, “I heard about that—in the Al-Anon meetings. People who were dry would sometimes get a bottle and keep it close. To test themselves.”
He nodded. “You were in Al-Anon. Hannah Alateen. You did that for me.”
Parker shrugged. “Didn’t last long. For her. Me either.”
He sighed. “That’s not on you, A.P. The program only works if I meet you halfway. And I didn’t get close.” He rested his palm on her unwounded thigh, tentatively, as if prepared for her to whisk it off.
She didn’t.
He said, “We don’t have much time. Need to get a few things said.”
“Jon.”
“Need to.”
This was his imploring self. From the old days. Dead serious and orbiting around the important.
But, my God, he was a man who would talk to you. And listen. How rare is that?
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Beacon Hill.”
This wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She thought he would bring up her betrayal under the seahorse.
He spoke the next words slowly. “The Beacon Hill incident... Sounds kind of like a thriller novel, doesn’t it?”
Allison Parker wouldn’t know.Advanced Semiconductor Applications in Radioactive Environmentswas on her bedside table.