Guilty as Sin by Tami Hoag Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tami Hoag
or if you just want to talk."
"No. It's just a mistake," Karen mumbled to herself, stroking the rush through her hair.
He watched Ellen North emerge from the Fontaine Hotel, wondered hat she'd got. Karen was there, being watched by a hundred eyes. He wanted to go to her, talk to her, but that wasn't possible. She would never betray him. He consoled himself with that thought even as fear rose inside him like a tide of acid.
Life had betrayed him again and again, tricked him into thinking he wanted one thing when he needed something else. The job, the house, the car, the trophy bride. Every time he grabbed a prize, he found he wanted something else. The hunger never abated, it simply changed its guise.
He wanted someone to blame for that, but he could never see where the blame should lie. When he was younger, he had blamed his parents. His father, a man who settled for less than his family deserved, and his mother, a woman who stood in her husband's shadow. Lately, he had thrown the blame at Hannah's feet. Her career came first, before her family, before him. She had never been any man's shadow. Her shadow fell across him. And he hated her for it.
Ironically, no one else blamed Hannah for anything. Throughout this ordeal they had painted her as a victim, as a valiant figure struggling to cope. Poor Hannah, the mother whose child had been taken. Poor Hannah, she helped so many people, she didn't deserve all this pain.
Poor Hannah, who had left their son standing outside the skating rink while she'd tended someone else's needs at the hospital. Poor Hannah, who'd sat at home waiting for the phone to ring while he had gone out and beat the bushes with the search teams and made pleas on television.
No one ever said "poor Paul". Thanks to that BCA bitch O'Malley, they had turned to him with suspicious eyes because of that damned van. They had tried to tie him to Olie Swain, had tried to blame everything on him when he had done everything he could to play the hero.
A victim, that was what he really was. A victim of circumstance. A victim of fate. He didn't even have a home to go to tonight.
". . . I don't know who you are anymore, but I know I'm sick of your lies and your accusations. I'm sick of you blaming me for losing Josh, when all you seem to want to do is bury him and hope the cameras get your good side at the funeral!"
"I don't have to listen to this." He looked away from her, away from the contempt in her eyes.
"No," Hannah said, picking up his coat off the back of the sofa. She flung it at him, her mouth trembling with fury and with the effort to hold the tears at bay. "You don't have to listen to me anymore. And I don't have to put up with your moods and your wounded male ego and your stupid petty jealousy. I'm through with it! I'm through with you... You don't live here anymore, Paul."
The scene played through his mind. Saturday night. Mitch Holt had come to give them the news of Garrett Wright's arrest.
Hannah would divorce him. And everyone would look at her and say, "Poor Hannah." No one would look at what had been taken from him. No one would say, "Poor Paul" . . . except Karen. No one understood him except Karen.
A yawn pulled at Ellen's mouth and she gave in to it, stretching, rustling the thick down comforter that covered her legs and drawing a one-eyed look from the big golden retriever sprawled across the foot of her bed.
"I know it's late, Harry," Ellen said, shoving her reading glasses up on her nose. She resettled herself against the mountain of pillows and among the piles of law books and fought off another yawn. The cube-shaped clock radio on the cherry bedside stand pronounced it to be 12:25 a.m. "I'm working to put away the guy who took Josh."
The dog whined a little, as if he, too, had absorbed the hours of news coverage about the abduction.
Ellen let Minnesota Rules of Court—State and Federal fall shut in
"No. It's just a mistake," Karen mumbled to herself, stroking the rush through her hair.
He watched Ellen North emerge from the Fontaine Hotel, wondered hat she'd got. Karen was there, being watched by a hundred eyes. He wanted to go to her, talk to her, but that wasn't possible. She would never betray him. He consoled himself with that thought even as fear rose inside him like a tide of acid.
Life had betrayed him again and again, tricked him into thinking he wanted one thing when he needed something else. The job, the house, the car, the trophy bride. Every time he grabbed a prize, he found he wanted something else. The hunger never abated, it simply changed its guise.
He wanted someone to blame for that, but he could never see where the blame should lie. When he was younger, he had blamed his parents. His father, a man who settled for less than his family deserved, and his mother, a woman who stood in her husband's shadow. Lately, he had thrown the blame at Hannah's feet. Her career came first, before her family, before him. She had never been any man's shadow. Her shadow fell across him. And he hated her for it.
Ironically, no one else blamed Hannah for anything. Throughout this ordeal they had painted her as a victim, as a valiant figure struggling to cope. Poor Hannah, the mother whose child had been taken. Poor Hannah, she helped so many people, she didn't deserve all this pain.
Poor Hannah, who had left their son standing outside the skating rink while she'd tended someone else's needs at the hospital. Poor Hannah, who'd sat at home waiting for the phone to ring while he had gone out and beat the bushes with the search teams and made pleas on television.
No one ever said "poor Paul". Thanks to that BCA bitch O'Malley, they had turned to him with suspicious eyes because of that damned van. They had tried to tie him to Olie Swain, had tried to blame everything on him when he had done everything he could to play the hero.
A victim, that was what he really was. A victim of circumstance. A victim of fate. He didn't even have a home to go to tonight.
". . . I don't know who you are anymore, but I know I'm sick of your lies and your accusations. I'm sick of you blaming me for losing Josh, when all you seem to want to do is bury him and hope the cameras get your good side at the funeral!"
"I don't have to listen to this." He looked away from her, away from the contempt in her eyes.
"No," Hannah said, picking up his coat off the back of the sofa. She flung it at him, her mouth trembling with fury and with the effort to hold the tears at bay. "You don't have to listen to me anymore. And I don't have to put up with your moods and your wounded male ego and your stupid petty jealousy. I'm through with it! I'm through with you... You don't live here anymore, Paul."
The scene played through his mind. Saturday night. Mitch Holt had come to give them the news of Garrett Wright's arrest.
Hannah would divorce him. And everyone would look at her and say, "Poor Hannah." No one would look at what had been taken from him. No one would say, "Poor Paul" . . . except Karen. No one understood him except Karen.
A yawn pulled at Ellen's mouth and she gave in to it, stretching, rustling the thick down comforter that covered her legs and drawing a one-eyed look from the big golden retriever sprawled across the foot of her bed.
"I know it's late, Harry," Ellen said, shoving her reading glasses up on her nose. She resettled herself against the mountain of pillows and among the piles of law books and fought off another yawn. The cube-shaped clock radio on the cherry bedside stand pronounced it to be 12:25 a.m. "I'm working to put away the guy who took Josh."
The dog whined a little, as if he, too, had absorbed the hours of news coverage about the abduction.
Ellen let Minnesota Rules of Court—State and Federal fall shut in
Similar Books
Road Trips
Adrian Lilly
Clickers vs Zombies
Brian Keene, J.F. Gonzalez
Magnet
Viola Grace
Master's Submission
Helena Harker
Warszawa II
Norbert Bacyk
The Marquis
Michael O'Neill
Lady In Disguise (The Langley Sisters)
Wendy Vella
Across Frozen Seas
John Wilson
Talker's Redemption
Amy Lane