Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,67

Mark was fourteen. He killed one of the two boys who saved Reece from him. The other boy was Jones, now Reece’s husband.”

Now the horror was in Stephen’s eyes. She made her fingers go slack around his so he could pull away if he wanted. She breathed out a sigh because the day was still beautiful and sunny, and she could talk outside of therapy about the evil she’d lived with and slept with and gotten pregnant with.

What would Stephen do now? Flee? Suddenly find excuses to avoid seeing her? Immerse himself in work and his real life and push her into a dark corner of his mind where, thank God, he didn’t often have to go?

She waited, feeling oddly calm. She’d told the worst of the story, and she’d survived the telling. Her palms were sweaty. Her chest was tight. But she hadn’t cried. She hadn’t shattered into a million pieces. She hadn’t lost control. And she felt...

Freer. Cleaner. Less tainted.

Seconds ticked past. Ten, fifteen, twenty. He was shell-shocked. Apparently, he didn’t know what to say or what to do, and so he said nothing, did nothing. Somewhere after thirty seconds, he released her hand, and her gut tightened. Disappointment tasted raw and sour in her stomach, rising up her throat.

Then he stood, pulled her from the chair, wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. His cheek rested against her hair and his soft words hovered over her ear. “You’re an amazing woman, Macy.”

It was the same day as thirty minutes, thirty seconds, ago, but somehow it seemed more beautiful, the sun brighter and warmer and full of healing light. For the first time since finding out she’d married a psychopathic killer, surely for the first time since she’d lost the baby she carried, she knew she was a lucky woman.

Because everything was going to be all right.

* * *

Stephen had been speechless plenty of times in his life—practically any interaction involving nongeeks when he was a teenager—but usually he recovered his ability of speech quickly enough. Beyond those five words, though, he had trouble settling his mind on any single aspect of Macy’s tale.

She’d been married to a serial killer.

Spent months in a hospital to treat severe vegetative depression.

Had a daughter with and been pregnant again by a man who killed to let off steam.

A serial killer who, along with his partner, had killed more than forty victims.

And Macy and baby Clary had had no clue.

God, no wonder she didn’t want to move back to Copper Lake.

No wonder being in the house freaked her out.

No wonder she had difficulty trusting.

But she’d trusted him. She’d trusted him enough to tell him everything. To tell him nightmares she’d never shared outside of her family and the hospital where she’d been committed.

Committed.

God, he still couldn’t completely grasp it. These sorts of things just didn’t happen to normal people, and those were the only kind of people he knew. Everyday normal, worked for a living, loved their families, worried about jobs and crime and keeping their kids out of trouble. Those were the kind of people he dealt with.

But he was falling in love with a woman who was as different as they came.

Not true, he immediately denied. Macy loved her family. She worried about her daughter. So she had money, didn’t need a job, had no concerns on that angle. She’d been married to a serial killer so crime had struck closer to home for her than most.

She was as everyday normal as anyone could be.

And she felt so damned good in his arms.

Barely audible over the mingled sounds of their breathing, she whispered, “If you want to walk away and forget you ever met me, I’ll understand.”

She would regret it, the quick tightening of her hands against his back suggested, but she would understand.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m a geek. I’m fashion-challenged. I’m a vet. I’m a midlist fantasy author. Obviously, I’m not easily deterred.”

Her hands tightened again, and she rested her cheek against his chest. After a moment of simply breathing, she finally lifted her head. “I suppose we should reclaim my child from Anamaria before she begs to go home with them. She’s a sucker for birthday cake.”

“So am I.” Releasing her, he took the coffee mugs and cloth napkins inside, then came back. She automatically tucked her hand inside his, and they crossed the street to the square.

“Mama, guess what?” Clary jumped up to meet them. “It’s Gloriana and Will’s daddy’s birthday. Isn’t that cool?”