politely. He always spoke this way to her. Anyone who listened would be impressed by his smooth civility. She had been when they’d met. “I hope it doesn’t intrude on your time tomorrow with Tomasito.”
But she heard the threat, just as he knew she would. Miguel controlled everything in her life, including the amount of time she spent with their three-year-old son, Tomas. When Julia didn’t behave as Miguel thought she should, he punished her by cutting her visits short or eliminating them all together.
Her mouth went dry. “Tomas expects me, Miguel. I told him we were going to have a picnic.”
“Then you’d better not break your promise.” To make his point even clearer, he tightened his grip on her arm. Refusing to change her expression, Julia endured his painful touch.
“Please visit with my guests. All of them.”
He left her standing alone and shaken. With no other option, she sent a quick look through the windows. Meredith had seen the encounter and clearly understood. She mouthed the words Go on, then pointed to a side door and held both hands up, her fingers splayed.
Meredith and Julia had met between Julia’s junior and senior year in high school when Meredith’s family had been transferred to Pascagoula, her father a Naval officer, her mother an Argentinian expat. Julia was the younger of the two by four years, but she’d been home schooled and was much more mature than most kids her age. She’d been thrilled to meet the exotic, world-traveling Meredith, and they’d hit it off immediately. As fall had approached, Meredith had convinced Julia to apply to the same college at which she would be enrolled as a junior—the University of Southern Mississippi. They’d developed the finger flash, a code for skipping out, in a boring history class they’d shared. All ten fingers meant “ten minutes.”
Julia nodded then held her own hand up, adding five more. Miguel would expect her to do exactly as he’d instructed and he’d check to make sure she complied, but if she put on a show for at least fifteen minutes, she’d be all right. He would be involved in something else by then.
Sure enough, by the time she’d made a second circuit of the room, Miguel had disappeared. She glanced up the staircase to his office. The lights were on and the doors were closed. He was obviously holding one of his endless meetings. If she still thought he was the Colombian diplomat he’d claimed to be, she wouldn’t have given his absence another thought, but she noticed it now, because she knew the truth.
Picking up the hem of her beaded dress, Julia hurried through the kitchen and walked outside. She had just crossed the center of the patio when a shadow materialized from beside the house.
Julia stumbled back in fright and gasped, putting a hand to her chest before she recognized her friend. “Good God, you scared me half to death, Meredith. When did you learn to be so quiet?”
Meredith shrugged and waved off Julia’s comment. “Miguel didn’t look too happy. I didn’t want him to see me.” She tilted her head to the window above. “He’s in his office, isn’t he?”
“You’ve become observant, too.” Julia looked up, as well. “He’s having some kind of meeting. He does that a lot when we entertain. I hardly see him anymore, even when he’s here, which isn’t often.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Meredith’s voice was neutral in the darkness. “You must get lonely.”
Julia knit her fingers together. There was no one she was closer to than Meredith, but Julia’s relationship with her husband had never been a topic of discussion between them. For one thing, Meredith didn’t like Miguel and Julia knew it. For another, she’d been raised not to air her dirty laundry. Vandammes didn’t talk outside the family, especially about trouble.
Even as she had these thoughts, however, Julia acknowledged, at least to herself, the real reason she’d stayed silent—she was embarrassed. How could she have made such a horrific mistake? How could she have missed the monster beneath the facade?
“It’s a quiet life,” Julia finally replied. “But I have Tomas.”
“What about friends?” Meredith asked. “We haven’t talked for a long time. Have you gotten close to any of the women inside?”
“They’re very busy,” Julia said. “Everyone has so much to do with the children and everything.”
“The children?” Meredith didn’t bother to hide her skepticism, her voice turning sharp. “They’ve all got nannies, Julia. Nannies and cooks and maids and God knows what else, just like you do. How busy can they be?”
On edge already, Julia felt her throat go tight. She turned away from her friend. She couldn’t explain. Not now.
“Oh, shit. Julia, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that—”
She reached out to turn Julia around, her fingers pulling at Julia’s right elbow. Julia winced as a streak of pain raced up her arm.
“My, God, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“It—it’s nothing,” Julia lied. “I—I fell against the door the other day and my arm’s still bruised, that’s all.”
Meredith froze and without saying a word, pulled back Julia’s sleeve. Even in the faint light that fell from Miguel’s office, the fingerprints were obvious. Meredith let the fabric drop, then she raised her suddenly hard gaze to Julia’s. “What in the hell’s going on here? A door doesn’t leave a bruise like that.”
“It’s nothing,” she insisted.
“Nothing, my ass.” Meredith shook her head in disgust, then jerked her thumb toward the window above them. “He did that to you, didn’t he?”
Julia debated how to answer, a heavy silence building between the two women. After a moment, she spoke. “You can’t do anything about this, Meredith. It would be best if you forgot what you just saw.”
“Best for who?” she snorted. “Not you, I’m sure.”
During their college years, everyone had called Meredith a superwoman because she’d righted every wrong she came across, regardless of the consequences. The last thing Julia needed was Meredith getting involved in her problems. The very last thing.
“I’m not important here, Meredith. Okay? And nothing is going to change that. Not even you.”
“If you’re not important, who is? The wife beater up there?”
“My son is,” Julia said, her voice vehement. “And I have to remember that above everything else.”
“Take him and leave.”
“It’s a little more complicated.”
“Nothing’s that complicated,” Meredith retorted. “Unless he keeps you a prisoner or something.”
With three glasses of wine and nerves stretched wire-thin, Julia felt her defenses slip, Meredith’s opening too perfect to resist. “Not ‘or something,’” she said grimly. “A prisoner is exactly what I am. He has my passport, all the cash, everything. I can’t leave.”
Meredith showed so little reaction it made Julia wonder why, but there was no stopping
