The Mackades Collection (Books 1-4). Nora Roberts

understand. But in this condition—”

      She broke off when the door opened, furious with herself for the quick leap, then the quick disappointment when it wasn’t Rafe who came in. Before she could smile a welcome at Cassie, she saw the livid bruises on the side of her friend’s face.

      “If you’d excuse me for just a moment, I’ll give you time to talk it over.”

      An antique bangle jingling on her wrist, sensible shoes clacking, she moved swiftly through the shop. Saying nothing, she took Cassie’s arm and led her into the back room.

      “Sit down. Come on.” Gently, she eased Cassie into a chair at the tiny iron table. “How bad are you hurt?”

      “It’s nothing. I just—”

      “Shut up.” Grinding back the spurt of temper, Regan slammed a kettle on the hot plate. “I’m sorry. I’m going to make some tea.” She needed a moment, she realized, before she could deal with this rationally. “While the water’s boiling, I’ll go finish up with my customers. You sit here and relax for a minute.”

      Shame swimming in her eyes, Cassie stared down at her hands. “Thanks.”

      Ten minutes later, after ruthlessly hacking the price of the credenza to move the customers along, Regan hurried back. She told herself she’d gotten the anger under control. She promised herself she would be supportive, sympathetic.

      One look at Cassie, slumped in the chair while the kettle belched steam, had her exploding.

      “Why in the hell do you let him do this to you? When are you going to get tired of being that sadistic bastard’s punching bag? Does he have to put you in the hospital before you walk away?”

      In utter defeat, Cassie folded her arms on the table, then dropped her head on them and wept.

      Her own eyes stinging, Regan dropped to her knees beside the chair. In the tidy little office, with its ice-cream-parlor chairs and neat rolltop desk, she struggled to face the reality of battering.

      “Cassie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Cass. I shouldn’t be yelling at you.”

      “I shouldn’t have come here.” Lifting her head, Cassie covered her face with her hand and fought to get her breath back. “I shouldn’t have come. But I just needed somebody to talk to.”

      “Of course you should have come here. This is exactly where you should have come. Let me see,” Regan murmured, easing Cassie’s hand away. The bruises ran from temple to jaw, in ugly purple. One of Cassie’s lovely smoke gray eyes was swollen nearly shut.

      “Oh, Cassie, what happened? Can you tell me?”

      “He…Joe…he hasn’t been feeling well. This flu that’s been going around.” Cassie’s voice hitched and jittered. “He missed a lot of work, being sick, and yesterday they laid him off.”

      Avoiding Regan’s eyes, she fumbled in her bag for a tissue. “He was upset—he’s worked there almost twelve years now, on and off. The bills. I just bought a new washing machine on credit, and Connor wanted these new tennis shoes. I knew they were too expensive, but—”

      “Stop,” Regan said quietly, and laid a hand over Cassie’s. “Please stop blaming yourself. I can’t bear it when you do.”

      “I know I’m making excuses.” With a long, shuddering breath, Cassie shut her eyes. To Regan, at least, she could be honest. Because Regan, in the three years they had known each other, had always been there. “He hasn’t had the flu. He’s been drunk almost day and night for a week. They didn’t lay him off, they fired him because he went to work drunk and mouthed off to his supervisor.”

      “And then he came home and took it out on you.” Rising, Regan took the kettle off the hot plate and began to make the tea. “Where are the kids?”

      “At my mother’s. I went there last night, after. He hurt me pretty bad this time.”

      Unconsciously she touched her hand to her throat. Beneath the turtleneck there were more bruises, where Joe’s hands had held and choked her until she accepted that he would kill her. Almost wished for it.

      “I got the kids out, and I went to Mama, because I needed some place to stay.”

      “Okay, that’s good.” Ready to move step-by-step now, Regan brought two china cups to the table. “That’s the best way to start.”

      “No.” Very carefully, Cassie wrapped both hands around her cup. “She expects me to go back today. She won’t let us stay another night.”

      “After you told her, after she saw you, what he’d done, she expects you to go back?”

      “A woman belongs with her husband,” Cassie said simply. “I married him for better or for worse.”

      Regan had never understood her own mother, the easy subservience, the catering. But, while it had infuriated her often, it had never appalled her like this.

      “That’s monstrous, Cassie.”

      “It’s just Mama,” Cassie murmured, wincing as the tea stung her puffy lip. “She believes a woman should make a marriage work. It’s her duty to make it work.”

      “Do you believe that? That it’s your responsibility to take this? Do you believe that means you are supposed to stay for better or worse, even if worse means being beaten whenever he has the whim?”

      “I used to. I tried to. I took vows, Regan.” She took a shuddering breath, because to her that had always been the bottom line. She had promised. “Maybe I was too young when I married Joe. Maybe I made a mistake, but I still took the vows. He didn’t keep them. There were those other women, he didn’t even care if I knew who they were. He was never faithful, never kind. But I took vows and I wanted to keep them.”

      She began to cry again, quietly now, because she had failed. “We’ve been married ten years. We have children together. I make so many mistakes—using my tip money to buy those shoes for Connor, and letting Emma play dress-up with my lipstick. And we couldn’t afford that washing machine. I was never any good in bed, not like those other women he’d go to. I knew—”

      She broke off when Regan only continued to watch her.

      “Are you hearing yourself this time?” Regan said quietly. “Are you listening to yourself, Cassie?”

      “I can’t stay with him anymore.” Her voice broke, shattering like thin, fragile glass. “He’s hitting me in front of the kids. He used to wait until they were in bed, and that was bad. But now he hits me in front of them, and he says terrible things. Things they shouldn’t hear. It’s not right. It makes them part of it, and it’s not right.”

      “No, Cass, it’s not right. You need help now.”

      “I thought about it all night.” She hesitated, then slowly eased down the neck of her sweater.

      At the sight of the raw marks scoring that pale, innocent flesh, Regan’s face went white and cold. “Oh, dear God—he tried to strangle you.”

      “I don’t think he meant to at first. I was crying, and he wanted me to stop. But then he did.” Cassie lowered her hand again. “I could see it in his eyes. It wasn’t just the drinking, or the money, or the other women he seems to want. He hated me just for being there. He’ll hurt me again if he gets the chance, and I have to think about the kids. I have to go to Devin and file charges.”

      “Thank God.”

      “I had to come here first, to get up my nerve.” Knowing there was no more point in them, Cassie wiped at the tears. “It’s hard, being it’s Devin. I’ve known him all my life. It’s not like it’s a secret. He’s been out to the house I don’t know how many times when the neighbors called in. But it’s hard.” She sighed. “Being it’s Devin.”

      “I’ll go with you.”

      Cassie