The Gentlewoman by Lisa Durkin Page B

would be the worst to live through. It was extraordinarily
gruesome. He had rarely heard of, much less seen, such pictures. And that was
saying something because his career with the FBI had been mostly spent with
Special Crimes, so it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen his share of the horror that humans
could inflict. This guy made some of the serial killings he’d investigated look
like preschool.
    His mind went back over the pictures in the files and he
immediately closed his eyes and ran his fingers over his forehead. There was so
much blood all over the inside of that farmhouse. The guy had been talented
with a knife. He punished and tormented her and it seemed she fought through
the entire ordeal. He wanted to vomit just thinking about it. The torture that
man had inflicted on his own wife, on Rory.
    And she had been pregnant. And the bastard had ended that in
the worst kind of way. He didn’t know how she had lived through it physically.
Mentally he couldn’t imagine that kind of hell.
    Not many people had any idea of what she had gone through in
that farmhouse in Ohio. Or had any idea how strong she must truly be to live
through something like this and remain sane, much less be the beautiful,
effective woman she was.
    He had to stop thinking about it for a while. He needed to
get those images out of his head and focus on something else. Otherwise he was
going to lose it. This was bad, so much worse than he even imagined. No wonder
she had those panic attacks every other morning. He stood and began to repack
the files neatly into the mailer box they had arrived in. He grabbed his
leather briefcase and placed the box inside, zipping it firmly closed. He
wished he could cover the images in his head so easily. Actually, he wished she
weren’t in Ohio right now. He would like to be able to look at her and touch
her, if only to replace those violent images and photos of her terrified
expression and battered, bloody body with the warm vibrant woman he knew her to
be.

Chapter Nine
     
    By Saturday evening, Rory was exhausted. Her Campaign Chief
Sabrina, on orders from Nicole, had run her through two charity events on
Friday night and a luncheon with the League of Women Voters earlier in the day.
This was after she had spent the morning at Cleveland City Hall arguing with
current Mayor Bruce Garrison over union issues. She shook her head as she
wondered again why that entitled bastard thought it was a good idea to give the
unions trouble while they were building the shipyards the Trojan deal was
dependent upon. The meeting had become heated and she had played hardball,
reminding the mayor what they stood to lose if strikes happened.
    She was ready to spend some down time with her cousin and
the kids. As Rory stood in her living room, staring out at the dark waves
rolling in on the lake, she thought of Jackson. She remembered his kiss in the
car before she got on the plane, and his admission that he wanted her to stay
with him. She touched her lips and remembered his hands on her body. She closed
her eyes and leaned into the window. He certainly made her want.
    She turned as she heard the front door open and headed down
the front hall. “Anybody home?” she heard Devon call out.
    “How’s it going?” Rory asked as she hugged Devon and hung
her coat in the closet. Rory’s home was a typical lake house. Although they
were all different, built in different eras and of different styles and
materials, they were all structured with the living and entertainment areas at
the rear of the house to take advantage of the lake views. Rory’s home was not
the largest on Lake Road. There were two bedrooms on either side of the front
hall, each with a bathroom. The open kitchen was in the middle of the house
with a large wraparound great room. The best feature was the rear wall of the
house that was constructed entirely of windows so that the lake would always be
the focal point. The upper level was an open master suite and had the same