The Palm Beach Murders James Patterson (ebook reader with built in dictionary .TXT) 📖

was a bright red. Not the blue and white of a Palm Beach police car. And it was a Cadillac. A big one. As the car passed us, I could see the tiny white head that barely reached over the dash, and I realized it was a local, someone who probably always drove slowly after dark.

The elderly woman never even looked in our direction.

I let out a long breath and grabbed my purse from the backseat, and we slipped out of the car.

Chapter 30

We made it up the driveway to the front door without making a sound. For some reason, when we stood in front of the door I found myself out of breath. I pressed the doorbell and could hear the chimes inside the house. Chimes I’d picked out and had installed to replace the stupid ding-dong sound that was attached to the doorbell when we got married. I looked around, making sure no one was watching us. Marty tapped his foot as he stood next to me.

It was a typical humid Florida night, and the breeze off the Atlantic felt like heaven. The excitement of facing Brennan built inside me. I turned to Marty, and in a low voice I said, “I can’t wait to see the look on Brennan’s face.”

Then the door opened, and Brennan didn’t disappoint me. He was utterly shocked and couldn’t hide it. Dressed in a polo shirt and golf slacks, he looked good. Almost like a model. His hair was perfect, and he had a few lines on his face, like a man who spent much of his time outdoors. For a change, he was speechless, and his blue eyes were wide with surprise. He looked from me to Marty slowly, then settled back on me. This was exactly what I wanted. He was shaken.

After a long silence, Brennan said, “Christy, what are you doing here at this hour? I thought we were speaking only through our attorneys.”

I took a moment to gather myself, looking Brennan straight in the eyes as I said, “I need to say something. Not in court, where I can be censored.”

“I’m listening,” he said slowly, still looking back and forth between me and Marty.

Somehow with just those two words he managed to be condescending.

“Do you realize what a pretentious, pompous ass you are? Is it intentional?”

Brennan made no comment.

“You’re rich, so what? You’ve never had any hardships, so basically you’re spoiled, and I enabled you for four years. You didn’t need a wife, you needed a caretaker. I didn’t complain when you left me at home alone on Christmas two years in a row so you could windsurf with your buddies in Aruba. You basically ignored my parents and to this day don’t know my mom’s first name. And you had no reason to try in our marriage, so you just threw me out like the trash. I’ve got news for you, Brennan. I’m not who you thought I was.” I took a breath, then said, “I gave you four years and you gave me nothing in return.”

“Except a phenomenal lifestyle.”

“And the privilege of being Mrs. Brennan Moore.”

“Glad you finally get it.”

That arrogant smile cut into my soul.

I kept going. “You spent more on a massage table built into the bathroom than on my engagement ring. That should’ve given me an idea of what to expect when I married you. You told the judge you didn’t think I had ever shown any real emotion toward you. Well, be careful what you wish for. Now you’ll see all my emotions at once. All my well-earned anger and frustration, followed by relief and joy. Now you get to know what it feels like to be powerless.”

I think Marty could sense my anger, but he shocked me when, without any warning, he yanked the pistol from under his shirt, fumbled with it for a second, and then pointed it at Brennan’s groin. He held it steady in his hand as he brought his face up to look at my reaction.

I was at a loss. He’d moved so quickly I hadn’t expected it.

Marty was smiling.

Brennan staggered back half a step and said, “Jesus Christ, that’s my gun.”

Chapter 31

I felt like singing. Why not? I was back inside my house. For the moment I could forget the awkward fact that Marty was holding a gun on Brennan. We shuffled in through the foyer, then turned into Brennan’s den, where it was clear he’d been working. His computer screen was still showing active trades on the foreign stock exchanges, and he had papers laid out across his giant oak desk. The one I had found for him in a furniture shop in North Carolina. It was magnificent, with hardwood inlays and drawers that felt like they moved on air.

Brennan had been remarkably quiet up to this point, but he still had that self-assured, superior look on his face, even with Marty standing a few feet away pointing the gun at him. It was clear Brennan didn’t think we were going to hurt him. Obviously, we’d been drinking, and I’m sure Brennan just viewed it as another immature prank by a dull wife he thought he’d gotten rid of. But after a minute or so, he was tired of the game and anxious to get back to work.

He had his hands up slightly, like he was being robbed. It must have been human instinct. He kept his voice low as he said, “Could you point that somewhere else, please.”

Marty just said, “Nope.”

It was the best possible response to unnerve Brennan. It also shut him up. He stared at Marty but wisely remained silent.

Marty cut his eyes to me in an effort to get a clear idea of what we had planned. He was visibly more agitated than when we’d started this little prank and was hopping from one foot to the other like a nervous kid who needed to go to the bathroom. He was probably wondering if I expected him to gun