Page 22 of Absolution (Favorite Malady Trilogy #3)

DANE

“ I ’d still prefer it if you would let me kill your uncle,” I say darkly. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind? He more than deserves it.”

If I had my way, I’d take the bastard apart piece by piece.

She gives my hand a gentle squeeze and presses herself closer to my side. We’re sitting on the couch in our living room, waiting.

“You need to keep those thoughts to yourself,” she says firmly. “The officer will be here soon to take my statement, and I can’t have you talking about murder in front of the police.”

I grind my teeth. “You don’t have to tell them anything. I can handle this.”

She places her hand on my tense jaw and fixes me with her clear, aqua stare. “We talked about this last night,” she reminds me. “ I’m going to handle it. I’m taking my power back. You have to respect that, Dane.”

I turn my head so I can kiss her palm. “I do respect you. You’re so much stronger than I am, little dove.”

I crave to surrender to my most primal, vicious impulses, but my stubborn wife is determined to take her uncle down on her own. All she will allow me to do is sit by her side in solidarity.

The inaction sets me on edge, and I resist the urge to flex my fingers with unspent aggression.

It’s a miracle that she’s allowing me to sit by her at all. After the cruel things I said to her yesterday, she has every right to punish me, even if I was trying to protect her.

But my sweet, gentle Abigail has practically been wrapped around me for nearly twenty-four hours, as though she can’t bear to put an inch of distance between us.

If she wants to cling to me, I’ll gladly oblige her. I’ll never reject her touch again.

The doorbell rings, and she draws in a shuddering breath. Then she squares her shoulders and stands to answer the door.

I accompany her, my hand glued to hers.

A police officer stands at the threshold, her bearing bold and official. Her rich umber skin is slightly creased with years of experience, and her stance conveys confidence and authority. Her brown eyes flick from Abigail to me.

I carefully summon up my genial mask, fixing my features in a polite but concerned expression.

The officer seems to buy it, and her attention returns to Abigail. “I’m Officer Johnson. You’re Abigail Graham?”

She nods. “Yes, I’m the one who called to make a report. Please, come in.”

I note that her partner has remained in the car that’s parked at the curb—a man. Given the nature of Abigail’s report, I’m grateful for the officer’s tact. A strange man’s presence might make this too difficult for her.

Officer Johnson follows us into the living room, and Abigail motions for her to sit in the armchair across from the couch.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asks, a gracious hostess. “We have tea or lemonade.”

The officer shakes her head and pulls out a notepad. “No, thank you. Please, take a seat.”

Abigail and I sit down on the couch, her hand still firmly in mine. I brush my thumb over her palm in a silent promise of support, and her stiff posture relaxes slightly.

“You want to make a report about your uncle, Jeffrey Zillman,” the officer begins, making a quick note. “Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Abigail confirms.

“Do you think there are any children at immediate risk of harm?”

Abigail falters. “I…I’m not sure. There are other children who live on the same property; there are houses for the groundskeepers and their families.”

Officer Johnson makes another note. “Where is the property you’re referring to?”

Abigail swallows hard, as though bracing herself to talk about the nightmarish place where she was raised.

“Elysium. It’s a plantation about an hour’s drive from here.”

“So, it’s within the state of South Carolina?”

“Yes. I think there are about half a dozen families living there. It’s isolated and completely closed to the public.” Her cheeks have gone pale. “I’m not sure how many children might be at risk.”

The officer makes another note. “There’s no statute of limitations for child sexual abuse in South Carolina, so if you’re able to provide enough evidence yourself, we’ll have cause to investigate.

We can obtain a warrant and search the property.

If we’re able to press charges, you’ll be included. Are you prepared for that?”

“I am,” my brave wife replies staunchly. “I’ll do everything in my power to get my uncle locked away.”

The officer fixes her with a level stare, but her voice is gentle.

“The process will be very difficult for you. If this goes to trial, you’ll have to give evidence in court.

Your credibility will be questioned. The evidence has to support your story, or there’s no chance of conviction.

Even then, there’s a chance of a not-guilty verdict.

You can always take civil action, but you need to prepare yourself for the potential outcomes. ”

Abigail’s palm begins to sweat, but I keep my careful hold on her.

I’m barely maintaining my human mask. The prospect of Abigail going through all that pain just for her uncle to walk free is enough to make me see red. That motherfucker is going to pay for what he did to her.

I’ll make sure of it if the law fails her.

“I’m doing this,” Abigail asserts, delicate chin tipped back in the imperious posture that I admire so much. “I won’t let my uncle hurt anyone else.”

Officer Johnson nods. “To get a warrant to search his property, I’ll need details from you. When did the abuse take place?”

Abigail’s mouth opens, then closes. Her fingers have gone cold, and I rub them to imbue her with my warmth.

“I’m not sure,” she admits. “I don’t have clear memories.”

“Tell me what you can. Why did you call to make a statement? Why now?”

“I forgot until a few days ago,” Abigail admits, cheeks coloring with something like shame.

The red flush sets my teeth on edge. She has nothing to be ashamed of.

“There was an altercation with her family two days ago.” This is her story to tell, but I’ll back her up. “Her uncle touched her, and she had a flashback. She’s been having nightmares about him.”

The officer’s brows knit. “Nightmares. So, these are just dreams?”

“No,” I growl. “Listen to my wife. She’s telling the truth.”

“I’m not calling her integrity into question,” the woman replies, placating. “But I need details: specific incidents and the dates when they occurred.”

“My mother confirmed it,” Abigail says, voice thin.

She’s forcing herself to continue, but I know her well enough to recognize the fear that darkens her eyes. She’s scared that the investigation will come to nothing, and she won’t be able to save the other children. She won’t get justice for herself.

“Mama said she knows my uncle is a sexual predator. She said he abused her too.”

Another note scribbled down. “And your mother is willing to give a statement? That would strengthen our request for a warrant.”

Abigail’s shoulders dip. “No, she won’t do that. But it’s true, I swear.”

Officer Johnson blows out a short sigh, and her lips twist with regret as she puts her notepad away. “I’m sorry, but that’s not enough evidence to move forward with an investigation. You can try civil action.”

“Sit down,” I snap when she shifts her weight to get to her feet. “My wife isn’t finished. She will have justice.”

The officer focuses on Abigail, whose features are drawn with devastation.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Graham, but there’s nothing more I can do. If you remember anything more clearly, please contact me.”

“You must care about protecting the children who live on that property,” Abigail says, desperation roughening her tone. “You have to help me.”

“It’s not about whether or not I care. This is about the law, and my realistic assessment is that this will go nowhere if you try to press charges.” Her voice deepens with compassion, but her firm countenance doesn’t waver. “You’ll put yourself through hell for nothing, and he will win.”

Abigail wilts beside me, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

“Get out,” I bark at the useless officer.

If she doesn’t leave right now, I won’t be able to restrain my cruelest impulses. The woman has hurt my wife with her callousness, and it’s all I can do to remain by her side instead of forcing the officer to give her the justice she deserves.

“I really am sorry,” Officer Johnson says.

Then she’s gone, and Abigail sags against me. She buries her face in her hands, pressing her palms to her eyes as though forcibly containing her tears.

“It’s all right.” I soothe her. “You can cry.”

“I’m sick of crying.” Her hands drop away, and her eyes shine with a vicious light, not tears. “I won’t let him get away with this.”

I won’t suggest my murderous plans again. Yet.

“I’ll call a lawyer today,” I promise. “We can start putting a civil case together.”

“But that won’t send him to jail.” She shakes her head. “It’s not good enough. They might seal the record. There could be a gag order. And you heard Officer Johnson. I don’t have enough concrete evidence to move forward.”

I rub her back. “We’re not giving up.”

Her eyes flash. “Take out your phone. I need you to record something for me.”

“What are you planning?” Whatever it is, she has my complete support.

My phone is already in my hand, and she’s retrieved her own phone from her pocket.

“I’m going to call my mother.”

Those remarkable eyes focus on me. They glow with a fierce light, like a vengeful goddess seeking retribution.

“I’ve never told you this, but my ancestor was Andrew Zillman. My mother and uncle are his last living descendants. Well, other than me, but I’m not part of that family anymore. I want nothing to do with them after today.”

I search my mind. The name is vaguely familiar. “Zillman?”

Her nostrils flare with righteous anger. “Yes, one of the infamous American robber barons. My mother always prefers to call him a captain of industry. But he built his fortune on other’s misery, and he left a rotten legacy behind.”

She waves a hand, directing us back to the present. “The family name is recognizable. There will be a certain level of local interest in a scandal, at the very least.”

“So, you intend to cause one?”

She gives me a savage nod. “I’m going to record my mother’s confession, and then I’ll leak it to the press. They will be ruined. Uncle Jeffrey will face intense public scrutiny for the rest of his life. He won’t dare harm another child.”

It’s similar to how I threatened my parents with ruin, but Abigail’s family doesn’t deserve the option of a reprieve. There will be no posturing about going to the press. She will destroy them without warning.

I press a kiss to her forehead. “My clever, ruthless queen.”

She looks deep into my soul and says, “I love you. Thank you for letting me handle this my way.”

I tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re handling it far better than I would have. If I had my way, he would’ve died too quickly. You’re ensuring a lifetime of pain. It’s still less than he deserves, but he will suffer.”

She nods. “I’ll need you to record the entire call, but we’ll cut out anything that suggests that my mom was also abused. It’s not right for me to tell what happened to her, but I can take control of my own story.”

“Whatever you need, Abigail,” I reassure her.

She finds her mother’s contact details and connects the call.

“Abby.” The greeting is frosty. “What do you want now?”

“I want you to tell me the same thing you told me on the beach yesterday. I want confirmation of how you failed to protect your own daughter from a sexual predator.”

As she exacts her vengeance, my muscles flex with the need to throttle someone. My own mother is a piece of work, but even she hasn’t done something so heinous.

“You’re being dramatic,” her mom replies tersely. “You’re an adult now, Abby. Grow up.”

“I wasn’t an adult when you left me alone with Uncle Jeffrey,” she seethes. “You knew he was capable of molesting me, and you let him babysit me anyway. You knew that he had a history of abusing children.”

Her voice hitches on the last. I can’t even imagine the pain of her mother’s betrayal.

The woman is a monster.

“You revealed a pattern of generational abuse,” Abigail continues, jaw flexing with barely restrained rage. “You told me these things run in the family. ”

My stomach turns at the horrific words. It’s unfathomable that a mother could say such a thing to her daughter.

“Yes, they do,” her mom shoots back. “What did you expect me to do about it? I can’t control Jeffrey. What he did to you isn’t my fault.”

“It was your job to protect me!” Abigail accuses. “But you were too wrapped up in yourself to care that your daughter was being abused.”

“I can’t believe you would say such things to me. You will speak to me with respect. I am your mother.” She says it like an edict, a threat. As though the fact that she gave birth gives her the right to treat Abigail in whatever cruel way she chooses.

“Like it or not, we’re family, Abby. Blood is everything.”

Abigail swells with fury. “All my life, you’ve said that. It might as well be the family motto. You all say it, just to keep each other close enough to inflict pain where it hurts most—over and over again. It’s a nest of vipers, and I got out of it.”

“You’re being a nasty little bitch. How dare?—”

My hand shoots out, and I end the call.

Abigail blinks and looks up at me in surprise.

My hands shake slightly when I cup her cheeks. “I couldn’t listen to that for one more second,” I rumble. “Back in England, I made a promise not to kill any of your family members. If I’m going to keep that promise, I can’t hear another narcissistic word from your mother.”

She places her hands over mine, urging me to hold her. “I got what I needed. Thank you for hanging up on her. I didn’t need to hear any more either.”

She presses a sweet kiss to my taut lips, and slowly, I soften at her tender treatment.

When I first met Abigail, I thought she was soft. Weak. Easy prey.

I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my entire life.