Page 144 of Captivated

Boys didn’t grow up hitting women.

They were taught to do it.

“Did your husband beat the hell out of you, too?” Joe asked.

Marcie stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your son—Rich—he abused Liliana Marcello, and given the shit I know, I can safely assume that wasn’t a one-off occasion for him. There are probably others. More women he’s abused, which means he likely witnessed the same kind of behavior growing up.”

“I—excuse me,” she said, moving to stand.

Joe couldn’t let her do that. His hand shot out fast, and locked around her wrist to yank her back to the bench. “No, don’t leave just yet. I’m just getting started. We haven’t even gotten to the fun part, Marcie Earl.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, and her gaze darted around as she hissed, “I will scream.”

“And I will slice your tongue right down the middle, and sit here with you while you choke on your blood until you drown in it. I’ll even give your dog something to chew on or play with while we wait. Now, be quiet.”

Marcie blinked.

Joe smiled at her. “You know, I’ve taken some time over the last day to look into you a little more. I had all this information on your husband, of course, but I didn’t care very much about you. Nothing about you was needed for my job, after all. And then I did need to look into you, so here we are.”

“I don’t know what you want me to—”

“You cake on the makeup, don’t you? Heavy powder, too. So much so, they gave you the nickname Barbie because you always looked so plastic and fake with your hair in perfect waves, your makeup done up, and your false smile plastered on. Every photograph of you next to your husband was exactly the same.”

“I—”

“I bet you used to wear your hair down because it helped to hide whatever marks were on your neck. And when you had to use a shade or two darker than your own skin tone to hide the bruises, you just used a little bit more so it wouldn’t be as noticeable. And that smile? Perfectly practiced in front of a mirror every single night, so he wouldn’t be able to tell how much it killed you when you did it.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“He’s dead now,” Joe offered, “so protecting him, or whatever lie your life had been, isn’t really needed, or necessary.”

“I don’t know who you are, but you need to go.”

Joe laughed. “No. When did he start hitting you?”

Marcie swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

“Right now—to talk. Depending on what I get from you will determine a lot of things. Whether or not you get to live beyond tonight and find out what life is like without an abusive husband at your back. You put on a good show for the cameras crying about him, and pushing the hard line that it wasn’t accidental, but I bet in private, all you feel is relief.”

Marcie relaxed a bit.

Joe saw it even though she probably figured he didn’t.

It confirmed everything she wouldn’t say.

Yes, her husband had beat her.

Yes, Rich had learned it.

Yes, she was happy he was dead, but she still had a role to play, too. And he doubted this career-politician’s widow wanted her personal business and her abuse shoved under the spotlight for the rest of the world to dissect, or mock.

Humans were terrible in that way.

“And it’s okay to feel that,” Joe added quieter, “because I sure as shit would, too.”

“What do you want?”