Shadowfires Read Free

toward them, and said, “You need help, lady?”
    Eric turned on the stranger in such a rage that he seemed to spit the words out rather than speak them: “Butt out, mister. This is my wife, and it’s none of your goddamn business.”
    Rachael tried to wrench free of Eric’s iron grip without success.
    The bearded stranger said, “So she’s your wife—that doesn’t give you the right to hurt her.”
    Letting go of Rachael, Eric fisted his hands and turned more directly toward the intruder.
    Rachael spoke quickly to her would-be Galahad, eager to defuse the situation. “Thank you, but it’s all right. Really. I’m fine. Just a minor disagreement.”
    The young man shrugged and walked away, glancing back as he went.
    The incident had at last made Eric aware that he was in danger of making a spectacle of himself, which a man of his high position and self-importance was loath to do. However, his temper had not cooled. His face was flushed, and his lips were bloodless. His eyes were the eyes of a dangerous man.
    She said, “Be happy, Eric. You’ve saved millions of dollars and God knows how much more in attorneys’ fees. You won. You didn’t get to crush me or muddy my reputation in court the way you had hoped to, but you still won. Be happy with that.”
    With a seething hatred that shocked her, he said, “You stupid, rotten bitch. The day you walked out on me, I wanted to knock you down and kick your stupid face in. I should’ve done it. Wish I had. But I thought you’d come crawling back, so I didn’t. I should’ve. Should’ve kicked your stupid face in.” He raised his hand as if to slap her. But he checked himself even as she flinched from the expected blow. Furious, he turned and hurried away.
    As she watched him go, Rachael suddenly understood that his sick desire to dominate everyone was a far more fundamental need than she’d realized. By stripping him of his power over her, by turning her back on both him and his money, she had not merely reduced him to an equal but had, in his eyes, unmanned him. That had to be the case, for nothing else explained the degree of his rage or his urge to commit violence, an urge he had barely controlled.
    She had grown to dislike him intensely, if not hate him, and she had feared him a little, too. But until now, she had not been fully aware of the immensity and intensity of the rage within him. She had not realized how thoroughly dangerous he was.
    Although the golden sunshine still dazzled her eyes and forced her to squint, although it still baked her skin, she felt a cold shiver pass through her, spawned by the realization that she’d been wise to leave Eric when she had—and perhaps fortunate to escape with no more physical damage than the bruises his fingers were certain to have left on her arm.
    Watching him step off the sidewalk into the street, she was relieved to see him go. A moment later, relief turned to horror.
    He was heading toward his black Mercedes, which was parked along the other side of the avenue. Perhaps he actually was blinded by his anger. Or maybe it was the brilliant June sunlight flashing on every shiny surface that interfered with his vision. Whatever the reason, he dashed across the southbound lanes of Main Street, which were at the moment without traffic, and kept on going into the northbound lanes, directly into the path of a city garbage truck that was doing forty miles an hour.
    Too late, Rachael screamed a warning.
    The driver tramped his brake pedal to the floorboards. But the shriek of the truck’s locked wheels came almost simultaneously with the sickening sound of impact.
    Eric was hurled into the air and thrown back into the southbound lanes as if by the concussion wave of a bomb blast. He crashed into the pavement and tumbled twenty feet, stiffly at first, then with a horrible looseness, as if he were constructed of string and old rags. He came to rest facedown, unmoving.
    A southbound yellow Subaru braked with a banshee