Page 74 of Finding Amanda

Mark blinked. "About . . . ?”

"I won't publish the memoir. Anything to make him go away."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mark's apartment didn't seem so close to home anymore. Every second it took him to get from his house to the dreaded place was a second further away from Amanda, but no matter how he'd begged, she refused to let him move back in, even temporarily.

He'd offered to sleep on the couch.

No, the girls won't understand.

He'd offered to sleep on the floor in the office so the girls wouldn't see him.

No, that's not fair to you.

Did she really think he cared about what wasfair? She'd been threatened by a madman, and she was worried about what was fair! But she didn't want him to move back in. How could she keep up her active dating life with her husband living in the house? Bitter sarcasm pooled in his mouth.

He was going to find Sheppard and rip him apart with his bare hands.

No. Too much chance of leaving DNA evidence.

A new scene entered his mind. A parking lot. He'd breakinto Sheppard's car, wait in the backseat. Slit his throat, and fade into the darkness. He'd need an alibi. Maybe Chris . . .

He had to stop before he took it too far. Before he actually did it.

If only Amanda weren't so pigheaded. She’d refused to take the gun. He'd spent an hour begging her to reconsider. But she was afraid of it, and she didn't know how to use it, and she didn't havetimeto go to a shooting range. Oh no, she was too busy teaching classes and writing blog posts anddatingto dedicate any time to learning how to defend herself and the girls.

Despite her obvious fear, she refused to take the threat seriously. He could hear her voice, weary from tears.He's just trying to scare me.I don't think he'd really hurt me.

Mark gripped the steering wheel in white-knuckled fury. How could she be so stubborn? Had she not read the stupid memoir she herself had written? Obviously Sheppard wouldn't hesitate to hurt her. He'd raped her, for crying out loud.

He didn't rape me. He just didn't realize I didn't want to.

Mark whipped the car around and headed toward the house again. How long could he keep up a vigil at the end of the driveway?

Mark would have to kill Sheppard, like he'd killed that woman in Afghanistan.

Hot shame washed over him. He grabbed his cell phone. Chris answered on the second ring.

"What's up?" Chris said.

"I don't even know where to begin."

"Is Amanda all right?"

"She's fine." Mark decided to begin with the least important. "I had a flashback today. That woman in Afghanistan. I wanted to hurt Amanda, and it all came back. I've done it before, and I could easily?—"

"Stop, Mark. What woman?"

"The one with the pipe bomb. You remember."

"That wasn't a woman. Remember, it was a man dressed in a burka."

Mark remembered standing on the dusty street, studying the face. A shaved but stubbly face. Beneath the clothes, it was a man's body. Still . . . "I thought it was a woman."

"He was carrying a bomb. He stabbed you. He was trying to kill us."

"I know. But when I killed her?—"

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