11th July 2001

He'd ruined everything.

Tess sat at the bottom of the stairwell, her hands pressed hard against her face, covering her mouth and nose, and she couldn't breathe, and if she couldn't breathe she couldn't cry and she couldn't make a sound, and that was good, because if he heard her crying he'd still come after her...wouldn't he?

She had to get up now. She had to get up and go and have dinner with Terry and act like everything was just fine because they had a routine, and Terry expected her to be there and to be cheerful, and anything else was letting Terry down. But all she could do was sit here and shake, and she didn't know if she even had the strength to stand right now.

He'd ruined everything.

By this time she was almost certain that he wasn't going to come running after her, and that at least was a relief. Because if he'd followed her right now, if he'd touched her right now, she thought that she would start screaming and someone would notice and she'd just die of shame.

She honestly hadn't expected to see him. Not ever again. After all, she'd made her feelings clear at the time, and when she'd left...she'd half-expected him to chase after her then. Not a year later. She'd sat on that Greyhound, and every time she fell asleep, she'd wondered if he'd be sitting next to her when she woke up. And that was impossible, of course, but somewhere along the lines, she'd grown to expect the impossible.

(Every time she'd woken alone, she'd felt a moment of misery and disappointment and loneliness.)

And then he'd just been there. Just standing there, watching her with that look on his face...concern and compassion hiding everything underneath, and all she could think of was the last time she'd seen him, the last time he'd looked at her that way, the night she'd learned the truth.

And she'd hit him.

Oh, God, she'd actually hit him. She'd punched him in the face...three times, for God's sake...and he hadn't dodged or defended himself at all, and she'd known he wouldn't hit her back. Whatever else he was, Rusty would never hurt her. She could have beat him all day and she doubted he'd have lifted a finger to stop her.

She remembered the blood on his face, remembered the look in his eyes, the flicker of satisfaction she'd felt, and she bit savagely into the flesh or her hand, sinking her teeth in until she tasted blood, and she wasn't going to throw up, she wasn't.

She'd hit him. The one man in the world that she trusted not to hurt her, and she'd hit him, and what did that make her?

A monster. She was a monster, just like him.

Maybe that was why he loved her.

She scrubbed at her face hurriedly, getting rid of the tears that threatened to overwhelm her at the thought.

She really did need to go now. Even if Rusty had said that Terry was going to be late - and she didn't doubt him - he'd be upset if she wasn't waiting for him. But whatever she did, Terry was going to be able to tell that she'd been crying, and that was bad too. Terry hated it when she made a scene, when she wasn't properly thankful. God, was Rusty trying to get her in trouble?

...was Rusty trying to get her in trouble? She froze and considered it carefully. What he'd said about Terry...maybe he was trying to get her to agree. Trying to show her that Terry wasn't right for her.

The thought had her biting down on her hand again in an effort to stifle the sob. Rusty had been watching her and Terry together, and seeing her relationship through his eyes...it was hell. She thought about the weary patience Terry treated her with, thought about the way he had to take charge of her, thought of all the little...helpful...comments, the way she overreacted to his every action, and she didn't want Rusty seeing that. She felt sick with shame. It wasn't fair. She'd been doing fine. Terry was a good man. Terry was a good man and he didn't hurt her, and Rusty had no right to walk back into her life and look at her like that.

She didn't need saving. She was hap...she was... Terry was a good man.

She rubbed at her arms, her fingers digging into the bruises.

Maybe she should make good on her threat. Tell Terry. That's what she ought to do. Really, her first loyalty should be to Terry, and Rusty was a criminal and a dangerous man, and he was in Terry's casino. Terry would be interested to know that. Would be more than interested to know that Rusty had been spying on them. And maybe there wouldn't be any evidence to get Rusty locked up, but Terry would at least be able to ban him from his hotels and casinos.

Probably, Terry would be pleased with her if she told him. He'd smile at her the way she liked. The way he smiled when she had his full attention and he approved. The corners of his eyes crinkled up, just a little. It made her feel warm inside.

And Rusty would be locked up and far away, and maybe that wouldn't make her feel any safer, but at least it would end the confusion.

Except she didn't want Rusty locked up. God help her, she really didn't. She should - she knew right from wrong, after all - but when she thought about him in prison she felt sick.

She still remembered late night conversations, the warmth of the blanket around her shoulders, the look in his eyes when he told her about being a child, locked in the basement and afraid. The feeling of his hand in hers when he tried to make light of it. She didn't want to be responsible for locking him up.

And didn't that just make her a hypocrite?

All the things she'd let him do. She'd let him steal, let him trick people out of their money, and it hadn't been like it had been with Danny. She'd known what he was doing every step of the way. He'd told her and for a while she really hadn't cared. Because they needed the money, because the marks … victims … were unpleasant people, somehow she'd got into thinking it was all okay

(It wasn't okay...right?)

But now she'd seen him for what he really was. And she still wanted him safe and out of prison.

Danny was in prison.

The thought still stole up on her sometimes. Still took her by surprise, and now when she thought of Danny she couldn't help but think of the last time she saw him. Trapped and locked up and diminished, and yes, alright, yes, she'd never wanted that for Danny either.

She thought about him every day. She didn't want to, but she did. She thought about the way he smiled...(smiles she didn't have to earn)...thought about the way he touched her...(touches that never hurt)...the way he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world, like the world was made just for them. (John looked at her like that too.)

She missed Danny. She missed Danny so much.

But she'd missed John too. (She still missed John.)

It was like Terry told her. When she gave in to her emotions, she was weak. She shouldn't let the way she felt influence what she did. Oversensitive, he called her, and he was right. She had to be pragmatic.

Danny was gone. John was gone. Rusty...Rusty should be gone.

Yes, things had been good when she was with Danny, but that had all been based on a lie. She had to remember that. Everything she'd felt for Danny...she had to weight that up against the knowledge that he had never trusted her. Every last moment of tenderness, love and affection was based on cold, clinical calculation. He must have weighed every last word and look and kiss, figuring out if it would give him away.

Why? She asked herself that all the time. Why had he done it? John had said that Danny had used her as a cover and sometimes, late at night, when she was dark and cold and not alone, sometimes she still wondered if he was right.

Rusty had said that wasn't it and the furious indignation had burned in his eyes, and she'd been so scared of him then. Back in those first days they'd spent together, when she'd been truly pathetic, and she'd fallen over herself to reassure him that she agreed, eagerly promising anything he wanted just to avoid his anger. And she'd seen the regret in his eyes, and afterwards she'd understood the fury hadn't been aimed at her, but it wasn't like she ever wanted to talk about Danny.

Still. Rusty had said Danny really did love her, and that was...comforting.

If he'd said he was a criminal she'd never have got involved with him. That really would have been the last straw. All her old fears proved right and she'd have turned round and ran in the other direction. She'd have known right away that he wasn't worth it.

Three years. Three unbelievable years of warmth and laughter and love.

All based on a lie, she reminded herself quickly. He should have told her.

If he'd told her, she'd never have dated him. Never have married him. She'd never have had to deal with the looks and pity and hurt when he was arrested. She'd never have felt so alone. She wouldn't have left New York, wouldn't have met John, wouldn't have spent a year bruised and frightened. No, she'd still be in New York, in a job she'd loved, passing time in her apartment with her books and her art, alone and content.

She wished...

Danny was gone. He wasn't her problem.

Right now, Rusty was the problem. Rusty, and whatever misguided notion he'd got into his head about her and Terry.

He'd said she let Terry control her. Let Terry order her around, do all her thinking for her. And she thought about what he must have seen at dinner last night and she felt like she might just die of shame. It didn't seem likely that she'd be able to persuade him that he was wrong, but maybe she could convince him of the truth. She wanted things this way. Terry took care of her, kept her from messing up, kept her safe. The truth was she couldn't do anything right. Terry loved her enough to make her decisions for her.

She knew what she was doing.

Unfortunately, she didn't think she could persuade Rusty of that. Rusty wanted to save her and he wouldn't understand that Terry already had.

But she could show Rusty that Terry was good to her at least. If he saw that he'd have to concede. If he saw that even when she did mess up Terry didn't hurt her, he'd have to be reassured, wouldn't he? And then he'd leave and she could get on with trying to forget.

She was already late to meet Terry. Suppose...suppose she stood him up?

Frightened at the very thought, she bit her lip hard, trying to talk herself into it. She'd never been deliberately disobedient before.

But that was the point. She could show Rusty that she didn't have to obey Terry, that she wasn't frightened of him. She just chose to.

All she had to do was find someplace to hide for a few hours before she went back to Terry's...to their suite. Nothing bad would happen.

She was shaking now and she pressed her hand against her face again, trying to contain the fear and the panic. Terry had never actually hit her. There was no reason to think he would this time. He might insult her and he might be a little rough sometimes, but there was nothing actually wrong with that.

Everything would be fine. She'd show Rusty that everything was just fine.