The strain of her mother’s confessions must have shown because when Jenna walked back to the bar, Andre said nothing, simply wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her out. On the way to the hotel he drove, following the car’s navigation prompts since Jenna was too drained to help.
“Morgan called,” Andre said, as he steered them through the crimson hues of an LA sunset. “The bomber isn’t after you. He’s after her—something to do with her father.”
Of course. Jenna’s family wasn’t the only one with monsters hiding in plain sight.
“I checked,” Andre continued. “I can fly back on the red-eye tonight, and be there by morning to help her out.”
“No.” Somehow it took all of Jenna’s energy to get that single syllable out. She slumped in her seat. “We’ll both go.”
“Don’t you want to stay? Seems like time with your family, to work things out—”
“No.” She took his hand in hers, intertwining her fingers with his as if forging an unbreakable bond. “You’re the only family I have or want. Just you.”
He considered that, and nodded. “Then we’ll go home together.”
Jenna curled her knees up, hugging herself, and tugged against the seatbelt that seemed determined to choke the life from her. “My mother—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Jenna.” His words offered her an escape from the burden of the truth, but his tone offered something even more precious: solace. She didn’t have to explain—but he would listen to anything she wanted to share.
“My mother,” she tried again. “When she was young, her father—my grandfather, the Judge, he—he abused her.” Andre’s posture grew rigid, but he squeezed their still-joined hands.
“But your parents…they sent you to live with him and your grandmother. That’s why you were there when the letter bomb arrived. Surely she wouldn’t have risked—”
“She did. She knew he was a monster, but still she sent me there. To get me out of her way, to have her freedom without the burden of a kid dragging her down—” She covered her face with her free hand and rubbed her face against her palm. “I don’t know what she was thinking. She said he’d promised her nothing would happen, that he’d changed, that she believed him, trusted him—”
“With her only child? And your father? Does he know?”
“I have no idea.” She blew her breath out, expelling any hope that either of her parents actually ever gave a damn.
Andre slid his hand free of hers long enough to punch the horn and jackrabbit over to the next lane, speeding up to pass and cut off the slowpoke who’d irritated him. Then his hand was back in hers. She traced the scars that ran along the back of it, smoothed her fingers around to where she could feel his pulse, his heart beating faster and more furious than usual.
“I want—I wish—” Traffic was stalled ahead and he slowed, this time without honking or slamming on the brakes. They sat in silence, the red glow of brake lights coloring them both in fresh blood. “I’m glad we’re leaving. You deserve better.” He turned to face her. “You deserve the world, Jenna. You deserve everything. I’m sorry those people can’t understand that. Tell me what I can do.”
This time she was the one who squeezed his hand. “Nothing. The Judge is dead. And I finally know the truth.” They inched toward the exit. “Morgan’s right that the bomber isn’t the same one who killed the Judge.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because my mother sent the bomb that killed the Judge. Said it was her way of taking care of things after she found out what he’d done to me. That he’d broken his promise to her.”
Funny, but she had the feeling it was that betrayal that had propelled Helen to take action more than any love for her daughter. That the Judge had dared replace Helen with anyone else. What had Helen said? The Judge had created her, given her her power.
Made her a monster. Just like him.
Jenna closed her eyes, trying to block out the images of all the times she’d crossed the line herself—she’d killed in cold blood, without absolutely needing to. It was what had cemented her bond with Morgan: two monsters from two families of monsters, unable to shed their legacies of blood, helpless to change their destinies.
“You’re nothing like your mother or your grandfather,” Andre said in a low tone, as if he could follow her thoughts merely by watching her face. Probably he could—he was more sensitive than his appearance suggested. One of the many reasons she loved him.
“Some days I’m not so sure,” she said.
“Trust me. I know.” He steered them onto the exit. “Let’s get the hell out of here and go home.”
“Home.” She sucked in her breath, sitting upright like an adult. “Yes. Take me home. Please.”
She hoped he understood what she didn’t have the strength to say out loud—that anywhere she went with him was home. As long as he was by her side, that was all she needed. He gave her the strength to change, to not be like her mother or grandfather. Andre gave her what she needed most: hope.