Free Fear Nothing by Lisa Gardner Page B

the phone, swung out of bed and prepared to return once more to prison.

Chapter 6
    A LEX MADE ALL THE ARRANGEMENTS . D.D.’s physical therapist plus Phil and Neil would meet them at the scene of the first murder and D.D.’s subsequent stair dive. Seven A.M. , D.D. sat in the kitchen across from three-year-old Jack, plying him with Cheerios while engaging in their morning contest of who could make the most ridiculous face. As usual, Jack won, but D.D. felt she put up a fair fight.
    Eight A.M. , Alex drove Jack to day care, at a neighbor’s house just down the street. D.D. told herself she was not nervous. Alex’s idea to reconstruct the shooting incident of six weeks ago based upon the resulting trauma to her body made perfect sense. Forensic collision experts did it all the time, looked at smashed-up car A, smashed-up car B, then rendered stunningly accurate analyses of the auto accident, including who was to blame. If it could work on cars, why not the human body?
    Eight thirty. Alex returned home and the real challenge began. Pulling on fresh clothes, despite the limited mobility of D.D.’s left arm and the excruciating pain that still radiated throughout much of her neck and shoulder.
    “Melvin,” she said, eyeing her tucked left arm in the mirror.
    Her shoulder blazed instant pain. The kind that came from overstretched muscles and inflamed nerves, she’d been told, and would require months to heal.
    What had the shrink told her? Talk to Melvin. Let him know who was in charge.
    “All right,” she addressed her reflection. “Here’s the deal. Got a big morning. Gonna do some real work, and part of that work is trying to remember what you made me forget.”
    Her shoulder remained . . . a shoulder, reflected in a mirror.
    “Oh, for fuck’s sake. This is the stupidest, most idiotic . . . Fine!” She scowled harder at her reflection. “These clothes are coming off. Then I’m going to shower so I feel like a real human being. And then I’m going to put on tight-fitting yoga clothes, because those are my instructions.”
    In fact, her physical therapist, Russ Ilg, had instructed her to arrive in black yoga pants and a tight-fitting black T-shirt. FYI, he was bringing chalk and she shouldn’t be surprised if she became the blackboard.
    “I don’t want to hear it from you,” she continued ruthlessly. “This is how it’s gonna be. So just . . . take a break or something, Melvin. Because life goes on and I’m sick of being stuck in this house, wearing my husband’s clothes and smelling like an animal in the zoo. It’s been six weeks and I . . . I gotta do something. I’m not meant for lying around. If you are me, surely you know that, Melvin. Surely you understand.”
    Alex materialized in the mirror, appearing in the doorway behind her. “Is it working?”
    “Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.”
    “I’m going to take that as a maybe.”
    “Fuck.”
    “Shall we?” He walked into their bedroom and gestured to her top, really his own oversize shirt, buttoned over her left arm.
    “Fine.”
    He started with the top button and worked his way down. There had been a time in D.D.’s life when having this man slowly but surely undress her in front of a full-length mirror would’ve had her knees shaking in breathless anticipation. Now she mostly felt numb.
    No, she felt broken, weak and useless. Which was worse than numb. Numb would’ve been a step up.
    Alex eased the shirt from her shoulder. He unhooked her bra in the back, then carefully slid the strap down her injured left arm. A mere touch, and she hissed as inflamed nerves screamed their protest.
    Her husband’s blue eyes met hers in the mirror, quietly apologetic as he finished removing the top half of her wardrobe, then transitioned to the bottom. Her sweatpants were easier. Socks, underwear. They were in the homestretch.
    Alex turned on the showerhead, offering her his arm as she climbed into the tub. His turn to strip; then he joined her in