Free 3rd Degree by James Patterson, Andrew Gross Page A

next,” I said, wetting my lips, “is for you to tell us how you feel.”
    “Yeah.” She drew a tight breath. “First, I'm not battered. We fight. Steve's a bully. He's never hit me with a fist. He's never struck my face.”
    Cindy moved to object, but Claire held her back.
    “I know that doesn't exonerate him, or justify anything. I just wanted you to know.” She bit her bottom lip. “I guess I can't describe how I feel. I've tried enough of these cases to know the range of emotions. Mostly, I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed to admit that this is me.”
    “How long has it been going on?” Claire asked.
    Jill leaned back and smiled. “You want the truthful an-swer to that question, or the one I've been telling myself the past few months? The truthful one is, from before we were married.”
    I felt myself clench my teeth.
    “It was always something. What I would wear, something I would buy for the house that didn't fit his style. Steve's very big on telling me I'm stupid.”
    “Stupid?” Claire gasped. “You run intellectual rings around him.”
    “Steve's not dumb,” Jill said. “He just doesn't see a lot of possibilities. At first, he would just squeeze me, like here, in the shoulders. Always pretend that it was inadvertent. Once or twice he threw things when he had a fit. My purse. Once, I remember” - she started to laugh - “it was this slab of Asiago cheese.”
    “Why?” Cindy shook her head, incredulous. “Why would he do these things to you?”
    “Because I paid a bill late. Because I splurged on a pair of shoes when we were starting out and low on funds.” She shrugged. “Because he could.”
    “This has been going on since we've known you?” I said, stunned.
    Jill swallowed. “Guess I've been holding out on you guys, huh?” The waitress had brought some quesadillas and there was a Shania Twain song in the background. “It's like you're bribing me.” She dipped a quesadilla in some guacamole and laughed. “New interrogation method. `Yes, I know where Osama bin Laden is hiding, but please, another one of those little cheesy things if you would....'”
    We laughed. Jill always knew how to make us laugh.
    “It's never the big things,” Jill said. "It's always something trivial. The big things, I truly feel we really are partners in life. We've been through a lot together. But the small things...I accept a date for dinner with people he doesn't like. I forget to tell the housekeeper to take in his shirts. He
    makes me feel like I'm a stupid child. Ordinary."
    “You're anything but ordinary,” Claire said.
    Jill dabbed at her eyes and smiled. “My cheerleaders...I could shoot the son of a bitch and you'd be praising my aim.”
    “We've already been discussing that option,” Cindy said.
    “You know I've actually thought about it.” Jill shook her head. “About who would try my case. Hey, I think I've let things get a little melodramatic.”
    I asked, “How would you counsel a woman who came to you with the same predicament? Jill the prosecutor now. Not Jill the wife. What would you say?”
    “I'd tell her I'd slap a suit on him so fast, it would be stick-ing to his ass the next time he took a shit,” she said, and laughed.
    One by one, we all laughed, too.
    “You say you need a little more time,” I said to Jill. “We're not here to make you change your life today. But I know you. You're staying around because you feel it's your responsibility to make this work. I want your promise, Jill. He doesn't even have to close his fist. If there's one more incident, I'll come and pack your things myself. My place, Claire's place, Cindy's... Well, forget Cindy's... it's a dump. But you've got choices, hon. I want you to promise, the next time he even threatens you, you're gone.”
    There was a sheen on Jill's face, a glimmer in those sharp blue eyes. Something made me think I had never seen her look prettier. Her bangs curled a little over her eyes.
    “I promise,” she finally said, blushing