He placed two fingers over her lips, silencing her. “It’s you, Sandy,” he whispered softly. “It’s always been about you. Since the first moment I saw you, you were the woman I wanted. I’m a terrible husband. I can’t … do … everything a husband should do. I can’t say everything a husband should say. I’m sorry for that. If I could turn back time, so maybe I wasn’t out on my bike that day, heading down the road, when this guy turned right in front of me and my bike went down and I fell to the ground and then there he was, looming above me …”

He shook his head. “I know I’m not perfect. But when I’m with you, when I’m with Ree, I want to try. Maybe I can never be Joshua Ferris again. But I’ve worked real hard at being Jason Jones.”

She was crying now. He could feel her tears on his fingers. He lifted his other hand to her face, using his thumbs to brush the moisture from her cheeks. He was gentle, unbearably conscious of the cut on her lip, the bruise on her temple, the rest of the story he had yet to hear but would no doubt break his heart.

His wife had been beaten, and he hadn’t been there for her. His wife had been hurt and he had not protected her.

“I love you,” she whispered against his fingertips. “I fell in love with you the day Ree was born, and I’ve been waiting for you to love me ever since.”

He studied her in bewilderment. “Then why did you leave me? Was it because of Aidan Brewster?”

Her turn to look confused. “Aidan Brewster? Who’s that?”

D.D. was just hitting Southie when Dispatch returned. Reports of gunfire, nearest units please respond. Dispatch rattled off the address, and D.D. immediately connected the dots.

She was on her radio in an instant. “Does that address belong to a Mrs. Margaret Houlihan? Please confirm.”

A moment’s delay then the muffled reply.

“Dammit!” D.D. hit the wheel. “That’s Brewster’s address. Who the hell is on the scene?”

“Officers Davis and Jezakawicz are at the residence. There has been no response to their repeated knocks on the door.”

“Break it down. I’ll be right there.”

Then D.D. pulled a hard left and was racing for Aidan Brewster’s apartment. An explosion. A missing teenager. Shots fired. What the hell was going on tonight?

“Ever since September,” Sandra was saying, “I’ve been worried that you were some kind of predator, doing terrible things online. So I started learning more about computers, and in the course of doing that, I met Wayne Reynolds.”