Stranger in the Mirror [Shades of Heaven] (Soul Change Novel) (32 page)

“What’s wrong?” he asked, coming to his feet.

She instinctively put her hand on her belly, knowing it was the baby he was concerned about. At her movement, he walked over and put his hand next to hers.

“You all right?” he asked, concern making his eyes seem deeper, more like a moss green.

She felt as though some unseen force was squeezing her heart. She lifted her gaze to him, feeling that all of her heart was there for him to see and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. He would hate her for trying to complicate his life, but she had no intention of doing that to either one of them. The warmth from his hand emanated to envelop her.

She closed her eyes and whispered, “The baby’s fine.”

When he touched her cheek, she opened her eyes again. “Marti…”

She shook her head and walked into the bedroom, feeling embarrassed and angry at herself for the tears that threatened to spill over. She could not love him, no, no, no. Sure, she had felt
in
love with him, infatuated. But this feeling that overwhelmed her was more than lust or puppy love. It reached from her heart to every place inside her, even places she didn’t know existed.

She wanted him to hold her, wanted to share evening walks down by the river, talks on the front porch swing, kisses anywhere and everywhere, even in the pits just before a race.

Idiot
. Marti shivered, facing the bed, wrapping her arms around herself. She couldn’t give up the value she’d found in herself. No matter that they were married, that they shared a baby together. Her fingers trembled as she put them over her mouth—
shared
a baby? Yes, she had thought that. Oh, God.

Jesse stood so close behind her that she could feel his body heat, feel his breath caressing her ear. He touched her shoulder so gently she wondered how he could know she felt so fragile that even a regular touch would shatter her.

“Marti?” The question laced his voice like aged whiskey.

“Go away. I’m fine.”

She heard his breath hitch, but he didn’t go. Her heart was on a fine wire, balanced between wanting him to leave and wanting him to stay. She only knew one thing for sure: she wanted him.

He ran his fingers across her cheek and into her wet hair, turning her gently to face him. His thumb grazed her skin as he studied her eyes.

“Jesse,” she said softly, her voice thick with held-back tears.
Go away. It will never work.

He didn’t go away. He kissed her, firm, yet gentle. His mouth remained against hers, as though he were contemplating the sanity of the move. A second later he kissed her again, this time with more urgency. She relaxed her lips against his, opening them slightly. A hot tear slipped down her cheek, then another. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could pretend things were different between them.

Jesse stopped kissing her, but his hand remained against her cheek. Remaining only an inch from her, his thumb stroked the wet skin where another tear had splashed against his hand.

“Talk to me.”

She shook her head, looking down. Never in her life had she felt so caught up in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and doubts. Maybe she could be happy here with Jesse and his family—her family now. But he had not asked her to stay, not from his heart. That had to be because he didn’t feel the same way. Even if she agreed to stay, he might tell her that he’d changed his mind, and that would kill her. No, she had to keep her feelings from him, no matter what.

Jesse was sure he’d never seen a more beautiful woman, tears and all. He bracketed her face with his hands, wishing he could take away the pain that clouded her brown eyes. But she wouldn’t answer him, wouldn’t let him help her. God, but he wanted to take care of her, to protect her and cherish her. It went against everything he’d been telling himself he wanted—and didn’t want—for the last few years, and especially the last few months. A woman would get in the way of his racing career, distract him, confuse him. Hell, she was already doing the last two.

He leaned back to get a better look at her, to put distance between them. Why did she look so darned sad? It was evident that she wasn’t going to tell him. Maybe she didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him how unhappy she was. She seemed content lately, other than being attacked in her sleep, of course. She didn’t talk about her former husband or California anymore, and she didn’t seem so out of place.

He pushed away the twinge in his heart, grasping on an answer. She must be thinking about them, though, impatient to have the baby and get the hell out of there.

“Marti, this will all be over soon.” He touched her chin, smiling. “You’ll have the baby and be able to go back home to California before you know it.”

Her lower lip trembled, and another tear slid down her cheek. She turned away and hugged herself. Bumpus whined from the other room, and Jesse realized he was probably still waiting for the claw trimming to end. Marti moved away from his grasp and lay down on the bed, keeping her eyes closed. Her delicate hands were lying on top of her belly, rising and falling with each breath.

Jesse wanted to touch her, to somehow comfort her. Hopefully his words about going home soon had helped. He didn’t let himself think about her not being in the house, sharing his bed. He couldn’t let himself think about her staying either. She’d already told him she needed more than to be second best. Racing was more important than anything. He walked to the doorway, watching her. Wasn’t it?

During the next week, Marti kept to herself. She ignored the almost constant pain that gripped her every time she thought of Jesse. He had been giving her odd looks since that night she had cried in front of him. She’d caught him twice just staring at her, his head tilted thoughtfully.

She wouldn’t allow herself to think about the future, especially not after what he’d said about her being able to go home to California soon. He wanted her out, the sooner the better. Then he could go back to racing on the weekends.

Donna was a great distraction every evening, fraught with her own anxieties and shame. Marti sat in her chair next to the window seat. She could always tell her mood by whether the curtain was open or not. It was open.

“Did you kill Paul?” she asked Marti out of nowhere.

“Do you think I did?”

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t. He was already dead when I got there. Somebody had broken his neck, then—oh, sorry.”

She shivered, then faced Marti. “It’s all right. I wondered how he’d died. Nobody would tell me, and I didn’t want to ask.”

“Do you feel safer now that he’s dead?” Marti fished for clues.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I’d like to have done it myself.”

Marti proceeded cautiously, glad that Donna was finally opening up. “Do you feel angry enough to want to kill him?”

She clenched her fists. “Maybe to rip all his chest hair out, to gouge his eyes, to—”

“Did you say chest hair?”

Donna’s eyes widened, and she wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Yeah. I’d pushed that memory away, but yes. He had hair on his chest. I didn’t see it, but when I tried to push him away, I felt it.” She looked at her hands in disgust.

Chest hair. Marti vaguely remembered feeling something when she’d pushed away the man in her bedroom. She’d thought it was his shirt, but no…it was a mat of hair.

She tried to remember if she’d seen Paul shirtless. Finally she asked, “Do you know if Paul has chest hair?”

“Some, I guess.”

Marti walked over to the desk where her sketch still sat on top of other papers and cards. “Is this what the scratch on your chest looked like?” Donna nodded without even looking. “Then it was the same man,” she said on a breath.

Donna stared at the place where the ceiling met the two walls in the corner. “Paul tried to get fresh on our date, right there in his car outside his house. That’s all he wanted, you know.”

She swallowed hard, and hesitated, making Marti think she would go silent again. “I stomped home, through the patch of woods between our houses. I was almost home. He came out of nowhere. I figured it was Paul chasing after me, but I couldn’t see his face in the dark. He shoved me to the ground, knocking the breath out of me. Then he dropped down on top of me…” Donna choked on her words.

Marti put her arms around the woman’s shaking shoulders. “I know it’s hard, but you need to talk about it. Let it out.”

Donna nodded. “Maybe if I tell you, the nightmares will go away.” She took a deep breath, staring at the corner again. “He was wearing a robe of some kind, and he threw it off. There was… nothing underneath. He pinned me down and...and….”

She started crying again, and Marti soothed her.

“I didn’t do anything. I mean, I tried to push him away, to scream. But once he’d pinned me, I stopped fighting. I didn’t want to die. I feel like I should have done more, but I was so scared.”

Marti thought of the woman whose place she’d taken. She had probably fought her attacker, and now she was dead. “That was the smartest thing you could have done.”

“There’s something else I need to tell you. He only said one thing to me, and his voice was weird, low, and dreamy sounding. He called me a different name. He said, ‘Marti, the blood of my heart.’ He called me ‘Marti.’”

Those last words squeezed Marti’s heart into a tiny ball of fear. It was definitely him.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Donna said through her tears. “I thought you should know. I wanted to tell you before, but I couldn’t. Why would he call me your name? And say those other words?”

“Maybe he was thinking about his attack on me.” Marti’s words seemed hollow as they left her mouth. The first Marti had seen her attacker as he stopped to help with her car problem. He probably worried that she would remember him. But why would he call her the blood of his heart? She shivered.

Then anger surged. “I don’t want to keep living in fear of this animal. We need to either rule out Paul or find out whether he was the one. I can’t stand this not knowing.”

“What are you going to do?”

Marti stood. “I don’t know.”

But she did. She had to get hold of Paul’s necklace and try to recreate the mark on her chest. Running to her car was physically out of the question, but she moved faster than she thought she could. As she passed Carl’s house a few minutes later, she realized how easy it would be to get inside and find the necklace. Then she’d have her answer.

Still, she tried to find Jesse first. He wasn’t at the house, Helen’s, or at the garage, nor did he answer his phone. She didn’t know where Abbie lived or even where else to check for him. Going to the sheriff was obviously out of the question, and she didn’t want to drag Helen or Caty into this.

The sight of Carl’s car parked at the station gave her the adrenaline to drive directly to his house. She would find the proof. Even though Jesse would yell at her, he’d be happy to at least have an answer. Besides, Helen would do the same.

It was barely light when she drove past Carl’s house, with the sunset’s rays casting an eerie glow over everything. She pulled onto an empty lot on the other side of the street, parking behind a large fig tree. Carl’s colonial home sat on two lots, giving it room on either side. She walked casually up to the house, keeping herself hidden by the shadows of trees.

People in small towns were not given to locking their doors, unless there was a ruthless rapist in the vicinity. The sheriff wouldn’t be afraid of such a thing. The front door was locked, but the back one was not. She slipped inside.

The rooms were dim and musty. The television played in some distant room, making her wonder if Carl was indeed at the station. She had to believe he was since his car wasn’t out front but she remained on alert and quiet just in case. With so many rooms to choose from, she realized she had no idea where to start.

She doubted Paul had been buried with his necklace, which meant Carl would have it somewhere, like in his bedroom or in Paul’s room.

A quick check of the main level revealed no master bedroom, so she walked up the stairs and continued down the hallway. The second bedroom looked cluttered and dirty. Nothing like the rest of the house, which was immaculate in its appearance. Paul’s room?

She found the chain and eagle pendant on top of a tall chest of drawers. Tugging her collar down, she pressed the wings into her upper arm until it hurt. When she pulled it away, her body went cold. It was the same mark. Pocketing the necklace, she turned to leave.

Photos on the wall caught her eye. Old, framed photos of Carl in his uniform, Carl in what looked like a graduating class of police officers, Carl and Paul on a fishing boat. This had to be Carl’s room, then.

Behind one of the photos, she saw the corner of another one tucked away. Even from the small piece, she could tell it was older. Pulling the frame down, she bent the prongs and removed the backing. The small photo behind it was of a younger Helen, obviously cut from a family photo.

Huh?

She started looking at some of the other photos, taking one down and peeling off the back. Another picture of Helen hid behind the boat photo, this one of her sprawled sexily on a couch. Behind that another one yet, this one taken without Helen’s knowledge more recently.

The featured photo drifted to the floor. She needed to get out of here. Even though she’d only been in the house for about thirty minutes, it felt like hours had passed. She reached for it, but her gaze riveted on Carl and Paul: both men wore pendants. She put her nose to the photograph, trying to make out the shapes: eagles. Both had the same necklace. Her hand went to her throat. Paul’s chest was lightly covered in hair, and Carl’s…covered with curly fuzz.

“Oh, my God.”

The realization squeezed her heart, making it pound hard and tight in her chest. Carl. It had been Carl all along. She had to find Jesse and tell him the shocking truth.

A glint of light outside the window caught her eye. The sheriff’s car sat out front. She blinked, hoping it was a mirage. No, not her imagination. How long had Carl been home? Where could she hide? In the closet of one of the unused rooms until he left again.