The Midnight Wife
Page 1
THE MIDNIGHT WIFE
L.G. DAVIS
Copyright © 2019 by L.G. DAVIS
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
BOOK DESCRIPTION
She has a new life and a loving husband, but will her secrets ruin everything?
Kelsey Bloom has been living a perfect lie for almost two years, hiding in plain sight from the past that broke her.
Everything is going according to plan. She has made herself at home in the small town of Sanlow, Montana, and her life seems perfect from the outside…
… until she’s attacked by someone who claims to know her secrets.
The wounds are deep and the consequences will last a lifetime, but she can’t tell anyone what happened to her, not even her husband.
One word and her cover will be blown.
While she struggles to recover from the trauma, her attacker is found dead in the lake close to where the attack happened.
She was the last person to see him alive.
As Kelsey tries to understand exactly what happened that fateful night, she makes a shocking discovery. She’s a pawn in a deadly game that could end with her death or the loss of her freedom.
Is she strong enough to fight back, or is it game over?
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Other thrillers by L.G. DAVIS
Chapter 1
I open the oven door and a cloud of heat is released into the air around me.
Jared walks into the kitchen just as I’m removing the chicken and potatoes gratin dish from the oven.
“Perfect.” He rubs his hands together. “Just like you. My perfect little wife.” He crosses the space between us and gives me a kiss on the side of my neck. Fresh out of the shower, he smells of aftershave and soap.
“No one’s perfect,” I say, pretending I’m not flattered.
He gives me time to lower the hot dish onto the granite countertop and turns me to face him. “Then I guess I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
My chest aches as I place a hand on his cheek, enjoying the feel of his stubble against my palm. His moss green eyes gaze deep into my soul and my heart moves from its usual place.
At first sight, Jared might not seem particularly handsome, but his good looks emerge the longer one looks at him. His eyes, full lips, and aquiline nose are his best features. At thirty-seven, there’s not a wrinkle in sight. I’m five years younger and fine lines have already started to appear around my eyes.
If he only knew how wrong he is about me being perfect. He has no idea how far from perfect I am.
“We’ve only been married for fifteen months, Mr. Bloom. We’re still in the honeymoon phase. Will you still feel the same way about me five or ten years from today?”
He presses a kiss to my lips, leaving behind the cool aftertaste of peppermint sugar-free chewing gum. “Don’t complicate things by thinking too far into the future.” His warm hand covers mine. “Let’s live for the moment.”
I don’t say anything more, content to stand with my husband in the middle of our kitchen, surrounded by the mouthwatering aromas of chicken, spices, and cheese.
I can’t believe how lucky I am to be married to Jared. He’s the first person to ever think I’m perfect. I’m determined to spend the rest of my life trying to prove that he’s right.
The illusion of perfection is what keeps me safe, an invisible cloak that hides the scars and secrets. Being perfect keeps me organized, and being organized prevents me from making mistakes.
I follow Jared to the dining room. Together we lay out everything on the table, which is far too big for two people.
The only time we use it is when we have guests, which is every two weeks. Jared likes to have his friends over, and they love my cooking.
I’m not an outgoing person by nature. The company of too many people makes me anxious. But I do it because it makes him happy.
It’s a small price to pay for what he has done for me, for giving me a life I never thought I could have. I would do anything to keep this life.
It’s risky to invite people into our home, but it would be suspicious if I kept them at a distance. The residents of Sanlow, Montana, treat each other like one big family.
I have no choice but to hide in plain sight.
Before the guests arrive, Jared tells me to go and take a shower, and to wear the dress he put out for me on the bed, a bright red cocktail dress with a strip of black lace trimming the collar and hem.
“You look amazing,” he says, handing me a pair of shiny, black velvet pumps.
I would have felt more comfortable in a pair of jeans, a plain t-shirt, and no shoes on my feet. But we have an unspoken rule in our marriage. Whenever we go out or meet people, Jared chooses what I wear.
He tells me he has a good sense of style and he likes me to look my best in front of his friends. That’s why when we got married, my wedding present was a whole new wardrobe. For a girl who came to town with only a backpack, I was blown away.
At the start of our marriage, it was fun when he chose what I wore. Now I wish I had more control over my clothing.
I keep telling myself it’s fine. At least when I’m home alone, I’m free to wear what I like.
The first time I refused to wear what he chose for me, he locked himself inside his home office and threw stuff at the wall.
He has a temper, but he often lets it run its course behind closed doors. When it passes, he walks out, all smiles as if nothing happened, as if he’s not the same person who had stormed off.
Sometimes I crave to know him better. After three months of dating and one year of marriage, I still don’t know him well.
All I know is that he was an only child and his parents died soon after he graduated from high school. Every time I want to know more, he changes the subject.
I don’t hold it against him. I’m a stranger to him too. He just doesn’t know it.
I push my feet into new shoes, inwardly wincing because they’re too tight around the toes. When I’m done, I pick up a ponytail holder from the dresser.
“Wear your hair down,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “I like it that way.”
“Okay.” I lower my lashes to hide my disappointment and reach for a boar-bristle brush to run it through my long black hair.
As soon as I’m done, he nods with approval. “Perfect as always,” he says with a smile.
Before I can say anything, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it.” He runs
downstairs to let the guests in.
We always invite the same people over, three of Jared’s friends and their wives.
Before I leave the room, I pull in several breaths, steeling myself for the conversations and the stares, especially from Victor Hanes, Jared’s best friend, a surgeon who lives next door. I don’t like the way he looks at me. It disgusts me that he always takes every opportunity to flirt with me even though we’re both married.
My discomfort is safely tucked away when I enter the dining room. Everyone is already settled in, laughing and talking with drinks in their hands.
“Wow,” Linda Jennings says. “You look amazing, Kelsey.” As the wife of Don Jennings, a successful lawyer, she always strives to look better than everyone else, but thanks to Jared dressing me up, she has competition. She glances at the other women in the room. “It’s hard not to look like a frump next to her, right?”
“You all look great,” I say, ignoring the burn at the back of my throat. They’re all dressed casually in jeans or shorts, and simple blouses. I’m sure Jared has told them again that it’s a casual dinner party. I have a feeling he does that because he likes me to stand out.
The other wives also compliment me, except for Rachel, Victor’s wife, who is always reserved and quiet, only speaking when she’s spoken to, using only a few words. I always get the feeling that she doesn’t like me.
She’s beautiful in a fragile way, with pale skin and hair so blonde it’s almost white. I’ve seen her smile only a handful of times since the day I met her, when Jared introduced me to her and Victor. Sometimes I wonder whether she’s unhappy, but it’s none of my business.
As everyone settles around the tempered glass and chrome dining table, I’m still on my feet, making sure they have everything they need. As soon as I place the food in front of them, I walk out again.
Jared’s gaze follows me out of the room. He hates it when I disappear during a meal. He wants me to sit there with everyone staring at me.
Inside the guest bathroom, I close the door and lean against it, drawing in deep breaths until my heart settles.
“Keep it together, Kelsey,” I whisper to my reflection in the illuminated LED mirror. “You’re lucky to have this life. Don’t mess it up.”
I force a smile and step out of the room to join the others, to pretend I’m the perfect host.
“This food is absolutely delicious,” Linda says, slicing into her goat cheese terrine. “How is it that everything you cook is pure perfection?”
“I do the best I can,” I say.
They have no idea that before the dinners I spend hours flipping through cookbooks and scrolling through online recipes. Sometimes I cook the meals first before serving them at a dinner. Jared always appreciates the efforts I put in. He gets to taste all the meals before anyone else.
“Forget the perfect food,” Connie chirps. She’s the wife of Lewis Shay, a pharmacist who never says much. “How do you create such a perfect life?”
“Come on, Connie,” I say. “Perfect is an illusion.” I cover my words with forced laughter.
“I’m a lucky man to be able to live in her world.” Jared lowers his fork to his plate and reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “I couldn’t have chosen a better wife.”
“You are indeed one lucky man,” Victor says, his beady eyes on my face.
My skin prickles as I pull my gaze from his. Since the day Jared introduced us, I felt uncomfortable in his presence. There’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way.
Maybe it’s the way he looks at me as though he can see right through me, peeling away the layers. Or maybe it’s the way he smiles as though he’s trying to tell me something without words. Whatever the case, I don’t trust him.
I manage to steer the conversation from myself to the weather and the upcoming Flower Festival that takes place once a year in Sanlow.
As I speak to the others, I focus on one person at a time. It’s safer that way. It allows me to keep in control, to measure my words before they leave my lips.
Speaking to lots of people makes me nervous. I live in constant fear of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, to the wrong person.
I focus on one person, but I’m aware of all the other conversations.
I catch most words and strain my ears to hear the whispers. My eyes scan their faces, searching for words that have not been said. I’m a part of every conversation without actively participating.
“Are the twins having fun at their new kindergarten?” I ask Linda, who is sitting to my left.
She waits until she has chewed the food in her mouth and looks at me with a smile that has been whitened and brightened at the local beauty parlor.
“Now they are.” She sighs. “The first few weeks were hell with me having to pick them up after every fifteen minutes. I swear, it took two weeks before they let me stay away for longer. But now they stay for two hours and that’s perfect for me.”
“That’s great,” I say, lifting a glass of water to my lips, and taking a sip. “Now you will have more time to yourself.”
Linda, like all of us women at the table, is a housewife. We live to create the perfect homes for ourselves and our husbands. But I have only one reason for being a housewife and that’s because looking for a long-term job is too risky. What if the employers dig into my past?
Thankfully, Jared prefers it. Even though he doesn’t earn too much from his job as a firefighter, he has a lot of money saved, enough to support both of us.
“Absolutely,” Linda says. “I thought this day would never come.” She laughs out loud, throwing her head back so her auburn curls tumble down her back. “Now I can actually go to the bathroom without being followed by a little person.”
I nod with a tiny smile. I’ll never be able to experience the joys or pains of motherhood. Before we got married, Jared and I decided that we don’t want kids.
Linda changes the subject and starts talking about how she’s renovating the master bedroom for the second time in eight months, then she starts complaining that Don travels too often and she feels like a single mom sometimes.
I listen without giving my input. I personally love it when Jared travels because on those days I’m not told what to wear or how to act. Even though I love my husband, when he’s away I can actually be myself. There’s no pressure for me to be perfect all the time. But Jared hardly travels and when he does, he doesn’t stay away for longer than two or three days.
Sometimes I wonder how long I’ll be able to keep up this illusion. How long will it be until I crack?
Linda speaks until the main meal is gone and I stand up to get the dessert.
“Do you need help?” Jared asks, pushing back his own chair.
“No, sweetheart. I’ll be fine.” It’s my chance to be alone again for a few minutes, to calm my nerves.
Inside the kitchen, I take a quick calming breath and get started with decorating the two key lime pies with cream and thin slices of lime. The tangy scent curls upward to bring my sense of smell to life.
Before carrying them to the dining room, I clutch the edge of the kitchen counter to take more deep breaths, my eyes squeezed shut as I fill my lungs with air.
“Are you all right?” someone asks from behind me. I spin around.
It’s Linda.
“Yes, yes, of course.” I straighten up and smile.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” She glances at the pies and shakes her head. “Seriously, how do you do it? What’s your secret?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, everything about you is perfect. You cook the best food, you have the best body, and your home is always spotless.”
It amuses me that Linda doesn’t think she has a gorgeous body, even though after having two kids, she looks amazing.
I shake my head. “That’s because I don’t have kids. If I did, I’m sure the house would be a mess.” Heat floods my cheeks. “I’m not saying that your home—”
“Thank you.” I lift one of the pies from the counter and hand it to her. “I’ll bring the other.”
She leaves, and when I think I’m alone, Victor strides through the door.
He stands in the doorway, observing me in silence.
“Hi, Victor, do you need anything?” I ask. He’s a few steps from me and I’m already finding it hard to breathe.
“I came to offer my help.” He steps closer into the room, toying with the full beard on his chin.
“That’s kind of you, but I don’t need help.”
“Everyone needs help.” His eyes linger on my face for too long.
When he doesn’t look away, I grab a pie and hand it to him.
I find it strange that he came to help. I’ve heard from Linda that Rachel told her that Victor never does anything around the house, that he doesn’t even seem to know where the kitchen is. It’s clear to me that he has other reasons for coming to my kitchen.
“Thank you for your help,” I say.
Instead of answering in words, he winks and turns to walk out, almost colliding with Jared who just entered the room. The two men exchange a quick glance before Victor walks away.
Jared doesn’t say a word to me until Victor is out of earshot.
He comes to me and places a finger underneath my chin, tilting it upward so my eyes meet his. “What were you two talking about?” His expression is devoid of emotion.