“I’m warning you, Sairs,” Anson demanded. “Don’t say another word.”
Sairs stormed around the desk to confront me. “I can’t believe he’s sticking up for you.” He shook his finger in my face, but Anson wedged between us in a heartbeat.
“Back off,” he yelled.
Alex’s face loomed over me, twisted into something fearsome and frightening, a vision so clear I could have sworn he was in the room with me. Without reason—or maybe with more reason than I understand—I feared for my life.
I pushed my fists against my temples. No, I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember. The words formed in my head, but couldn’t seem to escape my mouth. A low moan rumbled up from my gut.
Anson nudged me. His muffled voice barely penetrated the fog enveloping me. “Jennifer? Jennifer, what’s wrong? She doesn’t look right.”
Sairs was speaking, but I couldn’t interpret the silent movement of his lips. Anson caught me as the floor fell from beneath my feet and his face faded to pitch black.
Chapter Thirteen
The sun warmed my closed eyelids, urging me to wakefulness. When I opened my eyes, the struggle wasn’t worth it. The cold, antiseptic trappings of a hospital room greeted me. Alex hovered in the corner of the room. I reached out to him. He made no move to embrace me and examined me with dull eyes.
Then I remembered I was Jennifer. I dropped my arms. “What are you doing here?”
He braced his hands on the bed railing as if standing his ground. “I know you told me not to come out here, but I couldn’t let it go.”
“Idiot.” I covered my mouth. I hadn’t intended to verbalize my opinion.
He turned his head away as if I’d slapped him. “I guess I deserved that.” I didn’t contradict him. “Um…I met your husband…” His words were tentative and searching.
“His name is Anson.” I pulled the tatty medical issue bedspread to my chin. “Is he here?”
“He…went to the cafeteria for some food.” Alex fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Why did he leave me alone with you?”
He released the bedrail. “I told him we needed to talk.” His arms dangled at his sides at odd angles.
“He wouldn’t just leave me alone with you, unless…” The sensation of imminent peril returned.
“You didn’t tell him Jackson is my brother, did you?” The question uncovered his motives. Concern for my well-being wasn’t the explanation for his presence.
My instincts fired. Alex didn’t need to know what I’d told Anson. “Why would I tell him about Jackson? I had other things on my mind.” Sweat dribbled down my backbone so I moved my arms from beneath the hot bedspread.
He fiddled with the pitcher and cup on the overbed table. “So…Jackson attacked you?”
“He tried to force me to tell him what I know. I didn’t know anything…then.” I pushed myself to sitting on the hard mattress. My arm snagged on the tube feeding the automatic drip. I squinted at the bag of solution dripping into my arm. Dextrose and water. I relaxed.
He pushed a button and adjusted the angle of the bed. “But now you know?” He ran his tongue over his upper lip. “Does anyone else know?” He walked over to the window and lowered the blinds, dousing the morning sunshine.
A cold finger of dread raced down my spine. “No, Alex. Your secret is safe with me. Besides, who would believe I know anything about what happened in California five years ago? As far as I know, Rhonda and Jennifer never met. How could Jennifer possibly know anything about you or your brother? You see, you’re safe. No one would believe me even if I did tell. So…go home.”
“You make me sound self-serving.” His whiny complaint irritated me. I raised an eyebrow. He rubbed the day-old growth of his beard. “I guess some things I’ve done appear that way.”
A flash of insight illuminated our shared history. “I know what you did for Jackson wasn’t out of brotherly love. You did it so you could hold it over his head, so you could take his share of the family business.”
“Oh, no. You can’t lay this all on me!” he declared, triumph in his eyes as if he had been waiting for me to say something to exonerate him. “Rhonda wanted his share of the business as much as I did.” His eyes shifted away from mine.
I read the lie all over his face. “Really? That justifies your actions? So her mistakes relieve you of any responsibility for yours?” Rhonda may have wanted Jackson’s share of the business, but she would have never gone to the lengths Alex did to obtain it. If I was aware of nothing else, I knew this much about Rhonda. I had lived the past few weeks in close proximity to her soul and knew her essence as if it were my own.
His fists clenched as if he wanted to punch me. “No…it’s just…” He raised his chin. Myriad emotions trailed across his face. Anger. Guilt. Arrogance. “Rhonda has no room to make judgments.”
“Well, then you’re off the hook. Because I’m Jennifer and guess what? Jennifer has no room to make judgments, either.”
To my relief, Sairs knocked and entered the room. The miasma of danger evaporated.
Alex nodded to the cop with a haughty air as if he had every right to be in my room and the cop didn’t. Sairs studied Alex with a drawn brow and tight mouth then turned toward me. Instead of introducing Alex to Sairs, I shrugged.
“I need to talk to Mrs. Cristobal…alone,” Sairs demanded, exerting every bit of his lawman authority.
“Goodbye, Alex,” I said. He shoved away from my bed and exited the room, leaving his despair crackling in the overcharged air behind him. I pushed his irrelevant feelings away and focused on Sairs. “His name is Alex Prentiss,” I told him without inflection, without emotion, and without explanation. No apologies for my attitude.
“How do you know him?”
“He was my heart donor’s husband. I met him in California.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“What is he doing here?”
“I’m not sure. You interrupted our conversation.” I shifted my weight from my left side to my right. “But I’m glad you stopped by. I don’t like him. He was making me nervous.” I looked him up and down. “So why are you here?”
He dropped into the nearest chair. “I think I was a bit harsh—”
“Why are you backing down now? Because we have a personal history? Or because I have a heart condition? Surely not because someone is obviously trying to kill me.”
“Jennifer—”
“Do you really believe I had something to do with that woman’s death?”
He remained mute but his lower jaw worked as if he had plenty to say.
“Well? Do you? Or were you just needling me? Were you letting your frustrations with me overrule your professional judgment?”
“You know I’ve always had suspicions you knew more than you were telling.”
“No, I don’t. I told you I don’t remember anything before two weeks ago…before the party. I don’t even remember the party.”
“How convenient.” His antagonism corroded his countenance like an ugly acid wash.
I licked my lips, craving a chip of ice or a drop of water, anything to cool the fire burning me from the inside out. “Don’t back off then.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Don’t back off your suspicions simply because I have trouble with my heart. Or because you think you might still harbor some sentiment for me. Until you prove my guilt or innocence, don’t cut me any slack.” He rose to his feet, leaned toward me, and then stepped back. “Does my attitude surprise you?” I asked.
He placed his hands on his hips. His lips moved, but nothing erupted.
“Yeah, I know. These things are easy for me to say. I can hide behind my faulty memory and conveniently forget what I don’t want to remember, can’t I?” I sneered so he wouldn’t have to minimize my treachery. “And if I did something to that woman I should pay for it. Right?”
“I don’t understand you anymore.”
I turned my eyes away from hi
m. “I’m trying to fix what I’ve broken, but it’s difficult. Because every time I think I have it figured out, I find out something new that just doesn’t fit in with everything else. I had no idea I was suspected of causing Claire’s death.”
He rolled his eyes and turned his head. Annoyed. Angry. Disbelieving. Disturbed. “You could have given her something we would never think to test for. Or you could have given it to someone else to give her,” he said, suggesting the possibility of conspiracy with a gleam in his eye. “I couldn’t prove anything. The coroner never could establish cause of death.” He hurled one more unforgiving scowl my way.
“And I had motive?” I asked.
“Plenty.”
“Was I involved with Anson before Claire died?” I led him onward as if proving his case for him.
He tilted his head and studied me. “Were you? Because it wasn’t six months after she died that the two of you married.”
“My sudden marriage to Anson took you totally by surprise?”
“See,” he smiled with grim victory. “You do remember.”
“No, actually I don’t. But I’m a good guesser. That must have really burned.” He snorted in disbelief. I placed my hand on his arm. His muscles flexed beneath the sleeve of his uniform. “Do what you need to do to prove or disprove it. But you need to move on. This is eating you alive.”
He threw my hand off. His chest heaved with compressed rage. “We found Sudha.”
The change in subjects rattled me. “Well, what did she have to say?”
“She can’t say anything. She’s dead.” Unspoken suspicion trailed across his face and settled in the corners of his eyes, around the edges of his mouth.
A nurse knocked and entered the room without waiting for permission. “Are you accusing me of killing her, too?” I asked, and then stared hard at the nurse. She flinched and backed out of the room, her eyes wide with surprise.
Sairs waited until she left before he answered. “I don’t have a viable suspect yet,” he grumbled. “But when I do, I’ll be sure and let you know.”
“Has it occurred to you that she might not have been acting alone when she tried to kill me? Maybe whoever she was conspiring with killed her.”
“I’ve already considered that. She probably had plenty of good reasons for trying to murder you.”
To say I was affronted would have minimized his offense. “You have work to do, don’t you?”
He grabbed the rail of the bed and leaned over me, almost in my face. “One more question.”
“I don’t want to answer any more questions.”
His nostrils flared. “How do you know Jackson Prentiss?”
“He’s a drug rep for a customer of Cristobal Pharmaceuticals.”
Jackson Prentiss was nothing more than an accomplished con man.
Sairs held his tongue, apparently waiting for me to continue. “Marnie told me we were arguing the night of the party. He said something to me and I got upset. I passed out. When I woke up the next morning, I couldn’t remember anything.”
“You expect me to believe that?” he asked.
“I know it’s hard to believe—”
“Last time you told this tale, it was the last five years you couldn’t remember,” he reminded me.
“I’ve been piecing my life together from the things people say to me.”
“Oh no, Jennifer. You can’t get out of your mistakes that easy.” He backed away, nearly to the door. “I can’t believe I once cared for you.”
“You still do.”
“You’re killing the last bit of affection I have for you. Pretending you can’t remember what you’ve done. Pretending someone is trying to kill you…in order to get by with murder. What kind of lies did you tell Anson to get him to defend you?” His hand grabbed the doorknob.
“But Anson was there—”
“This isn’t over. I’m going to keep looking and hunting and digging and snooping around until I find the truth. You better prepare yourself.” He left, slamming the door behind him.
****
Anson caught me stuffing my few possessions into a plastic bag. He wrapped one strong hand around my right wrist. I turned toward him. “Don’t try to stop me.”
I yanked on the captured wrist, digging the fingernails of my free hand into the flesh of his upper arm.
He winced, but didn’t let go. “I won’t try to stop you. I just want you to listen to what I have to say,” he insisted with heat. I believed him so I released my claw-like grip.
“Do you think it wise to leave against doctor’s orders?” he asked.
My fear was stronger than his sound reasoning. “I can’t stay. It’s not safe here. People are trying to kill me.” I sucked back a sob. “Did you know Sudha is dead? And that cop…that cop thinks I killed—”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know yet.” I yanked on my arm again, but his grip was tight.
He said he wouldn’t stop me. Did he lie? Has he lied to me about other things? More significant things?
“Let me go with you.” His face lighted with so much hope it pained me.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Anson. I don’t think I trust you either.”
His mouth hung open in shock. “Jennifer—”
“Just because I’m his prime suspect, doesn’t mean I killed Claire…or Sudha.”
He loosened his grip on my wrist. “I never thought you did.”
“Nobody has better motive than a husband. How do I know you didn’t kill either one of them? How do I know you’re not perfectly willing for me to take the fall for something you did?”
“Look at me,” he demanded. I didn’t want to. “Look me in the eye.” I tried not to do his bidding, but his gaze drew mine. “I didn’t kill Claire and I certainly didn’t kill Sudha. And I don’t think you did either. You have to trust someone. You can’t do this alone.”
The commotion of a busy hospital outside my partially open door clattered and beeped behind our conversation, distracting me and blurring my concentration.
Someone on the floor was coding. I pulled my hand free and continued my interrupted chore. He picked up my brush and cosmetic case and shoved them into the bag.
“I’m afraid if you leave you won’t come back. If I go with you, I can take care of you. Two are safer than one.” His hand found my face and caressed my cheek, wiping away the tears that had snuck up on me.
“Why would you do that for me?”
He huffed. “Don’t you know?”
My heart pounded. “Maybe I need to hear it.”
A bemused smile played across his face. “I love you.”
The evidence of his love had been so obvious I should have seen it already. “You’ve never told me that before, have you?” I laid my hand over his. “I’m sorry. I can’t return it. Not now. Not when I don’t know who I am. I wish I could. I think you deserve to be loved by someone better than I am.”
His face crumpled, his expression bewildered and a bit wild.
Can’t he tell it’s breaking my heart to hesitate returning his love? He deserves someone to love him without reluctance. But there’s so much I don’t remember, so much I don’t understand. I don’t want to give him my heart unless I can give him a whole person, not fractured pieces of two incomplete psyches. But…if he pushes a little harder, my defenses will crumble.
“I’ve never asked for more than you could give,” he reminded me.
If he wants to go with me, I can’t stop him. I haven’t the will.
“All right. Where are we going?” I pulled the drawstring on the plastic hospital bag.
He reached for the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll tell you when we’re out of here and on the road. I don’t want to be overheard. And I’m going to tell Sairs where we’re going.”
I drew back. “What? No.”
“If you run and don’t tell him where you’re going, what will he think?” His question sounded so reasonable.
; “He already thinks the worst and I don’t trust him either.”
“Sairs is all right, Jennifer. He’s just hurt. He’ll do the right thing.” Anson’s voice resonated with sadness rather than confidence.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter Fourteen
Our escape from the city brought us to an isolated stretch of beach, to a one-bedroom vacation cottage on a remote island. The surf roared in the background, rolling in and out, much like life, unmindful of the flotsam pulled along with it. The moon touched the edge of the dunes with silver light. Beyond the sand, night stretched toward infinity.
The heavy, salt-laden air soaked through my jacket. I shivered and pulled my knees to my chest. “What if I’m guilty?”
“Huh?” Anson replied from the deck chair next to mine, his eyes focused on the distant horizon. A bank of incoming clouds clothed the sky in layers of velvety black.
I rubbed my finger along the stripe in the seat cushion. “What if I killed her?”
The wind ruffled his short brown hair. He shifted his position, the chair creaking with his weight, and turned his attention toward me. “You really don’t remember, do you?”
“No, I don’t.” We became quiet for a time. “I mean, I remember her face…I think.”
“Hmmm… What did she look like?” he asked.
An odd question. I turned and blinked at him. “Blonde like Marnie. No blemishes. Pale, light skinned. She was beautiful.” I closed my eyes to better recall her face, but the faded image blurred and reformed and blurred again, over and over in slow motion. “There’s no smile in her eyes. I don’t know if it’s an actual memory or…what.”
“Marnie isn’t really blonde. And neither was Claire. I don’t know who you’re remembering.”
I lifted my tea glass and swirled the contents. “What was Claire like?” I asked. He groaned. I could have rescued him from my probing question, but I didn’t. I needed answers more than he needed to forget.
“Quiet. Ladylike. Genteel, I guess. She came from an old line of aristocratic southern gentry. Short on money, long on class. She was well-rounded. Educated, but not too knowledgeable about anything in particular. An elegant woman. Her presence demanded attention.”
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