Deceptions of the Heart

by Denise Moncrief

  I caught Anson’s eyes. I’d never seen that level of incredulity on another’s face. “What are you two talking about?” he roared. “I don’t trust either of you to tell me the truth.” He grabbed my arm and spun me toward him.

  I looked into his eyes, trying not to hide anything, open and vulnerable, begging him to trust me. “Does it matter what happened in the past? Maybe we need to concentrate on how to build our future. Maybe we need to let all this go and start over.” I trembled at my daring desperate gamble to save my tentative relationship with the man I loved.

  “Do we have a future?” he asked, the question bare and raw, exposing all his insecurities.

  I released the breath I was holding. “Only if that’s what you want. I’ll do whatever you ask of me to make it right. Just…let it go. Let’s go home before someone gets hurt.”

  “What do you think this is all about, Jennifer? Someone has already been hurt,” he replied, but the heat was gone. He backed away and headed for the door.

  ****

  The drive home was so quiet it set every one of my nerves tingling with dread. The letdown from the adrenaline rush left me shaky and bleary-eyed. Anson sat like a stone statue in his seat, staring out the passenger window. I drove like an automaton until he asked, “Why are you going this way?”

  I thought I knew the way home.

  “Which way should I go?”

  “Turn left at the next light.”

  “Are you ever going to speak to me again?” I pouted like a child, waiting to find out if my best friend still wanted to be friends.

  “I just did.”

  Oh, the obvious. So well stated.

  I closed my eyes while we waited for the light to change. The click click of the turn signal bounced up and down in the car. “Don’t do this to me again.”

  “Do what?” He had a right to his hostile response.

  “Every time you leave me alone, someone tries to kill me,” I told him without softening the sting of my accusation.

  “Does seem to be a pattern of yours,” he mumbled.

  “Why did you leave me there by myself? Why’d you put a sedative in my food?”

  “I had business to attend to and I didn’t want you interfering with my plans.” He slammed his fist on the dash. I jumped at the sudden impact.

  “Sorry I got in the way of that,” I responded with tight lips.

  His shoulders slumped. “It was a brave thing you did coming between me and that gun.”

  Is that admiration in his voice? Respect in his eyes?

  The idiot behind me laid on the horn so I shoved the accelerator to the floor. The car jerked into forward motion and settled into a steady speed before I drew another breath. “If you’re lucky, he won’t press charges,” I submitted to cover the free fall of my feelings.

  “He won’t.” His response seemed less than sure. Price’s mood was unstable at best.

  I found the house without another hitch. We sat in the drive outside the kitchen door, weary and heartbroken. Neither of us made a move to exit the vehicle. I rolled down the window to let a fresh breeze blow through the stuffy interior of the car. The faint scent of verbena floated on the air. I drew in a deep whiff of the sweet perfume.

  “Who tried to kill you today?”

  Do I detect a hint of a tease in his tone?

  “Jackson Prentiss tried to get me to kill myself.” I paused, too tired to recite the pitiful tale again. “Can I tell you about it in the morning? I’m so tired.”

  He pursed his lips before he answered. “Sure. Go to bed. Get some rest.”

  “Will you?” I asked.

  “Will I what?”

  “Get some rest. Or will you walk out on me again?” I tried to keep the resentment from my tone, but failed miserably. The frights of the past two days clung to me. So many unanswered questions flew around us like atomic fallout.

  “No. I won’t leave you again.”

  I reached for the door handle, but before I could push the door open, he fell apart with a gut-wrenching sob. I wrapped my arms around my husband and comforted him. Not because it was the right thing to do. Not because it was the decent thing to do. But because I wanted to be his comfort.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I didn’t know you could cook,” I said to my husband’s back while he hovered over the stove. A trio of tempting vegetables sizzled in the skillet. Onion and bell pepper and tomato. Scrambled eggs fried in another. My stomach grumbled. I tried to remember the last time I ate. “What are you cooking?”

  He slid the egg onto a plate and piled the veggies on top, adding a clump of shredded cheese. “Yes, I can cook. I haven’t in a long time, so I hope it’s edible. And I’m cooking an omelet. Are you hungry?”

  The morning sun streamed through the partially open curtains and illuminated his hair to a reddish glow. “I’m starved. And that smells good.”

  “I’ll share.” His lopsided grin was endearing.

  “How decent of you.” I returned his grin. I was glad he was in an easy mood. I didn’t know how he could bounce back from the emotional dump he experienced the previous night, but it appeared that he had.

  He studied me with the spatula in his left hand. “Did you sleep all right?”

  No, I hadn’t. He didn’t sleep in my bed. Wherever he laid his head, he got some rest, because weariness no longer shadowed his face. I, on the other hand, tossed and turned. “I slept.” I fingered the bandage that covered my head wound. “My head hurts where I hit the deck.”

  He glanced my way. “You still need to tell me the story.”

  “I will, but…later.”

  Quiet descended between us while he got another plate out of the cabinet and divided the omelet. He set my half on the bar in front of me, then sat on the stool next to mine, draped a linen napkin over his left thigh, and dove into his food.

  When I remained immobile, he punctured the leaden silence. “Something wrong with it?”

  “No. It looks wonderful.”

  He took another bite. When I was still motionless and hungry, he dropped his fork, wiped his mouth, and leaned his forearms on the counter.

  I stared at my untouched food. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” I turned to him and grabbed his hand. He pulled back, but I held fast.

  “I’m sorry about my meltdown last night,” he mumbled, stalling what I needed to say.

  “You had a right to your meltdown.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t believe I thought about killing him.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I went that far.”

  “You were angry and exhausted.” I laid my palm against his cheek. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this. If I could, I’d turn the clock back. I’d wipe it out and start fresh. I’d take on all your pain just to spare you this hurt…if I could.”

  He shook off my caress, but kept one hand in mine. “You can’t make it vanish.”

  “No, but I can try to make it fade in our memories.” Though I had little hope he’d go for my belated offer. My heart beat in my throat, refusing to return to its rightful spot in my chest.

  “Who am I talking to?” His question stilled the staccato beat. “Who are you today?”

  “I’m not Rhonda. And I’m not Jennifer. I really don’t want to be either of them. Both of them were blind to what they had. I think I can become a completely new person. Someone I like better. Someone I want to be.”

  He snatched his hand from mine, stood, and tossed his napkin onto his plate. His anger vibrated with renewed fire. “You’re lying.” A vein pulsed in his neck. “You’re lying to me and you’re lying to yourself.”

  I placed my hand over my chest, trying to find a beat. Tumbling out of the chair, I backed away from his wrath. “I’m trying to do the right thing.” Contrition poured from me like water from a burst dam.

  Before he cou
ld castigate me further and reject my feeble offer of reconciliation, I left him and found my sanctuary on the verandah. I dropped to the deck, the hard wood biting into my knees, and fell onto my face, because there was nowhere else to go. The sobbing I’d put off for so long ripped through my tired body. At first, a gentle hand shook my shoulder—then tugged at my arm.

  “Get up from there,” Anson said, his voice thick with concern.

  I threw his hand off and stood under my own power. “What do you want from me?” I cried, one last sob escaping me.

  He turned me to him, searched my soul—the same intense scrutiny that tore my heart from my chest the previous night. He didn’t know what I would have done to gain his affection. I would have dug into my chest and yanked my unreliable, deceptive heart out if it pleased him.

  “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” he asked. I couldn’t make my mouth form a reply. “Don’t break my heart again.” A declaration. A warning. A sweet confession of his feelings.

  “There are things in our past that keep coming back to us. The only thing I can promise is I don’t want to hurt you again.”

  He wrapped his hands around my wrists and I wondered if I’d said the wrong thing once again. He pulled me to him. “I guess that will have to be enough,” he whispered, his mouth brushing mine. His arms tightened around me and I melted into him. “I can’t stick to our deal.”

  His words surprised me. “What do you mean?” I stammered.

  “I can’t pretend anymore. I thought I could have this platonic sort of thing, but it’s not working.”

  “What do you want from me?” I whispered, my heart thudding with all the desire I’d denied. Now that I was attempting to be someone better than both Rhonda and Jennifer, I knew without a doubt I needed Anson to want me.

  “I want you to be my wife.” The hope that washed across his face clutched at my heart.

  I offered a tentative smile and placed my hand on his cheek. This time he didn’t brush my simple gesture of affection away. “Then we want the same thing.”

  I moved toward him, anticipating a repeat of the previous kiss. His mouth moved over mine, a deep lingering kiss, gentle and sweet yet full of passion in another, more profound, way.

  We parted just long enough for me to say what I had to say. “I love you, Anson,” I managed through trembling lips.

  He pushed my face away with both hands. “Don’t say that just because you think I want to hear it.”

  I smiled at the man I loved. “Why would I do that? When have I ever done anything just because you wanted me to?”

  “Well, you have a point there.”

  I started to respond, but he stopped my words by covering my mouth with his. His palms slid down my arms, finding their way to my hands. He released me from his kiss, pulled me toward the door, and glanced at me over his shoulder. My breath deserted me. Did he want what I wanted? He pulled me through the house with an urgency that was almost palpable.

  We were at the bottom of the stairs before he stalled. He released his grip, stepped back, and gazed into my eyes. “Do you think we could…you know…do you want to…”

  His hesitation almost killed me. Had Jennifer flayed his love so much he questioned everything she said? I wanted to cry with frustration. I bit my bottom lip. “Have we never been together…like that?”

  He shook his head.

  “I think…I want…” I sucked in a replenishing gulp of oxygen.

  For a moment, it seemed he would lift me from my feet and haul me up the stairs like Rhett Butler carried Scarlett O’Hara. I closed my eyes and waited for the sweet moment of release—the moment when his strong arms would encircle me and I’d melt into him—the moment I’d give him no reason to doubt we wanted the same thing.

  His hands warmed my behind as he pulled me to him. His body showed me just how much he wanted me. “Once we do this, there’s no going back. I won’t settle for less than…everything.” His husky voice shattered the last vestiges of any doubts I might have had. He swept me from my feet, just as I hoped he would.

  We made it halfway up the stairs to the landing. I tugged on his shirt sleeve. “Anson?”

  “What?” He stopped. The disappointment on his face pained me.

  He needed to know what he was getting in to. “I don’t think I have everything to give. I mean, I think I’ve lost pieces of who I am, but you can have all I have to offer.” I feared it wouldn’t be enough. His longing sizzled across the inches that separated us. I had no will to refuse the man. It didn’t matter if I was Jennifer or Rhonda. I hadn’t lied. I wanted what he wanted. I needed to be Anson’s wife no matter whose memories I possessed.

  He needs me to need him. Can I give him that?

  I didn’t know, but I would be someone different if that’s what it took to be with him…or I would die trying. “I need you, Anson.”

  He tightened his hold on me. With his lips tantalizingly close to mine, he asked, “Are you sure this is what you want?” His muscles flexed against my back. I clung to him, my arms wound around his neck, afraid he’d changed his mind.

  My answer was so soft I barely heard it pass my lips. “Yes…”

  He moved quickly up the remaining stairs, rushed down the hall, and pushed open the door to our bedroom with his foot. I stared at the bed I had woken up in as Rhonda and hoped with all my heart I could be with him as someone more than Jennifer.

  ****

  Anson and I stood in Brandon Sairs’ office, confronting him on his own turf. I glanced at my husband. My entire being sparked at the recollection of what Anson did to me just hours before—the heat of our passion expressed in the most delicious way possible. He grinned as if reading my mind.

  Sairs looked from Anson to me and back to Anson. “I thought you were missing,” Sairs said, pulling us away from our stare down.

  “Sorry. I guess I forgot to tell you I’d been found,” Anson replied. There was no apology in his flippant tone.

  “Where have you been?” Sairs asked, surly and cantankerous.

  Anson smiled and rubbed his lower lip. “None of your business.”

  Sairs tossed a binder on his desk and dropped into his desk chair. “Then why are you here?”

  I geared up to assault him with my accusations, but Anson moved in front of me. I caught the nonverbal signal and stood down.

  “When you were investigating Claire’s death, you told me she was having an affair. Where did you get your information?”

  Sairs shifted in his chair. “I never said that.”

  “If you didn’t say it outright, you implied it. Do you have proof my wife was having an affair?”

  “Which one?”

  I cringed at his nastiness and stepped toward the man. Anson stiffened and put his left hand behind him, nudging me back.

  “Claire,” Anson replied without emotion, keeping the confrontation under his control. “What evidence?”

  “Well…none.” Sairs squirmed. A vein throbbed in his neck.

  “The rumor was all around town. How did that happen? With no evidence? I certainly never made my suspicions public. Did you?”

  “Look here, Cristobal—”

  “What proof do you have that Jennifer is having an affair?”

  “I never said she was. In fact, she said she was!” Sairs bellowed with suppressed fury, his nostrils flaring like a pit bull having a piece of raw steak waved in his face.

  I lunged for the man, covering his desk with half my body. Anson drew me back and pushed me toward the door. “Go outside. I’ll handle this.”

  “No. I have a right to face my accuser. When did I say that?” I circled the desk and got in Sairs’ face.

  He came an inch closer to me. Looked me in the eyes. “You said so yourself. Did you not ask me if I knew about your affair with Whitaker?”

  I recalled our conversation and flinched.

  Did the whole thing start and stop with me? Did I conjure both of Price’s affairs in my deceitful heart?


  Despite the possibility I might have imagined it all, I drew my hand back to strike the insensitive jerk but Anson was quicker than I was.

  “Don’t do it.” He grabbed my wrists and pushed my arm to my side. “That’s what he wants you to do.” I struggled until Anson’s strength proved too much for me to overcome. “Is that what you said to him?” he asked me.

  “I was trying to figure out what was going on. I thought—”

  Anson released my wrists and turned his harsh gaze on Sairs. “It’s clear to me she was testing you to see who started this vicious rumor.”

  I shook my head. That wasn’t what I meant at all. The first time I talked to Sairs I didn’t know what I meant. I was flying blind and making some bad assumptions. When I asked Sairs if he knew about Jennifer’s affair with Whitaker I was just fishing.

  “What rumor?” Sairs asked.

  “You’ve allowed your injured pride to cloud your judgment.”

  Sairs laughed without mirth. “My injured pride? My judgment isn’t clouded when it comes to her. I can’t believe you refuse to see what kind of woman she is.”

  “I know exactly what kind of woman she is. She’s the kind of woman who was smart enough to ditch you.”

  Sairs clenched his fists. He stood and stepped forward. Moved back. “You’ve got it all wrong, Cristobal. You’re the kind of man who’s stupid enough to marry a—”

  “Don’t say it.” Anson nudged my arm. “Come on, Jennifer. Let’s go.”

  “I’m not through with my investigation of Sudha’s death. Don’t leave town.”

  “We were together when that happened,” Anson said, all the while dragging me toward the door.

  I didn’t want to leave. I wanted a piece of Sairs. An assortment of niggling questions fought to be asked. I spluttered and spat, but nothing sensible came out of my mouth.

  “How do you know when it happened?” Sairs asked, ignoring my spastic fit.

  Anson turned around, staring into Sairs’ eyes, one arm around my waist. “Whenever it happened, we were together.”

  “Maybe you should account for your whereabouts—”

  “Jennifer and I have business out of town.” Anson’s arm tightened around my waist. “We’ll check in with you when we return.”