A Stranger's Wife

by Paige Phillips

  “It’s settled then,” Meg said quickly.

  He sighed deeply. “If you say so. I’ll probably spend the day at my office. I’ll give you the number of my direct private line.”

  “I’m not going to promise to call you, Jake. But I hope you’ll call me when you find Rhea. I so want to talk to her.”

  How SHABBY THE OLD neighborhood looked. The barred windows and unkempt lawns seemed even more grim after the lush grounds of the Chastain estate. To add to the gloom, the first rainstorm of the season was brewing, bringing dark clouds creeping over the rooftops.

  Meg parked the rented car on the crumbling blacktop driveway and unlocked the front door of her house, which seemed to have shrunk considerably during the last few days. It seemed incredible that only a week ago she had never heard of the Chastains.

  A small heap of letters lay inside the door, delivered through the mail slot. She scooped them up without examining them—knowing they’d consist of bills and junk mail—then went straight to the phone and flipped the message-retrieval button.

  There were two frantic pleas from Carrie Hooper, the caterer for whom Meg worked: “Puh-leeze, Meg, call me! I’ve got back-to-back parties next weekend. Help! I need you,” Then, “Meg, where are you? You said you’d be back by now. Call me!”

  There was also a call from the theater manager, sheepishly asking her to call him: her replacement hadn’t worked out.

  Dropping the bundle of mail on the telephone stand, Meg called Carrie, who was a friend as well as an employer, fielded her questions about her mysterious trip and promised to be available for the catering jobs the following weekend.

  She decided to ignore the call from the theater for a couple of days. Walking home alone late at night was not an option until Rhea and Sloan were found. She still had virtually all of the advance Mike had given her, but she couldn’t afford to keep the rental car so she’d be doing a lot of walking.

  Catching a glimpse of herself in the mottled mirror on the wall above the phone stand, Meg decided the first order of business was obvious—change out of Rhea’s clothes. Then she could tackle the layer of dust that had settled everywhere during her absence.

  She tried to avoid thinking about Jake, but it was impossible. She wasn’t prepared for the pain brought by contemplating never seeing him again.

  Somehow she got through the afternoon. She cleaned the house, drove to the supermarket and bought some groceries. The sky had turned leaden and a light rain had started to fall. She decided to keep the car until the following day, in order to be able to drive to her rendezvous with Mike Aragon’s brother that evening.

  The nagging worry about what he’d found in Mike’s effects remained with her. The gasoline cans? But how would he have connected them to her? No, it had to be something else. A file on her, probably. Meg hoped she wouldn’t be dealing with a blackmailer.

  At seven-thirty she regretfully took off her well-worn and comfortable tennis shoes. She had missed her own shoes more than anything else during the last few days, and her Achilles tendon was reminding her of that fact. As she slipped on a pair of boots in deference to the rain, she remembered, with a sudden pang, dancing the tango with Jake. How unbearably sweet those moments had been.

  The rain was heavier now, beating a tattoo against the windows, and the wind was rising. She pulled on a hooded jacket before going out to the car.

  By the time she pulled into the parking lot in front of the coffee shop, sheets of rain were blowing almost horizontally on a cold wind. There were only a couple of parked cars, and the sidewalk was devoid of pedestrians.

  Pulling up the hood of her jacket, she raced into the coffee shop. She didn’t notice the black sedan, its headlights dimmed, that pulled in behind her. The driver didn’t get out of the car.

  A quick check of the nearly empty coffee shop revealed no one who could possibly be Mike Aragon’s brother. The only patrons braving the storm were an elderly couple, a single woman, and a pair of teenagers engrossed in each other—none of whom did more than glance in her direction.

  Seated beside the window, Meg sipped tea and peered into the rainswept darkness, but could see nothing beyond the blurred amber glow of the streetlights.

  She waited for over an hour before deciding Aragon, or whoever he was, wasn’t coming. She paid for her coffee and left.

  A blast of cold wet air took her breath away and she bent her head into the wind as she ran for the car.

  She had the keys in her hand, but another car had parked close on the driver’s side and she had to squeeze between the two cars.

  One minute she was fumbling with the car keys, and the next second something rough and smothering went over her head and she was being dragged across the wet pavement.

  She tried to scream as she was lifted off her feet, but the rough material pressing against her mouth made an effective gag.

  Wincing as her ankle struck sharp metal, she struggled and tried to kick her assailant, but he was too strong. She was pushed down into a cramped space that smelled of rancid oil and gasoline fumes. Some unseen cover slammed shut with a vibrating metallic thud.

  Shocked by the suddenness of the abduction, it took a minute for her to realize that she was in the trunk of a car—a car that was screeching off into the night.

  Chapter Twenty

  Meg gingerly felt around her in the darkness, seeking something to use as a weapon when the kidnapper came for her. There was nothing. No jack, no tire iron.

  Too late, she realized her mistake. The caller on the phone who had set her up wasn’t Mike’s brother. The investigator probably didn’t even have a brother. That voice on the phone who knew about her first meeting with him, and the masquerade in St. Maarten, had undoubtedly been Sloan or one of his thugs.

  Remembering the brawny arms that had forced her into the trunk, Meg was sure that it was Sloan who was now driving the car, and with whom she’d have to deal when they reached their destination.

  Frantically she pounded with her fists on the unyielding metal, but as her panic subsided, she knew no one would hear her while the car was still moving, especially during the heavy rain.

  Where was he taking her?

  She had always been a little claustrophobic, and being confined in the cramped space was sheer torture. She drew several deep breaths, trying to calm herself so that she could think clearly and reconstruct what she knew, and perhaps then anticipate what might happen.

  If, as Mike had theorized, and Rhea’s journal suggested, Sloan and Rhea planned to kill Jake and place the blame on Rhea’s “jealous” twin, then it seemed logical to assume that they had no intention of harming her. They needed her alive to take the fall.

  But if their story was going to be that Meg wanted to take her twin’s place, they would have to concoct a plausible explanation as to why she had killed Jake instead of Rhea. Unless... they intended to kill both Jake and her and try to make it look like an accident? But that might pose too many logistical problems. Besides, they’d gone to a lot of trouble to register guns in her name, which surely meant they intended to shoot Jake and accuse her of the murder.

  The car abruptly started up a curving incline, sending her sliding to the side of the trunk. She winced as her head slammed into cold metal.

  Then they were traveling on a smooth surface at a higher rate of speed. She thought, we came up an on-ramp and now we’re on a freeway—probably going south, toward Jake’s estate.

  Sloan had assumed, correctly, she thought, that she’d be more likely to meet a stranger in familiar surroundings, like the local coffee shop where she’d met Mike, than anywhere else. But why kidnap her? Perhaps they needed to keep her out of sight for a while as they set up their plan, but to have her available to face arrest. They also needed to keep her separate from Jake...in order for Rhea to return to him?

  Meg felt an icy chill. What if Rhea showed up at the house, pretending to be her? Would Jake’s guard be down? What if he didn’t recognize Rhea? Was that how she i
ntended to get close enough to kill him?

  That possibility made Meg pound on the trunk again and scream for help. It was several minutes before she forced herself to stop and try to think what their plan might be.

  The fact that Rhea had managed to get all the household staff to leave indicated that the house was the chosen site.

  Meg shivered, imagining herself waking up with a gun in her hand, Jake dead beside her and the police bursting in to arrest her.

  Rhea and Sloan had already fabricated a formidable amount of evidence against her: the journals in which Rhea wrote that she was afraid of her and suspected she wanted to take her place; the guns purchased in Meg’s name; the fact that she had fortuitously left the beach house just before it was torched; not to mention the gasoline cans they had probably retrieved from Mike’s house.

  In the final showdown, it would be Rhea’s word against hers as to how Jake had died, and even Meg had to admit Rhea’s story would sound more believable than hers. Especially with Mike dead.

  How easy it would be to present her as the poor twin, struggling with mountains of debt, deserted by her own husband, working long hours merely to stay alive, then briefly tasting incredible luxury and coveting the life-style of the rich twin.

  Meg pounded on the trunk again.

  It was hopeless. No one would be able to hear.

  Nor was there any way to get the trunk open with her bare hands.

  What if she could find the wires connected to the taillights and yank them out? Perhaps a passing highway patrol would pull the car over. Then maybe her screams and pounding would be heard.

  She scrabbled with her hands in the darkness.

  Minutes later her searching fingers found several wires. She pulled and twisted, desperation giving her strength.

  One of the wires came loose. Had that been enough to eliminate the taillight? She worked feverishly on the other wires, to be sure.

  But the car continued on its way, its missing taillights apparently unnoticed. Perhaps the highway patrol were busy with accidents due to the rain. It was a given that Californians drove poorly in the rain, especially the first rain of the season when water settled on the film of oil coating the freeways, causing cars to hydroplane if drivers didn’t slow down.

  Breathing heavily, Meg relaxed for a minute, striving to think of some other way to get out of the car. When Sloan raised the cover of the trunk, there would be no escaping him. He was too strong; he would overpower her in seconds.

  She had not carried a handbag to the coffee shop, and all she had in her jacket pocket were her keys and a wallet with her driver’s license. The keys weren’t much of a weapon, but they were all she had. Perhaps she could rake his face with them and at least distract him long enough to get away.

  Attempting to ease herself into a less uncomfortable position, she moved backward and her shoulder connected with something that gave slightly. Squirming sideways, she pushed the rear of the trunk with her hands, wondering if she was touching the back seat of the car. She knew some back seats folded down in order to extend the trunk and create more cargo space.

  Hope flared. There was no way to raise the lid of the trunk to get out into the open, but perhaps she could break through to the back seat and get into the car itself? She would then be faced with jumping from a moving car...but anything was better than lying there, helplessly waiting for Sloan to come and get her.

  But although she shoved with all her might against the back of the trunk, the dividing panel remained stubbornly in place, keeping her trapped.

  I can’t give up, she thought. If I do, they’ll kill Jake.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Rhea smiled as Jake came through the bedroom door.

  His face lit up with pure joy and he breathed reverently, “Meg! You came back. Thank God.”

  Rhea managed to keep her smile intact.

  So, he had fallen for the little caterer, just as she suspected.

  Damn him. Damn them both. Sloan was right. The two of them had been laughing at her behind her back. Well, they’d see who had the last laugh.

  Rhea rose to her feet, and Jake came to her and wrapped his arms around her.

  They stood in a close embrace. Rhea didn’t speak, relishing the moment.

  She had been looking forward to turning the tables on her twin. Meg had been living it up as Mrs. Jake Chastain, impersonating her, and now Rhea was going to be Meg Lindley for a little while and destroy whatever illusions Jake had about her.

  Rhea had been infuriated when Guadalupe, whom Sloan had bribed to spy on Jake and Meg, reported how cozy the two of them were. Why, her twin had even cooked for him! Not to mention sleeping in their bed and whatever else she had done there. The nerve of her. And all the while playing the part of the unsophisticated innocent, whose moral code would not allow her to sleep with a married man.

  Sloan had not told Guadalupe that the woman she was spying on was an imposter. He had conned the maid into believing that he was concerned that Jake might be mistreating his sister. The fewer people who knew they were dealing with twins, the better. But when Guadalupe called to report that Mr. and Mrs. Chastain were obviously very much in love, it was Rhea who had answered the phone, identifying herself as Sloan’s wife. She had been enraged.

  Sloan had been concerned about Rhea’s state of mind as they put the final stages of their plan into action. He had warned her to be careful not to let Jake know that she was Rhea—not to get any ideas about taunting him.

  “Babe, he’s going to be dead tomorrow and your twin’s going to be in jail. What the hell difference does it make what they’ve been doing these past few days? You’ve got to keep your cool.”

  “I’d like him to suffer before he dies. How dare he? He knows she’s my twin, but she’s still there. He’s playing with us—but don’t worry, I won’t tip my hand.” She certainly wouldn’t tell Sloan that she had no intention of passing up her one chance to avenge herself.

  Sloan had instructed her not to show up at the house until just before he arrived with Meg, but Rhea had ignored him. She had been waiting for Jake for over an hour, and although Sloan was due back from L.A. within the next half hour, she was counting on the heavy rain to delay his arrival.

  The plan was for Sloan to leave Meg in the trunk of the car, enter the house through the garage and stay out of sight until Rhea put a bullet in Jake’s chest. Don’t aim for his head—you might miss. Keep the gun out of sight until you’re close enough to shoot him in the heart.

  Sloan would then bring in Meg and put the gun in her hand. He would hold Meg while Rhea called 911, hysterically telling the cops that her twin had tried to shoot her but that her gallant husband had jumped in front of her and taken the bullet himself.

  Her story would be that Meg had come to the house, confronted her with the gun and told her that she was going to assume the role of Mrs. Jake Chastain permanently—no one would ever look for or find the body of her twin. With the real Mrs. Jake Chastain out of the way and Mike Aragon dead, there was no one who knew of the existence of an identical twin.

  Sloan had rehearsed Rhea repeatedly. “Remember, Jake arrives home unexpectedly, Meg shoots at you but hits him. I’ve come to make sure you’re okay, I’m worried about you, you’ve been acting scared lately. I’m downstairs. I come running and grab her, hold her while you call 911. It’s our word against hers—her gun, her fingerprints on the gun. It’s foolproof, babe, so long as you can make Jake believe you’re her until I get there.”

  Rhea had argued that it would be better for Sloan to do the shooting; he was accustomed to handling weapons and would be less likely to miss.

  But Sloan had overridden her objections. “We don’t know what Jake might do if he sees me. But if you can make him believe you’re Meg Lindley, you’ll be able to get close to him and let him have it before he knows what you’re going to do.”

  “But what if I miss?” Rhea had fretted.

  “I’ll be through that bedroom door the se
cond I hear a shot. I’ll have my own piece to do the job if you’ve missed. But you won’t miss. Don’t worry about it. It’s a done deal. Just keep your head. Don’t forget to deactivate the security system, and turn on the music.”

  If Rhea had had any qualms about killing her husband before, all doubts vanished the moment Jake addressed her as Meg, his eyes lighting up with love in a way they never had for Rhea.

  Now, as Jake tenderly embraced her, Rhea raised her face to his and smiled seductively. “I couldn’t stay away from you,” she whispered. She slipped her arms around him, pressing her body close to his.

  For an instant she was certain that he was going to kiss her, but he hesitated, gazing with piercing intensity into her eyes.

  She lowered her gaze quickly. Surely he hadn’t guessed? She had rehearsed several opening gambits, trying to come up with things her twin might say to him. Meg had been gone all day, back to her miserable little life in L.A.

  The tango music still played softly in the background. The entire house was wired for sound, and when she’d arrived, Rhea had found the last CDs played had been tangos. It was safe to assume the tango had been played during Meg Lindley’s sojourn. The music was also necessary for their plan.

  Rhea said softly, “It was horrible in L.A. I missed you so much, Jake.”

  He was still staring at her in that odd way, although he hadn’t withdrawn from her.

  “I know how much you love the tango, Jake,” she added, looking at him from beneath a fringe of lustrous eyelashes. “Would you like to dance with me...or we could make love...”

  When he didn’t respond, she slipped one hand around the back of his neck, pulled his head toward her and kissed him. She squirmed even closer, pressing her breasts against his chest, and her free hand dropped to his thigh.

  In the past, Jake had always been swift to respond sexually, but now his mouth was closed and unyielding and his arms dropped away from her. He released her so abruptly that she lost her balance and sat down heavily on the bed.