by Edie Claire
“What can you tell me about the man himself? The one you were... uh... dating?”
Jamie blew out a breath. The man himself was the last thing she wanted to talk about. The pounding headache that had begun to plague her at the restaurant was back in full force, and all she wanted was to close her eyes and shut out the world. But she described what she could remember in a dull monotone. Brief glimpses of his appearance, the car he drove, his marriage to somebody else, his wealth. The detective asked her repeatedly for a name, but her brain seemed no closer to an answer than before she had remembered the man at all.
The detective’s questions kept coming, and her increasing vagueness seemed only to irritate him. The other detective had been nicer.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said finally, “I have a horrendous headache, and I’m sure I’ve told you absolutely everything I can tell you. But when I remember more, I’ll let you know.”
The detective scowled at her, his bushy eyebrows arching comically. “See that you do. The sooner we get this guy, the safer you’ll be. I hate to see these people who’ve taken you in being put at risk, too. Maybe you should consider a women’s shelter? They have excellent security and the staff are trained to handle these situations.”
Jamie’s pulse rate quickened. Was he right? Was her very presence here putting Teagan’s whole family in danger?
Her stomach soured.
She showed the detective to the door. She shut and locked it after him, then turned and began to shrug off the coat she was still wearing. She had yet to get warm, but the too-tight bra had become insufferable—she could swear it had worn inch-deep gouges along her ribs—and it was coming off. Now. She struggled one-armed to remove her coat, unzipped and removed the hoodie beneath it, then unhooked the offending bra and sent it sailing across the living room like a slingshot. Shivering, she threw the hoodie back over her arms, clutched it tightly around herself, and collapsed back onto the couch again.
She knew that she should go back to the garage apartment, now that the detective was gone. Her painkillers were there, and it was a hell of a lot warmer. But getting there meant going back out in the cold, and the steps would be snow-covered again. She couldn’t stand the thought of it. Instead, she pulled the coat over her like a blanket and closed her eyes.
Her body was desperate for rest, but her mind refused. Between throbs of pain, her brain threw up random, taunting images. A thick pool of blood, dried into her carpet. A faded hospital gown. Bottles of fine wine and tempting aromas wafting up from the restaurant’s kitchen. Eric’s strong arms catching her as she nearly fainted in front of his old apartment. Teagan, chewing gum, bragging about her prowess at the butterfly stroke. The warm heater and unprecedented quiet of the garage apartment at night. Annoyance at a persistent man... his eyes... dark as pitch and blatantly dishonest, but burning with desire... Diet Mountain Dew in a cooler, floating in lake water at the bottom of a canoe. A giant box of SweeTarts she had spent her allowance buying for Teagan, just because. Had she really? Yes, she had! He sent her flowers... but she gave them away to one of the cooks. She had spurned him, teased him. Not interested. No way.
Jamie groggily adjusted the coat and squirmed into another position on the couch. She was still freezing. Why was it always so cold?
Her apartment had steam heat. The pipes banged all night long. Once, she’d heard a gunshot. I’ll park the Benz in your carport; no one will see. She had told him to give up. But had she really wanted him to? Jerry playing his guitar, dreaming of moving out West to be a cowboy. What had become of him? Teagan at the hospital, clipboard in hand, looking so professional, so efficient. Dark, sated eyes gleaming at Jamie from her own pillow—she was using him, it was her decision... Darkness and a blanket, stifling, suffocating. She was all alone, now. There was no one. No one. Two hands in the air, splattered with mud. We’ll be just like real sisters... You can’t break that bond... It’s for life.
Jamie’s limbs grew heavier; the images, less distinct. Danger. Teagan was in danger again, but Jamie would save her. She would take herself to the damn shelter and let Teagan live her life in peace. There. That would do it.
Alone... so alone. Always alone. A pretty, blond child that called her Mommy. Roasting turkey in the oven. Her picture on the walls. Strong male arms coming around her, comforting her.
She drifted off to sleep.
***
“We’ll be sending you to the women’s shelter in a cab as soon as you’ve been discharged,” Teagan explained to the patient in the hospital bed before her. The woman was in her mid forties, she had cigarette burns on her face and arms and bruises everywhere else, and she looked as terrified as a hunted doe.
“He’ll... he’ll see me leave,” she stammered. “He’ll be watching outside; I know he will.”
“We’re prepared for that,” Teagan answered firmly. “You’ll leave by an unmarked staff entrance, and a policeman will stay with you until you’re checked into the shelter. You’ll be safe there. You heard what the officer said—this man is going to be arrested and he’s going to be prosecuted. In the meantime, the staff at the shelter are all trained to help you get back on your feet.”
The woman swallowed, wincing painfully as she did so. “I guess that’s what I have to do, then. ’Cause he’ll kill me next time. I know he will. Or I’ll kill him.”
A nurse returned with some paperwork, and Teagan wrapped up her interview and quietly left the room.
Her other patient had been discharged already; still in bad shape emotionally, but not quite as hysterical as before Teagan had arrived. At least the woman had accepted a referral for further counseling.
Teagan walked down the hall and opened the door to her office, which still smelled like a sick room, despite the best efforts of the housecleaning staff. The space had virtually no ventilation and the door couldn’t be propped open because of confidentiality concerns. Teagan took a deep breath out in the hall, then entered and sat down. She checked her cell phone for messages, but there were none. Her brow creased with worry. She had left her mother a voice mail explaining the hypothetical risk of a trace on her license number, but Sheryl had yet to respond, and Teagan was growing worried.
She started to dial again when Rosalie burst into the room. “I am so sorry, Teagan,” the pleasant looking, dark-skinned woman gushed, dumping her keys and purse on the desk and shrugging quickly out of her coat. “Damn cell phone went completely dead. Not the battery, either. I don’t know what happened. But I’m here now, so you go on home to that gorgeous husband of yours, okay? Thanks so much for covering for me—I owe you one.”
Teagan quickly filled in the other social worker on the duties at hand, grabbed her own bag, and headed back to Eric’s car. She always exercised caution in the parking garage, keeping an eye on her surroundings, appearing aware. But today her vigilance was heightened by a new anxiety. An anxiety with more than one source.
She had called Eric twice, but he hadn’t picked up. He must have been out on the court playing; it was sheer luck that she’d caught him on the bench before. By now he was probably catching a ride home, waiting until he was alone again to call her back.
They were fine.
As for her mother not responding to her message—well, that was commonplace. Sheryl got lots of calls and was easily distracted. She probably wasn’t even home.
I’m not trying to alarm you... but if he’s savvy, he could get your mother’s address...
Teagan picked up her phone and tried Sheryl’s number again. It went straight to voice mail.
She started up the car and pulled out. She was anxious to get home, but her mind wouldn’t rest until she’d made sure her mother was okay. Light snow was falling again, but traffic was sparse, and Teagan made good time out of the city. She pulled into the drive of Sheryl’s condo complex with her heart pounding against her ribs. She parked in front of her mother’s door, but rather than climbing the steps and ringing the bell, she peeked in the window of the ga
rage. Then, at long last, she exhaled. The PT Cruiser was gone. She wasn’t home.
Teagan’s cell phone rang just as she was settling back into Eric’s car again. It was Sheryl. “Mom!” she began in a rush. “Did you get my voice mail? Are you okay?”
The background was noisy with conversation and the drone of a distant television. It sounded like a bar. “What? Oh, yes, I got it. Don’t worry about me, honey... the DMV still thinks I live in Ross.”
Teagan blinked. “You haven’t updated your address yet? But you moved—”
“Last April,” Sheryl finished. “I’m getting to it! Listen, that’s not why I called. It’s about Jamie.”
Isn’t everything?
“What about her?” Teagan asked gruffly.
“I know I told you I thought she was a home wrecker. But I was wrong about that. I really don’t think she would intentionally sabotage your marriage.”
“I already told you—”
“But,” Sheryl continued heavily, “she’s a very vulnerable woman right now. And sweetheart, as much as the two of you have in common, I’m telling you—in this area, Jamie is a whole lot more like me.”
Teagan tensed. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that even though she’s independent and spirited and all that good stuff, she’s still the kind of woman who needs a man. You know what I’m saying?”
“No.”
“I’m saying that if she’s feeling lonely, and Eric’s there, even though she might not intend for anything inappropriate to happen, she could still wind up putting him in a situation that—”
“I get it, Mom,” Teagan interrupted, her pulse racing. “I’m going home, now. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Where are you, anyway?”
“Après-Open-House Happy Hour, of course!” Sheryl chirped. “I didn’t have a showing today myself, but someone always does. And Lorraine promised me she would bring along her ex brother-in-law. Just divorced last month!”
“I have to go, Mom,” Teagan insisted. “Be safe.”
“You too, honey. And don’t you dare go back to Jamie’s place again, either one of you!”
Teagan had no trouble agreeing to that.
The snow fell heavier as she turned toward home, and Teagan realized she was gripping the wheel so tightly her fingers were tingling. What was wrong with her?
“The kind of woman who needs a man...”
“Eric said he loved me...”
“Shut up with that!” Teagan snapped at herself, squinting through the swirling flakes. Only a few blocks to go, now. Why was she so uptight?
Lunch. Of course! She had forgotten about lunch entirely; no wonder she was losing her mind. Her paranoia was nothing more than glucose deprivation.
He didn’t even say goodbye.
Teagan turned into her driveway and hit the remote button on the garage door. She wondered if Eric was home yet. She wondered if Jamie had returned to the garage apartment. What would she be doing now if she had?
Teagan got out of the car, closed the garage door behind her, and headed for the house. Yes, Eric was home already. She could see his tracks in the fresh snow leading up the front walk. There were some older ones too, partly covered now. The detective?
Her pace quickened.
She reached the porch, opened the unlocked front door, and stepped inside. Her heart stopped.
Jamie was lying on the couch. Eric was sitting on its edge and his arms were reaching out toward her. As the door closed behind Teagan, Jamie startled and sat up with a jerk, the loose fabric of her unzipped hoodie flapping to either side, exposing bare skin to her waist.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Eric stood up.
For a moment, time stood still.
Jamie threw an anguished look at Teagan, pulled the hoodie tight around herself, and curled up into a ball.
With an effort, Teagan raised her eyes to her husband.
He looked horrified.
Teagan’s heart began to beat again. Her brain seemed to be working in slow motion. It was her nightmare all right—playing out before her eyes. All the evidence was there. In all its 34D glory. For everyone to see.
But this couldn’t be right.
It could not.
No one said a word. In Eric’s eyes she read a curious mixture of two distinct things. Distress... and defiance. Both of which, oddly enough, could be read either way.
Teagan drew in a breath. There was what she saw; and there was what she knew. She would not be a fool. She’d played the idiot enough already.
She walked across the living room to where Eric stood, still as a stone, looking like a magazine cover in his basketball tank top, the well-formed muscles of his arms still shining with sweat.
Without hesitation, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.
His own arms tightened around her immediately, and moisture sprang to her eyes. After a long moment, she drew back just enough to speak. “Why don’t you go ahead and take a shower?” she suggested, her voice only slightly unsteady. “I’ll order some pizza for the two of us.”
Eric drew back and looked at her, his blue-gray eyes brimming with emotion. He said nothing. He kissed her instead.
This time, it was no peck on the cheek.
After some time, during which Teagan could honestly say she gave no thought whatsoever to the woman huddled on the couch a few feet away, Eric released her and stepped back. Without so much as a glance in Jamie’s direction, he turned and walked away up the stairs.
So there.
Teagan steeled herself. She cleared her throat and pivoted toward Jamie. “I’m going to the apartment to pack up some stuff for you. They have a clothing pantry at the women’s shelter, so you’ll be able to get more there. If we hurry, you’ll be settled by dinnertime.”
Jamie stood up. Her hoodie was miraculously zipped now. “Teagan, I—”
“Shut up!” Teagan screeched in a voice barely her own. “Just. Shut. Up!” She stomped into the kitchen, grabbed an empty garbage bag from under the sink, and headed for the back door. “I’ll be back in three minutes,” she threw over her shoulder as she passed the living room. “Get your coat and meet me at the garage.”
***
“This will be your room,” the shelter supervisor instructed Jamie, opening the door to a sparse cubicle that housed two twin beds, a sink, two chests of drawers, and a desk. “Your roommate will be LaShanda—she’s at dinner now.”
Jamie’s tired eyes took in the happy yellow paint, the attempt at stenciled daisies along the ceiling, and the frilly lace curtains that inexpertly concealed thick security bars outside an opaque window. “There’s meatloaf tonight. It’s pretty good, I hear,” the woman continued. “Why don’t you just set your bag down now, and I’ll introduce you to everyone and you can get something to eat?”
Jamie complied without comment. Teagan had stuffed a trash bag full of something—of what, she still wasn’t sure. Most likely her dirty laundry. Perhaps a living reptile.
“Snake!”
Giggles of girlish laughter. Sun, ripples on the lake...
Jamie swiped at her watering eyes with her broken arm and banged her cast on her cheek again. It hurt.
She didn’t care. She didn’t much care about anything anymore.
***
Teagan was stuffing the empty pizza box into the recycling bin when Eric’s arms came unexpectedly around her waist. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” he murmured into her ear.
Teagan leaned back and put her own arms around his. “Yes, and in very creative ways, too,” she said with a smile.
But it was a smile she didn’t feel.
Eric held her a moment more, then turned her to face him. “I know you’re making a point of not asking,” he said softly. “And I appreciate that. But I’m going to tell you anyway.”
Teagan stiffened. It was over and done with. She had done what she had to do. It wasn’t even about Eric, not really. Jamie needed to be at a shelter for h
er own safety. They couldn’t guarantee her security in an old farmhouse, not if this lunatic managed to trace her. And they couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t. As long as Jamie was in the house, none of them would be safe.
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” she replied.
“No, I definitely should,” he said firmly. “Because it isn’t just our relationship it matters to.”
“It doesn’t—”
He interrupted her with a kiss. “Just listen. I got home maybe five minutes before you did, and I headed straight to the kitchen for a drink. I didn’t even know Jamie was in the house until I heard something—like a muttering sound. When I walked into the living room I saw her lying there with a coat thrown over her, taking a nap. I decided to let her sleep, but then a minute later she started crying out and thrashing around like she was having a nightmare, so I went over and shook her shoulders to wake her up.”
Teagan stared up at him, incredulous. She had trusted that his part in whatever had transpired was innocent; she hadn’t imagined it could be that innocent. How close had she come to—
It didn’t bear thinking about.
“Until you opened the door and Jamie sat up,” he continued earnestly, “I had no idea what she wearing under that coat. Or not wearing.”
Teagan blinked. A scene as damning as she had witnessed couldn’t possibly have come about without calculation. Tempting as it was to believe, it was ludicrous. “You can’t know for sure that Jamie was asleep,” she replied stonily. “She must have set the whole thing up.”
“That’s possible,” Eric admitted, still holding her close. “But honestly, I don’t think so.”
The voices echoed in Teagan’s tortured brain. From now on, she had warned, if you so much as look at Eric sideways—
A waste of my valuable time, Jamie had agreed. He’s in love with you.
Teagan closed her eyes against the memory and sagged into her husband’s embrace. Jamie had not said one word the entire ride to the shelter. No protestations of innocence. No resistance. No complaints.