He grinned at her. “I…uh…don’t suppose you’d consider joining me for dinner, would you?”
“I’d like that.”
“Where do you suggest?”
“How about…Ariano’s?”
She bit her lip. Maybe that was a bad choice. The subdued lighting and quiet atmosphere might suggest she had chosen that particular restaurant for its ambiance. She wanted to slap herself silly, but then if she did, he’d probably interrogate her about her irrational behavior. She cringed at her supposed mistake, wanting to discourage any kind of romantic notions he might be entertaining.
“I’m parked over there.” He motioned toward a nearby parking lot and soon they were standing next to Jeff’s work truck. A frisson of electricity raced up her spine as he placed his hand on the small of her back while he held the door open for her. She glanced up at him as she tucked the tail of her dress beneath her thighs. Their eyes met; time and motion ceased for what seemed like forever.
He reached out to touch her cheek, his fingers tracing the length of the scar. This time, she didn’t flinch and draw away from him. He cleared his throat, dropped his hand, and closed her door. She sat in the seat next to him, her mind racing with possibilities and fears and what ifs. What if he kissed her? She closed her eyes and imagined the warmth of his lips on hers, trying desperately to pull a memory up from the void, but nothing surfaced.
“So…how do we get there?” His question burst into her daydreaming.
“Oh, get back on Main. It’s on the way out of town.”
Almost before she could take another breath, they were seated in the dimly lit restaurant. Sipping her ice water, she glanced around, searching for a benign topic of conversation, something that would pull her out of romantic thoughts of Steve and how it would feel to be in his arms. Romance was not on the menu. At least, not for her.
“You haven’t been here yet, have you?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. The goal was to draw his attention away from the candlelit atmosphere and she had managed to dive right into it.
“No. I usually grab a bite at the café on the highway or get something from the restaurant at the Inn. It’s not a lot of fun eating alone.”
“No. It’s not.”
He offered another conversation starter, perhaps sensing her distress. “Have you worked at the Inn long?”
She smiled her appreciation at the change in subject. “About four and a half years. Brian helped me get the job about six months after my accident. I started out on the front desk, but about a year ago, I was promoted to the back office.”
“Which do you like better?”
“You know, I don’t guess I’ve ever thought about it. I like working with people. I suppose I enjoyed the front desk better.”
“It must have been hard to get a job. Get a social security number and a driver’s license, establish an identity.” His eyes glittered as if his question was more than idle curiosity or a getting-to-know-you query.
“You have no idea,” she mumbled. “I have this sort of temporary identity, but I know it’s not me. I don’t know who I am or even who I’m supposed to be. Sometimes I feel like I’m living somebody else’s life. I just want to know where I belong.” The sentiment reverberated throughout the hollowness in her heart.
He was staring at her with an almost palpable urgency, as if waiting for something, as if the answers to her dilemma would be miraculously revealed in an instant. The uselessness of his expectations seared her heart. But then she had been waiting for someone to find her for five years and knew the bitterness of crushed hope.
He had been searching for his wife just as long.
Their server deposited heaping plates of pasta in front of them. He reached for a breadstick just as she did, their hands brushing, causing a surge of heat to course through her veins and settle in her stomach. If even his slightest touch did this to her, what would his embrace feel like? She remembered the almost kiss and groaned at the missed opportunity. What would it hurt to have one little kiss before he left town forever?
“How did you get started building ski lifts? That sounds kind of specialized.” She jumped into a new subject to cover her rampant emotions.
“My grandfather got his start working for a company that constructed a lot of the boardwalk at Atlantic City. He and his partner left that company and started their own business when Virginia Beach began developing their boardwalk. I learned the business from them. They built amusement park rides. About twenty years ago, my father started building ski lifts all over the United States. We’ve even built a few overseas.”
“Is your father still alive?”
“No, he passed away about ten years ago.” The anxiety that clouded his eyes confused her.
She stumbled onward. “What about your mother?”
“Yeah, she still lives in Norfolk. Which reminds me, tomorrow is her birthday. I should call her tonight.” He was staring at her with an intensity that made her squirm, as if she should be able to interpret his comments and add her own observations. But she didn’t know what she could add.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“One sister. Audrey. Five years younger.” He stopped. Pain etched webbed fingers around his eyes. He rubbed at the creases as if trying to knead the trauma out of his skin.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Today is the anniversary of Carol’s disappearance. The night she disappeared, the three of us, Audrey, Carol, and I, were planning my mother’s birthday party. She turned sixty-five that year. We never had the party—”
“Please, stop.” Unshed tears pressed against her eyelids. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I understand.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t. I seem to be emotional tonight. I thought the train trip would be a distraction. But it wasn’t enough…”
“Men aren’t supposed to get emotional? Isn’t that right?” She tried a teasing grin.
He licked his lips and nodded. “That’s right.”
“I’ll change the subject then. When will you be going back to Virginia?”
“Soon. We’re close to being finished.” The tension in his face wound tighter.
“Will you be glad to get home?” She proceeded with her agenda despite the pained expression shadowing the intense green hue in his eyes. She wanted him to say no, to say he’d miss her, to say he’d stay a little longer.
He glanced across the crowded restaurant, a grooved frown creasing his brow. “I’m never glad to get back home. I leave every chance I get. Too many memories. Moving away from Norfolk hasn’t changed anything. I can’t forget what happened. I carry her memory wherever I go. At least when I travel I can look for her.” His comments landed between them like a felled tree.
She wanted to reach across the table and take his hand in hers. Instead, she picked up her napkin and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. Laying the napkin across her plate, she cleared her throat. “We’re certainly an odd couple.” He flashed her a questioning glance. “You’ve got too many memories and I don’t have enough.”
****
The red light on her answering machine blinked as she made her way into the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and hit the play button on the detestable thing. “Hello, Chris…I mean Carol. I know where you are. You’ll hear from me soon.” Horror washed over her once again. Her harasser hadn’t forgotten her. She sucked in a deep breath and then replayed the message.
The message ended, but the machine kept running, leaving that irritating buzz that attaches itself to the end of a message not cut off soon enough.
Carol. Didn’t Steve call his wife Carol? Something else nudged at her memory, something recent, something she should recall with ease. Not a vague feeling from her past, but something significant in her right now.
Placing one shaky hand on the table next to her and the other on her chest, she fell on her knees. A burst of pain coursed through her head,
followed by a flash across her vision.
Only a snatch of the flashback remained in her memory, the startling image of a woman’s face, a face that looked exactly like hers. It was as if she were staring into a mirror, but the face belonged to someone else.
****
When Chris awoke the next morning, every light in the house was off. A dead silence covered her and caused her to shiver with dread. An unmistakable impression she was not alone sent a shudder through her.
Sliding from under the sheet, she dropped her feet to the floor with a dull thud and immediately regretted the slight noise. The cold medicine she took before going to bed last night slowed her down until she felt as if she moved through sludge. Her hand reached for the phone without orders from her groggy brain. The receiver hit to the floor with a loud clunk. Was that the sound of someone drawing in a swift breath? Was someone moving about on the other side of the house? Was he coming her way? She stiffened, waiting for the unknown threat to attack.
She shook her head to remove the fuzz from her brain. Was she dreaming? No. Most certainly not.
She managed to retrieve the receiver from the floor at her feet before it started making that irritating off-the-hook warning noise. Holding the phone to her ear, she heard nothing. No dial tone. That startled her more than the electrical outage. The two circumstances were no accident; they worked in unison, orchestrated by the presence in her house.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she surveyed the contents of the room. Noticing every contour and corner. Searching for the menace. Across the room, a minor detail grabbed her attention. Her bathroom door stood ajar. She had left the door closed when she lay down last night.
Fear should have consumed her, but anger overwhelmed her instead. She marched to the bathroom door and flung it wide. The thump against the wall echoed throughout the small bath. Loud. Like the boom of a wrecking ball against a brick wall. She closed her eyes. And opened them. The nightmare didn’t go away.
Cool air rushed through the open window. Never in a million years would she have left a window open while she slept. She slammed it closed with a hard bang and locked it with a quick twist. She wanted the intruder to know she was awake and aware of his presence.
Creeping through the quiet house, she entered the living room. “Who’s there?” No answer. The room appeared undisturbed. “If you’re still here, you’d better leave. I have a cell, and I’m calling the cops. Right now.” It was a lie crafted out of desperation. Her cell was out of minutes. She reached for the nearest heavy object, a large piece of cut glass she found at a souvenir shop last summer.
When the minutes ticked away without incident, she lowered the glass weight and drew the first solid breath since she awoke. No one was in her house. Maybe no one had been. The whole episode might have been her imagination. That thought scared her more than the possibility of a burglar.
Her mind registered each out of place item. Minor things. The magazine on the end table rather than the coffee table. Her purse on the opposite end of the sofa from where she left it. Newspapers on the floor. Her shoes missing from beside the door where she kicked them off her feet. Nothing in her living room was where she left it last night before she fell asleep. Nothing missing, just rearranged. Yes, someone had invaded her home while she slept off the cold medicine. The intruder wasn’t her imagination, and his intent obviously wasn’t to steal. He had a different sinister purpose. Her stomach lurched with all the possibilities.
Was the intruder the same man who left threatening messages? If he wanted to harm her, wouldn’t she be suffering already? What was the purpose of the man’s nocturnal visit other than rearranging her possessions? Was he trying to push her over the edge? Her mental health was fragile at best. Especially since the mysterious phone calls started cluttering her answering machine. How much pressure would it take to force her into a mental meltdown?
With trembling hands, she pushed aside the heavy front drape and peered into the darkness outside. A light or two flickered up and down the street. There wasn’t a power outage. Her house was the only one affected. She contemplated her next-door neighbor. Should she make a run for it? Would her tormentor grab her the moment she left her house? Why hadn’t he done his worst while she was still asleep and vulnerable?
Then, she saw him. Across the street. The light of a passing truck glanced off the faded green paint of an old Pontiac. A man scurried toward the car with a baseball cap pulled low over his brow. He hastened into the driver’s seat in one easy fluid motion. Before he drove away, he dared to glare at her, their eyes locking until she flinched and turned her head. With his face hidden in the shadow of the brim of his cap, she couldn’t see his features, but he seemed so familiar. When she peeked outside again, the car was gone.
Without a doubt, the man had been in her house, tormenting her with mind games. But why?
Chapter Ten
Chris had told the restaurant manager she didn’t want to deliver the construction crew’s order any more, but he begged her to carry their grub out to the site anyway. She pretended reluctance and irritation, but her insides jumped with eager anticipation.
She checked her hair in the rearview mirror as soon as the car jerked to a stop. When she entered the trailer lugging the heavy box, Jeff lounged in the chair behind the desk, apparently without anything productive to do. He didn’t rise to help her with the load. Somehow, his inaction didn’t surprise her. She dropped the box on the desk in front of him without concern for what it crushed.
“Watch where you drop that.”
She backed away from his surly demeanor. There was no reason to remain in Jeff’s obnoxious presence, so she turned to leave.
“You don’t have to be so obvious.”
She stalled with her hand on the doorknob and turned an icy-cold glare on him, refusing him the satisfaction of flustering her. She would stay and wait for Steve. Yes, she would. Jeff couldn’t scare her away. Not this easy.
“What do you mean?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but the expected question slipped out of her mouth anyway.
“He’ll be back in a little while.” He voiced the real answer to her real question, cutting through the unspoken dialogue. “Why don’t you sit down and talk to me? It gets lonesome in this trailer.”
He sounded jealous of her interest in Steve. He had no right. She’d never given Jeff any reason to believe she found him attractive, or even interesting. Every move he made toward her, she rebuffed. She remembered the last time she saw him. The recollection sent a renewed jolt of electrical distaste through her. The trailer suddenly seemed too small.
“Maybe you should get out more,” she mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed. He rose and came around the desk, pulling a chair out for her. Taking the seat offered, she focused on her chipped fingernail. He cleared his throat to get her attention. She ignored him, determined to interact with him as little as possible. But out of the corner of her eye, she could see him leering at her. He examined her with a tight mouth, an intense scrutiny that made her skin crawl.
“You sure look nice today.” The words slid off his tongue like slime from a sewer pipe, making her feel defiled and unlovely.
“Thanks.” Her gratitude was as insincere as his compliment.
How long would it be before Steve returned? Would he return? Did Jeff dangle the possibility of seeing Steve in front of her as a ploy to keep her here with him? What did he want from her?
Her stomach contracted in spasms of growing alarm. Was Jeff leaving those threatening messages on her answering machine? He probably knew enough about her resemblance to Carol to know what threats to make. Was Jeff the man who messed around in her house playing head games with her? She had never done anything to him. Why would he mess with her? Maybe he acted this way because she wouldn’t go out with him.
She refused to allow him to intimidate her.
He interrupted her tumultuous thoughts.
“We’d sure look good together.”
His comment startled her. “Huh?” She played dumb, but she knew what he meant.
“You and me. Together. We’d look good.”
“I already told you I can’t go out with you—”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I’m married—”
“That didn’t stop you from seeing Steve.” He peered at her bare ring finger. He was standing over her, a glint of cold steel in his eyes, his hostility prickling her skin. Hot fire leapt up her neck, coloring her face.
“That’s different. He thinks—”
“Never mind what he thinks. This is about me and you, baby.”
“This isn’t about me and you. It’s never been about me and you,” she replied with a sarcastic snap.
He shifted his weight nearer. His overt leer and space-invading nearness caused her to squirm. “It’s always been about me and you.”
She changed the subject, but only slightly. “I understand you guys are leaving in a few days.” She stared him in the eye, offering an excellent reason for her refusal to go out with him. For the same reason, she didn’t dare get close to Steve.
“You’ll miss him, huh?” His sharp question anticipated a reaction. She blinked at him, but didn’t respond. Cold, calculating maliciousness settled in his slate-gray eyes. “It’s too bad he’s so messed up.”
“What do you mean?” She flinched at his tone, but she couldn’t resist asking.
“Well,” he drawled. She cringed at his obvious delight in her discomfort. “He hasn’t been the same since the funeral.”
“Whose funeral?” Instinct compelled her to ask, even though she feared the answer. She dreaded what was coming, unable to stop him from saying what she didn’t want to hear.
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Of course, I don’t know.” She allowed her annoyance to show.
He appeared to consider her denial, but seemed to be playing the moment for all its drama. A vein began pumping in her forehead. She could feel the beat of each throb. The back of her neck hurt like fire. A flash of light darted across her vision.
Purgatory (Colorado series) Page 6