About Face

by Fern Michaels

  Jason went to the bar and poured himself a shot of scotch. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the old man still controlled his life. Right from the grave.

  He would do what needed to be done. The Dewitt name remained safe. Because Jason was very good at keeping secrets.

  Relief didn’t describe what she felt when Blake handed her the key to her private suite and told her his was right down the hall. On the drive over it occurred to her that Blake might want to share a room. She wasn’t ready for that yet.

  The Gastonian Inn, located in Savannah’s Historic District, didn’t look like a hotel at all. To her it looked like someone’s old mansion that had gone to seed and been refurbished. Blake laughed, and said she was on the money.

  Casey looked around her room with its king-size canopied bed, fireplace, and huge marble tub. It far surpassed the luxuries at Swan House. Blake was taking her out to dinner, and from there they were going on a moonlight riverboat cruise. She felt like a young girl getting ready for the prom, minus the corsage, minus the dress and stiff hairdo.

  Dressed in black silk lounging pants complete with matching blouse, Casey slipped sling-back sandals on and applied a dab of coral lipstick. Her mother had been generous choosing her wardrobe, her taste impeccable. She spritzed gardenia-scented perfume behind her ears and her neck. Catching her reflection in the full-length mirror, she nodded her approval. It continued to amaze her that she was the same woman who’d left a mental institution just days ago. Then, she hadn’t a glow to her cheeks, her ebony curls were limp and flat. And her eyes were as dull as her life. Now, those same eyes sparkled, their deep jade color reflecting her mood. She even looked like she’d put on a few pounds.

  A light knock sent her scurrying for her purse. She opened the door and gasped. Blake was decked out in a black dinner jacket and tapered dress slacks. In place of the standard white dress shirt, he had chosen black. He reeked of sexiness. His dark eyes were filled with humor as Casey stood in the doorway gawking.

  He dared a look downward. “I’m zipped.” He laughed.

  Her face flickered with embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry. You look very handsome tonight, you caught me off guard,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

  “Good. I like keeping you on your toes. Now, my lady, our carriage awaits.”

  Hand in hand they walked down the long hall. Sconces cast a golden glow over them, and vases of yellow and white roses scented the air with their heady fragrance.

  Casey couldn’t believe her eyes when they stepped onto the portico. Blake had been serious when he said “our carriage awaits.” A carriage with two powerful chestnut horses, and a driver wearing authentic-looking livery. They climbed aboard.

  Casey inhaled. Horse, straw, and leather permeated the inside of the carriage. She looked to Blake. “This is so overwhelming. I can’t believe you’d go to this much trouble.”

  The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestone road, the warm evening breeze wafting in through the small open windows, and Blake seated very close to her gave Casey such a feeling of happiness, that she wondered if she would ever know such complete, utter contentment again.

  The next day she would know, but that was a long way off. She wasn’t going to let anything spoil that night. It belonged to her and Blake. It might be the only night of its kind they’d ever share.

  “I didn’t go to any trouble. I made a call, told them my Visa number, and voila !” He gestured to the carriage.

  “What’s a ‘Visa’?”

  “Oh, it’s a credit card. You know like a Master Charge. Only now it’s called MasterCard. It’s actually better than cash.”

  “Guess I’ve been locked away long enough for the world to change.” She sighed and peeked out the window as they rode through Savannah’s Historic District.

  “That’s Forsyth Park,” Blake said as he saw her lean closer to the window. “Draws a lot of tourists.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Casey said, as they passed the famed park.

  “Yes, it is. Old Savannah offers plenty of entertainment. You can tour some of the historic mansions. They even have a few ghost tours.” Blake grinned.

  “It sounds fun. Another time, I’d like to come back and do all those things. Right now”—she turned to him—“I just want to enjoy this.” She leaned into the surprisingly plush seat and smiled. The continuous clip-clop of the horses lulled her. The carriage came to a sudden halt, jolting Casey out of her relaxed state. A view outside told her they were on East Broad Street.

  Blake tipped the driver and helped her down. Her heels were no match for Savannah’s cobblestoned streets.

  He placed an arm around her as they maneuvered their way through the crowd of people gathered in front of the Pirates’ House.

  “We don’t have to wait?” Casey questioned as they entered the restaurant.

  “I made a reservation yesterday. I thought you would enjoy this. A lot of history here. Those gardens we saw outside were the first experimental agricultural gardens in America. This used to be an inn for seafarers in the eighteenth century.”

  Casey could believe that as she viewed the rough ceiling beams. A sign to her right told her a nail hadn’t been used in the beams, that they were joined with wooden pegs. She smiled, realizing Blake was full of surprises.

  “Something funny?” he asked, as the hostess led them through a maze of halls.

  “You. I would never have guessed this would appeal to you.”

  “It does. I’ve always loved history. What do you think?”

  “It’s wonderful. I had no idea such a place existed.”

  Seated in their own private dining room, Casey relaxed for the second time that evening and allowed Blake command.

  He ordered for them both. Casey had never seen so much food, excluding the picnic basket Mabel packed. They’d nibbled on the ride, and now she was thankful that’s all they’d done.

  Plates of crab, king crab, blue crab, and Alaskan crab filled the table. Jumbo shrimp with the sweet smell of Old Bay served atop piles of cracked ice and smaller shrimp ladled over beds of rice, all this accompanied by a fresh green salad; the greens were from the restaurant’s own private garden, the waiter told them, and if that wasn’t enough, tiny loaves of bread in clay pots tempted them. Small pots of homemade butter completed their feast. A second bottle of wine was discreetly placed in its container.

  “Do you think we’ll eat all of this?” Casey asked as she reached for a crab leg.

  “Something tells me if I bet against it, it would be a sure thing,” Blake said as he peeled a shrimp.

  The meal wasn’t one that allowed them lingering looks and small talk. They had to work for the precious bites of crab and shrimp. Twice Casey felt the prick of a crab’s claw and Blake the expert showed her how to pull the shell away, using the claw as a handle.

  Two hours later they were aboard the Georgia Queen along with a few hundred others who’d decided to spend the evening drifting along the Savannah River’s coast.

  Casey looked out over the water and again felt an indescribable feeling of peace overwhelm her. Blake stood next to her, apparently lost in his own thoughts. A slight breeze tossed her short curls about and cooled her heated skin.

  It wasn’t hot, she reminded herself as she sneaked a side glance at Blake. It was him. For the past two hours her mind hadn’t registered anything other than her growing desire for the man who’d spent the evening making sure her every need was met. Except this, Casey thought. This deep, tugging sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her body felt heavy and overly warm despite the cool caress of the coastal breeze.

  She risked a peek at Blake. Her heart fluttered.

  She knew then. He felt it, too, she was certain. Words weren’t needed as their eyes met. All that she’d contemplated in the last few minutes were mirrored in his eyes. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

  Casey leaned into the hard expanse of his chest and wound her arms
around his back. She was safe with Blake. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He laced his arms around her and under the moonlight they swayed to a distant melody as it wafted up the stairs, accompanied by a low, soulful voice singing the blues. Casey couldn’t make out the performer’s words; she didn’t need to. The bittersweet lilt of the entertainer was a symphony, as she and Blake continued their slow dance across the deck of the ship.

  Out of sight, ensconced in the comfort of the starlit night, Blake tilted her chin up.

  As if in slow motion Casey watched his lips as they sought her own. When she felt their smooth warmth lightly touch her mouth, she pressed her lips against his. His mouth tasted warm and sweet from the wine they’d consumed. Ecstasy came to mind as Blake’s kiss aroused her to heights a mere kiss shouldn’t dare. She heard her own intake of breath as his tongue teased the fullness of her lips. Seized by a boldness unfamiliar to her, she kissed him back with a hunger she hadn’t known she possessed.

  His intake of breath sent shudders of desire rippling through her. Their kiss suddenly urgent, both lost control, their passion their guide. Tongues met, warmth covered warmth, hunger met hunger.

  Their desire reached a crescendo, before spiraling downward, making Casey aware of each and every fiber in her body. Blake’s embrace slackened as his kisses became soft and light. She drew in a deep breath as he nipped at her neck, leaving behind fiery pools of heat where his lips touched.

  Reluctant to let go, Casey felt empty, yet more alive than she could recall when Blake stepped out of their embrace and leaned against the ship’s railing. His black hair stood out against the blue-blackness of night. Lights from the riverfront reflected in his smoky gaze as he watched her. Casey wished she could paint the moment. She had never seen a more perfect man. He’d removed his jacket earlier, loosening the top button of his dress shirt, revealing a V of dark hair that Casey knew would be soft to the touch. Daring, she raised a hand and, with the pads of her fingertips, touched the soft darkness. Soft as down, she thought, as her fingertips trailed the broad expanse of Blake’s chest.

  He took her hand in his and placed wet kisses on her palm. She knew she had to stop because she couldn’t guarantee what would happen right there on the fourth deck if she didn’t. Pulling her hand back, she stepped away from Blake. He jammed his hands in his pockets and shook his head.

  “Casey, I can’t seem to do anything right when I’m around you. I made you a promise, and look at me. I’m still acting like a schoolboy.”

  “Stop,” she said as she placed a finger over his mouth. “I like schoolboys. Look, Blake,” she said as she rested her arms on his shoulders, “stop apologizing every time you touch me. I liked that kiss as much as you did. I didn’t stop you.” She peered around him. “It looks like the Georgia Queen is ready for bed. I think that means we should think about departing, too.”

  Blake captured her hands in his. “You’re right. And Casey, I want you to know I haven’t enjoyed myself this much with a woman . . . hell, there I go again. What I meant to say . . .”

  “Shhh, I know. I feel it, too.” His arms felt like protective armor as they left the riverboat, content with their thoughts.

  Chapter 16

  The dream came again but she couldn’t control it. Drifting on the edge of sleep, she took that final plunge into nothingness, where the subconscious ruled and dreams dominated.

  She was back in the closet. She could feel the jackets and sweaters drape the back of her shoulders. She scrunched into the corner, pulling her legs up close to her, and rested her head on her bony knees. She knew they’d come for her soon. She promised herself she wasn’t going to scream and cry. Not this time. It never mattered. They’d let her die in here. She hated them. She wished her momma acted like Flora. She wished she would bake her favorite peanut butter cookies and play games with her. And him! How she hated him. He always looked at her that way when Momma wasn’t around. Sweat dribbled between her shoulders. It’d been a long time since Momma left. Maybe they were really going to let her die this time. Maybe this time, she’d really leave her. He said that to her all the time, hoping to scare her. Well, she was good and scared all right. Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes flooded with tears she’d promised not to shed.

  It was there again. The fish eyes. They bulged, like someone had reached in and poked them so they’d stick out.

  Hard to breathe again. And that smell, she’d smelled it before. Metallic. A thick, wet substance clung to her white cotton gown. She pulled the material away from her skin. Bruised and raw. Had she had another bicycle accident? She looked around the closet. He opened the door. She wanted to shout to Momma, but was stopped when a hand came over her mouth.

  She couldn’t breathe!

  He really wanted to kill her!

  She looked up at him from her hiding place and made a quick promise to herself: If she lived, if he let her live, she’d tell Flora how Robert Bentley came in her room.

  Casey woke, disoriented. Another bad dream. She rolled over and fell asleep again but not before she said a prayer asking God to let her forget the awful dream she’d just had.

  Caught in a tangle of sheets, Casey bolted upright, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment she couldn’t recall where she was, and it frightened her. Then she remembered. The Gastonian Inn. Savannah.

  Soon she would have her answers when she kept her appointment with the great Dr. Dewitt.

  She squinted to look at the clock on the bedside table. Six-thirty. She’d shower and wait for Blake. Something tugged at her subconscious as she untangled herself from the sheets. Giving herself a mental shake, she headed for the bathroom.

  The pulsing stream of warm water soothed her aching shoulders and cleared the cobwebs of sleep. Still, the nagging feeling that she was missing something remained.

  She washed her hair, shampoo lather spiraling down the drain as she leaned into the stream of the shower.

  Then it hit her like an elephant slam.

  The dream!

  Wrapping herself in a thick robe provided by the inn, Casey twisted a towel around her hair as she sat down on the edge of the bathtub to think about her dream.

  She knew what she experienced in dream form wasn’t just a dream. It was too real, too frightening. Another memory was surfacing in the guise of a dream. She had to pay attention.

  She was that little girl in the closet. She was the one who had been hurt by someone. Her mother, maybe? No, it couldn’t have been her. But she’d been there. And that bastard Bentley! Why would she dream about him anyway? Just where did he fit in all this? Had he hurt her? Was he the one who sent her over the edge? And Ronnie, her stepbrother, where did he belong in this puzzle? Or was he just a jagged edge waiting to cut?

  Determined to find answers, she quickly dressed and went downstairs in search of coffee.

  She found Blake seated at a corner table reading the paper, his hair still damp from the shower. She imagined she could smell the woodsy scent that she now associated with him from across the room. He wore dark green slacks with a cream-colored sport shirt. It fit, she thought. He looked like a doctor, was her second thought. A doctor on his day off. Casual, but prepared, just in case.

  He must have felt her gaze because he looked up, then motioned for her to join him.

  “I thought I’d let you sleep. We had a late night.” Blake filled a delicate cup with coffee and handed it to her.

  “Mmmm, I needed this.” She took a sip of the hot brew and felt almost human. “I’m an early riser.” She paused and looked at him, not sure if she should burden him this early in the day. “I had the dream again last night.”

  “The dream?” he asked as he topped off their cups.

  “I’ve had it off and on for years. Sometimes I think it’s just that, a dream. Other times I think it’s my memory returning for a quick visit in hopes of nudging my conscious self into remembering.

  “I’m always in a closet. I couldn’t be more than nine or ten. And I�
��m so afraid of not being able to breathe. I think someone must be trying to suffocate me.” She gave a dry laugh as she watched Blake. He didn’t laugh. He looked angry.

  “Good Lord, Casey! Do you realize what you’re saying?” Blake leaned forward and took her free hand in his.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t think of any other explanation for the feelings I have. In the dream I’m struggling to breathe. Something is on top of me.” This sounded insane even to her. Her mother would never have let such a thing happen to her. Nor would Flora.

  Blake appeared deep in thought. “Today, we’ll have answers.” He took a deep pull of coffee and glanced at his watch.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” His sudden change of attitude alarmed her.

  “It’s not a question of believing you, Casey. I can’t imagine this could happen to a child and a parent not be aware of it, that’s all.”

  “I thought of that, too. I don’t think Evie knew anything was going on. What I’m having a hard time with is understanding how Robert Bentley knew when I was locked in the closet.” She jerked backward when she saw the impact her words had on Blake.

  “Slow down a minute,” he shouted, then lowered his voice as he looked around to make sure the other patrons hadn’t overheard him. “Bentley saw you?” Blake asked, a look of disbelief on his face.

  “I’m sure of it. In the dream I remember thinking I hated him, and I couldn’t understand why he appeared at such odd times.”

  She wanted Blake to believe her more than anything.

  “Nothing fits, Casey. I have no explanation for that. Other than your mother, I don’t know of anyone who would know if Bentley was there or not, and if he was, I would want to know why.”

  “If, Blake? If. Surely you don’t think I’m making this up? Granted it all comes from a dream. But I know in my heart”—she jabbed her thumb against her chest—“he was there. And today, I’ll prove it!”

  She pushed her chair back, almost toppling it over, and ran out of the room, not caring that the other diners stared after her.