by Gina Wilkins
“She didn’t take anything from me,” Gabe answered wearily. Nothing tangible, anyway, he added to himself. “She didn’t even pack all her own things. As for money, there wasn’t any to steal. Nearly everything I had at that time was invested in the business.”
Just as nearly everything he’d made since then had been spent locating Page.
“Then why is she so afraid of you finding her?”
“I don’t know!” Frustrated, Gabe slammed the side of his fist against the nearest wall, making the framed print hanging there rattle against the plaster.
He took a deep breath, trying to regain his precarious control over his temper. “I would have asked her, but she didn’t hang around long enough,” he said.
Blake rubbed his chin. “I’ll tell you, Gabe, I’ve never seen a case quite like this one. There’s always some reason for people to deliberately disappear. A crime they’ve committed, a secret they’re hiding, fear of danger, something.”
He shook his head. “I can’t find anything in your wife’s past to account for the way she’s been living—alone, with no luxuries, no visible pleasures. It doesn’t make sense.”
“She once told me she’d led a very normal, uneventful life,” Gabe said.
During the past months, he’d replayed nearly every conversation he and Page had had during their time together, searching for any clue as to where she might have gone, or why. He’d remembered nothing out of the ordinary.
Blake nodded. “That’s what my research indicated. Born in Alabama, only child of a couple who married in their late thirties. Her father died in a car accident when she was in high school, and her mother passed away from cancer the summer after Page graduated. Page attended a university in Alabama on a full academic scholarship. She was a good student. No reports of her being in any trouble. The only discordant note on her record was a sexual harassment complaint she filed against a professor during her senior year.”
So far, Blake wasn’t giving Gabe any information he didn’t already know. “She told me about that.”
“Apparently, it was an ugly incident. The guy was eccentric, but popular with his students, and had seemed happily married for years. But whatever evidence Page presented to the administration must have been enough to get him fired. I wondered if maybe that incident had something to do with her actions now, but the professor died four years ago.”
Gabe shook his head. “Page didn’t like to talk about it. She said it was an ordeal that was very painful for her. But she seemed to consider it well behind her. She wasn’t afraid when she told me about it, only sorry that it had happened.”
Page had accepted another scholarship in Houston after her graduation from the Alabama university, he knew. There, she’d worked and studied for two more years, earning her master’s degree in education. She’d sent résumés to several school districts afterward, and had found employment in Austin, specializing in teaching English as a second language.
An Austin native, Gabe had been introduced to Page through a mutual friend almost two years after she’d moved to the area. Nine weeks later, he’d married her. Three weeks after that, she’d vanished, leaving only a bewildering note of regret behind.
Twelve weeks, he thought dismally. The full extent of his time with Page. And yet his life had changed irrevocably in those few traumatic weeks.
“The sexual harassment complaint probably has nothing to do with her movements now,” Blake conceded, breaking into Gabe’s grim musings. “It happened long before she met you. The professor was already dead by the time you and Page married. He shot himself, I understand.”
Gabe digested that unsettling news with mixed emotions. Page hadn’t told him that part. Had she known about the professor’s fate?
“Something made her run out on me the way she did,” he murmured. “It must be something drastic to account for the strange way she’s been living since. But what?”
Blake shrugged, looking almost as frustrated as Gabe felt. “Short of mental illness, I can’t come up with any theory as to why she’s behaving this way.”
“Mental illness?” Gabe stared at the other man. “You don’t think Page is...unbalanced?”
“You have to admit her actions aren’t exactly normal.”
Gabe shook his head. “No,” he said, remembering the Page he’d known and loved. Thinking of the woman he’d seen all too briefly that very afternoon.
She’d looked frightened, but she’d known exactly what she was doing when she screamed for help, detaining him long enough for her to get away. He couldn’t understand why she was evading him, but he didn’t for a minute believe she was demented. He simply couldn’t accept it.
“No,” he said again flatly. “She has a reason for what she’s doing. And I intend to find out what it is.”
“I think you’re right,” Blake admitted. “I worked with her for two weeks, and I would be willing to bet that she’s as sane as you or I. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that something is very wrong in her life.”
Gabe only nodded. Something was very wrong in his life, too, he mused.
He was a married man without a wife.
Blake drew a deep breath, as though bracing himself for Gabe’s reactions to his next words. “Gabe, I followed her here because I figured you’d want me to. But are you really sure it was the right thing to do?”
Gabe spun around to frown at the P.I. “What do you mean, the right thing? That’s why I hired you. I heard you were the best.”
Blake didn’t bother to comment on his reputation. It seemed he accepted it as fact, rather than flattery. “It’s obvious that she doesn’t want to see you or talk to you. Maybe—”
“She’s my wife.”
“She left you two and a half years ago. For all she knows, you’ve dissolved the marriage.”
“I haven’t. And there’s no record of her doing so, either. Sure, I’ve thought of just putting an end to it, forgetting about her, and getting on with my life. My friends and family have certainly tried to convince me to do so for the past couple of years. But I can’t, Blake. Not without getting some answers. Not without knowing what went wrong. I just can’t.”
Blake sat in silence for several long moments, seeming to digest Gabe’s words. “I wouldn’t be able to, either,” he confessed finally. “Like you, I’d have to know. So, you’ll try again to ask your questions.”
“And this time, damn it, she’s going to answer them,” Gabe said flatly.
Blake didn’t look as certain. “And if she starts to scream again?”
“I’ll deal with it.” Somehow.
Blake glanced out the window, at the closed door across the way. “Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’m going to need it.”
SETTING HER HAIR DRYER on the counter, Page looked in the mirror of the motel bathroom. A pair of scissors sat at one side of the sink; she’d used them to crop her shoulder-length hair into a shorter cut that now fluffed around her face. Her former mousy-brown hair was a rich auburn now, shot with red.
It paid to invest in good hair colorings, she thought with weary satisfaction. As many times as she’d dyed her hair in the past months, she’d learned which brands worked best.
She left her brown contact lenses in. Her eyes looked darker with her hair this color. Paula Smithers had worn little or no makeup, so Page now emphasized her eyes with shadow, liner and mascara, and stroked blusher on her cheeks.
With a dark lipstick, she thought, studying the mirror, no one would recognize her as the mousy bookkeeper from Des Moines.
She didn’t ask herself if the changes were necessary; it had become habit to alter her appearance as often as she changed addresses. If only it were as easy to shed the memories and emotions that followed to haunt her wherever she lived, whatever name she used.
She drew a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. She would spend the night here, then move on tomorrow, she decided. She hadn’t decided where she would go. She would just get in he
r car and drive.
Maybe she’d go south again. Georgia or Mississippi or Louisiana.
Not that it mattered. Wherever she went, eventually the photographs would appear in the mail and she would have to move on.
And now she had to worry about Gabe finding her, too. He’d found her once. Could he do so again?
After what she’d done to him this time, would he bother to try?
She remembered the look in his eyes when he’d confronted her. Oh, yes. He would try.
Gabe Conroy was a determined man. Everything he’d ever wanted, he’d gone after with single-minded determination. His college education. His business. Her.
She shivered and pulled the lapels of her robe together as a cold wave of fear washed through her. Somehow, she had to convince Gabe to stay away from her.
She sighed and glanced at the uncomfortable looking bed. It was still early, just after eight o’clock. She hadn’t had dinner, but she wasn’t very hungry. She should try to get some rest. She wanted to get an early start in the morning. Yet she dreaded going to sleep.
Her dreams were not pleasant ones these days.
A quiet rap on her door made her gasp and cover her mouth with her hands. Who—
“Page. Open the door.”
She knew his voice, of course. Like a rapier, it sliced straight into her heart.
“Page?” He knocked again. “I know you’re in there.
Open up.”
She stood frozen in the center of the small room, staring at the door, trying desperately to think of what to do. Would he go away if she refused to answer?
“Open this door or I swear I’ll break it down.”
He didn’t raise his voice, but she heard him clearly enough. He wasn’t bluffing. Even through the wood, she recognized the resolve in his tone.
Whatever the consequences, he was fully prepared to break the door in.
She took a deep breath and opened the door, leaving the safety chain in place. “Go away or I’ll call the police.”
Frowning at her through the narrow opening, he glanced at her new hairstyle, then at her face. “Fine. Call them,” he said.
He seemed to know her threat was an empty one. Maybe he suspected that she was as reluctant to call the police as he was for her to do so.
She tried another tactic. “I don’t know who you think I am, but you’re mistaken. I’ve never seen you before.”
“I know exactly who you are,” Gabe returned, his expression grim. “You’re my wife.”
Her breath caught in the back of her throat. She shook her head. “You’re wrong. I’m nobody’s wife.”
“Let me in, Page.”
“I’m not Page. Now go away.”
He caught the door with his left hand when she would have closed it. The wedding ring she’d placed on his finger gleamed, catching her eye, holding her almost mesmerized. She hadn’t expected that he would still be wearing it.
“I won’t leave until we’ve stalked,” he said flatly. “Either let me in or there’s going to be an ugly scene.”
She heard footsteps approaching on the concrete walkway. She could call for help again, she thought rapidly. Would it work twice? Or would she be caught up with him by police interference, detained for precious hours, taking the risk of having public attention brought to her?
Gabe glanced in the direction of the footsteps, then back at her. “What’s it going to be?” he asked quietly.
She swallowed hard and released the safety chain, praying that she was making the right choice.
She backed quickly away from the door, her arms locked defensively in front of her. She felt uncomfortably vulnerable in her robe and bare feet. She wished she’d had the chance to dress before dealing with this.
Gabe stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
And then he just stood there, looking at her.
Her fingers tightened around the sash of her robe. Her throat was so tight that she couldn’t have spoken even had she known what to say.
He looked older, she thought. He’d aged more than he should have in two and a half years.
His rich brown hair was still thick, still untouched by gray. He looked strong and fit, the picture of health and virility. A thirty-two-year-old man at his peak. And yet, the deep lines around his amber eyes and beautifully shaped mouth hadn’t been there before. And she knew they hadn’t been caused by long days spent working in the hot Texas sun.
Seeing those pain-carved lines, and knowing she had put them there, was almost as painful for her as knowing that there was nothing she could do now to make this ordeal any easier for him.
Gabe finally broke the taut silence. He stepped closer to her and lifted his left hand, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. His wedding band was cold against her skin.
“Did you really think,” he asked roughly, “there was anything you could do to yourself that would keep me from knowing you?”
His unexpectedly gentle touch almost dissolved her composure. She flinched away from him, before she could be tempted to do or say anything that would be a terrible mistake—for both of them. “Please don’t touch me.”
His hand fell to his side. His eyes darkened.
“You needn’t worry,” he said coolly, moving back. “Neither your life, nor your ... virtue is in danger from me. All I want from you is the truth.”
She almost flinched at his heavy sarcasm. She concealed her reaction with a lifted chin and narrowed eyes. She kept her mouth stubbornly closed.
His voice roughened with frustration. “Damn it, Page, talk to me. Tell me why the hell you left the way you did.”
She’d clamped a mental lid on her emotions now, closing them firmly away. It was a skill she’d perfected over the past thirty months, a talent she’d found indispensable. It had kept her sane.
Emotions weakened her. Distracted her. She could not afford to let them interfere with what she had to do now.
She met his eyes without wavering. “I have nothing to say to you, except that I want you to stay away from me. I want you out of my life.”
She’d expected her words to infuriate him. Maybe they’d be enough to make him storm away and never want to see her again.
Instead, he seemed genuinely baffled by her attitude.
“My God,” he said in little more than a whisper. “What has happened to you? Who did this to you?”
She didn’t allow herself to react to the pain in his voice. In his eyes. She was operating on instinct now, coldly and logically plotting her next move.
“What I am now, or why, is not your concern. I want you to leave me alone.”
“You are my wife.”
She didn’t even blink this time. “That was a mistake. One I would have expected you to rectify by now.”
He studied her broodingly. “I haven’t gotten a divorce.”
“You should have. Desertion is sufficient grounds in any state, I would assume.”
“Who called you the day you left me?” he demanded, ignoring her comment “What frightened you so badly that you left without even taking all your things? Why have you insisted on being alone, never making friends or allowing anyone near you? Who are you hiding from?”
She kept her face impassive, concealing her reaction to his questions. She had more than a few of her own.
How had he found her? How much did he know about her actions since she’d left him? How long had he been watching her? Who was helping him?
She asked him nothing. Doing so would only drag this out longer, and she could almost hear a clock ticking in her head.
She had to get as far away from Gabe as possible, as quickly as she could. No matter what she had to do.
“You owe me some answers, Page,” he growled when her silence continued. His voice was soft, but dangerous. His eyes focused on her face as though he could see right through the impassive mask she wore.
“This isn’t something I want to discuss in my bathrobe,” she said, glancing t
oward the open bathroom door. “You can wait in here while I change.”
“And let you climb out a bathroom window? I think not.”
She sighed, and spoke condescendingly. “There is no bathroom window. Feel free to check for yourself. But I’m not saying another word until I’ve dressed.”
He looked from her to the bathroom, obviously suspicious. There’d been a time when he had trusted her implicitly, but she wouldn’t allow herself to think of those days.
She knew he could see from where he stood that she’d told the truth about the bathroom layout. After a moment he nodded. “Get dressed. But hurry. I’ve waited long enough for this talk.”
She hadn’t brought her suitcase in from her car, only her hair dryer, cosmetics case and bathrobe. She picked up the jeans and sweater she’d worn earlier.
“I won’t be long,” she said as she walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.
It didn’t take her long to dress. It took her a bit longer to steel herself for what she had to do next. Making sure that mental lid was still firmly locked over her feelings, she slid her hand into the pocket of her jeans and closed her fingers around the slender canister attached to her key ring. Her free hand was perfectly steady when she opened the bathroom door.
Gabe had been pacing. He whirled to face her when she stepped out. “All right,” he said. “Now, tell me—”
Her hand came out of her pocket in a swift, fluid movement he never anticipated. Before he could react, she depressed a tiny trigger, sending a thin spray of noxious liquid directly into his amber eyes.
Gabe gave a choked cry, staggered, and covered his face with one hand as he went down to his knees. Coughing from the fumes and cursing the pain, he groped blindly with his free hand, as though reaching out for her. “Damn it, Page.”
She was already at the door, having snatched her heavy purse from the foot of the bed as she ran past. She spared only a glance back as she jerked the door open.
Just for a moment, the mental lid lifted at the sight of him kneeling in pain. Emotions threatened to spill out of their enforced confinement. “I’m sorry, Gabe,” she whispered.
