When he stepped back into the bedroom, stood over the bed watching her, he tried to grasp the emotions rocketing around inside him. Regret or awkwardness he would have understood. Instead, he felt shell-shocked and vulnerable, all his secrets exposed. Their lovemaking had been too intense, had reached far too deeply inside him.
If he knew what was good for him, he would back away, go back to his office or to his own room. Try to find a way to drive Mia from his mind. Even as the sensations still scudded across his skin, he knew he shouldn’t let his body record their passion.
But his body had its own agenda. Without thinking, he lay beside her again, fitting himself against her. His arm sliding under her, he pulled her against him, nestling her head just under his chin. Just for a few moments…then he would get up, start the business of shutting Mia out again. He would only close his eyes for a few moments.
Her warmth seeped into him, and he fell asleep.
It seemed only a heartbeat later that he jolted awake. Dim nightmare images lingered in his mind, talons of the past digging into his unconscious. His heart slammed in his chest, and his breathing was ragged.
Unease settling in his belly, he edged away from Mia. Her hand skimmed his chest, reaching for him even as she still slept. He longed to keep her close, to hold her against his heart. But something was crawling beneath his skin, clamoring for escape. It pushed him to his feet as his heart pounded in his ears.
His gaze fell on the clock—8:36 p.m. As his agitation grew, he remembered every detail of his argument with Elizabeth five days before her murder. The memories clung to him as if revisiting him from his nightmares.
The short, bright time with Mia in her bed had given him momentary respite from the ugliness. Like snow that eradicates everything it covers, making everything white, clean, new, Mia had lent a purity to his world.
Lent only, and now it all came crashing back. Groping in the dark, he gathered up his clothes, threw them on. He hung on to control by a thread, had to get out before it severed.
Nearly to the door, he slammed his hip into the corner of the dresser, and the wedding picture on top toppled with a clatter. Mia stirred in their bed, then buried herself deeper in the covers. He wanted so dearly to lie down with her again, to feel her heart beat against his. But he knew he had to get out.
He snatched up the photo, those happy, oblivious smiles breaking his heart. Pain like a stone in his chest drove him from the room and down the hall to his own room. Tossing the framed photo on his bed, he all but ran back down the hall to the foyer.
Fumbling for his snowboots in the coat closet, he shoved his feet into them. He wrenched his heavy parka from its hanger, scrambled for the gloves and wool hat that fell from the pockets.
He grew more frantic each moment, the clock ticking closer to 9:00 p.m., the time of his phone call with Elizabeth. In the back his mind where sanity still huddled, he knew it was foolhardy to go out with temperatures hovering in the low teens, even dressed warmly. But with his past snapping at his heels, he had no choice.
He remembered at the last moment to close the door quietly. He took off down his driveway where the drifts weren’t as bad, the snow only up around his shins. Moonlight glazed the snow-burdened trees, frosting them with silver, achingly beautiful. He could only think of Elizabeth and how much she would have enjoyed the sight.
He got as far away from the house as he could before the pain erupted. It overcame him like a predator slamming him in the back, dropping him to his knees in the snow. It dug its claws in, spreading agony through him.
He screamed, rage, grief, guilt all in equal measure. He covered his face with his hands as he crouched there, ripped apart inside. He wanted to tear his heart from his chest so he wouldn’t have to feel anymore.
An eternity later he dimly heard the click of a door, and he realized he hadn’t gotten far enough from the house. Mia’s voice, barely loud enough to hear, enfolded him.
“Jack?”
Eyes shut, icy wetness soaking into his jeans and his body spasming from the cold, he seemed to see light sifting in between his fingers. Like a talisman, Mia’s face appeared in his mind’s eye. He imagined her hand on his heart, soothing, protecting.
He looked back over his shoulder. He was hidden by shadows and the downward curve of the road. She stood on his porch, sheltered, but dressed only in turtleneck, jeans and sneakers. Arms wrapped around her middle, her body vibrated from the cold.
“Jack?” she called out.
He reared up from the snow, and she jumped back, startled.
“Go back inside!”
“What’s going on?” She started toward him, her feet enveloped by the snow. “Are you okay?”
“Go back inside!” He was too far gone to muster anything more coherent. But having her out here in the cold terrified him. He had to get her back inside where she’d be safe.
She stood her ground, stubborn despite the shudders rolling over her. “You come with me.”
His heart felt as if it lay in pieces at his feet. Yet he could imagine Mia, with her clever hands, picking up the fragments, rebuilding them into something as good as new.
He didn’t trust himself to speak, was afraid of what he might say. So he just closed the distance between them and turned back with her toward the house. He left his wet boots and parka by the front door, ordered her harshly to take off her wet shoes. With a rough gesture he directed her to the pellet stove.
Refilling the hopper, he set the controls to their highest level and stood as close as he could to the glowing flames. Mia shivered beside him. He could feel her gaze on him.
He wouldn’t look at her, just forced out the words, “Go to bed.”
“Jack—”
She laid her hand on his arm, her fingers still chilly from the outdoors. He ached to enclose her hands in his, to warm them. Pull her closer, wrap his arms around her. The hole in his chest might be impossible to heal, but maybe she could ease the agony for a night or two.
But what about when she left? He’d only be tearing open the wound again, digging the dark hole deeper. Their lovemaking had made everything worse, blindsiding him with hope. He couldn’t let himself give in to it.
He backed away from her, turning from the fire. Tried not to think of her standing there, watching as he went to his room.
He slammed the door shut, closing himself in darkness. Then he slumped to the floor and let the pain come. Regret lodged like an arrow in his chest as he remembered the ugly words he’d flung at Elizabeth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I take it back. I didn’t mean it.”
But his apology was five years too late.
Chapter Ten
She’d had no right to expect anything of him. She’d asked him to make love to her, not make her promises. And she’d gotten exactly what she’d asked for—glorious, brilliant moments of climax, the exultation of feeling him inside her. How could she blame him for what she was feeling now—an emotion she didn’t dare name, one she was certain he wouldn’t welcome.
His cry had pulled her from a deep sleep, as if the connection forged between them during those few joyful moments had alerted her to his pain. When she’d stepped outside and spotted his dark head, vivid against the snow, she’d thought he might have gone for a walk and stumbled. But the echo of his cry still rang in her ears. It might as well have been written on her heart.
He’d barely said two words to her since that night. He hadn’t commented when she’d left the box of condoms in his room on Saturday. Most of that day he’d stayed shut up in his office or his bedroom, ignoring her tap on the door telling him she’d made dinner. On Sunday, another storm came in, spilling another foot of snow. She watched it alone while Jack hid from her, either too embarrassed by what had happened, or still too wounded.
She couldn’t untangle her own feelings, let alone his. Since Friday, she’d been able to draw nothing but Jack’s face. Sometimes the whole face, sometimes individual features drawn in great
detail—his eyes, dark with emotion, his mouth, sensual and expressive. Just the line of his jaw where it met his ear, dark straight hair tucked behind.
Even now, early Sunday evening, she sat in the window seat, drawing pad on her lap, his face gazing up at her. The sun having set long ago behind the trees, the yellow glow from the recessed lights above her illuminated the snow outside. Beyond that weak light, with the moon not yet risen, she saw only blackness between the trees. Like her mind, hiding more than it revealed.
Beside his face with its grave expression, she’d sketched Jack’s open hand. She’d penciled something nestled in his palm, a jewel or a flower.
Or maybe her heart.
The sound of a door opening turned her toward his office. He didn’t so much as glance her way before heading down the hall toward his room. She wanted to run after him, grab his arm and shake him. But then what? When he just stared down at her, silent and as closed off to her as those dark woods, what would she say then? How could she put into words what she wanted from him when she didn’t know herself?
She eyed the open office door. Did she dare go in to use the Internet? He might ask her to leave when he returned, or do an about-face when he saw her there. Either way, she might as well get done what she could.
While she waited for the laptop to boot, she felt a prickling move up her spine. She thought it might be trepidation over Jack’s reaction when he saw her there. Except it was his absence that set off the knot of apprehension in her belly. If Jack was here, he would keep her safe. But from what?
She’d just clicked on the Web browser when a voice nearly jolted her from her chair. “Hey! Dr. T.—are you there?”
The voice had come from Jack’s monitor, and now she saw the boy’s face displayed in a Web cam window. Seven or eight years old with cornrow braids to his shoulders and lively brown eyes, a grin lit his dark face.
Mia moved to Jack’s chair, within range of the Web cam on the monitor. “Jack’s in the other room. I’m Mia.”
“I’m William.” His brow furrowed as he studied her. “Dr. T. never has friends over. Except Dawson, and that’s hardly ever. Do you like math puzzles?”
“I’m better with words. Do you like science?”
“I’m better with math. I already solved the puzzle Dr. T. gave me yesterday. I wanted him to give me another one.”
She felt Jack’s presence in the doorway before she turned to see him there. His gaze flicked over her, then fixed on William as he stepped inside. “Hey, buddy, what’s up?”
Mia quickly surrendered the chair to him, seating herself at the laptop again. If he had a problem with her being there, he would tell her.
After she read a last few articles on dissociative amnesia, she put aside her misgivings and did a desultory search on her name linked with the bits and pieces they’d learned about her. As she paged through them, she eavesdropped on Jack’s conversation with William. It didn’t take long to figure out this wasn’t an ordinary young boy. Jack was offering up calculus and linear algebra problems for William to solve and the boy was over the moon with excitement.
Even more surprising was Jack’s interaction with William. He joked with the boy, teased him, laughed. The darkness that had laid so heavily on Jack the past two days seemed in temporary abeyance.
They spoke for nearly an hour, Mia listening in, more interested in William’s ebullience than in the dry psychological treatises she’d been reading. She remembered Jack’s guess that she was a teacher; it made sense that she felt so comfortable around a bright young boy.
“Can I say good-night to Mia, Dr. T.?”
Jack looked over his shoulder at her, his face impassive. She rolled her chair over; he backed his away.
“It was good to meet you, William,” Mia said, aware of Jack sitting only inches away.
“You, too.” He scrunched his face at her. “You look kind of familiar.”
His simple pronouncement knocked the air from her lungs. Jack leaned into range of the Web cam. “Where do you know her from, William?”
A voice in the background shouted William’s name and he turned away from the Web cam. “Just a minute, Mama!” He turned back to Jack. “I’m not sure, Dr. T. But I know I’ve seen her face before.”
Another shout, closer now. William tossed out a hasty goodbye and broke the Web-cam connection.
Mia stared at the blank screen with frustration. “Could he have seen a missing-person report about me?”
“Hard to say. He’s beyond genius—his IQ is off the charts. But he’s eight years old—one minute he’s solving game theory problems, the next he’s forgetting to take out the trash.”
“He calls you Dr. T.”
Something in his expression told her she’d sidled into dangerous territory. But he answered her question. “I was a professor of civil engineering before I started my business.”
He pushed back in his chair, looking past her out the window. The snowfall had thinned, a few flakes scattering in the breeze past the window.
They couldn’t ignore forever what had happened on Friday. But she was so grateful to have him talking to her again, she stuck to safer topics. “How did you meet William?”
“Dawson met his mother back in April when he was on a business trip in Chicago.”
A ray of sunlight punched through the clouds, brightening the room. She felt a sudden urgency to capture the look of that light on Jack’s face, the way it softened his eyes. An even stronger temptation arose in her to trace the line of his jaw, his mouth, with her fingers.
She clenched her hands in her lap. “Is she a client of yours?”
The sunlight faded and shadows fell on Jack’s face again. “She was on the cleaning crew in the client’s building. Dawson struck up a conversation with her. She told him all about William, how proud she was of him.”
“You mentor him, then.”
“I remember how it was, always being the smartest kid in the room. And in my case and William’s, the smallest.”
She couldn’t help it; she scanned his six-foot-plus body head to toe. His mouth curved into a smile, not as broad as the one he’d given William, but genuine. “I was a late bloomer.”
“I’ve known kids like him.” She blinked in surprise. “Not sure where that came from. But I can see their faces.”
His fingers interlaced across his lean belly. “Can we talk about the relaxation exercise?”
Her stomach lurched. From his determined expression, she could see there was no avoiding the discussion this time.
“When I had you wake in bed, look to see if someone was there with you…”
Now a kernel of fear stabbed her. “Yes.”
“You were afraid.” His gaze met hers. “What did you see?”
She groped for his hand without thinking, his warm palm against hers giving her courage. “There was a man there with me.”
“Your husband?”
The significance of the question hung in the air. If she was married, what they’d done Friday night…“I don’t think so.” She tested the notion inside herself, looked for honesty rather than self-serving expedience. Found surety there. “No, not my husband. I’m not married.”
“A boyfriend?”
A rock fell in her stomach, a boulder. “No,” she whispered.
“What was he doing in bed with you?”
She shook her head. “Maybe what I was seeing isn’t what really happened. Maybe my imagination put him there.”
His gaze narrowed on her. “But why?”
“I don’t know! I only know…”
“He terrified you.”
Even now, remembering, she found it hard to breathe. She nodded.
“And then, at work,” Jack continued. “You were happy at first. You saw your students, your classroom. But then—”
The tendons popped out on her hands as she gripped Jack’s. “He came in.”
“The same man.”
“I think so.” She shut her eyes, tried to recall
what she’d seen.
“Curly blond hair. But it’s a blank where his face should be.”
Her teeth chattered, despite the warmth of the room. Her heart pounded in her ears and it seemed the walls were moving closer.
“That’s enough.” Jack pulled her from the chair. “Let’s get dinner started.”
She felt nauseous at the thought of eating, but she knew he was right—she had to go do something, get busy. She’d remembered more when she wasn’t trying than she did when it was her sole focus.
They threw together a quick pantry meal, combining canned clams and anchovies, lemon, garlic and olive oil with pasta to make linguini with white clam sauce. Jack found sourdough rolls in the freezer for garlic bread, and they used a last bag of lettuce for a salad.
The aroma of sautéed garlic and anchovies renewed her appetite. But as they seated themselves at the dining-room table, Mia knew they weren’t finished. Jack might want to avoid the subject, but she intended to bring it front and center.
“There was more to Friday night,” she said as she twirled linguini on her fork.
He glanced over at her before fixing his gaze back on his plate. “What do you want me to say, Mia? We made love. It was consensual. And best I can tell, we both enjoyed it.”
His cut-and-dried assessment didn’t surprise her. What she thought she’d seen in his dark gaze did. A moment of vulnerability.
But she had to have imagined it. Wishful thinking. “If you’re afraid I expect anything of you, I don’t.” That tasted like a lie on her tongue.
“Good.” He didn’t look at her this time.
They finished their meal in silence, the air all but crackling with tension. With one last bombshell hovering over the table, unasked questions rolled through Mia’s mind.
Jack finally pushed his plate away, the gesture slow, deliberate. He stared down at his hands, flexing and relaxing his fingers. Then he lifted his gaze to Mia.
“She died five years ago, Christmas Eve.”
Her Miracle Man Page 11
