WIFE BY DECEPTION

by Donna Sterling

  Kate wondered why Joey considered that surprising. She then remembered that Mitch's community didn't seem to value education much from what Remy had told her. Remy himself had barely been able to spell the word apple. And now Joey was stunned by the notion of a child enjoying a book.

  Mitch shot Kate a glance, and she saw surprise there, too. "Who reads to her?" he asked.

  "I do."

  Incredulity showed in his face.

  "You, Camryn?" boomed Joey's voice from the radio. "You read to your daughter? When? Between hands of poker, or shots of whiskey? You barely had time to feed her while you lived here. Too much excitement in da bars and casinos to waste time wit' your new baby. Which makes me wonder why you even want her. Must have some scheme up your sleeve."

  Anger, defensiveness and the need to believe she was wrong about Camryn rose like leaping flames within Kate. "How dare you? You know nothing about me. Nothing!" Yet even as she said it, she remembered Camryn's note. She'd been on her way to New York City to get her and Arianne roles on a soap opera.

  "Oh, I know plenty 'bout you," Joey retorted. "You're sly and selfish, and you didn't care dat stealing Arianne would break Mitch's heart. You don't want him getting in da way of your fun and games, and you—"

  "That's enough, Joey." Mitch's command rang with finality. "I didn't call to hear you rant and rage. I'm glad Arianne's calmed down. You need to do that, too. Kiss her for me. Take good care of her. Tell Claude I'm bringing him a big old seashell from the bottom of the Gulf, just for being good to his little cousin."

  He then broke the connection, hung up the radio handset and turned questioning eyes to Kate. She sensed a soul-deep disturbance in him—as if he realized something was very wrong with the picture she presented, but he couldn't pinpoint what.

  She wished she could clear up his confusion, but her need for the impersonation was as strong now as ever. She wanted to see not only the face Mitch Devereaux showed to the world but the one he revealed only to those who knew him best. His wife would be exposed to his secret side before a stranger would. Kate also wanted an inside glimpse of where he lived and how he lived … and who would be taking care of Arianne while he was out at sea.

  No, she couldn't reveal the truth about her identity yet or the accident that had killed Camryn. She'd told Mitch at the very start that she wasn't Camryn, and he'd chosen not to believe her. He would learn his mistake when he turned her over to the authorities.

  She suddenly dreaded the coming of that day.

  "Let's go talk," he said.

  Flicking on the intercom, he called Remy to relieve him at the wheel. He then took hold of Kate's hand and led her from the wheelhouse to the captain's quarters, where he grabbed a thick, colorful beach blanket. With her hand still firmly encased in his—a wonderfully gratifying feeling, she realized—he escorted her to the back deck and stopped near the steel-and-wood, door-high structure that sheltered the stairway to the engine room. The "doghouse," Remy had called it.

  "Climb up," Mitch said, releasing her hand.

  "Up?" She frowned at him, puzzled. The stairway to the engine room went down.

  He gestured toward the ladder rungs built onto the side of the doghouse. "To the roof."

  Anxiety rippled through her. She wasn't sure about climbing onto a rocking roof in the middle of the sea. Not that she was particularly afraid of heights or water. But somehow the combination left her quaking in her sandals. She simply wasn't the adventurous twin. She found all the adventure she needed in books or videos. Oh, Cam! How did I ever come to be living your life? I'm just not good at it!

  Hanging back from the ladder, she waved Mitch on ahead of her. "You first."

  With a sidelong glance that spoke again of bewilderment, he reached for a handgrip, climbed the few steel rungs and stepped onto the roof of the cabin. He probably wondered what had caused her to lose her nerve; to turn into a yellow-bellied chicken, as Camryn had often called her when they were kids.

  Had Camryn's bravery and adventurous spirit thrilled Mitch? He'd told her not to jump off the roof, but that only meant he took his responsibility as captain seriously. Maybe he'd found Camryn's wildness to be invigorating. Her previous husbands and boyfriends had.

  "You're not afraid, are you?" he called down to her.

  "No, no, of course not." Swallowing her fear, Kate gritted her teeth and climbed after him. When she reached the top and stood on the slightly inclined roof, dizziness overtook her. She felt so high … on a rough black surface that dipped and rolled with the motion of the boat … surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of purple-blue waves and golden sky. If she tumbled over the edge, she wasn't sure which way she'd fall—into the bottomless water or the endless sky.

  Not the adventurous one. No way to pretend I am. Keep breathing, darn it. Just focus on the breathing.

  A strong, steady arm came around her shoulders, and Mitch ushered her to the center of the roof. He laid out a blanket, then guided her down onto it. They sat with their backs to the wind, their faces to the stern. The wind whipped her hair wildly about her.

  Gradually, her dizziness lessened. And she realized she was clinging to Mitch's tautly muscled forearm with both hands. Forcing her fingers to release him, she summoned her flagging courage and braved a glance around.

  The view was breathtaking. Backlit with the heavy gold of late afternoon, the violet water stretched on into eternity. Gulls swooped, screeched and circled the boat, as if they knew fish would be hauled onto that deck eventually. The nets billowed in the breeze from the lowered outriggers. The wind hummed an exotic song in her ears, and the taste of brine flavored every breath.

  And there, alongside the boat, were fins cutting silently through the water, keeping easy pace with the Lady Jeanette.

  "Sharks! Oh my God, Mitch—" Kate threw a panicked glance at him "—if we fall off this roof…"

  "We're not going to fall." Again he slid a protective arm around her shoulders and tugged her against the reassuring warmth of his large, solid body. "And those aren't sharks."

  "They're not?" With breathless fascination, she watched the shiny gray-black creatures rise in a graceful arc above the waves, then dive again, their movements perfectly synchronized. "Porpoises," she breathed. They swam and rose and dived beside the boat until they vanished somewhere into the vast, blue deep.

  And a sweet serenity stole over her. Heaven wouldn't share such beauty with her if she wasn't meant to enjoy it. The sun, wind and salt seeped deep into her pores, and she swore the combination could heal anything that ailed the soul.

  "Talk to me, Cam."

  Then again, maybe not. Tearing her attention away from the beauty of their surroundings, she met his troubled gaze with grave misgivings. "I'm not sure it's a good idea to stay up here long," she hedged. "It's after six, but the sun is still hot and dangerous."

  "It's seven-thirty. And I thought I saw you putting on sunscreen a while ago."

  "Oh. Yeah." She bit her lip, feeling cornered. She'd actually been slathering sunscreen on all day. "Guess I'd forgotten."

  "You agreed we'd talk." His windblown hair danced around a face bronzed by many days such as this, and his green eyes looked deeper, more turbulent, than the sea. He needed answers. And she wanted to give them. "Now is the time, Cam. Tell me everything about the accident … and why you've changed so damn much."

  She couldn't, of course. But knowing that she would eventually have to own up to her deception—in a matter of days—Kate suddenly felt the need to prepare him the best she could for the truth. She could tell him some of the facts about the accident, couldn't she?

  "It happened early on a rainy morning in January. The police said I'd been speeding. I don't remember the crash itself, but it was a head-on collision. With a truck." The horror of the truth suddenly rose out of nowhere, like an evil apparition, and wrapped its hands tightly around her throat. Kate couldn't go on.

  "Did anyone … die?"

  She shot him a startled glance. Why
had he asked that question? Had he somehow discovered the truth? No, she didn't believe so. Intense bewilderment emanated from him. "Yes," she whispered, too haunted by her loss to completely deny it.

  "How many people?"

  "Two." The pain burned like a freshly torn wound, and her heart thudded with heavy grief. "The truck driver," she said through an aching throat, "and … my sister."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  "Your sister?" Mitch supposed he should have been immune to the surprises she sprang on him, but he wasn't. He felt as if he'd been blindsided into a tailspin. "You told me you had no family."

  She stared straight ahead, over the water, and tears welled up in her eyes. "I lied."

  "Why?"

  "I'm not sure. It's one of those things that I … don't remember." A small tear inched down her face in a wildly crooked path, spurred on by the wind. "She and I hadn't been getting along very well." She swallowed hard, then swung her wide, honey-brown gaze to his. The pain he saw there made his chest tighten. "She disapproved of my drinking and gambling." A small, bittersweet smile twisted her mouth. "Almost every time we were together, she butted into my affairs." The tears trickled over her bottom lashes. "She was always telling me what to do."

  Like me, he thought.

  "Now she's gone," she said in a choked voice, "and I'd give anything to have her back, to get one more chance to make things r-right."

  He gathered her to him and let her cry, which she did, long and hard. Sobs racked her slender body, and he held her close. After a while, he pulled her down with him to lie on the blanket, his cheek against her hair, his hand stroking her back. He'd comforted sobbing females more than a few times in his life, but something about her pain cut through his defenses and made his throat ache in sympathy.

  "I should have done things so differently," she said between sobs.

  He recognized then a major source of her pain. Guilt. Did she blame herself for her sister's death? The police said I'd been speeding, she'd said. He remembered the reckless way she'd always driven. He'd been afraid to allow Arianne in the car with her.

  A sudden concern shot through his gut, and he whispered hoarsely into her hair, "Was Arianne in the car with you?"

  "No, no." She shook her head against his chest. "Thank God, no."

  The question served to curtail her weeping, and soon she lay still in his arms. After a moment, though, she stiffened and drew back far enough to peer at him. He detected embarrassment in her expression. "I'm sorry I … cried all over you. I didn't mean to break down like that. I—"

  "It's okay, chèr'." He ran a hand through her silky hair; brushed a wayward strand back from her face. "If I lost one of my sisters, I'd break down, too. I'd be devastated."

  She relaxed somewhat, and rested her head on his arm to maintain their eye contact. Her embarrassment, so uncharacteristic, reminded him of how much she'd changed, and the fact that she didn't know him. For all intents and purposes, he was holding a stranger. Why did that idea appeal to him? He wasn't sure, but he suddenly wanted to know everything about her.

  "How much of your life have you forgotten?"

  "That's hard to say," she replied slowly. "I remember my childhood, and most of my adulthood. I guess I've lost whatever happened in the past couple of years. I don't remember anything about you, our marriage or our break-up. I remember very little about Arianne's birth, other than the fact she's mine."

  "In other words, the only part of your life that you've blocked out is the time you spent with me." Ridiculous to feel hurt over that.

  "No!" But after reconsidering, she allowed, "Well, maybe. But I didn't purposely block it out. At least, I don't think I did. Unless—" she searched his eyes with something like suspicion "—I had some reason to want to forget it."

  He scowled. Was she trying to blame him for her memory loss? "If you had a reason, it was probably all the trouble you got yourself into." The statement brought to mind other topics they needed to address. "Have you stopped drinking and gambling altogether?"

  "Yes."

  Guilt over her sister's death would have been a strong motivating factor. "That couldn't have been easy."

  Her expression intensified, but she didn't comment, and he couldn't read her emotions. She clearly wasn't ready to discuss her battle with the addictions. He thought about the struggle she must have gone through, and guilt nipped at him. He'd given up on her. Written her off as hopeless. But how could he have done otherwise? He'd tried to force her into a treatment center, but she'd refused to cooperate. Shortly after, she'd filed for divorce. He'd been able to do little else than watch her race down the road to ruin, taking Arianne along for the ride.

  "Are you seeing a doctor about your memory loss?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "A good one?"

  "My doctor is one of the best."

  "If you need help with medical bills, send them to me." A crazy offer. He had little cash to spare. But he wouldn't turn his back on her. She was, after all, the mother of his child. Which made her family. "I'll help you all I can."

  Her brows lifted in clear surprise at the offer. "Thank you. That's very kind. But I'm doing fine."

  Kind? She considered an offer of money from him "kind" … and turned it down? She'd always considered money from him her due—massive amounts of it—even after their separation. Obviously she'd come to some major realizations after her sister's death. Perhaps the change in her also had to do with her abstinence from alcohol. He'd known alcoholics whose twelve-step programs had brought about miraculous transformations.

  Rather than dwell on her personality changes, though, he opted to focus on the money issue. His curiosity was strong. "How are you 'doing fine'? You never had money before."

  She looked uncomfortable with his question. "My sister left me everything she had." Grief flashed in her eyes again, but she forced a slight smile and changed the subject. "You said you have sisters. I'm assuming that means more than one. How many?"

  "Three. No brothers. Two brothers-in-law. Lots of cousins, nieces, nephews." Strange, to be telling her basic facts about his family, when she'd spent a good deal of time with them.

  Wistfully, she murmured, "Having a big family must be wonderful."

  Wonderful? She had come to despise his family. With good reason. They despised her. He rather liked the idea that she'd forgotten that. "Do you have any other relatives you neglected to mention?"

  "No. All I have now is Arianne." A potent mix of anxiety and maternal love shone so clearly in her expression that his breath caught. A vision of her materialized in his head—her mouth curved in the gentle smile he'd noticed on her lately and his daughter cuddled on her lap, pointing a stubby baby finger at pictures in a book.

  He forced the cozy picture from his mind. He couldn't go there. Couldn't think about her and Arianne. Too many confusing issues rushed at him at once. He needed time to reflect on the drastic way the situation had changed, and to determine the ways that it hadn't.

  Intent on turning the conversation away from their daughter, he asked, "Was your sister older or younger than you?"

  An odd little light that resembled humor leaped into her eyes. "A little younger."

  Curious now, he probed, "What was she like?"

  "Charming. Lively. Fun." She lapsed into an unfocused stare, as if fondly picturing her sibling. "People said we resembled each other, but—" she made a little moue and shook her head "—she was much prettier than me."

  "Prettier. I can't imagine that." And he realized it was true. He'd always thought she was physically beautiful, but now, with her new vulnerability and classy softness—and an inner serenity and emotional depth she'd always been lacking—he simply could not imagine a woman more gorgeous.

  It clearly had been the wrong thing to admit. She blushed with sudden self-consciousness and shifted her gaze away from him. Another change, it seemed. She'd always been hungry for compliments, as if her self-worth depended on them.
"I … I guess I should go in now."

  As she made a move to free herself from his arms, he tightened his embrace. She glanced at him in surprise.

  "Not yet." He wasn't quite ready for the closeness to end. And he had more questions. Important questions. Maybe … too important? Ruthlessly ignoring his sudden qualms, he continued, "The house where you're living. Whose is it?"

  She hesitated, and he suspected his first impression had been correct. She was living with a man. Mitch felt his muscles subtly clench as he waited to hear her say it.

  "It's mine." When he continued to stare at her, silently demanding an explanation, she added, "It belonged to Kate."

  "Kate?" He frowned. Hadn't that been the alias she'd used?

  "My sister."

  "Your sister! 'Kate Jones' was your sister's name?"

  She nodded, and he almost laughed at Chuck's misinterpretation of the facts. She hadn't been living under an alias, after all. The neighbor who had reported seeing Camryn at the house had simply been confused between the two sisters when he'd told Chuck she went by the name of "Kate Jones." No wonder Chuck had seemed puzzled over the computer report. Apparently, Camryn had been driving Kate's car when the accident occurred.

  Mystery solved. He was damn glad. He'd been bothered by her alias. It smacked of intricate, long-term plans to evade him. Now, though, it appeared she'd simply taken the baby to her sister's house. Maybe she would have returned in a few days if the accident hadn't erased her memory of him … and killed her sister.

  "So, the piano and leather-bound books had been hers?"

  "Yes."

  Again, he felt relieved. "Then I'm sorry for my comments about … well, you taking money from some guy. I was out of line."

  "Apology accepted."

  He peered at her. "Is there … some guy?"