Mirror Me

by Stephanie Tyler

  “Great.” Penny stuffed her things into her bag. “Are you coming?”

  “I’m going to stay here for a bit longer.”

  “Please, come over to Mo’s Bar later. I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Come on, Kayla. Single girl, fun bar, good music—and I know a million guys in this town who’d want to date you.”

  Kayla smiled a little at that. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Be there at ten. I’ll call and bother you if you’re not. Oh and here’s one of the books I was talking about where Teige’s mentioned,” she explained as she handed Kayla a paperback she’d pulled from her bag. “Could give you some insight.”

  “He’s got a girlfriend.”

  “Ex. They’re not exactly the best couple. Diane’s an asshole.” Penny shrugged. “She sleeps with everyone.”

  Kayla couldn’t imagine Teige dealing well with that, so maybe he really didn’t care. “Thanks. I’ll return it when I’m done.”

  “The thing about Teige is…he’s tough. Women flirt with him but most stay away because of Diane. She tends to get in people’s faces,” Penny told her, and then called over her shoulder as she left, “I think he likes you.”

  Kayla thought it was more like making amends with the neighbor, but she wasn’t about to add to the gossip. If Penny noticed, so did the rest of the town.

  She’d had her business spilled to the general public more than she cared to remember. To finally have some privacy, to rely on it for survival, was novel. Now she had to crack the door a little and she thought she might be okay with it. But the more Penny talked, the more Kayla realized she hated it.

  Penny had done nothing wrong. She was simply living. Sharing. She was happy and it showed…and it shoved, then stabbed Kayla in the heart as sure as a knife.

  Because Kayla was attempting to immerse herself in all of that, and it was all fake, at least on her end.

  These people bonded. Had real lives. She had nothing; never had, never would.

  She thought about that as she snapped the afternoon sunlight dappling the water, and continued ruminating as she left the park. As she drove, she noted all the people coming and going, moving along with their lives, and it made her irrationally furious. She barely made it home, her hands shaking on the wheel. When she got inside, the anger had built to such proportions it actually scared her. She trembled as she shut the alarm and re-armed it, barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up, heaving her guts out over the toilet.

  She remained on her knees on the cold, hard tile for a long while before sinking down to rest her cheek on the floor.

  “This isn’t working.” But nothing had to this point and if she were honest with herself, nothing ever would.

  She dragged herself out of the bathroom without brushing her teeth. The sour taste propelled her forward as she dialed the marshal’s number.

  Abby answered on the first ring. Obviously, she had no life either, but by choice. Kayla almost started with that but instead choked out, “I can’t fucking do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Play normal. Nothing is. This is such bullshit and you know it.” She hated the desperate, clawing sound of her voice, hated that she had to beg like this. When she knew nothing would or could change for her. That all she’d hear were soothing words and platitudes telling her to be strong.

  Bullshit, all of it.

  “Your life sucks, but you’re alive,” Abby told her finally. “That’s my goal—to keep you alive. What’s yours?”

  Taken aback, she blinked. Wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. The viciousness inside returned. “Fuck you, Abby. I’m not allowed to have goals without the permission of the marshals.”

  “You don’t have to stay under protection—it’s your choice.”

  “Right.”

  “Right,” Abby echoed. “You could help yourself, Kayla. You told Hoss you could feel Mara, but you never do shit about it. You’ve never told the police or the profilers that.”

  “I don’t know where she is—it’s not like I have GPS tracking for those feelings.”

  “It’s a hell of a lot more than they have,” Abby pointed out. “That’s why they’re all suspicious of you, so suck it up. You can have as empty or as full of a life as you want. What exactly did you give up when you entered WITSEC? Hanging around, screwing, drinking, drugging? Whining about how you don’t know what you want to be when you grow up? Yeah, I really feel bad for you that you had to give up all of that. I really do.”

  Abby’s tone was dry, all sarcasm, zero sympathy. In all her years in WITSEC—hell, in all her years, no one had ever spoken to Kayla like that.

  “Fuck you,” she told Abby before she hung up on her, because she had no idea what to say in response.

  Never let it be said she didn’t run from the truth.

  The anger was of course, worse. She’d never had a picture-perfect life, and that wasn’t her fault. None of it was.

  Victim of extreme circumstances. That phrase had been bandied around the trial, but never about her. No, Kayla had become that without anyone bothering to bestow the title.

  She printed out the first of Penny’s pictures and then she viciously stabbed at it with a pen to destroy Penny’s smiling face, then ripped it in half and slammed the old rolltop desk closed before biting back what would turn out to be gut-wrenching sobs.

  She missed Hoss. He’d been the one to give her the camera. When she was eighteen and sitting in hotel rooms at night with nothing to do but ruminate, Hoss began to sneak her out. Some of her first pictures were of the beach at night. Coney Island. She’d learned the impact of shadow versus light quickly, an apt metaphor for her life.

  She credited Hoss with a lot. She’d repaid him by putting his life in danger. He’d signed up for that life, but she bet none of them thought they’d be the ones to die for the job.

  She’d found his body. More blood on her hands. Why Mara hadn’t used that opportunity to take Kayla didn’t surprise her. Mara had plans to hurt more people, and she was prepared to make Kayla suffer along the way.

  Mara wanted her sister as alone and isolated as she was.

  *

  Claire knows why I did it. Always has. She puts on a good act, pretends to be innocent. But she’s the one who started it all. She was braver than me. She showed me the way and then she abandoned me. Turned against me. I didn’t lose faith, not until the trial. And then I knew she’d have to pay for not believing.

  The notes from Mara started coming to her, mixed in with the hate mail Kayla still received, the day after Hoss’s funeral. Abby missed the service, because she was gathering up the newly renamed Kayla, trying to hold her together so she could disappear again.

  Abby could’ve said no to the case, and maybe should’ve, but when she’d opened her mouth to refuse, an “I’ll be on the next flight,” came out instead. Just like that, she’d relocated to North Carolina with Kayla. And Abby didn’t try to bullshit herself—this was all personal. She just couldn’t figure out why.

  You’ll get what’s coming to you, Abigail, just like your father did.

  Plenty of people spoke those same words every single day—no one had a monopoly on them. But in that night’s haze of terror, those were the only words she remembered clearly.

  Was this what was coming for her? She switched on the DVD—converted recently from VHS since this was an active case—and deliberately muted it, watching Mara on the stand during her trial.

  The young woman was quiet and reserved. There was no anger, no defensiveness. Her eyes were wide, shone with innocence and the familiar quiver of fear rode up Abby’s spine.

  She stared between the young woman giving testimony and the picture of Kayla on the desk in front of her, trying to reconcile the two.

  There was no recent picture of Mara. Thanks to Kayla, it wasn’t necessary.

  Being the identical twin of a killer had to be the bane of Kayla’s existence. Especially when she
hadn’t been believed—not fully. The jury convicted Mara of murdering one of the girls she’d called a friend, but they’d never fully believed she’d worked alone.

  Mara had planted a seed of doubt that she’d murdered at Kayla’s bidding, and even though there wasn’t a shred of evidence against Kayla—and she’d never stood trial for the crime—Kayla had never been able to shake off the accusation. The scrutiny Kayla endured was incredible. Not that she’d been a saint about it. Kayla had bite, to use one of her mentor’s favorite expressions. On the stand, Kayla had come across as the tough one, with Mara seeming the weaker of the two. That made it hard for the jury to reconcile the killings, and the prosecutor had done a tremendous job shifting the blame to Kayla.

  Going into hiding had saved her from being the target of death threats from Sadie Jane’s family. Mara had been sentenced to spend time in a psychiatric facility. Her lawyer had made a very convincing argument that after all Mara had been through in her life, she’d had a psychotic break.

  The jury had vacillated between complete horror and sympathy. Kayla’s angry testimony had been the nail in the coffin.

  Mara had escaped from the hospital the same evening she’d been processed.

  Hoss hadn’t been convinced of Kayla’s innocence either, but that hadn’t stopped the marshal from risking—and ultimately losing—his life for her.

  “How did Mara find you, Hoss?” Abby muttered for what had to have been the millionth time. She’d gone over the crime scene endlessly, questioned Kayla, who’d dealt less than patiently with the process.

  Kayla had been out in the small darkroom Hoss had created for her in the unattached garage. She hadn’t felt anything odd during those particular hours she spend calmly developing photos, but the day before she’d told Hoss she’d felt Mara. In the past, that always meant Mara was ready to kill.

  After Mara’s escape, the first thing the police had done was put Kayla in an interrogation room, and they’d kept her wrists handcuffed in front of her. She’d already been fingerprinted and the black ink was smudged on her palms because she’d fisted her hands hard. Abby watched the video of that night over and over, looking for clues.

  “You have no idea where your twin is? Did you help her escape? Did you have anything to do with the murders?” the officer asked Kayla.

  “Fuck you,” Kayla spat back.

  Her anger rang authentic to Abby. Kayla could obviously see something in her twin very few people could. Abby had also seen Kayla break down. She wasn’t stone cold, and that’s what gave Abby doubts about her ability to order Mara to kill Sadie Jane—or anyone.

  But there was really only one way that Abby could see Mara finding where Kayla and Hoss were staying, and that was if Kayla told her. And Kayla would never do that—not purposely. And since she was very well hidden, the odds of Mara finding her were very slim. Abby had heard of twins being able to communicate, of feeling each other’s pain even when they were thousands of miles apart. But for Mara to have tracked Kayla down that way seemed farfetched at best. If it was that easy, Kayla would’ve been able to find her sister years ago.

  But Hoss was in the ground and Mara had taken credit for the kill.

  I did it for you, Claire. Because you couldn’t.

  Kayla had been right there, close enough for Mara to kill—or at least kidnap. But she did neither of those things. It made zero sense. And it would haunt Abby until she figured out why.

  Chapter Nine

  She must leave the lights on all day. It was the only explanation as to how every light in the house was glowing brightly through the windows as soon as dusk hit, unless she had timers on all of them.

  He was on the couch, on his side, facing the blue house through his own half-opened window. The ceiling fan buzzed lazily above him. He’d turned off the air conditioner earlier because he didn’t want to feel comfortable, didn’t want to get used to it.

  He fucking did not want to keep thinking about Kayla either, but since he’d left her at the diner he’d had nothing else on his mind.

  He rolled off the couch and headed to the kitchen, where he grabbed a bottled water from the fridge. He took a long gulp, then brushed the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of the T-shirt he wore before stripping it off completely. It was hot as hell in here, but he’d been in hell and he’d never complain about being home.

  He’d believed in the Army. Being out after serving twenty years allowed him to use his skills without his hands being tied by red tape. Funny thing was, he still worked for all the same people, so official or not, it was the same team, the same goals.

  He glanced out the window again at Kayla’s fully lit-up house. Kayla was definitely keeping secrets, but she was in the right place for it. Small towns always had big secrets, and in this town, there wasn’t any point in trying to keep anything to yourself. And for someone as secretive as he was, it was an odd choice of place to live. But it kept him honest. It also helped that he didn’t have to talk about his military time, because everybody knew. It was the ultimate contradiction. Gossip was natural, and most of it regarding him was good-natured, if not grudgingly respectful. Which meant that Kayla knew more about him and his time in the service than she had a week ago.

  But there were deeper secrets no one was privy to. The FBI’s careful planning and cover-up, plus a new last name and social security number, ensured his past stayed buried as long as Teige wanted it to. Healed or not, old wounds shouldn’t be fucked with.

  Hanny yawned contentedly and then fell back to sleep. She was in the middle of the tiled kitchen floor, where nothing could bother her. He got down and stretched out next to her and, for the first time in weeks, slept for two hours straight.

  *

  Kayla had showered, but only to make herself feel better. She towel-dried her hair, put on some light makeup and shoved the fake glasses on impatiently.

  She couldn’t get used to them, but her eyes couldn’t handle contacts, no matter how many brands she’d tried. There were so few ways to change her looks—she’d done every type of cut and color, and even if she’d been able to go back to her original shade, she wouldn’t have wanted to. More than once, she’d wished she could permanently change her face. She’d even consulted a plastic surgeon about it, but had gotten nervous when he started asking a lot of questions. She’d been stupid to even do that, and she’d never told Hoss, even though for months afterward she’d worried she’d compromised her safety.

  “You’re never not worried,” she told herself, then was interrupted by her ringing cell phone. Penny. She’d already left a message earlier and was, as promised, not letting Kayla out of this.

  Kayla avoided looking into the desk where she’d shoved the ripped-up picture of Penny, and instead concentrated on the eight-by-ten prints she had ready and laid out on the kitchen table.

  It was never about Penny. It wasn’t fair to take her frustrations out on her, but Abby Daniels was fair game.

  Still, she didn’t pick up Penny’s call, but texted her instead that she was on her way.

  Penny hadn’t asked any questions about her past, she mused as she threw on jeans and a tank top, a sheer white shirt over it, and brushed her quickly drying hair. Kayla was pretty sure she’d figured out something was wrong, but was smart enough not to bring it up.

  It’s been less than a week since you’ve been here—too short a time for anyone to find you.

  Ten minutes later, she was driving the short distance to the bar. Teige’s truck hadn’t been in his driveway, but she’d heard Hanny barking as she’d left her house.

  Soon, he’d be away, leaving Hanny behind for her. Her newest protector. She wondered if the dog typically stayed with Diane and decided against it. Diane didn’t seem the type to take care of anything or anyone but herself.

  When she pulled into the bar’s lot, she checked her hair in the mirror as she dialed Penny.

  Penny picked up on the first ring. “Where are you?”

  “I just pulled into
the lot.”

  “About time. I’ll come outside to get you,” Penny said and Kayla was grateful, because she didn’t relish walking into the bar alone.

  At the last minute, she took the glasses off and put them on the console between the seats before getting out of the truck.

  “Glad you came,” Penny said with a warm wave. “I didn’t want to waste this makeup.”

  Penny hooked her arm in Kayla’s, her enthusiasm infectious but not annoyingly so. Together, they entered the bar, which was warm and smoky and loud. And crowded. Everyone seemed to be having fun, and Penny led her to a table in the back. They ordered fried bar food and a pitcher of dark beer.

  In between saying hi to people who stopped by their table—most of whom Kayla recognized from the picnic photos—Penny talked about her boyfriend.

  “We’ve been together for four years,” she said. “I knew I loved him from the second I saw him. He took a little longer to convince.”

  Kayla laughed, amazed she could after her meltdown that afternoon. There was still a dark, hurting place inside her but she pushed it down until it stayed there. For how long, she had no idea.

  She took a long drink of beer as she looked around the crowded bar. The music blasted and she wanted to be wild and dirty again, the way she’d been in high school, sneaking out the window, down the trellis so she could drink and smoke and spend time with boys she knew were bad for her. The badder, the better.

  She’d been completely self-destructive, but she’d also recognized that to try and stop that part of her personality had been impossible. When she was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, her emotions had constantly threatened to bubble over, and taking the edge off had been the only thing to help.

  She was on that edge again. Mara was close—maybe not physically, but things were coming to a head, whether Kayla wanted to admit it or not. And so now, in this bar, she was going to do exactly what she needed to.

  Penny shifted in her seat, allowing Kayla to spot Teige in the farthest dark corner. He was leaning against a tall table, his stance casual as he talked to another man. She’d bet he saw her already, because nothing got by him.