Don't Go Home

by Janelle Taylor

  And so she herself had stopped it this time. Stopped them.

  She wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t stopped him. Would they have gone back to his place and continued what they’d started on the dance floor? Would they have taken a bubble bath together to cleanse off their disguises and made love in the tub?

  Perhaps they would have gotten somewhere along the line, but Mia knew in her heart that he would have called a halt to their passion. To what was between them. That was what he couldn’t handle—what was between them. And it was a lot.

  When their mission tonight was over, she would be going back to Margot’s alone. She would wake up tomorrow morning and return to Baywater and color her hair back to brown, take her yoga class, repot her plants, and stare out the window wondering where Matthew was and what he was doing for the rest of her life.

  And Matthew would be right here, in Center City, going back to the business of work, visiting his nephew, walking around alone for the rest of his life.

  During her divorce, Mia couldn’t imagine herself ever falling in love again, ever wanting to marry again, ever wanting to share her home or life or body with a man. She never thought she’d have the strength to demand all that she deserved, so she’d planned never to get involved with anyone. And then she met Matthew.

  She felt his arms around her as they’d danced. Felt his lips against hers. Felt his breath stir at her neck.

  Oh, Matthew, why does it have to be this way? What we have is the start of something truly amazing.

  The start of something that would never be.

  Her knees wobbled, and she had to sit down on the edge of the bed, lest her legs give out from under her.

  I love him. I love Matthew Gray.

  She loved him and couldn’t have him.

  But, for a few hours a few days ago, he had been her husband. Well, to those at MacDougal’s, anyway. They’d been wearing wedding rings, dancing, sharing some wings and club soda. A married couple out for a few hours to have a nice time.

  She’d liked the way the ring felt on her finger. She’d been surprised by that. She’d thought the ten-dollar band would remind her of the cheapness, the phoniness, of her marriage to David Anderson. But it hadn’t. Matthew had bought her the fake ring, and she’d worn it to pretend to be married to him.

  Pretending, if only for a little while, had felt good. It had taken her out of herself, out of her memories, and allowed her to dream of being married to Matthew, allowed her to imagine what it would be like to be married to him for real.

  She glanced down at her empty finger and caressed the spot where the ring had been.

  You’re an idiot! she yelled at herself. The fake gold band symbolizes how fake your relationship is. How nothing it is and how nothing it’s going to be. Face up to the truth, Mia!

  The candy rings can be a memento, something for each of us to remember the other by....

  This ring is cutting off my circulation....

  How much clearer could he make it that there was no future for them? That he had no intention of changing his mind or his heart or his life. When they returned home Saturday night—

  Correction: when he returned to his apartment and she returned to Margot’s, he would flop on the sofa, watch a late movie on television, and then fall asleep, waking up on Sunday morning to a jog as though she’d never come into his life.

  “Good morning, Center City!” exclaimed the disc jockey of the morning radio station to which she set her alarm. “It’s Saturday, July tenth, and you’re listening to the Z man on a hot summer morning at eight o’clock ...”

  July tenth.

  The man she loved was risking his life tonight. The thought of that, of losing him forever, coupled with the knowledge that she’d never have him anyway, was unbearable.

  Mia turned off the radio and lay down on the bed, her arms hugged around her.

  The tears came, and Mia let them. She put her hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds. The last thing she needed was for Matthew to hear her crying.

  Get yourself together, girl, she ordered herself. You’ve got to be strong for tonight. And you have to mentally prepare.

  She glanced at the red wig on the dresser. Her mother’s face and her sister’s floated into her mind. She’d lost her mother; and Margot had been lost to her for years. But she was going to put an end to that. After Saturday night, when it was safe for Margot to come home, things were going to change between the Daniels sisters.

  They were going to be close whether Margot liked it or not. Instead of passively accepting their relationship the way it was, the way it didn’t have to be, Mia was going to take charge.

  If only she could do the same with Matthew.

  Chapter Sixteen

  At eight-thirty that night, Mia stood trembling in her sister’s walk-in closet. She slowly slid outfit after outfit on the rack, unable to choose anything, unable to even think. Margot’s miniscule mini-dresses and skirts, skin-tight leather pants, and cleavage-baring tight tops were all appropriate for the part Mia was to play tonight. But the thought of putting on any of these outfits and actually leaving the apartment, of turning herself back into the woman she vowed she’d never be for anyone....

  But now it’s for Margot, she reminded herself. You’re doing this to save your sister. To save a man’s life tonight. To bring Robert Gray’s killer to justice.

  Mia took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and pulled out whatever outfit her hand landed on. It was a matte jersey red halter top, tight and cropped with a matching miniskirt. Mia selected a pair of Margot’s red sandals, low enough to run in yet still high enough to look decoy appropriate, then raided her lingerie drawer for a strapless bra. Margot had at least fifteen strapless bras.

  Mia had been a nervous wreck all day—and dressing up as Margot, something she’d vowed she’d never do when her marriage ended, was the least of her concerns. She was putting herself in grave danger, putting Matthew in sure danger, and there was no guarantee that they would catch the killer or save anyone.

  Mia dropped the clothing on the bed and sank down, her head between her knees. Deep breaths, girl, she told herself. You’re not going out there alone. Matthew will be with you.

  For a few hours, anyway.

  “Mia? Getting ready?”

  She blushed, despite the fact that he couldn’t see her through the closed bedroom door.

  “Yes, I’ll be out in forty-five minutes or so,” she called back.

  “I think I put my wig on wrong,” Matthew said. “It doesn’t look like it did three days ago when you put it on for me.”

  Mia couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll fix it.”

  She heard his footsteps retreat and softly shook her head. You see, Matthew, you need me. You can’t even put on a wig without me.

  Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back hard. It was time to get dressed, put on her makeup, and bring her sister home. There was no time for tears.

  She stood and walked over to Margot’s vanity table, laden with perfumes and cosmetics. Sitting down on the little upholstered bench, Mia pinned up her hair and examined her face in the oval mirror. Well, I can’t very well play the part of decoy with a fresh-scrubbed face, she thought.

  How would a decoy do her makeup? Porn star-esque? Vamp?

  Mia knew only two looks: work and social events. And even her “evening” look met with criticism from her husband: That lipstick is a little pale, don’t you think? Try a sexy red. Are you wearing mascara? I can barely see your eyelashes.

  Mia highly doubted that Matthew Gray even knew what mascara was.

  She was going out tonight as a decoy, paid to entice men into cheating. That meant a sexy look, but probably nothing too obvious so as to attract too much attention to herself.

  Mia’s usual routine was to start with a layer of moisturizer with sunscreen, then dab a little pressed powder at her shiny spots, sweep on a little taupe eyeshadow, whisk a quick brush of mascara on her lashes, dab h
er pink lip gloss on her lips, and run a brush through her hair. For evening, she added a little brown eyeliner, maybe lipstick instead of the lip gloss.

  Tonight, she’d need to look sexy and innocent at the same time. Sexy to attract, innocent to seal the deal. “Hope you don’t mind my using your cosmetics, Margot,” she whispered.

  She started with a layer of moisturizer, then covered her face with foundation, a product she never used. She pressed a puff of loose powder all over her face, then whisked on some rosy-colored blush. Her skin looked absolutely flawless, radiant. She was surprised, actually, that her face didn’t look all caked-on and orange. Still, she couldn’t imagine doing this every day. After the rosy shade of blush, she then swept a pale, shimmery shadow across her lids and a deeper color in the crease, the way she’d been shown at a cosmetics counter at the mall. She added more liner to her eyes than she was used to, and much more mascara. Finally, Mia selected a perfect red lipstick and applied it, blotted with a tissue, and then leaned back to examine the new her.

  Tears welled in her eyes and threatened to destroy the work she’d just done. She looked exactly like her ex-husband had always wanted her to look. She looked like Margot, out for an evening on the town. She looked like she’d promised herself she’d never, ever look.

  Mia blinked away the tears and dabbed some powder under her eyes to cover the tear stains. Then she pulled the pin out of her hair and plugged in Margot’s hot-roller set.

  Twenty minutes later, Mia’s blond hair gently waved down to her shoulders. She bent over and threw her hair over her head, gave it a good shake, then threw her head back and let the bouncy strands settle as though naturally windblown.

  Time to dress. Mia stood in front of the full-length mirror attached to the walk-in closet and stripped out of her T-shirt and jeans. She put on the uncomfortable strapless bra, then fought a little with the halter top until she figured out how to get it on without ripping it. She pulled on the miniscule skirt, slipped into the sandals, closed her eyes, and then opened them.

  Well, I look like a decoy, that’s for sure, Mia thought. I look like a lot of women I’ve seen over the past few weeks, out on a Saturday night in the city.

  Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath.

  “Mia?” Matthew called. “It’s nine-fifteen. Almost ready?”

  “Be right out,” she called back.

  She grabbed a little red shoulder bag, transferred the necessities into it, and then pulled open the bedroom door. Ready or not, here she came.

  Matthew was standing in front of the sofa, reading the Center City News. He glanced up, did a double take, and then dropped down onto the sofa as though his legs had given out.

  It was exactly the reaction she expected. She wanted to cry.

  “Whoa,” he whispered. “Whoa.” His mouth dropped open. “You look amazing.”

  The man she loved was staring at her as though she were a porn star ready for a night of hot sex with him.

  “I look like a cheap decoy is what I look like,” Mia snapped.

  “No, you don’t,” Matthew said. “You look like a beautiful woman going out on a Saturday night. You look absolutely stunning.”

  He stood and walked over to her. “Turn around. I’d love to get a look at the entire package.”

  Her heart breaking, Mia blinked back the tears. He took her hand and held it high, and she turned slowly around, just like she used to do for David Anderson.

  Her hand flew to her mouth, and she ran to the bathroom. And once again, Mia sank down onto the cool tile floor and threw up.

  “Mia? Are you all right?”

  Silence.

  He knocked softly on the bathroom door, so worried about her. “Mia?”

  “I’m fine,” she called back hoarsely.

  She came out a few minutes later, showing no signs of having just been sick. She looked as stunning, as radiant, as unbelievably sexy as when she’d gone in. Her expression grim, she sat down on the sofa and stared out the window.

  “Mia, we can forget this whole stupid plot,” he said. “I can see you’re scared out of your mind.”

  “I’m not scared,” she said. “I’m just fine.”

  “You just threw up, Mia.”

  Silence.

  He sat down next to her. “Let’s just forget the plan,” he said. “We’ll go to the police, tell them what we know, and let them take it from here.”

  “And who is going to play the part of Margot Daniels?” she asked. “Who else looks exactly like her?”

  “No one’s going to play her part,” he replied. “We’re calling off the plan. It’s that simple.”

  “We call off the plan, and the killer goes free,” Mia insisted. “The police won’t ever have an opportunity to set him or her up the way we can tonight.”

  “But, Mia, it’s too much,” he said. “You were sick, and we haven’t even left yet.”

  “Maybe something else made me ill,” Mia said in such a low voice that he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Maybe it’s looking like this, Matthew. Maybe it was your reaction to me.”

  Okay, now he was completely confused. “But you look gorgeous.”

  “I look like my sister,” she whispered. “I look like the woman my ex-husband wanted.”

  “You mean, the one who still wasn’t enough for him?” Matthew said. “The one who could never please him, no matter what she did?”

  “That was mean,” she whispered.

  “No, it wasn’t, Mia,” he told her. “It’s the truth. What your ex-husband wanted had nothing to do with the way you looked. It had to do with him and his own insecurities. This look is you as much as the natural look. It’s all shades of you, Mia.”

  She glanced down. “But your eyes practically popped out of your head for this look, Matthew.”

  He took her hand in his. “My eyes popped out of my head when I first saw you, Mia—in paint-splattered sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt. You had your hair in a ponytail and not a stitch of makeup on your face. This is still you, Mia. If you’re not comfortable with it, there is no reason for you to gussy up like this, that’s all. That’s the point.”

  She glanced up at him, then gnawed at her lower lip. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’m ready now.”

  “Mia, we really don’t have to do this,” he said.

  “Yes, we do.”

  He stared at her, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “Okay, let’s go,” she said, her voice a bit stronger. “I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be, Matthew.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. But I’m ready. And I want to do this. So let’s get going.”

  “But what about my hair?” He pointed to the lopsided mop of blond waves on his head.

  She smiled. “C’mere. Let me fix it.”

  Relief flooded him. He was afraid he’d never see her smile again. He was also afraid he’d never get the opportunity to slam her bastard of an ex-husband against a brick wall. What a number that asshole had done on her.

  Did she not realize how absolutely perfect she was exactly as she was? No matter how she looked, whether all dolled up like a movie star, or completely natural like sunshine, she was Mia. His Mia.

  That was a startling thought. He had no idea where it came from. She wasn’t his Mia. She wasn’t his anything. And after tonight, she wouldn’t even be in his life anymore.

  The reason would be no more. And without cause to work together, their relationship would have to be based on something else.

  There could be nothing else.

  She’d turned slightly and scooted over, her hands in his hair to adjust the wig. He could smell the green apples, the musky perfume she’d sprayed on her neck. Her arms raised, her breasts strained against the tight, slinky red fabric of the halter top she wore.

  God, how he wanted her. He wanted to take he
r right here, rip off the clothes, lick all that makeup off her face, and make love to her until they were both slick with sweat and sated.

  “You’re all set,” she said with a smile. “And I think you make a fine blond.”

  He grimaced, and she laughed and he was thankfully pulled back into the here and now instead of fantasyland. He had to keep his mind on tonight, not on her body.

  “Are you ready?” he asked. “You’re sure you’re ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you, Mia.”

  “It’s you I’m worried about,” she said softly.

  “I’m going to be fine.”

  She took a deep breath. “So you’ll leave first, and then a few minutes later, I’ll follow.”

  He nodded. “Right. Everything’s going to be okay, Mia.”

  Please let me be telling the truth, he thought. Please let this go down the way we planned.

  “Don’t forget these,” Mia whispered, picking up the horn-rimmed glasses from the end table and handing them to him.

  He slipped them on, and their gazes locked. His heart moved in his chest, and he took a step back, startled.

  “Matthew? What is it?”

  He couldn’t speak. Suddenly, all he wanted was to tell her how he felt, how his heart felt. But what was the point? He couldn’t give her what she wanted.

  “I—” he began, but he didn’t even know what he was going to say. And so he pulled her to him and kissed her.

  She pushed against his chest. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “A kiss goodbye,” he said.

  “Yes, a kiss goodbye, Matthew. Exactly.”

  “Mia, if I could—”

  “Save your breath, Matthew. I know. If you could, but you can’t and won’t. I don’t need you to want me. Especially when it’s clear this dolled-up version of me has made quite an impact on you.”