by Edie Claire
What better evidence of guilt could she give?
“It doesn’t matter,” Teagan proclaimed. She let out a heavy breath and burrowed her head deeper into the warmth of her husband’s shoulder. “It really just doesn’t matter.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Teagan wrapped her bathrobe tighter around herself and dropped into an armchair. She put her feet up on the ottoman and surveyed her fluffy slippers. They needed a wash.
She grabbed the remote to turn on the TV, but then set it down again. She was not in the mood for morning news. Working in an ER had blunted her ability to ignore the endless reports of gun violence, house fires, and child abuse that composed the local newscasts. They were all too real now. And today, believe it or not, she had an actual whole day off from work. She intended to make the most of it.
Unfortunately, Eric could not enjoy the occasion with her. To the rest of the world, it was a Monday.
She took a sip of coffee and glanced around the room. Perhaps today would be a good day to get rid of the wallpaper with the hunting dogs carrying bleeding pheasants in their mouths? Eric’s grandfather had been an avid sportsman, but she was pretty sure his grandmother had hated this wallpaper as much as Teagan did. Thank God that Grandpa Dietz had at least taken his mounted antlers to Arizona with him.
She stood up, walked to a corner of the room, and pulled back a bit of the paper where it was already peeling. There was more paper under it. She excavated a small section, then sighed out loud. Marching Revolutionary War soldiers. Complete with cannons.
Teagan sat back down with a plop. She did not have that much energy.
Then she smiled to herself, remembering how she and Eric had redone the master bedroom before they moved in. She could still see herself laughing at the paint dripping down both his arms, and his threatening her with a wet roller brush. It had been the only room they really cared about. Still was, actually.
Life was good.
For you, maybe.
Teagan frowned. She was not going to do this. She was not going to feel guilty about Jamie, worry about Jamie. That chapter of her life was done. The girl from Indian Lake was gone; the adult replacement had been given more than enough chances. Teagan could not, and would not, risk her family’s safety, her husband’s peace of mind, and her own flippin’ sanity for some sentimental fantasy. She had no need for Jamie in her life. She had plenty of other women friends.
The frown deepened to a scowl. The last part wasn’t true, and she knew it. Before she married, Teagan’s closest friends had always been guys. She was every boy’s favorite gal pal: adventurous, direct, uncomplicated, and unaffected. Eric was the first one who even seemed to notice that she was female. Yet once the two of them became a couple, her other guy friends had drifted away. And although Teagan had countless female acquaintances whom she liked very much, there were none that she felt close to. She didn’t understand other women, and they didn’t understand her—perhaps because their predominate interests bored Teagan to tears. She didn’t like to shop; had no interest in fashion, decorating, or cooking; and could not for the life of her fathom why any woman would pay someone else to fuss with her toenails. She didn’t get it and never would. She simply didn’t fit in.
But somehow, Jamie had understood. She got Teagan way back then, and when they were reunited—after more than a decade’s worth of separation and growth—Jamie still got her. They were not completely alike in their interests, nor had they always gotten along. But through myriad spats and disagreements, there was always an underlying understanding. They were sisters. They had each other’s backs. They knew each other’s worst faults and accepted each other anyway. And even now, if Teagan was alone and had a hankering to do something bizarre on the spur of the moment—take a kayak down the Clarion River, eat chocolate donuts for dinner, check out every store and kiosk in the city looking for a pink pop-top water bottle with the Pittsburgh Pirates’ logo on it... if she were looking for the company of a friend, it was Jamie she would call.
If she could.
But she couldn’t. Not anymore.
Teagan stood up with her coffee and moved to the dining room. Her cell phone lay on the table where she had left it. Eric had texted her earlier; but there were no messages now.
She picked up the phone.
Her fingers found the relevant number in her work folder, and the line began to ring.
“Women’s Services, this is Darla.”
“Hi, Darla. It’s Teagan.”
The woman on the other end of the line let out a good-natured groan. “You’re not sending me another one now, are you? Girl, I’m going to have to start blocking your number!”
Teagan grinned. Darla had an extremely tough job, but always managed to keep her spirits up. Teagan endeavored to follow her example. “No new ones,” she answered. “In fact, I’m off work today. I just thought I’d check up on—” She hesitated. “The two women I referred to you yesterday.”
“Hmm,” Darla replied. “Well, Madge is settling in just fine. Told me this morning she got the first good night’s sleep she’s had in years. Which was a miracle, considering we’ve got a toddler with an ear ache and a colicky baby that screamed till three. The other one I can’t help you with.”
Teagan’s breath caught. “Why not? You mean... Jamie Fukas?”
“Yeah, her. Hell of a name, isn’t that? I’d have it changed if it were me. Anyway, she signed herself out first thing this morning. Very polite about it and all, but no convincing her otherwise.”
Teagan’s heart pounded. Why was she even surprised? Hadn’t she suspected this would happen? “Where did she go?”
“We asked her if she had someplace safe, and she insisted she did,” Darla continued. “But she wouldn’t give details. I don’t know whether she was telling the truth or not, but I will say she didn’t seem afraid to me. Just determined.”
That’s Jamie, all right.
Teagan thanked Darla for her assistance and hung up the phone. Her face paled as she remembered the twenty dollar bill she had, in a moment of compassionate weakness, thrown into the garbage bag along with Jamie’s borrowed laundry and medication. She had intended it for snacks or drinks in the facility.
Jamie had used it for bus fare.
And Teagan knew to where.
***
Jamie paused in her one-handed scrubbing and sat back on her knees with a grimace. It wasn’t working. She could have four hands scouring simultaneously and still never get all the stain out. She’d emptied two buckets full of reddish-brown water already, but the original cream color was nowhere to be seen. A little bleach, perhaps? No, that would only turn it yellow. Or cause what few fibers remained in the already threadbare area to fall off altogether. Which would also be no help, because the backing was stained, too.
She blew out a breath. The whole carpet would have to go. Which meant her security deposit was toast.
She rose and carried the bucket and sponge back to the kitchen. She had a lot of cleaning to do today. She couldn’t remember exactly what shape she’d left the apartment in, but the troupe of police technicians who had swarmed it yesterday had clearly not had neatness in mind. She emptied the dirty water in the sink, rinsed out the sponge, and put both away under the cabinet. What next?
She moved back out into the main room and glanced toward her rumpled bed.
Hot anger swelled within her as the image appeared.
There’s something I have to tell you, gorgeous. And I’m afraid you’re not going to like it.
Jamie stared at the bed as if it were on fire. He was in it. She was in it. She had been so excited, so happy. She was going... somewhere...
The memory ended. Jamie continued staring, tried to concentrate. But all she could see were the rumpled sheets. His eyes were brown; she remembered that. She could almost see his face. A flash of teeth, a sense of hair that was dark—except where it was gray. But there was no face.
And no name.
Jamie swore
out loud. She descended on the bed and ripped everything off it, including the mattress pad. She would take the bus to the laundromat this afternoon. She would wash every piece of fabric in the apartment if she had to. She wanted nothing—
She paused with the bundled sheets in her arms. She lifted them to her face.
His scent. She recognized it without question. It was the smell of dry-cleaned suits, expensive wines, and the occasional cigar. It was the smell of... money.
I want you so much, Jamie. I’ve never wanted any woman like this. You’re driving me out of my mind. I’ll give you anything. I’ll do anything. Just name it, beautiful. It’s yours.
“Shut up!” Jamie cried out loud, throwing the sheets onto the floor and putting her hands to her head. “If you can’t remember anything useful, just stop!”
She pulled her hands away and looked around at the silent, empty apartment. She breathed in deeply. She could do this. She would do this. She was going to get this accursed apartment in the best shape possible, and she was going to turn in her notice. Today. She would not live here one minute longer than was strictly necessary.
She was going to start all over again.
More alone than ever before.
The taunting voice in Jamie’s head was hard to bear. It wasn’t enough that she had sold her soul to the devil—a devil with even white teeth and a big fat wallet. It wasn’t enough that she had nearly been murdered. Oh, no. She had to go and find—and then promptly lose forever—the only real friend she’d ever had.
But there was no use crying about it now.
She picked up the sheets again and stuffed them into her laundry bag. She collected all the bathroom towels, added them to the load, and laid the bag ready by the door. Then she returned to stare at the stain again. The carpet would have to be replaced, and her landlord would have to be the one to do it. But no way was she putting up with that stain until he did.
She strode purposefully to the kitchen, then returned with a retractable blade. She dropped to her knees on the carpet, pulled the stained portion up off the floor, and started cutting.
Everything would be all right. She would make it so. And she would not hide in some shelter like a scared rabbit waiting for it to happen. LaShanda had called her crazy for leaving—told her any man who would try to kill a woman once would absolutely try to do it again. Jamie was certain her roommate was right. She just didn’t care.
If Mr. Moneybags wanted another crack at her, he was welcome to give it a try. She knew that she should be afraid of him, that she should be quivering in her shoes to be back in the same apartment where he’d assaulted her—but she was beyond feeling afraid. The only emotion she could feel for him was pure, unadulterated rage.
Why had he done it? Had he not gotten what he wanted from her? At least eventually?
She drove the knife through the carpet backing with long, vicious, strokes. She had not submitted to temptation easily, she remembered that much. She had resisted a long time. She had teased, he had wheedled and prodded, and eventually she had succumbed. But when, when, had everything changed?
You’re so beautiful, Jamie.
You’re so married, Br—
Jamie’s heart skipped a beat, then pounded. It was there... his name... so close. It had been on the tip of her tongue... Dammit! If only she hadn’t tried to remember! Now it was gone again. B something. Br something. Brent? Brandon?
Her neighbors were banging around outside. She closed her eyes tightly and attempted to refocus.
That was amazing, Jamie. YOU were amazing, he had gasped.
Wish I could say the same, she had thought, but kept to herself.
Still she saw him only in flashes... why never the whole? Had she despised him so much, or been so ashamed of herself, that even then she couldn’t bear to look him in the face?
She had nearly cut the stain out, now. At least the biggest one. There were plenty of smaller spots as well. They were scattered all over the carpet, even the furniture. What had he done with her?
Jamie tugged harder on the carpet to pull more of it up, but it suddenly seemed less slack. She tugged again, but found it anchored by two perfectly polished, black leather shoes.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
She looked up, and the face her mind sought came into perfect, crystal-clear focus.
Her fingers tightened around the knife. “Hello, Brad,” she said calmly. “Imagine meeting you here.”
He was wearing his idea of business casual. Dark slacks, a silk button-down shirt, and knee-length leather coat. His hands were empty. His face was pale.
Jamie stealthily moved back a pace and stood up. “Damn. You’re even uglier than I remembered.” Even now she could hardly stand to look at him. He was only a couple inches taller than she, but solid, with square shoulders and a strong upper body. His face, although not objectively unattractive, had always struck her as weak chinned and languid. His dark eyes were wide set and unexpressive—disturbingly difficult for her to read.
His jaw muscles tightened. “I’m very glad to see you, Jamie. I’m relieved that you’re all right.”
She smirked. “I’ll bet. Attempted murder is a lighter sentence.”
His shoulders slumped, and he made a slight movement forward. But Jamie moved back quickly, her carpet knife prominently displayed.
He exhaled and made a show of stepping back. “I didn’t come here to hurt you!” he declared. “I only want to talk to you. To explain what happened.”
Jamie extended her blade an extra notch. “How charming of you. By all means. Go right ahead.”
His eyes were anxious, but his chest puffed. “I tried to tell you in a card. I told you to call me. Did you get the message?”
“After the police finished with it, yes,” Jamie offered. “Go on.”
His face paled further. He moved his lower jaw back and forth in a sawing motion. Jamie remembered the mannerism well. It meant that he was nervous.
“I told you, it was an accident!” he insisted, his voice verging on a plea. “We struggled, right here”—he pointed to the floor near his feet—“and you hit your head on the corner of the TV stand. You dropped like a rock, and there was blood everywhere. It was horrible... I didn’t know what to do!”
Jamie’s heart thudded so loudly she was certain he could hear it, but the hand that held her knife was steady; her mind, eerily calm. “Struggled?” she repeated. “Over what?”
He swallowed. “We were... planning a trip together. You’d been looking forward to it, but at the last minute, I had to cancel.”
Pictures of castles. Snowy mountains. Misty forests.
“Austria,” Jamie breathed. “You were taking me to Austria.”
“I hated to disappoint you,” he continued insincerely, “but you understood the risks. My life isn’t my own. I tried to get away, but I couldn’t. I explained all of that to you, but you didn’t understand. You went ballistic!”
Jamie’s mind flashed another picture. Rumpled sheets. Two glasses of wine. One still half full. She didn’t remember, but she was pretty sure she understood. “And did you tell me that the trip was off before,” she tilted her head in the direction of her now bare mattress, “or after?”
His cheeks colored slightly.
“I see,” Jamie said dryly.
“I never meant to hurt you!” he insisted again. He took a half step forward, but a renewed flourish of Jamie’s knife halted him. “I didn’t do anything to you! When I told you the trip was off you came after me like an animal! I had to protect myself!”
Jamie gave a scornful laugh. “Clearly.”
“All I tried to do was get you off me! I don’t know how you fell the way you did. But when you hit the floor, and with all that blood... I swear, Jamie, I thought you were dead!”
“How traumatic for you. Ever think of taking a pulse?”
“I did!” he sputtered. “You didn’t have one! There was nothing, I’m telling you! Nothing!”
“Didn’t
realize I had such an in with the Almighty.”
“Okay, so obviously I missed it!” he defended. “But my intentions were good. I never meant you any harm!”
Jamie’s teeth gritted. “So, when you called 911 to have a professional check me out, they... what? Told you they didn’t make house calls?”
Brad’s mouth opened and closed again. His jaw jerked back and forth. “You know that no one can know about... about us. It would ruin me!”
“Of course,” Jamie replied, her voice like ice. “Terribly inconsiderate of me, wasn’t it? Dying at your hands like that. What a predicament for you. I don’t suppose you could have called for help, and then left?”
His face broke out in a sweat. Jamie felt a wave of nausea. She could never stand his fleshy cheeks. Spoiled brat had never generated an honest sweat in his life. Lifting weights at a pricey gym didn’t count. He was soft, inside and out.
“I was afraid they could trace me here,” he responded weakly, his voice imploring. “My prints must be everywhere... one of your neighbors could have seen me... I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I figured if I took you somewhere else, it would look... you know... random. Then I could come back and clean the place up... and no one would know I was involved.”
Jamie’s own eyes widened. “How fiendishly clever of you,” she drawled, relishing the apt cliché. How good it felt to make him squirm. “You even lifted my keys for the purpose, I see. And my wallet and cell phone?”
He made no response.
“Uh huh,” she continued. “Bottom of the Ohio River?”
“Jamie, please,” he pleaded, the beads of sweat on his forehead coalescing into droplets. “I told you—I thought you were dead. What happened to me afterwards couldn’t make any difference to you! I came right back to clean everything up, but some of your neighbors were outside, and... I was going to try again the next night, but then I heard on the news that you were alive, and—”
“And you rushed to my side to hold my hand and explain everything?”
