Stranger in the Mirror [Shades of Heaven] (Soul Change Novel) (13 page)

A shadow of disappointment flitted over her face, though he hoped it was only his imagination. That look hardened.

“Absolutely. I don’t belong here with you, in this town, and especially with a baby.”

He agreed with the words, but for some reason they sounded hollow to him.

The man stood outside Marti’s window. He couldn’t see inside since she’d hung up that silly curtain, but he could see silhouettes. Bits and pieces of their conversation drifted through the fabric and glass. She and Jesse weren’t sharing a bedroom anymore. Interesting.

The wind scattered dead oak leaves across the cool earth, but he stood perfectly still. As long as that damn dog didn’t start barking again, he was safe.

Was
he safe from the burning truth? From what he’d done, or almost done, to Marti? She had been dead when he’d left her at the side of the road, but she came back. How? At first he thought maybe she didn’t remember anything about his attacking her. Now he wasn’t so sure. He’d heard that she and Jesse had stormed into the sheriff’s office and demanded to see the photos. What exactly had they seen? What could they tell from them? He’d seen Jesse go into two jewelry stores the other day but couldn’t subtly extract from the salespeople what he’d been looking for.

She was remembering, he was sure of it. Damaged memories could come back, and what then?
Think, man, think
. Even if she did remember, it would be her word against his. Her damaged memories. Didn’t matter, though. Once she pointed the finger, everyone would be looking at him, wondering. That was the best case scenario. Worst case: going to prison. He clenched his fists. No, he couldn’t do that. He needed to shut her up, permanently this time. Sometime soon she would be alone.

The following week, Caty and Marti were sweeping up after the last customer finally lifted himself off the seat and sauntered out. Caty was right behind him, turning the deadbolt on the door.

Marti blew out a loud breath. “Damn, people are slow here in the South. I thought that lazy pace was exaggerated on television.”

Caty laughed. “Well, we don’t run around like a bunch of chickens in the butcher yard like you Californians probably do, that’s for sure. How was your first day pulling your share of the tables?”

Marti put her hands over her breasts and grimaced. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if I didn’t feel like the girls were going to explode with every step. Some guy jostled me, and I about screamed.”

“Yeah, I know at least a bit of what you mean. Mine get tender when my aunt flow starts planning her visit.”

“You have an aunt who makes your boobs sore?”

Caty chuckled. “My period.”

“Oh, gotcha. Well, this is
nothing
like that kind of pain, let me tell you. They even hurt when I breathe.” Marti leaned on the broom handle. “Do you think Marti got pregnant on purpose to trap Jesse?”

“Yes,” Katie answered without hesitation. “I was mad at her, but if you knew Marti, it was hard to stay mad at her. She seemed so pitiful. Needy. And we could never prove it anyway.”

“Sometimes I think about her, about what she was like. I took her life, and yet I know hardly anything about her.”

Caty scooted an army of ketchup bottles toward her as she sat down. “I didn’t either. She came into town, rented a room, and got a job here. I didn’t think she was hiding from anyone, but it did seem like she was running away. Whenever I asked about her family, she changed the subject. The only thing she ever said was that they didn’t get along and never would. It’s hard for me to imagine being separated from my family like that.”

Marti stared off for a moment, thinking of her own father whom she’d never met, of her mother. “Sometimes it’s better to be separated from them. Believe me.”

On the way home, Marti drove to the grocery store to get a ready-cooked chicken for dinner. It was as she suspected: Marti had trapped Jesse into a marriage he wasn’t ready for. Maybe she’d known how family-oriented and responsible he was. Still, it wasn’t fair. She would return to California with stretch marks and extra weight, and Jesse would be a single dad.

Marti already knew that some of that extra weight she would carry back to California would be guilt. It inched up on her every time she thought about leaving. Which was ridiculous, since Jesse didn’t want her to stay anyway.

She glanced down at her gas gauge, now very conscious of running out. It had crept down to a quarter of a tank. Did she dare take a chance that the gauge was accurate? One of the things she had promised Jesse was that she wouldn’t stop to get gas by herself. She certainly didn’t want to relive Marti’s terror. But the first gas station on the edge of town was right up ahead, and it was the middle of the afternoon. What harm could come of it? She pulled in and got out to pump. The modern pumps looked out of place in front of the 1940’s-style wooden building.

“Marti, you should have waited another minute. I could’ve done that for you.”

She whirled around to find Paul dressed in green overalls, leaning against the farthest pump. With a casual stride, he walked over and propped himself up against her car.

“I thought you sold insurance,” she blurted out, unnerved.

“I do, but business is slow, so I’m earning some extra cash to put neon lighting underneath my truck. What do you think? Blue?”

There was something beneath the green of his eyes that made her think he didn’t much care about her opinion.

“Blue’s cool.” She watched the numbers on the gas pump, waiting to hit the twenty-dollar mark so she could leave.

He reached out and touched her hair with blackened fingers. “I like this. Sexy, different. Taking a walk on the wild side?”

“No, just wanted a change.” She moved away and found herself tucking her hair behind her right ear. Irritated at herself and Jesse for a second, she yanked it back out again.

“Your husband thinks I was the one who attacked you. You know that’s not true.”

She avoided his penetrating gaze. “I don’t know who did it.”

He touched her arm, and she flinched. “It wasn’t me. Don’t you see Jesse’s trying to make you distrust me? Hate me? He knows I liked you before he got you pregnant, and he doesn’t want anything to flare up between us.”

She moved away as far as she could. “I didn’t know there was anything to flare up.”

“There wasn’t. Yet.” His fingers loosened their grip on her arm, and he leaned against her car. His smile was pure, unadulterated charm. “Marti, I know that inside is a wild woman clawing to get out. Am I right?”

Her eyes widened. Could he know? “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t belong in a pregnant body waiting on Jesse and pumping out babies.” He lifted his hand to graze her cheek. “We could have a lot of fun together. You can have babies when you’re older and more settled.”

She turned off the pump and closed the gas door. “Are you suggesting I have an abortion so I can romp with you?”

He cocked his head at her directness. “I’d make it worth it.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

She started to get in the car, planning to toss out the money and screech away.

His voice stopped her. “You’re carrying a criminal’s child.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jesse is a criminal. You’re living with a car thief.”

“You’re lying. Jesse wouldn’t steal a car.”

Paul crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels. “Oh, but he did. And he was convicted, too. Think about that as you lie next to him at night.” Then his smile curved up wickedly. “But you’re not sharing a bed with him, are you?”

“How would you know something like that?” She felt confused and violated.

“Someone saw you bed shopping a few Sundays ago. Something like that can mean only one thing—trouble at home.”

“It’s for the baby.” She closed the door and handed him a twenty.

He didn’t take it. “Babies don’t sleep in regular beds.”

Screeching tires drew her attention away from Paul’s leer to a face of barely controlled anger: Jesse. His truck pulled to a stop inches away from Paul and her car. He jumped out and stalked toward Paul. Before he said anything to him, Jesse turned to her. “Go home. Now.”

“Jesse, I—”

“Now.” The low timbre might as well have been as loud as thunder, the power it contained.

She tossed the twenty out and slammed the car into gear. Damn men. All she wanted was gas. In the rearview mirror, Jesse made pointed gestures while Paul stood back, unaffected. Arrogant even. Still, he’d imparted some unpleasant news, if it was true. A convicted car thief? Couldn’t be.

Jesse arrived home five minutes after she did. She steeled herself for his anger. Who was he, anyway, to tell her what to do?

Anger reddened his face. “Damn it, Marti, what did I tell you about getting gas alone?”

“I didn’t want to run out.”

“You shouldn’t let it get that low.”

“I can’t hide away because someone tried to attack me.”

“So you position yourself alone with the man who probably tried to rape you and killed Marti? You’re a damn fool.”

She felt warmth rising to heat her cheeks. “I am not a fool. It was broad daylight. By a busy road.”

He leaned into her face, his voice sarcastic. “And what time of the day was Marti attacked? And by what busy road?”

Her face paled. He was right on that score. “Well, I was handling it just fine, about to leave when you stormed in like the Army.”

“He was probably planning on puncturing your tire. Geez, you don’t know what he might have done.”

“You’re only speculating it was Paul because you hate him. You don’t have proof, except for a similarity in his pendant and my scratch.”

Jesse sat down, breathless. “No, I don’t have proof. But it just so happens that Paul was off the afternoon Marti was killed.”

She dropped down on the couch a few feet away from him. “How do you know?”

“Because my friend Alan is dating the secretary at the insurance company. She checked the sign-in sheets; he left at noon for the day.”

CHAPTER 8

Marti was having trouble conjuring up the Christmas spirit, even though it was only a week away. It was even harder to drum up excitement for Harry’s holiday bar-b-que. She’d laid three different outfits on the bed trying to figure out what to wear, wondering why it even mattered. It was unbearably warm for December, not at all suitable for the season. At least it got cold in southern California, even if they didn’t have white Christmases.

Finally she chose a teal top that laced up the front and took advantage of her swelling chest. White, low-waisted jean shorts went well with that. She pulled her blond curls into a ponytail and tied a ribbon around it. No pearls, lace, or sequins for this party. An outside bar-b-que with a roasted hog and a bunch of burping, dirty-joke-telling, country-music-listening hicks. She stared grimly into the mirror and set her mouth in a straight line. Worst of all, she couldn’t even get drunk to numb the situation. The baby was more important than her temporary comfort. Besides, Jesse would never allow it, not even a sip.

Her bottom lip puckered at the thought of Jesse. He had forced her into this. This hadn’t been the first party they’d been invited to, and every time he brought one up, she told him to go without her. But he didn’t want to leave her alone, not with Bumpus’s barking fits in the middle of the night and no raccoons to be found as the cause. So he had declined them, never citing her as the reason. He wasn’t so obliging with Harry’s shindig. It was his boss, and the biggest event of the year, besides the one Harry gave after the Fourth of July parade. Jesse called her selfish, and for some reason it bothered her when he called her that more than when anyone else had. The selfless bastard.

When she opened her bedroom door, the country music seeping under her door in polite volumes now pounded against her. With her hands over her ears, she went in search of the stereo controls. Jesse found her first. He appeared out of nowhere, pulled her into his arms, and danced her across the living room.

“Yeah-eee!” he hollered with a twang.

“Jesse!” she exclaimed, but to no avail.

The room spun around her as his arms held her tight. She could only see Jesse’s face, lit with a two-thousand watt smile. On his head was a black cowboy hat tilting low over his forehead. When the heel-kicking song ended, he slowed his pace to match the slower melody. He also pulled her close against his body, and she could feel the heat of his heartbeat against her cheek.

“Jesse,” she murmured against the texture of his shirt.

“Shh, I like this song.”

A man’s voice sang out that he was born to love her, and the warmth froze over in her blood. Of course, Jesse didn’t mean anything by it, she told herself. Still, she moved out of his arms and turned down the stereo. His dismayed expression only held her attention for a minute before her gaze drifted down over his bolo tie, white shirt with cowboy stitching, black leather belt, and indigo jeans. And black leather cowboy boots.

“I’ve never seen you dressed like this before,” she said, a grin creeping over her face.

He tilted his head and smiled, those indents in his cheeks not quite full-fledged dimples. “I don’t put on the dog very often. Just when I’m in the mood.”

“Your cowboy mood, huh?”

He turned the stereo back up and pulled her close again. “Yep, my cowboy mood. Are you afraid to dance with me?”

She stiffened. “No. Why would I be?”

He started slowly moving her around, swaying to the music. “I don’t know. Why would you be?”

“I just don’t… like this kind of music.”

His hips pressed against hers. Suddenly he dipped her, poised above her.

“Say you like it, or I’ll drop you,” he taunted.

“Like what? Dancing with you or country music?”

He grinned. “Both.” He dropped her a little lower. “Say it.”

“Jesse....” His warm breath pulsed against her throat. “Okay, I like it. Now let me go.”

He yanked her up and twirled around the room. “Why would I do that? You just said you liked dancing with me.”