Deceptions of the Heart (11 page)

“Beneath the surface,” I said, finishing his sentence and giggling because of his earlier amusement. The curtains obscuring the corners of my shrouded mind drifted apart. Clarity prevailed for a one brief, illuminating moment. “Something’s really, really…wrong.” All vestiges of my mirth disappeared.

“And I’m at a loss to understand it,” he said with a tight, wary voice.

The mist covered my understanding once again. “I wish I knew what’s going on. I feel as if I’m swimming in a whirlpool right now. Nothing about my life makes sense. It just keeps swirling and swirling.” My hand moved in circles. I followed the motion with my eyes and his face blurred.

He grabbed my chin and searched my eyes. My vision refocused. “Maybe we should go talk to Brandon…when your head clears up. You’re…goofy.”

“Brandon?” My throat tightened. I was afraid of introducing a new character into this tragedy.

“We need help. He has a lot of resources at his disposal and he’s the only one we can trust with your personal history.”

“Brandon Sairs,” I muttered and looked up at Anson. He didn’t correct me. “I talked to him the other day. I think…um…he’s mad at me.” I waited, but Anson didn’t take the bait. “I told him I didn’t remember him.”

“No more than you remember me?”

“No.” My reply was emphatic and a bit caustic. Defiant and defensive. My mood took a serious nosedive—all the frivolity knocked clean out of me from the dark scowl on Anson’s face.

“Then how did you know Price?”

“He made his presence known.” I blinked at Anson. He crossed his arms. I licked my dry lips. “He busted in here the other day without calling first. I don’t like him. He’s a jerk and full of himself. Why would Jennifer get involved with a man like that?” I added, thinking aloud. “Okay, so he’s a really good-looking jerk, but looks aren’t everything.” Skepticism flitted across Anson’s face. “I know very well what you’re thinking, but it’s true. I don’t know what Jennifer did before she fainted the other night, but I’m getting a good idea of the kind of person she is…or was…and I don’t like her. And I don’t like what she did to you. And I’m pretty certain I wouldn’t like what she did to Brandon Sairs either…if I could remember what that was.”

“You’re a piece of work, Jennifer,” Anson said with a growl. “What’s up with this recently acquired habit—”

“Of referring to myself in third person?” I closed my eyes, rubbed my forehead with the palms of my hands, and emitted a sigh of supreme weariness. “I told you, I don’t know who I am.”

“Well, it’s obvious something is going on with you. So start at the beginning.”

Chapter Twelve

Brandon Sairs leaned back in his plain, cloth-covered task chair. He carried himself with authority and deliberate forethought—the kind of man one didn’t trifle with. Medals for meritorious conduct and plaques for outstanding public service hung on the wall behind him.

The earlier hurt I witnessed at the bistro still glimmered in his eyes. He tugged at his left ear as if deep in thought, his eyelids slitted over his hazel eyes. “So where are the pills?” he asked.

I looked at Anson. He blinked and nodded his encouragement. “I still have them,” I said.

The silence that followed was thick with antagonism. Most of it came from Sairs but some came from Anson. To my surprise, they hurled their ill will at each other instead of me.

“So? Can I see them?” Sairs asked.

“What for?” I was unwilling to release the only tangible proof I had that someone was playing games with my mind.

Sairs swiveled in his chair and pulled a notepad out of his credenza. He jotted down the names of all three drugs in big bold letters. “How can I know what she was giving you without having them tested? Are you trying to hide something?”

“I don’t want to give them to you because I can tell you don’t believe me.” My lower lip poked out against my will.

“Why should I believe you?” he asked with a sardonic edge. He tapped his pen on the notepad. My eyes followed the up and down bouncing. Anson leaned over and grabbed the pen. Sairs puffed up at the affront, but said nothing.

“If I hadn’t pushed Jennifer out of the way, she’d be in the hospital…or worse.” Anson spoke slowly and precisely. Sairs was about to get his doubt thrown back in his face. “She’s not making this up. Sudha tried to kill her tonight. She’s
been
trying to kill—”

“Why would Sudha try to kill
her
?” Sairs turned his eyes on me and I cringed under the intensity of his awful gaze. He retrieved another pen from his lap drawer, scrawled
Sudha
and
pills
on the paper, and underlined the words twice.

“Why would anyone try to kill me? Are you serious? There are plenty of people who hate my guts…including you. For all I know, you’re plotting your revenge against me as well.

“That’s ridiculous!” His sheepish face betrayed him.

I puffed the bangs out of my eyes and tucked a wayward tendril of hair behind my ear. “Okay, look. I get it. You’re angry. Yeah, maybe even anger isn’t a strong enough word to describe how you feel and maybe you don’t trust me. But you’re a cop. And Sudha tried to kill me…twice. There’s a bullet hole in my bedroom ceiling to prove it.” I leaned back in my chair and glared at him.

“You could have done that yourself,” he persisted in his cynicism.

“Oh, please,” I sputtered. “I don’t even know how to fire a gun.”

“Well, actually…she was probably using
your
gun,” Anson said and blinked at me.

Sairs didn’t miss the interchange, but he didn’t pounce on it either. “Why haven’t you reported the incident with the pills before now?”

Anson grunted and shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his head vigorously. He muttered something under his breath.

Sairs wrote
Jennifer’s gun
on his notepad. I stared at his chicken scratch and then squinted at him. He returned my stare with an ill-tempered frown. “You didn’t report it because you didn’t believe your wife.” He directed his undisguised hostility toward Anson.

“Does it matter why we didn’t report this sooner? Tonight changed things. Sudha fired a gun at her,” Anson bellowed, his pitch rising with each layer of his argument. He’d used that belligerent, condescending tone on me. It made me cringe. “If you can’t believe her, believe me. You’ve known me a long time.”

How long has Sairs known Jennifer? Has she not lived in Virginia all her life? Where did she come from?
I stopped my internal rant a moment and hit reset.
I must cease referring to myself in the third person. I must become Jennifer. I must think in “I” and “me” and “my”.
Sairs was talking, outlining his disbelief, but I didn’t hear any of it. My mind was busy sorting out what person I lived in.
First person. Second person. Third person.

“Stop it,” I demanded, the inner conflict getting to me as much as the external tension between the three of us. My equanimity vacated the room. I leapt from my chair and headed for the door. “Let’s go. He’s too tied up in the past. He can’t get over it. We’ll have to handle this without his help.”

Anson’s face turned red. I wasn’t sure if he was angry with me or Sairs or both of us. But when he rose from his seat to follow me, I released my breath slowly, exhaling my relief. I squeezed his hand to communicate my appreciation for his tacit support. He returned the pressure, twining his fingers with mine.

“Sit down. Both of you,” Sairs demanded with an authoritative edge. We stopped, but made no move to retake our seats, standing in suspended animation.

“I said sit down,” he ordered a little louder.

Anson sat in the nearest chair, but I remained standing, ready to bolt if necessary. We remained tethered, our fingers laced.

Sairs turned his accusatory eyes on me. “You expect a lot of me, considering your history of—”

Anson cleared his throat. His hand tightened in mine. The room remained quiet for minutes…or hours…Who knows?

“I know I must have done something to…to hurt you.” My speculation built, one impression on another. “I suspect I must have dumped you for Anson.” When neither man disputed my contentions, my theory gained momentum. “And I get the idea I did it because Anson is wealthy.”

Anson groaned but didn’t remove his hand from mine.

Sairs snorted. “What’s the point of—”

“Shut up and listen.” My anger trumped his. “Can’t you just put our past behind you and do your job? Someone is trying to kill me. What are you going to do about it?”

Sairs pushed forward in his chair and slammed both palms on his desk. “It’s more than putting our personal history behind us. I still believe you had something to do with Claire’s death. You lied to me before. What makes you think I’ll believe you now?”

Sairs’ revelation bounced around my psyche. “Claire?”

“Yes, Claire. Don’t pretend you don’t remember Claire…Anson’s wife.”

Claire’s memory surfaced against my will. Her eyes pled with me for understanding and mercy.

Why? Why did Claire want mercy from me? What was it that she feared from me?

“Despite what your husband wants to believe, I am not convinced that you didn’t…”

“I didn’t what?” I backed away from all the potential accusations his unspoken words implied. His condemnation stung like a raw abrasion.

“I’m warning you, Sairs,” Anson demanded. “Don’t say another word.”

Sairs stormed around the desk to confront me. “I can’t believe he’s sticking up for you.” He shook his finger in my face, but Anson wedged between us in a heartbeat.

“Back off,” he yelled.

Alex’s face loomed over me, twisted into something fearsome and frightening, a vision so clear I could have sworn he was in the room with me. Without reason—or maybe with more reason than I understand—I feared for my life.

I pushed my fists against my temples.
No, I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember.
The words formed in my head, but couldn’t seem to escape my mouth. A low moan rumbled up from my gut.

Anson nudged me. His muffled voice barely penetrated the fog enveloping me. “Jennifer? Jennifer, what’s wrong? She doesn’t look right.”

Sairs was speaking, but I couldn’t interpret the silent movement of his lips. Anson caught me as the floor fell from beneath my feet and his face faded to pitch black.

Chapter Thirteen

The sun warmed my closed eyelids, urging me to wakefulness. When I opened my eyes, the struggle wasn’t worth it. The cold, antiseptic trappings of a hospital room greeted me. Alex hovered in the corner of the room. I reached out to him. He made no move to embrace me and examined me with dull eyes.

Then I remembered I was Jennifer. I dropped my arms. “What are you doing here?”

He braced his hands on the bed railing as if standing his ground. “I know you told me not to come out here, but I couldn’t let it go.”

“Idiot.” I covered my mouth. I hadn’t intended to verbalize my opinion.

He turned his head away as if I’d slapped him. “I guess I deserved that.” I didn’t contradict him. “Um…I met your husband…” His words were tentative and searching.

“His name is Anson.” I pulled the tatty medical issue bedspread to my chin. “Is he here?”

“He…went to the cafeteria for some food.” Alex fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Why did he leave me alone with you?”

He released the bedrail. “I told him we needed to talk.” His arms dangled at his sides at odd angles.

“He wouldn’t just leave me alone with you, unless…” The sensation of imminent peril returned.

“You didn’t tell him Jackson is my brother, did you?” The question uncovered his motives. Concern for my well-being wasn’t the explanation for his presence.

My instincts fired. Alex didn’t need to know what I’d told Anson. “Why would I tell him about Jackson? I had other things on my mind.” Sweat dribbled down my backbone so I moved my arms from beneath the hot bedspread.

He fiddled with the pitcher and cup on the overbed table. “So…Jackson attacked you?”

“He tried to force me to tell him what I know. I didn’t know anything…then.” I pushed myself to sitting on the hard mattress. My arm snagged on the tube feeding the automatic drip. I squinted at the bag of solution dripping into my arm. Dextrose and water. I relaxed.

He pushed a button and adjusted the angle of the bed. “But now you know?” He ran his tongue over his upper lip. “Does anyone else know?” He walked over to the window and lowered the blinds, dousing the morning sunshine.

A cold finger of dread raced down my spine. “No, Alex. Your secret is safe with me. Besides, who would believe I know anything about what happened in California five years ago? As far as I know, Rhonda and Jennifer never met. How could Jennifer possibly know anything about you or your brother? You see, you’re safe. No one would believe me even if I did tell. So…go home.”

“You make me sound self-serving.” His whiny complaint irritated me. I raised an eyebrow. He rubbed the day-old growth of his beard. “I guess some things I’ve done appear that way.”

A flash of insight illuminated our shared history. “I know what you did for Jackson wasn’t out of brotherly love. You did it so you could hold it over his head, so you could take his share of the family business.”