Look-Alike. Rita Herron
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Could he have had something to do with her confinement in that mental hospital?
Had he taken her there to rot, to be locked up and forgotten? Could he have possibly killed her sister?
EARLY MORNING SHADOWS bathed the cabin as Miles watched the emotions play on the woman’s—Caitlin’s—face. He had to call her Caitlin just to give her a name, although he realized she might be lying, that she might be the other twin, Nora.
Confusion, fear and wariness riddled her features, triggering his own questions and distrust. One glance downward and she’d realized she was naked. Another second and she knew he had undressed her. And she didn’t like it.
“You were going into shock,” he said. “I had to warm you up.”
“And that’s all that happened?”
He grunted. “You think I’d take advantage of a woman who passed out?”
“You…said we were married?”
His gaze met hers, the undeniable flare of uncertainty in her tone hitting him. She didn’t believe him.
“I married Caitlin,” he said coldly. “Whether you are her or a look-alike, I’m not convinced yet.”
His hands balled into fists as he remembered her tone the day she’d walked out on him. He shouldn’t want to protect her now, but he did. And that wasn’t all he wanted.
“We need to talk.” Ignoring her glassy stare and the tension humming between them, he rose and poked at the fire in the adjoining room, well aware her gaze was glued to his back. Sometime during the night, he’d shed his clothes, the heat from the cabin and his own desires making him break into a sweat. He wasn’t a man who cared about his body or what anyone thought—except for the fear he put into their eyes when he unleashed his temper.
Willing his morning erection at bay, he dragged on a pair of boxers, strode to the kitchen, made coffee, then carried two mugs back to the bedroom. Caitlin still lay curled on her side, but she’d grabbed his shirt and had shrugged into it. The sight resurrected memories of long sexy nights with her naked beneath him, her long legs wrapped around him. Nights filled with passion…in the beginning.
But their relationship had obviously been built on sex. An illusion of love.
He wouldn’t allow his libido to sway him under her spell again. But if their argument had put her in danger, he’d never forgive himself.
He handed her the cup but kept his distance as she propped herself against the pillows. He’d seen the fear on her face when she noticed his naked body in the predawn light. A ripple of alarm had lit her eyes at his jutting sex.
Caitlin had not been daunted by his size.
“Tell me what happened the night we had that argument.”
She practically inhaled the coffee, as if she’d been starved for days, and guilt splintered through him. He should feed her first, let her bathe, get dressed, cover that silky skin and naked body from his hungry eyes.
A feeling of self-loathing assaulted him. He was obsessed with wanting her, while she looked as if she’d been through hell and back.
She licked her lips, her voice not quite steady when she spoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Listen, Caitlin—” he hesitated for emphasis “—if you are Caitlin. We were married for three weeks, we had great sex, we had an argument. You walked out. I want to know why.”
She tensed at the mention of great sex. At least he had her attention.
But she sipped the coffee again, stalling. He knew it. So did she. Then her gaze landed on the aquarium and her face twisted in thought. “Tigger. Pooh.” Her haunted eyes rose to meet his.
“You remember your fish, but not me?” Anger sharpened his words, and she flinched. Great. He was frightening his own wife. And remembering the fish but not him proved just how important he’d been to her.
She stuttered an apology, but she had no explanation. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand, either, but I don’t remember you or that night,” she whispered. “I…just know I woke up a few days…a couple of weeks ago in a psychiatric ward, and I was being drugged.” She raked her hair over her shoulder, making his fingers itch to comb through the mass. “I didn’t sign myself in to that hellhole, so you must have.”
“What?” Her accusation stung. “I told you, you walked out on me. I’ve been searching for you for weeks.”
She chewed her lower lip, scrutinizing him, yet he didn’t think she was lying. Not completely, anyway. Something traumatic had obviously happened to her and he had to get to the bottom of it. “How did you get the track marks?”
She yanked the shirt sleeves over her arms self-consciously. “I…I told you—they drugged me.”
“You expect me to believe that?” He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Listen, Caitlin. This is what I know. You married me, then walked out on me. Two days after you left, I found out you’d hooked up with some guy in a honky-tonk. Maybe he got you strung out, and now you’re scared, running back to me for help.”
She shook her head, her eyes blurring with tears. “No, that’s not true. I wouldn’t do drugs, I swear. And I wish I did remember you.” Her lips quivered. “Besides, how do I know you’re not lying? That you didn’t marry Nora and then kill her? That you won’t send me back to that awful place?”
He crossed the room to her, studied her with a frown. But the bruises on her skin softened his resolve, and he ended up stroking her palm with his thumb. “I’m not sending you anywhere, not until I learn the truth.”
She clutched the edges of his shirt together, looking so vulnerable he wanted to soothe her. “What about my sister? Who killed her?”
His gut clenched as her look-alike’s face flashed into his mind. Dammit, he didn’t know what to think or do. “The MO looks like the work of a serial killer called The Carver. He’s murdered five other women so far, all in the past nine months.”
Tension simmered between them. “Will you take me to see her?”
“I’ll call the M.E. while you shower.” He gestured toward the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. “There should be clean towels on the shelf. And you left a few clothes in the closet. Some sweats and jeans and stuff.”
She nodded, then slid from the bed and walked toward the bathroom, hugging his shirt to her. He tracked her movements, searching for a familiar body gesture, something to prove she was his wife.
Seconds later, the shower kicked on and unbidden images of Caitlin naked came to him. He banished them quickly. Needing some distance from her, he sat down at the Formica table in the kitchen and reviewed the files on his missing wife. They’d met two months ago at that honky-tonk in town. It was karaoke night, and she’d danced her way across the stage wearing red sequins, singing “I Will Always Love You” in a sultry, soul-filled voice that had immediately ripped into his gut.
They’d connected instantly. Later that night, he’d seduced her, or had she seduced him? All he remembered was the mind-numbing attraction, the deep hunger that had whispered that he had to have her, the frenzy in the way they’d come together. And for days after, they’d practically stayed in bed. All she had to do was trail her long red fingernails over his abdomen and his sex stirred.
And when she’d talked about opening an arts center for kids, he’d believed she was a family kind of girl. The kind he’d always wanted but never thought he’d deserved.
A few days later, he’d been so drunk on lust and foolish dreams of happily-ever-after that he’d married her at a local Justice of the Peace’s office.
Three days later she’d changed. Turned into a different person.
Three weeks