Hidden Shadows (The Shadow Series Book 1) (17 page)

So he’d give her time. Let it sink in, let him sink in, just as he had before.

And hopefully, they’d end up on the same page.

To think otherwise made him too uncomfortable.

As the music reached a crescendo and the queen banished the howling goblin with a leap and point of her scepter, Ben squeezed the small, warm body leaning against his chest, then reached across and held the soft hand in the next seat.

Here, sitting in this small performing hall, he felt home.

TWELVE

Things were working out so nicely. It was always an added bonus when plans went better than expected.

And Desiree couldn’t have planned cowardly Jenna’s reactions any better.

The ever-impressive, solid Jenna Gregor was crumbling right in front of her eyes.

Desiree loved every moment.

Of course there were a few kinks here and there to be ironed out. Jenna didn’t know she was crumbling yet, didn’t have a clue what was in store. She surely thought the worst had passed, the fear was behind her.

What a thrill that would be when Desiree proved otherwise.

She had begun to get cozy with that half-wit Aston, though, and
that
wasn’t in the plan.

But the saving Superman wasn’t so super. He hadn’t even seen Desiree crouched in the bushes the night she’d wrecked the house. Didn't even think to go looking in neighbor’s yards.

Did they think she was a total idiot? That she’d hide out there, at the exact spot of attack, risk being found out?

No. She was much brighter than that.

But she hadn’t been able to leave completely, either. It’d been too fun, too sweet to watch Miss Put Together stumble around, wail, cry.

Oh, how Desiree had relished that night. The feeling of ripping through fabric, smashing glass, and smearing truths about the woman over grass and stone had been priceless.

Whoever said
revenge is sweet
was a freakin’ genius.

And she hadn’t even finished yet. Hadn’t even reached the climax of what was sure to be a spectacular conclusion.

She’d have to find a way to be sure Superman wasn’t around. Jenna’d been running to his arms a lot lately. Coward. Poor, defenseless, worthless, coward.

She didn’t realize he could never protect her.

He would try. But he would fail.

If Desiree had wanted to, she could’ve knocked those stupid boards he put on the windows in half with two swift chops from an ax.

But she hadn’t wanted to that night. She’d had patience for so long, she’d been steady and strong and waiting. Her prize was within arm's length.

She had to remain in control. She had a plan and was sticking to it.

Part of that plan, part of the fun, was watching the enemy squirm.

Oh, it brought tears to her eyes just remembering the squealing tires, the panic Jenna must’ve felt on that country road, someone following her with her two sleeping brats in the car.

How Desiree wished she could’ve been inside the woman’s head then, felt the desperation, the franticness. Finally, finally, the wicked woman was feeling a prick of the pain she’d inflicted on others.

Truly things were going as planned.

Only one pesky detail remained that was really bothering Desiree, and it had nothing to do with Jenna Gregor.

It was outright loneliness.

She missed Tommy so much sometimes her belly turned with the misery. On occasion, she really hated that she’d had to kill him.

But it was necessary.

And so was following through with the rest of her plans.

She couldn’t wait to see it in action, to watch the sturdy Jenna Gregor crumble and fall for the last time, then disappear forever.

****

“So everything’s been going good? Nothing to report to me, to Cooley.”

Jenna eyed Ben as he took a big bite from the finally achieved peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich. She knew he was still not pleased about her decision to keep the car incident to herself, or not report it to the police more accurately, but he could just be mad about it. She wasn’t going to work herself into a tizzy, or use up the small police force's manpower, to chase down some car that possibly followed her.

“No. Nothing’s happened. Nothing of significance at least.”

He stopped, dropped his sandwich. “Meaning.”

“Meaning I had an annoying, weird day at the office last week and I think it’s due to my paranoia over all this.”

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“About the annoying, weird day.”

“Why?”

Ben pushed his plate away now, leaned back in the kitchen table’s wooden spindle chair. “I don’t know. Because I love you. Because you've had someone trash your house and tail you with your kids in the car. And I want to know.”

Knowing it was safer to just relay the story than contemplate or address anything he’d said, Jenna set aside her forkful of salad, and tried to figure out where to begin.

“Taryn Tate. She’s a patient from years back. And I saw her last week. Her typical demeanor is different, strange, but this time was even more different I guess. Or I let it be because of what’s been going on.”

Ben raised his brows, took a chomp of sandwich and noticeably settled back into his seat, clearly not content with the short blurb.

She rolled her eyes, sighed.

“Before I worked at Hearts and Hands, I was at another similar practice. We provided comparable services, offering pregnancy related care. I came on staff working more in a nurse practitioner role—I evaluated, diagnosed, prescribed. Patients were generally referred by their OB or by one of the staff if they didn’t have an obstetrician or primary care doctor.

“Due to another long story I won’t begin to get into, I eventually transitioned to more of what I do now, what you and Heidi have experienced.”

“You counsel, advise?”

“More or less. I—the clinic—educates, trains, supports, counsels. Basically, we do anything to assist and provide the best possible outcome for mom and baby. That, to us, includes physical and mental health.”

Ben pushed his empty plate away, scooted back from the table to stretch his legs. “Okay. How’s that tie in with the weird day?”

“Taryn. She was one of my first patients. She and her boyfriend at the time had tried for numerous years to conceive. They’d miscarried, had failed IVF attempts. They were nearing the end of their financial and emotional rope. Her boyfriend spoke to me several times privately about his concerns. She was moody, frantic some days, deeply depressed others, obsessed with the whole process. He was worried. So was I.”

Jenna studied her salad, decided her appetite had gone, so she rose, took the plate to the counter.

“I helped her. Or tried to. I got her on an antidepressant, referred her to a good therapist. Then, she just disappeared one day. I never saw her again. When the Perinatal Wing at Hearts and Hands opened up, out of nowhere, there she was again.”

“Strange,” Ben supplied.

Jenna made a sound of agreement, rummaged through the cabinet for a container. Finding it, she dumped the salad in, popped the leftovers in the fridge, came back to lean on the counter.

“I’ve been treating her ever since. And I say treating lightly, because I’m not actually sure what my role or the goal is with her. I'm really not one to see for her depression, not as severe as it is. I can’t recommend any educational classes for her to take. She doesn’t need knowledge on breastfeeding, gestational diabetes, access to pre-natal vitamins, or the host of other services we provide.

“To my knowledge, she doesn’t have a partner, and hasn’t looked into any alternate methods to conception nor adoption. Though I would hope and assume she wouldn’t pass many, or any, doctor or agency criteria for implantation or adoption.”

Ben watched her as she rinsed her plate, and gathering his own dishes, brought them to the sink as she continued.

“I’ve tried to get her to talk, to open up, but she’s a brick wall. If I could understand why she's coming to me, maybe I could better help her. Or get her to a person that could.”

Standing together, the midday sun pushing a colorful spectrum through her breakfast nook’s new bay window, Jenna explained the rest of the visit to Ben. Told of the wandering, the picture of Jacy, the words, the look.

And he frowned. “That sounds like a threat to me.”

“No,” Jenna shook her head firmly, “she’s just troubled.”

“Troubled enough to smash a few windows, ruin a brand new car?”

Jenna shrugged. “Maybe. But I really doubt it. Why would she?”

“Why does anyone do anything? Especially the crazy things?”

“Hmmm,” she turned, rinsed Ben’s plate, glass, stuck them in the dishwasher with her own, "point taken. I’ve talked to Doctor Vick, our head of staff, about her before. I put another bug in his ear about it at the end of the week. We’ll see what he says."

“What’ll he be able to do?”

“Maybe refer her out? Speak to her about additional and further care. Get her out of our clinic and into somewhere else. There are whole departments and centers out there devoted to what she needs. A Psychiatrist or any doctor specializing in care for maternal mental health would be more suited than I am.”

Ben shuffled his feet, stuck a hand in his jeans pocket. That, and the hard lines around his mouth told her he was clearly agitated.

She smiled, rose on tiptoes to peck his cheek. “Okay, let’s talk about something else. You look irritated. And you shouldn’t be. You're text this morning said, and I quote, ‘My day will be made if we meet for lunch.’” She gestured around her, smiled wider. “Here we are.”

His mouth flattened further. “I’m just thinking. You’ve had a couple days with this. I’m only learning about it.”

She poked a finger in his stomach. “Oh, stop. I didn’t tell you about it because it was the night of the recital. Jacy’s special time. I wasn't going to let my nerves spoil it.”

The green of his eyes went dark, serious. “Just as long as you’re not in denial about it.”

Her eyes rounded, brows shot up. “Denial?”

“Denial,” he said flatly.

Flustered, she stammered an octave higher than usual, “About what?”

He pushed away from the counter, paced the floor, frustration palpable in his steps. “About the fact that someone is stalking you, clearly targeting you.” He spun, faced her. “About the other night.”

She feigned ignorance, tried an innocent and docile face. She knew where this was going. “The other night?”

“Please!” He threw his hands in the air. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I love you, Jenna Gregor.”

His voice softened, his shoulders sank. He brought his eyes to hers, and they were warm again, his mouth relaxed now. “I love you.”

She stared blankly . . . though that might’ve been an improvement from the wince the first time around.

Ben shook his head, swung it away. “See, same response as before. Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing . . . I, I said thank you last time.”

When he turned, walked to the table to grab his phone, she followed. “Ben, you can’t force me to say something . . . feel something.”

“Oh, really?” He shoved the phone in his pocket, turned heated eyes on her. “Is that it? I'm forcing you? I’ve forced you to be with me almost every day for the last month? To plant your lips on mine like you need that kiss to breathe? Jenna, you still blush every time we’re close. And you can't fake the feelings I see in your eyes. That, those real things? They aren’t coerced from you. So don’t act like I’m pushing you where you don’t want to go.”

He dropped his head, shook it with a sigh before meeting her shocked stare. “I’m not twenty. I’ve lived life and been with women . . . I live with one for goodness sake. An emotional, pregnant one whose feelings are splashed around at the drop of a hat. Why are you hiding yours?”

Pain and pleading laced his tone, temper covered his face. He was good at dual emotions, a skill she didn’t possess. For her, it was one or the other. If she was battling more than one, she picked a side, and stuck with it.

But he’d pegged her, dead on. She was hiding.

Sometimes, the buried emotions, the truth of them, threatened to bubble over. Sometimes she wanted to give what he gave her—unconditional trust, love. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

He’d known from the start she was a work in progress. So for now, she’d give him all she could . . . which was less than he, or she, wanted.

She stepped forward, tentatively, searched his broad, strong face. “I have more to give than you. More to lose.”

Disappointment clouded the handsome features, sadness dimmed the bright green eyes. “I didn’t realize it was a contest.”

And then and there, her heart broke a little. Why couldn’t she say it? Why couldn’t she let herself admit, surrender to what was real?