I Think I Love You (10 page)

With the press of a button, the trunk sprang open, and just as she feared, its contents came alive. Justine squeezed the trigger.

The reverb stole her hearing, but she felt her lungs pinch with her gasp. Two seconds later she realized that she'd put one hell of a hole in her fluttering dry-cleaning bag and the suit underneath.

"Dammit," she muttered. "Two suits ruined in one day."

Too late, she realized she might have put a hole in her gas tank, too. But closer inspection showed the bullet had embedded in one of the bags of rock salt that she, like many Pennsylvanians, stocked for icy traveling emergencies. What a mess. She shoved the gun into her purse, hid her wounded suit, and yanked out her gym bag just as a side door opened and a security guard came running out.

"What was that?"

"Sorry," she said, slamming the trunk lid. "My car backfired—watery gas does it every time."

He bought the story, even carried her gym bag into the hotel lobby. She asked for a nonsmoking room and paid cash in advance to avoid the risk of name recognition, but the desk clerk was too absorbed in the story of fugitive Lisa Crane playing on the television behind the counter to notice anything going on right in front of her.

The room was unremarkable but smelled clean. She fastened every locking device on the door, then stepped under the shower-head and scrubbed her face and body. From the gym bag she pulled clean underwear—at last—and a T-shirt.

Her cell phone bleeped. The tiny screen revealed that the call had originated from the police department. "Hello?"

"Lando here. We checked out the house and the surrounding area, but we didn't find anything. If you want me to set the alarm, I need your code."

She gave it to him.

"Did you get settled?"

"Yes."

"Listen, I want to apologize for what I said earlier—who you spend time with is none of my business."

"I know."

"Well, good night then. We'll be in touch."

She disconnected the call and stared at the phone for a few seconds, wondering if she should call Regina. At times like these, she missed her sisters most—too bad that Mica had turned out to be such a traitor, and Regina, such a prude. Oh, Regina meant well, but she took ownership of everything wrong in the lives of people around her and tried to mend them. And right now, a lecture from her little sister didn't rank high on her list. She set down the phone and gave her hair a light combing, then filled a coffee mug with the hottest water the bathroom tap would serve up.

In the bedroom, she lowered lights and mounded pillows. Into the lemon tea went a carefully measured amount of nutmeg according to her mental chart, and a single sugar cube. While she stirred, she estimated that the home-brewed hallucinogen would flood her system within twenty minutes since her stomach was virtually empty.

Students, hippies, and prisoners had been getting high on nutmeg for years because it was cheap and accessible. As a teenager, she'd simply liked the idea of being able to zone out right under her parents' noses on something from the kitchen pantry.

Justine drank the mug of bitter tea without stopping, then reclined on the pillows. She typically used this time to help funnel her impending trip. Tonight, she fell back on a favorite—killing Dean Haviland, if for no reason other than to deny her spoiled little sister something for once in her charmed life. Lisa Crane's words came back to her.

A person can't just go through life destroying relationships and get away with it.

Unless you were Mica.

Chapter 6

DON'T underestimate the extent to which men underestimate women.

Mica flipped through the pages in a beauty magazine and was instantly bored. She knew some of the divas in the ads and no one looked that good in person except Molly Sims.

She tossed the magazine aside, feeling itchy and leaky and miserable after being lubed and poked and prodded in one test after another. The doctor had counted her moles, for God's sake. Mica stood and approached the receptionist. "Dr. Forsythe wanted to see me before I left, but I can't stay much longer."

The woman turned to a nurse, who checked something on the computer. "Your lab results just came in a few minutes ago. Dr. Forsythe should be calling you back soon. Can I get you a snack? A piece of fruit, maybe?"

"I don't think—"

"You really should have something to eat, Ms. Metcalf."

Mica squinted at the nurse's earnest expression. "Okay."

A red apple materialized, and she returned to the chair she'd abandoned feeling bribed. She rubbed the apple on her jeans leg, then took a bite, mostly to stay awake. Being kept waiting was not a good sign. The doctor assured her they were conducting standard tests to get a handle on her general health, but she suspected a lecture awaited her. In truth, though, she was ready to get her strength back and to feel good again.

In addition to the malaise that pulled at her muscles, disappointment wallowed in her stomach at the fact that after all these years, she'd finally gotten up the nerve to call Justine, only to be informed that the Cocoon office had closed early. She'd called directory assistance for Justine's home number, but it was unlisted. She could always get the information from Regina, but she really didn't want to get her involved—or to get Regina's hopes up, for that matter, that a reconciliation was in the works. Poor Regina took everything to heart. Granted, it was sad that she and her sisters hadn't shared the milestones in one another's lives like they'd always assumed they would... although admittedly, Justine's marriage milestone hadn't quite turned out as everyone had imagined.

The night before the wedding, Mica had resigned herself to the idea of her sister marrying the man whom she loved. After all, Justine had seen him first, had staked her claim, and Dean publicly acknowledged Justine as his girl. Only Mica knew that Dean had taken her virginity when she was seventeen while Justine worked nights doing cosmetology at Williams's Funeral Home. Only Mica knew that he continued to seek her out whenever Justine was occupied. Only Mica knew that she loved her sister's fiancé to utter distraction. After the wedding rehearsal, she'd happened upon Dean and he'd admitted that he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with Justine in Monroeville. Mica had already made plans to go to LA to break into modeling and, she hoped, acting. He said LA sounded good to him.

They'd left a note and departed before dawn, and Mica did harbor guilt over not breaking the news to Justine face-to-face. But Justine had a fiery temper and neither Mica nor Dean wanted a scene. She justified her actions by telling herself that she'd saved Justine the inevitable heartbreak of discovering years down the road that her husband didn't love her. She had imagined that, like every other time they'd disagreed, Justine would eventually come around and they'd be friends again. Twelve years later, she was beginning to realize it was up to her to extend an olive branch. Maybe she could make Justine understand that she and Dean hadn't meant to hurt her, that they truly loved each other.

Tomorrow, she resolved with a sigh. Tomorrow when she felt better she'd take the first step toward repairing her relationship with Justine, and she'd work things out with Dean—maybe he could watch her shoots from a screening room. Mica smiled, happier than she'd been in a long while. Everett was right: she just needed some downtime, a little vacation.

Back east? She pursed her mouth and tried the idea on for size. Go see her folks first, then her sisters. Maybe she and Regina could meet and visit Justine together. Yes... it could work. Soon they'd be laughing like old times.

She laid her head back and cheerfully munched the apple. Her gaze strayed to a chubby baby on the front of a parenting magazine. She smiled and reached for the issue, overcome by curiosity for an alien world. She'd always wanted a baby, but Dean—

Mica stopped and put her hand on her stomach.

Could it be? Headaches, nausea, fatigue... could she be
pregnant
? Her mind raced as fast as her heart as she tried to think back to her last cycle... a swim party at their house... two months ago? Yes! She covered her mouth and laughed into her hand. Other patients glanced up from their magazines.

Omigod, she was going to have a
baby.
A little
person.
Wouldn't Dean be surprised? And her mother? And her
sisters
—oh, Justine would melt like ice cream when Mica put her niece or nephew in her arms.

"Ms. Metcalf?"

She looked up to see the nurse standing in the doorway.

"Dr. Forsythe will see you now."

With a burst of energy, Mica sprang up and followed the nurse to the doctor's office. She was grinning when she sat down in front of Dr. Forsythe's desk.

"You look chipper," Dr. Sandra Forsythe observed with a little smile. She nodded for the nurse to close the door as she left.

"That's because I just figured out why I've been feeling so draggy lately."

"Oh? And you're happy about it?"

Mica laughed. "Of course. I can't wait to tell Dean—he's my boyfriend. He'll be so pleased!"

Dr. Forsythe pulled off her glasses and clasped her hands in front of her. "Ms. Metcalf, I believe you're confused."

"Confused? I'm pregnant, aren't I?"

The doctor pressed her lips together. "No, you're not pregnant."

Mica blinked back burgeoning tears. "Are you sure? I haven't had a period, and I've been nauseous, and I go to the bathroom every fifteen minutes."

"And it burns when you urinate?"

Mica shrugged. "Sometimes. But I'm prone to urinary tract infections."

Dr. Forsythe sighed. "May I call you Mica?"

She nodded.

"Mica, for starters, your cycle is intermittent because you're malnourished. I'm putting you on a well-balanced diet."

"A diet?"

"The kind where you eat regularly and take in healthy fluids. You need oils and fats in your diet. Stay away from alcohol, and cut back on your caffeine."

"But I—"

"Mica, if you don't start eating correctly, your health will continue to deteriorate and your hair will continue to fall out."

She averted her gaze. She hadn't mentioned the hair loss; was it that noticeable?

"You're also anemic, and your bone density test shows that your bones are more brittle than is normal for your age."

"What does that mean?"

"The anemia is contributing to your fatigue, and the fact that your bones are brittle means that they will fracture and break more easily than they should." Dr. Forsythe raised an eyebrow. "Which makes living with an abusive boyfriend even more dangerous."

"I fell," Mica choked out. "Dean isn't abusive—he loves me."

The doctor nodded calmly, as if she didn't believe her. "Also, you don't have a urinary tract infection. You have gonorrhea."

She tried to laugh, but no sound came out of her throat. She swallowed. "That's impossible. I've only had one sex partner my entire life."

"And what about your boyfriend's sex partners?"

"He hasn't..." Her words trailed off as the implication hit her. Of course he had. Dean had given her the clap. His declaration that he'd always been faithful to their bed—a lie. The mysterious phone calls over the last couple of months... his unaccounted absences... his increased irritability with her. The lying, cheating bastard.

"I'm going to kill him," Mica murmured.

"I know this is a bit of a shock," Dr. Forsythe said in a soothing voice. "But gonorrhea is curable with antibiotics."

Mica listened as the doctor droned on about scripts and dosage and latex condoms while her heart quietly caved in.
I gave up my family, my sisters, for this?
A few minutes ago she was contemplating motherhood and having a child with the man she loved, a child who would help heal her divided family. Now she was contemplating murder. Her hand tightened on the shoulder bag that held the rodent-killing gun.

"Mica?"

She blinked and shot back to the present. "Yes?"

The woman gave her a kind smile. "There's a shelter in Santa Monica. You could go there to recuperate in private. It's a secure location, and you would be guaranteed confidentiality."

"A shelter?" Mica stood. "You mean a clinic, don't you?"

Dr. Forsythe balked. "They do offer round-the-clock medical care."

"No thanks. I have somewhere to go."

"Is it a safe place?"

"Yes."

"And will you have a support group?"

She hesitated. "I hope so."

Chapter 7