“Have at it,” Rivers said.
West looked like he wanted to follow her, but she headed him off with, “I’ll be right back.”
She tried not to hurry, but she needed some time to herself to think. West had maintained all along that there was a connection between her and Teresa and now she knew what it was. There was a chance she could possibly be making more of this than there was, but she didn’t believe it. Right down to her heels she knew Jonathan had wanted her to be Teresa.
He booked their honeymoon in Martinique because that’s where he’d met Teresa. And Callie had thought it was so romantic, had even come back here because it was when she’d been so happy! She’d wanted to reconnect with those feelings and it had all been a lie!
You came because of Sean . . . not because of Jonathan,
she reminded herself.
She shook her head, unwilling to even cut herself that break. She’d been such a blind fool. It was embarrassing.
She had to move carefully over the narrow walkway along the side of the boat. Her face felt hot, emotion firing her blood. She turned her face to the breeze, seeking relief, but her thoughts churned forward relentlessly. On the one hand she wanted to sit down and collapse, give herself time to process all her feelings. On the other hand she wanted to jump up and down, scream, tear at her hair, and have an out-and-out fit at her own susceptibility.
She needed to tell West what she’d figured out. Needed him to know about the connection between Teresa and Jonathan. They had to have known each other before she was married to Stephen. They met in Martinique, she was certain, but had their affair ended here? Or had it spilled over to Los Angeles? They were both in the same city for a time. Had they reconnected? Maybe even
after
he was married? After
she
was married? With an uncomfortable lurch of her stomach, Callie recalled how Jonathan had always been on the phone, making “secret” calls that he never explained. She’d tried to ask him about them a time or two, but he’d always brushed her off.
Oh, God. There was more to her connection to Teresa than she’d ever dreamed.
She stood on the prow, looking across the water, feeling slightly sick. To her right, a man and woman were standing in the rear of the boat next to her. The cabin lights illuminated the bay so that the water glowed light green. His arm was slung over her shoulders companionably as they both sipped wine from fluted glasses. They glanced over at Callie and she nodded to them though she barely saw them. Her vision was turned inward.
She needed to ask West when Stephen met Teresa.
What about Tucker? Has she come back for him? What if she takes him away?
What if she’s trying to do that
right now
?
Vaguely, she realized something had been bumping against the boat. She started to turn back, fired by the certainty that Teresa was taking Tucker away, when the woman in the boat next to her let out a scream that sounded like a siren. A chill ran up Callie’s back. She shot a glance at the woman and saw her stumble back from the edge of the boat, her hands clasped to her chest while the man tried to steady her. Her gaze was fixated on the water.
A body floated into the light. Not a swimmer. Someone wrapped in a black dress and sweater. As Callie watched, the face turned slowly upward, mouth open, dark reddish-blond tresses sliding across the slackened flesh of a familiar face.
“Holy Mother of God,” Callie whispered as the woman’s screams continued and West and Egan Rivers’s footsteps pounded out of the galley.
She knew she was looking at Teresa Laughlin, her doppelgänger. She had the eerie sensation she was staring at her own dead body.
The fog that enveloped Callie was a familiar one. It had crept in slowly after she’d woken in the hospital after Sean’s death, hampering her recovery, causing all the doctors and nurses to cast her worried looks. It had been the main reason Dr. Rasmussen, the psychiatrist assigned to her case when her recovery veered into depression, had suggested a stay at Del Amo Hospital. Callie had checked herself in willingly enough, if you could count the fact that she remembered next to nothing in those weeks following the accident.
Now it was trying to come back, oozing toward her, numbing her brain and blanking out the vision of the face she’d seen in the water. Not her face, but enough like it to give her a sense of being outside her own body. But she knew the fog wasn’t a friend and she wasn’t planning to let it take her over again. She fought it back with cold, hard logic, tamping down her own emotions, and she was better at it this time.
Three hours after the body was discovered and identified by Egan Rivers as his mysterious Tara, the gendarmerie finished their initial investigation. A young man in a uniform with a respectable command of English had questioned Callie who’d managed to say that she’d only seen the body floating in the water after the woman on the adjoining boat had started screaming. If he noticed her resemblance to the corpse, he didn’t mention it. Maybe it wasn’t as startling as Callie felt it was. Maybe it was her own association with Teresa that made everything feel so personal and chilling.
She was a little hazy on the sequence of events since the body floated up. Another gift of the fog. She knew that West had been locked in conversation with the authorities as had Egan Rivers. She wasn’t certain exactly how much West had revealed about his own quest to find Teresa, but she thought she’d heard him mention he was a policeman recently with the LAPD.
The body was pulled from the water and carried to a waiting ambulance, which raced away from the premises heading toward the morgue. West had tossed a jacket over Callie’s shoulders as she’d been plagued by shivers that wouldn’t quit. He’d left her for a few moments to pick up the jacket from his hotel room and bring it to Rivers’s boat, which was where the initial interviewing had taken place. After West had helped her return from the boat’s prow, she’d practically fallen into a chair in the salon and she’d been there ever since. It was kind of a surprise when, as the questions slowed down, someone mentioned the time and she realized how many hours had passed. The fog took away the dimension of time as well.
Now, West’s face floated into her view as he bent down to look into her eyes. “Ready to go?” he asked her.
“Are we allowed to?” Her voice was steady and careful. She sounded more in control than she felt.
“They’re finished for tonight. I told them I’d go down to the station tomorrow. They’ll do an autopsy and run DNA, just to be sure, but it’s Teresa.”
“Did you tell them about Aimee?” she asked, as he helped her to her feet.
“I said she was taking care of the victim’s son.”
“What’ll happen to Tucker?” she asked, her heart clutching.
“If Victoria gets her way, he’ll be on the next airplane to Los Angeles.”
Callie absorbed that with mixed feelings. Yes, she wanted Tucker to be safe, but it meant a complete upheaval from everything the boy knew. And she wasn’t sure where she fit into that picture, if at all, which wasn’t maybe the most pressing issue, but it sure as hell mattered to her.
They said good-bye to Rivers, who had poured himself another stiff drink and was drinking it down as if he were on a mission. He nodded curtly in response.
“The police are treating it like an accident for the moment,” West said as they walked back up the steps to the hotel. “No one’s actually said ‘homicide,’ but the thought’s there.”
“What do you think?”
“Don’t know yet. But I need to get you to stop shaking. Come to my room. Take a shower.”
I should go home,
she thought as they walked through the hotel bar, but she let him guide her into the elevator and up to the third floor. She obediently followed him inside and went straight to the bathroom, stripping off her clothes and stepping into a shower that was just shy of uncomfortably hot.
For reasons she couldn’t quite grasp, her thoughts turned to her first love, Bryan Tapper. How she’d followed him to Los Angeles and supported him while he auditioned for roles and music gigs, how he’d become seduced by the fast-paced lifestyle, living it up with sex, drugs, and rock and roll, and how Callie had been forced to give him up to his new woman to save herself. Her thoughts then turned to Jonathan, and she was almost embarrassed at how easily she’d been seduced by him, a man who, as she now believed, had never really wanted her.
And lastly she thought about Teresa DuPres Laughlin, who’d apparently seduced and conned men right and left for her own pleasure and personal gain but had ended up floating lifeless in Fort-de-France Bay.
When she came out of the shower she tugged down one of the Bakoua Beach bathrobes from its peg on the back of the bathroom door and tied it around herself. Then she stepped into the main room to find West standing on the balcony, talking on his cell phone. His room overlooked the bay where dots of lights from the myriad anchored boats gave the inky water the look of a starry sky.
Seeing her, he cut the call short and walked back inside, closing the sliding door behind him. “Victoria’s calling her lawyer to get the paperwork started to become Tucker’s guardian. She doesn’t want to hear that Aimee may have rights bestowed on her by Teresa.”
Callie didn’t immediately respond. She was too discombobulated to make plans and strategize. She felt slightly untethered, and it reminded her uncomfortably of how she’d reacted after Sean’s death.
“You look like you could use a drink,” West said. “I don’t have any wine, but I’ve got Jack Daniel’s.”
“No, thanks.”
“You sure? I’m having one.” He pulled out a glass and poured two fingers into it. Then he gazed at her again, brows raised.
The fog was threatening to overtake her and she wanted to be overtaken, but it wouldn’t be a good thing right now. Maybe a stiff drink was what she needed, so she nodded and West poured her one. She sat down on the end of the bed and he brought the glass to her, pressing it into her hands and then seating himself next to her. He smelled slightly briny, from all the time on the boat, and she inhaled deeply, wanting to clear her head. Taking a large swallow of the liquor, she let it burn down her throat. The shudder that ran through her caused her to clamp her elbows in tight, which made the robe gap at her neckline, revealing the tops of her breasts.
West couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the deep vee of skin. When he dragged his gaze upward, Callie met his eyes. They stared at each other.
“You’ve still got the bruise on your chin,” he said.
She touched a hand to her jawline, then finished the rest of her drink and leaned back on one elbow to set the empty glass down on an end table. When she looked back she saw West had finished his drink and was slowly passing the glass back and forth between his two hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not looking at her.
“For?”
“Scaring you. Attacking you.”
“I remember you kissing me.”
West inhaled slowly, then set the glass down on the floor at his feet. He turned slightly to look at her. She was lying back on both elbows.
In her mind’s eye she could already see them rolling around on this king-size bed, his hard contours pressed against her softer ones. Was that what she wanted? Yes. Definitely. But was it what he wanted?
“You think ‘Tara’ was with other men besides Egan Rivers?” she asked, more to keep herself distracted from her own thoughts than because she wanted to talk about Teresa anymore.
“I think it’s Teresa’s m.o. Depends on how long she was here. Aimee acted like she hadn’t seen her in quite a while, but then, I don’t think she and the truth are great friends.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that he’d been right in thinking there was a connection between herself and Teresa; it just wasn’t the way he’d thought it was. But her attention was focused on his face, the blue of his eyes, the beard that was darkening his chin.
“You can’t look at me that way,” he told her.
She almost asked, “What way?” but she already knew what he was seeing.
I want to gobble him up,
she thought, sensing a lifting in the fog. Her gaze shifted to his lips and he leaned down until his face was mere inches from hers.
She reached forward and ran her index finger over his lower lip.
“Oh, man . . .” he said.
“I want to feel . . . something,” she whispered.
He leaned in and kissed her hard, though she sensed that he was holding himself back. But she wasn’t interested in waiting. Right now, she just wanted to
feel.
Running a hand around his neck, she drew him forward. His tongue touched her lips and she opened them and gave entry, falling onto her back at the same time, forcing him to lean over her.
“Is this . . . ?” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“What?”
“What you want?”
For an answer she brought his mouth to hers again, and then he was atop her and pulling the tie of her robe free. A moment later he was drawing a line of warm kisses down her throat and between her breasts.
She squeezed her eyes closed, willing her brain to stop, reveling in the moment. She was sick of being sad, broken, and lost, and she was glad she’d found him, and Tucker, and a reason to start again. She wanted West to make love to her. Right now. And for it to go on and on forever!
She felt the scratch of his beard tickle and tease her neck. She inhaled deeply from the top of his head as she threaded her fingers into his thick hair. Letting out a groan, he slowly levered himself up to take in her naked body lying atop the white, open robe.
Quietly she moved forward, reached for the bottom of his shirt. She yanked it free and helped pull it over West’s head. Hard, tan muscles that slid beneath his skin begged to be touched. Running her hand slowly from his chest down to his flat abs, she paused at his belt buckle, her eyes sliding up to meet his. He was tense, holding back, letting her set the pace. It gave her a power she hadn’t expected, a thrill Jonathan had never let her experience. Pulling his belt buckle free, she smashed her lips to his and they both fell back onto the bed. His urgent kisses left a trail of fire down her neck and chest, and she squirmed beneath him as he sucked one taut nipple into his mouth.
“Please . . .” she moaned.
She heard the tearing of foil and wanted to almost laugh at the craziness that had engulfed her. Protection was the furthest thing from her mind. Then she felt his weight shift back toward her. A warm, liquid sensation began to fill her as he gently eased himself inside. She ran her inner thighs up the side of his hips and wrapped her legs around him as she began to slowly match his rhythmic thrusts. Her hands gripped his taut back, pulling him nearer, needing his closeness. Faster and faster. Her body shivered and suddenly she was there, sensation exploding in her core, shooting through her. She heard him groan and then shudder within her, collapsing against her, their twin heartbeats galloping madly.
“My God,” he expelled.
“Exactly my thoughts,” she said, and they both felt each other’s silent laughter.
Daniella drove the Xterra out of the LAX parking lot, griping a bit under her breath at the amount she had to pay to the bored woman at the booth, and also about the damn pain in the butt it had been to find the vehicle. She’d had to keep pressing the panic button on the remote. She could hear it, but it wasn’t close enough to see at first, and she suffered the annoyed stares of other people in the lot. Well, screw them. She’d been pissed off about being left out of the trip to Miami and then, on top of it, to have to locate the SUV that Teresa had just abandoned . . . well, it just wasn’t fair.
It was after ten before she got back to the house, and then she walked around for a few minutes, frustrated, anxious, and annoyed. Always, she was the one left behind to mop up. Always.
She wanted to get laid. That’s what she wanted. And if it wasn’t going to be Andre, maybe some nameless guy at a bar. She didn’t have a mark like the rest of them. Oh, no. That wasn’t her job. So, she didn’t have a regular sex life. In fact, she damn near didn’t have any sex life at all.
Her thoughts about finishing the job Teresa had started with Robert Lumpkin faded away. She was tired of doing things for other people. She needed something for herself.
Snatching up the keys to the Xterra, she headed toward the strip of bars along the beach in Venice where she’d first met Andre.
An hour after making love, Callie still lay cradled against West. He was lying on his back and her arm was thrown around him, her cheek pressed against the skin of his chest, softly prickled by the whorls of hair she couldn’t see in the darkness. She never wanted the moment to end. Stretching languidly, she tried to remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed and couldn’t. The fog had lifted, but she sensed it hovering just outside. When she thought about Teresa’s body, it grew closer, but being here with West kept it away.
She needed to tell West what she’d remembered about Jonathan, but she almost didn’t want to. She didn’t want to alter anything between them. Making love hadn’t been anything she’d planned on, especially not to a man she’d only known a few days, but now she didn’t want anything to destroy this new and fragile joy.
But nothing good would come from putting off the inevitable either.
“West,” she said.
His hand lifted to smooth her crown. “Mmm-hmm.”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“When I first met Jonathan, he called out to me like he knew me. He called me a name, and I wasn’t sure what it was until today. It was . . . Teresa.”
She felt him tense. “What do you mean?”
“I think he knew Teresa. When he called out to me, I wasn’t sure whether he said ‘Teresa’ or ‘Marissa,’ or something else, because he moved right on when he realized he’d made a mistake. He never explained, and I never thought too much about it. Then you called me Teresa, and I don’t know, it kick-started my memory.”