The Virgin Mistress (19 page)

When her shoulders slumped and tears glistened in her eyes, Joe found himself almost feeling sorry for her. There'd been a time in their marriage when he would have stepped around the table and taken her into his arms at the first sign of tears from her, but not anymore. He'd been stung too many times by her sharp tongue over the last nine years to risk that again.

Instead, he stayed where he was and lifted a dark brow at her. “So where are you going?”

With a flip of an invisible switch, her mood brightened. “Palm Springs,” she said promptly. “Carly Templeton told me about a wonderful new spa that just opened two weeks ago, and I thought I would try it out.”

Carly Templeton was the wife of a California congressman and the most shallow woman Joe had ever met. And she and Meredith were thick as thieves. Normally, he had little good to say about her, but if she was the one who'd given Meredith the idea for this sudden trip, he'd have to be nice to her the next time he saw her. He needed some time to himself.

Immediately feeling guilty at the thought, he said quietly, “When are you leaving?”

“In a few moments,” she retorted. “I've already told the boys goodbye and had Marco put my bags in the car.”

Not surprised that he was the last to know, Joe would have laughed if the situation hadn't have been so pitiful. And he was feeling guilty? Like hell! “Have a good time,” he growled, gathering his paper and rising to his feet. “I'll see you when you get back.”

Oh, she was going to have a good time, all right, Patsy thought with a wicked gleam in her eyes as he walked out. She was going to be sinfully pampered at the spa for an ungodly amount of his money. But first she had to stop in L.A. for a meeting. She'd arranged with the hitman
who would take care of dear, precious Emily once and for all. By the time she came home, she, at least, would no longer be a problem.

Grinning, she grabbed her purse and keys, and within moments, she was behind the wheel of her newest present to herself, a sporty little BMW, and on her way to Palm Springs. She hadn't felt this good in a long time.

 

An hour later, wearing a curly black wig and a pair of dark sunglasses, Patsy drove into one of the seediest neighborhoods in L.A. The place looked like a war zone. Windows were broken out of vacant, run-down buildings, trash littered the streets, and hopelessness and bitterness permeated the area.

Checking the address she'd written down on a small piece of paper that she intended to burn later, she smiled in satisfaction. This was the place. Now all she had to do was find her man. It wouldn't be difficult. She had his name, but only an idiot would ask for Silas “Snake Eyes” Pike by name. He was a hitman, for God's sake. A man like that didn't advertise his identity. She didn't need anyone to point him out anyway. The description she had of him was very clear. Medium height, long brown hair, mustache and goatee, mean eyes. He wouldn't be easy to miss.

And neither would she, especially in a bar in this part of town. With its windows painted black and a front door that had two dead bolts, the place was dark and dangerous looking and obviously didn't cater to a high class of clientele. Checking her image in her rearview mirrors, she noted the cheap cubic zirconium in her ears and grinned. She wasn't stupid enough to wear the good stuff to a joint where she was likely to get knocked over the head, but no one inside would know that. Pike would see the flash
and sparkle and think she had the dough to pay for services rendered. And hopefully, he'd be so busy looking at the jewelry and the money she intended to flash around that he'd never take a good look at her face. The last thing she wanted was for him or anyone else to identify her later. Satisfied that that wasn't going to happen, she adjusted her wig, grabbed her purse and strolled inside.

When she'd set up the meeting, she'd hoped the bar would be fairly deserted at eleven o'clock in the morning. It wasn't. A rough-looking group sat at the bar, and they all looked up at her entrance. Swearing under her breath, she prayed none of them could see through her disguise, then glanced around for her man.

As arranged, he was seated at a table by himself in the far corner. He wasn't quite what she'd expected—although he had a wiry build, he also had a pronounced beer belly—but she didn't need brawn for this job, she needed ruthlessness. And Silas “Snake Eyes” Pike seemed to have that in spades.

He wasn't handsome—not by a long shot. The top of his head was bald in spite of the long, sandy-brown ponytail that hung down his back, and the Fu-Manchu style mustache and goatee he wore were hardly flattering. There was Native American blood somewhere in his heritage—it was stamped all over the strong lines of his face—but it was his nearly black, close-set eyes that convinced Patsy he was just the man she needed for the job. He looked as mean as she'd been told he was. And in his eyes, she recognized him for what he was. An ex-con. She'd seen that look too many times during her own time behind bars not to know it when she saw it.

Sensing a kindred spirit, she sauntered over to him and took a seat next to him, greeting him with the prearranged
passwords that would identify her to him. “Hey, stranger, can I buy you a drink?”

His dark eyes narrowed speculatively, he looked her over for all of two seconds, then nodded curtly. “You look like you can afford it.”

“Oh, I can,” she purred, tossing the curly strands of her wig back so he could catch the glitter of the fake diamonds in her ears. “Bartender, bring him another and I'll have the same.”

Waiting until their drinks were set before them and the bartender walked away, she lifted a delicately arched brow. “So when'd you get out?”

He didn't pretend to misunderstand what she was asking. “Six months. So what's the job you've got for me?”

Patsy hadn't wanted to chance talking about it on the phone, but she'd been assured by the contact that had set her up with Pike that he would do anything if the price was right.

“Murder,” she said quietly. “I've heard you've done it before.”

Silas almost snorted at that. So she thought he was a hit man. Yeah he could do that. Puffing out his chest, he lied like he'd been doing all his life. “You're damn straight. Who do you think the Giovanni family called on to take out Big Eddy Jones down in San Diego? They knew I could do it clean and their name would never come into it.”

“You did a hit for the mob? And did time for it?”

“I'm not that stupid,” he growled. “I told you I did it clean. That was six years ago and the cops still don't have a clue who knocked off Big Eddy. It was my old lady who sent me to the pen. She was mad and turned me in for car theft and armed robbery.”

It was his own ineptitude that landed him in prison, but
that was nobody's business but his own. If the rich bitch didn't have the sense to check him out and get her facts straight, that was her problem. “So what's this job pay?”

Opening her purse, she gave a glimpse of the ten thousand dollars stuffed in there. “That's just the down payment. You get the rest when the job's done.”

Patsy knew she was taking a risk, showing him the money before he'd agreed to do the job, but this was an experienced hit man, for God's sake! He wasn't going to agree to commit murder for her without knowing for sure she had the money to pay.

“So,” she asked, “are you interested or not?”

“It depends,” he retorted. “You're not a cop, are you?”

Alarm bells clanged in Patsy's head. What kind of Einstein was he? If she'd been a cop working some kind of sting operation, she certainly wouldn't have admitted it! Doubts pulled at her, and for a second, she considered backing out. But she was anxious to conclude her business so she could get out of there and enjoy her vacation in Palm Springs, and she wanted Emily taken care of, dammit! He was just the type of man she'd hoped to find for the job—cold and experienced and willing to do anything for a price. If he wasn't very bright, so what. All he had to know was how to pull the trigger of a gun.

“Of course I'm not a cop. Do I look like one of those slimy bastards? I just need someone to do a job for me and it's not something I can put an ad in the paper for.”

“Then it looks like I'm your man. Who you want whacked?”

Just that easily, they had a deal. Thrilled, Patsy moved her chair closer to his. “Her name's Emily Blair….”

D
amn, she was good!

Soaking in the hot tub on her private patio at the spa, Patsy leaned her head back against the rim of the tub and sipped at her champagne, satisfaction oozing from every pore of her body. She and Snakes Eyes had worked out a plan to knock off that irritating little bitch, Emily. She didn't want to know the details, just that the only person who could link her to the accident when she'd switched lives with Meredith had finally been eliminated.

She would be safe then, she thought with a sigh of relief. Even Snake Eyes wouldn't be a threat to her. Once he'd done his job, she'd pay him the balance she owed him and be done with him.

Delighted with herself, she downed her champagne and poured herself another. She'd covered all her bases. She was home free. Only Meredith herself could destroy her now, and the odds on that happening after all this time
were slim to none. If her memory hadn't come back after nine years, it wasn't going to.

Still, Patsy knew better than to leave anything to chance, which was why she'd hired Ed Garrison, a private investigator from L.A., to track down her sister. She hadn't told him the truth, of course. How could she? All he'd needed to know was her
sister,
Patsy Portman, had once been confined at the St. James Clinic for Mental Health in Monterey, and she—the real Meredith, she assured herself—had lost touch with her after her release.

All she'd wanted him to do was find
Patsy,
that was all. It was a simple enough request. Or so she'd thought. But she'd hired him over a year ago and still had nothing to show for it. Dammit, what the hell was the man doing? Sitting on his hands in his office, while she paid him a fortune to do nothing? Her sister was out there somewhere. Why the hell hadn't he found her?

Frustrated, she wanted to kick herself for leaving so early that morning. Ed's progress report should have come in the afternoon mail. If she'd just waited…

So call him, a voice in her head urged. You're paying him. You don't have to wait for a damn report to find out what's going on. Call him.

Crawling out of the tub, she wrapped one of the spa's thick, luxurious towels around herself and retrieved her small address book from her purse. Ten seconds later she had Ed on the phone and wasted little time with a greeting. “This is Meredith Colton. Have you found my sister?”

“Oh, Mrs. Colton! Didn't you get my report?”

“I'm in Palm Springs,” she said shortly. “Give it to me on the phone. You didn't find her, did you?”

“It's not for lack of trying,” he said defensively. “You have to remember, it's been years. This is a very old trail,
people that might have known Ms. Portman may have moved away or even died. It's like trying to grab a shadow.”

“That's not my problem,” she said silkily. “I'm paying you an ungodly amount of money to find my sister. If you value your license, you'll damn well quit making excuses and do your job.”

She wasn't a woman who made idle threats, and Edward Garrison was well aware of that. “I warned you that there were no guarantees,” he said stiffly. “I'm making arrangements to go to Mississippi and check out the address you gave me, but I wanted to run down a few leads I had here before I left.”

“Leads? What leads? You just said the trail was cold.”

“I thought it was. The clinic is very protective of its patients' privacy. The staff wouldn't even admit that Patsy had been a patient there at one time. And that's made my job very difficult. I didn't know when she was released, who her doctors were, if she was transferred to another mental health facility, or what. So I started digging around and finally came across an old newspaper article about Dr. Michael Harper, the director of the St. James Clinic.”

“But what good is that? He's the director, for God's sake. He's not going to tell you any more than the rest of the staff.”

“He
was
the director,” he corrected her. “He retired back in 1995. I figured he had to know something about your sister, but he moved around the country in a motor home after he retired, and discovering where he landed hasn't been easy. I finally located him in Albuquerque, and it turns out that he was more than willing to talk about Patsy. She was quite an interesting case, and he'd always wondered what happened to her since she was still suf
fering from amnesia when she was released from the clinic.”

“And?” she demanded, impatient with the self-serving P.I.

“Dr. Harper was quite amazed, as were the other doctors. When she was first transferred to the clinic from prison, she was suffering from anxiety and depression, not to mention extreme mood swings and psychotic behavior. I don't know if you know it or not, but patients with those kind of mental problems don't usually recover. But not only did your sister recover in a remarkably short time, she didn't need medication to stabilize her condition. That's unheard of.”

The last thing Patsy wanted to hear was praise about Meredith. Hadn't it always been like that? she thought bitterly. Meredith was so smart, so pretty, so
sweet.
Even when she was living
her
life, she did it better than she did. God, she hated her!

“I don't care about any of that,” she said angrily. “All I care about is finding her.”

“I understand that, Mrs. Colton,” Ed said. “But the news isn't all bad. Even though your sister was still suffering from amnesia when she left the clinic, Dr. Harper was very encouraged that she would eventually recover her full memory. She was already having vivid dreams and flashbacks. Her mind is just waiting for something to trigger the rest. It's just a matter of time till she remembers who she is. Perhaps then she'll come looking for you.”

He only meant to reassure her—deep down inside, Patsy knew that—but that did little to quell the panic that seized her by the throat. Dear God, what if she'd already remembered? What if right this minute, Meredith was making her way back to Prosperino to reclaim her life and
destroy everything she, Patsy, had worked for all these years? She would lose Joe, Jr. and Teddy…and go back to prison.

No! she cried silently. She wasn't going to stand by and let that happen. This was
her
life, not Meredith's, dammit, and she wasn't letting her have it back. She'd kill her first. And this time she wouldn't chicken out because she was her oh-so-sweet twin sister. After all, it wasn't as if she'd never killed before. She'd taken care of Ellis, hadn't she, when he'd taken something from her that wasn't his to take? And then there was Joe. Ever since she'd messed up with Graham and gotten pregnant, he'd only tolerated her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he found a way to get rid of her. So she'd planned to do it first. If he'd just taken a sip of his champagne first….

“Mrs. Colton? Are you still there? You do still want me to go to Mississippi, don't you?”

Jerked back from her drifting thoughts, she said coldly, “Of course. Just keep a low profile. If Patsy's there and hears someone is looking for her, she's going to take off like a scared rabbit and we may never find her again.”

“Then I'll make arrangements to leave tomorrow,” he replied. “I'll keep you apprised of my progress in my reports.”

“You'd better damn well call me the second you discover her whereabouts, Garrison. I don't want to hear about it in any stupid report.”

“As you wish,” he said curtly, and hung up without another word.

Patsy didn't care. She'd gotten her point across to the jackass—he would do things her way or he'd be out of a job! Not that that gave her much satisfaction. Meredith was still out there somewhere, walking around loose like a time bomb that could go off at any second. If she re
covered her memory before Patsy could find her and eliminate her, she would destroy everything.

Enraged at the thought, Patsy whirled and threw the phone across the room, uncaring that it slammed into a Waterford vase and shattered it. Dammit, she fumed, where the hell was her sister?

 

Just as Dr. Harper had recommended all those years ago when she'd walked away from the St. James Clinic without a backward glance, Louise had found a way to let go of the past she didn't remember. She was going on with her life. Her days had settled into a comfortable, pleasant sameness, and although she couldn't say she was wildly happy, she was content. She loved her job, and at the end of the day, she went home to her house and her garden and Sparrow, her tabby Persian cat.

That didn't, however, mean she wasn't lonely. She was still having bad dreams, and at the suggestion of Dr. Wilkes, she'd accepted a date with Lucas Koffman, one of the teachers at the university, in the hope that another step forward in her life might help her get past the tragedy of her nightmares. Tonight was the big night. They were going out to dinner, and as she hurried home from school to change into something more appropriate for a dinner date, she didn't mind admitting she was nervous. It had been a long time since she'd been out with anyone. Maybe one day she'd know just how long.

“Hi, girl,” she said, greeting Sparrow with a quick scratch behind one of her scarred ears. “I don't have time to stay and talk today—tonight's a big night—but I've got something special for your dinner. Hang on and I'll get it.” Louise dumped the contents of the can into her bowl.

Her heart pounding at the thought of her own dinner, she hurried upstairs to take a quick shower, then slipped
into a black-and-white dress that was perfect for a night out at a romantic restaurant. She didn't know where Lucas was taking her, but she didn't doubt that there would be candlelight and soft music. That was just the kind of man Lucas was. He had been asking her out for some time, without success, and now that she was giving him a chance, he would make the most of it.

And that was all right, she told herself as she dabbed her favorite perfume at her pulse points. She'd been alone for so long. Dr. Wilkes was right. It was time she took a step away from the past and into the future. She'd been dreaming of having someone in her life for a long time. Maybe Lucas was that man.

When her doorbell rang ten minutes later, her heart jumped in her breast, but her smile was open and friendly as she opened the door to him. “Hi! You're right on time.”

“I didn't want to give you an excuse for backing out if I was late,” he said with a grin. “You look beautiful.”

A blush tinged her cheeks. She couldn't be sure, but she didn't think she had ever been a woman who spent a lot of time in front of the mirror. Still, she appreciated the compliment. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I wasn't sure what to wear. You didn't say where we were going.”

“The Black Swan,” he said, naming one of the most romantic restaurants in Jackson. “I thought I'd give it my best shot.”

He was so honest, she had to laugh. “You're off to a good start, but you really don't have to wine and dine me like I'm some kind of princess, Lucas. I'd be just as happy with a hamburger.”

“So we'll go to McDonald's on our second date,” he replied, winking at her. “Tomorrow night.”

That set the tone for the evening. The Black Swan was
everything that Louise had heard it was, but in spite of the fact that the restaurant couldn't have been more romantic, the atmosphere was really wasted on the two of them. Instead of gazing into each other's eyes and softly sharing confidences, they talked about friends at work, politics, movies they had both seen. Anyone seeing them together would have thought they'd known each other forever.

And that was exactly how Louise felt…like he was an old friend she was comfortable with. Nothing more, nothing less. She thoroughly enjoyed his company and truly did like him. But to her surprise, she discovered that she really wasn't interested in getting romantically involved with him or anyone else. And she didn't have a clue why.

“So,” Lucas said as they finished their dessert and each had another cup of coffee, “what time should I pick you up tomorrow night? We can go to the McDonald's over on James Street.”

Louise smiled. She had to give him credit. If she'd been the slightest bit attracted to him as a man, instead of a friend, he would have had her right then. “That was really smooth,” she said with twinkling eyes.

“I try.”

“Oh, I'm aware of that,” she said dryly. “And you're really good at it. But unless you're just looking for a buddy to share a Big Mac with, you might want to ask another woman.”

Truly surprised, he blinked. “But why? Aren't you having a good time?”

He looked so wounded that she felt like a heel. “Are you kidding? I can't remember the last time I had so much fun. And that's the problem.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She hadn't told anyone at school about her amnesia,
but she could trust him to protect her privacy. Her smile fading, she said quietly, “I can't remember anything about my past, Lucas. My doctors diagnosed it as trauma-induced amnesia, though no one knows what trauma I suffered.”

Somber, he didn't try to hide his surprise. “You don't remember
anything?
”

“Only what my doctors have told me. I turned up at a clinic in California where I was recognized, and the staff was able to tell me something about my past. It wasn't pretty.”

“My God, that must have been hell! When was this?”

“Nine years ago.” He didn't, thankfully, push her for any more details, and she could have kissed him for that. “And you're right—it was hell. Sometimes it still is. I don't know who I am, who I was. And even though I can give you the background information the hospital had on me, that woman was a stranger to me. She did some horrible things, things I can't imagine doing. I can't ask a man to be a part of my life when I don't even know just how bad a person I was. For all I know, I could be married! So until I can remember, I've got to be alone.”