Читать книгу Borrowed Identity - Kasi Blake - Страница 10

“Kelly.”

The whispered name pulled Kelly Hall out of her blissful sleep. At first she thought it was her husband calling to her. Husband. What an odd word. Married for mere hours as she was, it was going to take some getting used to. She smiled serenely, her eyes closed.

Her hand went to the other side of the bed, reaching for him, and found it empty. She forced her heavy eyelids open a slit, enough to see the illuminated numbers on the clock. Just minutes past four in the morning. Panic shot through her, setting every nerve ending on a razor’s edge. Where in the world could Michael be?

Her memory sported holes the size of baseballs, but not enough to keep her from remembering she was a married woman. Nothing short of brain damage could make her forget that.

She switched on the lamp and stared at the vacant side of the bed. There wasn’t even a telltale dip in the pillow to signify Michael had rested his head next to hers last night.

Her lips twisted into a grimace. Three generations of her family had lived in Moore House and not one had had a happy ending. She had been raised on stories of curses and doomed love. Everyone in the small town of Tinkerton, Kansas, knew about the legends of Moore House. Only the truly morbid and superstitious considered them fact.

Kelly didn’t believe the rumors surrounding her home. Michael hadn’t been carried off by a goblin in the dead of night. He was somewhere in the house, possibly the bathroom. Or maybe he was in the kitchen getting a snack.

She struggled to her feet in the enormous master bedroom, wobbling slightly. A wave of dizziness washed over her. Her stomach churned and her head throbbed painfully. Fearing she was about to be sick, Kelly headed for the master bath.

Halfway to her intended destination, she spotted her reflection in the vanity mirror out of the corner of her eye. A streamlined white satin-and-lace gown hugged her body like a mummy wrap. Why had she slept in her wedding dress?

She frowned as she struggled to recall going to bed, but her memory was a blank. She took a long look at the facts. Michael hadn’t made love to her. It didn’t make sense. He’d been so insistent they marry at once instead of next month as per the original plan. Why would he walk out on her, leaving her an untouched bride?

Who would want you?

She shoved the haunting words aside, knowing they must have come from a dream. Michael wouldn’t say such a hurtful thing to her.

Her rush to get to the bathroom forgotten, Kelly crossed the cold hardwood floor to the closet. She wanted to get out of her grandmother’s wedding gown, hang it up before it was ruined. Later, she would have it professionally packed once again.

She opened the door and reached for a hanger.

Michael was hiding in the closet like a ghoul ready to pounce.

Gasping in fright, she nearly jumped out of her own skin. “Michael! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Nervous laughter bubbled up in her throat.

Kelly moved closer and the other side of his face came into view.

Blood formed an intricate design on his cheek, around his eye. The red lines wove a pattern over the hard planes, starting deep in his hairline and ending at the base of his jaw. Droplets rained down on his blue chambray shirt.

She screamed and reached for him, grasping the front of his shirt in her desperation to hold him.

The body had been propped against the door but now it rocked as if disturbed by her outburst. He fell forward. Kelly jumped sideways to avoid the crashing body and tripped over the bottom of her dress.

Her head bounced against the hardwood. Pain shot from the back of her skull to the sensitive point just below her eyes. She wanted to scream, but only managed a small whimper.

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, but she couldn’t isolate one long enough to focus on it.

Her husband was dead. She didn’t need to check his pulse to know for certain. His unblinking eyes confirmed what she felt in her gut.

He’d been murdered.

Kelly pressed her back against the wall, using it as leverage to raise herself up. Her eyes refused to blink or to stray from Michael’s body. Taking a deep breath, she bolted out of the bedroom, running as if the devil were on her heels.

The long hallway yawned before her, riddled with doors. Every bad nightmare she’d ever suffered sprang to mind, visions of killers hiding in the shadows and waiting for their next victims. What if the killer was in her house?

She stopped.

Her feet froze as if glued to the blood-red carpet that lined the several intersecting hallways. In her mind she saw the path she would take. She planned her route quickly, begging her legs to move. Fortunately, she knew the house, every inch of it, by heart. It didn’t matter that the corridor was windowless. She didn’t need the moon’s light to find her way out.

All she had to do was run down the hallway and turn left along another long, dark passageway. Eventually she would make it to the dual winding staircases that led up from the foyer, meeting on the second floor in front of an illuminated stained glass window.

Once she made it down the stairs, she would be safe.

Breathing hard, she silently screamed at her legs to move. They trembled beneath her, but she forced them to obey. Somehow she was going to make it to the front door.

She turned at the next hallway intersection and stopped again. A shadowy figure moved out of one of the rooms. It pulled the door shut. A flash of lightning escaped through the crack between wall and door, illuminating his features.

Michael?

She screamed.

Michael’s ghost turned in her direction and started straight for her. His hands stretched out before him as if he wanted to choke her.

Blackness shrouded her. She fell and her eyes rolled back, seeking the darkness. Her body turned to vapor. She collapsed into a pair of strong arms.

KELLY WOKE SLOWLY, drifting through several layers from dream to reality until she was fully conscious. A horrible vision of Michael popped into her head. He was dead, then he was alive. She’d seen him in the hallway coming out of his bedroom. Her heart thundered like a dozen horses galloping down the homestretch.

Drawing a deep breath, she took a personal inventory of herself. She was under the covers in her own bed, wearing a T-shirt instead of a wedding gown. But her relief was short-lived. Michael wasn’t anywhere in sight. Fear clotted her throat as nightmarish images surfaced. Her eyes strayed to the closet door.

It was closed.

She struggled out of bed, holding on to the mattress until her feet were firmly on the ground. As if drawn by a magnetic force, she went to the closet door. Each step was a silent march into madness. Her fingers trembled on the cold knob. It turned slowly in her grasp. She held her breath and tugged, automatically preparing to scream.

The door opened to reveal her wardrobe. Nothing sinister, just a full rack of clothing and a line of shoes at the bottom. She took a moment to search for blood, but she didn’t look very hard—partly because she didn’t think she would find any, partly because she feared she might.

Kelly left her bedroom in a rush to find Michael. A small doubt would linger until she saw him for herself. Only then could she be sure he was safe.

She stopped at the top of the double staircase and glanced up at the stained glass, unable to avoid it. An angel towered over her, shielding two young children beneath her cloak. It was meant to signify protection. However, something about the depiction of the angel made Kelly uneasy. Its eyes were dark and stormy, filled with something akin to hatred.

Kelly tore her gaze away from the haunting picture. She glanced over the hand-carved banister to the massive foyer below. The floor was marble, a shiny, almost transparent stone that reflected light from the crystal chandelier. The double staircase curved up both sides of the semicircular room. There were cutaway arches descending with the stairs, arches that held statues of Greek gods and noblemen. The statues, like everything else in Moore House, were old and chipped. Small lights behind each statue illuminated them at night.

The foyer had four doors, one per wall, beginning with the sturdy entrance, a thick door with two deadbolt locks and an old-fashioned brass knob. The parlor was directly to the right and the kitchen to the left. Both rooms were connected to the hallways that led to various rooms such as the formal dining room, the study and the billiard room. All were sadly withering from lack of use.

Below the point at which the two staircases met, underneath the stained glass, a pair of doors blocked the entrance to the library. The library, Kelly’s favorite room, was designed by a genius in her opinion. The walls curved slightly, yet held reams of books along endless shelves to form a complete oval. The library was the largest room in the house, built on a grand scale that would have pleased the wealthiest of kings. It was the only ground level room that didn’t have a second floor above it. The ceilings reached high to form a dome. The stained glass angel, a mirror image of it, stood high above the doors with a lightbulb attached to the top, a light that glowed day and night.

The second floor mainly housed bedrooms and bathrooms. There were a few small exceptions, like the sewing room.

The third floor had three short staircases. One led to the attic and the other two went to the long, rectangular ballroom. Both rooms were locked as far as Kelly knew.

She hesitated, hearing a noise.

Michael entered the foyer and stood near the bottom of the stairs. Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, he turned hard brown eyes in her direction. They were cold, holding what appeared to be a trace of contempt. For a long breathless moment he seemed a total stranger to her.

She sucked in a painful breath, wanting to flee to the safety of her bedroom.

Instead Kelly wrapped her arms around her body. A chill swept over her, and she felt vulnerable standing there in nothing but a long T-shirt. They were married now and she shouldn’t feel awkward. But she did. Michael had only seen her fully clothed before. Their dates had ended with chaste kisses. He’d been a perfect gentleman, not trying to push her further than she was willing to go.

Now his insolent eyes raked over her seminude body. The desire in his gaze was easy to define, but there was something else she couldn’t identify. The unfamiliar expression on his face frightened her.

She took an awkward step backward, desperately wanting to go to her room and dress properly before attempting a conversation with him. Forever the klutz, she tripped over her own feet and bumped into the wall.

Michael raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His expression had turned to concern. Gone was the cold stranger, replaced by the old warmth of Michael Taggert.

“Careful,” he said, catching her by the arms and steadying her.

“You’re here.” It was the only thing she could think of to say.

“You were expecting somebody else?” The harmless smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Santa Claus, perhaps?”

He bent forward, placing cool lips on her forehead, branding her with fire. His fingers momentarily tightened like steel clamps on her shoulders.

“I wasn’t sure you were here.” She shivered, picturing Michael’s bloody face. “I was afraid something had happened to you.”

“Why?” He pulled her pliant body into his arms, holding her against his solid chest. He stroked her back. Obviously he wanted to comfort her, to reassure her.

So why did his touch have the opposite effect?

“It was…I saw you… Never mind,” she said.

“Bad dream?”

“Horrible.” She cringed at the memory of it, not understanding how her own mind could invent something so awful. “You were dead. You’d been murdered and placed inside the closet.”

“Do you know who killed me?” His eyes sharpened on her upturned face. “Did you see them?”

She laughed nervously, thinking he was making a joke, but he seemed serious. He wanted the awful details of her nightmare. His interest in the morbid dream filled her with dread. Some things were better left in the dark.

“No,” she replied. “After I found you in the closet, I raced down the hallway. Then I saw you coming out of your bedroom.”

“You thought I was in the closet?” Michael frowned at her as if he thought she was losing her mind.

“You were,” she insisted. “But you were in the hallway, too.” She rolled her eyes. “Now that I’ve said it, I can hear how ridiculous it sounds. It seemed so real at the time.”

“Dreams usually do.”

Changing the subject, she asked, “Why didn’t you wake me this morning?”

“Was I supposed to?” He shrugged. “I figured you needed the rest.”

“I don’t know what to say to you.”

Kelly walked away, needing time to plan her next words. She didn’t want to embarrass herself. Thinking about time reminded her that she hadn’t fixed her father’s favorite clock in days.

She descended the stairs, crossed the foyer and stepped into the parlor. The room had been decorated by her grandmother in dark colors and antiques before Kelly had taken her first breath. Kelly was reluctant to change anything. There was no need for her to redecorate, seeing that she seldom used the room, anyway. In fact there were only a few rooms in the house that she did occupy on a regular basis. Her bedroom and bath, of course. Also, the kitchen, and once in a great while she used the library.

The parlor’s high cathedral ceiling boasted a mural of a cloudy sky. Three windows with arches over them stood tall, nearly but not quite reaching the ceiling. They were concealed with heavy, dark green draperies. Not much sunlight filtered into the parlor. Her grandmother had preferred it that way.

Most of the furniture, all original pieces from her grandmother’s day, hid beneath dusty sheets now. When Kelly felt like sitting down, she went into the library or out to the solarium. Since she didn’t employ a staff there wasn’t anyone to help her keep the place clean.

Kelly went to the old grandfather clock, opened it and moved the minute hand to the correct time. The timepiece ran a bit slow, but it still worked. She had been brought up to value family heirlooms and some day she might have the clock fixed.

Kelly performed the task of setting the time in an effort to avoid looking directly at Michael. She couldn’t allow him to see the tears of confusion swimming in her eyes. Being near him made her nervous. It didn’t make sense to her. Michael had put her at ease with a simple smile, but that same smile chilled her now.

“I thought things would be different between us today. Why didn’t you make love to me last night?”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.” He closed in on her, cutting off her escape route. His fingers caressed the slope of her neck.

A thousand tiny tingles shot through her body.

She turned to face him, purposely knocking his hand away. The parlor seemed smaller than usual, almost as if the huge room was closing in on her. Tension kept her body rigid. She needed answers, even if they hurt.

“I may not be as worldly as you, but I do know that men make love to their brides on their wedding night.” She stared at the top button of his jersey rather than meeting his gaze, embarrassed by her own words and a bit resentful that she should have to say anything. “Didn’t you want to?”

“Okay,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead as if he, too, had a headache. “Let’s start over. From the top.”

“I want to know if I made a mistake last night.”

“What do you mean?”

Kelly counted to ten under her breath. She had known Michael for only three months. He had appeared out of nowhere. One day she’d been returning from a visit with her neighbor Margo Lane, and Michael had been standing on her front porch, peeking through the window. She neither liked nor trusted visitors, but Michael was different. He was charming, too charming, and he seemed to honestly enjoy her company. He was working on a book about infamous houses and the stories behind them. Of course he’d wanted to know about Moore House, but she was reluctant to tell him anything. The last thing she needed were more visitors and a book like his would bring them in droves. They would trample over her flower garden, invade her privacy and basically disrupt her whole life. Michael had agreed to drop the idea, but his interest in her seemed to grow with each passing day, no matter what she said to dissuade him. He’d pursued her with flowers and gifts, using one smooth line after another until she’d agreed to marry him.

“Last night, out of the blue, you begged me to elope with you—”

“Begged?” He interrupted her, a look of pure arrogance transforming his handsome features. “I don’t beg, sweetheart.”

If she didn’t know better, she would think she was talking to a complete stranger. His gorgeous face hadn’t changed. He had the same square jaw, the same chiseled nose and sculpted cheekbones. The change was in the eyes. They were the same deep brown, like warm brandy, but they seemed different, wary, as if they were holding dark secrets. Why hadn’t she noticed it before?

“You said you couldn’t live without me. You dared me to throw caution to the wind and elope with you.” Her forehead wrinkled with the memory. “You had everything ready. You brought my grandmother’s wedding gown down from the attic.”

“Your grandmother’s wedding gown?”

“You had a ring and a dozen white roses. You even had a minister from Kansas City.”

He shook his head. “A minister?”

“Stop repeating everything I say!” Hands on her hips, she exclaimed, “You weren’t like this before. You were nice to me. More than nice. You told me you couldn’t wait to marry me, and wanted to do it right away.” She blinked away the tears. “Why are you treating me like this? You said you loved me.”

Michael held his hands up and she thought he was going to surrender, admit to the joke, but his words took her on a twisted detour. “Look at your hand. Where’s the ring? Where’s the dress? Where’s your proof?”

She glanced down at her left hand, finding the fingers completely bare. Another realization hit her. When she had looked inside the closet that morning, her gown hadn’t been there. In fact, she hadn’t seen it since the nightmare.

She stepped across the parlor and plopped down on the sofa, questioning her own sanity.

“This is not happening,” she mumbled. “I didn’t imagine getting married. It was real. I remember every detail.”

“Relax,” Michael said, hovering over her. “Nothing to get upset about. It was just a dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream, dammit!”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting to all this?”

“Let me get this straight,” she said with a sigh. “We didn’t get married last night? We didn’t elope?”

“No,” he said with a firm shake of his head. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “But there’s got to be a logical explanation for your confusion. Did you drink any alcohol last night? Are you taking any medication?”

“I took a couple sleeping pills,” she admitted. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Why not?”

“You know why!” She glared at him. “The house has been making more noises than usual. It keeps me awake, and I was tired. I took the pills before you asked me to marry you.”

“Listen to yourself. Why would I ask you to marry me so late at night? And why would you say yes when you’d just downed a couple sleeping pills?”

“I don’t know,” Kelly said. He was right. She would have to be messed up to say yes to a proposal that late at night, and when she was so tired. But she remembered him pushing her to do so. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. “It seemed so real.”

“You suffered an unfortunate side effect from a drug. It happens.”

Could it be that simple? She grabbed on to the explanation, desperate to believe. Relief spread through her like rays of warm sunshine. She wasn’t losing her mind.

“Maybe your pills reacted with something else in your system,” he said. “It would also explain why you’re feeling poorly this morning.”

She felt silly. She would have to be more careful with medication in the future.

“I’m going to go upstairs and take a shower,” she announced. “I need to get dressed.”

“Okay.” Michael said, with a pleased smile on his handsome face. That smile lit up every corner of her heart. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”

“We’re still getting married, right?” She watched his expression carefully, looking for revulsion. “Next month? Like we planned?”

“Just like we planned.”

She was being a total idiot, doubting him when he hadn’t given her reason to. What sort of wife would she make if she couldn’t trust the man she was marrying?

“I’m sorry about the misunderstanding,” she said. “I feel like a big heel for jumping all over you.”

“Don’t give it another thought.” He smiled once again—a warmer smile this time. It almost reached his eyes. “Call me if you need anything.”

He walked off. She didn’t relish facing her bedroom alone. Knowing it had all been a dream didn’t evaporate the horrid feeling of spiraling out of control. It would take a long time for the images of Michael’s dead body to vanish completely.

She went upstairs.

Kelly entered her room and headed for the bureau. She needed to dress warmly. Moore House welcomed the chill of winter, holding on to the cold like a small child clinging to her favorite doll. Even in the summertime the house was cooler than most other places. It would cost a fortune to keep it warm, so she only heated the rooms she used on a regular basis.

She retrieved a pair of jeans and a light sweater. Kelly padded across the wood floor in her bare feet to the bathroom. Passing the closet, she purposely focused her eyes straight ahead. She would not look at the closed door again. It had been a dream. Michael wasn’t dead. Everything was great.

So why did she feel as if she were standing in quicksand and sinking fast?

KELLY DIDN”T GIVE a thought to the bathroom door until she’d been in the shower a good ten minutes. A noise startled her as she shampooed her hair. It sounded close by, close enough to be in the same room. She always left the door wide open when she showered, because the bedroom door was closed.

But it wasn’t locked.

Michael wouldn’t dare enter without invitation.

She peeked through squinted eyes, trying to see through the foggy shower glass. Shampoo dripped down her forehead, and her eyes burned painfully.

Kelly opened the shower door a few inches and stuck her hand out. A mental image of someone there, someone attempting to grab her arm, almost made her pull it back. Clutching a towel, she brought it inside far enough to wipe her face. Her eyes continued to sting. Closing them firmly, she rinsed the shampoo from her hair.

Another noise made her jump. She shut off the water and retrieved the discarded towel. Wrapping it securely around her wet body, she exited the shower. There was no one else in the steamy bathroom.

In a fit of panic she lunged at the door, slamming it shut. Kelly twisted the lock into place.

She laughed at herself, seeing humor in her sudden paranoia. The legend of Moore House was actually getting to her. What was next? Would she hear bumps in the night? Rattling chains at midnight moving down the hallway?

She had inherited Moore House from her father upon his early death. She had moved into it immediately, feeling instantly at home. She and Moore House shared common ground. The people in Tinkerton gossiped about them both, spreading nasty rumors and half-truths. They were both considered freaks. Somehow she felt as if Moore House accepted her, even wanted her.

Her home was miles from town. She savored the isolation, using Moore House to hide from prying eyes. Not many people were brave enough to step inside the black wrought-iron gates that led to the property. Very few would willingly approach the massive three-story, forty-seven room Victorian mansion. Hardly anyone dared to grasp the brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head long enough to use it.

They were afraid of ghosts.

The dead didn’t bother Kelly. She was more afraid of the living.

She turned toward the foggy mirror and reached for the blow dryer.

She froze instantly, terror shooting through her limbs.

Someone had penned a note for her, using a finger to write one word on her mirror. The three letters dripped water. They were already beginning to fade, but she could read the word clearly.

Die.

Kelly’s back hit the tiled wall and she screamed at the top of her lungs like a banshee. Once she started screaming, she couldn’t stop. One shriek after another vibrated through the large bathroom, bouncing off the walls.

She bolted from the room, fright leading to flight.

She rounded the corner on slippery feet and ran out the bedroom door.

Hands came out of nowhere. They grasped her wet shoulders in a steel grip.

Another scream ripped from her sore throat.