Secrets 02 - Kill Me Again, page 16
She tucked it back into her wallet, then watched him unloading the bags. She'd ordered an old-fashioned roast chicken dinner, complete with mashed potatoes and gravy, warm rolls and soft butter, stuffing and baby peas, and a hot apple pie for dessert.
He shot a meaningful look at her purse as she set it back down on the table.
"Look, I forgot the gun was even in there, okay?"
"Whatever," he said. He was taking dishes down from the cupboard now. The kitchenette was stocked with everything except food. There were even a clean dishcloth and bottle of dishwashing liquid under the sink.
"I didn't bring it inside because I was afraid of you or anything like that," she said. "It just--I just thought it best to keep it close, given the circumstances."
"Makes perfect sense." He put the plates on the table and laid silverware beside each one.
"I don't like guns. I've been in conflict with myself over carrying it at all."
"It's all right, Olivia. I'm not angry. I am hungry, though." He pulled out a chair, sat down and began filling his plate.
She sat and did likewise. He watched her taking a little bit of everything. "You were upset. I saw your face."
"I don't think you know me well enough to judge how I feel."
She shrugged. "I've seen you angry before. When you confronted that burglar in my house. When you spoke to Tommy on the phone."
"And I seemed like that?"
Her lips thinned. She had to know he hadn't acted the same way at all. "Not exactly. You were just quiet, and your eyes went all cold, the way they do sometimes."
He shrugged. "Maybe I was a little bothered at the reminder of how afraid you are of that bastard. But not angry about a woman whose life is on the line taking precautions to protect herself." His plate was full, and he picked up his fork. "If you'd told me how you felt, I'd have told you to keep the gun close." Then he leaned over and sniffed the food as his stomach rumbled. "And for the record, Olivia, if I had been angry, this meal probably would have calmed me right down."
She smiled then, relaxing a little more. And that was what he wanted. No one should go out to face possible death without a smile and a good meal inside them. And though he had no intention of letting her get herself killed, he knew that in her mind, the risk was there. It was real to her.
"I just didn't want you to think I was keeping it close because I didn't trust you or anything. That's all."
He looked at her. "But you don't trust me. Not entirely. And you'd be a fool if you did, Liv."
She lowered her eyes.
"Look, we never said we were going to tell each other everything. But maybe, given our circumstances, it might be reassuring--for both of us--if we can agree to be as open and honest with each other as we can be."
"About...?" she asked.
"About everything."
Olivia averted her eyes, and for the slightest moment he got the feeling there was guilt lurking behind them. Was she keeping something from him? And if so, what?
Then again, could he blame her? He hadn't told her about those dreams of his--about the snippets of memory that seemed to suggest he was a paid killer. But he had good reason, he told himself, to keep that information from her. Because if it were true, then the second she found out, she would be history. He would never see her again, and he needed her. He needed her to help him get his life back. Where would he be if she abandoned him right now? No car, no money, no clue who he was, nothing but an address on a slip of paper in the back of an old pocket watch. A voice from somewhere deep within him whispered, It's more than that, and you know it.
And she was going to find out sooner or later. He had no doubt her friend the cop had a line on who he was by now. He was itching to give Bryan Kendall a call himself, to ask what he knew. But it was too risky.
Still, eventually she was going to find out all the stuff he hadn't told her--and then some. He hoped to at least get her to take him to the Philadelphia address before that happened. Which meant he had to keep her on his side until then.
He shook his head as he contemplated his situation and his dependency on a mild-mannered English professor who wasn't really so mild-mannered after all. And okay, he might as well admit, at least to himself, that never seeing her again bothered him far more than not having a ride to Philly.
"Is there...anything you're kind of...keeping to yourself?" he asked.
She lifted her gaze, locked it with his across the table. There was something; he saw it there. But then she nodded and drew a breath. "I haven't told you where I got my name," she said.
"No, you haven't. And I have to admit, I've been wondering."
"I never knew my real family. I was abandoned at birth, and being a pretty sickly child, I was never adopted."
"What was wrong with you?"
"Asthma and severe allergies. It was so bad they couldn't even say for sure I'd survive. By the time I outgrew everything and my health was solid, I was older and--You know what, it doesn't matter. Digest version is that I was in and out of foster homes, and had no family I knew of. The real Olivia Dupree was a girl I met in one of those foster homes, and she didn't have anyone, either. We sort of...bonded."
"I can see how you would." He was rapt. He never would have guessed she had been an orphan.
"We were only together a couple of months before we were both moved again. But years later, when I came to Vermont, I answered an advertisement for a roommate, and it was her. I moved in. Two weeks later, I came home and found her in her bed. She'd been strangled."
"Holy God." He sure as hell hadn't seen that coming.
"I thought it was Tommy. I thought he'd sent someone after me who'd killed her by mistake. I told the police officer all of that." She shook her head. "He took pity on me, told me I ought to just let Tommy go on believing he'd killed me. And once he knew my situation, and hers--you know, no relatives, new in town--he suggested I take her identity. Let the world think Sarah Quinlan was the murder victim. Call myself Olivia Dupree. Never have to worry about Tommy again."
He nodded slowly. "It is kind of brilliant."
"He helped me pull it off. I had to bleach my hair for a while. But eventually I just let it go, said this was my natural color. I thought no harm was done. But it was wrong, what I did, and it caused problems I couldn't have known about."
"How?"
"Well, for starters, the cop who helped me turned out to be the real murderer. He killed a lot more women before he was caught. Maybe he had some connection to his first victim that no one knew about because of me. They were looking for a connection to the wrong person, you know?"
"That's reaching."
"Yeah, still... And then I learned--only a few weeks ago--that she'd had a baby. The autopsy said she'd given birth about six weeks before she died. A month before I got into town. I never would have guessed that. And no one knows what happened to that child."
"She never told you?"
"No. The police looked for a while, but they were looking for Sarah Quinlan's missing baby, not Olivia Dupree's. It might have made a difference, sixteen years ago. Now it's a cold trail."
He was literally stunned. He'd had no idea how much the woman had been through in her life. Good God. And to think that after all of that, she'd somehow survived. Thrived. Gotten an education, built a career, made a home, a life.
She was about fifty times the woman he'd thought she was. And he'd already begun to think she was something pretty amazing. He just hadn't had a clue how amazing.
"Anyway, if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to talk about it anymore. It's...it's another bad memory."
"That's one thing I don't have to worry about," he said. "Bad memories."
She smiled a little and tried to make light of it. "I also haven't told you that I love roasted chicken with potatoes and gravy and stuffing."
He returned her smile, even though the secret he suspected she was still keeping worried him. "I kind of guessed that when you chose it for this particular meal."
Her smile faltered. Tears welled up in her eyes, and he sensed she'd been battling them for quite a while now. He reached across the table, covered her hand with his. "It's not your last one, you know."
"Neither of us can be sure of that."
"No, you're wrong," he said. "I am sure."
She sniffled, then ate a little, so he did, too. And then she said, "Tell me why you're sure." She might as well have said, "Convince me that I'm not going to die tonight. Take this horrible fear away." And more than anything, in that moment, that was all he wanted to do. He didn't examine his reasons too closely, maybe because there weren't any--none that made sense, at least.
"I was just thinking, Liv. You know, after we get tonight out of the way, we can drive down to Philly, check out that address, figure out my history."
"We haven't gotten through tonight yet."
"But we will. And you can rest assured, I'm highly motivated to keep you alive and well. Otherwise, I lose my ride." He smiled at her when he said it.
She rolled her eyes, leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. "Gee, thanks."
He shrugged. "And my only friend."
"Ohhhh," she said softly, as if she'd just spotted a cuddly kitten. "That's really sweet, Aaron."
"It's the truth. Look, you've got doubts about me. You'd be nuts not to. And it's true that I don't have much more of a clue than you do right now about who I am, much less what kind of man I might be. But right now, today, you really are the only friend I have in this world. And you're my ride. You're also my only source of cash. You're my confidante, my advisor and my companion. Not to mention my only ally in all of this. That means a lot. And I know I haven't said so, Liv, but I'm grateful."
She relaxed into her chair as if her bones had all gone soft. Her face softened. Her lips relaxed, and her eyes seemed easier.
"Thanks for that," she said.
"You're welcome. Now, why don't we try to forget what we're facing and just enjoy this meal? In fact, let's enjoy the rest of the day as if we're just two ordinary people out to have a good time together. What do you think?"
"I think it would be kind of hard to forget what we're facing."
"Then we're going to have to try really hard to have fun."
Her smile was slow, but building, and the playful anticipation in her eyes was something he hadn't seen before. There was a sparkle there now that hadn't been there before, and it appealed to him on a gut-deep level that took him by surprise.
He liked this woman, he realized. He liked her a lot. The physical part of his attraction to her had just been kicked up a few more notches, and it had been pretty high to begin with.
"So what will we do?"
"I don't know yet, but I do know that I think better on a full stomach. So quit talking, woman, and let a man eat already."
And with that her transformation was complete. She dug in to her meal with relish, and her eyes, every time they met his, had something new dancing around in their melted chocolate depths. Excitement. She was looking forward to spending the afternoon with him, acting like two ordinary people. He guessed he'd better deliver and show her a really good time.
But from the looks she was sending him, the sidelong ones he just caught glimpses of, the ones she ended as soon as he caught her looking, he had a feeling she had a little bit more in mind.
Those looks made him nervous. There was another kind of anticipation in her eyes, or at least he thought there was. Sexual anticipation. And he hadn't promised that.
On the other hand, if she thought it was likely to be the last day of her life, he probably shouldn't be surprised she was letting her mind stray in that direction again.
And he wasn't all that sure he was going to have the willpower to turn her down a second time.
12
Olivia wondered if Aaron could tell she was keeping something from him. The way he'd been looking at her when he'd asked if she was keeping a secret, the way he'd told her, in so many words, that they needed to be open and honest with each other, when the entire time she'd just been waiting for him to leave the room long enough for her to check her messages, suggested that he did.
She was away from him now, taking that long hot shower she'd been so craving, but she couldn't very well take the second and only working cell phone into the bathroom with her.
She was tempted to make a call or two, as well, once the opportunity presented itself. To Bryan, to find out how the case was progressing and whether he'd caught whoever had shot Aaron in the head and left him for dead. And to Carrie, to make sure she still hadn't told Bryan about the borrowed Expedition. She also wanted to talk to her about Aaron, get her opinion on the things he'd remembered and ask her how much longer it might take for his memory to be fully restored.
She couldn't do those things, though. She wouldn't. She'd made a promise to Aaron, and she knew he wasn't overreacting or being paranoid about any of this. Someone had tried to kill him, after all. There was no question about that.
But she didn't see how it could hurt them in the least if she checked her messages. It was starting to make her nervous and jumpy, being so out of touch with her life. It was a small thing, but it would make her feel better.
Problem was, he showed no sign of wanting to leave her side, and in fact, he was turning out to be pretty good company.
Their meal was complete, and the leftovers, which would serve as dinner later on, were stored in the full-size fridge. They'd cleaned the dishes and put them away. And her hot shower was now a fait accompli, she thought, as she stepped out of the tub.
She had been trying hard not to think about tonight. Trying really hard, while she enjoyed a steamy shower and took her time drying her hair. But she hadn't had much luck. It was on her mind, no matter what.
"Ah, there you are." He was waiting in the only bedroom when she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. He spoke from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and then he seemed to get stuck looking at her.
She should duck back into the bathroom, she thought. Or ask him to leave so she could get dressed. Funny, how her sexual bravado vanished without any rum in her veins. But she didn't do either of those things. She stood there, and he looked his fill, his eyes taking their time moving from her head down over her towel-wrapped body to her toes. It would have been insolent, his long, slow look, except that the expression he wore was bordering on rapturous.
She lowered her eyes. "Maybe I should get dressed."
"Maybe I should get undressed," he suggested.
Her gaze shot up again and met his.
"Sorry. That was obnoxious. I didn't mean it to be, it's just that you're...you're beautiful. I haven't told you that before, have I?"
She shook her head, her power to speak temporarily missing.
"And you're even more beautiful without clothes on," he added.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm wearing a blanket-size towel."
"Towel. Feedbag. Doesn't matter."
She closed her eyes slowly, then opened them again and strode to her dresser. She'd claimed the left side of the oversize chest of drawers, and had unpacked just as soon as they'd arrived, wanting the room to be neat and feel homey if she happened to get back tonight.
She opened the drawer to decide on the clothes she was going to wear for her meeting with Tommy. Then she frowned, holding a pair of jeans in one hand and her skirt, which was badly in need of laundering, in the other.
"The jeans," Aaron said.
She looked up, blinking, totally lost in her own thoughts, and pretending to have forgotten the sexual innuendo of only moments ago. "What?"
"The jeans. It's an easy choice, Liv. You want to wear something you can move in if you need to--or fight in, if it comes to that."
She shook her head slowly. "I want to look as if I've thrived without him. I want him to look at me and see a sophisticated, accomplished, intelligent, beautiful woman."
Aaron frowned. "That's what he will see. Olivia, that's what you are."
She felt her brows rise. "Thank you for saying that."
"It's the truth. How can he see anything else but what you are?"
She looked at the jeans, narrowed her gaze. "In these, he'll probably see an older version of the girl who ran for her life to get away from him."
Aaron shook his head. "No, Olivia. No way. And frankly, I think you're wrong about even that part of it. He might have thought of you as a helpless little mouse he could beat up on at will. That's what you think, isn't it?" She nodded. "Yeah, I figured. Maybe he did. But you can bet your ass--which looks particularly luscious in jeans, by the way--that when he found himself behind bars and realized you had put him there, his opinion of you underwent a radical change."
She blinked. "Yeah. I became the evil bitch he wanted to kill."
"No. You became a woman who refused to stick around and be his victim. You became a fighter, and you fought him and won. You stuck it to him. He had no choice but to see you as a worthy adversary, not a helpless mouse. Not after that."
She lifted her head a bit. "I never thought of it that way."
"You shouldn't think of it at all. What he thinks of you shouldn't matter to you any more than the price of kitty litter in Altoona."
She blinked out of the haze that had sucked her back into her past, into seeing herself as that woman she had once been. The victim. Sarah Quinlan.
"I'm not that girl anymore."
"No one could possibly mistake you for that girl anymore," Aaron told her. "I mean it."
"Thanks." She looked at the clothes again. "So...the jeans?"
"The jeans." He sighed. "If you insist on clothes. We could always reconsider my first suggestion."
She met his eyes, lifted her brow. "You're the one who turned me down, remember?"
"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Still does, but I'm also human. Any possibility I'll get a second chance?"
