Part 24 (1/2)

”I'm divorcing the son of a b.i.t.c.h.”

Her mother hesitated at the French doors leading to the kitchen. With one hand on the doork.n.o.b, she glanced over her shoulder. ”Then you're divorcing all of us, Anne-Marie. You won't be welcome here again.”

Anne-Marie's stomach tightened and she'd fought the urge to run to her mother and beg her forgiveness, but she stood firm.

”I trust you can show yourself out,” were the last words her mother said to her.

Chapter 21.

Jessica shoved thoughts of her family aside as she drove through the night. They would not be any help. Never had been. Even her grandmother on her mother's side, Marcella, who had adored her only granddaughter, wouldn't come to her aid.

Not any longer.

That, of course, was her own fault. The effect of stealing from someone who loved and trusted her.

Would the police be able to protect her?

She doubted it. She had too many strikes against her-a mental patient as well as a thief and a known liar. No, she didn't really believe the cops would help her, at least not the cops in New Orleans. She'd pinned her hopes on Dan Grayson. But even if he'd still been alive, chances were he wouldn't have come to her rescue, either.

”Face it,” she said to the disguised woman in the mirror, ”you're on your own.”

Then again, hadn't she always been?

The snow began to fall a little more heavily, collecting on the winds.h.i.+eld, and she remembered the storm that had been predicted, a blizzard moving south from Canada, the biggest of the winter. Great, she thought sarcastically. Just what she needed. She flipped on the wipers and from the corner of her eye, caught a flash of headlights s.h.i.+ning through the night, a vehicle somewhere behind her.

You're not the only one who lives out here, she reminded herself.

”But almost,” she said, her gloved hands tightening over the steering wheel. Again, she looked back. Again she saw lights.

She swallowed hard and wondered where the h.e.l.l all of her bravado had gone. It was as if her courage had dissolved in the time, over a year, since that conversation with her mother.

It's nothing. Don't be paranoid. Get a d.a.m.n grip.

Her heart was pounding like crazy. Despite the cold, her fingers began to sweat in her gloves as she clenched the wheel.

Another look in the mirror.

The lights had disappeared.

Probably turned off at that last junction. She let out her breath.

It was nothing. See? For G.o.d's sake pull yourself together. You have to keep a level head.

She saw the lane leading to her cabin and started to turn in when two eyes caught in the headlights. ”Oh, G.o.d!” She slammed on the brakes and the SUV skidded, back end fishtailing as the deer leaped nimbly into the surrounding trees.

She sat for a second, waiting for her rollicking heart to return to normal as snow drifted down, falling steadily, piling on the ground.

It was a d.a.m.n deer. Nothing more.

She pressed on the gas pedal. Wheels spinning, she whispered, ”Come on, come on,” as the back end slid some more. Finally, the front wheels caught, the Tahoe lurched forward, and she drove along the ruts to the cabin, a tiny dark abode in the middle of nowhere.

She'd been foolish to come to Grizzly Falls, she realized, propelled by fear and confusion and, yes, paranoia. But, come the daylight, she would make things right.

The rest of the drive down the winding length of the lane was uneventful. She parked, hurried into the cabin, then went through her usual routine of replacing firewood, then stoking the flames, and double-checking all the locks on the doors and latches on the windows before making certain that every curtain or shade was pulled tight.

After twisting on the shower to get the warm water running, she took off the pieces of her disguise. She hung her wig and padding on a hook behind the bathroom door then secured her dental appliance in a ziplock plastic bag that she left on the counter. Cold to the bone, she showered quickly, then dried off, tossing her towel over a hook near the window. She cracked the window just enough to clear the room of what little steam had collected. s.h.i.+vering, she pulled on her sweats, grabbed her uniform and underclothes, then hurried back to the living room where the fire was burning more brightly, some heat emanating from the grate.

Yeah, this place is miserable, she thought. Hardly a haven.

By habit, she folded her work clothes then placed them on the table at one end of her makes.h.i.+ft bed. Finally, she settled in by the fire and turned on her computer to catch up on the day's news and watch some mind-numbing television. Currently, she found no more information about the two women who had been killed in Grizzly Falls and she prayed that they hadn't been targeted because of her.

No way.

That was impossible, right?

Creeeaaak.

Her heart stilled as she listened.

Had she been mistaken, or had a floorboard squeaked somewhere in her house?

Waiting, not moving a muscle, she listened hard.

Nothing.

There's no one here. No one. You know it.

But there had been a noise. She was sure of it. And it sounded as if it had emanated from inside the house.

Swallowing back her fear, she stayed motionless, her ears straining as she listened, but she heard nothing other than the sound of dry tinder popping and moss hissing as they caught fire, the sound of the wind outside the cabin, and the d.a.m.n drip of the bathroom faucet.

Get over yourself.

Still, she held her breath, then slowly retrieved her tiny pistol and, moving slowly, carefully went through the house to investigate. Cautiously she moved through the small rooms. Over the internal clamoring of her heart, she listened for any sound that was out of the ordinary while searching the nooks and crannies, every shadow, for someone or something that was trapped inside.

An animal. That's it. A squirrel or rat or rabbit. Or G.o.d forbid, a skunk might have found its way inside. Right? Or do they hibernate? She didn't really know. Just hoped that whatever it was, it wasn't human.

Her throat was dry as sand.

Fear pulsed through her.

The living area was clear, no one inside. The kitchen alcove was empty, too, and cold, a bit of air seeping from the area around the window over the sink. On bare feet, she made her way to the back door and lifted the shade where she could peek outside to the small porch.

The snow was falling faster. The predicted blizzard had arrived. She worried her lower lip and wondered if she'd be trapped, her plans of telling her wild tale to the police thwarted.

You're not backing out of this. Too many times you've turned tail and run. Tomorrow, come h.e.l.l or high water . . .