Blood and Bone(12)

I write the number down. I think I would do anything to go home at this point.

He flashes me the grin that makes my stomach ache. "Dial 911 from your  phone to get me anytime of the day. If he leaves at night, you follow,  and call me." He takes something from his pocket and slides it across  the table to me. "Put this on the car if ya get a chance, so we can  track it." It's a small metal magnet. It makes me feel instantly guilty  but I pocket it anyway. "He's not a good man, Jane. He's a killer and a  dangerous one at that. He's erased your memory and made you his  simpering bitch. I need you to think about that. I need you to want  revenge for it as badly as I do."

I want to argue, or at the very least, be offended by the "simpering  bitch" comment, but I have run out of ammo. The evidence makes Derek  look guilty. If he is, I will need all the help I can get, and if he  isn't, I'll need to clear his name.

Rory leaves the room, so I spend the next four hours memorizing the  contents of the file and praying this is somehow still a case of  mistaken identity.

The information feels like too much, but my brain seems to come alive  under the circumstances. There's a sickening thrill for the first few  hours of reading, as if my brain thrives on the danger and adventure of  it all. Finally, exhausted and unable to read another thing, I sigh and  slip the file folder into the shredding machine and turn it on. I don't  even know why I do that; it just feels like the right choice. I walk to  the front counter. "Is he still here?"

The lady at the desk gives me a completely blank stare. "Who?"

"The Irishman I was with-Rory. Tall, dark hair, and quite handsome, but crass."

Her eyebrows knit. "I didn't see anyone like that."

"Of course not," I mutter and leave the police station.

On the way home my brain runs everything off like it's following a list of things to decipher.

Benjamin Dash is a genius. He's smarter than I am. He's a doctor. He's a  psychopath? That one doesn't feel so real. The people who want me to  bring him in suspect he's murdered dozens of people using freakishly  devious ways to kill them. He's a master at making it look like an  accident. That I could actually see-he's intelligent in a way that awes  me regularly.

And then there's the fact he's in love with me.

But according to them, not me the way I was, me the way I am now. He  likes me broken and needy. He made me needy on purpose. He made me soft  and took away everything I was. I don't know how to feel about that, if  it's true.

And even if it is, it's not like he took much away in reality. Looking  back at the file I realize I wasn't much better off. I was stronger,  more independent, and braver. But I was alone, working all the time. I  was single. In every one of those pictures I looked sad or hard. I don't  recognize that girl. She's sad and distant, and I don't feel that way  anymore. So maybe he saved me from myself?         

     



 

In all honesty I feel like I will wake any second and it will all be a bad dream caused by watching late-night TV again.

I feel sick that Derek has lied to me, but I see why, in a sick and  twisted sort of way. I was lying first. I am still lying; we just didn't  know it.

I ride the bus home with my last couple of dollars. I'm cold and hungry  and exhausted. I can't kid myself-the moment I see the house, I'm  elated. I know he's in there, cooking or waiting for me. I know he's  worried and misses me. And I miss him. I miss who we were yesterday.

I don't even make the driveway and I see the handle on the door turning.  Quickly, I slip my hand into my pocket, pulling out the magnet, and as I  walk past the car I attach it to the back of it, just on the metal at  the trunk. It doesn't look like anything but a tiny magnet, so it  blends. I don't want to do it, but I think I need to. I need him to be  innocent, and I need to prove he is. They're wrong, and I have to show  them.

When he opens the door, Derek's face is pinched and his dark  greenish-gray eyes are mostly gray. He looks cold and hard. "You okay?"

I shake my head, pausing on the cement. The light from inside shines  behind him, taunting me with its warmth. I only have to sell my soul to  the devil to go inside and be warm again.

He opens his arms for me. "You scared me."

I walk to him. Those arms are beacons of warmth and love. The only thing  we've lost so far is the trust, but I think we might be able to get it  back if I can prove he's innocent.

When I melt into them I feel different. I melt all the way without him  forcing me. I pause, wondering if he feels it-the difference in me.

But he kisses the top of my head, smelling me. He hovers there, taking  gulps of me like he has been starved all day of the life force I give  off.

"I missed you all day. I was terrified. I thought I scared you away with  the truth." He pulls me back. "Sam, I don't want to ruin what we have.  You're my everything."

I shake my head. "Jane. Don't call me Sam."

He smiles, making everything okay. He blankets us in that smile and the  love inside it, and I don't believe a single thing I read. I believe  whatever he wants me to. He's perfect, and they're wrong. And when he  leads me inside, kissing my cheeks and closing the door on us, I feel  like he's closed the door on everything else. He's brought us into our  safe haven and made us protected again.

I don't care about anything but that.

He drags my clothes off there at the door, stripping me naked, and  scoops me up into his arms. He carries me to the bathroom and undresses  himself, pulling us both into the shower. He protects me from the cold  water until it's warm and then steps aside so I am blasted with heat. He  wraps himself around me, letting the hot water wash it all away.

I close my eyes and breathe him in too, the same way he does me. I get  it now-the dose he gets when he takes a breath pushes everything else  away.

"Where did you go?"

I shake my head. "I rode the bus for a long time. Then I got a ride back  with the cops. They were at a house on the outskirts of the city. So  they drove me back, thinking I was a crackhead. I had to clear on the  system before they would let me come home."

He kisses my neck. "Did you clear?"

"Yup. No Jane Spears in the system."

He pauses, mimicking the stiffened feel of my back. We are both aware of  something suddenly, I just don't know what I'm aware of. I'm still  lost, regardless of how my body reacts. "So, you never confessed to  being Samantha Barnes?"

I turn to face him, looking up into his beautiful face. "I didn't. I  don't think I am Samantha Barnes. I think she died a long time ago. I  like being Jane. What good is going to come of being Samantha? She  clearly has issues."

He drags his hand down my face, brushing his thumb against my lips. "I was so worried you hated me for lying to you."

I shake my head slowly. "I just needed to get some air and some  distance. I needed to swallow the truth whole so I could digest the fact  I've killed things in my sleep. That's haunting me. It makes me sick. I  just think about the people looking for their animals that I've killed.  It makes me ill."

His brow knits, and I see the hurt in his eyes. "It's not your fault. I swear, you are asleep. You don't know."

"We have to do something to make it stop."

He nods. "I will start sedating you again." He winces. "It's just-that's  how you got into the accident last time. I sedated you and left the  house. You got up, drove the car, and crashed it."         

     



 

My wicked brain wonders if it's true. My eyes are mesmerized by his.  They believe everything he says. But my brain whispers that there is no  way a small, sedated woman got up and drove a car. If my scars are old,  Derek is lying about it. But I want to give him the benefit of the  doubt. I just don't know how far to follow him down this path, nodding  my head like a smitten schoolgirl.

There is one thing I want to do, on the off chance everything Rory has  said is true and my life is a complete lie. I lift my hands to his  cheeks, cupping his face. I say the one thing I haven't ever said to  him, not aloud. I have written it and texted it and whispered it when I  thought he was sleeping. But I haven't ever said it. "I love you."

He winces. "Why did you say that?"

"Because you are everything I ever wanted in the world. I don't know how  I know this. I don't remember ever wishing for you, but I know I did.  In my soul and my being, I know I did."

He looks lost. "I love you, Jane. I always have."

I nod, believing it completely. "I know you have." And that's the truth  of the matter. I know he has loved me since the dawn of our time.

I just don't know what to do with it.





7. GOING ROGUE

When we make love, I relax completely. I savor the feel of his body  inside and on top of mine. The feel of him pressing me into the bed is  magical.

The pill I pretend to swallow isn't.