Heroes Are My Weakness(102)

The fragrance of freshly baked banana bread met her as she stepped into the kitchen. Jaycie was a better baker than cook, and she’d been making these small treats ever since Annie had confronted her about her husband’s death. It was her way of making amends for not confiding her past.

Remnants of construction paper from one of Livia’s art projects lay on the table next to the bread. Annie had spent hours on the Internet delving into articles about deep childhood trauma. When she’d come across information about puppet therapy, she’d been especially intrigued. But it was a specialized field with trained therapists, and the articles had made her even more aware of how much she didn’t know.

Jaycie came into the kitchen. She’d been on crutches for weeks, but she still moved as awkwardly as ever. “I got a text from Theo,” she said. “He’s on his way to the mainland.” Her voice developed an uncharacteristic edge. “I bet you’re going to miss him.”

Annie had criticized Jaycie for not being forthcoming, yet Annie was being equally withholding. But she couldn’t imagine announcing they were lovers. Nothing had changed the fact that she owed Jaycie her life. She thought about the day Regan had pushed her into the marsh. Jaycie had been there, but she’d lagged far enough behind that she must not have seen the actual push.

As the afternoon wore on, Annie’s mood dipped. She’d grown to look forward to being with Theo at the end of the day. And not just for the incredible sex. She simply liked being with him.

Get used to it, Dilly said, in her normal straightforward manner. Your ill-advised love affair is going to be over soon.

Sex affair, Annie corrected her. And do you think I don’t understand that?

You tell me, Dilly said.

Whether Annie liked it or not, this ache she felt at his absence was a wake-up call. She made herself focus on the evening ahead, one she was determined to enjoy. The articles on puppet therapy had been fascinating. She did some more research, then settled down with the ancient gothic paperback she’d brought with her. What better place to read one of her spooky old favorites than at Harp House?

By midnight, however, the story of the cynical duke and virginal lady’s companion hadn’t worked its magic, and she still couldn’t fall asleep. Dinner had been sparse, and there was banana bread in the kitchen. She slipped out of bed and stuffed her feet in her sneakers.

The lamp in the upstairs hallway cast a long yellow shadow up the wall, and the stairs creaked as she made her way into the foyer. A full moon threw blades of silver light through the panes of glass above the front door—not enough to illuminate the area, only enough to emphasize its gloom. The house had never felt more forbidding. She rounded the corner into the back hallway . . . And froze.

Jaycie was making her way toward her apartment, and her crutches were nowhere in sight.

An icy panic paralyzed Annie. Jaycie walked with perfectly erect posture. There was nothing wrong with her foot. Nothing at all.

Annie’s ears rang from the memory of the bullet whizzing past her head. She saw Crumpet hanging from the ceiling, the bloodred warning painted on the wall. Jaycie had a motive for wanting her gone. Had Annie overlooked the obvious? Was Jaycie the one who’d vandalized the cottage? Had she fired that bullet?

Jaycie had nearly reached the door of her apartment when she stopped. She looked up, tilting her head ever so slightly, almost as if she were listening for any movement above her. And since Annie was the only person upstairs . . .

Jaycie began to move, not into her apartment but back the way she’d come. Annie cut into the dark kitchen and flattened her spine to the wall just inside the doorway. Her paralysis lost its grip. She wanted to grab Jaycie and shake the truth out of her.

Jaycie passed by the kitchen.

Annie eased out into the hallway in time to see her turn toward the front foyer. Staying well back, Annie followed her, barely avoiding one of Livia’s My Little Pony figures abandoned on the floor. She peered around the corner. Jaycie had stopped at the bottom of the staircase. As Annie watched, she slowly began mounting the steps.

Anger and betrayal burned inside her. She pressed the back of her head against the wall. She didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to confront the truth that was staring her in the face. It had been Jaycie all along. Her anger burned hotter. She wasn’t letting her get away with this.

She began to pull away from the wall, only to hear Scamp’s scoffing voice. You’re going after her now? Just like the most dim-witted heroine. It’s the dead of night. There’s an arsenal in this house, and for all you know, Jaycie has a gun. She’s already murdered her husband. Have you learned nothing from your novels?