started toward her, but she shrank away, her hands still frantically gripping the edge of the counter. “Don’t touch me,” she pleaded. Then he seemed to look at her, really look at her, for the first time, and he stopped dead in his tracks, as if he’d just been struck by lightning.
For one breathless moment, they eyed each other in utter disbelief.
“Jesse?” His voice was a hushed question. The confusion in his eyes deepened to horror as he continued to stare at her. His gaze roamed over her long black hair, scrutinized her face, studied her slender figure. Then lingered on her flat stomach. “What…what’s going on here? Your hair…your face…dear God, the baby….” His voice trailed off as he scrubbed his eyes with his hands. “I must be dreaming,” he muttered.
Jessica cowered away from the apparition before her, denied the vision that stood not four feet away. It couldn’t be him. It wasn’t possible. Not after five years. Five years!
She’d long ago resigned herself to the possibility that her husband had met some tragic death because the other alternative—that Pierce had simply tired of their life together and walked away—would have been, in many ways, harder for her to accept. She’d had so many losses in her life. So many abandonments.
But if Pierce had died all those years ago, there was absolutely no explanation for the specter that stood before her now. No earthly explanation.
Jessica had the slightly hysterical notion that if she reached out and touched him, her hand would pass right through him. A shiver crawled up her spine as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Almost reluctantly she let her gaze move over him.
Whether ghost or man, something about him was different, she realized. He looked older and leaner and…hurt. There were lines on his face she didn’t remember, but the scars were the worst. Pierce’s face had been so handsome, so perfect. This man was a dark, frightening stranger.
That’s it! she thought suddenly. This man was a stranger. A stranger who was a dead ringer for Pierce. A new wave of fear washed over her as she stared at him. She began edging toward the door.
“Who are you?” she demanded, but her voice trembled with terror.
He looked at her incredulously. “For God’s sake, stop it. You’re scaring the hell out of me, Jesse. Is this some kind of sick joke? How can you look so different?” He paused, letting his gaze roam over her again as his eyes clouded in confusion. “My God, I hardly recognize you, but how can that be? How the hell can that be? I’ve only been gone half an hour.”
Jessica could feel the color draining from her face. “Half an hour? My husband has been missing for five years,” she whispered.
“Five years?” He gaped at her in horror. “What are you talking about?”
Jessica put trembling hands to her face. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“Please tell me your name,” she begged. “I have to hear you say it.”
Slowly he crossed the tile floor toward her. The knees of his jeans were ripped and his ragged tennis shoes were muddy. A long, jagged scar creased his right forearm, drawing Jessica’s gaze for a second longer before she lifted her eyes to his.
The brown eyes were shuttered now, completely unreadable. She didn’t know him. He was a complete stranger to her.
He said slowly, “My name is Pierce Kincaid. Now kindly tell me who the hell you are. And where is my wife?”
* * *
A stunned hush fell over the room.
It was the kind of silence that always follows some mind-boggling revelation. But why that should be, Pierce couldn’t imagine. Why his appearance in his own home should shock anyone was beyond him, but he had the oddest feeling that he’d walked into the last few minutes of a movie, and though the climax was exciting, he had no idea what the hell was going on.
The woman standing before him—face ashen, eyes wide with shock—looked like Jesse, except…different. Her hair was the color of Jesse’s, but instead of the short bob of curls with which he was so familiar, it cascaded down the woman’s back in gleaming, luscious waves. The wide silver eyes, fringed with thick black lashes, were colder and harder than his wife’s. And where Jesse’s figure was thin, almost frail-looking, this woman’s body was gently rounded with womanly curves.
Pierce felt something stir within him, and he frowned in disgust. He hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since he and Jesse were married, and yet this stranger elicited a response from him that seemed disturbingly familiar.
Who was she? A relative? That would explain the overwhelming resemblance. He’d never met any of Jesse’s family except for her brother. She rarely talked about her, but Pierce knew Jesse had a sister somewhere. Maybe the woman had simply shown up at their doorstep while he’d been out.
He tried to temper his own shock with a tentative smile. “Are you Jesse’s sister?” he asked as he took another step toward her. The woman flinched away, but the coldness in her eyes warmed for a moment with a flash of anger. Doggedly he held out his hand to her. “I’m Jessica’s husband.”
He watched the last shred of fear fade away from her eyes as a sort of horrified realization dawned in those magnetic gray depths. With an almost visible struggle for control, she pulled herself up straight. She faced him squarely, her eyes dropping to his outstretched hand, then returning to meet his gaze. “Why, you arrogant son of a bitch. What kind of fool do you think I am?”
Her hand swept upward so quickly it seemed to surprise them both. It connected with his cheek, and the stinging sensation triggered an automatic reaction from Pierce. He grabbed her, shoved her up against the edge of the counter and pinned her arms behind her back with one hand while his other hand fastened around her throat.
For one heart-pounding moment, brown eyes stared into gray.
Her face swam before his eyes, a hazy image from a dark dream. Pierce was no stranger to fear. He knew what it looked like, what it smelled like, what it felt like. He could see fear in her eyes again. Could feel her flesh tremble beneath his fingers. For one brief moment, it gave him an almost perverse sense of gratification to be the one to inflict it.
Then the mists cleared, and the face before him was once again a sweet, lovely, familiar face—a face far removed from the blackness, from the explosion of pain behind his eyes. As abruptly as he’d seized her, Pierce released her. He backed away, shocked and sickened by his own reaction.
“My God—” His hands moved to his eyes, as if he could rub away the searing pain in his head. Black it out, he mentally instructed himself. Fade to black.
The pain subsided, but his stomach still roiled in sickening waves. What the hell was the matter with him? He could easily have hurt her, and he didn’t even understand why. He was beginning to think he didn’t understand anything. The whole scene seemed so disjointed, like a nightmare fragmented into bits and pieces he couldn’t seem to fit together in any way that made sense.
“I don’t know why I did that,” he mumbled.
She didn’t say a word, just stood there looking at him like an animal trapped in a corner.
