A Stranger's Wife Page 6

  “I’ll call the hospital and check on Jessica,” Jake said. “Then I should make a fast trip down to Dana Point and check on the project there. Perhaps you could order in some food for us.”

  She nodded her agreement, and he asked, “Do you want to call Mason and have him send over one of the maids, or shall we just camp out for a couple of days until Jess can leave the hospital?”

  “We’ll manage,” Meg answered, not knowing who Mason was or how to reach him and certainly not prepared to deal with a maid.

  “Good. I’ll see how Jess is doing and then take off.”

  When he finished his call to the hospital, Meg walked with him to the door. He paused, his dark gaze locked with hers, demanding the truth. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

  “Yes, of course. I said I would stay.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to slip away at any second? Or at least, that this new you will disappear.”

  Meg felt her face flood with color. Not knowing what else to say or do, she said, “If you could give me an idea of how long you’ll be, I’ll plan dinner.”

  He stared at her with that questioning look that she wished she could interpret, then finally said, “I’ll probably be gone all afternoon. I’ll take the rental car. If you do need to go out, at least one of the cars in the garage should be gassed up and in running order. If it isn’t, Mason is in trouble. The keys are in the top drawer of the desk.”

  THE MINUTE JAKE left, Meg called Mike Aragon. She got his answering machine, listened to Groucho Marx sing “Hello, I must be going,” then left word that she was at Jake’s beach house just south of Laguna Beach, that she had no idea of the address, but that he had to get Rhea down here within the next couple of hours.

  Waiting, she explored the rest of the house. Three bedrooms, three baths, a study, a room filled with exercise equipment. The kitchen looked unused, as did the rest of the house. Outside, a flagged patio led to a flight of steps cut into the cliff face. The descent to the beach was steep, but there was a wooden handrail.

  The phone rang inside the house. Hoping it was Mike, she raced to pick it up. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Chastain?” It was a female voice—no discernable accent, a little sharp.

  “Yes,” Meg answered, startled that it wasn’t Mike calling back. After all, who else knew anyone was here?

  A soft chuckle on the line, smothered almost at once. “Are you alone?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Rhea.” She made her name sound like a warning.

  Meg said, “Thank heaven. Can you come right away?”

  “Aragon said you want to leave. I’m calling to find out what it would take to get you to stay—just for a few days.”

  “Mrs. Chastain, your mother-in-law had an accident, she’s in the hospital. Your husband needs you.”

  “I don’t suppose the old witch broke her neck, did she?”

  Meg tried to keep revulsion from creeping into her reply. “She broke her elbow.”

  “So, she’ll recover. Look, I’m in San Francisco. I can’t come right away. I have to stay here with a very dear friend who is dying. Just hang in for a couple of days, that’s all I ask.”

  “Friend? I thought it was your brother who was dying.”

  “Just between us, Meg—” the voice was low now, conspiratorial, wheedling “—I told Aragon it was my brother, but it’s really the man I was with for years before I met Jake. He’s got nobody, only me, and the doctors say he could go any day now.”

  “That wasn’t all you misled us about, was it?” Meg asked grimly. There’s the little detail of a possible divorce.

  “Okay, so Jake and I had a little tiff. We always make up, but we won’t if he knows I deceived him. Will you stay one more day? My friend needs me.”

  “Mrs. Chastain, I really feel your first duty is to your husband. You’ve got to come home. He’s already suspicious of me.”

  “Honey, if you’d blown your cover Jake would have said something by now. Whatever you’re doing, just keep doing it. Where is he now, by the way?”

  “He said he was going to Dana Point to check on a project.”

  “And there’ll be other projects tomorrow and the next day. He’ll run from one to the other. You’ll hardly see him, and when you do he’ll drag you to the hospital to see the old bat.”

  “Your mother-in-law seemed anything but an old bat. But I’m sure she’s suspicious of me, too. I didn’t even know what to call her.”

  “Jessica. Everybody calls her Jessica. Jake calls her Jess.”

  “I don’t know enough about your life. Who is Mason?” Meg knew she shouldn’t be asking such questions, which implied she would agree to stay, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  “He’s the butler. He takes care of the main house. What’s the deal with going to the beach house? Jake wants to be near Jessica, I suppose?”

  “Yes. At least until she’s out of the hospital. He asked a lady named Carmelita to stay at her house with Huxley.”

  “Miserable mutt. I hate that dog. Carmelita is day help—she’s been with Jessica for years. She won’t have a live-in. Jessica is an artist, in case the subject comes up. She and I don’t get along, so she won’t expect you to visit her. In fact, why don’t you leave Jake at the beach house and go to the main house?”

  “No...no, this is all wrong. We can’t go on deceiving your husband like this. When I agreed to the arrangement, he was supposed to be in London.”

  “He was. How could I have known he would fly to St. Maarten? Look, just stay another day. Twenty-four hours, okay?”

  Meg thought of the way Jake looked at her and the way she felt when he was near. “No. I can’t. Mrs. Chastain, you’ve got to come back here immediately or I intend to confess my part in the deception to your husband.”

  There was a gasp on the line. “My God, no! You can’t tell him—there’s no telling what he might do, to you as well as me. You don’t know him like I do. He’s a violent man—he’s beaten me in the past...oh, please don’t tell him!”

  Meg grappled with the image of Jake beating a woman. Was it possible that he was a Jekyll-and-Hyde? She said, “I’m not sure I believe that.”

  “Then believe this—if you tell him we deceived him you’ll wreck our marriage. Do you want that on your conscience?”

  Meg bit her lip. “I’ll stay until you get here, as long as we can change places today.”

  There was a pause, then an exasperated sigh. “All right, I’ll see if I can get a flight out today. But like I said, I’m in San Francisco. It’s going to take awhile. Maybe I can get there some time this evening.”

  “I’ll stay until then. We need to plan how we’re going to switch places,” Meg said.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know when I can get there. Then we can arrange to meet somewhere.”

  “All right,” Meg said reluctantly. “But please, hurry.”

  Replacing the receiver, Meg went into the kitchen. The refrigerator was running, but empty except for a six-pack of cola and a bottle of mineral water.

  The doorbell rang.

  Meg froze.

  Chapter Seven

  Meg didn’t move. The doorbell rang again. A moment later, a male voice crackled over an intercom inside the house.

  “Come on, open up. Rhea sent me.”

  Meg hesitated. She had just finished speaking to Rhea on the phone when the doorbell rang. How could she have sent somebody that fast?

  Uneasy, Meg went to the door. No security viewer or chain.

  But whoever was out there knew how to access the intercom.

  “Your name,” the intercom voice said, “is Margaret Lindley—usually called Meg. You were hired by Mike Aragon. Now open up.”

  Easing the door open, she faced a giant with a shaved head and thin black mustache. He wore an Armani suit, and there was a sleek black Porsche parked on the driveway.

  If she was surprised by his appearance, the feeling was evidently mu
tual as his pale eyes flickered over her and he shook his head disbelievingly. “No doubt about it. You’re a dead ringer for Rhea.”

  Meg cleared her throat nervously. “And you are?”

  He grinned. “I’m your ‘brother,’ Sloan.”

  Meg remembered then. She had seen this man before— at the airport the day she left for St. Maarten. She also saw now why Jake had laughed at the notion that Sloan was terminally ill. He was the picture of health, with the physique of a prizefighter. He ran deep-set eyes over her insinuatingly, and cold fear immobilized her. She didn’t want him in the house with her, but couldn’t slam the door on him when his foot was over the threshold.

  Sloan said, “I need to check out the house while Chastain’s gone. Rhea’s on her way, but she’s only been inside this place once, over a year ago. She’ll call me from the plane, and I’ll fill her in on what to expect.”

  “I don’t understand—” Meg began.

  “You’re here, you’re familiar with the house. When Rhea arrives, her husband will expect her to be. What’s to understand?”

  “There’s nothing unusual about the house. Except for the location I’d think it fairly modest by Chastain standards—” Meg began, but he pushed past her.

  Heart thumping, she went to the phone.

  Sloan snapped, “Who’re you calling?”

  “I’m going to see if I can get some groceries delivered. Jake asked me to before he left.”

  There was some comfort in having the phone in her hand, but having this muscular giant prowling through the house terrified her. He grunted in response, then moved toward the study, where she heard him moving about.

  When he came back into the living room, Meg said, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave now, because I can’t get groceries delivered. I’ll have to go and pick them up.”

  Eyes like gray marbles flickered over her. “You’re not bailing, are you? Rhea needs you to stay until she gets back.”

  Meg put down the phone. Her hand was trembling. “I told you I was going grocery shopping. I’ll be back. But I need you to leave so I can lock up.”

  For a long heart-stopping minute he stood staring at her. Then he moved closer, licked his lips and reached out with one finger to trace the contour of her cheek. Her skin crawled.

  She forced herself to look him in the eye without flinching, although every nerve in her body was screaming. She said sharply, “If Rhea wants me to continue this masquerade, you’d better go. Now.”

  At length he gave her an evil grin. “Okay. I’m done here.”

  She didn’t let out her breath until she heard the sports car’s engine start up outside. Then she called Mike.

  MEG HAD FILLED a grocery cart and was testing the ripeness of a couple of avocados. She looked up with a relieved smile as Mike approached.

  His glance took in her white sleeveless blouse and pleated walking shorts, supplied by Rhea. He murmured, “The first time I saw you it was in a supermarket. The difference this time is the display cases feature higher-priced items and the shoppers—including you—are better dressed. You look cool and elegant, by the way.”

  “I feel tense and tired,” she said. “We had a long overnight flight.”

  “Well, your weekend in the Caribbean has given your skin a peach glow, and that high-voltage smile of yours is enough to send a ripple up the spine of every man within range. I’m finding it hard to believe you were able to keep Chastain at arm’s length.”

  “Nevertheless,” Meg said, “I was.”

  Mike eyed the loaded grocery cart. “This is a cosy domestic scene. What are you going to do with all that food?”

  “Take it back to the beach house and fix dinner.”

  “Why? You said on the phone that Rhea was on her way. There’s no need for you to go back there. I’ll follow you back to the house, you can leave his car in the garage and then I’ll take you home.”

  Meg put down one of the avocados. “Is that why you insisted on meeting me when I called you?”

  “Absolutely. You’ve got to call it off now, Meg—okay if I call you that?—too many complications. It’s over.”

  “I have to wait for Rhea to get here,” Meg said firmly. “If I walk out now, the whole weekend will have been for nothing. I can’t count on her being able to get a plane from San Francisco and arriving here before Jake returns from Dana Point. She promised to call me the minute she arrives, and then I’ll slip out and meet her. We’ll change places and then it’s all over.”

  “Every minute you spend with Chastain, you risk him realizing you are not his wife. How long do you think you can be with him on his home turf—with no hotel guests and staff as buffers—before he decides he wants a real wife again, not a friend?”

  “You don’t understand. They’re talking about divorce.”

  “Yeah, you already told me that. But he’s a man, and you’re a beautiful woman.”

  Meg felt herself flush and she looked away quickly.

  Mike caught his breath. “Damn, you’re not attracted to Jake Chastain, are you? I guess I should have warned you about his reputation. He was a bachelor a long time, and I hear his powers of seduction are legendary. Not to mention his almost unlimited wealth and power being the ultimate aphrodisiac.”

  Angered that he dared question her morality, Meg snapped, “To me, nothing matters beyond the fact that he’s someone else’s husband.”

  Obviously deciding to take a different tack, Mike said, “Speaking of which, I may have a lead on your husband.”

  A not-so-subtle reminder that she was also married, Meg thought. She didn’t answer immediately, because a mother with a young child in her cart stopped to check the avocados. After they moved down the aisle, Meg turned to him. “You know where Hal is?”

  “Not exactly. The usual checks—DMV, credit cards—didn’t pan out. Since there was no paper trail, I explored the possibility he’d bought a fake ID. I’ll be showing Hal’s picture to somebody later who may be able to help. Look, Meg, we can go back to the house, leave Jake a note—”

  “In Rhea’s handwriting, I suppose? No, I’ve thought this through very carefully. I just have to hang in until Rhea arrives sometime this evening. I’ll make dinner, then I’m sure Jake will want to go back to the hospital to visit his mother. I’ll suggest she’d rather see him alone, and I’ll stay home. It’s pretty obvious that his mother and Rhea didn’t get along, so he won’t be surprised.”

  Mike considered for a minute, then said, “I’ll find your husband for you, even if Rhea cuts us loose.”

  “Thank you, but that isn’t the reason I want to stay. I won’t do anything to jeopardize the Chastain marriage.”

  “I thought you said it was over anyway.”

  “Jake mentioned a possible reconciliation.”

  “With you—not with Rhea.”

  Meg knew from Mike’s expression that conflicting emotions were registering on her face, not the least of which was a startled recognition of the truth of his statement.

  Mike muttered, “What have I put in motion here?”

  They stared at each other. He was clearly waiting for her to reassure him that, to her, Jake Chastain was merely part of a business arrangement she’d made with his wife. But all Meg could truthfully say was, “When Rhea returns, she can deal with their problems. I won’t add to them.”

  “I don’t like it, Meg. I feel responsible for getting you into this. I think she lied to us.”

  “Look, Mike, whatever Rhea’s reasons were for asking me to take her place, I still have an obligation to play the part until she comes back. Jake would never forgive her if he found out we’d deceived him.”

  “What about your jobs? Aren’t you expected back at work tomorrow?”

  “Carrie Hooper, who owns the catering service I work for, calls me when she needs extra help—I’m not on a regular schedule. I’ll be able to make the matinee at the theater tomorrow. Rhea will be here by then.”

  “She asked you to stay on, di
dn’t she,” Mike said heavily. “And you’re considering it.”

  “If I were, I wouldn’t have demanded that she come back today, would I? Come on, Mike, be reasonable. I’ll probably spend no more than an hour with Jake over dinner, then he’ll go to the hospital and I’ll bow out of the picture.”

  AS SHE PREPARED an asparagus salad, Meg thought of her meeting with Mike and wondered why she had avoided telling him of Sloan’s visit. Probably because the shaven-headed muscle man’s arrival would have added an even more compelling reason for Mike to insist that she call off the masquerade immediately.

  She rinsed a bunch of cilantro and was about to start chopping it when the doorbell rang again. At a seldom-used beach house, the arrival of a second visitor seemed ominous.

  A dog barked outside, and Meg was pretty sure that she recognized the bark. When she opened the door, the first thing she saw was Huxley, his tongue lolling and his tail wagging. Carmelita, holding a large bag of dog food and looking flustered and upset, was halfway through a recital.

  “...so I called and called, but you didn’t answer the phone and I thought maybe you’d turned off the ringer and I didn’t know what else to do...”

  Standing aside to allow them to enter, Meg asked, “What happened? Is it Mrs. Chastain—did you hear something from the hospital?”

  Carmelita’s face crumpled. “No, no! Is my sister. Oh, why do troubles come in bunches, like grapes? I have to go right away and I couldn’t leave Huxley alone. You know he’d tear up the house. I thought Mr. Jake would be here and tell me what to do.”

  “Mr. Jake had to go to a business meeting,” Meg said.

  “Lucky for me, you make friends with Huxley, right?”

  The Doberman was busy licking Meg’s hand and snuffling happily. Meg led them into the living room. “Sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  Carmelita shook her head. “No time. I must leave.”

  “Your sister is ill?”

  “Very sick. Maybe die. Troubles in bunches. First Jessica, now Consuela. Gotta go to Guadalajara right away. You take care of Huxley, okay?”