The Getaway Bride

“She left you two and a half years ago. For all she knows, you’ve dissolved the marriage.”

“I haven’t. And there’s no record of her doing so, either. Sure, I’ve thought of just putting an end to it, forgetting about her, and getting on with my life. My friends and family have certainly tried to convince me to do so for the past couple of years. But I can’t, Blake. Not without getting some answers. Not without knowing what went wrong. I just can’t.”

Blake sat in silence for several long moments, seeming to digest Gabe’s words. “I wouldn’t be able to, either,” he confessed finally. “Like you, I’d have to know. So, you’ll try again to ask your questions.”

“And this time, damn it, she’s going to answer them,” Gabe said flatly.

Blake didn’t look as certain. “And if she starts to scream again?”

“I’ll deal with it.” Somehow.

Blake glanced out the window, at the closed door across the way. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’m going to need it.”

SETTING HER HAIR DRYER on the counter, Page looked in the mirror of the motel bathroom. A pair of scissors sat at one side of the sink; she’d used them to crop her shoulder-length hair into a shorter cut that now fluffed around her face. Her former mousy-brown hair was a rich auburn now, shot with red.

It paid to invest in good hair colorings, she thought with weary satisfaction. As many times as she’d dyed her hair in the past months, she’d learned which brands worked best.

She left her brown contact lenses in. Her eyes looked darker with her hair this color. Paula Smithers had worn little or no makeup, so Page now emphasized her eyes with shadow, liner and mascara, and stroked blusher on her cheeks.

With a dark lipstick, she thought, studying the mirror, no one would recognize her as the mousy bookkeeper from Des Moines.

She didn’t ask herself if the changes were necessary; it had become habit to alter her appearance as often as she changed addresses. If only it were as easy to shed the memories and emotions that followed to haunt her wherever she lived, whatever name she used.

She drew a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. She would spend the night here, then move on tomorrow, she decided. She hadn’t decided where she would go. She would just get in he

r car and drive.

Maybe she’d go south again. Georgia or Mississippi or Louisiana.

Not that it mattered. Wherever she went, eventually the photographs would appear in the mail and she would have to move on.

And now she had to worry about Gabe finding her, too. He’d found her once. Could he do so again?

After what she’d done to him this time, would he bother to try?

She remembered the look in his eyes when he’d confronted her. Oh, yes. He would try.

Gabe Conroy was a determined man. Everything he’d ever wanted, he’d gone after with single-minded determination. His college education. His business. Her.

She shivered and pulled the lapels of her robe together as a cold wave of fear washed through her. Somehow, she had to convince Gabe to stay away from her.

She sighed and glanced at the uncomfortable looking bed. It was still early, just after eight o’clock. She hadn’t had dinner, but she wasn’t very hungry. She should try to get some rest. She wanted to get an early start in the morning. Yet she dreaded going to sleep.

Her dreams were not pleasant ones these days.

A quiet rap on her door made her gasp and cover her mouth with her hands. Who—

“Page. Open the door.”

She knew his voice, of course. Like a rapier, it sliced straight into her heart.

“Page?” He knocked again. “I know you’re in there.

Open up.”

She stood frozen in the center of the small room, staring at the door, trying desperately to think of what to do. Would he go away if she refused to answer?