honey? I’m going to take you home.”
Ana fished the keys out of her pocket and handed them to Mike who, in turn, handed them to Jim.
The heavy, wet snow soaked through Ana’s clothes, and though she knew she should be freezing, she was physically and emotionally numb.
Mike hooked his arms under hers and lifted her. She shuffled her feet in the direction he pulled her, eluded by an act as simple as walking. Had Mike not taken her away, she wasn’t sure she would have ever left.
The whispering crowd silenced as the coroner emerged from the motel room. Two young men forced the gurney’s wheels through the accumulating snow, loaded Sydney’s body into the back of the ambulance, and tapped the rear door, signaling it was all clear to go.
Ana watched the ambulance drive away.
Shock substituted someone else as the victim: some faceless, nameless person Ana didn’t have to grieve for.
Anyone other than her sister.
CHAPTER 3
Colby Monroe stared at her reflection in her dressing table mirror and brushed her reddish-blond hair over her shoulders. She leaned forward and gently stretched the skin around her spring-green eyes. In the sunlight, she saw the faint lines beginning to work their way out from the corners. Despite the constant compliments, she was seeing the signs that every day of her thirty-six years was starting to catch up with her.
The sound of tires on the driveway drew her to the bedroom window where she shivered in her black negligee, watching her husband Jared’s silver BMW 6 Series disappear into the garage. She closed the blinds, self-conscious of her minor flaws, and dabbed on a fresh coat of vanilla-flavored lip gloss.
The front door opened, then closed, and Jared stomped off his boots. He set his keys on the entranceway table and turned on the water in the kitchen sink. A bar stool slid across the hardwood floor, and the smell of coffee crept upstairs.
Colby grabbed a stick-lighter off the dresser, lit several candles, and turned down the bed. She climbed beneath the comforter and stared at the time on the alarm clock: 8:02 a.m.
Jared was getting home later by the day.
Fifteen minutes passed, and as Colby was about to give up on her plan to romance him, Jared appeared in the doorway. He ran his hands through his dark brown hair, cut close at the sides and left longer on top in a style resembling one worn by George Clooney.
“Hey,” she said.
Red lines shot through the whites of his dark eyes. “Hey. Are you just waking up?”
She hadn’t slept past six in the morning since leaving her job as an OR nurse at County Memorial almost four months earlier, and he knew it.
“No,” she said, softening her hard tone. “I was waiting for you .” She pulled the comforter aside, leaned up on her elbow, and smiled.
Jared let out a sigh, and, for a long moment, didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She could see his disinterest, and it hit her in the place where her fear of aging festered, hurting her more, she guessed, than he had intended.
“I’m sorry.” Jared shook his head. “It’s been a long night.” He went into the en suite bathroom and shut the door.
Tears burned behind Colby’s eyelids, and she closed her eyes until she was sure she could contain them. The hurt was visceral, and she refused to let Jared see that. She blew out the candles, put on her silk bathrobe, and knocked on the bathroom door.
“Jared, open up.” The shower turned on, and she reached for the door handle, finding it locked. “Come on. Unlock the door.”
Jared answered, wearing a white towel wrapped around his waist. He held his hand high on the doorjamb and stretched in a way that caused his chest and biceps to flex. Country club racquet ball kept him in impeccable shape, and, at age thirty-nine, he didn’t have a gray hair on him, a fact that secretly annoyed her.
Steam from the shower rolled into the bedroom.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m exhausted, Colby. I don’t have another fight in
Ana fished the keys out of her pocket and handed them to Mike who, in turn, handed them to Jim.
The heavy, wet snow soaked through Ana’s clothes, and though she knew she should be freezing, she was physically and emotionally numb.
Mike hooked his arms under hers and lifted her. She shuffled her feet in the direction he pulled her, eluded by an act as simple as walking. Had Mike not taken her away, she wasn’t sure she would have ever left.
The whispering crowd silenced as the coroner emerged from the motel room. Two young men forced the gurney’s wheels through the accumulating snow, loaded Sydney’s body into the back of the ambulance, and tapped the rear door, signaling it was all clear to go.
Ana watched the ambulance drive away.
Shock substituted someone else as the victim: some faceless, nameless person Ana didn’t have to grieve for.
Anyone other than her sister.
CHAPTER 3
Colby Monroe stared at her reflection in her dressing table mirror and brushed her reddish-blond hair over her shoulders. She leaned forward and gently stretched the skin around her spring-green eyes. In the sunlight, she saw the faint lines beginning to work their way out from the corners. Despite the constant compliments, she was seeing the signs that every day of her thirty-six years was starting to catch up with her.
The sound of tires on the driveway drew her to the bedroom window where she shivered in her black negligee, watching her husband Jared’s silver BMW 6 Series disappear into the garage. She closed the blinds, self-conscious of her minor flaws, and dabbed on a fresh coat of vanilla-flavored lip gloss.
The front door opened, then closed, and Jared stomped off his boots. He set his keys on the entranceway table and turned on the water in the kitchen sink. A bar stool slid across the hardwood floor, and the smell of coffee crept upstairs.
Colby grabbed a stick-lighter off the dresser, lit several candles, and turned down the bed. She climbed beneath the comforter and stared at the time on the alarm clock: 8:02 a.m.
Jared was getting home later by the day.
Fifteen minutes passed, and as Colby was about to give up on her plan to romance him, Jared appeared in the doorway. He ran his hands through his dark brown hair, cut close at the sides and left longer on top in a style resembling one worn by George Clooney.
“Hey,” she said.
Red lines shot through the whites of his dark eyes. “Hey. Are you just waking up?”
She hadn’t slept past six in the morning since leaving her job as an OR nurse at County Memorial almost four months earlier, and he knew it.
“No,” she said, softening her hard tone. “I was waiting for you .” She pulled the comforter aside, leaned up on her elbow, and smiled.
Jared let out a sigh, and, for a long moment, didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She could see his disinterest, and it hit her in the place where her fear of aging festered, hurting her more, she guessed, than he had intended.
“I’m sorry.” Jared shook his head. “It’s been a long night.” He went into the en suite bathroom and shut the door.
Tears burned behind Colby’s eyelids, and she closed her eyes until she was sure she could contain them. The hurt was visceral, and she refused to let Jared see that. She blew out the candles, put on her silk bathrobe, and knocked on the bathroom door.
“Jared, open up.” The shower turned on, and she reached for the door handle, finding it locked. “Come on. Unlock the door.”
Jared answered, wearing a white towel wrapped around his waist. He held his hand high on the doorjamb and stretched in a way that caused his chest and biceps to flex. Country club racquet ball kept him in impeccable shape, and, at age thirty-nine, he didn’t have a gray hair on him, a fact that secretly annoyed her.
Steam from the shower rolled into the bedroom.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m exhausted, Colby. I don’t have another fight in
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