Lisa Jackson - Malice

Olivia found her book and opened it. She was anxious, ready to get this trip behind her. Now that she’d decided to fly to Los Angeles to see her husband, she found waiting excruciating.

It’s no big deal, she told herself. Not like an omen or anything. Relax. A few minutes won’t make any difference. You’ll be with Bentz soon.

And for that she could suffer the noise and discomfort of a few hours on a plane.

“How’s Kristi?” asked the woman who resembled Jennifer.

Leave my daughter alone, Bentz wanted to snarl as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. The Chevy’s engine whined as the car sped up the sharp hills rimming the ocean. “I don’t think you should bring her up.”

“I miss her so-”

“Bull-fucking-shit!” he growled. His voice was low. A warning. “Don’t go there. Got it? Do not go there. As if you’re her long-lost mother.” He was beyond disgusted. “Just leave my daughter out of this, you goddamned imposter! Now, tell me why the hell you’ve been ‘haunting’ me; what’s the point? Who are you and what do you want?”

She wasn’t rattled in the least, no sweat on her forehead, no death grip on the arm rest. One side of her mouth lifted in that damnable Jennifer way and she cooed, “Oh, RJ, get over yourself.”

He was raging inside, his blood boiling. This fraud had promised him answers, and he was through waiting. “We’re done,” he said with a finality that must have finally gotten to her. “Hear me. This is over. Now.”

“Okay, okay…I get it. You want answers. Just…just pull over up here. There’s a place where you and I went down to the beach, up ahead at Devil’s Caldron. Remember.”

Jesus, God, how did she know that? He remembered the time, on their way to Point Fermin. Jennifer had teased him by touching him in the car. Hot and bothered, he’d pulled over.

Now this woman was sending him a coy look, as if she knew what he was thinking. Dear God, she was so damned much like Jennifer it chilled him to the marrow of his bones.

“There…” She pointed to the sign near the corner. Hands sweating on the wheel, heart thudding, he drove into the turnout perched high over the ocean.

Only one other car was in the lot, an empty white Datsun with a surfboard strapped to its roof. He pulled the Impala beside it, pushed the gear shift lever into park, and cut the engine.

Dust swirled over the hood of the car as, before she realized what he had planned, he reached down and scooped her bag from the floor beneath her.

“Hey!” she protested.

“Just checking your driver’s license, Jennifer.” He rifled through the purse, his hand closing over a slender wallet. Driven with urgency he flipped the wallet open, only to find it empty. No ID. Not even a credit card. “What the hell?”

She laughed. Raised a teasing eyebrow. “Come on, RJ. You of all people should know that a dead woman doesn’t carry identification.”

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, tossing the purse at her. Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward and flipped open the glove box at her knees. There had to be a registration for the car. Maybe she’d stashed her license there, too.

But the compartment was empty, skeletal metal and plastic lit by a small bulb.

“Give it up,” she advised. “You’ll never find what you’re looking for.” She laughed, deep and sexy and naughty. “You’ll never find it because you don’t want to face the truth. You don’t want to believe that I’m Jennifer.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.” He slammed the glove box closed. “And I don’t fall for cons.”

“You did twelve years ago.”

In the distance waves crashed, punctuating the sickening feeling in his gut.

“I staged my own death, RJ. I left the suicide note, the whole thing. My life was unraveling and I wanted…I needed a way out.”

Bentz couldn’t believe her. He wouldn’t believe her. “Then who was driving the car, huh?” he demanded. “Who was wearing your rings? Who am I going to find in your coffin? You mean to tell me you found another woman who looked like you, put her in your car, and made her crash?” He shook his head. “Your story is a tough sell.” He wasn’t buying a single word of her fairy tale.

“But I am Jennifer,” she said in that tone that sounded so like his ex-wife. “And I can prove it.”

“This is gonna be good,” Bentz said, shaking his head. “How?”

“You and I first made love on the beach in Santa Monica.”

He didn’t move as her words rolled over him.

“That’s why I jumped off there. I…I thought you’d get it. I know you probably thought it had something to do with James…but it was because of us.”

The temperature in the car seemed to heat ten degrees. No one knew about that first time, long before they were married.

“Face it, RJ,” she whispered. “I’m back.”

“What?” With a click her seat belt was unhooked and she leaned over, her lips hesitating for just a second, hovering, until she kissed him. Filled with ardor and the desire of youth, she grabbed his head and held him fast.

Images blazed inside him. Wild. Erotic. Sexy. In his mind’s eye he flashed on Jennifer’s naughty smile, her smooth, fiery skin, the curve of her neck. With the memories came the pain, reminiscences of the nasty way she cut him down, her secret, haughty way of diminishing him, the way she’d so brazenly taken lovers…

God, he’d loved her.

And he’d hated her.

But this woman wasn’t Jennifer.

With that realization his erotic fantasies turned hollow and cold.

What was he thinking? Who was this fake?

In a split second he thought of Olivia, the woman who fired his blood and interlaced his dreams. It was Olivia’s face he saw in his mind, an image of blond curls, sexy pink lips, whiskey-colored eyes that could gaze deep into his soul. A simple brush of her finger against his nape could make him hard and wanting.

Disgusted, he pushed the imposter away.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Everything.”

She smiled then. “You are so right.”

With a click, her door popped open and she was outside in a heartbeat.

“Hell,” Bentz growled, unbuckling his seat belt. After fumbling with the handle he threw the door open and burst out of the car.

“Wait!” he yelled.

But she was already running toward the brush, disappearing down a path.

“Shit!” He took off after her, his leg throbbing as the soles of his shoes slid over the sandy pavement.

“Wait!”

Damn it all to hell! He ran after her as she disappeared over the edge of the cliff, her feet kicking up dust.

“Son of a bitch!” Bentz was on her heels, but slipped at the first turn, his new shoes giving him no traction on the steep gravel and dirt trail cut into the hillside.

He caught himself, but felt something pop in his bad knee. Pain exploded up his leg.

Great.

He kept running, agony searing his muscles.

Gritting his teeth, he pursued her, wincing and limping and cursing as he half ran, half slid down the path with its sharp switchbacks.

Somehow, he kept her head in his sights, her coppery hair glinting in the sunlight.

“Stop!” he yelled into the wind, but she ignored his order and continued to descend the hillside, down the treacherous trail.

Cursing himself for being a dozen kinds of fool, he followed. Bentz knew he was losing ground, but he would catch her on the beach. The strip of sand at the base of the cliff was a small crescent, one end cut off by the point where tidal waters swirled and crashed, the other end a wall of rock leading up to the cliff. The only land access to the beach was via this slippery path.