Page 62 of Mirror Image

They’d seen me.

They’d supported me.

We had been a family that worked, once.

Before everything fractured.

Before reputation and fear and other people’s voices got between us.

It had been a very long time since I’d had a memory of them that didn’t ache.

It steadied me.

It was still warming something in my chest as I stepped into the small clearing along the riverbank—my assigned campsite. I pitched my tent, stowed my gear, then circled the perimeter, gathering firewood. I wanted to be sure there was enough so I wouldn’t be stumbling around the forest in the middle of the night after the fire died out.

I made myself a nice pot of beans and rice and chased it down with a cup of campfire cocoa and a few s’mores made with some freshly charred marshmallows. After a little stargazing, I put out the fire and retired to my tent with a headlamp-style flashlight strapped to my head and a book. I’d only been able to bring a few thinner volumes along on the course, and it was my third time through this particular steamy billionaire romance.

I’m not sure when I dozed off, but I awoke with a start, the book on my chest, lamp still on, illuminating the corner of the tent where my head was facing. Sitting up, I took a moment to reacquaint myself with my situation and my surroundings. Thanks to Sam, every little creak and crunch conjured images of ravenous bears and horror-movie-style bad guys lurking in the depths of the forest. I hadn’t been creeped out before, but I was now as I waited for whatever it was that had pulled me out of a sound sleep to reveal itself. I didn’t have to wait long before I heard a low, throaty groan that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up on end.

But what the hell was I supposed to do? Ignore it? Pretend I didn’t hear it and try to go back to sleep? Hope it didn’t happen again?

Too late. There it was, but more desperate this time. Like someone in pain.

I had to do something.

Slipping back into my boots as quickly and quietly as I could, I threw on my jacket and grabbed the can of bear spray I had tucked into my pack on the off chance I came in contact with the rare insomniac bear during hibernating season. It took a few minutes to locate the direction of the noise, but once I locked onto it, I moved through the trees as quickly and quietly as I could. My heart felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest, but all I could think about was . . . What? What was it that had me rushing toward the scary frightening sound in the middle of the woods in the dark?

Sam. It sounded like Sam.

Once the thought took hold, it wouldn’t let go, sending my imagination into a downward spiral of gruesome scenarios and images . . . She’d had an accident—maybe broken her leg and was trying to crawl toward help. There really was a murderer out here, or a wild animal. I drew the line at the possibility of aliens, but that still left enough to spur me on, crashing through the leaves, ducking low-hanging branches and dodging fallen trunks until I was within a hundred feet of the noise, which had grown to a fever pitch.

Moaning. Groaning. Panting. Grunting.

When I came bursting out into the clearing, I looked from side to side, the beam of my headlamp sweeping the area until I located the source.

I’d been right: It was Sam, and she was in trouble.

A primal scream ripped from me as I raised the can of bear repellent and ran straight for the hulking figure who had her pinned to the ground, shirt up around her neck, pants down around her ankles as he pumped away on top of her. He looked up, shocked, just in time to get a face full of the repellent. And then he was the one screaming, hands on his face as he managed to disengage from my sister and stumble a few feet away before sinking onto his knees again, wailing in agony.

“Mary?” Sam shrieked. “Oh my God, what did you do?!”

She crawled, half naked, across the frozen ground—toward her assailant.

Toward him?

That’s when it hit me like a frying pan to the head.

My stomach lurched. Horror gave way to something far worse: confusion, betrayal, a sick disbelief that made the edges of my vision blur.

Leo wasn’t her assailant. He was her lover.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jenn

Twenty-three years ago

The difference between grief and rage is that, in most cases, time will temper rage, allowing it to cool and subside. Grief, on the other hand, has infinite patience. It can lie dormant for years—decades, even—awaiting its opportunity to rise out of the ashes of that smoldering fury. You can delay grief, but you can’t put it off forever because it will wait you out every time.