“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.
Once she got down there, there was no escape. No exit. She would be trapped and he would haul her ass into the nearest police station.
Ignoring the pain in his leg, he scrambled down, following until she was nearly out of sight. “What the hell is your game?” he wondered aloud, his jaw tight.
He caught a glimpse of her approaching one of the lower switchbacks on the trail. The precipice at that turn was so dangerous that a platform had been constructed, complete with safety railing. From that point tourists were able to look down to a spectacular view of the roiling sea in the cove known as Devil’s Caldron.
He was gaining again.
Saw her reach the platform.
Panting, pushing himself, he hurried faster.
Ahead of him, she paused, waiting at the platform. For a second he thought she was waiting for him. Then, to his horror, she swung one leg over the railing.
Oh, God, what was she thinking?
But he knew.
Holy Christ, he knew.
“No!”
His heart clutched as she climbed onto the railing and perched on the edge, high above Devil’s Caldron.
Oh, no. Please. He skidded to a halt, watching in horror. “Don’t!”
She looked over her shoulder and blew him a kiss. Then she turned back to the ocean and lifted her arms over her head, poised like a ballerina. A moment later she jumped, her body a tiny needle of a woman soaring down past the cliffs. Bentz forced himself to watch as she disappeared from view and fell into the roiling furious tide far, far below.
CHAPTER 29
It was like watching Jennifer die all over again. Bentz stared into the churning waters, feeling sick as he clutched the railing. His heart was pounding, his mind screaming. Why had she jumped? Why?
His gaze scraped every inch of the shoreline and water, trying to locate a trace of her-a scrap of pink or white bobbing on the angry swirling surf so far below.
No. For the love of God…
“Hey!” he heard from somewhere, as if through a long tunnel. “Hey!”
Blinking, trying to focus, he turned and saw someone running down the hillside. No, two people. A long-haired boy in his twenties and a leggy girl chasing after him.