Makeovers Can Be Murder (14 page)

Jonathan′s unexpected arrival made me wish I could be teleported by some alien technology into a faraway galaxy—preferably a galaxy named Before. I yearned for that universe because it was the one that had existed before I learned that Jonathan had slept with Gi.

Elfie floated in from the bedroom with her tail rising above her like a plume. Approaching Jonathan cautiously, she took a probing sniff. Then her whiskers twitched, and she made a little purring sound of happiness.

″Hey there, beautiful kitty.″ Jonathan stroked the cat, who proceeded to jump into his lap. After making a couple of turns, she settled into a contented ball.

Elfie′s arrival seemed to put a tiny chip in the ice between us. Jonathan looked at me and said, ″Did you get my phone messages? I left several of them.″

″Four,″ I said. ″No, I didn′t get them. I mean, I did, but I didn′t listen to them. I deleted them.″

″Oh.″

The Adam′s apple bobbed up and down slowly in Jonathan′s neck. ″I wanted to tell you how sorry I was,″ he said. ″That episode with Gi—that never should have happened.″

″That
episode
? You′re right, Jonathan. It never should have happened. But it did. Why did it?″

″It′s a long, awful story. The bottom line is—I never wanted to hurt you, Kate.″

″You′ve more than hurt me, Jonathan,″ I said. ″You′ve destroyed everything we had together as a couple. I really thought we were special. To me, you were special.″

″Please don′t talk like that.″

″But it′s true.″

Closing my eyes, I heard the heat rise on each syllable as I continued, ″You′ve
killed
us, Jonathan. You′re a homicide cop, right? You know what murder is, right? That′s what you′ve done to us. Murder one.″

″Kate.″

I heard a commotion. When I opened my eyes, Elfie was scrambling to escape from the room again and Jonathan was bending over me; cupping my face with his hands; whispering urgently in my ear.

″Please. Please, love,″ he said, bending down with one knee on the floor. ″I wish more than the world that I could erase what happened. I know it′s impossible to ask you to forgive me. But please don′t ever think I don′t love you. Because I do. More than you can even know right now.″

He lowered his head onto my lap and rested it there.

With his voice muffled against my stomach, he continued, ″All I want to do is make it up to you. I want to make things right. Please, Kate. Let me make things right.″

Gently, I rested my hand on top of his hair. The hair felt soft, but my wrist was locked tight. I felt an eerie sense of detachment from what was happening.

Something about Jonathan′s head in my lap and his being down on one knee made it feel like we were acting out a tawdry scene from the life of Queen Elizabeth. Jonathan was playing the straying Sir Walter Raleigh, a supplicant waiting for the royal nod of forgiveness for the sin of bedding down a comely maiden he′d tripped across in a scullery. That made me the Virgin Queen, I guessed. My fingers went icy.

I couldn′t manage to connect any emotion to what was happening between us. I especially couldn′t connect to what was happening with Jonathan.

The man kneeling in front of me didn′t seem at all like the man I knew. This man wasn′t the emotionally reserved homicide cop I′d fallen in love with.
This
man was acting like someone who was veering on the edge of an emotional meltdown. What the hell had happened to him since he′d left the United States on his vacation? Had Gi cast some kind of bizarre sex spell over him? Clearly I was going to have to get to know my boyfriend all over again if we were going to put things back together. If I was
willing
to put things back together, that is.

Once before a boyfriend had cheated on me. At the time it hadn′t seemed like a difficult situation. Enraging and humiliating, yes, but not difficult. When that guy had confessed his betrayal to me over lunch, I′d blessed him and his new tramp with an Irish curse and never spoken to him again. I never even looked back. But I hadn′t been in love with him.

Jonathan was a completely different story. What was I going to do?

The phrases ran together in my head in an endless loop. It was a manic parrot song of love and remorse, sung in a British accent.

Forgive him.
Was it ever going to be possible for me to do that?

It was much too soon to tell.

Chapter 26

V-necks for Large Busts

—From
The Little Book of Beauty Secrets
by Mimi Morgan

 

 

An hour later Jonathan and I were lying on top of the duvet that covered my bed. Fully clothed and not touching, we were stretched out like two dolls that had been placed next to each other.

In halting sentences Jonathan began to reveal the story of how he′d met Gi. They′d met eight years earlier during a trip he′d made to China. She was working as a bar girl in Beijing. She′d escaped from North Korea, but she was being abused by the smugglers who′d brought her in. They were forcing her to work as a prostitute, Jonathan told me.

″For all practical purposes, Gi was working as a sex slave when I met her,″ Jonathan explained.

Staring up at the popcorn ceiling of my bedroom, he continued. ″What she was doing back then wasn′t by her choice. She was being threatened by the smugglers who got her over the border. I felt I had to get her out of there. I made arrangements to bring her home to England with me.″

″What arrangements?″

″We got married. I paid to have her paperwork doctored. It′s the only time in my life I′ve ever committed a crime.″

He closed his eyes. ″I was studying criminology back in the UK at the time,″ he said. ″I could have gone to jail for what I did. I′m not proud of that.″

″You must have loved her very much.″

″Yes, but what I felt for Gi back then was more than love. And less in a strange way. I can only describe it as a burning thing . . . as an
obsession
. For a while I think I really lost my mind over her. I was capable of doing anything for her back then.″

Each word that Jonathan was saying was dripping onto my brain like burning oil, causing incredible agony. But I was determined to keep listening. I had a ludicrous, sudden urge to grab a tape recorder to record our conversation because my brain was in too much shock to fully absorb everything he was saying. It was unbearable to hear more.

Gi had turned out to be dangerously unstable, Jonathan told me. ″She was—is—extremely insecure about money,″ he said. ″She kept incessantly looking for ways for us to become rich overnight. She thought we had to have pots of money, or else she′d wind up back on the streets, back in North Korea. That made no sense. I′m a
cop
.

″Gi couldn′t stand the thought that I′d never earn big money. In the end she found some bloke she thought could give her all the material things she wanted. I came home early one afternoon and found them in bed together.″

″What did you do?″

″I walked out and never saw her again.″

″Until this week.″

″Until eight months ago.″

″You saw her eight
months
ago?″

″Briefly, when I went home for the Christmas holidays. Remember? You couldn′t come because you had to work.″

″Don′t you dare try to blame this situation on my work, Jonathan. You slept with Gi eight
months
ago? And you haven′t told me anything in all this time?″

″I didn′t know what to say at the time, Kate.″

Right. What could he have said? Our relationship would have been over eight months ago. Curling my hands into fists, I pressed them into my stomach. At some stronger time in the future I′d have to rewrite our emotional history as a couple. So many huge things had gone unsaid between us. How could I not have felt that something was desperately wrong on some level? For the past eight months, the only negative emotion I′d felt was insecurity about my body. Probably that insecurity had masked deeper worries running beneath the surface. A psychologist would have a field day with me.

After a painful silence, Jonathan resumed speaking. ″Gi has stayed close to my mum all these years,″ he said. ″Gi took care of Mum, and I guess she used her as a sort of refuge whenever she got in trouble. Last Christmas I told Gi to stay away while I was there, but one night she came over with some woolly socks and teas for Mum. I got drunk and—″

″And the rest I can figure out. And fuck you, by the way. Unless you care to describe how much you enjoyed your little Gi fling. Was she nice and tight, Jonathan? Is that what you′ve been missing all this time?″

″Please don′t, Kate. I hate to hear you talk like that. That′s not like you at all.″

″Spare me the language lecture, Jonathan. And don′t tell me what I′m
like
. Whatever I′m like, it obviously isn′t sufficient for you. You were in bed with Gi this week, right? When I called and she grabbed the phone?″

Jonathan′s face was rigid. ″Not in that . . . way. There was no intimacy between us this time. Not on this trip.″

″Well, say hallelujah for
that
. So what exactly were you doing when Gi said you two were fucking like love bunnies?″

″We weren′t having sex, Kate. That′s just Gi′s craziness.″

″If you expect me to believe that, Jonathan, then you must think
I′m
crazy.″

Jonathan shifted to one side and looked into my eyes. ″I don′t think you′re crazy,″ he said. ″I think you′re sanest woman I′ve ever met. But I let you down. I know that I did.″

His voice turned leaden and defeated as he continued. ″I have to tell you everything now.″

″You mean there′s
more
?″

″Yes.″

″But first I want you to know,″ he said. ″There′s nothing left emotionally between Gi and me. Absolutely nothing.″

″Absolutely nothing but a little vacation sex every few years?″

″Please, Kate. Can I just finish what I have to say?″

When I shrugged, he resumed, ″I have no feelings for Gi anymore except for maybe pity. There′s nothing left in my heart and hasn′t been for a long time. But . . .″

Something bad was coming. Something that was even worse than being cheated on. Instinctively I rolled away from him.

Jonathan shielded his eyes with his hand. ″Gi′s eight months pregnant,″ he said. ″She says she conceived during that one time we were together at the Christmas holiday.

″Gi says the baby is mine.″

Chapter 27

A Personal Grooming Tool

I wish I′d known about facial-grooming tools long ago—it would have spared me a lot of episodes of embarrassing chin hair. Usually battery operated, the grooming tool is used to whisk away facial hairs. You can also use it to remove the hair in the ... ahem, deli
cate
areas of your body.

—From
The Little Book of Beauty Secrets
by Mimi Morgan

 

 

″She′s pregnant? Gi is having your
baby
?″

Oh God oh God oh God. Oh, Jesus.

A blinding pain shot through my head. ″Tell me everything else
right now
, Jonathan,″ I gasped. ″Are you even
divorced
? On the phone Gi said she′s still your wife.″

″Not technically.″

″Not divorced
technically
? You′re a cop, for God′s sake!″

″Not technically, because the original paperwork was doctored. I can′t even get a legitimate divorce in England. Right now, legally I′m stuck with her. It′s like I made a deal with the devil when I smuggled her in.″

More like he′d
married
the devil. And now she was having the devil′s child.

The second that thought entered my head, the ghost of my Catholic upbringing reared its disapproving head and glared at me. Quickly, I made the sign of the cross over my chest. Back in grade school, the nuns had taught me that it was a serious sin to condemn an unborn baby, even in one′s thoughts. No matter how unstable Gi was or what Jonathan had done, their baby was God′s precious being. Never a spawn of the devil.

I hadn′t made the sign of the cross since I was thirteen years old. And I hadn′t been to a priest to make a confession in nearly that long. Clearly I was overdue.

At the sight of my making the sign of the cross, Jonathan sat upright in the bed. He had a nervous look on his face.

And he had plenty of cause to be afraid. I was like an IED ready to go off. It was all I could do to keep my finger from releasing the trigger button.

″You better go home now, Jonathan,″ I said, heaving with the desire to claw at him.

″I don′t want to go. I think we need to talk some more.″

″I don′t want to talk to you. Get out of my house right now, because I don′t want to be charged with assaulting an officer.″

He reached for my hand. ″Don′t be ridicu—″

″Get
out
of here!″

The hand he′d touched exploded. My fingers unfurled and slashed across his face.

Jonathan didn′t try to defend himself or control me. A drop of his blood remained on my finger as I pulled it away, smearing the linen pillowcase.

I didn′t pause to consider that I′d drawn blood; rage had taken the driver′s seat. I pushed Jonathan out of my bed and drove him before me. In the living room Jonathan opened the front door, then held on to the knob for a few seconds while I screamed foul-sounding names at him. I don′t even know what kinds of things I was screaming. I wasn′t even Kate Gallagher anymore. I was a Greek Fury, only with a vocabulary of pithy Irish insults.