Midnight (McKenna Chronicles Book 1) (53 page)

“I’ll
be waiting for you.” His lips dip to kiss me one last time, molding to mine in
a sweet dance. My heart races and my breath pitches, as it does every time he
touches me.

“Be
safe; promise me,” he demands it.

I
nod. Colin raises the back of his knuckles to run from my temple to chin, his
eyes never leaving mine. Before he can step away I throw my arms around him for
one last hug. He bends to pick me up, my feet floating off the ground, my nose
buried in his neck.

I
take long, deep breathes to remember his scent. His arms squeeze tightly,
clenching me against him as if we can become one, so separation can’t occur.

After
another moment he sets me down, his lips brushing against my forehead before
turning to leave. I lift my hand in farewell, not confident my voice won’t give
away the pain I already feel at his absence. He slips into the car. The engine
is so silent I forgot it was on. Waving once more as he puts the car in drive,
he leaves me looking after him as the rain starts.

IT’S
NOT BEEN
twenty-four hours since he left, and I know it’s irrational for my
heart to ache for him with each passing moment, but it does. When I went up to
bed the night he left there was a note pressed against my pillow.

Dearest
Charlie,

When I am
with you and only with you I feel as if I can achieve greatness.

With you
there is the possibility of renewed life and a dream I never

believed
could be a reality. I will give you everything I am capable of

giving; it is
yours.

-Colin

When
I woke in the morning, I knew full well I wasn’t waiting for my flight on
Tuesday. My mom knew it too, so she helped me rearrange my flight schedule to
leave Monday afternoon. She’s with me now at the airport, her eyes tearing as
we ready to say goodbye.

“Don’t
cry.” I grab her in my arms, squeezing hard. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
Pulling away, I hold her from me like a small child, my hands on her shoulders,
keeping her an arm’s distance away so I can look into her eyes.

“I
love him, Mom.” My smile is wistful, joy radiating from my heart. “I never
thought I would ever feel this way. I’m so happy.”

Her
tears stream anew down her lovely cheeks. “It’s been my life’s wish to see you
this happy, Charlie.” She’s cupping my cheeks with her hands, my sweet, loving
Mom. Grabbing me once more, she wraps her arms around me in a death grip a
prized wrestler would be proud of.

They’re
calling my flight. Turning to run, I blow a kiss to her on a wave and round the
corner to my gate.

~

Sliding
into my seat, I send Colin an e-mail from my phone before I’m asked to stow my
phone.

To:
Colin McKenna

From:
Charlie Carter

Subject:
Greetings from Cooler Climates

Dear
CM, the weather in Michigan is cold and rainy today.

Wish
you were here to warm me up ;) I miss you. CC

Less
than a moment later I receive a response from him,

To:
Charlie Carter

From:
Colin McKenna

Subject:
Wish I were With You Too

Dear
CC,

Please
keep in mind tomorrow you will be thoroughly hot and

I
hope bothered. I miss you too. CM

To:
Colin McKenna

From
Charlie Carter

Subject:
You Know How to Warm a Girl’s Heart and Her

Insides
Too

Dear
CM,

Stop,
you’re making me blush. I have to run. I love you, CC

I
put my phone away, leaning against the window, waiting for take-off. Wistfully,
I think about Colin and the last time we were together. He was so carefree and
happy. The worries of the world were erased, even if it was only for one day. I
hope he can find peace again soon, and I hope I’m a part of it.

~

Falling
in and out of a light sleep throughout the flight is a welcome distraction from
the boredom of flying without Colin.

Once
I step off the plane I head directly to the exit—the benefit of flying with
only a carry-on. Hailing a cab quickly, I hand the driver the address of the
hotel; if I understand Colin’s itinerary he's scheduled in a meeting, and won’t
be available for another couple of hours.

When
I pull out my phone to make the promised call to my mom it takes seconds to
learn the battery is drained.
Crap; I must not have turned it off during the
flight
. I’ll have to wait until I get to the hotel to connect with her.

Colin
had left instructions with the front desk to issue a key to his suite for me,
knowing he won’t be available at my scheduled arrival time tomorrow. The clerk
doesn’t look startled at my early arrival and I have my key card quickly.

The
only thing Colin could possibly be upset about when it comes to my unscheduled
arrival time is that it doesn’t include Drake. He'll forgive me, though, before
he has time to connect my misdeed. That's my plan, anyway.

“Thank
you,” I say to the clerk. My voice is filled with anticipation and my cheeks
flush. Turning to hide my embarrassment I practically run to the elevators.
Blood is coursing hotly through my body. I can feel the energy and excitement
pumping through my veins. The effect Colin has on me is astonishing, and this
is just from knowing I’ll see him in a few short hours. Fanning myself with the
envelope housing my key, I exit the elevators in search of his room.

It's
unfamiliar as I’ve never been here before, but similar to the rooms we’ve
stayed in countless times in countless cities. I’m instantly at home.

Setting
my bag next to the modern gray sectional, I scan the room for Colin’s computer.
Heading into the bedroom I find it on the desk, which faces the window,
overlooking the city. His laptop appears to be on standby; it’ll only take a
quick moment to send my mom a short note.  

Moving
the mouse lightly the screen glows, changing the atmosphere in what remains of
the evening light. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sudden
brightness on the screen, and when they do my heart stumbles. It misses a beat
and then pumps harshly to kick-start the pattern. Shaking my head, I try to
disrupt the sharp piercing wale ringing in my ears and make sense of what
stares back at me.

A
large picture floats in the middle of the screen, a smaller one imposed on top
of it in the lower corner. The smaller photo is of someone that looks a lot
like me: auburn hair, clear, creamy skin, full lips, a small straight nose and
high cheekbones. The only significant difference is that this woman has gray
eyes. The bigger picture filling the screen is me—the similarities in our faces
are striking. My haphazard waves float around my head, full lips raised in a
glorious smile. Happiness radiates from my glowing green eyes that look
directly into the camera. This look and the love in my eyes were meant only for
Colin.  

Shit,
this was taken over the weekend at the lake house. My heart won’t stop beating
heavily. It’s pounding. Who is the other woman that looks so much like me, and
why is she blazing on his screen?

My
heart sinks, intuitively knowing I won’t like the answer. After staring at the
two pictures for a moment I notice an icon floating on the corner of my photo,
the title startling. Simply it says
C. Carter
. My fingers shake when I
move the mouse to hover on the icon, clicking quickly to open the contents. A
list of materials pops onto the screen, covering the eerie gray eyes of mystery
girl, leaving mine to stare happily back at me.

I
click the first link on the list and an article I wrote for a men’s magazine
last year opens. The topic: problems with big brother government. The document
has a small headshot of me I use for pieces like the one here, the picture
professionally taken, my hair smooth, a serene smile playing on my lips, my
eyes hinting at mischievousness. I always liked this photo.

The
next link is to a resume I submitted for a recent freelance job, where I
designed a website for John Templeton and his small business in Detroit. How in
the world would he have a copy of this?

Next
is link after link to articles I’ve written about various topics over the last
two years. More disturbing is a folder full of pictures, one taken recently on
the Notre Dame’s campus, my scarf wrapped around my neck, chin tucked in to
ward off the wind and cold. Two others are from last fall, me sitting on a park
bench at home in Michigan, the wind blowing my hair around my head while I read
a book in the park, another while I was out with girlfriends at the bar.
Picture after picture has been taken of me, always unaware of the photographer
taking them, my face caught laughing, contemplative, frowning.

The
next link takes me first to my birth certificate and then to my biological
parents’ death certificates, and finally to my adoption decree.
What the
hell?

Quickly
clicking on the next one, I gasp out loud. My hidden records are not so hidden.
It’s a scanned copy of a form, a social worker’s account of my repeated rape
and subsequent abortion all in black and white for Colin to read. I blanch, the
wind knocked out of me as surely as if I were punched in the stomach. He knew.
The whole time he knew everything about me. Words he said to me flood back.
I
didn’t care about your past before and I don’t care about it now.
He made
me tell him, and when I did he wasn’t shocked because he already knew what
happened to me and what I did.

My
stomach heaves at his deceit. Oh God, no. The room spins and I hold onto the
desk for balance. Colin is calculated in everything he does. But who is the
woman? My hair stands up on the back of my neck. Deep down I know, but I need
confirmation.

I
log onto the Internet and type in the search engine
pictures
of Abby
McKenna
. Although I suspected, it’s still shocking when the confirmation
pops onto the screen, validating my nightmare. Photos of Abby scatter over the
monitor, a petite woman with auburn hair and gray eyes. In one of the photos
Colin has his hand draped around her waist, a small smile on his mouth that
doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Abby, on the other hand, is thoroughly enjoying
the moment, posing for the camera, her hand tipped on her hip like you see
celebrities do to elongate their frame and slim out their arm.  It’s the
bracelet gracing her wrist that has revulsion pooling in my stomach. Without a
doubt, it’s the same bracelet Colin gave me before the fundraiser in New Jersey,
the weight of it heavy on my wrist now pulling me down into a deep despair. In
every photo, the similarities between the two of us are blaringly apparent. I
look like Colin’s dead wife.

The
knowing looks from his friends, his family. The comments I didn’t understand
when they were said all make sense now. They were never fooled into believing I
was along on the campaign as a member of the press; given my look-alike status
to his dead wife, they all knew I was along as his concubine.

Colin
must have seen my picture in the men’s magazine, plastered on top of my
article. Intrigued, he researched my background, found out everything about me,
everything
. He manipulated me to be at his press conference and to
accept this assignment.

Now
I understand why he didn’t want me to complete any online research about him
and why I was asked late the night before to attend his campaign speech. I
close my eyes and groan. It’s at this moment I realize I’ve been his puppet all
along, he the masterful puppeteer moving me purposefully for his bidding and
will, manipulating my actions and emotions artfully. He finds broken things and
makes them whole. I was the ultimate conquest, his biggest challenge. Take
broken Charlie Carter and make her whole again, fixed and mended into the
long-gone wife he desperately wants back. A second chance at what once was.

I
push back from the computer, sickened, leaning over between my knees to stave
away my swimming head. I’m on the verge of hyperventilating so I force long,
deep breaths into my lungs. While prostrate, the screen on the computer moves
to snooze and the room is pitched to black. I can’t form a coherent thought.
Through the rashly pumping blood in my ears I hear the door to the suite open,
voices carrying over into the bedroom. The hair on my arm prickles; I don’t
want to see him. I need to gather my thoughts, plan my defense before engaging
in this conversation. I’m certain one look at my face will show the pain, his
deceit evident.

Ella’s
voice rises above my pounding head. Sitting up quickly, my face instantly
heats. Her annoyingly high-pitched tone is angry, loud and demanding as she
yells at Colin.
I
want to yell at Colin right now, but I don’t like her
raised voice. My natural inclination is to defend him still.

Colin’s
harsh retort breaks my reverie. He’s mad and loud, very loud. “This is none of
your God damned business, Ella! I’ve told you over and over again to leave her
alone and stay out of my personal life.”
Her
? Is he talking about me?

“I
have no choice, Colin,” Ella says in a cold, accusatory tone. “You’re acting
like a lovesick teenager, thinking with your dick not your head. You've worked
toward the presidency your entire life; are you willing to throw it away for a
whore?”

I
blanch. He responds for me, seething. “Watch your mouth. You’re walking a very
fine line here. My personal affairs are mine to manage. I know exactly what I’m
doing. I told you from the beginning, Charlise was the perfect person to report
out on my campaign. She's done exactly what we wanted her to do. Charlie
connected the campaign to women and young America. Our numbers in that age
bracket have quadrupled since she began touring with us.”