Page 10 of Untouchable
She’d had to wait a long time before two more hikers passed by. She’d been covered with his blood by the time the police came.
She was choking now, unable to breathe, unable to see, panic and nausea overwhelming her.
She stumbled back toward the entrance, toward safety, falling twice because her vision had darkened.
As soon as she cleared the trees, she bent over, dragging in desperate breaths.
It took five minutes before she could stand upright again, and her whole body was damp with cold perspiration as she limped back to her car.
She wasn’t weak, and she wasn’t a coward.
That man hadn’t been right about her. She would never surrender her self-sufficiency.
But this was one thing she couldn’t face.
She lived in a stylish apartment in a very expensive building, one she never would have been able to afford if she’d been living on only her income as a portrait artist. The doorman rushed over when he saw her, asking in concern if she was all right.
She almost laughed. She was dirty from the tree sex and pale and clammy from her panic attack. She probably looked deathly ill.
She reassured the kind man and got into the elevator, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes.
When she got home, she would run herself a hot bath, pour a huge glass of wine, and soak until her mind was clear and the water got cool.
She wondered what that man was doing now, whether he was thinking about her, whether she was lingering in his mind the way he was hers.
The truth was, she wouldn’t mind seeing him again, fucking him again. Her body actually responded to the idea, not quite satisfied with their first round.
And that was plain annoying. She could imagine his gloating smile if he knew. He would think he’d proved something to her after all.
When she unlocked her door and stepped inside, she abruptly stopped thinking about more hot sex with that man. Something was wrong. There were no visible signs of anything unusual, but something waswrong.
She knew why when she walked farther in, past the kitchen, and saw that there was a woman sitting on her couch.
Her mother.
Her real mother. Not kind Mrs. Watson.
Kelly hadn’t seen her mother in over seventeen years, not since she’d dropped Kelly off at the Watsons’ big fancy house with no warning and no explanation except that they would be taking care of her now.
She’d never come back.
The woman had aged—obviously. The long gold hair was now gray and tucked back in a severe knot at the back of her head, and her face was tightly pinched as if she’d spent too many years frowning.
She probably had. Kelly had never known anyone as bitter, angry, and despairing as her mother had been for the months after her father’s death. She’d been cool and kind of distanced all of Kelly’s life. They’d never bonded the way she had with her father. But it was so much worse after her father’s death.
Kelly had known instinctively—from the afternoon she walked hesitantly up the front walk to the Watsons’ house—thather mother was abandoning her. Occasionally she thought about her, wondering what had become of her, whether she was still alive. Whether she regretted walking out.
Evidently she was still alive.
And sitting in Kelly’s living room.
4
“How did you get in here?”Kelly demanded, asking the most inconsequential question first.
“It’s not that hard in this kind of place. One of your maintenance men is sweet on you, and he now thinks your mama is surprising you for your birthday.”
Kelly swallowed hard as her body swayed. Her knees were weakening. This was just one blow too many for the day.
