“I don’t know if I can handle you being there, Clove. You know nothing about him or his motives. Do I have to beg you to get you to do it?”

“You can beg all you want, I won’t, and I can’t do it. I love Turner too much to not try and help find him. You have to understand that Zack, please don’t fight me on this.”

I wring my hands in my lap, silently begging my brother to let me stay and figure out why Trent Calloway has taken over my husband’s life.

“Fucking hell, Clove!” Zack hisses, running his hands through his hair before looking me right in the eyes.

“Fine. As much as I hate the idea, if you can muster up enough strength to help do this job, it might be our only chance to find out where Turner is. Are you prepared to act as if you know absolutely nothing? And the idea of him even touching . . . Son of a bitch! I can’t even get my mind to go there. You’re my sister, Clove. My job as your brother is to protect you, keep you safe. I can’t do that while you’re living in your house with that cocksucker. Do you know how hard it is for me not to grab that fucking piece of shit by his balls right now and drag his ass off to jail so I can beat the fuck out of him until he tells me where Turner is? Do you?” he shouts.

“Zack, I can only imagine how hard this is for you. I need you to imagine how hard it is for me and to put yourself in my shoes.”

He throws me a dark look as he continues raking his hands through his hair.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get Turner back, no matter what it is I have to do,” I say defiantly. Even if that means beating Trent Calloway at his own game.

Chapter Five

Exactly how the hell I am going to act like I don’t want to slice this piece of shit’s throat the minute he is ready to leave is beyond me. Zack and I didn’t really have much time to talk or strategize any of this out before he had to leave; I have so many questions running through my mind.

“God, Turner, where are you?” I whisper.

Turner was an only child, for God’s sake. How could this be? His father took off when he was two and neither his mom nor Turner ever heard from him again. It was as if he fell off the face of the earth. And Melody, his mom, has kept the fact that he has an identical twin brother a secret. How could she do that? The biggest question is, why would she do that? And what does Trent expect to gain from stealing his brother’s identity?

The thing that is tearing me up more than anything is the fact that I’ve had sex with him. No wonder he seemed so different. I’ve slept with another man a man who I don’t even know and now that I know the truth about him, I have to pretend that I don’t? I lay my head on my desk and I can’t help but let the tears fall. My body is wracked with deep, body-thrashing sobs. Tears continue to fall as my heart feels the pain and torment of what is happening all around me. I need Turner, my Turner.

“Oh, God!” I scream.

“Clove! What in the hell is the matter, sweetheart?”

That voice. The voice sounding just like my Turner is asking me if I am all right? Fucking hell no! I am not all right, you asshole. You have destroyed my life, so fuck no, I am NOT ALL RIGHT.

I can’t look up at him yet. Keeping these murderous thoughts to myself, I shake my head back and forth in pure disgust at myself for what I have done and what I will have to do. I feel him place his hand on my back and I stiffen from his touch. Pull yourself together, Clove and think. Think! I lift my tear stricken face off of my desk.

“I have a horrible headache,” I mumble and try to gauge his reaction to see if he knows that at times I come down with migraines.

“Is it another one of your migraines?” He asks with his fake concern.

Oh, this asshole is good. How he knows about my headaches makes me wonder what else he knows about me. He knows everything. I just know he does.

“I think so. Do you mind if we skip out on our plans for tonight? I just want to go home and take a pill and climb into bed.”

“No, not at all. Let’s get you home. You know I hate it when my girl doesn’t feel well.”

Oh, how I want to slap him across his smug face as he removes his hand from my back, then strides to the table on the other side of the room to bring me back a box of Kleenex. With shaky hands I remove a few and wipe my face, stand, and gather my belongings without a thank you or another word to him.

Now that I know the truth about this man not being my husband, the thought of being anywhere near him repulses me. Until I can come to grips with all of this I need to stay as far away from him as possible. I need time to think and time to plan how the hell I am going to deal with the fact that the man I am sharing a bed with is not the man that I love.

I should win a damn award for best actress as we drive home and I am forced to listen to this stranger who looks just like my husband ramble on about how he is going to take care of me when we get home. I don’t want him to take care of me. I want my husband to take care of me!

As Trent soothingly runs his hands through my hair as we drive home, I take the time to study him in profile. Everything about him looks so similar to Turner’s distinctive features . . . eye color, hair color, body size, even the shape of his head. Their voices are the same, too. My head really does start to ache as I think about the one thing that truly sets them apart from one another- it’s the way they have sex. Turner is so gentle and kind and worships every part of my body and Trent fucks. Plain and simple, he just fucks. I recoil as far into my seat as I can, shying away from his touch and laying my head against the window.

“Almost home. Do you need me to stop and get you anything?”

Every time I hear that voice it takes me further into a state of heartbreak.

“No. Just get me home. Sorry about ruining our plans for tonight.”

I remain still with my eyes closed.

“Hey, don’t be sorry. I hate seeing you like this. You’re the most important person in the world to me, Clove, and you know it.”

No, asshole, I don’t know it. Whatever your reason is for doing this, it seems to me you’re the most important person in your world, you bastard. God, I wish I could tell him how I feel.

“It will be good to just sit around and do nothing. It’s been one hell of a week at work.”

His voice sounds a little irritable.

An epiphany hits me when he mentions work. How in the hell has he pulled off pretending to be Turner for almost a week now, even at the office? Has he been stalking us and watching our every move? How did he know where we lived after I picked him up from the airport? And my home! He knows where everything is. He walked right in the other day and he knew.

Jesus Christ, he knows my morning routine. He knows almost everything about me. How does he know all this? Unless . . . oh God, no. He’s been in our home when we haven’t been there. He might even have hidden cameras all over the house, seeing as how he’s so familiar with the most private details of my life.

All of a sudden I am fuming. I want to claw his eyes out and scream at him, to demand for him to tell me where Turner is. Why? What in the hell could my husband have possibly done to him to make this crazy fucker want to destroy him? But I can’t. I sure as hell know who can, though, and after my brother and I figure out exactly what it is that we need to do, the first person I am going to pay a not-so-friendly visit to will be Melody.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” the sick bastard asks as we enter my house. My damned house, not his. Mine and Turner’s.

Get the fuck out of here and go get my husband, you sick and twisted fucker, is what I really want to say. Turner would never ask me, ‘what can I do?’ He would just do it because he knows me.