Page 63 of Wife Number One

The cops turned to her, Howard’s already lined forehead furrowing, his thick brows drawing together in sharp slants. “You’re Rebel Amanda Kemp?”

“That’s what’s on my driver’s license. You got the wrong dead girl, I’m afraid.”

But the cop was persistent. “Are you in possession of your driver’s license right now?”

Rebel bent and retrieved her wallet from the side pocket of a baby bag, otherwise filled with diapers and pacifiers and toy cars. She flipped it open. “Sure. It’s just…”

Her finger slid down the row of cards and then paused. She squinted up at them. “Actually, it appears I am not. That’s weird. I never take it out. How did the dead woman get my ID?”

The answer flashed through my head, but I rejected it so quickly I could barely consider it.

Only it came again, and again, like a neon sign in the dark that couldn’t be ignored.

The cop cleared his throat. “Does anyone else have access to your purse?”

“Alice,” I choked out quietly.

Rebel shot me a look of confusion. “What? No…” She shook her head slowly. And then faster, as the horrifying idea took hold for her too. “No. No! She wouldn’t have taken my ID.”

Except I already knew she would have. If she’d wanted to get into a club or bar, she would have needed ID to prove she was over twenty-one. None of the women at the commune were allowed any form of government-issued ID, not that it would have mattered anyway since Alice wasn’t yet of legal drinking age.

I leaned over, trying hard to suck in breaths, but the air suddenly felt like water and breathing felt like drowning. My head spun from the lack of oxygen.

“Fuck.” Fang ran a hand through the long strands of his hair. He turned to Howard. “They have a younger sister. Alice. She’s a fuck ton like Rebel and she’s not twenty-one yet. She might have taken Rebel’s ID to try to get into a bar or nightclub.”

Rebel shook her head so fast. “No. No, Fang! That woman is dead. It’s not… It’s not…”

She suddenly stared at me.

The darkness rushed in on me so quickly I didn’t even feel myself falling.

18

HAWK

Déjà vu was the weirdest fucking feeling. I didn’t believe in all that woo bullshit, spirits and past lives and reincarnation or whatever, but catching Kara after she fainted, hauling her into my arms, and carrying her into the clubhouse had a definite sense of “been there, done that.”

The very first time I’d met her had been much the same.

Only she’d given me a broken nose before she’d passed out.

At least that was intact this time.

“Get out of the way,” I hollered, Kara’s limp body in my arms. “Stop fucking gawking at her and clear off that couch so I have somewhere to put her.”

Ice jumped to his feet and swept a couple of car magazines onto the floor, while kicking at one of the kid’s toys that let out a protesting squeak as it met his boot. “Fucking hell, man,” he mumbled. “What did you do to her this time?”

If looks could kill he would have been dead on the spot.

He shut up fast and scuttled back, making way for me and the crowd who’d followed me inside.

In my arms, Kara stirred, her lashes fluttering. She blinked a few times in confusion, her pretty brown eyes completely freaked out. “What happened? Where am I?”

“You fainted. I caught you. Now I’m carrying you inside the clubhouse.”

She tried twisting, getting her bearings, and then stared up at me in horror. “What? No! Hawk, put me down. I can walk.”

I tightened my grip on her. “Put you down so you can pass out again? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

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