Deceptions of the Heart by Denise Moncrief Page A

my misery. Exposing my weakness only made him stronger. Alex had always liked being in control. I should have known better. Never again would he witness my vulnerability.
    “Alex! Can’t you see she’s lying…or trying to con us…or something?” Kristen exclaimed.
    He waved off her objection and tugged me back into the house. “Okay. Start from the beginning.”
    I stalled in the foyer between him and the front door, then drew a deep, cleansing breath. It did me no good. I needed more than fresh air. A shudder coursed through me.
    “About a week ago, I woke up in Virginia. I didn’t recognize anything. Not the house. Not the man. Not the housekeeper. Not the furniture. Nothing. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see my face. I see hers. I don’t know her. Do you have any idea how frightening that is?” I waited for him to reply, but he stared at me with a dubious frown on his face. “They call me Jennifer, but I don’t remember anything about her or these people in her life. They all hate her. And I don’t trust them. I think something awful is going to happen to her—”
    “Look, it’s obvious. You have a difficult situation. Something must have happened to you. Maybe you have amnesia or something like that. But there has to be some other explanation. My late wife couldn’t possibly inhabit your body. That’s ridiculous.”
    “When did I die?” I asked.
    He glared at me.
    “When did Rhonda die?” I rephrased my question. If pretending my compliance gained his cooperation, I was willing to pretend for a moment I wasn’t Rhonda.
    “Three years ago. I told you that on the phone.”
    I blanched at the obvious. I’d pushed the pain away for days, but at that moment it grabbed me by the throat. His quick remarriage hurt—a deep, throbbing wound.
    Couldn’t he have missed me longer? Mourned deeper? Remained unmarried out of grief over losing me?
    “Jennifer had heart transplant surgery three years ago.”
    He backed away and dropped onto the chair arm. His brows drew together over the bridge of his nose.
    “Here in California. October 6, 2008,” I added.
    Kristen gasped. “That’s…that’s the day after she died.”
    Alex scowled at her.
    “I suspect that I…that Rhonda donated her heart to Jennifer.”
    He slid into the chair, pale as a ghost. “Rhonda…yes…he did harvest her organs.” He closed his eyes and scrunched his face as if pain had overshadowed his anger.
    Maybe I’ve been too hard on him. Maybe I jumped to conclusions. Wait! Who had harvested her organs? Crane?
    “Well, then it’s obvious. You are the recipient of Rhonda’s heart. I’ve heard about things like this. Transplant patients seeking out the family of their donors.”
    “It’s more than that. I have her memories and none of Jennifer’s. I mean, none of Jennifer’s. I remember nothing of her life.”
    He leaned forward. “This is incredible.”
    “Look at this.” I retrieved a web article from my purse and handed it to him. “It’s called cellular memory transfer. Usually transplant patients adopt the donor’s habits or feel their emotions. They like what the donor liked. Cut their hair the same way. Marry someone with the same name or something like that. They develop hobbies and interests similar to the donor—care about things the donor cared about. But I have actual memories. Solid memories. Not just impressions. I don’t think that’s ever happened to anyone before.”
    He scanned the article with a scowl on his face. “Why do you think you’re different? Why would you have actual memories?”
    “Jackson was at a party at the Cristobal’s house. When Jennifer argued with him, it must have jolted my heart. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him, and then she passed out. The shock must have triggered some sort of reaction…something chemical that affected my heart.”
    “This is kind of far-fetched. Like a movie plot or something.”
    Kristen sprang from the shadow in which she’d been