He put his arms around her and pulled her against him, closing his eyes as he pressed her head against his shoulder and buried his face in her hair. She smelled so good, felt so right…
But it wasn’t right. Today he’d learned without a shadow of a doubt that Andrea had a husband. He’d learned the man’s name, and soon he’d have a face to put with that name.
But until then…
Until that time, he could almost pretend that Andrea was his. That nothing else mattered except the way they felt about each other.
As if reading his thoughts, she stiffened in his arms, and for a moment, Troy thought she was going to pull away. But instead, she lifted her face, and his lips touched hers, a whisper-soft kiss that burned all the way to his soul. Just for a moment, just for a heartbeat, she kissed him back, and then she did pull away.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“It isn’t right.”
“I know.“
“Troy, I’m sorry—”
“It’s all right. My eyes have been wide open from the moment I first met you. Don’t blame yourself.” You play with fire, you have to expect to get burned, he thought bitterly. He ran a hand through his dark hair and looked away.
“She’s still out there,” Andrea murmured.
Troy glanced back to find that she was staring out the window. “She’s not going away, Andrea.”
“I have to talk to her, don’t I?”
“Sooner or later.”
“I guess it might as well be now.” She turned back to him, her expression bleak. “The sooner we find out…everything, the better off we’ll all be.” But her words lacked conviction.
* * *
DR. BENNETT FRIGHTENED Andrea. It wasn’t just the conservative way she was dressed or the reserved way in which she greeted Andrea. It wasn’t even the way she observed Andrea as if she were a specimen under a microscope. What frightened Andrea the most was the knowledge Dr. Bennett possessed about her. The secrets that might have been revealed in their therapy sessions.
Dr. Bennett turned to Troy and said briskly, “Is there somewhere Andrea and I can speak in private?”
“I’ll step outside,” Troy said. “Take all the time you need.”
Andrea wanted to scream at him, No! Don’t leave me alone with her! I’m afraid. So very afraid… But then she told herself she was being ridiculous. She had obviously trusted Dr. Bennett enough at one time to go into therapy with her. Surely the woman only meant to help her.
Besides, Andrea could no longer rely on Troy. She had a husband, a man named Richard Malone.
She was Mrs. Richard Malone.
Andrea glanced up to find Troy watching her, as if he knew everything she was thinking. An overwhelming sense of guilt came over her. What have I done? she thought. So many people had been hurt. Because of her? Andrea had the horrible premonition she was about to find out.
When the door closed behind Troy, she glanced uncertainly at Dr. Bennett. The woman smiled, but there wasn’t the slightest bit of warmth in her eyes. “Shall we sit?”
Like an automaton, Andrea took a seat. She clasped her fingers in her lap, but said nothing.
Dr. Bennett crossed her legs and studied Andrea confidently. “What’s this I hear about amnesia, Andrea?”
An odd question, surely. Andrea said, “Didn’t Sergeant Stoner tell you? I’ve lost my memory. I don’t remember anything about my life.”
“You don’t even remember Richard, your husband?”
Andrea shook her head.
Dr. Bennett leaned forward. “Do you remember the last time we talked, Andrea?”
“No. I don’t remember you at all.”
“Shall I tell you why you were seeing me?”
Andrea nodded, but she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to know.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve had an abnormal loss of memory.”
Andrea looked at the woman in shock. “What—what do you mean?”
“Much of your childhood has been blocked from your memory. I suspect something violent happened to you in the past.”
Andrea’s insides were quaking with fear. The woman’s words had a disturbing ring of truth about them. “That’s why I was seeing you?”
“Partly. And partly because of the nightmares.”
“What…nightmares?”
Dr. Bennett glanced away. “You were having dreams about killing your husband.”
The woman’s words were shattering. Andrea felt their impact as if they were physical blows. “No.”
“It’s imperative that we continue your therapy,” Dr. Bennett said with a note of urgency in her voice. “We have to find the root of those nightmares. We have to find out what you’re blocking from your past. If we don’t…” Her words trailed off ominously, and Andrea felt sick. The implication was clear: if they didn’t find out what was causing her problems, there was no telling what she might do.
She got up and walked to the window to stare out at Troy. Madison had just pulled into the driveway, and the two of them were leaning against her car, deep in conversation. As if he could feel the force of her stare, Troy turned his head, so that he was looking at the window where Andrea stood. Their eyes met, and with an effort, Andrea let the blind snap back into place.
Dr. Bennett stood. “I’m sure you’re anxious to be reunited with your family, Andrea, but once everything’s settled, we need to talk again. The sooner the better.” Her smile was still without warmth. She gathered up her purse, and strode across the room to the front door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “I’m glad I found you, Andrea. You have no idea how worried I’ve been about you.”
Then she opened the door and stepped out.
* * *
“DR. CLAUDIA BENNETT, this is Dr. Madison Stoner, my sister.”
“Dr. Bennett,” Madison said warmly, offering a hand that the older woman seemed reluctant to accept. “Your reputation precedes you. I read your book, Dark Journey, in college. It was a primary factor in my decision to become a psychiatrist.”
Something flashed in the blue eyes, something Troy couldn’t quite define. Dr. Bennett tried to smile, but the action seemed more of a grimace. “I’m flattered. Am I to assume you’ve been treating Andrea?”
“Not really,” Madison said. “I’ve talked with her, but I’ve tried to be more of a friend to her than anything else.”
“I take it she’s staying in your home?” Dr. Bennett asked with open disapproval.
“She had nowhere else to go,” Madison explained. “It was either here or a shelter. I think you would agree this arrangement is the more preferable of the two.”
“I don’t know that I would agree with that altogether,” Dr. Bennett said sternly. “This arrangement is most unorthodox.”
“Normally I would agree with you, but every situation is different, every patient unique. I don’t think I’ve done Andrea any harm by giving her a place to stay.” Madison was obviously about to get her dander up, and when that happened, God help anyone who got in her way. Troy decided he’d better run interference.
“Look,” he said, “the important thing here is that now we know her name. We can locate her family and find out what the hell is going on.”
Dr. Bennett gave him a withering look, barely hiding her contempt. “I’m sure you’re right, Sergeant Stoner. Perhaps the best thing would be for Andrea to come with me now. I can take her home, talk with her family and make sure she is not put under any more undo stress.”
Troy glanced at Madison, who was shaking her head behind Dr. Bennett’s back. Her eyes told him in no uncertain terms that Andrea would not be going anywhere, at least not yet, and perhaps for the first time in their lives, brother and sister were in complete agreement.
Troy said, “Before Andrea goes anywhere with anyone, I need to talk to her family.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s still an ongoing investigation.”
“Into what?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details,” Troy said, taking some satisfaction in the irritation that flashed across the woman’s face.
She turned to Madison. “I’d like to discuss my patient with you,” she said. “May I call your office tomorrow?”
“Please do.” Madison extracted a card from her purse and handed it to Dr. Bennett.
Dr. Bennett glanced at the card, then put it in her bag. “I trust we’ll be speaking again, Sergeant Stoner.”
“I’m sure we will,” he agreed, but it was a prospect he didn’t look forward to.
* * *
ANDREA STOOD by the window when Troy and Madison entered the room. She didn’t look at them, didn’t move a muscle, and her stillness reminded Troy of that first night when he’d seen her in the emergency room. Had that really only been a week ago?
Madison said, “Andrea, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said without turning.
Madison glanced at Troy. “I’ll go make some iced tea.”
When she’d exited the room, Troy walked over to stand beside Andrea at the window. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Then Andrea took a deep, shuddering breath, and said very softly, “I have a husband. His name is Richard Malone.”
“I know,” Troy said, because there didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The house in River Oaks was startling in its whiteness, and more imposing than Troy had expected. It was a home built to impress, faintly reminiscent of a style he’d seen in the Caribbean, but more formal with two distinct wings and a colonnaded front entrance.
A uniformed maid answered the door, and Troy showed her his badge and ID. “I’m here to see Richard Malone.”
“Mr. Malone is out of town.”
“Do you know where I can reach him?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know his schedule.”
“Who would know?”
“His secretary, I guess. Maybe Mrs. Andropoulos.”
“Mrs. Andropoulos?”
“Mr. Malone’s mother-in-law.”
Andrea’s mother? For some reason, Troy had assumed Andrea’s parents were dead. “Does Mrs. Andropoulos live here?” When the maid nodded, he said, “Is she home? I’d like to speak with her.”
The maid hesitated, casting a quick glance over her shoulder.
Troy said, “It’s important. Tell her it’s in regard to Andrea.”
The woman’s gaze snapped back to his. Silently she stepped aside so he could enter, then led him into a spacious living room with a wall of windows that looked out on a lush courtyard and fountain. She told him to wait while she announced him to Mrs. Andropoulos, then turned on her heel and exited the room.
Troy looked around, admiring the almost stark but artistic furnishings. A circular marble stair with a mahogany rail rose to a second-floor bridge that connected the east and west wings, and it was on this bridge a few moments later that he saw a woman staring down at him.
His initial thought was that she looked vaguely familiar, although he knew at once she wasn’t Andrea’s mother. As she slowly descended the stairs toward him, the familiarity faded, and he realized that she was older than he’d first thought, probably close to fifty. But she was still a handsome woman—tall, slender, with a regal bearing that suited the dark purple silk dress and heavy gold jewelry she wore.
Her hair was thick and black, hanging past her shoulders, and her olive complexion was flawless, her cheekbones high and elegant, her eyes dark and piercing. She had the look and manner of a woman who worked hard to retain her youthful appearance, but the fight wasn’t an easy one and the bitter signs of defeat were beginning to tell around her eyes and her mouth.
She didn’t smile as she entered the room, regarding him coldly as she crossed the marble floor toward him. “I’m Dorian Andropoulos. Estelle tells me you’re here about Andrea.”
“That’s right.”
“What has she done?”
Troy glanced at her in surprise. “Why do you think she’s done something?”
Dorian walked over to the mantel and extracted a slender cigarette from a porcelain box, then took her time lighting up. She regarded him through a cloud of blue smoke. “You’re a police detective, aren’t you? I assume you’re here because Andrea is in some sort of trouble.”
“Not the kind of trouble you mean,” Troy said. “But she does have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Dorian elevated her chin so that she appeared to be looking down at him.
“She has amnesia.”
One dark brow shot up. “Amnesia? You mean…she doesn’t remember anything?”
“Not much. Nothing that has told us why she was wandering down a busy street in the middle of a thunderstorm.”
“Wandering down… What on earth are you talking about?”
“Andrea was found walking down Westheimer a week ago Sunday night, completely disoriented. A patrol officer picked her up and took her to the hospital.”
“Is she still in the hospital?”
“No. She’s staying with a friend.”
A frown flickered between Dorian’s brows. “What friend?”
“We’ll get to that in a moment, but first I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The frown deepened. “What kind of questions?”
“Did you see Andrea that Sunday night?”
“I was out with friends most of the day. I didn’t get home until quite late.”
“So you didn’t see her that night?”
Dorian flicked him a glance. “I believe that’s what I said.”
“You have no idea what happened to her?”
“None whatsoever.”
Troy paced the room, taking in the elegant surroundings, the expensive furnishings. For some reason, it was hard to picture Andrea in this room, but maybe that was because he didn’t want to picture her here. Didn’t want to consider that she might actually belong here.
But even as the thought settled in his mind, his eyes lit on a framed picture on the baby grand piano near the windows. He walked over and picked it up.
Andrea—wearing a white suit, her hair dotted with tiny white flowers—smiled up at him. The man beside her wore a somber dark suit, white shirt, conservative striped tie. Judging by his gray hair and the deep crevices around his mouth and eyes, he was at least twenty years older than Andrea. He, too, smiled for the camera, but there was a look of sadness in his eyes, a weariness in his features.
Troy turned, still holding the picture. “Is this Richard Malone?”
Dorian’s lips thinned. “Their wedding photograph.”
“I’d like to borrow this.”
She suppressed a shudder. “Take it, by all means.”
Troy resisted the urge to look back down at the picture, to stare at Andrea’s beautiful face. Instead, he studied Dorian Andropoulos. “Can you tell me how to get in touch with Mr. Malone?”
“You can’t. He’s leading a team of his top executives on a camping trip through the Rocky Mountains. One of those survival-training missions that are supposed to promote teamwork and leadership. There’s no way to reach him.”
Great, Troy thought. Just great. Another missing piece to an already frustrating puzzle. “What’s the name of his company?”
“Malone International. It’s a consulting firm.”
Troy took out his notebook and pen to jot down the information. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Not until next week, I’m afraid.”
“You haven’t heard from him since he left?”
“No,” Dorian said. “But as I understand it, that’s the whole point of those kinds of trips. To be completely incommunicado with the rest of the world so that one must rely solely on one’s wits.”
“When did he leave?”
Something flickered in Dorian’s eyes, an emotion Troy couldn’t define. “Actually he left a week ago Sunday. He had a late flight to Denver that
night, where he was to meet up with the rest of his group.”
Troy tried not to react to her revelation. “Do you know if he drove himself to the airport?”
“As I’ve already told you, I was out all day. Richard was gone when I got home. His car is missing, so I assume it’s at the airport.”
“What time was his flight?”
Dorian shrugged. “Around ten, I believe.”
“Do you know if Andrea was home at all that night? If she and Richard spoke before he left?”
“I’m afraid they’re the only ones who can answer that question for you. The maid is off on Sundays, and Mayela, my granddaughter, was spending the night with a friend that night. If anyone was here with Richard before he left for the airport, it had to be Andrea.”
“Does she have her own car?”
“A white Jaguar.”
“Is it still here?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“You didn’t think it odd that she’d been gone for days and her car was still here?”
Dorian shrugged. “I suppose I just didn’t give it much thought.”
“Didn’t give it much thought? Mrs. Andropoulos, Andrea’s been gone for over a week. Why did no one in this house bother to report her missing?”
“No one reported her missing,” Dorian said coldly, “because no one missed her. This isn’t the first time she’s disappeared, but just like a bad penny, she always turns back up.”
The woman’s malice toward Andrea was a troubling thing. Once again, Troy tried to picture Andrea in this house, but the image was too incongruous. “Are you telling me you didn’t see her picture in the newspaper or on TV?”
“I don’t watch television and I rarely read the newspapers. The stories are just too depressing.”
An answer for everything, Troy thought grimly. “What kind of car does Richard drive?”
“A Mercedes.”
“Does Andrea ever drive his car?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is it possible she may have driven Richard to the airport in his car?”
Dorian gave him an odd, probing look. “That would be easy enough to find out, wouldn’t it? Couldn’t you just check to see if Richard’s car is at the airport?”
That was exactly what he intended to do. But Troy wished he could end the investigation here and now, before he found Richard Malone’s car, before he found out anything else about Andrea and Richard and that Sunday night. He was beginning to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Mrs. Andropoulos, when Andrea was found, her clothes were covered with blood that turned out not to be hers. Do you have any idea whose blood it might have been?”
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