“Exactly. She took Marlena Andersen’s identity, and then when Claudia Bennett died, she took her identity.”
“And her profession,” Troy said. “She’s been practicing psychiatry all these years.”
“The inmates are in charge of the asylum,” Leanne said dryly. “How would you like to be relying on her for your mental well-being?”
Troy remembered Andrea’s words earlier. She used hypnosis to unleash the memories. I remembered more and more with each session. She’s the one who found out where my mother was.
Suddenly he knew why Andrea hadn’t turned herself in yet. He knew where she would have gone to for help in restoring the rest of her memory.
He jumped up and headed for the door.
* * *
“SHE’S REMEMBERED everything,” Dorian said in disgust. “I thought you said you could take care of her memory. You said that the night you went to see her in the hospital. You didn’t do it then,” Dorian complained.
“I didn’t expect Stoner to come back to her room. But I’ll take care of it now,” Dr. Bennett promised.
Andrea had come out of her trance just seconds ago to find her wrists bound behind her and Dorian holding a gun on her.
“Who are you?” Andrea said to Dr. Bennett.
Dr. Bennett was busy filling a syringe, so Dorian answered for her. “Her name is Helena Kouriakis. She’s my sister.”
Sister! Of course! Andrea couldn’t understand why she hadn’t seen the resemblance before. Maybe because Dr. Bennett, who was really Helena Kouriakis, tried so hard to disguise her appearance. The blue contacts, which were gone now, and the unnatural white makeup that covered her olive complexion.
Andrea glared up at Dorian in disgust. “You killed your own daughter,” she said.
“Stepdaughter,” Dorian clarified, as if the distinction made all the difference in the world. But Andrea knew that even if Christina had been Dorian’s own flesh and blood, she would have stopped at nothing to get what she wanted. The money. Always the money.
“I’ve never known anyone so evil.”
“Try your own mother,” Dorian said slyly. “She stabbed your father right in front of you. That’s why you’re so crazy.”
“I’m not crazy.” Andrea tried to keep her voice even as she struggled furiously with the bindings at her wrists.
“Sure, you are. Everyone thinks so. Even the police. Even your Sergeant Stoner,” Dorian added maliciously.
Andrea flinched inwardly. Dorian’s words struck home. Troy might not think her crazy, but he certainly had his doubts about her. By now, he probably thought she’d skipped town.
“You brought this on yourself,” Dorian said hatefully. “Richard was mine. I waited so long for him. After Christina died, he should have married me. And he would have, too, if you hadn’t gone to him with your lies about me.”
“They weren’t lies,” Andrea said. “I knew you didn’t love Mayela. You only wanted the money.”
“And so you convinced Richard to marry you and give you custody of Mayela. You’re very clever,” Dorian said with grudging admiration. “I’ll give you that.”
“He would have thrown you out a long time ago,” Andrea said. The bindings had loosened, and she worked to free one of her hands. “Only, he suspected you were conspiring with Paul Bellamy. He didn’t want to tip his hand before he had the proof he needed to go to the police.”
“Bellamy’s a fool,” Dorian said. “Why would I waste my time with the likes of him?”
“The broken skylight,” Andrea said. “Was that meant for me or Mayela?”
Dorian shrugged. “I knew the storm would terrify her. I knew she would call out for you as she always did. I just wasn’t sure which of you would come running across the bridge first. Either scenario had possibilities. With Mayela out of the way and you in prison for murder, who else would have inherited Richard’s estate? Robert? I don’t think so. He would have gambled the fortune away in a matter of months. And if you had died under all that glass, an unfortunate accident as it were, I would have become Mayela’s guardian, controlling all her money. Just as I once did Christina’s.”
They’d thought of everything, Andrea thought. Even going so far as to plant seeds of doubt in her own mind.
“You were up on the roof when the glass fell,” Andrea said. “I saw you.”
“Not me,” Dorian said. “You saw my sister. She’s always been very adept at creating…accidents.”
Helena turned with the syringe. The needle gleamed in the light.
“What are you going to do?” Andrea asked weakly. Her hands were almost free. A surge of adrenaline shot through her, but she had to remain calm. She had to wait for her chance because Dorian still held a gun on her.
“I’m going to do the same thing I tried to do that night Sergeant Stoner caught me outside your hospital room,” Helena said. “I’m going to make sure it’s a long, long time before you get your memory back this time. And when you do, Dorian and I will have fixed it so that no one will believe you. They’ll think you’re insane, just like your dear mother. Maybe they’ll even give you a room next to hers.”
Andrea pretended to be so frightened she could hardly move. But as Helena bent down to administer the drug, Andrea’s hand shot out and grabbed her. She twisted Helena’s wrist until the needle fell from her fingers.
Andrea rolled from the sofa, still clutching Helena’s arm. The two of them struggled for what seemed like an eternity. The woman was older than Andrea by at least twenty years, but she also outweighed Andrea by that much and she was strong. She shoved Andrea away from her, and Andrea stumbled, falling heavily against the desk.
Helena was on her before Andrea could catch her balance. The older woman bent Andrea back against the desk as her hands encircled Andrea’s throat. Stars exploded behind Andrea’s lids. She flailed her arms, trying to find a weapon. Her lungs threatening to explode, Andrea wrapped her hand around the base of a lamp and brought it up as hard as she could against the side of Helena’s skull.
For a split second, the woman’s hands remained around Andrea’s throat. Then she slid to the floor without a sound. Blood gushed from the gash in her temple as she lay motionless at Andrea’s feet.
Andrea struggled for breath. Dorian stared down at her sister in disbelief. Then she raised the gun and leveled it at Andrea.
“You really lost it this time, Andrea. You attacked your own psychiatrist. Imagine how the headlines will read in the morning.”
Andrea was still clutching the lamp, but Dorian didn’t seem to notice. “She’s your sister,” Andrea said. “Don’t you even care whether she’s alive or dead?”
“Of course I care,” Dorian said. “My sister has always been the one person in my life I could count on. Ever since we were little girls, she always wanted to please me. Take care of me. She’d do anything for me. But I have to think of myself now. And Mayela, of course. The poor child needs me. With you in prison, or in a psychiatric hospital, there’s no one standing in my way. I’ll finally have what I’ve worked so hard for all these years.”
“Richard’s money,” Andrea said, and with that, she hurled the lamp across the room as hard as she could. It missed Dorian by inches, but it was enough to catch her off guard. Andrea flung herself across the room toward her. The gun went off, and Andrea felt the dull punch of the bullet in her shoulder. The force flung her backward. Andrea stumbled, tried to catch her balance, but couldn’t. The room spun around her. She dropped to her knees, clutching her shoulder.
Dorian lifted the gun again. This time she aimed for Andrea’s face. Andrea squeezed her eyes closed, wondering fleetingly if the next bullet would hurt more or less than the first.
Then, as if in a dream, she heard Troy’s voice order Dorian to drop the gun. A woman’s voice began reading Dorian her rights. Andrea didn’t remember lying down on the floor, but when she opened her eyes, she was flat on her back and Troy was gazing down at her with so much tenderness, Andrea wanted t
o cry.
“I didn’t kill Richard,” she said.
“I know. You can tell me the whole story later. Right now you need to save your strength. We’ve got an ambulance on the way.”
“I’m not crazy,” she said.
“I am,” he said. “Crazy about you.”
Her heart fluttered with hope. “Then…you forgive me for not telling you about my memories? For running away from you?”
He cleared his throat gruffly. “Right now I’d forgive you just about anything. Only…”
“What?”
He squeezed her hand. “Hang in there, okay?”
She squeezed his hand back. “I’m crazy about you, too.”
EPILOGUE
Six months later…
She wore white, a dress so pristine it dazzled her eyes as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Andrea couldn’t believe this day had finally arrived, that in just a few moments, she would be married, truly married, to the man she loved more than life itself. Soon she and Troy and Mayela would be starting a whole new life together. A wonderful life, in spite of the darkness.
It hadn’t been easy, coping with the memories of her past, or thinking about the mind control Dr. Bennett had practiced on her. The evil plot she and Dorian had concocted had very nearly destroyed them all. Both Richard and Christina had been the victims of the sisters’ greed, but thank God Mayela had been spared. Thank God, as well, that she seemed to be suffering no long-term effects, as Andrea had.
Andrea would always be grateful to Madison for the way she’d taken care of the little girl while Andrea had been in the hospital, recovering from the bullet wound. Because of Madison, Mayela had a chance to resume a normal childhood, and because of Troy, they both had a chance to love again.
Someone knocked on the door of the changing room, and Andrea turned from the mirror. “Come in.”
Madison opened the door and stuck her head in. She wore a long flowing dress in dark red velvet, befitting the Christmas season. “It’s time,” she said. “Are you ready?”
Andrea smiled. “You have no idea how ready I am.”
“Then let’s go.”
Troy’s father, Earl, who would be giving her away, waited outside for her. The church took Andrea’s breath away, decorated with hundreds of white and red roses and tiny white lights that glittered like diamonds in the candlelight. Everything was perfect, almost too beautiful to be real. Andrea thought for a moment she must be dreaming, but if she was, it was a dream like no other, and she didn’t ever want to wake up.
She took Earl’s arm, and together they paused while Mayela, looking adorable in a red velvet dress trimmed with white lace, scattered rose petals in her wake. She was followed by Madison, and then, almost too quickly, it was time for Andrea to walk down the aisle.
She grew nervous and almost stumbled, but Troy’s father held her steady. And then she saw Troy, looking so handsome in his black tuxedo, waiting for her at the altar. He smiled, and everything calmed inside Andrea.
With strong, steady steps, she started down the aisle toward him. Toward their future. And she knew if she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget a moment of this perfect, perfect day.
* * * * *
After she accidentally witnesses a murder, Rita Horn and her own life is threatened, she needs the protection of a local deputy. Cole Garrett, a well-known playboy, is committed to keeping…and determined to keep his hands to himself. But before long, the innocent beauty is making him long for something he’s never considered: a commitment.
Read on for a sneak peak of SHADOW POINT DEPUTY by Julie Anne Lindsey
CHAPTER ONE
Rita Horn parked her new pickup truck in the muddy gravel lot across from the docks. She dragged a bag of dry kibble from the bed and squinted at a dozen feline silhouettes framed by the sunset. It was a shame so many cats were homeless in Shadow Point. She’d take them all in if she could, but the three she already had were sure to protest.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” she called, shivering against the brisk autumn breeze. Feeding the strays seemed a decent compromise to adopting them all, but it didn’t minimize the guilt she experienced every time she stopped to check on them. If they had to be on their own, she supposed the abandoned factories along the waterfront made a decent haven. There was camaraderie, no natural predators and plenty of mice to sustain them when Rita worked late and missed her usual stop.
The cats swarmed her ankles as she rounded the building’s edge, mewling and climbing over one another to get to the food. She stopped at a line of cement bowls she’d purchased from a local landscaper when the pet store versions had insisted on blowing away.
“Who’s hungry?” She tipped the bag over the bowls, filling each to its rim. “Ah-ah-ah.” She nudged a growling pair apart. “No fighting. There’s plenty for everyone.”
The bag was nearly empty when a latecomer trotted into view. The little orange-and-white tabby had something smeared over its face and down one side.
“What is that?” Rita crouched for a closer look. Deep crimson streaks flattened the kitty’s fur into matted stripes. Rita clutched her chest. “My poor baby. What happened to you?” She reached for the tabby, but he jumped free with a hiss. It was easy to forget many of the cats were feral, not abandoned. It had taken weeks to get some to come out and see her at dinnertime. She clucked her tongue and extended a hand with the last of the kibble on her palm. The little guy wouldn’t survive long with an injury that had bled so much. He needed the wound cleaned, antibiotics and probably stitches.
“Kitty,” she cooed. The injured cat darted away, and Rita dashed after him, leaving the empty bag behind.
“Kitty, kitty, kitty.” Her sensible three-inch heels clicked and snapped against the cold ground as she gave chase. She stopped short at a fence marked NO TRESSPASSING. The cat paused a moment beyond the chain link barrier before screeching out of sight.
“Darn it.” She dropped the kibble from her palm and scanned the scene, debating the importance of her flawless, law-abiding record when that kitty needed a doctor.
A line of bloody paw prints knotted her tummy and propelled her to action. If she was caught, at least she could give a good explanation. Surely no one would fault a woman for trying to help an injured animal.
Rita shored up her nerve and tugged the gate where a thick chain and padlock held it loosely to the fence. There was enough space to slip inside if she held the gate and ducked beneath the chain, so she took a deep breath and went in. She followed the trail around the factory’s edge, admiring the soft cotton candy glow of a setting sun as it gave way to twilight. The cat stared down at her from a windowsill eight feet in the air. “Are you even hurt?”
She scanned the scene for another injured animal. Where had the blood come from, if not from the cat who was wearing it? A dark puddle drew her forward, toward a narrow object several yards away. The air seemed to sizzle with danger as she scooped an expensive-looking pen off the ground. An odd thing to find at an abandoned factory, unless developers had been here. Maybe the state was finally going to make good on the promise to renovate the area. She froze as the tip of her shoe slid against the slick cement and swallowed a scream when the puddle came clearly into view, red as the sun burning its last rays of daylight off the water.
Rita raked her cell phone from a coat pocket with trembling fingers. There was far too much blood to have come from a cat.
A sudden splash sent ice fingers down her spine, and the low murmur of voices pushed her back to the building’s edge. She closed her eyes to summon a thread of bravery, then peeked toward the sounds with caution.
The angle of the sunset reduced both figures to faceless silhouettes. They were clearly male with broad shoulders and strong gaits, but they were of strikingly different heights. Together, they strode beneath a cone of security light, revealing one man’s dress shirt and the other’s official-looking jacket, complete with patches she couldn’t read from that distance. Rita’s heart to
ok off at a sprint as a dark stain down the front of the dress shirt began to look a lot like the puddle she’d just seen. The man with the stained shirt wiped his hands on a rag. A gun holster nestled safely against his side.
A black sedan seemed to manifest from the shadows, parked silently beside a line of blue barrels. The trunk popped open as the men approached, revealing what appeared to be more blood and a number of firearms. The man tossed the rag into the trunk, then dragged a suit jacket out. He threaded his arms through the sleeves and fastened two buttons over the broad crimson stain.
Rita swiped her phone screen to life. The little device rocked unsteadily in her sweat-slicked palm. Her breaths shortened and her heart rate spiked uncomfortably. There wasn’t enough air, and she couldn’t swallow. Rita gripped her phone tighter and fought the wave of panic quickly taking control. Not since she lost her mother had anxiety come on so quickly.
She pressed her back to the wall and returned the phone to her pocket. She needed to sit down before she fell over. Her eyelids slid shut for an internal pep talk, and she reopened them with purpose. She’d make the call from someplace safe. Someplace she could breathe. She forced the last ounce of bravery from her bones and tiptoed back through the shadows, along the building’s edge, careful not to let her heels smack against the ground.
The snick of a closing trunk and soft purr of an engine were behind her. A set of low growls rose before her near the food bowls. Rita’s muscles tensed. No fighting, she prayed. Not now.
The sound grew steadily into the familiar squawks of a feline brawl. A narrow beam of light flashed over the ground before her, sweeping and broadening as it drew nearer.
“Who’s there?” The man in the official-looking jacket moved in her direction. The familiar Cade County Sheriff’s Department logo was on his chest.
That could not be good.
Rita burst into motion, running as quickly as her trembling legs would carry her toward her truck, through the chained gate and across the gravel lot.
What She Forgot Page 20