by Penny Wynter
His grip is strong but not unpleasant, his fingers warm and soft to the touch, yet not too soft. He lets go of my hand and puts his coat away.
I stare at my fingers because I realize that I don't detest him touching me. I didn't even think twice before shaking his hand. Normally I try to avoid things like this, but I touched him willingly. Strange.
"So, Amber, what brings you to Minnesota in the middle of winter?" He waits for me to take my hat and coat off and relieves me of them.
I smooth my hair down and pick up my bag with the other hand. "I was under the impression that Mrs. Cassidy was waiting for me. I'm here to help her find her missing daughter."
He turns to me, surprise on his face. "So, you're police?"
"No."
Cocking his head, he motions for me walk in front of him. "Please elaborate."
"I'm the host of a podcast covering cold cases and missing persons. Mrs. Cassidy reached out, and I came to do my magic. But. . ."
"She wasn't home. How peculiar." With a shrug, he opens a door for me and leads me into a dining room.
There's a smartphone lying on a table set for one person.
"I was about to eat. You can join me if you don't mind eating only soup."
"What kind of soup?" I force a smile because I feel bad for intruding on his quiet evening.
"Pumpkin soup. It was almost done when I saw you walking through the snow. I was worried when I watched you getting in your car but not driving off, so I came out."
Dom seems to be a nice guy, but something about this whole situation irks me, and every muscle in my body is on high alert.
He dials a number, puts the phone next to his ear and listens for a while. As soon as Gary answers, I can figure out what he says from Dom's short remarks.
Gary's already busy, and there's no way he'll be able to get my car tonight. My mood worsens. Now what?
"One more thing: Have you heard anything about Mrs. Cassidy? I have a young lady here who was supposed to meet her today, but Mrs. Cassidy doesn't seem to be home. No? Well, thanks anyway." Dom hangs up with a sigh. "I'm so sorry you're stranded here with me."
"I'm sorry for disturbing your peaceful evening. I would say that I'll leave right now, but unless you have Mrs. Cassidy's keys, I don't have anywhere to go."
"You're not intruding, and I have to say your job sounds incredibly interesting. Why don't you tell me more about it and you can spend the night in one of the guest bedrooms? First thing tomorrow, Gary will get here. I would drive you, but your car blocks the only road, and since I'm not a seasoned driver in this kind of weather, I would prefer not to try my luck."
"I get that. Are you sure that I'm not intruding?"
"Not at all, Amber. Please, take a seat. Would you like something to drink?"
"Just water, please."
"Really? I have a nice wine open."
"No, thanks. I don't drink." I smile as I'm lying through my teeth. I do drink on occasion, but I'm sure as hell not going to drink when I don't know if Dom might be a serial killer who intends to eat me as the main course after the soup.
"That's smart. I'll be right back." He vanishes through the door, and I sit down. Taking my phone from my bag, I think about calling Ramsey. Then again, he would only worry about me, and right now there's nothing to worry about. I'm fine. I don't want him to get into his car and drive all night to "save me." Especially considering that it would send the wrong message. Ramsey is only a friend.
Dom comes back with a glass of water, a napkin, and a spoon. I watch him as he disappears again. I still have no idea what kind of men I'm into, but I can't deny how fucking attractive he is.
He's taller and a bit older than me, and he has dark hair and brown eyes. Scruff covers his cheeks and his masculine jawline. And he smells nice. I noticed that when he leaned in to put the water down.
His hair is a tad too long for my liking. The strands are combed back, and my fingers itch with the desire to touch them. It's strange because on my list of things I don't like, touching someone else comes right after being touched.
I'm still lost in thought when my host returns with the soup he has promised me. It smells delicious, and as he puts the two bowls down, I realize that the "simple soup" comes with roasted seeds, feta and a sprinkle of olive oil. The man can cook.
"Thank you."
"You're more than welcome, Amber." His eyes twinkle, and I think his smirk deepens as he says my name like there's something funny about it.
Maybe I'm just over-analyzing things. It's been a long day in a long week, and I'm drained. The fact that Mrs. Cassidy seems to have vanished doesn't exactly help to brighten my mood.
"So, I have to ask. Netflix?" I look at him, curious.
He shrugs. "I'm not really allowed to talk about it." He dips his spoon into the soup. "Here's what I can tell you, though. Do you know Fargo? And Ozark?"
"Yes, of course." I'm a sucker for a good crime show—probably not surprising given how I make a living.
"It's something like that, but with a few more elements of horror."
"That sounds great, and like I would definitely watch it." I try the soup and—damn—it's good. So good, that I want to lick the bowl as soon as I'm done, though that might send the wrong signal.
"Well, watching it will have to wait another year or so. Maybe more if the weather stays this bad."
"And you're what? The lead?" I can feel the blush creep into my cheeks, although it's a perfectly normal question.
"God no." He laughs as the sound rumbles deep in his chest. "I'm the director. Being in the spotlight is not really my thing."
Mine neither, but I don't say it out loud. Dom takes his glass of wine and drinks a sip. His smile is back, and it is playing around the corners of his gorgeous mouth and his full lips. No wonder, considering I implied how attractive I think he is by pegging him as an actor.
I try to find out more about his secret project, but he's too good at deflecting my questions and instead probes me about the podcast and Mrs. Cassidy. He's met her a couple of times, but he didn't know that her daughter's missing.
I tell him the same story I tell everyone, that I studied journalism and found my calling while researching an old murder case for a piece. Only a handful of people in my life now about "Amber."
Right after I woke up six years ago, the police thought about going on national TV asking about me, but given how they found me, we came to the conclusion that it probably wasn't the best idea to alert my attacker to my whereabouts. So, now every time I'm asked, I lie. It's safer to keep it that way. I only tell people when I fully trust them after a couple of years.
Donna knows. Ramsey knows. My therapist knows, of course. My neighbor Susan. And that's it. Amber's safe because Amber's smart. Even though I don't feel very smart this very second, gushing about how attractive Dom is—a stranger whose body appears to be muscular and fit underneath his clothes. I know from experience how much damage can be done to the human body.
My throat constricts as I watch him getting up, his large but slim hands taking the plates. He's a stranger, and I should be careful.
"Care for a coffee? There's a fireplace in the living room. We could talk some more if you like." He smiles at me.
"Sounds good." If only my heart wasn't beating that damn fast.
4
Dom shows me to the living room and switches on the light. The interior is as rustic as it was in the dining room. Dark wood, heavy furniture, and thick carpets make up the room, along with bookshelves on the wall and the fireplace he mentioned.
"Coffee first, and then I'll start the fire. Let me guess: A splash of milk and one cube of sugar."
I blink in confusion as this is exactly how I take my coffee.
He laughs and lightly touches my upper arm. "I'm right; I take it? Don't worry. This is just one of my quirks. Most people take their coffee either this way or black, so it's a fifty-fifty chance to impress someone."
I nod slowly. "One sugar and a splas
h of milk."
"I'll be right back."
Studying the room, I turn around. There's the obligatory poker next to the fireplace, and having a weapon nearby calms my nerves.
I'm too curious to sit down. As I pass the piano, my fingers slide along the keys, and I walk toward the bookshelves. Just when I thought I might finally calm down, my pulse jumps through the roof.
I immediately spot all three books that I have written as Amber Alderwood. The last one was only published three months ago, so it's hard to believe that Dom didn't bring them here with him. He made it sound like he's been living here for a couple of months already.
I should run, but I'm smart enough to know that I have nowhere to run to. My heart skips a beat when I spot the picture frame on the mantel.
My fingers shake as I pick it up. That's me. I'm younger in the picture, and I'm wearing a wedding dress, standing next to a younger Dom.
I can hear his steps behind me and clinking as he puts the coffee cups down. Yet, I can't bring myself to turn around. I'm frozen with fear. With panic. With so many questions running wild in my head.
"Your nose is a bit different now, but everything else looks remarkably like you." His voice is calm as the realization that he must have planned all of this hits me like a train.
"Who are you?" Slowly I turn toward him.
He crosses his arms. "What does the picture say?"
I look at it again and wait for that feeling that I know so well. That feeling that tells me something is off. It doesn't come. Seeing the picture doesn't make me nervous, just like touching him didn't scare me. "My husband." My voice nearly breaks.
"And you're wearing your hair short now. It suits you."
"They had to shave it to fix my bashed in skull. And I kept it short after that." I don't smile like he does. What am I still doing here? I should be running.
He cocks his head, his gorgeous eyes searching my face. "So, you really don't remember?"
"No." Fuck. I should really, really go. This can't possibly end well. Dom must be the man who tried to kill me, and now I'm here with him, alone in the middle of nowhere. It takes me a full minute to choke the sentence out. "I should go."
He laughs, but this time the sound is anything but joyful. "You're not going anywhere, Amber. The weather alone is reason enough and then… well, let's just say that I have questions."
There it is again, the way he says my name. He knows that Amber isn't my name and he probably knows my real name. I stare at the picture again, tears pricking my eyes. Who am I?
I clear my throat. "You have questions? I think I should be the one asking questions."
"Yeah?" he asks. I flinch as he uncrosses his arms and a strange expression forms on his face, but only for a second, like he's shocked that I would believe he could harm me. He grabs the hem of the navy blue sweater he's wearing and pulls it over his head. "I do have questions of my own. The most burning one is why my wife tried to kill me six years ago."
His torso is a sight to behold, every bit as muscular as I thought, but nothing can draw my attention away from the big, jagged scar on his chest.
My knees buckle, but I get a grip soon enough. "Let me counter with the question, why did they have to staple my head back together?" The tip of my ring finger pulses like it did when the nail grew back. I feel strange. There's panic raging in my system, yet at the same time, I'm eerily calm.
"Why would I believe a word that comes out of your mouth, Amber?"
"Do you really think I would have sat down with you had I known who you are? Or at least pretend to be?"
"I don't know. You've always been a great actress."
"That's insane. You're insane." I hug myself and start rubbing my arms. Maybe Ramsey was right, and I shouldn't have come here. On the other hand, could this be the only chance I ever get to figure out what happened that night? I look at him and his naked chest. "Would you mind putting your sweater back on?" I don't want to snap at him, but I can't help myself. I feel like I'm drowning without being underwater.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Do I make you uncomfortable?" There's a new tone in his voice, stern and demanding. "Tell me what you remember."
"Nothing. Six years ago, they found me literally washed ashore."
"Washed ashore? Explain that to me, and while you're at it, tell me how you came up with your new name, Amber." He sounds like he hates that name, and it makes me feel somehow defeated.
"The nurses named me. I was found close to Alderwood, and when I opened my eyes for the first time, they saw the color and picked Amber for my name. I didn't have any objections. But I think you might know more about how I ended up in the water with a bashed-in skull than I do."
Dom smiles again, and this time it really scares me. "I actually might. I just can't figure out if I want to tell you or not."
5
He looks at me for a long minute before he shrugs and pulls the sweater over his head and back down. Although he's dressed again, the picture of his perfect obliques has etched itself into my mind. I can't believe that this handsome man is supposed to be my husband.
I had to train myself to get familiar with my face because for a long time, whenever I looked into a mirror, a stranger was staring back at me. So, I don't see anything special, remarkable, or even exciting about my face. But Ramsey seems to like it well enough, and his longing looks fail miserably in comparison to the intensity coming from Dom's brown eyes.
"You want answers—I get it. Yet, I have no idea if I can trust you." Dom walks to the couch and sits down like this is a normal conversation. He takes his mug and waits for me.
I can't move until he sighs and points to the armchair across from the table. "Sit down, Amber."
This tone in his voice does something strange to me. For some reason, I want to obey him. I clench my hand into a fist, my nails digging into my palm while I try to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do.
In the end, I just give in. My knees feel stiff as I walk to the chair and sit down. Dom cocks his eyebrows, and I surrender, taking the mug. God, I really hope he didn't spike the coffee with anything. But then again, if he really was my assailant, I doubt he would need drugs to subdue me.
The coffee is hot and perfect, just enough milk for my taste. Another reason to believe Dom. My husband would know how I drink my coffee, what I like and what I dislike. I lick my lips, confused and searching for the right way to have this conversation.
My phone rings in my bag. I brought it with me when I stepped into the living room. Dom moves fast, he has my iPhone in his hand before I even manage to grab my bag from the table.
"Ramsey," he says, his gaze on the display. "Your co-host. Does he know where you are?"
"Yes." I feel helpless. Dom has no right to just take my phone from my bag. At the same time, I don't want to make a fool of myself trying to get it back from him.
"Are you fucking him?"
The idea alone repulses me, but that's none of Dom's business. I don't see why I need to answer all of his questions while he refuses to do the same.
My supposed husband narrows his eyes at me. "You better cooperate, Amber."
"Would it bother you if I did?" I take a sip of the coffee, trying to hide my smile. What the fuck is wrong with me? Provoking the man in front of me doesn't seem like a smart idea. Running would be smart. Calling for help would be smart. Everything would be smarter than sitting here, trying to figure out what is even going on.
To my surprise, he smirks. "Well, there she is. I was starting to worry that you really have changed."
"What do you want from me?" I put the coffee cup down and force myself to flatten my hands onto the armrests instead of using defensive body language.
"The truth."
"Great. Why don't you start? Why am I here?"
"Because I want you here. I made up the poor Mrs. Cassidy and her daughter because I know how to tug on your heart strings. The rest was easy. You talked to an actress on the phone who owed me a favor. Just like I ta
lked to 'Gary from the local garage' earlier. There's no one coming in the morning to save you. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the dog, Topher. That's what brought you here, isn't it?"
I want to punch the smirk off his face because he's right. "It is. What's that supposed to prove? That I'm an empathic human being?"
"You're not empathic. You just like animals more than people." Dom rubs his chin and his gaze wanders over my body. "Don't forget that—assuming you really have lost your memory—I know way more about you than you do. I've known you for a fucking long time."
The doctors and nurses came to the conclusion that I was in my late twenties when I was washed ashore. We tried to narrow it down as much as possible and settled on me being 27. That was six years ago. In theory, I'm 33 now, but in reality, I have no idea. That's probably why I'm still here. It's too enticing that Dom might know more about me.
"How long have you known me?"
He leans forward with a knowing look in his eyes as he props his elbows onto his strong thighs. He's fully aware that he has me hooked. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. His smile deepens, and for a moment he seems lost in thought. "You were 17." Appalled, I flinch back, but he immediately shakes his head. "Don't worry. I didn't touch you. Much to your dismay, I might add. I'm eight years older than you and was already 25 when we met. I wouldn't have dreamt of touching a minor. I wasn't insane—no matter how many fits you threw."
"What do you mean?"
He gets up. "Don't run. I'll be right back."
He leaves the room, and I hear his steps retreat to the upper floor before he returns with a shoebox in his hands. After putting it down onto the table, he takes off the lid and hands me a pack of Polaroids.
"I was working on my first feature film, and I met you on set." The expression in his eyes has softened.
My fingers shake as I take the pictures. It's me. I'm younger. Way younger and pretty much naked. My heart flutters in my chest as I admire the creative poses. Jesus. What was I thinking, letting him take pictures of me like this?
My phone rings again, and Dom sighs. I feel compelled to be honest with him because I want him to keep talking.