by Jule McBride
Her voice was barely audible. “Where did you go?” she asked again.
He shook his head grimly and exhaled another long sigh. “In my pockets, I only had the cash we were supposed to use for our honeymoon.” Pausing, he tried to ignore the sudden, tight pull in his chest. He couldn’t stand to think of their wedding day, a day so full of love and hope that had ended so badly. “I drove out of Rock Canyon,” he managed to say. “I didn’t get far. I wanted to think. I was considering coming back, but then Jan was murdered. I heard it on the news—I was staying in a cheap motel and...” He glanced away. “When I heard they were looking for me as a suspect, I couldn’t believe it. Me?” His eyes searched hers. “What had I ever done to anybody? I worked hard, made good grades, played ball...” He ran a hand raggedly through his dark hair. “And then I realized whoever attacked me and threatened you had killed Jan to make a point. He was letting me know that he was serious. He’d kill you, too.” His heart ached as he thought of the friend he and Alice had lost.
“Or else he thought Jan was me.”
His heart clenched like a fist. He’d never even considered that. “What?”
“That’s what people thought. It was an all-white wedding...” Her voice trailed off.
“I remember,” he said softly. “Did you really think I could forget our wedding?” Reaching out a hand, he grazed a finger across the sleeve of her coat, but she edged away once more, discouraging contact, making his heart beat even faster. Didn’t she know how badly he wanted to hold her right now? And she seemed to secretly want the same—at least judging from her eyes, which searched his new face, getting more accustomed to the changes. “Do you honestly think it was easy for me?” he finally asked. “Do you think I wanted to walk away?”
“I don’t know.”
He grabbed her hand. She let him hold it a second, then disengaged, pulling it from under his. The movement made his heart pull every which way. “Alice...”
She got back to business. “Jan was dressed like me. Our gowns weren’t that different, our hairstyles were the same. And she was wearing my veil.”
“Your veil?”
She nodded. “I’d put it on her head.” The words cost her. He sighed sadly, remembering her and Jan, walking arm in arm, giggling together.
“It’s not your fault,” Dylan said softly.
Her eyes pierced his. “Whose is it, then?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m here to find out.”
There was another slight tremor in her voice. “You were in the driveway. You didn’t even come to my house. Were you even going to contact me?”
He wanted to lie, but couldn’t. “No.”
“Not even if I really married Leland”
“Then...yes.”
“Couldn’t you have called?”
He nodded. “I thought about it.”
“But you didn’t do it.” She looked away. “Where did you go after the motel?”
“I ran.” He sighed, telling her of all the places he’d been. “And then,” he finished, “I wound up in Iowa. I found a plastic surgeon.”
“Iowa?”
“I met him in a bar where I’d gone to look for work.”
“You got a job?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I bartended a little. Anyway, the guy said he’d help me, so I gave him money I got from selling the truck. And then, he...”
“Made you look...”
Different.
And how. Dylan nodded grimly. Vaguely, he wondered what she thought of this new face. But the changes didn’t matter. He was still the same man. Even last night, she’d known it was him.
Finally she said, “And then what happened?”
“And then somebody killed him.”
She gaped. “Killed the plastic surgeon?”
He nodded. “I was about to leave town when he wound up dead. Stabbed in the alley behind the bar where I met him. I heard the cops said it was a routine mugging.”
“But you don’t believe it?”
He sat silently for a moment, then he shook his head. “I’m not sure. The doctor was an alcoholic, no doubt about it, judging from the way he was drinking when I met him in the bar. It was a low-class place, a real dive. And because he was rich and slumming it, it made sense that he’d get mugged. Still, as farfetched as it was, I kept feeling that whoever killed him also killed Jan.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I really don’t know. It was just a hunch. Maybe because of the way he was killed, with a knife. Or because of how the man in the church said he’d follow me. I don’t know how he could have found me, but I’m sure he did. Maybe he was just sending another message, letting me know I was vulnerable. Maybe he wanted me to know he knew my face was different. Which meant if I came back here, you were still in danger.”
“Seems unlikely.”
“With you I couldn’t risk it.” His eyes lasered into hers and he wished like hell that he saw more warmth in her gaze. He ran his fingers through his hair, still feeling surprised at the touch. A body wave had left the strands feeling thick and coarse, but had served to further change his appearance. He sighed again. “This whole thing is unlikely, darlin’. Stranger than fiction. And then I got hit last night, and I didn’t have a place to go...”
So I came home with you.
As if at the memory, unexpected temper crossed her features. “So, what’s all this business about Stuart Devlyn?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. That’s the most disturbing thing. I’ve got no idea.” His eyes sought hers. “I need to talk to Mom. I—I’m afraid that whoever attacked me also attacked her.” He shook his head to clear it of confusion, his heart straining with the emotions of these past months. Including the new information that he was supposedly Stuart Devlyn. “Dammit,” he said, “I don’t know what’s really going on. Who would have it out for me like this?”
“Someone does.”
He shrugged. “I think of those calls I used to get back in high school. Remember?”
She nodded grimly.
He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “And I keep coming back to the idea that it’s someone from school. Someone who’s hated me ever since I moved to Rock Canyon. I just don’t know who, though.”
“I...”
His eyes locked on her face. “What? Do you know something?”
She looked undecided.
“Tell me.”
“I...I was thinking about how competitive Leland used to feel toward you.”
He nodded. He’d thought about Leland. “He was going to marry Jan, but he was always in love with you. And he wanted more responsibilities at the ranch...” Dylan paused. “While I was gone, I kept reading the local paper. And...I’m sorry about your dad.” Her grateful eyes said she understood. Ward Eastman had been like a father to Dylan, and someday he hoped he and Alice would share more about their mutual grief. Now wasn’t the time. “Leland,” he continued. “I think he’s jealous of me, but not a murderer. And now there’s this.”
“This?”
“Lang Devlyn.” Dylan swallowed hard, wondering how much more to say. The dreams, or nightmares, that felt so much like memories were something he’d rather keep to himself. Mostly because he didn’t understand their connection to his past. “Ever since I can remember, my mother and I were alone. We traveled around a lot until we got here and settled down. But she always told me my father was dead. And now, I guess she was married to Lang Devlyn. It seems incredible. Or maybe she wasn’t married, which is why she didn’t want to tell me about the relationship. Maybe she—”
“Your mother wouldn’t live with a man without being married to him.”
Alice had a point. A point he suddenly wished she was making while he held her tight in his arms. “No,” he said. “I don’t think she would. But then, why didn’t she tell me who my father was? Or that he was still living?”
“I don’t know.” Color infused Alice�
�s cheeks, making her look even more beautiful. “Last night...”
“Last night?” In the ensuing silence, his throat tightened, closing up, and disappointment filled him when she didn’t reference their lovemaking, but said, “You seemed to recognize the estate on TV.”
So she’d noticed. “I’ve seen it...in dreams. I couldn’t believe it was right there, just as I’d imagined it. Alice, I didn’t even know it was a real place until last night” He stared at her. “I really need to talk to my mother.”
“We need to talk to her.”
“We?”
He appreciated her desire to share their problems. He reached for her once more, instinctively closing his arms tightly around her and pulling her toward him in the seat. For the briefest second she let him press kisses to her cheek, and relief flooded him when he felt her soften against his chest. “I can’t let you be involved,” he murmured, brushing a hand over her silken hair. “I’m only telling you this because you’re in so much pain from not knowing.”
Abruptly, she backed away. “Gee, thanks,” she muttered. “But what we once shared is over, Dylan. You could have relied on me—” Her voice broke. “The way a husband relies on a wife, but you chose not to.”
“I know you’re hurt,” he murmured, barely able to stand how much the events of their recent past had hardened her.
“Hurt?” she echoed. Shoving her hand inside her coat, she dug into a pocket. “I’m not in pain.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“No,” she returned coolly. “I’m in danger.” With that, she opened her fist, exposing the gold medallion she’d given him years ago. His lips parted in astonishment And horror. Even now, he could feel it being wrenched from his neck. How the gold chain had cut into the flesh of his neck right before it broke.
His words were strangled. “Where did you get that?”
Just as he said the words, she flipped open the locket. Looking at it, he felt as if the floor had been swept from beneath him. He gasped. There—right over the lovely picture of Alice, written in tiny blood-red letters—were the words See her bleed. Dylan’s heart pounded with fury. “Where did you get it?”
She looked at him long and hard. “From your bag.”
He stared at her. “My bag?”
“From the bag the sheriff brought by this morning. The one you left at the Blue Sage Motel.”
His heart pounded harder, now with fear. “Alice,” he said. “You’ve got to believe me. I’d never seen that bag before.”
Her eyes were wary. “The bag with your clothes?”
“Yeah. I’ve got no idea. why the sheriff said it was mine.”
“Because Clarisse, the woman who checked you into the motel, said she saw you with it.”
“But she couldn’t have.”
Alice closed the locket and shoved it into her pocket again. “What do you mean, she couldn’t have?”
He blew out a frustrated sigh. “She couldn’t have because I never checked into that motel.”
“But she saw you.”
He shrugged helplessly. “If so, I have no recollection of checking in there.” It made no sense. Was he going crazy? Sometimes his nightmares left him with such an odd feeling that he really did think he was going mad.
She said, “Then where were you staying?”
“Nowhere. I’d just gotten to Rock Canyon. I hitchhiked in with a trucker.” Suddenly, he grasped her hand. Even though she flinched, he held tight. “Don’t you know what this does to me?” he said, sighing. “I don’t know why the woman at the motel identified me. Maybe she was bribed. Don’t you see? The bastard, whoever he is, can get to you, darlin’. This proves it. And so far, there hasn’t been a damn thing I can do about it.”
Pain threaded through her words. “Except leave me?”
“You were leaving me, too,” he said softly. “You were marrying Leland.”
Her eyes darted to his. “I had to move on. You were gone.”
“Maybe I should have called,” he said. “Or told you something. But I wanted to protect you.” How could a man explain that to a woman? “I had to keep you safe. When a man can’t do that...”
He’s failed. As a man.
He blew out another sigh. “Right now, I don’t even know who I am. Am I really related to Lang Devlyn? And who killed him? Is it possible it was the same person who attacked me in the church? The man who killed Jan? And why did my mother lie to me? Who’s out to ruin my life?” There were so many questions that his mind was spinning.
“Whoever it is,” Alice said, still keeping a physical distance that was breaking his heart, “is also out to ruin mine. I’ve gotten crank calls. Warnings from your mother. And found this locket.”
Before he could ask for more specifics, she said. “You left me and that’s fine with me—”
“It’s not fine. I didn’t—”
“You did. And no man who loved me would have left. I don’t want you back now. I—”
“Alice! I love you.”
He couldn’t believe the hurt in her eyes. “Doubtful.”
The pain in that one word made clear that the past year and a half had taken far more of an emotional toll than he’d imagined. Before, she’d been so soft, gentle. And now he felt miserable. Still, he’d done the right thing. Regardless of what was to become of their personal relationship, he was going to continue protecting her. “I’m going to get the sheriff to guard you while I go to California.”
“I’m the one who’s in danger!” she shouted. “And because of that, even if you don’t want me around, I’m going to be sitting right next to you on the plane.”
“You’re not going to California.”
“Oh, but I am,” she assured him. “And if you try to stop me, Dylan Nolan, I’ll tell the sheriff everything, beginning with the murdered plastic surgeon in Iowa. I’ll give Sheriff Sawyer all the proof he needs that you’re Dylan Nolan. He’ll haul you in and question you about Jan’s murder.” She nodded decisively. “And then I’ll go to California by myself.”
He didn’t believe for an instant that she’d actually do that. “You’ve sure learned to fight dirty,” he said.
“Just start the car,” she returned.
He started to point out that the engine was already idling, but said, “The car?”
She nodded again. “Yes. We’re going to talk to your mother at the hospital. And then we’re going to California.”
Chapter Ten
Fortunately, the Bel-Air Police Department wasn’t inclined to alienate sons of murdered celebrities, and that was definitely working in Dylan and Alice’s favor. Detective Louie Santiago was asking questions very gingerly. He was thin, slight of build, with smooth olive skin and slicked-back black hair. His starched white button-down shirt was tucked into navy slacks, and next to a red-white-and-blue tie, various pens stuck out from a pocket protector. “So you’re telling me—” Santiago rolled an office chair closer to a gray lacquered desk as he scribbled on a legal pad “—that you never even knew you were related to Lang Devlyn?”
“That’s right.” Dylan nodded.
“Right,” echoed Alice from the seat next to Dylan. She was wearing a red cotton cardigan over a silk sundress printed with sunflowers, and she looked as windblown as Dylan felt, with her sexily disheveled hair pinned back with clips. He glanced around. They had reservations at a nearby hotel—Alice had gotten them separate rooms—and their carry-on bags were beside the door. Alice had packed his, bringing some of his old jeans and shirts from his mother’s cabin, and the fact that his mom hadn’t given away the clothes—or the steel-toed boots he was wearing—made Dylan’s heart ache with emotion. Lord, he could kill whoever had hurt his mother. He could still see her pale, unmoving body tucked beneath crisp white sheets in the River Run Hospital, and now, once more, he silently vowed to find whoever had beaten her to within an inch of her life.
He’d make Alice love him again, too.
Keep dreaming.
Glanc
ing past her unforgiving profile, Dylan took in the Bel-Air Police Department, which was spacious and airy. The long, brightly lit hallways, open rooms of cubicles, new office furniture and plants made it seem more like an urban corporate headquarters than a place with jail cells. It was definitely a far cry from Sheriff Sawyer’s office.
Dylan realized Santiago’s eyebrow was raised. “Mr. Devlyn?”
Dylan glanced at Alice who was doing her best to keep her expression unreadable. He said, “Yes?”
Santiago was starting to look impatient. “You said you’d never heard Lang Devlyn was your father? Could you elaborate?”
Not much. Dylan considered, then said what he could. “I’d heard of Lang Devlyn. I mean, who hasn’t? The man’s a national figure. But...”
“But?”
Dylan shrugged and shook his head. “Never laid eyes on the man.”
“And you thought your father was...?”
“Dead,” Dylan said honestly. “Until I saw the fingerprint match in Sheriff Sawyer’s office in Rock Canyon, and was told Lang Devlyn was my father.”
“Speaking of Rock Canyon... Can you tell me what possessed you to go there?”
I went because I’m not just Stuart Devlyn. I’m also Dylan Nolan, and I wanted to see Alice and Mom, and to clear my name. Dylan’s heart pulled. The past twenty-four hours had definitely further upset his world. Last night, the doctors hadn’t let his mother talk much, but after the medical professionals had gone, when Dylan and Alice had been alone with her, he’d heard enough to know that Lang Devlyn really had been his father.
Who his mother thought he was, Dylan wasn’t sure. She’d spoken only to Alice, and had regarded him with an unnerving mixture of fear and distrust. He’d tried not to take it personally, since coming out of a coma had to be disorienting. Regarding his father, Dylan knew the feelings hadn’t truly touched him yet. He still felt numb, regretful that he’d never met Lang Devlyn, especially when he remembered his boyhood, and how much he’d wanted a father then.