With a toss of her head, she walked into the house, wishing she could slam the door in his face. But he was too close.
“Consider it on the house,” he said bitterly, following her inside.
Angus glanced around. The town house looked just the way it had earlier. Incredibly neat, incredibly organized, just like Rebecca. Not a thing was out of place. Nothing to give him a clue what had happened that last day, just before her world had become a blank.
He stopped before clusters of photographs that lined both walls of the tiny hallway leading to the back of the house. “Do any of these look familiar to you?” he called to her.
Curious despite herself, Rebecca came into the hall. The photographs—a compilation of professional and candid, black-and-white and color, portrait and group activity shots—came in various sizes and frames. For now, the faces captured there were strangers to her. Even her own face among them felt to her like that of a stranger.
She shook her head, not daring to look at him.
Sympathy tugged at him despite his mind-set. ‘Maybe later.”
“Maybe.” But she was beginning to disbelieve that. She was going to be trapped here, in a life she didn’t remember, with a man she didn’t want. The thought appalled her.
Angus went into her bedroom. The soft, gentle fragrance that also lingered in his room at home was here to greet him. He tried not to let it distract him. Looking around, he found the same neatness here as everywhere else in the house. A place for everything and everything in its place.
He checked the closet. Her clothes were arranged by color and hanging in one direction. There were no empty hangers, no spaces.
Wouldn’t there have been spaces, he wondered, if she had packed for a trip?
Probably not. Knowing her, she would have reapportioned the spacing. Forgetting about the question, Angus closed the sliding door.
He had to go—now, while his strength was there and he still could.
Turning, he found her watching him.
Angus crossed to her. He knew he had to say something, he just couldn’t leave without a word.
“Listen,” he began, then stopped, at a loss. What could he say that wouldn’t sound like begging? That wouldn’t let her know that he wanted her to go with him—not stay with someone else who could offer her, in all probability, so much more.
Except for love. No one could offer her more love than he could.
But it wasn’t fair to her to tell her that.
“If you say it’s been fun,” she warned, her throat constricting, “you’re not going to live to make it out that door.”
Her expression was stony, but the look in her eyes got to him. It was the same vulnerable look he’d seen that first day.
Being very careful not to touch her, Angus said the only safe thing he could think of. “If you ever need me...if you ever need anything, day or night, just call.”
Yes, I need you. I need you to hold me. I need you to love me, the way I love you. But she said none of that. What was the point? He was just talking to her in his professional capacity. Maybe he even felt a little guilty about what happened—who knew?
“Thanks,” she muttered. “I still have your card.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.” There was nothing left to do but go.
Angus never saw the tears that came to her eyes as he shut the door. He wouldn’t have been able to leave if he had.
“What did you do to her? What did you say to make Rebecca leave?” Vikki’s questions assaulted him as soon as he walked through the door.
He exchanged glances with Jenny. The older woman, her expression sober, slipped past him and murmured good-night as she shut the door.
“What did you say?” Vikki demanded again, her voice hitching.
“Nothing, Vik.” God, but he was tired. Tired enough to drop in his tracks. “I already told you, she found out where she lived.” He flipped the lock on the front door, closing up for the night. “She gave you the address, remember?”
She didn’t care about another address. She wanted Rebecca back at their address. “She liked us. She would have stayed. You said something to make her go,” she accused. “Unsay it, Angus. Unsay it and make her come back. I promise I won’t ever ask you for anything else—not even a dog. Just get Rebecca to come back.”
He didn’t want to take the emotions he was feeling out on Vikki. She didn’t deserve it. But he had never felt this kind of frustration before, this kind of helplessness. And rage was a new feeling entirely.
“I can’t, Vik. Now go to bed, it’s late and I’m not writing another note for you for school tomorrow.”
Vikki stood in the kitchen, a tiny bantam rooster spoiling for a fight. She opened her mouth to defy him, then shut it abruptly.
To his surprise, Vikki walked out of the kitchen without another word, clutching her magazine to her. She went to her room, obviously intent on giving him the silent treatment.
He didn’t need the silent treatment, he was in hell already.
Stripping off his shirt, he walked into his room. The moment he entered, Rebecca’s fragrance came to him—soft, seductive. It was all around him. On the pillows, on the comforter, in the closet when he opened the doors. Like an invisible conspiracy, it encircled him.
Silently reminding him of what he had lost.
He grabbed a worn T-shirt and stalked out of the room. He’d sleep on the sofa again tonight, he told himself. There was no way he would be able to get any sleep in that bed.
Sitting down on the sofa, not bothering with any pillow or sheets, he glanced at his watch. With a start, he realized he’d sent Vikki to bed before seven-thirty. What’s more, she had actually gone.
He didn’t blame her. He wouldn’t have wanted to be around him, either.
Restless, Angus got up and prowled around the apartment, unable to find a place for himself. Unable to get at what was nagging at him, daring him to find it. Something was bothering him—something beyond the emptiness in his apartment, in his life—now that she was gone.
He supposed that in some way this had to be what Rebecca had felt like: unable to remember, unable to catch hold of something elusive that teased her with its formless shape.
What was it? What was it that he was missing? Was AI right? Were all his suspicions magnified just because he didn’t like Dunn, because he resented the man’s presence in Rebecca’s life?
Or was there something else? Something in plain sight that he saw, but wasn’t, seeing?
First thing tomorrow morning, he was going to investigate the man from top to bottom.
But what would he do with the endless night that was facing him?
Frustrated, he yanked open the refrigerator door and looked in. He wasn’t hungry, though he hadn’t eaten all day. Rummaging through the refrigerator was an automatic response. There was just a sliver left of the quiche lorraine that Rebecca had made for them before he’d taken her up to Tahoe. He left it for Vikki.
“Guess it’s back to takeout,” he muttered under his breath.
He didn’t realize that he had slammed the refrigerator door until it made contact. The glass Vikki had left on the edge of the counter fell off, jarred by the vibration. It smashed on the kitchen floor. One loud noise came on the heels of the other. It sounded as if he were having his own riot.
Great, he thought, throwing the pieces away, Vikki would think he was losing his mind. Just what he needed.
He had to get hold of himself—for her if not for him. Vikki needed a father. A sane father. It was time he started acting like one again.
The first thing he had to do was reassure her. He knew Vikki was going to miss Rebecca. But some things just didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to, he thought. You had to move on.
He had to move on.
Calmer now, he began to piece together what he wanted to say to Vikki to make her understand that this was no one’s fault, that he hadn’t driven Rebecca away. Their paths had just gone in different dir
ections.
Philosophical garbage, but maybe it would work on Vikki. At least, it was worth a try.
“Vik, you up? I’m sorry if the noise scared you,” he said as he knocked. When she didn’t answer, he opened the door to her room.
Her bed was empty. Vikki was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 15
The small scrap of paper with childish writing across it stared up at him from the center of the rumpled bed.
I went to Rebeka to fix things.
Swearing, Angus shoved the note into his back pocket. Why couldn’t that kid stay put?
With hope that had little foundation, he leaned out the window, scanning the area in both directions. Maybe she’d just left and hadn’t gotten very far.
He saw a couple necking in the shadows, and a man walking a dog. There was no one else out.
Now what? He shut the window so hard that it rattled. Vikki could be anywhere. She had no idea where Rebecca lived.
And then he remembered the magazine she was clutching when she went into her room—the magazine with Rebecca’s address in the margin.
Her place was twenty minutes away by car—how long would it take to reach on foot? On two very small feet? And how many wrong turns could those two small feet take? He didn’t even want to think about it.
Angus swore again as he picked up his car keys and left the apartment.
It struck him as ironic that until Vikki had come into his life, part of the money he made came from tracking down runaways. Now he was tracking his own runaway. Mentally, he apologized to any parent he might have unintentionally seemed insensitive to while conducting those investigations. Now he understood the anguish.
Angus was backing out of his parking place even before the gears had time to properly shift.
This was his fault. He should have stayed with Vikki tonight, explained things to her more carefully. He shouldn’t have sent her off to her room while he licked his wounds like some damn wounded bear.
Hell, he should never have brought Rebecca to his apartment in the first place. Then none of this would have happened. Vikki wouldn’t have gotten to care so much about Rebecca and he—he wouldn’t have fallen in love with her.
The car ahead of him was moving too slowly. Glancing to the side, he changed lanes, then sped up. He should have seen it from the start. They didn’t belong together, he and Rebecca. She and Dunn did. They were the very picture of a perfect couple.
Picture.
And then it hit him, opening in his brain like a quick blooming flower. He knew what had been nagging at him since he’d gotten home.
Angus pressed down on the accelerator, his gut instincts telling him to hurry before it was too late.
If this was her house—and from all the photographs she saw of herself, it was—Rebecca found no peace in it tonight. It made her feel caged in, restless. Like an animal waiting to be executed.
She couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. A myriad of diametrically opposed emotions swirled around her in endless confusion.
Wandering around the town house, opening closets, investigating drawers, touching knickknacks, she waited for a sign, a feeling to tell her that she’d come home. If it existed, it was blocked out by her agitation.
She was relieved that Howard wasn’t coming back tonight. She didn’t want to have to deal with him on a one-to-one basis yet. More than anything, she just wanted to be left alone.
No, that wasn’t true, she thought ruefully. She put down the book she was paging through. More than anything, she wanted Angus.
Which just showed her how very mixed-up she was. Thinking about Angus, wanting him, was useless. Worse than useless. Angus was history. Past history in what was still a very brief life. If she was going to get on with it, and somehow piece it all together, she was going to have to put him out of her mind. Permanently.
Easier said than done.
She found herself in the kitchen. Without thinking, she opened the refrigerator and looked in. The lone occupant of one shelf—a little box of baking soda—looked as if its sides were caving in. Moisture had weakened it. There were fruits tucked in one drawer and three kinds of vegetables in the other. A carton half filled with milk was inside the door, just beneath a tub of barely-used fat-free margarine.
If she was such a terrific organizer, why had she left a half-stocked refrigerator when she was supposed to be going on an extended business trip to Japan?
It didn’t make any sense. But she couldn’t make sense out of anything—not when she was feeling like this. Not when she was feeling as if everything had been drained out of her, leaving an empty shell.
Rebecca let the door close.
Frustrated, she went into the living room and switched on the television set, hoping for some sort of distraction: She burrowed into the oversize beige sofa, tucking her legs in under her and clutching the remote.
A used car salesman was riding a dolphin to the edge of the tank. He never made it. She pressed the channel button before he could begin his pitch. Staring ahead, glassy-eyed, Rebecca flipped from one station to another. Old movies and episodes from series long laid to rest chased one another from the screen.
This was ridiculous, she thought. She wasn’t going to find anything to occupy her mind if she just kept flipping around like this. Rebecca stopped on the next channel she came to, and put the remote down. She was going to watch and pay attention no matter what was on.
An old black-and-white movie that had somehow escaped being colorized flickered unevenly on the screen. Judging by the scenery, it was set in the thirties or forties. Rebecca forced herself to concentrate.
Someone was running down an alley, fleeing from an oncoming old roadster. The driver, his machine gun butted up against the outside of the car door, was spraying the fleeing man with a shower of bullets. Through the inventive genius of Hollywood, every single bullet miraculously missed its target. Sirens screeched in the background as police cars materialized from nowhere.
The noise blended and swirled, throbbing in her head.
Rebecca leaned forward on the sofa, riveted, afraid to take a breath.
Lights began to wink madly in her head, making her dizzy. Rebecca struggled against the light-headedness that threatened to black out everything.
The sound from the television melded with the bright lights flashing through her brain.
Lights.
Headlights.
Headlights were coming after her. She was running from them. Her breath hitched, backing up in her lungs as she looked over her shoulder to see the car getting closer. She darted between two steel pillars, tripping as one of her shoes was yanked off her foot. Terrified, she left the shoe behind.
She had to get away. Get away before he killed her.
She heard a loud noise, felt something strike her. Was she imagining it?
No, something sticky was sliding down her temple. Blinking, she sought to keep it out of her eyes. Half-blinded now with fear, she kept running toward the noise. Toward people, people would keep her safe.
She hit something. A wall, a metal wall.
There was a space behind the wall. She dropped to her knees and crawled behind it, praying that he hadn’t seen her.
She made herself into a tight little ball as everything grew smaller around her. Soon, there was nothing there at all.
Gasping for breath, feeling as if her brain were about to explode, Rebecca remembered. Remembered running, remembered trying to escape.
But from what? From whom? Who had been after her and why?
Her hands shook as she pulled Angus’s card from her pocket. She’d kept it there all the while like a talisman—a piece of him to make her feel safe. Maybe he could somehow help her remember the rest of it.
Maybe he could just hold her and help her stop trembling.
Her heart was hammering as she went to the telephone in the kitchen.
The knock on the door nearly made her jump out of her skin. The receiver slipped out of her hand, ban
ging against the wall as it came to the end of its cord.
Rebecca dragged air into her lungs. This was ridiculous, she had to calm down. There had to be some sort of a sane explanation for all this. If she went to pieces, she’d never find that explanation.
Trying to contain the nervousness that was pulsing through her, making her knees weak, she went to the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Vikki. Please let me in.”
Vikki? What was she doing here? Was Angus with her? Oh, God, she hoped so.
Rebecca didn’t even pause to look through the peephole. Yanking the door open, she found Vikki and a thin, reedy man standing on her front step. Her heart dropped.
The man smelled faintly of peppermint and had a face that looked like a road map that had been refolded too many times.
“Is she yours?” he demanded.
Rebecca looked from his face to Vikki’s. “What’s going on?”
Vikki wrapped her hands around Rebecca’s arm in mute supplication. Her words came out in a rush.
“I had to come see you, Rebecca. I saw a number on the bus bench for a cab and I called it. I used the money I had from Momma to pay. But he said he wanted to see for sure that I knew where I was going. That it was okay. Tell him. Tell him I’m yours.”
Nothing would have made her happier than if the words were true. Rebecca placed her hand protectively on Vikki’s shoulder, drawing the little girl to her. She looked at the cabdriver. Thank God he was concerned enough to watch out for Vikki. She didn’t even want to think about what could have happened to a little girl alone at night.
“She’s mine. Thank you for bringing her to me.” It seemed like such a feeble phrase to express her gratitude. “Do I owe you anything?”
“I got paid,” he grumbled. His mouth didn’t look capable of forming a smile. “But you could do yourself and the kid a favor by keeping better tabs on her.” With that, he shuffled off, muttering something about parents these days.
Rebecca didn’t know whether to hug Vikki or to shake her. When she saw the expression on the child’s face, Rebecca gave in and hugged her.
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