Private Vows

by Sally C. Berneathy

  He moved her gently aside and opened the door. “It’s a rabbit,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  She wanted to call him back, to beg him not to leave her alone, but that was foolish and weak and she was tired of being foolish and weak, of having Cole see her that way, of seeing herself that way.

  Her brief glimpses into her past told her that she had not lived her entire life as a timid, fearful person. At one time she had been normal. Something must have happened to cause this change.

  When she’d first awakened with no memories, she’d thought her terror came from the emptiness, from the sensation of being alone in a strange world without even her past as a companion. But now she had a few of those memories back, happy memories, and still the terror ruled her life.

  What had happened to create so much fear, to make her want to escape from her past into nothingness?

  She knew with a dreadful certainty that it had something to do with her wedding, with the gown and the ring.

  And, of course there was the blood.

  Again the unwelcome thought returned…had she harmed her fiancé in some way, maybe even killed him? Had she witnessed her fiancé’s murder? Was her life in danger from his killer?

  Somehow she had to find the courage to face her past, to confront whatever it was that had happened, no matter how awful it was.

  When they’d shared that mind-shattering kiss last night, Cole had seemed to imbue her not only with his passion but also with his strength. For that one moment, he’d made her feel alive and given her an identity. But it couldn’t have meant the same for him. He felt a responsibility for her. She couldn’t imagine that someone as weak and needy as she could arouse passion in a man as strong as Cole. The kiss had probably been incidental to him.

  But it had not been incidental to her. The memory of the exhilaration when his lips touched hers, of the sense of completeness that had wrapped around her, gave her something to hold on to.

  She knew it shouldn’t be that way. Somewhere in her life she had made a promise to another man, a promise she should keep even if she couldn’t remember making it. And even if that were not true, she knew she was not the kind of woman Cole needed.

  Nevertheless, she found herself searching every inch of her being, trying to find the courage to face her life, present and past, to beat back the darkness and become someone Cole would look at with respect and desire, someone he’d want to kiss again, even if it never happened.

  When he returned a few minutes later, she was in the kitchen, making breakfast.

  “There are a lot of predators in the woods…coyotes, owls, even some feral cats,” he said, watching her carefully as if he expected her to collapse. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “It’s okay. I overreacted. It was the blood.” Far too much blood for a rabbit, but she didn’t say that. “I may have to become a vegetarian.” She put all her efforts into giving him a smile.

  “It was pretty gruesome,” Cole admitted. “Nature can be cruel. Anybody would have been shocked to open the door to a sight like that.”

  He was giving her an excuse, but she refused to take it. Maybe she’d never regain her memory, never know who she’d been and never know what horrible event or even what minor event had caused her to discard her life. But one thing she did know, she didn’t like being the terrified, lost creature who’d awakened on the pavement four days ago, the person who jumped at every noise and wanted only to retreat again into the black void of forgetfulness.

  When Cole suggested after breakfast that she go with him to reclaim the bridal gown from the police department, she clenched her teeth against the swirling terror before it could secure its grip on her.

  “I can’t ask you to do that,” she protested. “I’m sure you have work that needs to be done.” What she said was true, even though her real reluctance came from the fear generated by even a mention of that dress.

  “I’ve checked my workload. I don’t have anything that has to be done for a few days. That’s one of the few perks of this business…keeping my own hours.” He slid his chair back from the table. “Let me call Pete and be sure he can meet us.”

  She nodded then set about loading the dishwasher, concentrating fiercely on the simple task in order to avoid concentrating on that dress she would soon have to confront. She couldn’t recall anything about it—not the style, the fabric, the fit—nothing except the way the blood had soaked through and clung to her skin, the coppery smell, the dark color.

  “He’s not in the office yet,” Cole said. “I left a message. I’m going upstairs to shower. Would you grab the phone if it rings?”

  “All right.”

  She had just finished wiping off the table, when a shrill ring stabbed the quiet house. Predictably, her heart began to race.

  Stupid! she berated herself, tossing the sponge into the sink. It’s only the telephone!

  Even so, her stiff legs dragged feet of concrete as she entered the living room and crossed to the lamp table where the phone sat. Before lifting the receiver, she glanced at the readout on the caller ID box.

  Anonymous. Her breath came in ragged gulps and she had to fight for control.

  It’s only Pete. Police officers frequently used that device. Another bit of trivia she wasn’t sure how she knew but was nevertheless certain of.

  “Hello?”

  “Mary? This is Pete. Cole around?”

  One point for her. She’d faced a fear and found it to be a fraud. “He’s taking a shower.”

  “I’m just getting ready to leave the house. Would you tell him I’ll get your dress and meet you all at the station in an hour?”

  “I will. Thanks, Pete.”

  She smiled as she replaced the receiver. She’d thanked him not for the promise to return a dress she never wanted to see again but for proving to her that her fears could be groundless, products of a mind in limbo with no reality to hang on to.

  The phone rang a second time and she unhesitantly reached for the receiver. The caller ID again said anonymous. Perhaps Pete had forgotten something.

  “Hi, Pete,” she said, heady with her newfound courage.

  A long silence greeted her.

  “Hello?” she said tentatively.

  “Those who truly love will always forgive no matter how grave the sin.”

  Mary slammed the phone down, her temporary courage sucked away into the depths of that hoarse whisper.

  “Was that Pete?”

  She whirled around to see Cole walking down the stairs, buttoning his denim shirt over his broad chest. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. In spite of her resolutions, the fear had once again stolen her soul.

  With a monumental effort, she cleared her throat and forced herself to rise through it. “Pete called,” she managed to say. “He’ll meet us in an hour.”

  Cole reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at her curiously. He must have heard the phone ring a second time, heard her answer then saw her hang up without saying goodbye.

  “Someone else called,” she explained.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hang-up call?”

  “No. It was…a man, I think. He said—” She drew in a deep breath and made herself repeat the innocent words that somehow seemed menacing. “‘Those who truly love will always forgive no matter how grave the sin.”’

  Cole’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened as he checked the caller ID. But then he shrugged. “Probably some religious nut calling at random. My number’s unlisted.”

  His voice was as casual as the shrug, but he didn’t meet her gaze as he spoke, and his shoulders seemed tense.

  Or was her imagination working overtime? The dead rabbit had frightened her, set her up to see innocent events in a threatening light.

  Cole was probably right in his assessment of the call. In fact, maybe she hadn’t really heard the words at all. Maybe her confused brain had conjured them up from the dark silenc
e on the other end of the phone, some memory from out of the black hole that was her life.

  Neither possibility could harm her. She had to stop being afraid of shadows. Cole had done it. He might be tormented by the memory of his wife and son, but he feared nothing.

  She could never imagine Cole being afraid, but something had happened, something more than the horrible automobile accident that had taken the lives of his wife and son, something that had turned any remaining softness in him to tempered steel. She needed to learn how to do that herself.

  AS THEY WALKED into the police station to meet Pete, past the receptionist and back to the area where the officers had their desks, Mary cringed. Heads lifted and eyes turned toward them, and she had to fight the sensation that everyone had been talking about her in a derogatory manner, censuring her. Even though she could label the feeling as paranoia, she couldn’t make it go away.

  The building was old and she could detect faint smells of cigarette smoke, strong coffee and the starch of police uniforms. She fancied she could smell…or maybe it was only sense…the sweaty fear of murderers. It was all vaguely familiar and disquieting.

  “Grayson, you old dog!” Several of the officers came over to clap Cole on the back and shake his hand.

  “Where you been hiding?”

  “Change your mind about coming to work again?”

  Of course they’d all been looking. They remembered Cole from his time on the force. At least she hadn’t imagined that part…just the reason for their interest. Once more, for no discernible reason, she’d given in to her fears.

  “I’m Joe Franklin,” one officer said, smiling broadly as he extended a hand to Mary. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing hanging out with an ugly creep like this guy?”

  Mary tensed at the man’s teasing. These people assumed she was a friend of Cole’s, not just a woman with no memory on whom he’d taken pity.

  “Hey, watch it or I’ll have to reshape your face so even your dog won’t have anything to do with you!” Cole retorted, smiling as he wrapped a protective arm around her waist, and for a single instant she felt as if she belonged, as if she had an identity.

  “Hey, Grayson!” Pete strode up, carrying a large plastic bag with the folded bridal gown inside. “How’s it going, Mary? Hope this helps you figure things out.”

  She accepted the bag from him, clutching it by two corners, holding it away from her, avoiding as much contact as possible.

  She fancied she could feel the atmosphere thicken and congeal as everyone realized who she was, that she wasn’t a real person after all.

  “You’re the bride!” Joe exclaimed, then looked a little embarrassed. “So, is, uh, everything okay now? That weirdo’s been in here looking for you again. He’s not bothering you, is he?”

  The walls seemed to shrink, to close in around her as the air was sucked from the room, making it hard to get her breath.

  Cole took the bag from her as his other arm tightened reassuringly around her waist. “What weirdo? Sam the Sleaze?”

  “Yeah, him. Well, Pete can tell you all about it.”

  Pete scowled at Joe, who retreated to his desk. “There’s not a lot to tell. You know Sam. When he starts obsessing about a woman, he obsesses until he meets the next one.”

  “Let’s go to your office and talk about it,” Cole suggested.

  He propelled her along as they followed Pete to a small room containing three chairs as well as a desk almost covered by a computer and several mounds of papers. Pete took the chair behind the desk and motioned them to the others. Mary sank onto the cold plastic surface with relief. She hadn’t lost control, but she was hanging on to it by tattered fingernails.

  Cole tossed the dress onto Pete’s desk and remained standing. “You guys have hauled that creep in here so many times, he’s as familiar with the place as any of us,” he said. “You think there’s any chance he could have found my address?”

  “Of course not! The only place your address would be is in your personnel file.”

  Cole flopped into the other chair and cocked one foot onto the edge of Pete’s desk, then looked at Mary as if unsure how much he should say.

  She licked her dry lips. “The rabbit,” she said. “You think maybe he brought the rabbit, don’t you? There was far too much blood to have come from that small animal.”

  Cole listened to Mary’s description with surprise. He hadn’t realized she’d noticed the excess blood, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to mention it to her. That went a long way toward explaining her hysteria that morning.

  “What rabbit?” Pete asked.

  “It was on the front porch this morning,” Cole explained. “Could have been meant to scare Mary, an effort to keep her from regaining her memory. Or it could have been just one of those freaky things that happens when you have lots of animals around.” He made every effort to sound casual, to downplay the incident as much as possible in order to allay Mary’s fears.

  Pete shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like Sam. Too much work for him. Too much logic.” He, too, cast Mary a tentative look, but then continued. “All right, here’s the latest poop. He came in early this morning wearing a black suit he must have found in a Dumpster somewhere. Sure smelled like it. Said he wanted to invite all of us to his wedding, that his bride was waiting at the church. Showed us a picture of you that he’d cut from the newspaper.”

  Mary clenched her hands in her lap. “This morning someone called right after your call. He said something strange about loving and forgiving.” Cole could hear the tension in her voice, but she was making a laudable effort to sound normal. “And don’t forget the hang-up call at the hotel. Maybe that man does know how to access your information. Maybe he knows where Cole lives and what his phone number is. Maybe he knows every move I make.” Her voice rose slightly on the last sentence.

  Pete shook his head. “Not likely. He’s got way too many screws loose.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Cole said.

  “Yeah, I guess they have.”

  “Anything else happening on Mary’s case?”

  Pete’s gaze flickered over Mary then quickly darted away, and he shook his head, his expression slightly guilty.

  “Where are you at in this investigation?” Cole demanded.

  Pete spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Come on, man. You were on the force. You know how it works. There’s no evidence that a crime’s been committed. What are we going to investigate? Uncovering Mary’s identity is a civil matter. We don’t have enough manpower to cover all the murders, robberies and drug deals as it is.”

  Cole nodded. “Yeah, I know.” But the rules shouldn’t apply to Mary, not when she needed help so desperately. “I think I’ll pay Sam a visit.”

  Pete’s eyes narrowed, and Cole knew exactly what his former partner was thinking. What’s more, he knew Pete could be right, probably was right. The odds were minimal that Sam Maynard had been able to find Cole’s home and unlisted phone number and had then gone to the trouble to make a strange phone call and leave a dead rabbit.

  But he was no longer so certain that all of Mary’s fears came from inside her own mind or that he wouldn’t be able to help her. Something had happened that involved human blood, the blood on her wedding gown. However, the bloody rabbit on his doorstep could have been a freak accident. The strange phone call could have been the work of a religious nut. Both incidents could be unrelated to the blood on her wedding gown.

  Or they could be related. If she had witnessed a murder, the murderer could be stalking her.

  Though finding Cole’s house and unlisted phone number would not have been easy.

  At this point, he didn’t have sufficient evidence even to venture a guess concerning the situation.

  The only thing he knew for certain was that Mary was making a major effort on her own. He was aware that she hadn’t wanted to come to the station, hadn’t wanted to see that dress again and certainly didn’t want to talk about that
rabbit. But she’d forced herself to do all those things.

  In the face of her courage, he had no choice. He would do whatever he could to help, and the first thing was to eliminate Sam’s perversions as a possibility.

  After that, he’d use all his detective skills to help her recover her memories. He had to know what enemy threatened her and whether there was any hope that he could help her defeat that enemy. In the face of her courage and, more importantly, after that kiss they’d shared last night, he had to know. If the enemy came from inside, he couldn’t kiss her or hold her or become any more involved with her than he already was. In that event, he’d have to admit that he couldn’t help her.

  But if the enemy was real and tangible and if he could help her defeat that enemy, maybe he’d be able to recapture part of his own soul.

  Of course, helping her recover her memories would also mean finding the man who’d given her the ring she hated. And that was something else he needed to do…especially after that kiss.

  THAT AFTERNOON Cole pulled up in front of the rundown house where Sam Maynard lived, behind the big old gray car registered in his name. The man was intermittently employed as a day laborer, but the car indicated he was home. Lucky, because Cole didn’t want to have to come back.

  He’d had a tough time convincing Mary that she should stay at his place while he came here alone. He could tell she really didn’t want to come, didn’t want to face the man who might be stalking her, but she had been grimly determined to do it. Once again he had to admire her courage. She was a fighter.

  The first time he had had occasion to come here several years ago, he’d been surprised to find the small house tidy and well kept. But Sam’s mother, Grace Maynard, had still been alive then. She’d died and left the place to Sam five years ago, and weeds now vied for space with the remnants of a flower garden. The screen door hung askew on its hinges, and cardboard had been nailed inside a broken windowpane.