“No.”
Mary had been focused inward toward her past, the rediscovery of her youth, but the emptiness in Cole’s single-word reply brought her attention back to his face. His expression was shuttered, his square jaw more rigid than usual, his gaze turned toward the trees with their solidity of greens and browns that matched his eyes.
“Are your parents still alive?” she asked.
“No.” He repeated the word in the same tone.
“When did they die?” Cole didn’t answer immediately, and she waited, wondering if this would be another of his secrets. Though he’d invited her into his home readily enough, had even held her in his arms and kissed her, he seemed determined never to let her past the shield he’d erected around himself.
“My dad died when I was sixteen, my mom five years later.”
“Did you have brothers and sisters?”
“Three sisters.”
“And you’re the oldest.” It was a statement, not a question. He would have been the oldest.
He looked at her then. “Yeah. I’m the oldest.”
“You took care of your mother and sisters.” It was another statement. Considering the way he’d taken her into his home and was trying to help her, she didn’t doubt for a single minute that the sixteen-year-old Cole had been just as intent on caring for his family.
“I tried.” He swirled the remaining crimson wine in his glass before tilting it to his lips.
“I can’t imagine that you’d ever fail at anything.”
He gave her a taut smile. “Whose life are we trying to recall, yours or mine?”
“Maybe both.” Mary surprised herself with the boldness of her reply, her presumptuousness in suggesting Cole, a man so obviously in control, might need to dredge up the details of his life in the same way she needed to find the details of her own.
For a long moment, Cole said nothing, though the closed expression in his eyes and the tense set of his jaw spoke volumes, and Mary wished she could take back her words.
But then he nodded. “I guess that’s fair. You’re staying in the same house with me, but you don’t know anything about me.”
She grinned. “We started out even on that score.”
“Yeah, we did, didn’t we?”
“And now you know that I grew up in the country, went barefoot and ate tomatoes straight off the vine. Your turn.”
“I grew up in the city, not too far from here, as a matter of fact. At least, that’s where we started out. We moved quite a bit after my father died. He was a cop. Killed in the line of duty. My mother never got over it.”
“Did you?”
He shrugged. “Do you ever get over losing somebody you love?”
She shook her head, tears threatening again. “No, I don’t think so.”
“But you learn to live with the loss. You learn to get on with your life because you don’t have any other choice.”
Sure you do, she thought. You can always take the coward’s way out and forget everything.
“What happened after your father died?”
“My mother had to go to work. She’d never worked before, so she didn’t have any marketable skills. She went through a series of low-paying jobs while I worked part-time at the local service station. We survived. I joined the police force as soon as I could and things got better, but it was too late. My mother wasn’t strong. She died within the year, and you know the rest.”
You know the rest?
She wanted to protest that she certainly did not, wanted to ask why his wife had hidden her journal in her son’s room, whether the sadness that lived at the back of his eyes came solely from the combined losses of first his parents, then his wife and stepson, or whether something else had happened.
Even if she’d had the temerity to ask any of those things, she wouldn’t have had a chance. He stood and picked up their empty glasses. “We need to check out the label on your dress while the stores are still open.”
Checking out that dress was the last thing she wanted to do, but Cole was right. That was what they needed to do. It was the next logical step in reclaiming the rest of her life, and right now she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to do that, either.
But she was more than ever determined that she wasn’t going to let Cole see that fear. She wasn’t going to let him see how much she needed his caretaking. She didn’t like the image of herself in such a needy role.
She must have lost her spirit with her parents’ death. That must be why the memory of the blond man bringing her a glass of wine at a restaurant, an act of kindness, a flattering act, was not a good memory.
She squared her shoulders and preceded Cole into the house.
THE PLASTIC BAG containing the wedding gown still lay on the coffee table in the living room where Cole had put it when they’d returned earlier. The dress was folded so the stained area was hidden. Nothing showed but satin and white lace. Yet it was still a repugnant sight.
Mary knew she didn’t have the courage to pick it up and was grateful when Cole did. He carried it into his office, the only lived-in room she’d seen so far in the house. Shoving aside a pile of papers, he laid the bag on his desk. While he opened it and took out the dress, Mary perched on the opposite corner of the desk and braced herself by gripping the edges tightly with both hands.
Time seemed to drag as he lifted it, and the dress unfolded as if in slow motion. Mary willed herself to remember choosing the elaborate style, trying it on, checking her reflection in a mirror. Surely those were happy memories.
Nothing came. The dark stain on the front intruded on every image she attempted to conjure up, blotting out everything else.
Cole cast her a quick glance, then, apparently deciding she was holding up adequately, checked the back neckline of the dress. “Where do they put the label on these things?”
Mary licked her dry lips. “Try the zipper.” She knew she ought to help him, to hold the garment while he unzipped it, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t possibly bring herself to touch it.
“Here it is,” he said, and read a name that meant nothing to her. “We need a picture. Probably not a good idea to take the real thing with that stain into stores to ask if anybody recognizes it.”
“A picture’s not going to be much better, is it?”
“I’ll clean it up on the computer.”
With only a couple of phone calls, Cole was able to determine that the dress was expensive and would only be sold by a few of the most prestigious bridal shops in the city.
“Well,” he said, turning in his chair to face her, “we’ve finally got a solid lead. First I’ll try to pull up something on the death of your parents, but even if I don’t find that, with this information on your wedding gown, by tomorrow at the latest, Mary Jackson, you may know who you really are.”
“Good,” she made herself say. “Thank you for everything.” But the words were as lacking in enthusiasm as her heart was. In spite of her brave resolutions, she was still fearful of what horrors she would discover buried in her own mind. Besides that, she was equally fearful of leaving Cole Grayson, who seemed to have as many secrets as she did but had found the strength to face his, and who had already passed on to her so much of that strength.
And if she were completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she was reluctant to leave him for another reason. No matter how much or how little of her life she could recall, she was certain she’d always remember the feel of his lips on hers, of his body pressed against hers, even the warmth of his hand as he’d stroked her arm on the patio. The touch had been soothing and comforting, but no matter the context, there was always something magnetic and sensual in Cole’s touch.
As if he could read her thoughts, his gaze on her grew warm, green sparks spreading through the brown.
Abruptly he looked away from her, turning his chair to face the desk again, pulling open the top drawer and reaching inside. “You won’t want to forget this.”
His expression wa
s controlled, though the green had not disappeared from his gaze as he extended a hand to her, the diamond ring lying in the center of his palm.
The sparkling stone and his words hung between them like snow-covered mountains.
You won’t want to forget this, he’d said. Because she would be leaving soon. Because the ring represented a commitment on her part even though she couldn’t remember that commitment. Because the ring still recalled a terror she couldn’t face.
She lifted a hand that seemed heavy and detached from her body. As if manipulating a mechanical crane in a toy display at a carnival, she directed her hand in jerky movements as she reached for the ring. Her fingers shook as she lifted it from his palm, and try as she might, she couldn’t hold on. The ring slipped to the floor, landing noiselessly on the carpet at her feet.
She stooped to retrieve it at the same time Cole slid from his chair and reached for it. Their hands brushed, and she pulled back. He picked up the ring with one hand, placed it in her palm and folded her fingers over it, then took her arm and helped her to rise.
But when they were standing, he didn’t release her arm and she made no move to back away. She wasn’t sure she could if she tried. They were too close, the attraction between them too strong. The metal and stone of the ring were cold in her hand, but the cold couldn’t survive against the fire in Cole’s eyes and the heat his nearness sent surging through her body.
Slowly his hand slipped from her arm to her back, trailing sparks along the way, and she felt her breath quicken. She could be leaving tomorrow, returning to a world she didn’t remember and wasn’t sure she wanted, a fiancé she couldn’t remember and wasn’t sure she wanted. Surely whatever fates might be couldn’t begrudge her one more kiss from Cole’s lips, one more moment of passion in his arms.
A voice somewhere in the back of her mind asked if she’d have the strength to pull away this time, as she’d done when he’d kissed her last night. If she didn’t, would they stop with a kiss? Did she want to stop with a kiss?
Cole’s gaze dropped to her mouth as he traced one finger around her lips. Every nerve in her body focused on his touch, and her lips parted with a sigh as the tantalizing sensations spread throughout her body like ripples from an earthquake.
She lifted her arms to wrap around him, to enclose him in her center of being, but as her fingers spread to touch his neck, something slipped from her hand, something cold and hard that fell between them. Cole jerked backward, the ring effectively separating them.
This time she stood frozen as he bent to retrieve the diamond and place it in her palm again.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just can’t seem to control myself around you.”
“I’m not sure I want you to.” Mary amazed herself at the boldness of her comment. She looked down at the ring in the palm of her hand. “I know I should feel some sort of loyalty to…somebody. But it’s hard when I can’t remember.” It’s hard when your touch sets me on fire and makes me feel alive.
“But you will remember.” He turned away from her and took his seat at the computer. “I’ll see if I can find anything about carbon monoxide deaths around here this year. You’re going to have your past back soon. And when you do, if you’re in any sort of danger, I promise to keep you safe.”
He promised to keep her safe. Maybe that was what she needed, but right now it certainly wasn’t what she wanted from him. It was a good thing Cole had more of a sense of duty to the man who’d given her that ring than she did.
It didn’t feel like a good thing, though. Being in Cole’s arms, anticipating his kiss…that felt like a good thing.
The rest of the evening stretched before her, turgid with the unreleased tension between the two of them. Then tomorrow they’d probably discover the origin of her wedding dress. Tonight was likely the last night she’d spend under the same roof as Cole Grayson. She didn’t anticipate sleeping soundly.
MARY AWOKE from the nightmare with a start, disoriented, heart pounding, and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was.
Cole’s house. Billy’s bedroom.
In her dream she’d been running through a maze of buildings, her steps hampered by the hated bridal gown, the breath of her pursuer hot on her neck.
A dream or a memory?
It didn’t matter. For the moment, she was safe in Cole’s house, safe from everything except her own emotions, her desire for a man she shouldn’t desire even if she didn’t have a fiancé waiting somewhere.
And she might not. He could have been killed, his murderer the one who’d pursued her between the buildings in her dream.
Red digits on the Batman clock beside the bed showed the time as 2:14. She rolled over to try to go back to sleep.
A sound came from the window, and the terror of the dream washed over her again.
A tree branch scraping the glass. That’s all it was.
She lay there, listening, knowing sleep was impossible with her heart racing, fear pouring through her veins.
The sound came again, a single tap on the glass.
She didn’t recall that the tree was close enough for the branches to reach the window, though perhaps if the wind was blowing…
She forced herself to get out of bed, to confront her fears and back them down, to look out the window.
The wind wasn’t blowing. The tree branches were still. A full moon lit the sky and shone off the white wrought iron of the chairs and table on the patio. The night was quiet and serene.
Then movement caught her eye, and her gaze focused on something emerging from behind a tree, something that could only have come directly from her nightmare…a man with no face, his torso covered in blood, arms lifted toward her as if inviting her into his grisly embrace.
Chapter Eight
Mary whirled away from the window, away from the gruesome sight. Heart pounding in fear, she raced across the room to the door, but then caught herself before she could turn the knob.
Where was she going?
To Cole, of course. To his strong arms, to beg him to keep her safe.
No.
She would not again put herself in the position of seeing pity and sympathy in Cole’s dark eyes.
Standing immobile, her fingers frozen around the knob, unable to leave the room but terrified to stay, she could almost feel the hot breath of the creature on her neck. The scent of roses seemed to permeate the air, choking her. The room was almost as bright as day with the full moon, but the edges began to darken, urging her away from the things she couldn’t face.
No! She wasn’t going to run anymore.
Drawing in a deep though shaky breath, Mary pried her fingers from the knob and forced herself to walk back across to the window. Perhaps what she’d seen had only been an unusual configuration of a tree highlighted by the moon shadows, with her fear supplying the rest of the details.
Outside her window, moonlight shimmered on the peaceful scene, illuminating the trees and grounds with no hint of the nightmare vision.
Had she imagined the whole thing?
It was possible, she supposed, then rejected the idea. She had seen someone out there. The creature had moved, had stepped from behind a tree and opened his arms to her.
But the woods surrounding Cole’s backyard spread before her in their nighttime tranquillity. Whatever had been there was gone. She should close the curtains, go back to bed and forget the whole thing.
Try to forget the whole thing.
No way could she do that. The adrenaline of fear flooded her body, the fight-or-flight response to danger, and she was tired of fleeing. Somehow she had to be certain that no one was hiding in those woods, that those arms weren’t out there waiting for the chance to grab her. If she couldn’t confront her present fears, what possible chance did she have to confront the fears in her past that lurked just out of sight in her mind?
With a final glance at the undisturbed serenity below, she hurried across the room a second time, out the door and down the stairs, through t
he kitchen to the back door, quickly, before she lost her courage. Her fingers trembled so badly she had to punch in the code for the alarm system twice before getting it right.
Through the window in the door she could see only what she’d seen from upstairs. The patio with the white wrought-iron furniture. A charcoal grill. The woods beyond. Nothing to fear.
She took the dead-bolt key from its hook beside the refrigerator, out of reach of anyone who might break through the window but easily accessible in case of fire or other emergency.
Nothing to fear, she told her thundering heart.
But there was no point in being foolish. Opening the knife drawer, she selected the longest and sharpest, unlocked the door, straightened her spine and stepped out onto the patio.
The night was still, too still. Where were the crickets and katydids?
Something moved, rustling in the underbrush and sending panic through her body.
Run! Get away! Escape into the darkness!
Fight or flight!
But she couldn’t make herself go forward, couldn’t leave the patio with the safety of the open door behind her.
“Mary!”
At the sound of a man’s voice, she whirled, knife raised, ready to strike, the light from the moon fading as blackness pressed around the edges of her world.
Cole lunged forward, grabbing Mary’s wrist to stop the downward arc of the knife with its blade glittering in the moonlight. Her eyes widened in immediate recognition as she relinquished the weapon to him and sagged against him. At least she hadn’t fought him.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” he demanded harshly.
Though the night was warm, she shivered and pushed back far enough that she could look up at him. He kept one protective arm around her, however, restraining her from running away, and, he couldn’t deny, holding her close to him.
He was barefoot and had taken time only to pull on a pair of jeans. She wore a short, silky white gown that clung to her breasts and left her long legs bare. The glow of moonlight lay on her soft skin, highlighting the tops of her breasts. Her slim body against his bare chest felt vulnerable and fragile. In her current state, she shouldn’t be desirable, but she was.
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