Private Vows

by Sally C. Berneathy

  He smiled down at her with a sympathetic, knowing expression, and Cole clenched his fists, anger and resentment washing over him at another man looking at his Mary that way, talking about her as if he knew her intimately. Which, of course, he did.

  Deal with it! Cole ordered himself. Get over the jealousy and deal with giving Mary into the hands of this slimy bastard who must be really a nice guy after all or she wouldn’t be engaged to him.

  “When I returned this morning,” the slimy bastard went on, “I found the door to the condo unlocked and Jessica gone. Still, I wasn’t worried until I found her purse. I went next door to ask the neighbors if they knew anything, and their ten-year-old son told me that he’d been hit in the face with a baseball, which resulted in a terrible nosebleed. Since his mother was at the store, he went to Jessica. Jessica was trying on her wedding gown, and when the boy ran up to her, he got blood all over the gown. He said she looked at the blood and started screaming, then ran out of the building.”

  “That seems like an awful lot of blood for a nose-bleed,” Cole interrupted.

  “The boy’s a hemophiliac. That’s why it was so important for him to get immediate attention. Which he did from another neighbor after Jessica ran away.” He paused to give Jessica another sympathetic glance and Cole’s fists again clenched. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t like this guy, couldn’t feel good about Jessica’s going with him.

  “Knowing her state of mind,” Sloan went on, increasing Cole’s disgust, “of course I was frantic until I noticed the poster in the lobby of my building. I came to the station immediately.”

  “Why didn’t your neighbors call the police when she first ran away?”

  “They’re very conservative, the type who don’t want to get involved in anything to do with the police. You know how some people are.”

  Cole knew only too well how some people were, so there was no reason for him to be suspicious of Sloan’s story. Yet he was, probably because he just flat didn’t like the man, didn’t like the way he looked and sure didn’t like the way he talked about Jessica.

  But he had to admit that he was prejudiced. Maybe the only reason he didn’t like Sloan was because he himself was personally involved with Jessica. Because he was looking for any excuse to stop her from going off with this man.

  Sloan hadn’t done such a great job of taking care of Jessica. He’d left her alone, hadn’t been there when she’d needed him.

  Yeah, kind of like the way you left Angela alone, weren’t there when she needed you.

  He rose from the table abruptly. Sloan took a step backward, as if shoved by Cole’s anger. For a moment Cole took great delight in glaring and watching Sloan flinch.

  “Well,” Cole said, “I’m glad everything worked out. Mary—Jessica—if you ever need me, you know where to find me.” He turned and started for the door, trying to escape while he could, before he did something stupid and made a complete fool of himself.

  But Jessica stood and placed a restraining hand on his arm.

  “Please don’t go before I get a chance to thank you for everything you’ve done.” Her gaze held him more surely than her hand.

  “You’re welcome.” He made no further move to leave.

  “Geoffrey, Officer Townley, would you excuse us for just a minute?”

  “Jessica, I—” Sloan started to protest, but Pete cut him off.

  “No problem. We’ll be right outside.”

  As soon as the door closed, Jessica sank into the chair again.

  Cole sat down beside her but she kept her gaze focused on the table, away from him.

  “Look,” he said, “if you don’t want to go with that guy, you don’t have to. You can stay with me until you get on your feet.”

  As he spoke the words, he realized how desperately he didn’t want her to go. Against all logic and reason, he wanted her to stay with him. Not because he had any illusions that he’d be able to take care of her and not because he felt responsible for her. No, his need to keep her with him was purely selfish. He’d be lost without her.

  “Yes. I do have to go with him.” She picked up the wallet, closed it and stuck it in the purse.

  “Why?” He braced himself to hear that having met Geoffrey, she remembered her love for him.

  “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

  “Not honest with me? What are you talking about?”

  “Geoffrey said I’d been sensitive since my parents’ deaths.”

  “You mentioned you were depressed. So? Who wouldn’t be under the circumstances?”

  She returned the rest of the items on the table to the purse before she answered. “Do you remember when I told you about reading Angela’s journal?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I read it because I found it lying open on my bed with the first page torn out.”

  “How did the journal get on your bed? Who tore out a page?”

  “I thought at first you’d done it.”

  “You thought I’d done it? I didn’t even know Angela kept a journal.”

  “I realize that. The only other person in your house was me. I must have done it then forgotten it.”

  A chill darted down his spine. “More of the amnesia.”

  “I guess.”

  “But you’re coming out of that. You’re regaining your memories. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “There’s more.”

  He waited.

  “Last night I heard voices in my room.”

  He didn’t understand what she was saying…or didn’t want to understand. “You spent the night in my room.”

  “Before that. Before I went downstairs.”

  “You dreamed you heard voices?”

  “No. I was awake. I heard whispers, things like, You hurt me and even though I forgive you, you must pay, you betrayed me, and you’ll have to be punished, those who truly love will always forgive no matter how grave the sin.”

  “That last part, isn’t that what somebody said to you on the phone? Remember, you answered and that’s all whoever it was said before they hung up.”

  She looked at him, her face pale and drawn, a study in despair. “I thought I’d heard that one before, which means either I imagined it the first time as well as the second, or I remembered it and incorporated it into my delusions.”

  Delusions. The room was suddenly hot and stuffy, so stuffy he could hardly breathe.

  He didn’t want to hear that word from her. He didn’t want to accept all the implications…that she had as many problems as Angela, that he couldn’t help her, either…that he’d failed again and she was lost to him forever. The stakes were higher than before, the loss more devastating since this time he stood to lose not only someone he cared for but a piece of himself.

  “What are you trying to say?” he demanded.

  She rose and settled the strap of the purse over one shoulder. He shot up beside her and for a long moment she held his gaze unflinchingly. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but something is.”

  “And you think by going with that guy, you can find some answers?”

  “He’s the only link to my past that I’ve found so far.”

  “Do you love him?”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor and shook her head. “No.”

  “Are you going to marry him?” He knew he sounded angry and jealous, but he couldn’t help it. He was angry and jealous.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so? How could you even consider marrying a man you don’t love?”

  Her head jerked up at the rising tone of his voice. “You married a woman you didn’t love,” she accused. Though her words seemed unusually quiet after his outburst, they echoed loudly through his mind as she turned and walked out the door and out of his life.

  She was right, of course. He hadn’t loved Angela, and that, he realized, was the center of his problem. He ha
dn’t loved her enough to listen and believe, to go home when she’d needed him.

  He resumed his seat in the hard chair and waited, giving Sloan and Jessica time to get out of the station. He didn’t want to see them together.

  Pete came in a few minutes later, slid back one of the chairs and straddled it.

  “They gone?” Cole asked.

  “Yep. You okay?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? Did you check this guy out?”

  “Yep. He’s legit. His dad’s a big wheel in the Houston area, owns a few strip shopping centers, hobnobs with the mayor, the police chief, the judges, all those folks. Son works in the family business and moves in the same circles. He has friends on the police force down there, and they were only too happy to vouch for him.”

  “Well.” Cole slapped the table. “Good. I’m glad to hear that I don’t need to worry about Mary. I mean, Jessica.”

  Pete lifted one eyebrow. “Sloan’s friends said he has his hands full with that young lady. Seems this amnesia isn’t the first mental problem she’s had. Her family died suddenly several months ago, and she went into a deep depression. That’s when Sloan met her and, being the nice guy they all say he is, kind of took her under his wing. Next thing they know, Sloan’s telling them he’s going to marry the woman in spite of what they called her erratic behavior.”

  Cole scowled. “Erratic behavior? What’s that supposed to mean?” Hearing voices? Forgetting things she’d done?

  “The guy I talked to down there said one day she’d be crazy about Sloan, not want him to leave her apartment, then the next she’d be calling the police and accusing him of stalking her, breaking into her apartment.”

  “She told me she remembered the guy being in her apartment, cooking dinner for her.” What Pete was telling him only verified all the evidence. Jessica was emotionally unstable and needed someone strong and competent, someone like Geoffrey Sloan, to take care of her. Whether or not Sloan could help her was anybody’s guess, but for sure Cole couldn’t.

  “We got the autopsy results back on Sam Maynard,” Pete said. “You were right. Homicide. He died from a drug overdose, but he didn’t take it voluntarily unless he figured out how to give himself a shot in the back of the neck and then dispose of the needle after he died.”

  In the shock of Geoffrey Sloan’s appearance and Jessica’s disappearance, Cole had momentarily forgotten about Sam’s death.

  “What about the wine and the pill beside it?”

  “The wine was laced with a powder form of the same drug, tetracyanazine, known on the street as Good Time Charley.”

  “Good Time Charley? Isn’t that a happy-time drug?”

  “A little has a mellowing effect, makes the person very agreeable and compliant. A lot puts the person to sleep. We’re guessing the perp probably spiked the wine with enough to make Sam groggy so the killer could then inject a lethal dose. Takes a lot of Charley to kill somebody, and the stuff has such a bitter taste, it’d be hard to get him to drink that much.”

  Cole released a low whistle. “Any idea who the perp might be?”

  Pete shook his head. “Not so far. No sign of forced entry, which usually means somebody the victim knew and trusted.”

  “The door was unlocked the day I went over there.”

  Pete nodded. “Even the two of them sitting down to have a glass of wine doesn’t mean Sam knew the person. Hell, he was so much in his own fantasy world, he could have thought he was having tea with the queen of England.”

  “Yeah. This may be a tough case.” Cole drummed his fingers on the wooden tabletop. “I guess his death didn’t have anything to do with Jessica after all.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Well, I’m glad we got her case solved anyway. Got her back with her fiancé.”

  “Me, too. I liked her. I’m happy everything turned out good for her.”

  “Yeah. Good. The best.” No matter if letting her leave with Sloan felt like the worst mistake he’d ever made. No matter if it left a ragged hole in the middle of his chest where his heart used to be. No matter if he dreaded going home to an empty house worse than he’d dreaded going to that house after Angela’s accident.

  Jessica had thought he was so strong. If she only knew how weak he felt right now.

  “HOW ARE YOU DOING, sweetheart?” Geoffrey steered the big luxury car with one hand while he patted hers with the other. They were moving at a snail’s pace, caught in the tail end of rush-hour traffic on Central Expressway.

  “Okay,” she said automatically, then changed her mind about the white lie. “No, that’s not true. I’m not okay. I’m confused and scared.”

  “Of course you are. That’s pretty normal under the circumstances. You’ve been through a tough time, but everything’s going to be fine now.” He smiled, his teeth white and perfect against the perfect tan. It was an easy smile, one that was, she thought, frequently given. Cole’s smiles had been infrequent and, like rare gems, dazzling and valuable when unearthed.

  She had to quit thinking about him. With every second that passed, every inch of pavement that disappeared beneath the wheels of Geoffrey’s car, Cole was retreating into her past. He’d said the past was gone and the future unknowable. Only the present existed, and her immediate present consisted of Geoffrey, not Cole. All she had left of Cole was the memory of their time together.

  No, she thought, as Geoffrey exited the freeway. That wasn’t right. A memory wasn’t all she had of Cole. She also had the strength he’d imparted to her. That strength had enabled her to leave with Sloan, and she couldn’t let it slip away now. She had to be strong enough to face her past and her problems, however bad they might be.

  Cole had said she didn’t have to go with Geoffrey, that she could stay with him until she got on her feet. She’d wanted desperately to remain with him but not for the reasons he’d asked her to. She wanted Cole to love her the way she loved him, to want her in his house and in his bed because of that love, not because he felt responsible for her or wanted to help her get on her feet.

  Whatever happened, she could and would take care of herself, starting now.

  Geoffrey drove to the area where she and Cole had distributed posters on Sunday and pulled into an underground parking garage. Jessica had to fight the sudden dizziness of claustrophobia, of the concrete walls, ceiling and floor closing in on her, trapping her. The feeling worsened and she had trouble breathing as they rode the elevator to the fifth floor, walked down the narrow hallway and entered the condo.

  The living room was spacious and luxurious. A hunter-green sofa with green and maroon throw pillows dominated the area. Coordinated drapes and wall hangings suggested a professional decorator. The sand-colored carpet sank beneath her feet then bounced back without a trace of her footprints.

  The place was beautiful and rich and Jessica hated it. More than anything in the world, she wanted to be back in Cole’s big house, feeling Cole’s warm breath on her neck instead of Geoffrey’s.

  Geoffrey locked the door then put the key in his pocket. Jessica’s gaze was drawn to that double-keyed dead bolt. For some reason, it didn’t look right.

  Geoffrey interrupted whatever train of thought was developing when he wrapped his arms around her from behind. It was much the same position as Cole had done last night, but the effect was completely different. Rather than feeling she fit there perfectly, rather than her blood stirring with desire, she felt suffocated, her blood racing with panic.

  “Why don’t you go freshen up, relax, and we’ll have dinner sent in tonight?” Geoffrey suggested.

  He guided her down a short hallway and through the door to a large room with dark, heavy furnishings and a four-poster king-size bed covered with a hunter-green spread. It was the gloomy, forbidding room she’d remembered when she’d first opened the door to Angela’s bedroom.

  She bit her lip and told herself she was being silly. Even though the room wasn’t bright and open like the bedrooms at Cole’s house, she had no re
ason to fear it.

  However, her heart jumped into her throat as she looked at that bed. Had she shared it with Geoffrey? If they were engaged, they were undoubtedly lovers. Would he expect her to share it again tonight? She couldn’t, not after spending last night in Cole’s arms.

  She turned to face Geoffrey. “Are we…do we share this room?”

  He lifted a hand to cup her cheek. “My room is across the hall. We agreed to wait until after marriage. You’re a wonderfully old-fashioned girl. That’s one of the things I loved about you, your purity and innocence.”

  Jessica flinched. Though she couldn’t remember, she felt certain Cole had not been her first lover. Had she lied to Geoffrey? Or was this something he’d assumed?

  And she would have to tell him before they married.

  If they married. How could she possibly stand before God and her friends and promise to love, honor and cherish one man when she loved another?

  “Geoffrey, we need to talk about the wedding.”

  He held up one hand. “I know your beautiful dress is ruined, but that’s okay. I understand how stressed you were over the plans for a big wedding. I should have realized at the time it was too much for you in your condition. We’ll just have a quiet civil ceremony tomorrow.”

  The panic swelled higher, washing over her in cold waves. “Tomorrow? We can’t get married tomorrow!”

  He smiled and laid a finger over her lips in a silencing gesture. “Of course we can. I have connections. A couple of phone calls to the right people and we’ll be all set. You have yourself a long, lazy bubble bath, put on one of your pretty outfits instead of those jeans, and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of everything.”

  He left the room, closing the door behind him. Jessica heard the well-oiled lock slip into place with barely a whisper.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cole entered his house and closed the door. No point in locking it or setting the alarm. He could no more lock out the emptiness than he’d been able to lock out the demons that had tormented first Angela and then Jessica.

  For the last three years he’d passed through this empty house on the way to work or to bed, not really living here, avoiding the memories of Angela and Billy, and now he had one more to avoid. The place had become full to overflowing with emptiness.