The One You Can't Forget

by Roni Loren

  She needed to show these photos to Wes first. Make sure she wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there. Wes saw Steven every weekday. He’d be able to pick up subtle differences or similarities she couldn’t. She flattened her hands along her desk. “I’m sorry. I can’t really see much from this shot.”

  “You haven’t remembered anything else from that night?” Montgomery asked with a frown.

  Rebecca shook her head. “I wish I could. I panicked and had tunnel vision. All I could focus on was the dog.”

  He let out a breath. “All right. If anything else comes back to you, Ms. Lindt, please give us a call. We’ve had a string of armed robberies in that area, and I want to catch these guys before someone else gets hurt or worse.”

  Anxiety crawled over her skin like an army of ants. “I understand.”

  Flores reached for the photos.

  “Can I keep these?” Rebecca asked. “Maybe if I keep looking at them, something will click. Plus, I’m seeing the man who intervened this afternoon. I can run these by him for you.”

  Flores perked up. “You think he saw something? That night, he told us that he ran up too late, that the guys were already running off and he’d been focused on you.”

  Focused on her. Her heart gave a little kick. “It can’t hurt to ask him. If anything rings a bell, I’ll tell him to call you.”

  “That’d be great.” Flores slid a business card Rebecca’s way. “Call us if he has any new information or if anything comes back to you.”

  “Will do. Thank you.” Rebecca stood and led the detectives out, shaking their hands and exchanging the necessary pleasantries, but unease had crept into every cell of her body.

  She went back to her desk and stared at the photos, trying to will her brain to see anything she might be missing before she sprung these on Wes. But the minute the guy with the gun started to look more and more like Trevor, she flipped them over and put her head in her hands, her heart racing and her skin breaking out in a sweat.

  No. Enough.

  When she caught her breath again, she picked up her cell phone and did what she should’ve done months ago.

  Taryn answered on the first ring. A clicking keyboard sounded in the background. “Dr. Landry.”

  “Hey, it’s Rebecca.”

  The clicking stopped. “Hey, girl,” Taryn said, a note of concern entering her voice. “What’s up? We missed you at Bitching Brunch yesterday.”

  “I missed y’all too. I had that speech thing.”

  “Ugh,” Taryn said with dread in her voice. “I’m glad the only talks I have to give are academic ones in front of a class or other researchers. I couldn’t do the inspirational thing. How’d it go?”

  “Fine.” Rebecca leaned back in her chair and sighed at her automatic response. “No, that’s not true. It was a disaster. I didn’t do the speech. I had a panic attack or flashback or something onstage. I thought I saw Trevor in the audience.”

  “Oh, honey.” The genuine empathy in Taryn’s voice was like a soft blanket around Rebecca’s frazzled nerves. No judgment. No Let’s call for the straitjacket and a handful of pills. Just understanding and an open ear. “That sucks. I’m sorry. Does that happen often?”

  She didn’t know if Taryn was asking solely as a friend or as a psychologist, but it didn’t matter. Rebecca could use her input either way. “It’s a pretty new thing. I think the combination of the documentary and the mugging has stirred up some ghosts. But that’s why I was calling. I’m tired of it happening. You still see that therapist friend of yours?”

  “Every couple of weeks,” she replied.

  “Is she taking new patients?”

  Taryn didn’t hesitate. “I’ll text you her number. Even if she isn’t, tell her you’re a friend of mine and she’ll get you in.”

  “Thanks.” Something tight loosened in Rebecca’s chest. “That would be great. I hate feeling crazy.”

  “No problem. And you’re not crazy. The effects of trauma are like a chronic illness. They can be managed, but there are going to be flare-ups. I’m a psychologist, and I still get blindsided by stuff sometimes. A few weeks ago, I saw some stupid inspirational quote about sisters on a T-shirt when I was shopping. Friends come and go, but sisters are forever. I ended up sobbing in the dressing room like I was at a funeral.”

  Rebecca’s stomach dipped. Taryn had lost her younger sister in the Long Acre shooting. Nia had been on a date with an older boy. Taryn had watched her bleed out. “I’m sorry, Taryn.”

  “It is what it is. We’re all going to get sucker-punched sometimes. But you’re doing the right thing. Seeing someone and talking it out can help.”

  “I hope so.”

  “And hey, since we didn’t get a chance to catch up yesterday, you want to grab dinner tonight? I’m helping a grad student monitor a study until six, but I’m free after that. Or we can do it another day this week.”

  Rebecca smiled, the knot of tension between her shoulder blades easing a bit. Sometimes she forgot how nice it was to have her friends back in her life. Women she could call and who would be there without hesitation. “I can’t tonight, but later in the week sounds great. Tonight, I have a plans with a dog…and a man.”

  “A man?” Taryn said, a playful tone returning to her voice. “Like a real live human with a penis?”

  Rebecca grinned. “Yes, there is definitely a penis.”

  Taryn gasped. “Wait. You said that with full authority. You’ve already verified the presence of this penis, haven’t you?”

  “I said no such thing. We’re only friends.”

  “Liar. Rebecca Beatrice Lindt, you’re going to owe me all the details when we have dinner. Is it the hot C student? Please tell me it is. Kincaid told us she met him, and he was like whoa sexy.”

  Rebecca laughed. “I have no idea what kind of grades he got, but he is a whoa sexy chef, so there’s that.”

  “Hell yeah,” Taryn announced. “Damn, I’m jealous. Hot and will cook for you?”

  “Yes. And my middle name is not Beatrice.”

  She sniffed. “Of course it’s not. I give random old-lady middle names to people when I want to get their attention. It drives my students crazy.”

  “Okay, Taryn Mildred Landry. We’re on for dinner later in the week.”

  She laughed. “Deal. And you should send me a photo of this sexy chef so I can drool appropriately. Not his penis, of course. That’s for you. Upper half will do.”

  “Mildred, you trollop,” Rebecca teased, putting the proper amount of affront in her voice.

  “Hey, Mildred is stuck at a college with overgrown boys who are all too young for her and professors who could apply for Social Security. She needs to live vicariously.”

  “You send the number of your shrink. I’ll send you a pic of my friend.”

  “On it.”

  Rebecca hung up the phone, and a minute later, Taryn sent the number. In response, Rebecca sent Taryn a completely naked picture of…Knight the dog.

  Taryn responded with Bitch.

  Rebecca laughed. Nope, Knight’s a boy.

  Shut up, Beatrice.

  Smooches, Mildred.

  Rebecca tossed her phone to the side, feeling ten times lighter than she had a few minutes earlier. Action. That was what had always kept her on track. A problem comes up. Take action and fix it.

  She tucked the police photos in her bag, scribbled down the number from Taryn and made a note to call, and then buzzed Marian to send in her first appointment of the day.

  There. Done. Her dome with Wes would stay intact.

  chapter

  TWENTY

  Wes spread the documents he’d been working on all morning across his desk. Permission slips. Rules. Possible business plans. His mind was plugged in and wired, all the possibilities making his blood pump.

  This was
going to happen. A restaurant.

  Sure, it wasn’t going to be in the way he’d originally envisioned all those years ago. This wouldn’t be some fancy joint that would get a write-up in Food & Wine magazine or earn him special snowflake status in the culinary world, but he’d get to enjoy the process of creating a business out of nothing and teaching his students how to do the same. That was something. Maybe everything. He pulled a few more sheets from the printer and laid them on top of one of the stacks.

  “Not too much preplanning,” he muttered to himself as he sorted things. “The kids need to take ownership in this project with me, make decisions as a team. But after the reveal, maybe we could do a brainstorming session first and then timelines and…”

  A light tap on his door had him shutting his mouth and looking up. Rebecca was leaning against the doorjamb, red hair in a curling ponytail and a teasing smile on her face. “Talking to your imaginary friends?”

  The sight of her had him inhaling a deep, satisfied breath. She’d made it. And damn, was he going to get that rush of desire every time he saw her now? He’d been attracted to her from the start, but this was different. Now that he knew what lay beneath those clothes, what her lips tasted like, what she sounded like when she lost control, he couldn’t keep his blood from heating and his body from moving toward her like a magnet to steel.

  He’d been disappointed with their call earlier when she’d clammed up on him and lied about what had happened during her speech. He didn’t know exactly what had gone down at the brunch, but he knew it wasn’t because she’d skipped breakfast. She’d been somewhere else when he’d reached her onstage. Eyes wide and scared but not seeing what was in front of her. Haunted. He didn’t have to guess by what. But she didn’t want to talk about it with him yet.

  As much as that had stung, he wasn’t going to push. Rebecca had been through things that made his childhood look like a trip to Disneyland. He had no idea how she’d managed to get up on that stage to talk about the shooting in the first place. His high school years had been marked with memories of skipping school, bad grades, and then eventually his uncle’s well-placed foot in his ass to get him back on track. Rebecca’s past was filled with trauma and violence and losses that Wes couldn’t fathom.

  He didn’t blame her for not wanting to talk about it. They’d only agreed to have a good time together, to be casual friends. He wasn’t her boyfriend or confidant. He was a distraction, as she’d said.

  So if she wanted a distraction, he would happily distract the hell out of her.

  He stepped around the desk and smiled. “My imaginary friends always think my ideas are brilliant.” He tucked his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her since the kids would be flooding the hallway any minute. “I’m glad you could make it. I might’ve exploded if I couldn’t tell the group today.”

  “Crisis averted.” She lifted a plastic bag she’d been carrying and held it out to him. “I looked for one of those giant ribbons so we could wrap it around Adele for the kids, but apparently giant bus-size ribbons are not readily available. So I figured this was the next best thing.”

  Wes took the bag and peeked in. A pile of bright-yellow bandannas was stacked neatly inside.

  “I figured we could use them to blindfold the kids when we bring them outside, and then they could use them to keep their hair back while cooking. That seems to be your preferred method.”

  He looked up and grinned. “That’s a great idea. And people will definitely be able to see us coming.”

  She plucked one out and waved it in front of him. “You’re Team School Bus. Of course they’re yellow.”

  “We are Team School Bus. You’re not getting out of wearing one of these. But thank you.” He leaned in for a quick kiss without thinking about it. “I love them.”

  She looked down. “Wes, I—”

  Someone coughed and Wes, still in Rebecca’s space, straightened. Steven was a few steps behind Rebecca, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans and his gaze averted. “Uh, sorry, Chef G. I just wanted to check if I could go in the classroom early. I need to look up a recipe in a book you have.”

  Wes frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to be in computer class?”

  Rebecca stepped to Wes’s side to face Steven, too.

  Steven looked warily at Rebecca and then finally met Wes’s eyes. “I don’t get that programming sh—stuff. I told Ms. Burton I wanted to work on my homework in the library.”

  “But you want to dig around the cookbook collection,” Wes said, his eyes scanning Steven’s face, noting the patch of bluish purple near his temple, only partially hidden by his floppy hair.

  Steven shrugged, a little sheepish. “I tried something over the weekend and…it didn’t go well. Burned something and stunk up the whole house. I wanted to check what I got wrong.”

  Wes wanted to ask about the bruise but wouldn’t do it in front of Rebecca and risk embarrassing Steven. “Room’s open. But don’t turn on any kitchen equipment.”

  “Got it,” he said with a look of relief. “Thanks.”

  Rebecca was frowning deeply, watching Steven walk away, when Wes turned to face her.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She chewed her lip, still watching the boy disappear down the hall. “You saw that mark on his head?”

  Wes sighed. “Yeah, I’ll ask him about it later. He’ll say he got in a fight.”

  “You think that’s the truth?”

  “I think it’s possible and hard to prove otherwise if he sticks to his story. He’s had a history of getting in scuffles. But like I told you before, I’ve met his father and was…unimpressed.”

  She looked at Wes, a wrinkle between her brows. “Meaning?”

  Wes squeezed his temples, weary. “I don’t know. At first I thought my aversion to him was from my not-too-positive history with law enforcement. But I think it’s more than that, because I’ve gotten to know a number of cops from working here and they’re great. It’s mostly a gut feeling with Wes’s father, but he reminds me a lot of my biological dad. Like what he’s showing us is a well-honed veneer. I think Steven’s got a lot going on that he’s not telling us.”

  Rebecca worried the yellow bandanna between her fingers, her gaze sliding back toward the hallway. “You think he’s being abused?”

  “I don’t know,” Wes said, able to share information now that Rebecca had gotten approved to be an official volunteer at the program. “I know there’s some depression there. A lot of anger and a rebellious streak. I just can’t figure out how much of a factor his home life is. A report was made to CPS last year, and nothing came out of the investigation. That doesn’t mean nothing’s happening, but I’m trying to build up enough trust with him so he’ll confide in me. The system can only do so much when it doesn’t have complete information.”

  Rebecca looked at Wes, concern there. “Wes…”

  He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Come on, let’s not talk about this now. If you think too hard about any one of these kids’ situations, you’ll keep yourself up at night worrying about them. Believe me, I know.”

  A sad expression crossed her face. “But doesn’t that make you feel so helpless?”

  “Of course. But it doesn’t change the laws or procedures. The best thing we can do is what we’re doing,” he said, giving her the talk he often had to give himself. “We can be there for them in the time we get with them. Watch. Listen. Be available if they’re ready to talk. Set an example. Give them a little fun and respite from whatever they’re going through. Help them create some opportunities to better their situation.” He took her hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “That’s what you’re doing for them by giving them Adele and by being here to help with the project. If I want Steven to open up to me, I have to be patient and build trust.”

  She frowned. “Did I mention patience is not my
favorite virtue?”

  He smiled a slow smile. “That’s actually one of the things I like best about you. You’re all about the action, lawyer girl.” He waggled his eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s come in handy so far. Random kissing the first night I met you. Basically seducing me yesterday after we decided to take things slow. Your lack of patience is paying off in great dividends for me.”

  She gave him a wry look. “You make me sound like some sex-starved woman with an impulse-control problem.”

  “Well, if the shoe fits…”

  She punched him in the shoulder.

  He laughed and grabbed her wrist, pulling her close, closer than he should at work, but the hallway outside his office was deserted. “Good thing I’m just as starved for you. You could’ve had me that first night if you’d asked. You inspire very loose morals in me.”

  She bit her lip, her eyes dancing with laughter. “I wanted you that night, too. Even when I thought you were a cheating jackass with an anger problem. Clearly, we’re terrible for each other’s judgment.”

  “Awful,” he agreed.

  “The worst.”

  “I should probably stop touching you right now because the abandoned closet off the music room is suddenly looking like a mighty fine destination to take you to. No one would hear us with all the racket coming from the room next door.”

  She pressed her palm over his beating heart and smiled. “No time for making out in the closet. We have to go blow your students’ minds with a big, yellow school bus.”

  Excitement bubbled up in his chest at the thought. “Yes we do. This is going to be such a blast.”

  The bell rang, and he let go of Rebecca before the halls filled. But when he stepped into his classroom with her, knowing what they were about to announce, it took everything he had not to kiss her in front of everyone. The urge was strong and potent, watching Rebecca stand there, a secret smile on her lips as the kids made their way into the room. It was also dangerous, that swirling sense of rightness within him. Like he was exactly where he was supposed to be at that moment in time. The feeling was downright foreign.