Sins of the Past

by Dee Henderson

  It had been a bit of a blow to his healthy ego, but he’d survived and committed himself to just being her friend.

  For now. He’d noticed her withdrawing even more in the last two months, and she’d avoided him any time he tried to bring up the subject. It was frustrating. Maddening. Because he did care about her. But he’d left her alone and now realized he probably shouldn’t have given her quite so much space.

  He grasped her hand and tilted her chin to look into her eyes. They looked tired, weary. Scared. And much too old. And she’d lost weight. Something had happened recently.

  “I think you need to tell me.”

  She leaned away from him, pulled her hands from his, and rubbed them on her sweatpants.

  “Macey, I’ve known you for two years. We’re friends. Or at least I thought we were.”

  “Yes, we’re friends. Of course we are. But I . . .”

  “Then tell me.” He cupped her soft pale cheek, and for a brief moment, she leaned into his touch.

  She opened her mouth then shut it. “Let me think first. I need to make sure it’s the right thing to do.”

  “How could talking to me be the wrong thing to do? I just want to help.”

  “I know, and that’s the problem.” She stood. “I want to see if I can find my phone. I know it was on the windowsill. If it’s not there, then he took it.”

  “Macey—”

  She walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light. Chad came up behind her. “It’s not there,” she said. She walked to the sink and braced herself against the stainless steel then reached up to check the lock on the window. Her hand shook.

  “What is it, Macey? Why are you so scared?”

  “Because my window was open and my phone isn’t where I put it.”

  He frowned.

  Her gaze dropped to the sink and she gasped. “My phone.” She picked it up.

  Chad plucked it from her fingers before she had a chance to drop it—or contaminate it. “Sit down before you fall down.”

  She plopped into the nearest chair. “What’s around it?”

  “A note.”

  He walked across to the small built-in desk and picked a pen from the cup holder in the corner. He met her gaze for a brief second before using the pen to loosen the rubber band that held the note to the phone. It popped off, and the letter fluttered to the table faceup.

  He leaned over. “‘Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.’”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either, but someone’s sending you a message. The question is . . . what kind?” He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the note.

  “Who said the quote?”

  “Let’s find out.” He tapped the Internet button on his screen and typed the quote into the search box. “A Marcel Proust. He’s an author.”

  “Of what?”

  “Books.”

  She huffed a small laugh that held no humor. “I figured that.”

  Chad continued to scan the words. “He’s a French novelist. Was born in Auteuil, France, in 1871.”

  “Why is someone quoting a dead French author to me? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I would say that whoever it is, they’re using the quote to get a point across.”

  “What kind of point? That what I remember isn’t what happened? That’s stupid. I don’t remember much, period.”

  She pressed a hand to her right temple and gave a low groan as she dropped her forehead to the table.

  TWO

  She felt Chad’s hand on her shoulder. The pulsing pain in her head slowly eased, but the flash of the Jeep remained. Tyler’s Jeep. The memory came again, more clear this time.

  The Jeep. Two teens. A figure with no face. A gun. Blood. The crack of the shot. Pain . . . so much pain . . .

  She shuddered and rubbed her eyes. She knew Tyler and Collin. She couldn’t forget them even as much as she had tried. But the person with no face . . . who was it?

  Chad was saying something. Finally, she was able to tune into him. “. . . need a doctor?”

  “What? No.” She shook her head and was relieved when it didn’t start to pound all over again. “I’m all right. It’ll pass.”

  “What happened?”

  “A memory, I think. I . . . was involved in something as a teenager. Sometimes the memories come back to haunt me.”

  He glanced at the open window. “That was no memory.”

  She swallowed. “No. That was the real thing.”

  Goose bumps rose on her skin, and she rubbed her arms and bit her lip. Should she trust him? Ask him for help?

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. “You’re a police officer,” she said.

  “A detective, yes. You know what I do. You know I can help.”

  She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I . . . I want to tell you what’s going on, maybe you could help, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t want you to—”

  Flashing blue lights penetrated the living area’s blinds. He stood. “Hold that thought.”

  She followed him to the door. He opened it and greeted the uniformed officers who approached. “Barry, Nick, thanks for getting here so fast.”

  “Sure thing,” Barry said. “What’s going on?”

  On some peripheral scale, Macey registered Chad explaining the situation to the officers while the rest of her brain tried to process the events of the last thirty minutes.

  Someone had tried to break in. Someone had bypassed her security system and stolen her phone. Someone had wrapped a cryptic message around that phone and tossed it through the open window and into her sink. It didn’t compute.

  “Did you see the intruder?”

  She looked up and realized the officer Chad had called Barry was speaking to her.

  “No. I didn’t. I saw a face—or what should have been a face. He didn’t have any eyes, or a nose or mouth.” At his frown, she rubbed her head. “Now that I’ve calmed down, I realize he had some sort of covering over his face, a ski mask probably. He was in my carport, looking in the window of my kitchen door.”

  Barry nodded. “We’ll take a look around.”

  “Thank you.”

  They left, and Macey returned to the sofa in her den. Chad followed her. She pressed shaky fingers to her eyes. This had been going on long enough. It was time to either run or take a stand and fight back.

  She looked at her neighbor. He was a good man. He’d never given her reason to think otherwise, as he’d been nothing but kind. When he’d found out she had the flu about six months ago, chicken soup and crackers and a loaf of French bread had appeared on her front porch, along with a box of Tamiflu and the latest DiAnn Mills novel. It had touched her, reached into that deep place she kept so closed off and cracked the wall—a deep crevice she’d never been able to fully repair when it came to keeping Chad Latham away. As a thank-you, once she was well, she’d fixed him a full-course meal complete with a case of his favorite soda, Dr. Pepper.

  She knew he was interested in her, had even hinted at the possibility of dating. She’d made sure to discourage him, not because she wasn’t interested or attracted to the idea of dating him, but because simply put, she was toxic. Trouble followed her everywhere. She couldn’t allow that to spill over into his life.

  Only now it had. And it looked like she was going to have to tell him what was going on in order to protect him. Because if she didn’t . . .

  “Macey?”

  She looked up and snagged his gaze. “I’m sorry I’m being so spacey. I’m just trying to figure out what to do.”

  “Trying to decide whether to trust me or not?”

  She felt the heat sweep over her but ignored it and gave a small shrug. “I already trust you, Chad. It’s not just that.”

  “Then what?”

  She sighed. “I’m trying to figure out the best way to protect you because the
last person who tried to help me died.”

  Chad blinked. Okay, that hadn’t been what he’d expected her to say.

  A knock on the door pulled his attention from her and her startling last sentence. He answered it without asking permission. The two uniformed officers stepped inside and he shut the door behind them.

  “Well? You find anything?”

  Nick nodded. “Her phone line was definitely cut, but that doesn’t explain why the alarm didn’t sound.”

  She held a hand to her forehead. “I’m not thinking straight. Of course the alarm wouldn’t sound. My windows aren’t wired, just my doors.” She fidgeted with the hem of her T-shirt. “I couldn’t afford to do the windows too, but I figured something was better than nothing when I got the system.”

  “What about the note?” Chad asked.

  Nick held up a paper bag. “I’ve got it in here. If the guy used gloves, it’s a lost cause.”

  “Macey touched it briefly so you’ll find her prints on there,” Chad said. He looked at her. “They’ll need to take your prints to compare with the lab.” She nodded and he turned back to Nick. “Maybe we can figure out where the paper was bought or something.”

  Nick lifted a brow. “We?”

  “Yeah. I’m claiming lead on this one.”

  “This isn’t a homicide, detective.”

  “Exactly. I’m planning on keeping it that way.” He gave the officer a tight smile. “I’ll discuss it with my sergeant, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

  Barry shrugged and hitched his belt. “Fine with me.” He nodded at the bag. “We’ll get this to the lab and see if they find anything.” He looked at Macey. “In the meantime, I’d get my windows wired. The fact that someone cut the phone line is not a good indication. If he didn’t get what he wanted this time, whether it was just to throw a good scare into you and be done with it, or actually break in and steal something—or worse—you can better believe he’ll be back.”

  “Yes, I know.” She sounded tired. Resigned.

  Chad wanted to offer reassurances, comfort. Something. But she held herself rigid. Like she was standing behind an invisible wall and no one was going to penetrate it.

  Once the officers were gone, Macey came to a decision. “All right.”

  “All right what?”

  “Maybe you’ll be different.”

  “Depends on what you mean by that.”

  She motioned to the couch. “Sit down and I’ll tell you my story.”

  He sat without a word, but his gentle expression encouraged her.

  “Six years ago, I was involved in a serious car wreck. I was barely conscious when the rescue workers found me.”

  His brow creased. “I’m sorry. Sounds like a rough time.”

  “Yes, it was, but it goes beyond that.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m not explaining this well.”

  “Just keep going. I’ll make sense of it.”

  “Let me start at the beginning. I was seventeen years old and in love. His name was Tyler Norwood. My parents didn’t like him, said he was nothing but trouble and I was to stay away from him. I argued and continued to see him secretly. Then we moved to Myrtle Beach the summer before my senior year and I was convinced my parents had ruined my life.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks. Why was this so hard? It had been six years. “Tyler’s eighteenth birthday fell during Christmas break. I wanted to do something special for him so I hopped a bus and came back to Greenville. From the bus station, I took a cab to where he worked. At first I was just going to walk into the restaurant where he was bussing tables, but I found his car unlocked, so I climbed inside the backseat and waited.”

  “Thinking you’d surprise him when he got in the car.”

  “Yes. He drove one of those big four-door Jeeps. I wasn’t thinking it might scare him to death to find someone in his backseat. I was just thinking about how happy he’d be to see me and how cool he’d think I was for being able to pull off the trip. He even had a blanket in the back, and I pulled it over me and waited.”

  “So what happened?”

  She rose to pace the small area, stopping at the mantel to straighten the one picture of her and her sister. Then she turned back. “When he came out of the restaurant, he had someone with him. A guy we went to high school with.” She frowned. “His name was Collin Hart. He was pretty bad news. I’d never really liked him or understood why Tyler was friends with him.” She shrugged. “But he was and frankly, Collin never paid me much attention. He would acknowledge me, then it was like he forgot I even took up space in the universe.”

  “Sounds like a stand-up guy,” Chad murmured.

  She grimaced. “I think he resented the time Tyler spent with me. Anyway, they got into the front seat, and I didn’t want to surprise Tyler with Collin right there, so I just kept quiet. I figured if they found me, they found me, but maybe if I waited, Tyler would drop Collin at home and then I could reveal my presence and we would have the fairy-tale evening I’d planned. My older sister lived and worked in town, and I knew she’d let me crash at her place once I’d had my fun. She’d be mad at me, but she’d get over it and give me a place to stay. And money for the bus ride home.” She drew in a deep breath. “Only Tyler didn’t drop Collin off. He drove to the home of a wealthy couple named George and Patricia Benjamin, who lived in an exclusive neighborhood.”

  Chad’s eyes widened and he pursed his lips. “I think I remember this case. George was killed in the home invasion, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, keep talking.”

  “Tyler and Collin got out of the car, and I was getting frustrated. I hadn’t planned for this. I sat up and watched them walk up the front walk then go around to the back of the house. I tried to figure out what they were doing there. Tyler had said that Collin had started dating a girl from a wealthy family, so I came to the conclusion that this was her home and that maybe they were going to see her. Or pick her up. Or whatever.”

  “But they weren’t?”

  “No. They were there to rob the place.”

  He breathed in and leaned back, gave a short nod. “And?”

  “And then I heard a gunshot and the boys were running back to the Jeep and I was terrified. I didn’t know what—”

  Her front window exploded, sending shards of glass scattering across the room. A burning rag in a bottle spun like a top in the middle of her den floor.

  THREE

  A Molotov cocktail.

  “Out through the kitchen!” Chad hollered. His hand gripped Macey’s and he shoved her toward the kitchen door.

  The explosion rocked the house. He felt something slam into the back of his head, and for a moment his vision faded. He felt her shoulder jam up under his and her arm wrap around his waist.

  At six feet two inches, he towered over her, and there was no way she could hold his two-hundred-twenty-pound weight. Although he had to admit she was doing a pretty good job at the moment.

  The smoke was already rolling into the room. Chad coughed and smelled the pungent odor of gasoline. He blinked and moved toward the door, forcing his feet to obey his brain. They reached the door and she opened it. His head had cleared enough for him to guide her out into the carport. Because the area wasn’t closed in, the cold air was fresh, reviving him even more.

  But they were also sitting ducks.

  Had the makeshift bomb been to smoke them out so a sniper could pick them off? He kept her tucked up under him, determined to use himself as a shield. No one was going to get a bead on her.

  She tugged him toward the back of the carport. “Let’s go this way.” She coughed and shuddered. “The door leads out to the backyard. If we go out the front way, someone might shoot at us.”

  So she was smart too.

  “We can go over the fence to my house,” he said. “We’ve got to get the trucks out here before the fire spreads.”

  She followed him without a word, but he could feel the tremble in her hand. They made it out t
he carport door and into the backyard. As far as Chad could tell, there was no one waiting to shoot them. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled her from the relative safety of the back of the house and to the fence that he’d vaulted over just a short time before. Sirens reached his ears. “Someone called for help.”

  “Good.”

  He pulled her trash can over and helped her up on top of it. “Over you go. Be careful when you land.”

  Chad heard her drop then hauled himself over and found her waiting. He took her hand again and led her to the sliding glass door off the deck, pushed it open and they slipped inside. He locked the door behind them.

  “Hang on a sec while I call reinforcements on this one.” She nodded and he saw the tears standing in her eyes. A pang shot through him. “I’m sorry about your house.”

  She shrugged and turned away. “It’s just a house.”

  FOUR

  But it had been hers. And someone had destroyed it just as surely as they were trying to destroy her. She raised a hand to her head, heard the sirens scream to the curb of her house next door. Why was she remembering now? Six years after that awful night. Who was the faceless man who’d been looking in her kitchen?

  Hands settled on her shoulders, and she flinched then realized it was just Chad. He turned her to face him, and while she thought she was pretty tall at five feet seven inches, she still had to look up a good distance. She frowned and reached up to touch his neck. Her fingers came away red.

  She gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

  He blinked and reached up to feel the back of his head. Blood covered his fingers. “I got hit with something in the blast.”

  “Come into the kitchen. Let me clean that up for you. Do you have a first aid kit?”