BOOK TWO
Nelle L’Amour
Copyright © 2015 by Nelle L’Amour
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved
First Edition: December 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.
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Proofreading by Mary Jo Toth
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Unforgettable
Unforgettable Book 1
Unforgettable Book 2
Unforgettable Book 3
Seduced by the Park Avenue Billionaire
Strangers on a Train
Derailed
Final Destination
Seduced by the Billionaire Boxed Set
An Erotic Love Story
Undying Love
Gloria
Gloria’s Secret
Gloria’s Revenge
Gloria’s Forever
Gloria’s Secret: The Trilogy
That Man Series
That Man 1
That Man 2
That Man 3
That Man 4
That Man 5
Writing under E.L. Sarnoff
Dewitched: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen
Unhitched: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen
For all my readers. You are the reason I write.
“Somehow you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”
—Dr. Seuss
Title Page
Copyright Page
Books by Nelle L’Amour
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
UNFORGETTABLE 3
Note from Nelle
THAT MAN
Other Books by Nelle L’Amour
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Brandon
I haven’t left Zoey’s side. When I found out yesterday she was taken to the hospital, I canceled my dinner date with Katrina and rushed to Cedars. Needless to say, my fiancée wasn’t happy. In fact, she was furious. How dare I bale out of her birthday because of some stupid bump on the head!
Actually, it’s more than just a little bump. An MRI showed Zoey sustained a serious concussion when she fainted at The Farmer’s Market. The doctors don’t know what caused her to pass out. Thank God, there’s no major brain damage. She’s going to be okay.
I’ve had the hospital upgrade her to a luxurious private suite. If her insurance doesn’t cover it, I’ll take care of the exorbitant cost. I can easily afford it, and she deserves the best. As I vigilantly watch over her from an armchair beside her bed, a sense of déjà vu washes over me.
Only a few weeks ago, I was in a similar suite attached to all kinds of beeping machines. Lying in a life or death coma for two weeks following a hit and run accident that occurred near my house. When I finally woke up, I was surrounded by a film crew and Katrina in my face. The scene was pure chaos, my memory loss only making it worse.
Zoey is hooked up only to a single monitor that’s tracking her heartbeat. There are no IVs. And there’s only me. By the time I learned of her accident and got here, she was fast asleep. Her primary doctor told me she’d regained consciousness briefly and was screaming out for her father. Hysterical. In shock. Maybe even delusional as she mentioned just yesterday morning in a confrontation with my manager, Scott Turner, that her father died fighting a wildfire. They had to sedate her, and she’s been in a deep sleep ever since.
I study her. I’ve never seen her asleep before. Morning sunlight floods the room and bathes her face in a halo. She looks like an angel, her chestnut hair fanned out on the pillow, her sensuous lips parted slightly, her long-lashed eyes gently fluttering. So close to her, I extend my arm, and with my fingertips, I trace her jaw. Her flawless alabaster skin is like velvet. And then irresistibly, I run my forefinger across her kissable lips, drawing me to her like a magnet.
Her eye flutters intensify, and a second before my lips touch down on hers, she starts thrashing and screaming. I hastily pull away.
“Mama! Mama! Wake up!”
Crying hysterically, she must be having a bad dream. Tears stream down her tormented face as she claws at the sheets.
“Please don’t shoot me! Please, please, please, please.”
Her desperate, frightened cries freak me out. I don’t know what to do—how to comfort her or calm her down. Maybe I should call for a nurse or a doctor. Just as I’m about to hit the call button, she bolts up, drenched in sweat and tears. And still sobbing.
I instantly move to the edge of her bed and take her into my arms. She buries her head against my chest. Her heaving breasts rest against my pecs, and her tears saturate the fabric of my T-shirt. I stroke her damp hair and try to calm her down.
“Shh, Zoey. I’m here. Everything’s okay.”
She lifts her head and gazes up at me with her big, wet chocolate eyes that glisten like crystals. “Brandon, I saw the man who shot my mother.”
“What do you mean, baby?” The last word inadvertently slips out, but she doesn’t react to it.
In a small tearful, staccato voice, she launches into her story. I listen to every word, stunned and silent.
“On my fifth birthday, my mama took me to the Santa Monica Pier to celebrate. She knew how much I loved all the rides. And that day, I got to go on the big rollercoaster for the first time. She let me do it twice with her, and then afterward, we got corndogs and went to the edge of the pier to look for dolphins.”
She blinks several times as if she’s going back in time. As if she’s there again. “Did your father go with you?”
She shakes her head and confirms what she revealed yesterday. “No. He died two years earlier putting out a wildfire. He was a fireman.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice is soft and compassionate.
“It’s okay. I don’t remember him too well. But Mama I can never forget.”
“Did you see any dolphins?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair off her face and eager to hear more of the story.
With a sniffle, she nods. “I was so excited and pointed them out to her. But she didn’t hear me because…” Another sniffle and she bravely resumes. “Because she was slumped over the railing unconscious. Blood was all over the back of her sundress. No matter what I did, she didn’t respond. I knew something was terribly wrong, but wa
sn’t sure what had happened, and desperate, asked this creepy man, who was standing next to me, for help. Except when I turned to him, he collapsed to the ground bleeding profusely. I screamed, spinning around for someone to come to our aid. And then I saw him.”
While I picture the terrifying scene in my head, Zoey begins to visibly shake. Her mouth quivers. I clasp the trembling hand that’s not hooked up to the monitor and ask: “Who, Zoey?”
“The monster who shot the man…and Mama. He was pointing a gun at me. He fired—and missed—and then he ran away. I’ll never forget his face.”
My heart in my throat, I swallow hard. “Did anyone else see him?”
She shakes her head again. “The pier was very crowded and noisy. And an orchestra was playing. I’m pretty sure the gun had a silencer.”
“Your mother—”
“Oh, Brandon, it was so terrible. After the man ran away, I turned back to check on her. She was no longer there. I searched the pier everywhere. And then I looked down and screamed. She’d fallen over the railing into the ocean down below. She’d regained consciousness, but she didn’t know how to swim. Added to that, the ocean was very rough. While the waves tossed her about, she reached for me, but I couldn’t help her.”
I suddenly understand her fear of swimming and brush away more tears with the pads of my fingertips before she bows her head. In my heart, I know this story’s going to end like a Shakespeare tragedy.
“Brandon, I watched her drown. She went under and then a giant wave carried her out to sea.” Sobs wrack her body. “I never saw her again.”
Her story guts me. It was bad enough losing my parents in a horrific car accident at the age of seventeen. But how beyond awful for a fatherless little girl to watch her beloved mother bleed to death and then drown. My empathy morphs into rage. It seeps deep into my bloodstream. I want to find the bastard who did this to her and kill him with my own hands. Hold his head underwater until his soul goes to hell. I inwardly shudder. Not just at the intensity of my anger, but at the other powerful emotions that swarm me. When did I start caring so much about my assistant? Enough to want to kill for her? Have I always? I can’t remember.
“Brandon, I’ll never forget that man’s face,” she sobs out, looking up and hurtling me out of my disquieting thoughts. “Never!”
“Shh.” I swipe away more tears and then steady her by cupping her trembling shoulders. “What happened afterward?” I want to know if the bastard ever paid for what he did. I’m still crazy with rage and thirsting for revenge.
Zoey sniffles, her shoulders still heaving and the tears still falling. Her voice is watery. “Mama’s brother and his wife took me in…Uncle Pete and Auntie Jo.”
Pete…Jo? She answers my question before I ask it.
“You know Uncle Pete. He’s the detective working your hit and run case.”
Yeah, I quickly figured that out. Why didn’t she tell me this before? This is not the time to ask. Frankly, I’m not sure if she’s ever told me about her past or her family because of my amnesia. While some memories have broken through, this one hasn’t. Right now, it’s all news to me.
Zoey gazes up at me. Her eyes flicker with desperation. “I need to see my father and talk to him.”
I was told by the medics that he was contacted, but he’s out of town with his wife at some convention until Wednesday. I share this information with Zoey and then add softly, “You should call him later when you’re rested.” And coherent. She obviously had some kind of seizure while reliving her mother’s murder. I have a feeling she’s still in a state of shock.
“No, I want to talk to him, now! I’ve got to!” my assistant chokes out, straining her hoarse voice. “Give me my phone!” Her eyes dart madly around the room. “Shit! Where’s my phone?”
She grows agitated. Her head twists left and right and then she tears off the bed covers. She searches beneath them, paddling her beautiful hands like a puppy digging for a buried bone. She begins to pant. Then, hyperventilates. Fuck. I’ve set her off. Another round of hysteria is building.
“Here. Use mine.” Reaching into my jeans pocket, I hand her my cell. Chewing on her quivering bottom lip, she hastily punches in a number. Tears are still streaming down her cheeks and her fingers are jittery. I can hear the other phone ringing.
“Dammit,” she splutters. “He’s not picking up.” Breathing heavily, she leaves an urgent message. “Pops, please call me back on this phone or mine. It’s an emergency. I saw Mama’s killer!” Still frantic, she ends the call and tosses my phone on the bed.
“Brandon, I need to speak to Scott to find out why he was with Mama’s killer.”
Thinking she’s had some kind of hallucinatory episode that landed her in the hospital, I’m taken aback. My eyes widen with surprise, “Zoey, what are you talking about?”
“I saw Scott with the man who murdered Mama at The Farmer’s Market.”
“Are you sure?” My voice is full of doubt. She’s just thrown a curve ball my way.
“Please, Brandon, you have to believe me. I’d never forget his face. Never!”
She gazes at me with a mixture of hope and urgency. While I’m not a hundred percent sure she did, I tell her I believe her just to keep her calm. And then a familiar nasal voice captures my attention.
“Jesus, Brandon. I’ve been looking all over for you. Katrina told me I could find you here.”
Scott!
Before I can say a word, Zoey leaps out of the bed, breaking free of the portable monitor. “Scott, what were you doing with that man at The Farmer’s Market yesterday?”
My manager narrows his beady eyes, one of which twitches. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Zoey’s voice rises several octaves and her eyes flare. “You were there! I saw you talking to a man with pockmarked skin and a broken nose!”
Scott turns to me. “Does she have some kind of head injury?”
Zoey shrieks. “Don’t lie to me, you fucking slimedog! You were there!” Red with rage, she bolts over to Scott and, with her white-knuckled fists, begins to pound him. “You fucking, fucking liar.”
“Christ, Brandon. Get this hallucinatory psycho bitch off me.”
An intervention. Clamping Zoey around the waist, I try to pull her away from my manager. She resists, pounding him harder. “No, leave me alone!! He’s lying!!”
I finally force her away. In defeat, she sobs louder, hunched over and heaving. She’s close to collapsing. I’m virtually holding her up. Her lifeline.
Softly, I say, “C’mon, Zoey. Hold on to me.”
Depleted of energy and will, she clutches me and lets me usher her back to the bed. I get her tucked in.
“Liar!” she croaks one more time.
I turn to face Scott. “Scott, I think it best you leave.”
He scoffs at me. “Call me when you’re done with the nutjob.” He pivots and stalks out the door. I take a seat once again on the edge of Zoey’s bed. My body is turned so I’m facing her. Her sobs have grown softer, and with her forlorn eyes, she looks at me imploringly.
“Brandon, please tell me you believe me.” Her rasp is another desperate plea.
I have no choice. I say yes because I don’t want to upset her.
“Thank you.”
“Come here.” I gently take her into my arms once more, her tears ripping me apart.
“Thank you,” she whispers again.
She can’t forget; I can’t remember. What an odd couple we make. But at this moment, holding her in my arms, we’re kindred spirits, united through the loss of our parents by water and fire.
Zoey
I’m released from the hospital later in the afternoon. After spending time on the set of his TV series, Kurt Kussler, Brandon comes by to pick me up and accompanies me as I’m wheeled out a secret entrance of the hospital that’s reserved for celebrities and VIPS. He helps me into his Hummer. Though the painkillers have numbed my excruciating headache, I still feel queasy and uneasy. Totally shaken
. Mama’s killer is out there! Scumbag Scott! His lie is eating at me, making every cell in my body sizzle with rage. Thankfully, I finally got to talk to Pops. He believed me. I knew he would, and he’s already started an investigation. As soon as he’s back in town, he’s going to stop by to see me.
With minimal traffic, we get to Brandon’s house in no time. He pulls the scarlet Hummer into the garage next to his Lamborghini, jumps out, and rounds the monstrous SUV to open my door. I undo my seatbelt and the next thing I know I’m in his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying you. What does it look like I’m doing? The doctors want you to take it easy and stay off your feet as much as possible for the next couple of days.”
“I think I can walk,” I protest as he kicks open the door to his house.
“Trust me, you can’t.”
The truth is I secretly love every minute of being back in his strong arms. He makes me feel safe and protected. And like a waif. My arms circle his broad shoulders as he enters the kitchen.
“Wait! Where are you taking me?” I ask when I realize he’s not heading to the back doors that open to the patio and lead to the guesthouse where I reside.
“You’re sleeping here for the next forty-eight hours so I can keep an eye on you. I’m setting you up in one of my guest bedrooms. It has an adjacent bathroom.”
“But I need my things!”
“Don’t worry. I’ll retrieve your personal items,” he says, carrying me into the spacious guest room. Like the rest of the house, it’s furnished in high-end contemporary furniture in muted shades of lavender and gray. He sets me down on the inviting four-poster steel bed. Slipping off my shoes, he insists I get under the covers and helps tuck me in. Sitting up, I’m supported by a mountain of fluffy white pillows that coordinate with the delicious down comforter.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back. I’m going to get your things.”
“Don’t forget my toothbrush and deodorant.”
He winks at me. “Don’t worry.”
“And some clothes.”
Oh, Jeez. Why did I say that? He may go through my underwear drawer and see my big girl panties. Yikes!
Unforgettable 2 (Hollywood Love Story #2) Page 1