by Alice Sharpe
“No, I don’t think you will,” Simon agreed.
“I thought I’d see our car, but there are hundreds of cars.”
“If he has someone on his tail, he won’t just pull over.”
“And the last time he saw me I was flying off a cliff. He probably thinks I’m dead.” She met Simon’s gaze and swallowed. If not for him, she would have wound up on the beach a long, long ways down.
Finding Carl was impossible, that was clear to her now, whereas it hadn’t been minutes earlier. What else was she missing? Was her light-headed wooziness her natural state of being or was it the result of the concussion?
As she stewed in her own inadequacies, Simon pulled into a grocery store parking lot.
“What are you doing?”
After he’d switched off the engine, he turned to face her again. “Do you agree it’s pointless to try to find Carl in this city?”
“Yes. But Tampoo is in Washington and I need a rental.”
“Okay, okay, just hear me out. Your eyes look spacey and you have a gash on your hand and Tampoo is easily reached in twenty-four hours. In fact, it will take a lot less than half of that, more like seven or eight. So I’m going to go into this store and buy what it takes to clean and dress your hand and you’re going to go into the bathroom and strip off your clothes and wash up whatever got scraped and dirty and make sure you aren’t cut and bleeding, um, anywhere important.”
“Simon, really.”
“It’s this or the hospital.”
“That’s pretty heavy-handed,” she said.
“I’m the cautious type. Does your stomach hurt?”
“No. Why would my stomach hurt?”
“You had a concussion,” he said. “Nausea and, oh, cramps, maybe, can be a side effect.” He looked decidedly uncomfortable as he added, “I just thought the fall might have exacerbated any…conditions.”
“I feel queasy every morning. I think it’s the medicine I take at night. Anyway, I’ll do as you ask.”
“You will?”
“It makes sense to me. You act surprised.”
He shrugged. “The last woman I was close to wasn’t quite as agreeable as you are.”
“Is this the one you were telling me about last night?”
“Yes.”
“I guess I’m just the easygoing type.”
His smile seemed wistful to her and she wondered how long ago he’d broken up with this woman. Maybe the wound was still raw. That thought seemed to rekindle the throbbing in her left hand and she glanced down. What caught her eye was the slender band of gold on her ring finger, a band tying her to Carl.
Had he left her to die on the cliff or had his motive for leaving been to lead the man with the knife away from her? If so, that posed the question—what kind of loyalty did she owe Carl? Should she believe him when he claimed they had a good marriage? Were her current misgivings out of place? When she saw him again—and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind he would show up in Tampoo unless the guy with the knife stopped him—should she give him the benefit of the doubt? He was her husband, after all….
She remembered the chill that raced through her blood when he touched her….
And the lies. He’d known about that meeting at the restaurant and now he knew about the one in Tampoo. What if Carl represented the threat to her father? She might not remember him to speak of, but she’d had one searing moment of clarity and this she knew—she loved her father. She would do anything for him.
“You okay?” Simon said.
“What? Oh, sure.”
“You look upset.”
“I guess I am.”
“It’ll all work out,” he said softly, then shook his head and added, “I sound like a greeting card.”
“You know, I still don’t know your last name.”
“Task.”
“And I’m Ella Baxter. I can’t remember if I told you my last name before.”
“Pleased to formally meet you,” he said, taking her right hand in his. The touch of his skin sent a million fireflies dancing up her arm.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said, withdrawing her hand and steeling herself for the moment Simon would drop her off at the car rental place and go his own way. The moment she would be alone except for the fleeting images of a faceless father who had given her sips of coffee some twenty-odd years before.
Chapter Five
So, now he’d lied to her.
Repeatedly.
Simon put bandages, ointments and other supplies in a shopping basket before retracing his steps to the front of the store, where he waited near the alcove that led to the supermarket restrooms. His concern was that besides scrapes and bruises and the gash in her hand, the fall had caused Ella to miscarry her baby.
Was her baby his baby? They’d been together at the time she must have gotten pregnant, but he couldn’t swear that she hadn’t been seeing Carl Baxter, too. He found it hard—and distressful—to think she would sleep with another man when he and she were lovers, but there was that secret side of Ella he had to consider, the side that led to her compartmentalizing her life so that he knew little about what she did when she wasn’t with him.
And there was the recent withdrawn behavior, her unwillingness to share whatever was troubling her. It had begun a good month before and she’d countered his concerns by telling him being a cop didn’t give him the right to butt into her business.
Hadn’t loving her given him that right?
How in the world could he tell her she was pregnant and yet how could he keep it from her? And how would he convince her to allow him to come along on her trip to Tampoo and wherever it led next? He absolutely couldn’t allow her to go on alone, not after that knife fight.
Did he have time to call home and see if the P.I. he’d called the day before had news or even to call Ginny and see if she’d found out anything from Ella’s doctors?
He was about to reach for his cell when Ella appeared in the alcove, limping now, clutching her big handbag to her chest. For the first time he noticed the extent of the scratches on her skin and tears in her clothes. She looked pale and feverish at the same time, the bandage on her head sporting bright red stains as though bleeding anew. They were going to need some gauze.
“You’re limping,” he said as she drew near.
“I think I twisted an ankle or something. It’s no big deal.”
“How about other contusions and, er, bleeding?”
“Nothing serious. A few scratches. I think my clothes got the worst of it.”
He motioned at her handbag. “I meant to ask if you’ve checked to see if all your belongings are in there.”
“I haven’t looked yet.” She started to open her purse, then paused as her stomach made a gurgling noise. They both smiled. “Oops, pardon me, I think I’m hungry. It kicks in every day about this time, I guess when the medicine from the night before wears off.”
“Let’s see if we can find some sandwiches to eat on the run.”
“Or maybe some good rolls and a few deli supplies,” she said, and he smiled internally. His Ella had not been a fast food or ready-made type of girl. She’d been something of a closet gourmet, more likely to choose French Camembert than Wisconsin cheddar. “Whatever you like,” he said.
His mind raced as they walked through the aisles collecting more first aid items and a supply of bottled water on their way to the in-store deli. Would she have told him if she was bleeding in a way that indicated problems with a pregnancy? Maybe not, maybe she’d be shy to mention it, but surely she would have bought herself something to help with bleeding and that would have meant she would have to open her purse and look in her wallet for change. She said she hadn’t. No reason for her to lie about that, so he had to trust that, for now, the baby was safe. The thing to do was get Ella off her feet ASAP.
“Look at that,” she said, stopping suddenly. She was staring at a display of sweatshirts and sweatpants, most of them dark-green-and-white and sporti
ng a local high school logo. “I only have a credit card. Do you think the store would accept it?”
“Probably not,” he said quickly as an idea flashed through his brain. “I’ll get what you want.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“No.”
She immediately began digging through the clothes for the right sizes. She’d set her purse in the top of the basket to have her uninjured hand free, and now with her back turned to him, he slid his hand inside the unzippered bag, groped around until his fingers touched what felt like her wallet and quickly extracted it. Bingo. It went in his pocket in a flash. Now she had no driver’s license, and without a driver’s license, she couldn’t rent a car.
“What do you think?” she said. She’d managed to find a pale blue set of sweats and held them against her chest. A small painted dolphin leaped across her breasts.
“You look good in blue,” he said softly. He’d always thought so.
There was a chair in the alcove. After they’d paid for everything, he slathered her up with antibiotics and wrapped gauze around her a couple of turns shy of a mummy. She went back into the bathroom and emerged a few minutes later wearing the blue sweats.
“I wonder if the real me would be as horrified by this getup as the current me is,” she mused, putting her old clothes in an empty paper bag.
“I think you look kind of cute. Sporty.”
“Let’s go find a rental place, okay? I want to cross the state line into Washington tonight, and I’m sure you have a life to get back to.”
“Absolutely,” he said, “although the fact is, I’m on a few days’ leave right now. That’s how firemen in my area work. A day on, a day off, eventually four days off…it’s called a tour and it leaves discretionary time.” And that was true of the Blue Mountain Fire Department. It just wasn’t true of him, though a call for time off had taken care of that problem with the Blue Mountain Police Department.
The next hour or so played out as he knew it would, although he felt crummy lying to her again. Once she found her wallet was missing, she insisted they call the credit card company until she realized she didn’t know the name of the company or even remember what kind of card it was. As he knew it was safe in his pocket, he told her they’d worry about it when they stopped for the night. Between now and then, he’d have to figure out a way to get her wallet back to her.
Being without a valid driver’s license had accomplished exactly what it was supposed to—it had kept her from renting a car. She’d accepted his continued help with a weariness suggesting she was just too frazzled to fight it. After she’d fixed them sandwiches from goodies she’d chosen at the deli counter, she’d fallen into a deep sleep, head against the door, cushioned on his jacket.
He glanced at her several times, wishing she’d wake up and be the old Ella, the one with answers instead of questions. True, he found this more open version of Ella very appealing in her way. She had all the wit and charm and beguiling oddities of the original woman without the wariness that had ultimately driven them apart.
What had she done that had put her in this position? He’d be willing to bet it had started when they were still together. The way she’d left her house, her odd haircut and color—and where in the hell had Carl Baxter come from? What did he have to do with Ella’s father?
For that matter, how did they know this was really about Ella’s father? The only time she’d mentioned family to him was to tell him they were all dead. Now, just because some old guy fed her a line, he was supposed to believe there was a whole secret plot going on? On the other hand, Carl Baxter and the big guy with a knife were absolutely real….
Bottom line: Was Ella in danger or was someone else in danger because of her?
He needed to get somewhere private and make a few phone calls.
ELLA WOKE UP as Simon pulled into another parking lot, this one belonging to a sprawling motel. The fact that it was already dark meant she’d slept for hours.
“Where are we?” she asked after a yawn that seemed to crack her face. She was stiff, sore, headachy and hurt just about everywhere.
“We’re a hundred or so miles south of Tampoo. I’m too tired to drive any more. We can easily travel the rest of the way tomorrow morning.”
She didn’t argue. She wasn’t the one putting in the hours behind the wheel.
“I chose a one-story motel,” he explained as they got out of the truck, “just to be on the safe side.”
“The safe side of what?”
“I just like having my feet close to the ground. You know, in case.”
She let it drop. Maybe it was a fireman thing.
He checked them in as Mr. and Mrs. Simon Task, a fact she also didn’t dispute. The man was paying for everything—she hoped she had enough money somewhere to reimburse him. If he wanted them both in one room, that was fine with her.
They immediately walked across the parking lot to the restaurant next door and ordered dinner.
“How do you do it?” Simon asked, sitting back in his chair and gazing at her across the table. His gray eyes were full of warmth and speculation and she found herself patting at her hair, wishing she’d thought to buy a comb.
“How do I do what?”
“Order food. How do you know you like morel risotto?”
“How do I know anything?” she mused. “It’s a mystery to me, too. I mean, if I can figure out what I like to eat, why can’t I figure out who I am?”
“Today you remembered a detail about your father. Have you remembered anything else?”
“I had a dream about him this afternoon. I was riding in the back of a black pickup truck, sitting on a dragon. Well, not really a dragon, one of those floaty things that blow up, the kind kids play with.”
“How old were you?”
“I don’t know. Little, I think. There was a boy sitting next to me dressed like Tarzan. He had a toy gun.”
Simon chuckled. “Where does your father come into this?”
“The boy turned into my father. One minute he was a kid with a red water pistol and the next he was my father and he was holding me in his lap and telling me it was dangerous to ride in the back of a truck but that he would protect me.”
“Did you see his face? How did you know it was your dad?”
“No face. I just knew.” Her eyes burned as she smiled at herself. “Crazy, huh?”
“It sounds as if you’re close to your father.”
“I know I am, I just know it. Oh, Simon, promise me you’ll help me get to him. He needs help, I know he does. If I fail him I’ll never forgive myself.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Promise,” she said, uncertain why she was demanding this near stranger make such a pledge.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said.
“You must think I’m crazy.”
“No,” he said thoughtfully. “I think you’re a woman with one person you can remember and I think he means the world to you.”
“You do understand. I keep thinking about Carl. I’m sure he was using me to get to my father. What if Carl’s goal is to hurt Dad? He had a gun, you know.”
“The big guy with the knife kicked Carl’s gun down into the ocean.”
“But maybe Carl will buy another one. Why didn’t I have the presence of mind to ask the old guy at the restaurant a few questions?”
“Probably because you didn’t know what he was talking about. Go easy on yourself.”
“Maybe we should have kept driving.”
“Even if we drove all night, we can’t do anything until tomorrow at noon, right?”
“Yes. Right.”
They fell silent as salads were delivered. Ella noticed the waitress gave her a double take and wondered if additional bruises had blossomed on her face since the fall. Maybe it was better not to know.
Despite her nerves and the near silence they fell into as they ate, Ella enjoyed the meal more than any she could recall since waking with amnesia five days before. It
wasn’t just the food, either, it was the company, and perhaps it wasn’t even the fact that Simon sat across from her as much as it was that Carl didn’t.
He gives me the creeps, she thought.
“What?”
She’d spoken it aloud. She said, “Carl. I didn’t like the look in his eyes.”
“What do you mean?”
“He always looked as though he was laughing at me, inside, you know?”
“Very unpleasant.”
“Creepy. Nice way for a wife to feel about her husband, isn’t it?”
“You said you saw his driver’s license.”
“Yes.”
“The same last name might mean he’s your brother or an ex-husband, you know.”
The thought Carl Baxter could be a blood relative made her queasy and she set aside her fork. “Not a brother,” she said firmly. “The old man said my brother was dead.”
“Then an ex-husband.”
“Maybe. There’s no denying the man knows things about me. I mean little things a man who didn’t live with a woman wouldn’t know.”
“Such as?”
“Such as I have a mole on my, er, abdomen and another one on my breasts, neither in places people would normally see. And he knew about them.”
“Intimate places,” Simon said with a slow smile.
“Yes.”
“How did he pay for your hospital stay?”
“I don’t know. He told me not to worry about things like that. It makes me wonder if I’m always compliant.”
He took a bite of his steak and shrugged.
“I keep wondering where I met Carl. I mean, I must know him in some capacity for our names to be the same. I just can’t imagine myself being attracted to him. Maybe he’s a long-lost third cousin once removed, but then why did he pretend to be my husband?”
Simon folded his napkin and sat back in his chair. “Good point.”
“Tell me how you met her.”
“How I met who?”
“The girl you broke up with. Tell me how you met.”
His eyes took on a faraway look, though he didn’t avert his gaze. “It was at a dance,” he said slowly. “A masquerade dance I got talked into attending with a buddy of mine. I went as a pirate because I had an eye patch left over from something.”