She leaned against the doorjamb. “Marc, what a surprise.” Her husky voice squeaked out as if she didn’t have enough air. Her gaze darted behind her, then back to him. “W-What are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you. Can I come in?”
She swallowed hard and looked behind her again. “I’ll come out.” She slipped out the door and went to the swing, where she curled up with one leg under her, a familiar pose.
He perched on the porch railing. “I-I was sorry to hear about Tim. A heart attack, I heard. Strange for someone so young.”
She nodded. “His lack of mobility caused all kinds of health problems.” She glanced toward the house again and bit her lip.
The last time he’d seen her she was pregnant. And Tim had thrown him off the premises. While Marc understood the jealousy, it had been a little extreme.
His jaw tightened. “I’ll get right to the point. I’m investigating Laura Watson’s murder. I saw a news story this morning about you receiving her heart.”
She gulped and clutched her hands in her lap. “That’s right. What do you mean ‘investigating’?”
“I’m with the FBI.”
“I thought . . .” She bit her lip and looked away. “I mean, you used to be in the Air Force.”
“I was ready for something new.”
“Sara never told me you’d left the military.”
He lifted a brow but said nothing. He doubted he’d often been the topic of conversation between his cousin and Elin. Eyeing her, he decided to lay his cards on the table. “My best friend was murdered while investigating this case. My supervisor thinks I can’t be objective now and wouldn’t assign me to the case, but he’s wrong. I took some leave, and I’m going to find his killer.”
She gulped. “Oh, Marc, I’m so sorry.”
He brushed off her condolences. “The article said you received Laura’s heart, that you’ve been having some kind of memories of the murder.”
Her face paled, but her gaze stayed fixed on him. “Yes, it’s been a little scary.”
“Sorry to hear you’ve been sick. You all right now?”
When she nodded, a long curl fell forward, spiraling down her long neck to rest near her waist. He yanked his gaze back from that perfect, shining lock. Her hair was unlike any other woman’s he’d ever met. Thick and lustrous with a color somewhere between red and auburn and lit from within by gold highlights.
Her hand went to the center of her chest. “I had a virus that damaged my heart. I’m still recovering from surgery, but the doctors are pleased with my progress.”
“That’s good.” He pushed away the stab of compassion. The only reason he was here was to find out what she knew about the murder. “So tell me about these visions or whatever they are.”
Elin exhaled and forced her tense shoulder muscles to relax. She had to do this. But what if she told him everything and he didn’t believe her? No one else had listened. Was it because she didn’t know herself anymore and it came across to others?
His dark good looks, only enhanced by a nose that had been broken several times, had always drawn female attention. She’d vowed they would never turn her head, but she was wrong. So wrong. He’d haunted her dreams for nearly five years, and she thought she’d finally put the guilt to rest. But one look at his face had brought it surging back. The scent of his cologne, Polo Red, wafted to her, instantly taking her back to that one night of passion.
She’d been so young and stupid. They hadn’t even liked each other, and to this day, she wondered what had gotten into her.
Marc opened the iPad in his hand and launched a program. “How did you find out she was your donor?”
“I have access to the records, and no one thought to lock me out.” She twisted her hands together. “To explain this, I need to give you some background, so bear with me.” She plunged in before he could object. “I’ve worked matching up donors with recipients for five years. I love my job.”
“I know.”
Those two words told her a lot. “Anyone who works with organ donation has heard the stories. They’ve even hit the news on occasion. Accounts of things the recipient knew about the donor. Things they should have had no way of knowing.”
He nodded. “Cell memory.”
At least he knew the term. “That’s right. Within hours of receiving my new heart, I started having flashbacks of Laura’s murder.” She touched her throat. “I’m choking, fighting for my life. I remember things like the color of the murderer’s hair. I keep smelling a man’s cologne. I went to the department store to identify it. It’s Encounter.” She saw doubt gathering on his face and hurried on. “He was wearing a sweater the night he killed her. It was red.”
He lifted a brow. “A sweater? On a Caribbean cruise?”
She bit her lip. “Maybe he put it on to prevent being scratched. I fought—I mean, Laura fought—very hard.”
He didn’t believe her. He hadn’t taken a single note on his iPad. She had to convince him or Josie would be orphaned. Mom would have to go to a nursing home. “He’s stalking me.”
His somber gaze didn’t change. “What’s happened?”
“Someone broke into my house the other night. I’d just had a nightmare about the murder, and I heard the glass break. At first I thought it was an intruder, then Mom called for me. I found her in the kitchen in the middle of broken glass. I cleaned her up and got her to bed before I looked around more.” She shuddered and hugged herself. “The glass in the back door had been broken from outside. He’d been here.”
“What makes you think it’s the man who killed Laura?”
“Who else could it be? He knows I’m remembering things because it was in the newspaper. He has to silence me before I remember everything.”
He closed the cover on his tablet. “Well, thank you for answering my questions, Elin. I’ll look into your claims. I’ve heard about cell memory, but most doctors consider it part of the psychological trauma from organ transplants. Have you been to a doctor? Maybe the intruder the other night was a nightmare. You said you’d been dreaming. And he wasn’t actually in the house, was he?”
She stayed put in the swing. “You have to believe me. I know I sound like I’m crazy, but it’s all too real.”
His mouth twisted. “The police didn’t believe you either, did they?”
She shook her head. “But they don’t know me. You do.”
His eyes went distant. “I’m not sure I do either. You seem—different somehow.”
Her eyes burned. Everyone said that, but she didn’t feel any different. Okay, maybe some of her likes and dislikes had changed, but it meant nothing. She was still Elin Summerall, Josie’s mommy and Ruby’s daughter.
The front door opened, and she saw her daughter’s small hand on the doorknob. No, no, Josie, don’t come out. Her daughter emerged with a bright smile. The red top and white pants she wore enhanced her dark coloring. Her distinctive hazel eyes were exactly like the man’s in front of her. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. A futile hope. Marc was a good detective, the best. Tenacious too.
“Hi, honey. Mommy is busy. Go back inside with Grandma.”
Josie’s eyes clouded. “She’s sleeping. I want to go to the park.”
Marc’s gaze swept over Josie and lingered on her widow’s peak. “This is Josie?”
There was no escaping this reckoning. “Yes. Josie, say hello to Mr. Everton.”
“Hi, Mr. Everton. You want to come to my birthday party? I’ll be five next month.”
His smile was indulgent. “What’s the date?”
“July 10.”
His eyes widened, and Elin could almost hear the wheels spinning in his head, see him calculating the time. Tim hadn’t come back for a month after that night.
He bolted upright, and his hands curled into fists. “I’d love to, Josie.” His voice was controlled, but the look he shot Elin was full of fury and disbelief.
Elin forced a smile. “Go inside, honey. We’ll go to
the park in a little while. I need to talk to Mr. Everton for a few minutes.”
Her daughter gave a final pout, then turned and went back inside. The door banged behind her as a final punctuation of her displeasure.
The silence stretched between Elin and Marc as their gazes locked. How on earth did she begin?
He paced to the door and back, then dug into his pocket and popped a mint from its package. He popped it into his mouth. “She’s my daughter and you never told me.” He spat out the tight words, and a muscle in his jaw jumped.
Marc struggled to control his anger. He’d instantly recognized Josie’s resemblance to him instead of her red-haired mother. And Tim had been blond. Josie’s hazel eyes were flecked with green and gold, just like his. The dimple in her right cheek matched his. So did the shape of her face and her dark curls. And her widow’s peak.
He paced the porch and looked at Elin. Her figure was enough to stop traffic, but their personalities had never really meshed. Except for that one night after her father died. Ravaged by grief, she’d shown up at his house looking for Sara, and he gave her a drink to calm her down. One drink led to another and another until they crossed a line of no return. A night they both regretted.
He saw hope and fear warring in her beautiful face. “Why?” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She bit her lip. “As far as I was concerned, Tim was her father. That was one of the conditions he made before we were married, that he wanted her to be his daughter.”
“He’s been gone for two years. You could have come to me as soon as he died.” His gaze swung back to the door. Elin had deprived him of two years he could have had with his daughter. His fists clenched again, and his throat ached from clenching his jaw.
Her eyes shimmered with moisture. “The last thing he asked me before he died was to never tell you. H-He was jealous. I’m sure you realized that when you came here with Sara that day and he went into a rage.”
He gave a curt nod. “So you never planned to tell me?”
Her chin came up. “No. I’d betrayed Tim once. I didn’t want to do it again.”
The fact he had a child still floored him. What did he do with this? “I’ll talk to my attorney and draw up some support papers.”
A flush ran up her pale skin. “I don’t want your money, Marc! Josie is my daughter. Tim is her daddy, and we don’t need another one. The only thing I need from you is for you to find that man and put him behind bars before he hurts me.”
“I intend to.” Surely she wouldn’t keep his daughter away from him? He wasn’t going to be one of those deadbeat dads, no way. “But I’m not so sure about that cell-memory stuff.”
She wrung her hands. “I see your skepticism. Don’t you think I know it’s crazy? Everyone just says, ‘There, there, Elin. You’ve been through so much. This will pass.’ But it’s getting worse! The dreams come nearly every night. You have to help me.”
Against his will, he saw the conviction in her face. So what if it was some kind of hallucination from the heart transplant? Josie was still his daughter. He owed it to her to see if there was any truth to this. And his lack of control that night still haunted him. Her grief for her father had been a poor excuse for what they’d done.
He went back to his perch on the porch railing and picked up his pen. “Start over from the beginning.”
The story continues in Seagrass Pier by Colleen Coble . . .
All Is Calm: A Lonestar Christmas Novella Page 8