Chances were, someone would land at his place at some point. Even if it was just the police, trying to help a man find his missing wife. He hoped he’d bought them time, saying he hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone, but eventually, when Cara didn’t turn up, the search would most likely become official.
He had to get her out of there. One way or another, their time together was ending.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CARA KNEW THE second Simon was in the house that something had changed. His movements were precise. Measured. As he pulled the drapes closed over the window—something he’d only started doing the last few nights to keep in the cabin’s warmth—he made certain that the edges met completely in the center.
As he helped her put away groceries and lined up the bottles of eyedrops inside the cupboard, he talked about dinner.
He’d brought spinach. Thought they should grill it with eggs and onions and make wraps.
When he passed by her a third time on the way to the refrigerator, without meeting her gaze, she waited for him to turn back toward the remaining bags on the table and then stood directly in front of him. Blocking his path.
“What’s going on?”
She appreciated the fact that he didn’t try to hide the concern in his eyes when he finally did look at her.
“I was trying to get things put away, first...”
Now he was scaring her. “Simon.” She didn’t want to beg. But she would. With her stomach already knotting, she let him sidestep her to get to the table. He looked in the remaining bags. “I think we got everything that needs to be refrigerated,” he said.
The words gave her a second’s comfort. Must not be too bad if he cared about spoiled milk.
“Come sit with me.” Taking her hand—a very strange thing in itself—he led her to the couch.
Before joining her there, he got the gun from the corner by the far end of the table where it usually stood, bringing it to the living area. He sat on the couch and stood it against the table beside him.
“You’re scaring me,” she said aloud, just to make certain he realized how out of character he was acting.
He nodded.
“You have reason to be scared,” he said, all business suddenly. And out of nowhere came the awareness that he’d had to tell people that their child might die.
Her stomach cramped and her heart started to pound. Focusing on Simon’s face seemed to be the only thing that kept air flowing through her lungs.
“Shawn’s in town. He’s showing your picture around.”
The way he just put it out there, allowed her to accept what he was telling her, meant she could move to solution.
She had to get out of there. Immediately.
Starting to stand, she fell back to the couch when Simon’s hand touched her thigh. She’d imagined his touch so many times these past few weeks.
And now, there it was. Just when she had to leave.
Recognizing the inaneness of the thought, Cara stayed where she was.
“He’s telling people that you’re suffering from brain trauma due to a fall down some steps,” he said. “You said you remembered steps...”
He watched her intently. She was shaking now. Inside and out. Simon pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch. Wrapped her in it.
“I need you to stay with me, Cara. Look me in the eye. Stay here with me.”
She nodded. Focused on him. Was scared to death to hear what else Shawn was saying. What he was telling people about her.
What Simon knew. If he knew she’d killed someone. If he knew who. And how. If he knew why.
He hadn’t brought the police back with him. That felt like a good thing.
She had to trust him. She did trust him. She had to think for herself, too. First and foremost, she had to think for herself.
If she’d gained nothing else out of these two months shut away from life, she’d figured out that much. She couldn’t rely on someone else to take care of her. At some point, every adult had to be responsible for themselves. Before they could be any good to anyone else...
A shard of pain shot through her at that thought.
She blinked. Looked at Simon.
“I don’t remember anything else about the steps,” she told him. She’d tried to see. It just wasn’t there.
When he took her hand, she braced herself. “He said that his sister fell down the stairs with you, Cara. That she died.”
No! Cara pulled her hand away from him, pulling it inside the blanket with the rest of her. Her gaze darted around the room. Landed on the carefully closed curtains. He was shutting Shawn out.
Good. Shawn out.
Shawn out there? In their yard?
Mary. A picture of her sister-in-law’s worried face flashed before her eyes. And then what seemed like lightning.
Mary was dead? Mary was dead. She’d been bleeding...
There’d been blood.
She’d screamed.
No, Mary hadn’t screamed, Cara had.
“Joy,” she said, almost blind to the room, to Simon’s features, as flashes of silver went off before her eyes. “Joy.”
“Joy?” Simon’s voice came from far off. As though he’d left her there on the couch to go into the bedroom. Afraid, shifting, she felt her knee bump up against him and got a good breath.
She tried to get back to that day. Feeling like her heart might beat up into her throat, she didn’t want to go back. She had to go. As she reached back, all she could see was Mary. Her best friend. Mary. Alive and...
“I see Mary’s face,” she said aloud, as if that would bring everything more clearly into focus. “And blood.”
“On Mary?”
Looking at Simon, she nodded. “And on me, too.”
“Because you fell down the stairs together?”
She tried to see that. To feel it. “I fell down stairs,” she said. But she didn’t get anything else. Couldn’t see Mary there. Or find a sense of her being there.
“Where was she when you saw her? What was she doing?”
She shook her head. Felt it swim. “I don’t know. She’s concerned.”
“About what?”
“Joy, I think.” The words barely came out. Her throat was so thick it stung as she tried to draw in air.
“Cara!”
She looked at him.
“Who is Joy?”
“My daughter.” She broke. Falling over on her legs, she shook with sobs. Animalistic sobs came out of her as a grief bigger than she could ever imagine burst forth.
“I...killed...my...daughter.”
* * *
I KILLED MY DAUGHTER.
Simon had imagined many scenarios that might have contributed to Cara’s selective amnesia over the past couple of months. In a million lifetimes, he would not have come up with that one.
“You remembered everything,” he said, grasping for a reality too unbelievable to accept. There was no way on God’s earth that Cara Amos would have killed any child, let alone her own.
He knew it. Just like he’d known he was going to see again. So it was just a red dot. His optic nerve was alive.
He felt her head move against his chest. For the past hour he’d been holding her.
Letting her know she wasn’t alone.
Until she got through the initial heartbreak, there was nothing more he could do.
He’d waited to speak until she’d grown completely silent.
And when she pulled away, trying to sit up, he helped her do so, keeping her wrapped snugly in her blanket. He didn’t want her going into shock.
“I remember the van,” she said. “It wasn’t ours. It belonged to Shawn’s friend. I think we were at his house, too. I remember waking up and
being on his couch.”
“Was he there? This friend?”
“Not that I knew. The way Shawn was talking to me, I feel like it was just the two of us.”
The more memories she could bring up, the better.
“So, what about the van?”
He had to know about Joy. Good God, he’d had no idea Cara had given birth. That she was a mother...
His heart ached at the thought. On so many levels. None of which he could deal with at the moment.
Joy. It fit Cara—naming her child Joy. A celebration of the joy a child would bring to her life. The joy that being a mother must have brought her...
“I woke up in it. Really woke up. Like I wasn’t as hazy as I’d been. Shawn was crying. And I knew I’d done something horrible, I just couldn’t remember what. That’s when he told me.”
“Told you what?”
“That I’d killed Joy! Mary had her. She was taking her away.”
“Where?”
Cara turned her head to the side and then looked back at him. The sight of those swollen eyes, the red, blotchy skin, brought tears to the back of his throat. “I can’t remember, but I can guess. Mary and I had a plan. If Shawn ever got really bad in front of Joy, I’d taunt him enough to bring him on me and she’d run with Joy.”
For the first time in hours, Simon felt a lightening in his chest. “So maybe she was running with Joy when she fell down the steps...”
His voice fell off. Maybe Cara had run after them. Maybe they’d all three fallen for some reason. But if Mary had Joy, and Mary was dead...
“Shawn said that I was trying to save Joy and I pushed Mary. He said that I pushed them both down the steps and that Joy hit her head and was gone by the time Shawn got to her.”
Her gaze was vacant. Simon waited for a minute and then said, “Do you remember that now?”
Blinking, she stared up at him. “I remember Mary’s concerned face. I remember blood. Hers and mine. I don’t remember Joy.” Tears flooded her eyes. “Why can’t I remember my own daughter?” A sob erupted. “Oh, God, Simon, I killed my own baby and I can’t even remember...”
“Maybe because you didn’t kill her.” He had no idea if he was doing the right thing, giving her hope. Feeding her the possibility of a memory that might grow into something that seemed real—impeding the return of what she had locked so deeply in her mind. “Maybe Mary’s death is a lie, too.”
She grew quiet. Watched him. He had no idea what she was thinking.
“All of this...what I heard in town, what you just told me about the steps and the accident...all of it came from Shawn.”
“He was there. He saw it happen. And he saved me, Simon. He got me out of there before anyone could take me away, haul me off to jail. He protected me. Took care of me...”
“He left you in the woods to die.”
“Only after I faked a brain bleed.” Her eyes widened. “I know why I did that now,” she said.
“Because he’d told you Joy was dead.”
She nodded, staring at him. “I had no reason to stay with him anymore.”
“You stayed for Joy’s sake.”
She nodded again. “Shawn’s beatings, they weren’t an everyday thing. The rest of the time, he was a good dad. He was teaching Joy how to surf. He was really patient with her. She so badly wanted to please him, so she kept trying...”
“Maybe she was afraid that if she didn’t he’d call her clumsy or stupid, like he did you.”
Simon was in way over his head. But knew that he was going to be up to whatever challenge lay before him. Until Cara was safe. He had her back. Period.
As tears filled her eyes again, he pulled her against him, prepared to sit there all night if that was what it took.
He had to figure out how to help her without putting her in further danger.
What if Shawn had already gone to the authorities? Told them that Cara was a killer? Who would be able to refute his story? If Mary was dead? And little Joy?
Unless Cara remembered what really happened, she could very well end up in prison for a murder Simon was certain she didn’t commit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CARA DIDN’T KNOW when darkness fell. She ate a couple of bites of toast with peanut butter when Simon brought it to her. She sipped more water than she wanted. He was concerned about dehydration.
Every once in a while she talked to him. As a memory surfaced. Nothing new or important. Just little things. Like the time she’d tried to call her dad to tell him about Joy’s birth and Simon had stopped her—reminding her that, just as he’d had to protect Cara from the pain her father’s selfishness caused, so they, together, had to protect their daughter from him.
She’d protected her daughter from the wrong man.
“If you’d like to call him, you can,” Simon offered sometime after bringing her the toast. He was on the couch with her again. Staying close. “I have the burner phone.”
He’d told her that before. And for a second, she considered hearing her father’s voice. Feeling like a little girl again, needing her daddy to come save her.
She shook her head. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to,” she said softly, her head resting against the back of the couch because it felt too heavy to hold up. “But I have to figure this out, do what I need to do, before I contact him. It’s not right, after ten years, to call him up when I’m in trouble...”
“I’m guessing, based on what you described, that’s when he’d most want you to call him.”
Maybe. But... “I have to take care of myself, Simon. That’s the one thing I’ve known since I got away from Shawn. I have to take responsibility for my choices. I just have to figure out what that means.”
She’d been waiting and waiting for answers to become clear. Instead, her heart had fallen for a man at a time when she couldn’t have anyone. Falling back on her old desire to be taken care of. Maybe a bit of transference, like she’d thought earlier.
And her mind... It was ditching her. And maybe coming back some, too. Just not quickly enough.
A picture of Joy’s little face, the long dark hair mussed around her cheeks, came to mind. It was her wake-up-in-the-morning face. The little girl had always come looking for Cara the moment she’d opened her eyes. From the day she was born, she would set her gaze on Cara and be fine.
Just like Cara had always been with her mom. She’d thought that meant the angel of her mother had been watching over the two of them. That Karma had given her Joy for surviving losing her mother.
Now she just didn’t know.
“We can’t stay here,” Simon said as tears filled her eyes again. Life without Joy... Cara couldn’t imagine it. Wasn’t sure she had the strength to try. “We’re going to have to leave in the morning.”
Some part of her had known she couldn’t stay. That her time was up. She nodded. “I’ll go wherever you want to take me, Simon.” She’d had her chance to figure it out. Now it was in Fate’s hands.
“I’ve been thinking...” His gaze was warm, clear, and...strong...as he looked at her. “I’ll close the place up—it takes an hour or so. I’ve got a cooler for the perishables. That’ll give us something to eat while we find a place to hole up...”
Cara shook her head. “I’m not going to run again, Simon. It’s sweet of you to offer, but...it’d be just like Shawn, you know? I’d be repeating my mistake, and I can’t be responsible for anyone else getting hurt...” Her voice trailed off as she started to cry again.
Oh, God. Joy.
“I’m not suggesting we run.” Simon’s comeback surprised her. “Only that we find someplace safe where we can stay long enough to get on the internet and figure out what Shawn has said, what part of that might be true. We might not find much, but we have to know what we’re deali
ng with to know where you’ll be safe.”
“I belong in jail.”
“We don’t know that. Nothing on earth will convince me that you knowingly or intentionally hurt anyone...”
She didn’t bother arguing the point. The fact that she didn’t feel like someone who’d taken another life...that she couldn’t remember what it had felt like to cause a death...didn’t matter anymore. “Don’t you see, even if I didn’t...hurt Joy...” she broke off “...I did kill her by not leaving him. I didn’t protect her.”
“You thought you were providing a good life for her.” Simon was getting a little more forceful with his opinions. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. “You said he made a good living, provided a nice home, health insurance, security...”
“All of the things that I thought were important when all that really mattered was love.” Cara closed her eyes on the tears then, and when Simon suggested that they retire, she didn’t argue.
Dreading the night ahead, she went into her room and sat on the bed. A second later she realized that Simon was there with her, the .22 resting against the trunk at the end of the bed.
“I’m not leaving you alone tonight,” he said. And then, before she could thank him, tearfully, of course, he continued. “I want us together until we get out of here. Chances of Shawn finding this cabin, or having any reason to visit, especially after dark, are slim, but I’m not risking it. I’ll sleep with my clothes on. On top of the covers. But I’m not leaving you alone.”
Cara hadn’t been about to ask him to. And she was too distraught to keep herself from asking for what she did want.
“Will you hold me?”
Simon never answered her question. At least, not with words. Moving the gun up to lean against the nightstand, he turned on a nightlight, stretched out on the bed and opened his arms.
* * *
SIMON HADN’T EXPECTED to sleep. Two months ago he’d been a guy with emotions to deal with and an eye that needed to heal. Now he was lying with a gun by his head with a very real possibility that he might need it to fend off a bad guy.
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