by Debra Webb
A blush heated her cheeks. She doubted he had any idea of what precisely was on her mind. She might as well see just how good his perceptive powers were. “You went to law school, yet chose a different career path. I wondered what happened to divert your course.”
He parked in the crowded lot and shut off the engine. The interior of the car fell into near darkness with nothing more than a distant streetlamp reaching unsuccessfully through the night. When he turned to her it was difficult to read his face, but his voice when he spoke telegraphed a clear message.
“I made the decision I needed to make. I don’t think about it and I don’t talk about it. Next question?”
The cool tone was so unexpected that Natalie’s heart beat a little faster. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable. I was merely curious.”
“I’m very good at what I do, Ms. Drummond. Very good. I’ll spend every moment with you and on your case until we find the truth. But—”
Her ability to breathe failed her.
“I am not here to satisfy your curiosity about me.”
Before she could find her voice, he emerged from the car and walked around to her side. Natalie wasn’t sure whether to feel incensed or chastised. When he opened the door she finally remembered to unbuckle her seat belt.
She exited the car. He shut the door and, from all appearances, that would have been the end of it.
“Wait.”
He turned back to her and with the soft glow of the restaurant lights she could see his expression well enough to know he wasn’t angry...it was something else. Had her question injured him somehow? She blinked and wrestled with the best way to handle the situation. Since her injury she rarely grabbed on to the right emotions much less the proper words in a timely manner. She had taught herself to resist emotion and to react with the cool calm for which she had once been known in the courtroom.
“I apologize for asking such a personal question. I’m afraid the injury has left me with far fewer filters than I once possessed. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
He nodded, his only consolation to acceptance. “I had dinner here last week. The salmon is incredible.”
“Does your expense account cover this restaurant?” The words were out of her mouth before Natalie could stop them. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
Clint touched her arm and she opened her eyes. “This one is on me,” he assured her, his tone the deep, warm one she had grown to associate with him.
Before she could argue about who would pay, he ushered her through the entrance and she decided to stop trying so hard...at least for the next hour or so.
Southwood Road
9:20 p.m.
AS HE HAD last evening, Clint insisted on going into the house first. Her sister had phoned to say she was coming to spend the night but she would be late. Natalie wanted to tell her not to bother but she wouldn’t pretend she wasn’t terrified at the idea of being alone at night after the ordeal with the intruder. The idea made little sense since it had been broad daylight when she shot the man in her kitchen.
You did shoot him...didn’t you?
The idea that she was second-guessing herself again after finally, finally reaching the place where she felt she’d regained her confidence made her sick to her stomach.
Clint paused at the bottom of the staircase and she raised her hand. “No need to check upstairs. The security system was armed. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I wasn’t thorough.”
Natalie nodded, surrendering. “I probably wouldn’t, either,” she confessed.
Side by side they moved up the staircase. She was never able to climb or descend the stairs without admiring the painting of her family as it had once been. Life had felt so safe and so happy then. It seemed unfair she’d lost both her parents before she was thirty. Particularly since they had both been healthy and vibrant. If they were still alive, what would they think of Natalie and her sister? Would her father be proud Heath had been so successful following in his footsteps? Certainly April had become every bit the fund-raising and society queen their mother had been. Natalie sometimes regretted that her sister had not chosen a career path, but in truth what she did was immensely important to the community.
“You grew up in this house?” Clint asked as they reached the landing.
She nodded. “My grandfather built it. He and my grandmother lived here until they died. My parents did, as well. I suppose I will, too.” She caught herself before she suggested it was her turn for a personal question. Not a good idea. His assignment necessitated the asking of questions.
“My father died when I was at Samford,” he said, somehow understanding her need for reciprocity. “My mother remarried and moved to Arizona a few years ago.”
“You miss them? I still miss mine.”
He checked the first of the half dozen bedrooms as well as each of the en suite baths. Just when she was certain he didn’t intend to answer, he said, “I do. My mother calls a couple of times a month, but she rarely gets home anymore. I should visit her more often but I don’t think Oscar likes me.”
He chuckled and the sound made Natalie smile. He had a nice laugh for a man who preferred not to talk about his early career decisions.
Silence lapsed between them as they moved through room after room. He took extra care with the upstairs den and the balcony that overlooked the rear gardens. The French doors were locked, the security monitor in place. She and her sister had played here as children. In the gardens, too; but not without the nanny. The Drummond name and money had always been a target.
When they reached Natalie’s bedroom, she touched his arm. “Please, ignore what you see in my private space.”
His dark eyes held hers for a long beat. “I understand the need for personal privacy, Natalie. You can trust me with your secrets.”
As foolish as it sounded, she did. Perhaps her need for his understanding was because his academic background was so similar to hers. If he believed her...then maybe she wasn’t losing her mind.
The room was neat and freshly cleaned. Suzanna was a perfectionist and perhaps was afflicted with more than a little OCD. On the table next to Natalie’s side of the king-size bed were the first of the many notes to herself. Those on the bedside table reminded her to shut off the alarm and to plug and unplug her cell phone as well as to put it into the pocket of whatever jacket, sweater or coat she would wear for the day.
Each drawer of the room’s furnishings was labeled with what would be found stored in that space. In the closet her clothes were arranged in groupings so that whatever she needed for the day was together. No rifling through blouses or shoes and trying to match. April helped her keep her wardrobe arranged. The first time Natalie left the house with a mismatched ensemble, her sister was mortified and insisted on ensuring it never happened again. Natalie supposed it was necessary since her appearance reflected on the firm as well as the family name. April reminded Natalie that she’d had impeccable taste before the fall. Natalie still liked the same things, she simply felt confused at times when she attempted to put together an ensemble.
One of many things she missed about her old self. Thankfully the occurrences of confusion were becoming more rare, or they had been until the intruder. Most likely she would be fine without all the notes to remind her. She simply hadn’t found the courage to do away with them yet. Soon, she promised herself. Her real hesitation was the fear of failure. As long as the notes were there, she didn’t have to face her potential inability to work without them.
Though her walk-in closet was quite generously sized, somehow Clint’s broad shoulders and tall, lean frame overwhelmed the intimate space. It was then that his aftershave or cologne teased her senses once more. She had noticed the subtle scent in the car. Something earthy and organically spicy as if it were as
natural to his body as his smooth, tanned skin. She was immensely grateful she hadn’t lost her sense of smell. Many who suffered TBIs weren’t so fortunate.
He turned and she jumped. “Sorry.” She took a deep breath and followed him into the en suite. There were more notes here. The ones that told her in what order to do her nightly ritual, those that reminded her of where things were stored. Like the others, she didn’t rely on them as much as she had before. This time when he turned to her she felt the weight of his sympathy.
There was nothing since the injury that hurt her more—not the ongoing healing, not the physical therapy, not even the endless hours of analyzing by the shrinks—than the looks of pity in the eyes of anyone who learned the full scope of her loss.
“The house is clear. I’ll stay until your sister arrives.”
She wanted to argue. Damn it, she really did. She wanted to tell him in no uncertain terms that she was perfectly fine and capable of taking care of herself as she always had been. Except...she wasn’t so sure of that anymore. “Thank you.”
As they descended the stairs, he said, “Coffee would be good.”
With monumental effort she smiled. “I am very good with a coffee machine.”
He paused before taking the next step down. “I have a feeling you’re very good at many things, Natalie.”
Whether he truly meant the words or not, she appreciated the effort. No one had given her a compliment in a very long time.
Chapter Four
11:45 p.m.
Natalie woke with a start, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts as the images from her dreams faded. Sweat dampened her skin. She threw back the blanket and shivered as the cool air swept over her damp body.
She tried to make sense of the vivid, broken images. Pages and pages of briefs or reports rifling past...the words flying from the paper, turning to something gray—like ash or smoke. The empty pages fell into a heap and ignited, the flames growing higher and higher, until she could feel the burn.
Natalie sat up on the edge of the bed. She stared at the clock radio on the bedside table, the time mocking her. She hadn’t slept soundly through the night without the aid of medication after the fall. Finally, six months ago she’d managed the feat without the pills. Much to her frustration, the dark whispers that started month before last had taken that accomplishment away from her. As if her subconscious was somehow rutted and the wheels of her mind were destined to slide off into that same rut, she woke at this time every night. A scarce few minutes before the grandfather clock downstairs started the deep, familiar dong of the midnight hour.
Had April come in without waking her? Natalie had intended to stay up to make sure her sister arrived safely, but she’d fallen asleep on her bed still dressed in her work clothes. Surely April was here and Clint had gone home. The idea that he might still be sitting in his car on the street made her cringe. The wood floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she crossed the dark room. If her sister was here and asleep there was no need to wake her. Maybe Natalie would be lucky and this would be one of those nights she was able to get a few more hours of sleep before dawn.
The hall outside her door was as dark as her room. She slipped toward the far end to the room her sister had used as a child. Growing up, Natalie had slept in the one directly across the hall. For reasons she couldn’t explain, after the fall she no longer felt safe in that room. The nurse and April had moved her into their parents’ room. April insisted it was past time they’d stored their parents’ things anyway. From her bed, Natalie remembered watching her sister oversee the packing. At the time, Natalie had to be reminded over and over what April was doing. She hadn’t been able to hang on to a thought for more than a few minutes. Her memory as well as her ability to function had been in pieces—a part here or there worked, but none operated together.
Downstairs the chiming of the hour began, the deep sound echoing all through the silent house. As Natalie reached her sister’s bedroom the sound of voices stopped her. Natalie held her breath and listened. The voices were too low—whispers almost—to understand, but one was definitely April. The tinkling of her soft laugher was unmistakable. The other voice was deeper, definitely male.
Had David decided to stay overnight as well?
Funny, all these weeks she’d been hearing those whispered voices and not once had she been able to identify one of them. Natalie turned and made her way back toward her own room. Though she and David had never really been friends, he had visited Natalie at the hospital and then the rehab facility almost as often as April. Since she’d been home he had ensured the gardener had everything he needed. She supposed she should try and think better of him.
“Not in this lifetime,” she muttered. David’s arrogance and distance were two things she distinctly remembered about the past.
The incessant beep of the alarm warned that someone had opened the front door. Natalie’s pulse stumbled, then started to race. She had locked the door, hadn’t she? Obviously she’d set the alarm. Had April remembered to set it when she arrived? Natalie darted toward her bedroom before she remembered the gun was no longer there. It was missing along with the man she shot. Her cell was downstairs in her purse.
Fear burned through her veins.
Laughter followed by April’s voice echoed up from the entry hall. “I’m here. Night. Night. I’ll be home in the morning.”
The sound of the front door closing and the alarm being reset had Natalie turning to stare toward her sister’s bedroom. If her sister was downstairs just coming in...
Natalie’s heart sank. Heath was right. She was hallucinating again.
Oxmoor Road
Wednesday, September 21, 9:05 a.m.
DR. SADIE MORROW considered the confession long enough without saying anything to have Natalie ready to scream in frustration. Last night was the first time since the voices began that Natalie could unequivocally confirm that she had been dreaming or hallucinating. She had heard April’s voice in her room when April couldn’t possibly have been there. Was she having some sort of breakdown? Had her decision to return to work prompted a downward spiral? She had no real cases of her own. There was no true pressure related to her work at this point. How could it be too much stress?
Was her career over? The doctors, including the one assessing her right now, had assured Natalie that she would be able to return to work. She might never be exactly the same as she was before, but she would be able to have a life and a career. Emotion burned in her eyes and she wanted to scream.
“Perhaps,” Sadie announced, breaking the tension, “you were sleep walking. What you heard may have been a dream.”
This was the assessment Sadie had stood by since the first time Natalie mentioned the voices. “It didn’t feel like a dream,” Natalie argued.
“The vivid ones rarely do. It’s very possible you were asleep and the sound of your sister’s voice when she came in woke you.”
This was the second day this week that Natalie had shown up at Sadie’s office for an emergency consultation. Her friend had other patients. Natalie felt guilty taking up her time like this, but the fear that she was losing her mind overrode all other concerns.
“I was doing fine until I went back to work.” The conclusion hung like a millstone around her neck. What was she going to do with her life if she couldn’t have her career? What client would want to be represented by an attorney struggling with the after effects of a TBI?
“Natalie, you’ve been a textbook case in success. Every aspect of your recovery has been the most optimistic of outcomes. This is a bump along the path, that’s true. However, I’m confident whatever is triggering these events will pass. I don’t think you need to be overly concerned at this point.”
Natalie laughed, the sound sad. “You do realize that’s my high school BFF talking, don’t you?” She shook her head. “I mean,
you are the only person who believes there is a medical explanation for the event that happened in my kitchen. I still believe I shot an intruder with my father’s gun while the police are convinced I’m a nutcase.”
Sadie stood and came around her desk to sit next to Natalie. She took Natalie’s hands in hers. “You have to trust me when I say I do not believe you’re having a breakdown. Whatever is going on, there is another explanation. New memories may be trying to surface. Your mind may be misinterpreting the memories.”
Natalie sighed. “I didn’t tell April what happened last night. I just hurried back to my room and pretended to be asleep when she checked on me.” The embarrassing emotion she tried so hard to hold back burned like fire in her eyes. She did not want to cry. She needed to be strong. She wanted to move on from this.
“It’s not necessary to tell anyone else about this, Natalie. Let’s just see how it goes. I’m completely convinced we’re dealing with memories. The shooting in your kitchen may be a memory from a case you once worked or studied. What you heard last night could have been a memory from when you and April were teenagers.”
Natalie dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “All right. That’s the theory I’ll operate under for now.”
Sadie gave her a hug. “Now, tell me about the man in the lobby. He is incredibly handsome.”
“Clint Hayes. He’s the PI I hired to figure out what happened to the guy I shot.” The memory of the sound of the bullet discharging from the barrel made her flinch. Had the intruder taken her father’s weapon? It was the only explanation. She had the weapon in her hand and she fired it. The .38 had been loaded. Her father had kept it that way. As girls she and April had been lectured many times on how that drawer in her father’s bedside table was off limits. Their father had explained over and over the reason he kept the weapon next to his bed and their responsibility for staying away from it. He’d put the fear of God in them at an early age. Neither of them had ever touched the drawer much less the weapon for fear of their father’s wrath. As it turned out, the weapon had been outfitted with a trigger guard. It wasn’t until after her parents’ deaths that Natalie had discovered and removed the guard.