by Vicki Hinze
Karen wanted to laugh but didn’t. Behind the complaining about the bed and sheets was a worried woman, venting her way through a justified snit. “He did yelp.”
“Glad to hear it.” Nora sniffed, walked over, and caught Karen’s face between her forefinger and thumb. “You’re needing a good sleep, I’m thinking. But we’ll settle for forty winks—if Himself can keep looters off his land that long.”
Ben sighed. “Mark is making the necessary security adjustments, Nora.”
Himself. Karen loved the endearment and gave Nora a smile. “They’ve been really busy with it,” she said, supporting Ben. “I’ll just go back to the cottage and give everyone some space—”
“No ma’am, you’ll not.” Nora glared at Ben. “I know you’re not letting her go over there alone, Benjamin Brandt. The girl won’t sleep a wink, and none of us will get a thing done.”
“I told her I preferred she rest here. But she’s an adult, Nora. I can’t order her to stay here. It’s her call.”
“Sometimes you men have all the wits of a dead stump.” Nora rolled her eyes heavenward, then focused on Karen. “You’ll be resting here, dearie. Follow me.” She took off and promptly walked right into the edge of the bar. “Humph.”
Karen looked at Ben, who shook his head, then hiked her shoulders. “I’m following her.”
“Wise choice,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “When she makes up her mind, refusing her means war.”
Karen bet Nora rarely lost.
“Oh, I forgot.” Nora stopped suddenly and lifted a wait-a-second finger. “I’ll be just a moment.” She snagged the house phone, then stepped back into the pantry. “Mark?” A pause, then Nora’s propped hand on her hip appeared in the door opening. “When we spoke, I failed to mention that some soul with a sweet tooth has been tossing wadded-up candy wrappers in my garden. I’m thinking you should mention to the boys that I’m taking exception to it. Because if I catch the rascal at it, I’m going to be blistering his ears and calling you to clean up the mess.”
Another pause where she listened and then turned and looked at the stove clock. Misjudging her distance from the wall, she clipped her shoulder. “Fifteen minutes—and bring me an apology from my garden vandal if you’re wanting some hot cinnamon rolls to go with it. Otherwise, you’re just getting coffee and a sniff, but not the first bite.”
She cleared her throat. “Hold on a second. Ben”—she raised her voice—“preheat the top oven for me—425 degrees, and make sure there’s fresh coffee. Decaf.”
“Will do.”
“Yes, I heard you.” Nora returned her attention to Mark. “You can hush your bellyaching; you’ll be getting decaf. You’ve probably guzzled a pot full already this morning.” A slight pause, then she added, “I can’t believe you let some vagrant shoot up my new sheets.”
Ben and Karen stood staring at each other, grinning.
“They were Egyptian cotton—”
“Six hundred thread count,” Ben whispered.
Biting back a giggle, Karen tapped his arm. “Stop.”
Nora grunted. “You’d better work in some target practice, I’m thinking. We’re lucky the varmint couldn’t shoot.” She hung up the phone.
Karen had no doubt Nora would do exactly what she said—and that Mark and Ben would let her. Totally enchanted, Karen asked Ben, “Is something wrong with her eyes? She just nicked the wall with her elbow.” She’d bumped into a lot of things already.
Ben pressed a shushing finger over his mouth, stepped closer, then whispered, “Don’t mention it. Her vision isn’t what it should be, but there’s nothing the docs can do.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He nodded. “She won’t give up or give in,” he said, pride tinting his tone. “She’s determined to live a normal life for as long as possible.”
Karen folded her hands in front of her. “Admirable woman.”
“Very. Stubborn too.”
Ben adored her. Karen smiled.
Nora came out of the pantry, pulled a pan of rolls out of the fridge, then popped them into the oven. “All rightie, then.” Dusting her hands, she glanced over at Ben. “I’ll be taking Herself for a wee wink, so keep down the racket—and when Mark comes in, tell him not to be a slacker about wiping his shoes. I don’t want no dirt muddying up my kitchen floor.”
“Yes ma’am.” Ben winked at Karen. “Have a good nap.”
“I don’t dare not to.”
Nora hooked her arm with Karen’s and led her toward the living room.
Karen stopped in the hallway just outside it. “Nora, is there anywhere else I can nap?”
“Why?” She looked up at Karen, her eyes huge behind her thick glasses. “Don’t you like the living room?”
Karen glanced away. “It’s lovely.”
“But.”
“Never mind. I don’t mean to be rude. Anywhere is fine.”
“You don’t like it either?”
“Honestly?” Karen shouldn’t have started this conversation. She should have just kept quiet. But she hadn’t.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. It’s perfect,” Karen said. “It’s just, well, I’m not.”
“Perfect?”
“Or formal.”
Nora cackled. “I know just what you mean, dearie. You’re scared to sit down in there. You might mess up something.” She patted Karen’s arm and turned toward another wing of the house. “It was Susan’s folly. She and her mama saw it in a magazine. Her mama just loved it, so Susan had to have it.” She shook her head. “Benjamin hated it from the start, but if Susan wanted it, she would have it, and have it she did.” Nora sighed. “Oh, but she was excited that day.”
“I’m sure she was.” Interesting. It was so not Susan’s typical tastes. “Did she spend a lot of time in there?”
“I don’t think she ever went into it unless her mama was here. Benjamin avoids it like it’s got the plague.”
The respect and love they showed each other was touching, and doubt niggled at Karen. Did someone love and respect her? Did she feel that bond with some special man? If she did, wouldn’t her heart know it? “I think Susan must have been a very special woman.”
“Special as they come,” Nora said with a little smile. “But I have a feeling you’re a special woman too.”
“Thank you.” Karen nearly cried. “I hope I am.”
“Ah, don’t you be worrying about your little problem, dearie.” She led Karen into a den that was cozy and comfortable, burgundy leather and masculine but inviting. “You’ll remember all about yourself soon enough.” She elbowed Karen gently. “If you’re like the rest of us, you probably remember a fair share of things you’ll wish you could forget. Enjoy the reprieve.”
Stunned by that bald remark, Karen laughed. “Nora, you’re a breath of fresh air.”
“Don’t I know it?” She motioned to the sofa. “Now, crawl your wee self up there and settle in for a nice, long snooze. You look ready to drop.”
“I’m exhausted.” Karen curled up on the sofa and accepted a throw Nora handed her. “Thank you for everything.”
Nora pulled up the cover on Karen’s shoulder. “You’ve been through the mill, but don’t you be worrying. Ben and Mark will be sorting all this out, and I’ll be watching over you while you sleep. Nobody will be bothering you on my watch. So you just rest easy.”
Karen smiled at the kindness even as worry filled her. Nora meant well and her heart was in the right place, but people were out to kill her—and Nora, bless her, was bat blind.
But I am not. I am with you always …
Karen let that certainty sink in and began a heartfelt prayer of gratitude.
“Karen?” Ben stood beside the sofa, not wanting to wake her but having little choice. She had her arm flung up over her head and her mouth opened just a touch. Very pretty. Very vulnerable.
Protect her. The desire rammed into him like a sucker punch to the gut. He stiffened against it. He didn�
��t want to care about this woman, or any woman. After Susan, he didn’t dare.
But something inside him did want to care, and he resented it. He’d shed too many tears, spent too many sleepless nights reliving every moment of his life with Susan. He carried that burden of guilt at not being able to protect her and their son, and he spent far too many days fighting the demons in his mind that insisted he should have died in their place.
She didn’t awaken.
“Karen?”
Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. Then she started and sat up straight. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Everything’s okay.”
“Oh, good.” She rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I need to talk to you and it shouldn’t wait.”
“Okay.”
“Nora went to the grocery store. While she was there, a man came up to her and told her to check in New Orleans for Richard Massey. To tell me right away.”
Karen touched a hand to her chest. “Was he one of the abductors, the one who paid the teens, or the man who shot—?”
“We don’t know. Mark’s asked, but no one else in the store noticed the guy, and if he was picked up on the security camera, Nora couldn’t identify him from the tape.”
“Her eyes?”
“I’m afraid so. Mark’s picked up lines on several Richard Masseys in the Greater New Orleans area. He’s got a couple dozen photos he needs you to look at. Sorry, but it really can’t wait. We’ve got to get to Richard Massey as soon as possible.”
“Why?” Karen tossed the throw aside, slid into her shoes, then stood.
“Because the man in the store told Nora that Massey was marked for death.”
She gasped. “He must know me or something about me, then. Is that why he’s going to be killed?”
Ben couldn’t miss the regret and upset in her voice. “We don’t know that.”
“This is no time for diplomacy, Ben.”
“We believe it could be, yes.”
Karen squeezed her eyes shut. God, give me strength. “We’d better hurry, then.”
Ben stepped back, giving her room to rise from the sofa. “Mark’s got the photos on the computer screen in my office. It’s this way.”
Karen followed Ben down the hallway, passing three closed doors, a long table with a sweet-smelling vase of daisies, a painting of Three Gables, and then finally they stepped into his office.
It smelled like him. And like the rest of the house, it was comfortable and free from pretense. Karen loved the feel of it, of his whole house, except that extremely formal living room.
Mark sat at Ben’s desk in front of a computer. “Karen. Great.” He stood and motioned for her to sit down. “Sorry about interrupting the nap—and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to Nora. I’ll be old and gray before I get another cinnamon bun.”
“No problem.” His hopes were up; she could see it in his eyes. “What do you want me to do?” She settled into the chair.
“See if you recognize anyone.”
“I probably won’t, Mark.” She glanced up at him. “Don’t be disappointed, okay?”
“I won’t. We know it’s unlikely, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Okay, then.” She scooted the chair closer to the desk and looked at the screen. “Where are they?”
He reached over and tapped a button. “Just click here when you’re ready to advance to the next slide.”
“Got it.” The slide show of photos began. She studied the first. Nothing. The second and third. Nothing and still nothing. The fourth through the eighth netted the same. The ninth, again nothing, and Karen’s hope began to dwindle, her spirits to sink. This was useless. She didn’t know who she was, much less anyone else. She tapped the advance key … and stopped cold.
“What is it?” Ben asked from behind her left shoulder.
She studied the man in the photograph a minute longer, then glanced back at Ben. “I know him. He’s the guy who handed me the keys to the Jag—after my Jeep broke down.”
“Okay.” Ben signaled and Mark left the room, dialing his cell phone.
She stared at the familiar face. “Who is he, Ben?”
“Richard Massey.”
She’d figured that much. “Is he from New Orleans?”
“He’s a private investigator there. Has a small firm down in the French Quarter.”
“Does he know me?” Excitement bubbled in her. “He could know me.” She jumped up and hugged Ben. “He must know me.”
He stiffened, hesitated, and then hugged her back. “He must know you.”
“I must be from New Orleans, then.”
“Maybe.” Ben stepped away, then pulled out his cell. “Mark, check with NOPD and see if anyone there’s filed a missing person’s report on Karen.” Seconds later, he hung up the phone, slipped it back into his pocket. “He’s faxing over a photo of you to the police department now.”
Mark always seemed to stay a step ahead. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.” She gave him a half smile.
“We’ll hope.”
Karen stared at Ben a long moment, worked up her courage, and finally spoke her heart. “Would it sound ridiculous if I said I’d miss you?”
Relief and panic warred in Ben’s eyes. “No crazier than me saying I’d miss you.”
Her heart leapt. “Would you, really?”
He shrugged. “I would.”
She smiled and offered him her hand.
Ben clasped it and gave hers a gentle squeeze.
Mark cleared his throat at the door to Ben’s office.
Ben stepped away and rubbed his hands together. “Anything?”
Frowning, hesitancy in his step, Mark walked into the office. “Sorry, Karen. No missing person’s report has been filed on you in New Orleans.”
Disappointment speared through her. She put on a brave face. “So I guess I’m not from there, after all.”
“That, or no one is waiting,” Mark said.
That hurt. It shouldn’t—he simply recited a fact—but it did hurt. She was a good person; she believed that now. But how could she disappear and have no family or friends or work associates or anyone else even notice?
Whoever she was, she had no one. No one. The absence weighed her down. Small, insignificant, unimportant, useless … Neither blessed nor a blessing.
“Are you okay?” Ben asked.
She stiffened her spine, trying hard to bury her emotions. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Mark shot a worried look from Karen to Ben, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure he should.
“Okay, I’m not fine, but I’m not going to get fine if you keep things from me.” Karen searched for her emotional rhino-hide. At the moment, it seemed elusive. “So just say what needs saying.”
“There’s still no missing person’s report.”
“So no one cares if I’m dead or alive or missing.” She hid behind a sniff. “Well, if I had an overinflated sense of importance, it’s gone now, isn’t it?”
“Karen, I’m sorry.” Ben stepped toward her.
She lifted a hand, silently asking him not to touch her. If he did at this moment, she was going to lose it and wail.
Why didn’t anyone care about her? Why?
“And so it is with great pleasure that I dedicate the Chessman Wing to Seagrove Village Community Hospital.” Gregory stepped forward and clipped the ceremonial ribbon.
To thunderous applause from the small group gathered, he passed the scissors to Hank Green, coroner and the younger brother of the esteemed mayor. Waving to the crowd, Gregory spotted a stiff-backed Paul Johnson standing to the side, waiting for him.
“Go on inside, Hank,” Gregory told the coroner. “I’ll be right in.”
Jovial, Hank hooked up with the manager of the local supermarket, and they entered the building for the celebratory reception. When the door closed behind them, Gregory joined a solemn-faced
Paul. “Where have you been?”
“Mobile, sir.” Paul grimaced. “I was injured last night and went to have myself checked out.”
Mobile, Alabama. The site of the mall bombing. NINA. “Do I need to know what happened?” The subject wasn’t dead. Brandt himself had told Gregory everyone was fine, not that the entire village wasn’t talking about the attack. Why wasn’t she dead? That was all Gregory wanted to know.
“I’ve got two cracked ribs and a bruised kidney,” Paul said.
NINA in close proximity and he gives Gregory useless personal information? “I meant what happened at the cottage.” Gregory glared at him. “I assume from your injuries you levied the attack.”
“Yes sir.” Paul dropped his gaze, shielding his eyes. “She wasn’t inside.”
“So you shot up her bed for kicks?” He’d gotten a text message from his secret partner sharing that detail at the crack of dawn. Unpleasant, having your competence questioned, but it was the phone call with Brandt that most troubled Gregory. He couldn’t expressly remember Brandt asking if Gregory knew Massey, but he must have. Even awakened from a dead sleep, Gregory wouldn’t volunteer that information unless asked. Would he? Why couldn’t he recall specifically?
“One in the morning, rumpled covers—statistically speaking, sir, the risk ratio was less than one percent that she wouldn’t be in it.”
“You couldn’t just look and see that the bed was empty?”
Paul grimaced and the muscle in his left cheek twitched. “Stacked pillows gave the illusion that someone was there. She’s staying alone, ergo … But that’s not why I came to find you. This event wasn’t on your schedule.”
The flicker of irritation tinting Paul’s tone raised Gregory’s hackles. Putting it down to him being in pain, Gregory ignored it. “The mayor and his wife went to New Orleans for an Emergency Management summit of the coastal states. Hurricane preparedness. Darla wanted to get there early, so John asked me last minute to fill in here.”
“New Orleans?” Paul’s eyes narrowed and his chin jutted out.