On His Watch (Vengeance Is Mine Book 1)

by Susanne Matthews

  Irene finished her cookie and reached for the one Jason had refused.

  “We took the facial and cranial bandages off today. Her mother took the changed appearance and memory loss harder than I expected. Mrs. Lincoln’s not a strong person. I suspect she’s got mental health issues, but since I’m not her doctor …” She turned away from the darkened window and stared at him. “I don’t know why you’ve come here each week, but I suspect guilt plays a large role in it. Nikki Hart is going to need a friend, someone not bound up in the memories she no longer has, someone without expectations she may never meet. Many doctors believe that a person in a coma is aware of sounds and voices around them. If that’s true, your voice may be among the few she recognizes.”

  “I won’t bail on her, Doc.”

  The doctor looked at him strangely before tossing the paper cup in the garbage can.

  “I didn’t realize you were friends. I should have. It explains a lot.”

  “We aren’t friends.” Jason admitted the truth reluctantly, wanting to set the doctor straight. Irene smiled enigmatically, and Jason bristled. “I rescued her several months earlier when her car was hit by a tree during a storm. Never even knew her name until I found her on that kitchen floor. She’s a key witness as well as the victim.”

  The smile stayed on Irene’s face, but she nodded.

  What was it with people? Did all minds jump into the gutter just because a man was concerned for a woman? He wasn’t some randy old satyr. He could keep it in his pants. Sure he felt guilty as sin for what had happened, but this was business, strictly business. Besides, Nikki Hart wasn’t his type.

  “The bandages came off this morning,” she broke into his mood. “Dr. Fuller did an excellent job. I can see some resemblance to the woman in the pictures her mother left in the drawer beside her bed. Maybe I just want something to be easier for her.” She sighed and shook her head.

  “The family is being difficult. Since Nikki didn’t recognize her mother, Nadia has been demanding other doctors examine her daughter, implying the memory loss may be my fault. Lincoln money speaks loudly, and the endowment they promised the hospital has put a lot of pressure on the administration to comply.” She scowled. “So Eli James, our staff psychiatrist, will speak to Nikki in the morning. It could take weeks, months, even years for her to remember anything, if she’s going to at all. Rushing things may just cause her more pain. Frankly, I hope she doesn’t remember this. I wouldn’t wish those memories on my worst enemy.”

  Jason nodded. He knew what a pain in the ass Thomas Lincoln could be and wouldn’t want the bastard making trouble for the doctor. As far as he was concerned, she’d worked a miracle.

  “When can I talk to her?”

  “She’s probably asleep, but you can go in and see her before you leave. Talk to her, but don’t talk about the case until I tell you to. Eli has a lot of experience working with retrograde amnesia victims. We’ll just have to wait and see, but I believe we have a more immediate problem, and that’s why I called you and insisted you come in today.”

  “What could be more important than what you’ve told me?”

  “The press, Jason, the press.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I sent Mrs. Lincoln home with a sedative this morning. She made quite a scene. There were people in the lounge, including a stringer for the San Francisco Investigator who was here to find out about my shooting victim. I’m sure he recognized Nadia. There’s been nothing about the case in the paper in weeks. Most people probably think Nikki Hart died. If the reporter puts two and two together, the fact she’s awake could make the front page news tomorrow.”

  “Damn! Just what she needs, more publicity. The place will be crawling with reporters.”

  “It isn’t the reporters who concern me. I need to protect my patient. Should I issue a press statement and make it clear she doesn’t remember anything? If making sure she was dead was part of the plan, and the killer knows he failed...”

  “Then he’ll be coming after her to finish the job,” he said, his empty hand fisting at his side.

  As much as the publicity surrounding Nikki’s amnesia would strip her of what little privacy she’d garnered staying out of the news these last six weeks, it would also put her in the spotlight making her highly visible, and that might keep the killers at bay until he could figure out what to do. Jason clearly heard a man’s voice from the 9 1 1 tape echo in his mind: No survivors.

  He looked at his watch—it was almost six. “Is there any way we can get it on the news tonight? I’ll call her father and arrange for around-the-clock security. I know the hospital has security guards who patrol throughout the place, but we’ll need something more concentrated.”

  “I’ll call KWN TV. Meredith Sykes owes me a favor. Why don’t you go in and see Nikki while I see what I can set up?”

  Irene left the lounge to go back to her office, and he pulled out his cellphone. The last thing he wanted to do was ask Thomas Lincoln for help, but the man had money, and money spoke loudly.

  Chapter Five

  She’s been walking through the maze for hours, high stone walls that vanish into nothingness. She’s exhausted. Someone’s just ahead of her, but try as she might, she can’t close the gap between them. If she can catch up, they’ll help her find her way out. She turns the next corner, and sadness grips her. The passage is straight, and empty. They’ve gone.

  The wall on her left starts to crumble, and she stands on a terrace by the ocean. She inhales deeply. It’s beautiful here. This is her sanctuary. She looks out and watches the sun slowly sink into the water, a fiery orange ball begging to be painted.

  There’s an easel in front of her. A disembodied hand holding a brush paints the glorious blue sky decorated with pink and purple clouds. The orange sun turns blood red and starts to drip down the canvas, marring the golden sea, destroying the painting. The man silhouetted on the nearby cliff is soon covered in blood.

  The smell changes—the sickly sweet, coppery scent of blood is overpowered by the bouquet of hundreds of roses. The odor overwhelms her, and she gags. All around her, rose bushes encroach on the blood-covered stones beneath her feet. Petals fall from the red blossoms and turn into drops of blood. The pool rises. Now it covers her feet. A demon materializes beside her and grabs her. She struggles, tries to pull away, but she’s unable to move, the thick liquid lapping at her ankles holding her firmly in place. The fine silk of her blouse tears, exposing her lace bra to his leering face.

  “That’s how you want to play it? Tease me for days and then play hard to get? I don’t think so.”

  The demon bends his head and kisses her roughly, bile rises in her throat, and suddenly she’s free. Another monster, a two-headed one, struggles with the demon who held her and wins. He grabs her, and his large hands are punishing bands of steel biting into her arms. Shackles snake out of his body and wrap themselves around her. She looks down, and the fetters have human faces, but they’re indistinct.

  “How dare you defy me? You’re mine, only mine. Look at you? You might as well be naked.”

  She lowers her gaze to take in the strapless ivory top and shorts that morph into an elaborate gown—a wedding gown, which slowly turns red as it absorbs the blood from the pool.

  The scene changes again. She’s back in the maze searching for a way out, knowing she’s going to die here alone. This is her prison, her punishment.

  “I’m here.” The silhouette stands at the next bend in the maze. “You’re safe now.”

  She relaxes and reaches for his hand. Warmth fills her.

  * * *

  Jason hung up the phone and headed out of the lounge. My God, what an arrogant prick. Were all rich men like that? He hoped not.

  He crossed the hall to Nikki’s room and stared at the closed door. He took a deep breath and pushed it open. The room had changed since his last visit. Most of the equipment surrounding the bed was gone. He grabbed the straight chair by the door and carried it ove
r to the right side of the bed. He straddled it, leaning his arms on its back.

  She was pale, but time in the hospital bleached color out of everyone. Her copper hair was short, with soft, baby-fine curls framing her face. There were small, slightly red scars along the left side of her jaw where they’d had to rebuild it. He was amazed at how well the doctor had repaired the damage. While the smaller nose and finely sculpted jaw did change her appearance, he could see the similarities Irene had mentioned. He reached into the drawer and pulled out the wedding picture Nadia Lincoln had placed there.

  In the past few weeks, he’d seen hundreds of pictures of Nikki Lincoln Hart, but the image he carried in his heart was that of a tired woman in a Padres cap, smiling at him. He examined the bride in the photograph. She looked happy and carefree. The groom looked stern and possessive. He’d learned a lot about the doctor over the course of the investigation. Life at the Hart house probably hadn’t been all sunshine and roses. He thought of the flowers on the kitchen floor—a peace offering?

  Nikki had been a beautiful woman and she still was, in spite of what that monster had done to her. Her sculpted cheekbones might be more pronounced, but weight loss could account for that. Her eyes were closed, but those pleading hazel orbs haunted his sleep each night. What would it be like to see them clear and reflecting the happiness she’d shown on her wedding day? His eyes were drawn to her lips—perfect soft, pink lips begging to be kissed. Suddenly he wanted to kiss her so badly he ached. Maybe if he did, she’d wake up like Sleeping Beauty.

  Now that thought would have his brother rolling on the floor laughing his ass off. Fairy tales were for children like Mandy. Men like him didn’t deserve happy endings.

  He examined her face again. She’d almost lost the use of her left eye, but it had been repaired and other than a slight swelling and minor bruising still, the difference was unnoticeable. Irene had said the vision was impaired, but millions of people wore glasses. It was no big deal. She didn’t look any older now than the woman in the photograph. Hell of a way to get a facelift.

  She moaned, and he moved closer to her.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Hart.”

  He reached out his right hand, intending only to offer her comfort, but her hand coiled around his, as it often had, and she seemed to relax. The tension marring her face disappeared. He sat in the chair and started talking as he did most Saturdays.

  “Dr. Marion tells me you’re upset because you can’t remember, but you have the rest of your life to make new memories, and believe me, I don’t think your life before was the greatest. I know you’ll be upset about some of the things we have to tell you, but Mandy will be thrilled to have you back. She’s a feisty little thing and cute as a button. The next few days are going to be hard on you, but I’ll be here. I won’t leave San Francisco as long as you need me.”

  How long would she need him? And if she did regain her memory, would his presence become a painful symbol of that night, of what she’d lost? Could he live with her reaction if she discovered his role in those events?

  “You need to start eating and get some exercise, so we can get you out of here. I’m going to start bringing you every fancy bonbon and candy I can find. I’m not sure when they’ll bring Mandy to see you, but you risked so much to save her, I know a part of you will remember her. She needs her mommy more than ever. Sleep now. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  He removed his hand from hers, straightened her blankets, and, unable to stop himself, leaned down and tenderly placed a kiss on her forehead—a liberty he’d never taken before. Irene’s Mona Lisa smile flashed before his eyes. He frowned. It was just a gesture of comfort, the kind of thing a person did when they tucked a child into bed. It didn’t mean anything. As he pulled away, he realized her eyes were open.

  Stunned, he stared into sleepy gray-green eyes. There was no pleading in them this time. She smiled at him. Before he could say anything, her eyes closed again.

  What the hell was he thinking? He had enough to worry about without this. Maybe she wouldn’t remember. He straightened from the bed and left the room. As he closed the door, Irene came out of her office and hurried toward him.

  “I called the Investigator first,” she said. “The editor is an old friend. I was right. The story is set to run on the front page. He can’t kill it. The online edition’s already out. The news crew will be here in twenty minutes. Did you reach the family?”

  “Yes. Private security should arrive at any time.”

  No sooner had he finished speaking than the elevator doors opened. A man, at least three inches taller than Jason and obviously ex-military from the way he carried himself, walked briskly down the hall toward them. His black jacket stretched across shoulders that would have made a linebacker proud, and he had to weigh in at 250 pounds of solid muscle. The bulge in his jacket indicated he was armed with a weapon that matched his size. He was bald, but the look suited him. He stopped about three feet in front of them.

  “Troy McDerban, Sentinel Security. I assume you’re Agent Spark?” He handed his credentials to Jason. “My firm’s been hired by Thomas Lincoln to provide security for Nicole Hart.”

  “Call me Jason.”

  He took the man’s ID and examined it before returning it. Jason had heard of McDerban and Sentinel Security. It was a private security firm, made up of ex-military personnel who provided bodyguards for visiting dignitaries as well as for California’s rich and famous. He stuck out his hand, and the man gripped it in a handshake filled with power and self-confidence.

  “This is Dr. Irene Marion, Mrs. Hart’s primary physician, and the angel behind the desk is Cassie Palmer. I’m sure she’ll show you around if you ask. Where do you plan to set up?”

  “Inside the room at night, outside it during the day when she has authorized company or the staff needs to attend to her. No one will get past us. You can count on that. We work in teams. My partner is parking the car.”

  The elevator doors opened, and a statuesque blonde who could have been a swimsuit model stepped out.

  “Here comes Angie now. Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s armed, but she doesn’t need a gun to defend herself. The woman’s a deadly weapon. Another team will take over in the morning.”

  Jason nodded. “Let me bring you up to speed.”

  * * *

  Nikki couldn’t identify what had awakened her. The room was dark. It had been light each time she’d opened her eyes before. She’d had one of those awful dreams again. If only she could recollect them, she might be able to make sense of things, but all she had were jumbled images and partial faces—faces too distorted to be human. The only thing she recalled clearly was the angel who sat with her, pulling her out of the dreams, and comforting her.

  Had he kissed her on the forehead or had that been her imagination? She’d seen him again this time, but the room had been dark, not as dark as it was now, but too dark to clearly make out his features. She had the impression of long, sandy brown hair that curled at the nape, broad shoulders, and muscular arms that spoke of strength. The only thing she knew for certain was that that her hand was dwarfed by his large one. When he came to her, she felt safe.

  The angel always spoke to her in the emptiness when the agony was at its worst. She didn’t remember what he said, but his voice scared away the monsters. More than once, she’d forced herself to reach out to that voice and hold onto it when demons told her it was time to give up. She wouldn’t give up. She had something important to do; she just didn’t know what it was.

  It was funny how the product of her imagination was clearer to her than anything else. She couldn’t even describe herself. How tall was she? She had small hands, or at least they seemed small when placed in his. She thought of her mother. The woman was beautiful in the classic, ageless way Scandinavian women were. Lincoln didn’t sound Scandinavian, but the woman’s bone structure and coloring spoke of a Swedish or Norse ancestry. She’d been wearing a designer suit and carried herself with the poise
that bespoke money.

  Based on the face in the mirror, Nikki didn’t resemble her mother. Had she before? Was that why Nadia had stared at her so intensely earlier? Did she look so very different now?

  What had she called this person? Mother? Mom? Mommy? Momma? Nadia? Mommy seemed to ring a bell, but it was more a child’s designation than an adult’s, wasn’t it? Mother seemed more appropriate for such a dignified woman. Did she have a father? Had he been by her bedside, watching and waiting for her to wake up, too?

  Nikki stared at the blackness, allowing her eyes to grow accustomed to it. There was a faint aura of light entering the room around the door where it wasn’t snug. She turned her head to the left where she could see the faint glow of street lights. Once her eyes adjusted, she realized the room wasn’t as dark as she’d thought it was. She didn’t like the dark.

  The notion startled her. Was she afraid of the dark? Not really, but she was uncomfortable in it in strange surroundings. She grasped at the idea as if it were a lifeline.

  She was thirsty. Someone had moved the bedside table from the left side to the right side of her bed. There had been water there earlier. She tried to sit up and reach for it, but she was too weak and collapsed back into the pillow.

  She turned to the left, and gasped. She wasn’t alone. A man sat in the chair near the foot of the bed facing the door. He was reading from a tablet. He raised his head.

  “Do you want the nurse, Mrs. Hart? I can call her for you.” The man spoke softly out of the darkness—another stranger, another voice she didn’t recognize.

  “Water,” she whispered, pleased her voice sounded surer.

  He stood, moved the few feet necessary to reach the side of the bed and the plastic tumbler, and brought it to her. Whatever he wore was dark, and he looked like a darker shadow against the dimness of the room.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. He adjusted the straw to fit between her lips, and she drank deeply. The small exertion tired her, and she leaned back into her pillow.