Delaney's Shadow

by Ingrid Weaver

  Keys rattled into a ceramic dish. Max’s footsteps moved toward her. “We’ll to need to talk to the cops first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes, they’ll want our statements.” She turned to face him. “It’s horrible to think the neighborhood isn’t safe.”

  “The neighborhood isn’t the problem. We have to make sure Toffelmire is told what happened. That couldn’t have been a random mugging.”

  “Why not? Elizabeth’s purse was missing. Phoebe told me that a woman was mugged down by the lake a few weeks ago, and she was sure she heard someone lurking in my grandmother’s woods.”

  “She probably did. Kids use the woods for a shortcut. Teenagers go there to drink. There were stories about a boogeyman in the bushes even when I was a kid.”

  “What if it’s real this time? Both Helen and Edgar said there are new people moving to Willowbank. There are always strangers in town during the summer. Who knows what kind of criminals might be in the area?”

  “Besides me?”

  She frowned. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  He took her by the shoulders. “I’m not saying there isn’t crime in Willowbank. It’s got its share of muggings and breakins like any other town. I just think with everything else that’s happened lately, it’s too much of a coincidence that Elizabeth would be attacked when she’s on her way to see you.”

  “You’re right about one thing; she must have been coming to see me. It’s the only reason she would have been at the house. But why would she do that? She knew the meeting had been postponed.”

  “She probably wanted to catch you when you were alone. She sure wasn’t pleased to have me hanging around the last time.”

  “Then where was her car? She rented one at the airport. We saw it yesterday.”

  “She could have taken a taxi. Or she might have wanted some exercise and decided to walk there.”

  “Not in those heels. That wouldn’t be something Elizabeth would do, anyway. Walking isn’t an efficient enough exercise for her. She works out on a Bowflex so she can get maximum results for her time. Maybe she was carjacked. Whoever hit her could have stolen her car. It still could have been random.”

  “Sure, it’s possible, but it’s more likely that she was targeted.”

  She rubbed her arms against a sudden chill, then pulled away from him and went to sit on one of the leather couches. “First the hit-and-run, then this. Why?”

  “Well, we can be sure she wasn’t the one responsible this time.”

  “No, but maybe I am.”

  The cushion creaked softly as he sat next to her. He laid his arm across the back of the couch behind her shoulders. “Just because your life would be easier without her doesn’t mean you brought this on.”

  As usual, he zeroed in on what she’d avoided facing herself. Having Elizabeth out of the way would definitely make her life easier. And that did make her feel guilty. “I never wished her any harm. I just wanted her to stop.”

  “Sure. She was being a pain.”

  “My grandmother called her a spoiled brat, but she was wrong. Elizabeth wasn’t indulged; she was neglected.”

  “Poor little rich kid, huh?”

  “You think I’m crazy for sympathizing with her, but she made herself tough in order to survive. Inside, she’s not that way at all.”

  He stroked her hair.

  “She did want to make peace. I saw it on her face at the restaurant.”

  He traced her ear.

  “And now this happens before she can resolve anything. It’s just not fair.”

  “Newsflash, Delaney. Life isn’t fair.”

  She turned her head to kiss his fingers. “There you go again, being the cynic. We’re quite the pair.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Like two halves of one whole.”

  He dropped his hand to the front of her blouse. “Sounds sexy. Want to go to bed?”

  The laugh surprised her. After the previous several hours, she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of it. “Thanks for your help tonight, Max.”

  He tapped the top of her breast. “I intend to get rewarded.”

  “Did you make up the baby swallow you showed me?”

  “No, that was a memory. There was a nest under the eaves last summer. A few fell on the deck when their mother pushed them out. One sat there for a few hours, trying to get up the nerve to fly.”

  She smiled, thinking of this unquestionably virile man watching baby birds. “It was very cute. Did he finally do it?”

  “Mmm?” He slipped open her top button.

  “Fly.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s sweet that you kept track of them. The image was very vivid.”

  Two more buttons slid from their holes. He fingered the edge of her camisole. “That’s because I used it.”

  “How?”

  “For a painting. They looked different by the time I put them on canvas.”

  “I’ll bet. They probably were straining to launch themselves into the sky, in spite of the approaching wind that could break their wings to smithereens.”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’d like to see it, Max. Is it in your studio?”

  “It’s already sold.”

  “Oh.”

  “But there’s something else upstairs you’ll enjoy.”

  She sighed. They both knew this was where they’d been heading this evening before they’d been interrupted, and yet . . .

  “Don’t overthink it, Deedee.”

  “It doesn’t seem right to enjoy myself, with Elizabeth in the hospital. I realize she despises me, but I’m her only family.”

  “We’ll worry about it tomorrow. Picture the bird.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. The lopsided ball of beak and feathers stole back into her mind.

  “Flying’s a natural urge. It wants to fly, whatever the weather throws at it. Doesn’t matter how long it sits there to think about it, either; the outcome’s going to be the same. So it decides, what the hell, might as well let go and enjoy itself while it can.”

  “You’re a philosopher as well as a cynic.”

  “Nothing that complicated.” He turned her so that she was half lying across his lap. “I’m just a man who’s doing his damnedest to get naked with you.”

  She lifted her hand to his cheek. “You’re a lot more than that, Max.”

  He turned his head to nibble her fingertips, then tongued her index finger into his mouth. He drew on it gently. An identical sensation seized her nipple.

  She shifted her legs on the cushion to fit herself more fully into his embrace. The familiar tang of his soap mixed with the scent of the leather couch.

  The car smelled like leather from the heater within the seats. Stanford’s lime aftershave hung thick in the air, making it difficult for her to breathe. Delaney lowered the window a crack, filled her lungs with fresh air, and returned her hand to the wheel.

  Delaney jerked away from Max. She hugged her arms to her chest.

  He held up his palms. “All right, I said no tricks, but I slipped, okay?”

  Stanford grabbed her forearm. She cried out as the car swerved.

  The memory disappeared as quickly as it had arisen. Delaney pushed herself backward along the couch until she squeezed into the corner. She tucked her legs beneath her, brushing at her arm, trying to erase the feel of Stanford’s grasp.

  Max knelt in front of her. He searched her gaze. “What’s wrong?”

  “I was in the car.”

  “You remembered your husband.”

  She rubbed her eyes. Her fingers shook. “It was only a fragment. It must be because of what you did.”

  “I don’t see how. They’re your memories; I can’t put them in your head.”

  “You triggered my memories even when I thought you were John. With everything else that’s happened, I haven’t attempted pushing through the block since that morning in the backyard. I should have. If I had, maybe Eliza
beth wouldn’t have been hurt.”

  He eased her hands from her face. “Delaney, what happened to her wasn’t your fault.”

  “We both know it has something to do with me. The answer must be in my head, and I have to get it out. How many more people around me are going to get hurt before I do? I have to remember.”

  “If you needed to, you would. The memories seem to come when you’re ready for them.”

  “You’re still the key, Max.”

  He released her hands and sat back on his heels. “This is sounding familiar.”

  She leaned forward, speaking quickly. “We could work together to unlock my memories. We don’t have to leave it to chance. If we consciously combine the power of our minds, who knows what we could accomplish? We’ve only begun to explore what’s possible between us.”

  “Nothing’s changed, has it?”

  His tone was a dash of ice water. She searched his expression. It was carefully shuttered. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You get all misty when you talk about what you call our special bond, but when it comes right down to it, you still want to use me.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Do I need to repeat the newsflash?”

  “Stop acting so cynical. I know that isn’t really you.”

  “You don’t want to recognize the real me. You went to a hell of a lot of trouble so you wouldn’t.”

  “Max, please.”

  “I’ve been up-front about what I want from you. You were at the beginning, too, only I lost sight of that. The first thing you told me when you came back was that you wanted me to help you remember.”

  “You refused.”

  “Not when you asked for mind sex. I thought I was damn cooperative about getting rid of your inhibitions.”

  She swung her legs to the floor and stood. She didn’t speak again until she had put the length of the couch between them. “That was before I understood you were real. We already talked about that.”

  “Right.” He pushed himself to his feet. “You’re big on talking. I went along with you on that, too, because it was the only way to get into your pants.”

  “This isn’t you, either. You’re a sensitive, kind man. That’s why you gave me the baby swallow. That’s why you opened up about your past. You’ve got a deep well of love inside you, Max, only you’re afraid to let anyone see it. You show how you care in a hundred little ways but you’re afraid to admit it.”

  He closed the distance between them in two strides. “Wrong. What I’ve got is a hard-on, and the only thing I want to open is a carton of condoms.”

  She stood her ground, even though every muscle was twitching to retreat. She focused on a vein that pulsed in the side of his neck. His heart was beating as fast as hers. “I understand why you try to push me away by talking like this. It’s difficult for you to trust emotions. You’re snarling because you expect to be hurt. I can only hope you’ll eventually believe that I would never betray you. I love you.”

  “Just as long as I’m useful.”

  “All right, since it’s such a sore point with you, forget about helping me. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’ve got nothing to do with the way my memories return. Maybe it’s a coincidence that it only happens when I’ve been around you.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” He caught her chin. “You’re not backing out now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He tipped her face to his. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t try to help you.”

  “Then what was all this about?”

  “I just want us to be clear where we stand. I’ll give you what you asked for as long as you do the same for me.”

  “Which means?”

  “An even trade. A fair trade. You can use my mind the way you wanted in the first place. In return I get to use your body.”

  “But I was willing to give you that without a bargain, Max.”

  “No, Deedee, you expected more. I felt the truth last night. I see it in your eyes now. You’re going to keep digging at me because you won’t accept reality. You’re still seeing me as a stand-in for the friend you made up.”

  “That’s what this argument is really about. It’s the same one we had here a week ago. You’re worried that we’re already too close. Now that I know who you are, you don’t want to let me in, so you’re scrambling to set up new boundaries. You’re afraid of what will happen if we truly do combine our minds, aren’t you?”

  The moment stretched. Her challenge hung in the air between them and was reflected back at her from his thoughts. Emotions she couldn’t name flashed in his gaze until one rose to conquer the rest. Hunger. He ran his thumb over her lower lip. The caress was as gentle as his words had been harsh.

  Damn. All it took was one touch to dissolve her pride and her common sense.

  Was she doing it again? Was her need to be loved making her blind to this man’s true character? Was she making excuses for Max the same way she’d done for Stanford?

  He stepped back and held out his hand. “I don’t want to argue anymore, do you?”

  No, she never wanted to argue. She always tried to make peace. Even now, regardless of how coarsely he spoke of it or how determined he was to demean it, she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the simple bliss of making love with Max.

  THE WINDOWS IN THE UPPER STORY WERE TALLER THAN the ones in the ground floor. Max hadn’t switched on a light when he’d guided Delaney up the spiral staircase to the bedroom the night before; the moon had provided illumination enough. With the sunrise, she got a better look at her surroundings. There was no door on the bedroom, just an open archway that led to the landing of the staircase and the huge studio beyond it. The bathroom was angled behind a partition for privacy but it had no door, either. Obviously, Max didn’t like being closed in. The walls that had appeared silver in the dark were revealed to be pristine, unadorned white. The windows themselves provided dramatic rectangles of color, as if the sky was a series of framed paintings.

  Aside from the king-sized bed that dominated the space, the only other pieces of furniture in the room were a small table with a lamp and a white enameled wardrobe. The maple plank floor was bare of carpets. The effect wasn’t bleak, though. It was clean and spacious and as peaceful as a blank canvas.

  The simplicity made sense. For a man with a mind as powerful as Max’s, he would need to have surroundings like these to enable him to sleep.

  Not that they’d done much of that. It had been nearing dawn by the time they’d been too physically spent to stay awake.

  She shifted to her side. Though Max’s sheets were luxuriously smooth cotton, the friction from her movement was enough to send a lazy curl of pleasure across her skin. She propped her head on her hand.

  Max lay sprawled on his stomach, his cheek flattened to the mattress. One arm dangled over the side of the bed while the other was bent toward his chin. His lips were parted and his jaw was lax with sleep. His eyelids were motionless—he’d told her he seldom dreamed. She knew he wasn’t dreaming now, either, because no whisper of his thoughts touched hers.

  He had frequently complained about being woken up by her nightmares. She could see why. He slept like the dead. Still, she had every right to disturb him now, because they’d made a bargain, and he had yet to fulfill his half.

  Yet she didn’t want to invite Stanford into this bed. Call it selfish or cowardly or just plain greedy, she didn’t want the past to intrude on the pleasure of the moment. Max had always maintained that burying the past was the only way to be free of it. That must work to some extent. No nightmare troubled his sleep.

  Unable to resist touching him, she stroked his hair from his forehead.

  His eyebrows drew together in a brief frown, then smoothed out once more.

  If she woke him with a kiss, she wouldn’t have to put up with his keep-off growls and his cynicism. Their bodies had no trouble communicating, even without the benefit of joining their minds. She was
happy there were no blinds to block the light from his windows. She loved being able to look her fill without their words getting in the way.

  Considering the number of occasions they’d been intimate, both in their minds and in the flesh, it was odd that this was the first time she was seeing him naked in full daylight. His physique was truly magnificent. His arms were leanly muscled. The yellowing bruises on his shoulder didn’t detract from his appeal; they made her more aware of his strength. Her gaze skimmed over his back to the tan line at his waist. The edge of the sheet lay low on his buttocks, revealing tiny scratches on the pale skin.

  She pushed herself up to regard the marks more closely. The scratches were regularly spaced crescents that could only have been made by her nails.

  Her lips twitched with a rush of purely female satisfaction. She had marked him. Never before in her life had she been that carried away by passion. Then again, as she’d already told Max, no lover could compare to him. She regarded his back. No red marred the skin there. Instead, it was crossed by lines of white.

  White. Her smile vanished. She focused more closely.

  They weren’t scratches; they were scars.

  Her own back contracted with agony. It lasted less than a heartbeat. It left her shaking.

  “Oh, Max,” she whispered. She lifted her hand, letting her palm hover above his skin as if she could draw out his pain, but the physical pain would be long gone.

  She knew about scars, and these weren’t recent. It took years for scar tissue to whiten completely, decades for it to smooth out to the extent these scars had. Some were mere threads of white a few inches long. Others were narrow ribbons where wounds had pulled apart before they had healed. Aside from a short, raised ridge beneath his shoulder blade, they lay flat, almost completely incorporated into the plane of his skin. These must be from wounds he’d received in his childhood.

  Why hadn’t she noticed them before?

  Because it had been dark when he’d been naked. Because he’d kept his shirt on when there had been light. And mostly because she’d been too caught up in her own pleasure, too focused on her own hang-ups and neuroses and needs, to take a really good look at the man she claimed she knew.