by Judi Lind
Well, if something worked once…
He gripped her by both shoulders and drew her to her feet. Before she had time to protest, he dropped his hands and cupped her face, drawing her mouth to his.
She froze, and her hands rose to his chest, pushing him away. But he was incapable of withdrawal. After a moment, he felt her body soften in his arms, as her lips melded into his in a perfect mating. Her mouth was an echo of her enigmatic personality. She was Mexican candy, sweet, tangy, but with the slightest hint of fiery jalapeño peppers.
Storm kissed her as if they were the last two people on earth. Desperately, frantically, and thoroughly. It was a kiss that couldn’t end, because if it did, the world would surely die with it.
His hands slid down to her hips, and found the firm flesh of her bottom and pulled her close against him, until she moaned at the feel of his arousal. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and the wellspring of desire in his groin bubbled and burned like an active lava pool.
Somehow, a noise penetrated the haze of passion that enveloped him. Voices. Coming closer. Slowly, with great reluctance, he pulled his lips from hers and held her head against his chest until they both recovered from the paralyzing burst of passion that had held them captive.
The murmur of voices drew closer, and he stepped away just as Betty and Mark Bowman came into the room.
“Hey, guys,” Betty said, her wide grin a dead giveaway that she’d taken in the entire situation at a glance. “Miriam sent us to tell you to come eat. She left a plate of sandwiches for you in the fridge. Hank’s turned the power off again, so they probably won’t stay cold long.”
Mark absently tossed a grape into his mouth. “We’ve already eaten, but we’re going downstairs with the others to play Trivial Pursuit. You two should come join us.”
His wife nudged him sharply with her elbow. “I think they have another game in mind, hon.”
He rubbed his side. “What are you talking about? And why’d you hit me?”
Betty hooked her arm through his and winked at the other couple. “You’ll probably have the upstairs to yourselves for, oh, at least an hour.” With that, she tugged on Mark’s arm and pulled him out of the room.
Storm frowned at the departing pair and shook his head. “Women never cease to amaze me.”
“In what way?” Elisa spoke from behind him, her breath warmly perceptible on the back of his neck.
Facing her, he ran the edge of his thumb down her cheek. “Because you’re so smart, so intuitive. Poor old Mark didn’t have a clue, but Betty was wise to us the minute she stepped into the room. How do women do that?”
Elisa chuckled and reached for his shoulders. Turning him around, she marched him toward the mirror over the mantel. Glancing at his image, he finally laughed, too. His hair stood on end in jagged spikes, as if he’d joined a rock band. His face was flushed and his mouth was smeared with the faint pink tinge of Elisa’s lipstick.
He glanced at her reflection. Her hair didn’t look much better. Her lustrous dark tresses were in wild disarray, and her lips were bright and slightly swollen. She looked like a wild, wanton gypsy. And Storm had always had this fantasy about gypsies and all those bright scarves they wore….
He reached to pull her close again, but she did a half pirouette and whirled out of reach. Laughing, she shook her forefinger. “Oh, no, you don’t. You never finished explaining your mitigating circumstances.”
Taking her by the hand, he led her to the sofa, where they sat close in the corner. “Okay, you want mitigating circumstances?”
“Umm-hmmm.”
He scratched his head as if conjuring up the recollection, then explained how he’d come looking for her so that he could apologize. Then he’d heard the voices in the drawing room. From their tone, he’d realized a serious discussion was going on, and he hadn’t wanted to interrupt.
“But I didn’t know if it was you.”
“I see.” Her smile faded, as if the mere remembrance of her conversation with David had instantly spoiled her mood.
Determined to get this over with, he doggedly continued, telling her everything, except that he’d overheard David’s last remark. When he’d warned Elisa that she could be charged with murder.
Storm wanted her to confide in him. To tell him in her own words about her mountainous problems. With all his training in counseling, he had no doubt he could manipulate her into sharing with him. But for some unaccountable reason, he wanted, no, needed her to trust him.
When he’d finished, the atmosphere was no longer sensual or playful. A somber climate of dangerous secrets and lost memories had stolen into the room, robbing them of the few moments of closeness they had shared.
It would be hard for someone like Elisa to open up. She was obviously accustomed to keeping her own counsel, and putting her trust in no one but herself.
To help break the ice, he took her hands in his and gently kneaded her delicate fingers. Without looking into her eyes, he tentatively mentioned that she seemed worried.
“Worried? What on earth would give you that idea?” But she continued avoiding his eyes.
Ignoring her obvious nervous attempt to deflect his curiosity, he continued. “I’m concerned about you. I feel that you might be in danger, but unless you talk to me, I’m helpless.”
She pulled her hands from his grasp under the pretense of smoothing her hair. “So you agree with Heather? You think I’m a danger to myself?”
He looked up, startled. “Of course not! That never entered my mind. Oh, I think you’re in danger, all right, but why am I trying to convince you? You told me yourself that someone pushed you down the stairs.”
“It might have been my imagination.” She touched her temple. “Things have been kind of…hazy for me lately. Heather tells me all the time that I’m confused.”
Reaching up, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted gently until her eyes were locked with his. “That wardrobe falling across your pillow wasn’t your imagination. That was real, and you can’t explain it away as another accident.”
She lowered her gaze, and he saw her bottom lip quiver. “Elisa, you can’t hide from this any longer. You know, or at least have some idea, what’s going on. And harboring secrets may end up getting you killed.”
“I don’t have any secrets,” she whispered. “At least, I can’t remember any.”
He leaned against the cushions and pulled her beside him. Tilting her head onto his shoulder, he lightly massaged her temple with his fingertips. “Why don’t you tell me what you do recall, and we’ll figure out where to go from there?”
After a long hesitation, as if considering her options, she began to tell her story. She started by talking about her relationship with Jay Morrow, a successful securities broker, and how their last dinner had ended on a sour note.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I agreed to go to dinner one last time so we could part company as friends. We moved in the same social circles and knew so many of the same people, it would have been sad if our friendship deteriorated to the point that we couldn’t risk seeing each other in public.”
“Mature decision,” Storm murmured, not wanting to interrupt the flow of her dialogue. “So you had dinner together the next night?”
“Not exactly. Jay didn’t know what time he’d be able to leave the office, some big crisis was going on. So I said I’d meet him there after rehearsal. This is where it starts getting fuzzy.”
“Go ahead, you’re doing fine.”
Drawing another hesitant breath, she closed her eyes, as if by concentrating she could pull the memory from her subconscious. Storm could tell that whatever was coming next had been incredibly traumatic for her.
“I remember arriving at Jay’s office shortly after seven. I was surprised Heather was still there. The rest of the building, in fact the entire business area, was almost deserted. But Heather was still working—she was so devoted to her job. Anyway, she was coming out of his office just as I reache
d the reception area. I asked how much longer he’d be tied up, and she pointed to her telephone console. One red light was blinking. Like a warning beacon. But I didn’t heed the warning.”
“Take it easy,” he intoned, trying to infuse her with the confidence to complete the story. He knew that once she forced herself to talk it out, her share of the burden would be considerably lighter.
“Heather left right away. I sat in the chair and glanced through some of those dull financial magazines. I hate financial stuff—that’s why I have an accountant.”
Storm knew her subconscious was trying to lure her away from a painful experience, so he gently pushed her back on track. “How long did you have to wait?”
Elisa’s voice grew weaker. “After forty minutes, I decided to interrupt.
“Funny,” she said after a brief pause. “It’s like being in a movie and seeing it at the same time. I mean, I can actually hear the whisper of my feet on the thick carpet. I can see my hand reaching for the shiny brass doorknob. I was surprised, because the door was partially open. Anyway, I’m almost sure I actually went into his office, and then…and then…”
She sat bolt upright and turned to face him. The lightlytoasted color of her skin had an ashy undertone, as if she hadn’t been outdoors in a very long time. Her breathing was shallow, and her pulse raced wildly in her throat.
“Shh. Don’t force it, Princess, let it come.”
She tossed her head, her long tresses snapping through the air like whips. “But that’s it! That’s all I remember. I don’t remember any more. If I try too hard, my mind falls into a black hole, like a deep well that’s embedded with jagged shards of glass. Once in a while a piece of that glass will pierce the darkness and I’ll get an image—a cracked and distorted one—but that’s all. I don’t recall another moment about that night.”
“And you haven’t learned any more about what happened? From others, maybe?”
She shrugged and chewed on her bottom lip. “I woke up in the hospital three days later. In Pennsylvania. I’d wrecked my car. Almost totaled myself in the bargain. Thank God no one else was involved. Just me and that ditch.”
“That’s when you injured your ankle?”
“Yeah. A compound fracture. Two shiny little screws now hold my foot on to my leg. Goodbye, career, goodbye, life.”
Storm wanted to gather her into his arms, but he knew instinctively that now wasn’t the time for comfort. She needed to purge the facts of that night. At least as much as she could recall. Forcing a detached, clinical tone into his voice, he asked, “Were the police able to help you reconstruct the events?”
She laughed—a harsh, mirthless sound that clearly told what kind of help she’d received from the authorities. “I could hardly think, my head hurt so bad, but they grilled me for days. Finally, David showed up at the hospital and told me what had happened. Then he told the police not to question me again without my attorney present. They pretty much left me alone after that.”
“So what did David tell you?”
“According to the police reconstruction, which David shared with me, I must have walked into Jay’s office shortly after he’d thrown himself out the window. His office was on the fourteenth floor. Guess it was pretty grisly.”
Her bland, almost robotic recitation of the facts surrounding her former boyfriend’s suicide was enough to tell Storm that she knew more than she’d admitted. But he was concerned that she’d hidden the tormenting secrets so deep in her psyche that she might never retrieve them.
Repressed memories were powerful psychological defense mechanisms. When a person was so shattered he couldn’t bear to face an experience, the human brain was so complex that it would lock those memories away in selfprotection.
Obviously, Elisa had seen something that night. Something frightening enough to cause her to run out and drive for hours. Whatever she’d seen, whatever she knew, kept her in constant danger.
Storm had strong doubts about whether or not the securities broker had committed suicide. And if Elisa had seen what happened, or could somehow pinpoint the killer, her own life was in jeopardy until the murderer was apprehended. But unless she recovered her memory and could give sworn testimony, that wasn’t likely to happen.
Chapter Nine
By the time she’d finished telling Storm about that night, Elisa’s stomach was quivering and shaking as if a giant jellyfish had taken up residence in her abdomen.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
He laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Nah. That’s a good sign. It’s called relief.”
“I don’t feel relieved.”
“Not yet, but you will soon. It’s like you’ve swallowed poison and it’s burning and clenching in your gut, slowly killing you. Then you go to the ER and get your stomach pumped. Afterward, you feel queasy, dizzy, shaky, kind of like you caught the flu. But the poison’s gone. And now your body’s natural healing resources kick into motion. A few minutes later, you’re on your feet and raring to go.”
The corners of her lips tipped upward. Finally she gave in and laughed. “And you said analogies weren’t your strong suit. Why, Doctor, I’ve never heard such a lousy conglomeration of metaphoric hogwash since I gave up creative writing in the tenth grade. Although I’m ashamed to admit, it did make sense. I think.”
He jumped up, winked and extended his hand. “Just call me Dr. Feelgood. Now let’s eat before I start nibbling on your leg.”
Actually, that was a rather enticing idea, Elisa thought as they strolled to the kitchen. But then again, she was famished, so the tempting thought of his lips trailing up her leg would have to be postponed until later. She could wallow in that delicious fantasy tonight, as if it were an adult bedtime story.
Storm pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. The cheery hotelkeeper was at her usual post in front of the sink; otherwise, the room was deserted. “Hey, Miriam,” he called, “looks like everybody abandoned ship when it was time to do the dishes.”
She turned around and swatted at him with her dishtowel. “Speaking of deserters, where have you two been hiding? Or maybe I shouldn’t ask.”
Apparently she’d enjoyed a little tête-à-tête with Betty Bowman. Even with the phone lines down and all means of communication severed, a juicy tidbit of gossip still found its mark. Still, there was no sense denying it. And, strangely enough, he didn’t really care. For the past two years, the island’s matchmakers had plotted to match him up with several local sweet young things. Until now, he’d resisted every attempt.
Once they heard of his “involvement” with Elisa, maybe the well-intentioned old hens would give him a break now. Reaching over to peck Miriam’s neck, he backed against the counter and grinned. “This is the No-Tell Motel, isn’t it? Aren’t your room rates by the hour?”
Her mouth opened wide, in feigned shock, and she flicked him again with the dishtowel. “Well, I swan! Never heard such talk in all my days. Storm Delaney, you’re a pure devil, that’s what you are. Now go on and get your sandwiches before I have to turn you over my knee.”
“Now, Miriam, I know that would be a pure delight, I’m sure, but Hank’s a good friend of mine.” Ducking away from her flapping dishtowel, he pulled a plastic-wrapped plate of sandwiches out of the fridge.
“What on earth put you in such a good mood? Never mind, I don’t think I want to know.” Miriam clucked a few times, and wiped her hands on her apron. Going to the kitchen table, she wrapped an arm around Elisa’s shoulders. “Now don’t you look pretty this afternoon? Storm, she’s too thin. Hurry up with that food.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Miriam’s voice melted to honey when she spoke to Elisa again. “What would you like to drink, sugar? You need you some flesh on these little bones.”
Elisa laughed and patted the older woman’s hand. “You sound just like my mother. Always trying to fatten me up. When I go home she piles plates of food in front of me-tamales, chilaquiles, tortillas, beans,
rice and even more beans.”
“Sounds good to me,” Storm said from over her shoulder. “How about if I go visit your mother?”
He dropped the platter on the kitchen table and started rummaging through the cupboards for sandwich plates.
“There’s paper plates in the that cabinet to your right,” Miriam called. “I don’t want to waste water washing dishes.”
Storm gathered the paper plates and napkins, and drew up a chair. While he and Elisa munched on egg-salad sandwiches, Miriam filled them in on the latest news from the weather bureau.
“Jake’s been hovering within the same hundred-mile radius for almost twenty-four hours now.”
Elisa looked up. “That’s good news, isn’t it? Maybe the hurricane will just dissipate.”
“Not necessarily.” Storm wiped a bit of egg from his mouth. “When stalled like this, most times they’re gathering up more energy. Jake has the potential for being one of the most severe hurricanes of this century.”
Her slightly almond-shaped eyes widened. “Oh, my God. What can we do?”
Miriam hauled herself up from the table and returned to her chores at the sink. “Not much we can do but stay battened down until Mother Nature gets over her temper fit.”
They finished their light meal, and Elisa cleared the table while he grabbed a couple of cans of soda from a cooler beside the refrigerator. Storm realized that their hosts were preparing for a full-fledged hit from the hurricane.
Veterans of many tropical storms and hurricanes, the Danzigers had the situation well in hand. With the canned drinks in the cooler, people wouldn’t constantly open the refrigerator, preserving the perishables a little longer. Before Hank turned off the generator and auxiliary pumps that morning, they’d filled every available container with drinking water.
Then all the men had joined forces to tote canned goods, blankets, kerosene lanterns, flashlights, drinking water and a hundred other minor necessities to the cellar. If the hurricane began closing in, they could haul mattresses and personal belongings downstairs in a matter of minutes. They’d done as much as any mere mortals could accomplish while in the direct path of a deadly natural disaster.