Memories After Midnight

by Linda Randall Wisdom

  She passed by the open doorway that revealed her home office. She paused, then ducked inside.

  Just as with the other rooms, there wasn’t the slightest hint of clutter.

  “Everything in its place,” she murmured, opening the notebook computer on the desk, then deciding this wasn’t the time to peruse the files. Instead, she began opening the drawers of the four-drawer cabinet set against a far wall. In the bottom drawer, she found a folder labeled Divorce Paperwork. She didn’t hesitate as she pulled out a file that turned out to be larger, and heavier, than she expected. She quickly glanced through the papers. “Irreconcilable differences. That says a lot.” At the back she found a burgundy-colored, leather-bound journal and pulled it out. The rest of the file she put back in the drawer and quietly closed it. She left the office and shut herself up in the bathroom with the journal lying on the counter as she readied herself for a bath.

  She fancied the book mocking her as she studied her collection of scented bath crystals, bath oils and body washes, and it lured her as she slid down into the water. But for now, she closed her eyes against temptation and allowed the heat of the water to permeate muscles she hadn’t realized were tense until now.

  I should have left it in the drawer. I’m not mentally, or emotionally, ready to do this now.

  Alex’s hands tightened into fists under the water’s surface. The tension she’d felt leaving her body was returning in waves. She opened her eyes and turned her head to the side so she could see the object that was taunting her.

  Would the answers she sought be found in that book or was it wishful thinking on her part? Did she think that looking in there meant she would find what she needed and her memory would miraculously return? Would it explain why Dylan acted so distant toward her or why she felt so very alone that didn’t have anything to do with her injuries? Her movements were slow and deliberate as she pulled a towel off the rack overhead and rolled it up, settling it behind her neck. She closed her eyes again, slowly breathed in and out and forced her body to relax.

  The journal would still be there when she finished with her bath. And by then she might be prepared to read the contents.

  Might.

  After her bath, Alex walked out to the living room.

  “Do you have everything you need?” she asked Dylan, who was seated on the couch with Clarence, the fickle feline, stretched out beside him. A football game played on her flat-screen television, providing background noise. His cell phone lay on the coffee table in front of him along with a can of Diet Coke. Her fingers itched to slide a coaster under the can.

  “I will if the Chargers win,” he said. His gaze sharpened as he took in her tousled hair and the yellow robe wrapped around her. “How about you? Are you okay?”

  Alex shrugged. “I’ve been better,” she said honestly. “I thought I’d pour myself a glass of wine and go to bed.”

  Dylan glanced at the small ornamental clock set on a nearby table. “One, not a good idea with pain meds. Two, it’s not even eight o’clock. Normally, the sandman doesn’t come for you until midnight or so.”

  She shifted from one bare foot to the other. “First of all, I haven’t taken any since much earlier today. As for everything else, I have not had a normal twenty-four hours, so going to bed now seems like a really good idea.” She forced a smile to her lips. She noticed his gaze softening and a hint of puzzlement in his expression. “I know, I know, once again, this isn’t me. But what is me?” Her voice quavered.

  Dylan reached for the remote control and switched off the TV.

  “Your football game,” she protested.

  “I can read the final scores in the morning paper.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll get you some wine. You sit down here and we’ll talk.” He headed for the kitchen.

  “I don’t want to talk about what I do and don’t remember,” she called after him. “I feel as if I’m nothing more than a case number.”

  “Fine by me.” The sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing could be heard, then the refrigerator door opening.

  Alex settled herself in a corner of the couch, pulling her legs up and draping her robe around her chilly feet. She wished she’d thought to put on slippers to keep them warm. On second thought, she should have thought to put a nightgown on under her robe. Maybe Dylan didn’t feel anything for her, but she was running on emotions that were two years old and she felt a stirring deep inside her that wasn’t easy to deny. She rested her forehead on her drawn-up knees, then lifted her head when something gentle bumped her elbow. Dylan held out a wineglass. She took it and forced herself to take a small sip. She really wanted to gulp it all down.

  “Is Celeste helping you with my case?” she asked in an attempt to make casual conversation.

  He took the other end of the couch and rested with his back against the side so he could face her. He had picked up his can of Coke and rolled the can between his palms. He shook his head.

  “Nope, it’s just me.”

  “I was always jealous of her.” Her confession slipped past her lips before she could call it back.

  Dylan looked surprised. “Of Celeste? Why? She’s my partner. Thinking of her in any other way would be, well, almost incestuous. Plus I don’t have anything to do with married women.”

  “Married?” She blinked in shock. “Celeste is married?”

  “For about eight months now.” He paused to sip his Coke. “She’s married to Luc Dante.”

  “The owner of Dante’s Café?” She felt off balance again. What had happened in the past two years? She might as well have been stranded on a deserted island.

  “We investigated a series of rapes a year ago, and the perpetrator turned out to be one of Luc’s partners,” he replied. “Celeste now spends her off hours helping out as a bartender.”

  Alex uttered a short laugh as she processed information new to her.

  Dylan leaned forward. “You said you were jealous of her,” he said slowly. “Did you think Celeste and I had an affair? Is that why you shut me out?”

  “No,” she protested, while silently wondering exactly what the trouble between them had been. She thought about asking, but after his refusing to tell her before she doubted he would now. “I guess I was jealous of the closeness you two shared. You could finish each other’s sentences. Sometimes it was as if you read each other’s minds.”

  “Partners are like that,” he said. “We need to be in sync if we’re going to be effective. But like I said before, I wouldn’t dream of any kind of intimate relationship with Celeste. All my intimate thoughts were centered on you,” he murmured.

  Alex took another sip of her wine to cool down the heat that had settled low in her body. She remembered times when Dylan only had to say a few words and the need for them to be alone was so strong they’d left parties. She could tell by the darkening of his eyes he felt it, too.

  “I wish—” she started, then stopped. Dylan cocked an eyebrow, silently indicating she continue with her statement. “I’m sorry things changed.” Now she wished she hadn’t begun this conversation. She had lost too many memories due to the blow to her head. “Is there anything else I may have forgotten in the past two years?” she asked, still resisting the urge to gulp her wine.

  He reached over and took the glass out of her hand. “No reason to chug the good stuff,” he said, setting the glass on the coffee table. “Stryker got married not long ago.”

  Alex wrapped her arms around her knees. “Jared Stryker got married? The man who claimed there isn’t a woman alive who could put up with him?”

  Dylan chuckled. “Yeah, I reminded him of that not long after he and Rachel got married. He laughed as if he’d just heard the funniest joke of all time. Funny thing about it was that he had kept her such a deep, dark secret we didn’t even know he was seeing anyone.”

  Alex shook her head in bemusement. “No wonder you didn’t want to tell me anything.” She shot him a sly look. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind discussing our divor
ce now.”

  He picked up her wineglass and handed it to her. “Nice try, Princess. I’ll give you the basics of anything but that.”

  “But that’s a part of what I need to know,” she argued. She might have forgotten some important things, including their divorce, but she didn’t forget what the implacable look in his eyes meant. She knew from past experience, at least the past she remembered, that when he said he wasn’t going to discuss something, he meant exactly that.

  “As far as I’m concerned it was bad enough that first night I told you we were divorced.” He shook his head in disgust. “By my telling you things you don’t remember I might be giving you false memories that you’ll rely on without working them out on your own.”

  She thought of the journal that now resided on her bedside table and chose not to mention her newfound possession. Dylan might decide confiscation was in order. She glanced at her wineglass. It was almost empty.

  “May I have more, please?” She held up the glass.

  Dylan nodded and took her glass. When he returned it to her she noticed it wasn’t as full as before.

  “I would think the bottle would have yielded more than barely two glasses,” she commented, holding her glass up to eye level, then turning to Dylan with a considering gaze.

  “You still need to be careful.” The couch cushions shifted as he sat back down.

  “Afraid if I have too much wine I’ll forget something else?” Her voice had a definite bite to it, but there was the faintest of quavers along the edge, as if she was having trouble holding in her emotions. She glared at him. “What now? Am I not allowed to have a hissy fit?”

  Dylan’s lips lifted at the corners. “Hissy fit? Now, that would be something to see.”

  Enraged, Alex jumped to her feet and slammed her glass so hard on the coffee table a crack appeared along the stem. With lightning reflexes, Dylan reached forward and grabbed the glass by the bowl before it broke entirely. She didn’t bother saying a word as she walked around the corner of the couch and headed for the back of the apartment. A moment later, her bedroom door slammed so hard Dylan was surprised the wood didn’t crack as easily as her glass.

  “That went well,” he murmured, standing up and walking into the kitchen to dispose of the wine and cracked glass. His mind whirled as he took care of domestic chores and returned to the living room. He turned the television back on, but the football game didn’t hold his interest. Not after the show Alex had just put on. The woman just had about as close to a full-blown tantrum as someone could have. She also looked scared to death.

  Dylan was seeing a side of his ex-wife he’d never seen before. Alex had always been in control. To see her frightened and confused was new to him. And he knew it was just as new to her. It didn’t help that it seemed every ten minutes they were ending up with more questions before they could get the first batch answered.

  What happened with our marriage? Where did we go wrong? Was that his voice speaking inside his head or hers? It had taken Dylan a long time to work through the pain of the divorce and put it all behind him. If his temper hadn’t gotten the best of him in divorce court, he knew Alex would have done away with the token alimony. But no, he had to open his big mouth, tick off the judge and Alex. He’d taken his revenge by concocting the most annoying ways to make the payments. After all, there was nothing in writing to state he had to make them by check or cash. At first, he reveled in creating the most outrageous and obnoxious payments he could come up with. There were times he called himself a genius.

  Now he’d probably call himself an idiot with the mind of a pubescent boy looking for anything that would create a reaction. He knew what had caused the change inside him. It had started with Celeste’s marriage to Luc. He saw her enjoying marital bliss and recalled the early days when he and Alex had been in love. Then, surprise of all surprises, Jared Stryker had up and married a mystery woman no one knew anything about.

  Until now, Dylan had preferred to think about his marriage as little as possible. But the attack on Alex changed all that. Now he not only thought about it but tried to think about what went wrong, on what he’d done to drive her away. Just as a marriage took two, so did a divorce. He knew if he had truly loved her he should have fought harder to keep her.

  So why was he full of regret?

  Alex glanced at the journal as she exchanged her robe for a nightgown. Once she was settled in bed with the covers carefully arranged around her, she reached over for the book and opened it, glancing at the contents written in her handwriting. She noticed a loose sheet of paper tucked in the back of the book and pulled it out. It was dated almost two years before.

  I know Dylan doesn’t understand the divorce, but I had to do it. It was a mistake to marry him when I needed to concentrate fully on my career. I thought I was in love, but was I really or was it nothing more than overworked hormones? My mother once told me I was overemotional at times. That I wouldn’t get ahead unless I put my emotions on hold and got ahead with business. I realized what was happening the day I was willing to take a day off from work to go to the beach with Dylan. My parents never took a day off from work, didn’t believe in veering from their chosen path. What they got out of it was a thriving law practice and…and…and a daughter who never knew her parents because they were never there when their work meant more to them than she did.

  Oh, what have I done? I had the chance to have everything my parents didn’t have. And I threw it all away because I convinced myself it wasn’t possible.

  I was blind and stupid and I didn’t give us a chance. No wonder Dylan hates me, and I have no one to blame but myself. All I can do is live with my regrets and hope that Dylan will have the rich, full life he truly deserves.

  Alex didn’t miss the splotches that looked very much like tearstains on the bottom of the paper. Her fingers trembled as she carefully folded the paper and just as carefully placed it in the back of the book, where she found a dried pink rosebud tucked into a plastic bag. She set the book back on her night table.

  Alex stared at the book, lost in so many memories. She recalled the pink roses Dylan sent her the day after they met. She had looked up their meaning to discover they meant please believe me. And that their being without thorns meant love at first sight. She thought back to her joy of meeting the man of her dreams, and not to the sorrow that she had single-handedly destroyed their relationship.

  She reached over and switched off her lamp, then scooted down under the covers. The muted sound of the television coming from the living room soothed her into slumber. But as the night progressed, her sense of security receded until shadows of menacing figures and splashes of blood disturbed her dreams. She cried out softly in her sleep and thrashed around in the bed, but never fully awoke.

  He was not a patient man when his own welfare was at stake.

  As he waited for the telephone call that would assure him his life had returned to normal, he sat at his desk studying the contents of a portfolio he had just retrieved from his wall safe. The etchings were very old and erotic, but it wasn’t the blatant sexual acts that aroused him as much as the expressions of pain on the women’s faces. He had paid a great deal of money to have the etchings stolen from another collector. Every time he spoke to the man at a party or fund-raiser he secretly gloried in the fact he now owned what the other once did.

  He allowed the telephone to ring three times before he picked up.

  “Do you have my property, Leonard?”

  “Not yet.” Leonard didn’t bother going into details unless his boss asked for them.

  Even if he valued the man’s honesty, he didn’t appreciate his failure to reach such an easy goal. His expression tightened. “Do not offer me any excuses. I do not want to hear any whining. The only reason you need to contact me is to inform me you have my property.”

  “It turned out the unit number we had for her was wrong and we didn’t find out until it was too late. Not until some old lady walked in and started screaming as if
we were low-life burglars or somethin’,” the man told him, easily sensing his employer was not happy. “Then some guy was yelling and we had to get out of there fast. We just have to go back and find the right place.”

  “Tell me, Leonard, how do you plan to do that? The lady’s address and telephone number are unlisted. So do you intend to break into each and every apartment there? Or do you intend to ask for her by name?” He clenched his fist so tightly his knuckles turned white. “No, you will do nothing.”

  “You want us to come back without it?” He sounded surprised. He knew his employer well. Orders were given to stay in Sierra Vista until they found the item. The boss wasn’t one to disobey.

  “Of course not.” He forced his jaw to relax. “What I want is for you to remain there until you have retrieved my property. Where are you staying? And you are using the cell phone I provided for you, aren’t you?”

  “We’re at some bed-and-breakfast that’s on the edge of town. And yeah, I’m using your phone. I even drove a few miles out of town before calling you.”

  “Stay away from where she lives until you hear from me. I will call you tomorrow evening with the appropriate unit number.” He hated the idea of having to wait another day, but he had no choice.

  “We can find out without anyone the wiser.”

  He knew his men well, and their methods for obtaining information could be painful for some. He still hoped to keep this operation low-key. If he had someone other than himself to blame for this fiasco he would gladly heap the blame on them and make them pay for their error.

  “I will take care of discovering the information you need.” Ice covered each word. “Stay out of bars and out of trouble.” He disconnected and barely managed to stop slamming the phone down on the cradle. He vowed that if the men didn’t succeed with their task, he would make sure the incompetent louts ended up at the bottom of San Francisco Bay.

  He regretted that he hadn’t done the intelligent thing and had the records encrypted. It was the only mistake he had ever made. Now the disk could destroy everything he’d carefully built over the years.