Chapter 5
“What if I underwent hypnosis? Maybe that could free whatever is trapped in my subconscious.”
Dylan leaned against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. If such a thing was possible he looked both relaxed and alert for any danger that might come up. He was presently less-than-patiently waiting for enough coffee to drip into the pot so he could have a cup. He was positive the coffeemaker was deliberately taking its time in order to torture him. No wonder Alex’s entrance and abrupt statements made absolutely no sense to his caffeine-deprived brain. He thought about her question for a moment before he replied.
“I think you should talk to your doctor first and see what he thinks. My layman’s opinion is pretty much a resounding no. I tried hypnosis when I wanted to stop smoking and it didn’t work. Yes, I know some therapists who use it are successful, and yes, some people achieve their desired results. Maybe my failure came from the idea of coming out of the doctor’s office flapping my arms and clucking like a chicken.”
Alex’s lips twitched as she looked down at the floor. “Now, there’s a picture,” she said, trying not to laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember ever seeing you smoke. How did you stop?”
“I smoked through school and up until about a year or so before we met. It was easy to quit when Celeste started charging me a buck every time she found a cigarette on me or discovered I sneaked a smoke. The woman was a regular little bulldog when it came to making sure I didn’t light up. Trust me, it was easy to quit after she threw a real nice barbecue for the department thanks to me,” he said ruefully.
Dylan squinted at Alex through tired eyes. No wonder it wasn’t advised for cops to investigate cases involving family members or someone you were emotionally involved with. You just plain couldn’t work when your head wasn’t on straight. He didn’t consider himself emotionally involved with Alex, unless he considered the insanity he’d created with his crazy alimony payments. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was involved more than as a concerned ex-husband. The past couple of days had shown him a whole new Alex. She wasn’t the same woman he’d first fallen in love with or even the woman he’d divorced. He felt she was someone even better. And now she was standing in front of him looking more approachable than he’d seen her in some time.
Her forest-green linen pants and short-sleeved cream, brick-red, olive-green and dark tan top looked as if they had just come off the dry cleaner’s hanger. A round-cut topaz in a deep olive shade dropped from a delicate gold chain, nestling in the faint hollow of her breasts. She’d pulled her hair up into a high ponytail that trailed across her nape. Apparently she didn’t care that the stitches showed. Another sign of the new Alex. She still wasn’t able to easily cover up the cuts and bruises that decorated her face. He wondered if he would ever lose the memory of seeing her bruised and battered.
“I’d like nothing more than to have a few minutes alone with the bastard who did that to you,” he murmured.
She smiled slightly. “Be a gentleman, Dylan, and let me have a go at him first.” She chuckled at his look of surprise. “History will tell you that women can be bloodthirsty, too. Right now, I’d like to have the chance to get a little payback.”
“No problem. I’ll even hold him down for you.” He poured a second cup of coffee and held it out to her.
“How shall we start off the day?” she asked, accepting his offer. They felt that old awareness spark between them so strongly that Alex almost dropped the cup. She stepped away and wrapped her fingers around the bowl for the warmth.
He paused in sipping the life-sustaining brew. “We?”
Alex nodded. “As in you and me. I told you I intend to be a part of the investigation whether you like it or not.” She sipped the hot liquid with caution. The whisper of a sigh of enjoyment escaped her lips as the high-octane caffeine hit her system with full force.
Dylan sighed. “I thought about going by the station to corner Whitmire and see if he has anything new that he’s conveniently forgotten to tell me about.”
“I thought he would call you if he learned anything,” she said, leaning back against the counter. “He knows you’re part of the investigation.”
“Whitmire has issues where I’m concerned. If he can get away with keeping me out of the loop, he will. He knows I won’t complain to the lieutenant, since I prefer to fight my own battles. Plus, Lieutenant Adams would just yank me off the case, figuring I was acting like a pain in Whitmire’s butt.” He glanced at his watch. “Since food hasn’t magically appeared in your refrigerator since yesterday morning, I guess we’ll go out for some breakfast first.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll call Janet and remind her I won’t be in today.” She reached for her phone. After she completed her call, she finished her coffee, rinsed out the cup and placed it in the dishwasher.
Dylan flipped open his cell phone and spoke a name for instant dialing.
“Dante,” Celeste murmured.
“Hey, ’Leste, it’s me. Anything come up from Forensics about Alex’s attack?” he asked. He could hear a rustle of papers in the background, then the click of computer keys.
“Nothing, and I just checked your e-mail to make sure there was nothing there,” she replied. “Alan is in if you want to talk to him.”
Dylan frowned. “How could you check my e-mail?”
“Oh, please, your password is your favorite cartoon character. It took me all of five minutes to figure that one out.”
“What’s your password?” he asked.
“If I can figure yours out, you can try to figure mine out. Do you want me to transfer you to Alan’s extension? Or do you want to speak to the lieutenant?”
“I don’t really have time to talk to either one right now. I’ll be coming in in a little while to talk to Whitmire,” he decided.
“No prob.” She paused. “Everything okay there?”
Dylan was aware Celeste knew more than anyone what he went through before, during and after his divorce. She was a good friend he knew he could count on.
“Her memory is still spotty, but she’s holding up pretty well,” he replied.
“You need to be careful, Dylan.” She spoke in a low voice so no one would overhear her if they stood near her desk.
“This is part of the job, ’Leste.” He knew what she was thinking. He and his partner had been in sync enough times for him to know what was going on in her head. She was worried about his getting emotionally involved since he and Alex shared such an emotional past. “The attacker can’t hide forever. Either me or Whitmire will find out who went after Alex and one day she’ll wake up with her memory intact. At that time, we’ll be grateful to go our separate ways. Now, I gotta go.”
“Okay,” she conceded, even if she didn’t totally believe him. “I’ll see you when you get in, then.”
Dylan closed his phone and slipped it onto his belt clip. As he turned, he realized he was no longer alone. Alex stood in the kitchen doorway. There was no expression on her face. She had completely closed herself off from him. He had a bad feeling it had to do with his phone call.
“Alex,” he began, deciding to meet her head-on. Get her to open up. Maybe now she would, unlike the way she’d been toward the end of their marriage.
She shook her head. “Everything is fine,” she said, anticipating the rest of his question. “This is a hard time for both of us.” She turned away.
We’ll be grateful to go our separate ways. Alex couldn’t imagine why the words hurt so much. Dylan had already told her they hadn’t had much contact since their divorce. If he didn’t want to be around her that much, why was he here now? Why was he going out of his way to help her?
Alex blinked rapidly to hold back the tears as she reached for her purse. She sensed that if she remembered all the details of their divorce, what she had just overheard wouldn’t have affected her the way it did.
Or maybe it would have hurt even more. She looked down at her hand and noticed her knuck
les were white with tension from holding on to the strap so tightly. She made an effort to loosen her grip. When she looked up she found Dylan watching her with an odd expression on his face.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “In fact, I’d feel even better if people would stop asking me if I’m all right.”
Dylan held up his hands in surrender and immediately backed off. “Message received.” He pulled his key ring out of his pants pocket.
Alex looked down at Clarence, who was twining his body around her legs. “I’m sure you’ll be fine while we’re gone,” she assured the cat.
Dylan smiled. “Don’t worry, Alex. Before you know it, life will be back to the way it was.”
Alex nodded and proceeded toward the stairs. She didn’t tell Dylan that she wasn’t sure she wanted her old life back—she wasn’t certain she would enjoy it as she must have before.
Dylan should have realized there was a chance Alex could overhear his conversation with Celeste. He would have thought that she would be relieved when her life returned to normal. He felt she had been hurt enough and the idea that he’d inadvertently hurt her further distressed him. He only hoped he could find a way to make it up to her.
But as they sat in his pickup truck, he sensed Alex shifting in her seat as she looked out the window. “Anything in particular you’re hungry for?”
“Could we just go back to where we went yesterday?” she asked. “It’s basically a restaurant where police go, so we might feel safer talking about the case, wouldn’t we? There would be no worries about someone overhearing something they shouldn’t.”
Dylan grinned. “Sweetheart, even cops gossip, but they’ll give us our space and we should have no trouble finding a booth for some privacy. Then I need to run by my place and shower and change.”
“We can do that first if you’d prefer,” she offered.
He flipped on the turn signal and quickly changed lanes. “It won’t take me long.”
Alex continued looking out the window. “Do you still hate it when you don’t shave first thing in the morning?” Her voice was subdued, almost hesitant.
“Yeah. I never could go for the scruffy look,” he said almost cheerfully. “My beard always itched too much.”
She cocked her head to one side as she studied him. “You really don’t trust Detective Whitmire to keep you updated, do you?”
He shook his head. “I told you. He has issues with me. I guess if I was being honest, I’d say I have issues with him, too. Plus, I’ll need to file a report about last night.”
“Did you call the hospital this morning and ask about Mrs. Bridger?” She looked guilty. “I should have thought of that first thing.”
“According to the nurses’ station, she’s still under sedation,” he replied. “You have a lot on your mind, Alex. You can’t handle everything that comes along. Sometimes you have to trust that it will all come out okay.”
She shook her head. “The only way you can be sure something is done right is to do it yourself.”
Dylan remembered her making similar statements before. He was determined this time around to show her it took two. They had once worked well together. He didn’t see any reason why they couldn’t do it again. He just had to remember to protect his heart this time around.
He thought of the nights they’d stayed up late debating anything and everything. Dylan had seen a part of her that had him falling more in love with her every day. He’d looked forward to waking up in the morning, seeing her face on the pillow next to him and falling asleep with her nestled in his arms. He’d never thought of himself as a romantic guy, but Alex had brought out that side of him. He had flowers delivered to her. He sent her silly cards and risqué poems. Then there were those midnight picnics when he was off duty that had more to do with seduction than food.
He shifted uneasily in the seat as he realized his memories were on the verge of giving him an erection. He determinedly shifted his thoughts from sex to the hell that shot up in their marriage toward the end. Except instead of fire heating up his nether regions, he felt more an icy cold. Now he felt more in control. He only hoped it would last.
Alex looked out the window again, then turned in the seat so she could face him. “This is our street,” she said uncertainly. Her hands, lying in her lap, twisted together.
Dylan kept his gaze squarely on the windshield in front of him. “I kept the house.” He’d be happy if she didn’t ask him any more questions. Except Alex didn’t believe in not asking questions. He used to tease her that it was the lawyer in her that kept the questions coming at warp speed. She always believed she needed to know everything. Now he feared that bringing her to the house was a mistake even if he intended to take the fastest shower in history and get them out of there before memories of her haunted the premises again. Since he needed more changes of clothing, he had no choice but to stop at the house. He noticed her shoulders stiffen as he steered the car toward a one-story house set in the center of a cul-de-sac.
“It’s a different color,” she whispered, staring at the dark cream exterior with redwood trim.
Dylan remembered the hours Alex had spent poring over paint samples. All we were doing back then was playing house. Not building a marriage.
He ruthlessly tamped down the thoughts that had haunted him for some time. He’d gone through enough what-ifs back when he was served with the divorce papers. He pulled into the driveway and stopped the car.
“I shouldn’t be too long.” He slanted her a look as he opened the driver’s door. “Do you want to come in?”
Yes. No. She took a deep breath as she looked at the house that she remembered they’d looked forward to turning into a real home. Instead she was living in a condo that looked as impersonal and sterile as a hotel room. The only homey touch there was Clarence.
“If you wouldn’t mind.” She waited until he opened the door for her. She noticed he barely touched her hand as he helped her out. Was her touch suddenly that unbearable? She wondered anew what had prompted the severing of their relationship.
“Just don’t scream,” he warned her as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. He quickly punched in a disarming code for the alarm and allowed her to enter.
“Why would I…?” Alex swallowed the sounds of horror that crawled up her throat as she faced a cluttered living room that looked more like a clothing store after an earthquake. A sweatshirt was draped over the back of a chair while a green polo shirt and a pair of jeans was tossed in a chair. Battered tennis shoes lay near the couch, along with a black baseball cap bearing SVPD in red embroidery on the front. Her fingers itched to pick up the discarded clothing, but she knew she didn’t have the right. “It’s fine,” she said faintly, moving over to the one chair that was empty of items.
Dylan hid a grin as he moved down the hallway to the rear of the house, where she knew the master bedroom lay. “I won’t be long,” he told her.
Where is all the gorgeous furniture I picked out? Alex laid her palm against her throat as she looked around the room. She didn’t see one familiar piece of furniture or accessory.
Her beloved colorful throw pillows were gone, no decorative vases, no artwork! The only decoration she could find was a battered coaster on the coffee table in the family room and a handgun magazine lying near the chair facing the flat-screen TV placed on the wall over the fireplace, where her favorite impressionist print used to hang.
Alex didn’t know whether to scream or cry. This wasn’t the house she’d once lived in. She roamed aimlessly through the living room to the family room and kitchen in search of anything that might seem familiar to her. She glanced out the patio door that led to the backyard and noticed a small table and a few chairs out there along with an elaborate gas grill. She noted a basketball backboard attached to the roof at the edge of the patio.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he even replaced the grass. She moved past the refrigerator she was tempted to
peek into and returned to the living room. She paused to stare at the fireplace. She rewound her memory bank until she could mentally access a particular night. Dylan had brought home a sheepskin rug, then laid it out in front of the hearth along with a bottle of wine and one glass for them to share. Dylan enjoyed sharing, she recalled with a smile. That evening was one she knew she would never forget. Her smile dimmed as another memory pushed its way upward.
“You need to make a choice, Alex. You need to decide what’s more important. Or maybe I should say who.”
She dug her fingers into her palms as she tried desperately to hang on to the fleeting memory.
When Dylan entered the room, he was dressed in a pair of black jeans and a charcoal polo shirt that echoed the color of his eyes. His hair was still damp from his shower. A faint hint of woodsy aftershave drifted toward her as he came closer. He set down the small duffel bag he carried. She couldn’t believe how grateful she was that he still used the same aftershave.
He glanced over at her as he fastened his watch around his wrist. “What’s wrong?”
She tried to be casual, shrug off her feelings, but she couldn’t. “Everything is different here,” she murmured. “Unfamiliar.”
Dylan grimaced. “I’m sorry, I should have realized this would be a bad idea.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “Here I’ve been telling you you need to discover that missing time on your own and then I bring you to the last place you should be in.”
“What happened to our furniture?” she asked, experiencing more pain than anger at so many changes in the house she remembered as a newlywed’s nest. She tossed up her hands. “To everything else?”
“You didn’t want any of it,” he admitted. “So I had a yard sale.”
Alex stared down at the floor. Even the carpet was a different color and texture. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to scream or hit him. At the moment, the idea of committing bodily harm was winning the battle. She swallowed every angry word rolling around inside her. They burned her throat like acid.
Memories After Midnight Page 9