by Rita Herron
“No. So far, we haven’t found any for him or her,” Doug, the male investigator, said.
“Condoms?” Luke gritted his teeth while he waited.
The female, Jill, shook her head. “None in here.”
“I didn’t find any in the bedroom, either,” Doug added.
Luke frowned. Stella had always insisted on condoms. So had he, for that matter.
Then again, maybe she and the dead man hadn’t gotten to the nitty-gritty yet.
Luke rushed to the bedroom, checked the nightstand. Empty except for the motel Bible.
He closed the drawer with a scowl, then approached the body again, parking himself by the M.E. “What do we have so far?”
“It appears he died of multiple gunshot wounds. Two to the chest. Close range. My guess from the size of the wound, a .38.”
The same kind of gun Stella had been holding.
“Any other injuries?”
Dr. Yates rolled the man to his side, indicating several bruises that marked his lower back. Others, less noticeable due to the blood on his chest, covered his torso. And another one darkened his thigh.
“Any signs that he had a weapon?” Luke asked.
“No powder burns on his hands. There is some blood under his fingernails. We’ll send it to trace.” The M.E. glanced up and frowned. “There are hair fibers that appear to match the woman’s.”
Luke spotted a long, black strand of hair caught in the man’s finger and his stomach knotted. “Any evidence that indicates someone else might have been in the room?”
The crime scene techies returned. “We’ve found a few short brown hairs in the bathroom,” the sandy-haired CSU guy reported. “They don’t appear to belong to the victim or suspect.”
Jill shot a look of disdain around the room. “Could be a product of a shoddy cleaning staff,” she muttered. “You know they rent these rooms by the hour.”
Luke nodded. “Bag and tag all of it. I want every inch searched, including the bathroom.” He glanced back at Stella, bracing himself for his next move. “I’ll arrange for a doctor to examine her, and make sure he goes over her body with a fine-toothed comb. He’ll look for defensive wounds, signs of sexual activity, blood, semen, DNA from the victim and any other source.”
“She’s already asked to shower,” Jill remarked, a hint of derisiveness in her tone. “At least she isn’t screaming rape.”
Luke aimed a frigid stare toward the tech. “This is a murder investigation, so let’s stick with the evidence. Stella claims she has no memory. We don’t know what happened, and until then, we can’t rule out any possibility.”
The woman’s expression went from cocky to chastised in a flash.
He exhaled, then pivoted to study Stella again, to look for the lies and the truth in the woman he’d married. She was shaking violently now, had her arms wrapped around herself in a blatant attempt to hold herself together. Either that, or she was a consummate actress.
Still, her hair was disheveled, dried blood crusted her fingers and nightgown, and the pale skin of her legs was showing. His eyes narrowed. A long scar glistened along the bottom edge of the nightshirt—a scar that hadn’t been there a year ago. And he would know. He’d loved, kissed and touched every inch of her.
“She can’t clean up until she’s thoroughly examined,” he said, shutting out the memory. “And I’ll inform the doc to examine that scar on her leg. I want to know how long it’s been there and what caused it. Our psychiatrist will also conduct a complete neurological. Let’s see if her amnesia is for real.” He jerked his gaze back to the crime scene agents. “Get me the results from here as soon as all of you are finished.”
He strode toward Stella just as Detective Black snapped the handcuffs on her delicate wrists.
STELLA GLANCED UP at the federal agent, Luke Devlin, the handcuffs rubbing heavily against her skin as the detective gripped her shoulder to lead her from the room. For a brief second, she thought something flickered in the man’s enigmatic eyes—a look that hinted at an apology. Or maybe a promise that he would help her. That she wasn’t alone in the world of darkness that had become her life.
But the feeling disappeared as if it had never existed, and tremors racked her body again, a trapped feeling overwhelming her. She had been trapped before. Had been held against her will. Made to do unspeakable things. And a man had been involved. A black-haired man with cold, black eyes.
Then she had tried to escape.
But there were harsh punishments for that.
Snatches of memories, all in black and white, blurred reality, and the room twirled and spun in a dizzying frenzy. She saw herself—running, running, running. But she could never escape. Never outrun the demons.
The detective cleared his throat. “Mrs. Devlin…are you all right?”
She blinked at the sound of the title, the agent’s face wobbling back into focus along with the voices and murmurings of other officers. The stench of the dead man’s body floated toward her, then the overwhelming scent of another man invaded her space—Luke Devlin.
He carried with him a commanding air, a mixture of a spicy, woodsy scent that simmered with sexuality, a scent that overrode the worst of the stench in the room.
Had she really married this stranger? And if so, why didn’t his face look familiar?
She took one more look at the dead man’s body on the bed and nausea rose to meet with the clogged air in her throat, renewing her panic. The man was dead. She had no idea who he was. Or who had murdered him.
But she was going to jail for the crime.
She would be locked behind bars, a prisoner…
Just as she had been before.
She balked and drew back, stiffening and digging in her heels. The men halted. Another officer reached for his gun as if preparing to fire if she attempted to escape.
“Relax. We’re taking you to the hospital to be examined,” Detective Black said in a low voice. “Agent Devlin is arranging for a CSI team to collect evidence and have you evaluated.”
Luke Devlin approached her, closing his cell phone as he stopped by her side. He stood towering over her, a mass of muscle, black hair and intimidating eyes. “I’ll escort her, Detective.”
A mixture of unease and relief poured through her. If this man had married her, he must care about her. Surely he would help her figure out the truth. Help her regain her memory. Keep her from prison. But the rigid grip of his fingers as he half dragged her to the police car indicated differently.
Outside, she gulped, startling as thunder rent the air, and lightning zigzagged across the gray, mantled sky. It was pitch-black, not a star in sight.
She shifted and looked up at Luke Devlin. His eyes were the same eerie combination of black and gray.
This man might have claimed to be her husband, but would he really help her?
And what if the memory of being trapped meant she had been trapped by him…
THE VULNERABILITY in Stella’s green eyes stole Luke’s breath. When they’d stepped outside, panic had tightened her slender body.
She was scared.
Dammit, she should be. Every piece of circumstantial evidence so far pointed to the fact that she had murdered a man. Probably in cold blood. Maybe even premeditated.
And now she was hiding behind a smoke screen of amnesia.
How common was memory loss anyway?
They descended the steps, his instincts as an agent warring with a compassionate side he hadn’t known he possessed. A side that no one else had ever touched.
But he had pledged vows to this woman. Promised to protect, honor and love her for the rest of their lives. As bitter and cold as he liked to believe he was, he was a man of his word.
They reached the car, and he opened the back door, then squared his shoulders, and helped her inside. Part of him wanted to drive her to some hideaway, a place where they could talk and be alone.
Someplace where he could have his damned unfinished wedding night. Maybe if he made
love to her, she’d remember him. He sure as hell hadn’t forgotten her touch. Or what her lips had done to his body. And how it felt to sink himself inside her.
Detective Fox, Adam Black’s partner, jumped into the driver’s seat while Luke claimed the passenger side. “To the hospital?” Fox asked.
Luke gave a clipped nod. “Yes.”
A sound of distress rippled from Stella, but Luke ignored it and gestured for Fox to drive. Thunder barreled and rolled across the moonless sky, and rain began to pound the roof.
The ten-minute ride seemed like an hour. Fox was forced to a crawl from the heavy rainfall. Luke occupied himself by phoning the hospital to confirm that the doctor who worked for the police department was available to examine Stella. Fox parked in the emergency entrance, and angled himself toward Luke.
“You want me to wait?” Fox asked.
Luke shook his head. “No, I’ll assume custody of her now.”
Stella gave him a helpless, frightened look from the back, but he ignored it. Although when he climbed out, he shucked off his jacket and wrapped it around her arms to shield her from probing eyes as he coaxed her into the hospital. She halted in the entrance, her body trembling. He smoothed a damp strand of hair from her cheek in comfort, but she pulled away from him, as if he were the enemy.
“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked in a low, shaky voice.
“They’re going to examine you, take trace evidence. Make sure you’re healthy enough to…”
“To be arrested?”
His gaze met hers. “This exam is as much for your safety and protection as it is for us, Stella. They might discover evidence that someone else was at the crime scene, too.”
Or that she’d been assaulted and had defended herself. He latched onto the thought. As awful as that idea was, the other possibilities were more daunting.
She bit down on her lip, her tangled hair falling over her forehead and across her cheek. He was tempted to reach out and push it back again, but jammed his hand inside his pocket instead. He couldn’t allow himself to touch her. The other officers would see what a complete and utter fool he’d been. Think he’d lost his edge and couldn’t function on the case.
And he had to work this case.
Losing J.T. had made him look incompetent. And then falling under Stella’s seduction…
Besides, touching her was too personal. It meant reviving memories he couldn’t deal with right now. Rubbing salt into wounds that were so fresh he felt as if they’d just been sliced open. Tearing into layers of his heart that had been ripped away one time too many already.
Yes, he had to work this case. Prove he could handle it.
Because he had to know the identity of the dead man in Stella’s bed, and his relationship to her.
And if she had killed him.
AS THE DOCTOR escorted Stella back to the examining area, Luke Devlin stationed himself at the door like an armed guard, proving to Stella that there was no love lost between them.
Weak and drained, she mentally prepared herself for a different type of interrogation. But the minute Luke Devlin had deemed himself her police guardian and ordered these tests, she realized nothing could have prepared her for the humiliating ordeal of being treated as a suspect in a murder investigation.
The doctor, a middle-aged man named Morton, had icy hands that scraped, combed and touched virtually every inch of her. She felt violated in ways she hadn’t known existed.
On the heels of those vile feelings, an uneasy realization swept through her—the familiarity of being treated like a subject instead of a person. That sudden premonition was as unsettling as the remainder of the exam, which she barely endured without screaming.
As soon as the physical torture ended, an Asian psychiatrist, Dr. Wong, put her through a battery of psychological tests and questions that proved to be even more exhausting.
By the time she finished, she wasn’t just worried about her memory loss but her sanity. And she still hadn’t been allowed to bathe. It was almost as if they were playing mind games, leaving the stench of blood and death on her, hoping to drive her to a confession.
“So you don’t remember anything before you woke up in that hotel room, Stella?”
Thank heavens the woman had finally accepted that she didn’t know how to respond to the title Mrs. Devlin. It simply was too foreign for Stella to believe that she’d been married and didn’t remember a wedding or her husband.
It shocked her even more to know that she’d married that cold, unnerving man who’d ridden up front in the police car with another officer while she’d suffered the inhumanity of being shoved in the back behind a cage like an animal. He hadn’t spoken to her on the ride to the hospital, and had simply presented her to the doctor who worked with the forensic scientists and crime scene unit, as if he had no personal or emotional involvement with her.
Then again, maybe they hadn’t had one. Maybe that’s the reason she’d left. She’d been running from him.
Had he come looking for her? Had he cared what happened to her? Or had he simply viewed her departure in his calculating, unemotional way and said good riddance?
“Stella?”
She jerked back to the present, exhaustion weighing her down. She was incredibly thirsty, too, her mouth so dry her lips were sticking together.
“No, I told you I don’t remember anything.” She rubbed a weary hand over her forehead, then noticed the blood again and cringed. “When can I get a bath?”
“We’re almost finished.”
“How about a drink of water?” In spite of the heat outside, her teeth chattered. “And a blanket?”
For the first time since she’d arrived, Dr. Wong’s expression softened. In response to her request, the doctor retrieved a pitcher of water from a sideboard, poured Stella a glass and handed it to her. She also grabbed a blanket from the closet and wrapped it around Stella’s shoulders. Stella drank the water greedily, already craving more as she tugged the blanket tighter around her.
When she finished the second glass of water, Dr. Wong narrowed her eyes. “Have you been ill recently?”
“I…don’t know. Why do you ask that?”
“Because you seem dehydrated. And you’re pale, have faint bruises beneath your eyes.”
A desperate sob rose in Stella’s throat. “I’m just so tired.”
“What’s your full name?”
“Stella Segall…that’s all I know.”
“Where do you live?”
Stella searched her memory banks for some clue, some memory, anything to stir from the depths of despair threatening to swallow her. Finally she shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
“Do you have family?”
She shrugged, any patience she’d had dissipating. “Not according to Agent Devlin. And if I remembered one, don’t you think I would have asked for them by now, called and begged them to get me out of this godawful mess?” She raked her jagged bloody nails across the table. “Why? Did Agent Devlin lie to me? Has someone come forward looking for me? Do I have a mother, a sister or a brother maybe?”
Dr. Wong averted her gaze slightly, and Stella read the gesture as an answer. Luke Devlin hadn’t lied.
He was the only person she had. And he had brought her here in handcuffs.
What a sad testament to her life. Why didn’t she have friends? Family? What had happened to bring her to this point?
You’re a murderer.
The voice whispered in the far recesses of her mind, taunting her.
Was she really such a horrible person?
Dr. Wong crossed her legs, her clipboard planted firmly on top of her black suit skirt. “Where have you been staying the past year?”
“I don’t know!” Frustration exploded in Stella’s voice. “Why do you keep asking me the same questions over and over? I told you I don’t remember anything but waking up in that room and seeing the b-blood.” She gulped, the images flashing again, sweat trickling down her neck and back.
“I’m hoping to spark your memory.”
Stella gripped the water glass with trembling hands, the first glimmer of hope surfacing. “So you believe me?”
A long hesitation, followed by a labored sigh. “I believe something happened to you, something that you want to forget. Something traumatic.”
Stella flinched. So the woman thought she was guilty.
Thought she’d repressed the facts. But how could she forget shooting someone? Or getting married.
And why had a stranger been in her bed instead of her husband?
Chapter Three
Luke met with Dr. Morton while the psychiatrist finished with Stella. “What did you find, Dr. Morton?”
“I haven’t drawn any conclusions yet.”
“Were there drugs in her system?”
“The blood tests should tell us that. I’ve sent everything to the crime lab.”
“Did she have defensive marks?” Luke asked.
Dr. Morton hesitated, then consulted his notes. “Some, yes. There were skin particles under your wife’s fingernails, bruises around her wrists and ankles, although some of them looked old.”
“How old?”
“Months maybe.”
“And that scar on her leg?”
“A knife wound of some kind. It’s months old as well.”
Luke swallowed. Perhaps she hadn’t disappeared of her own free will. “So it’s conceivable that she was attacked? That this man might have kidnapped her last year, and that he’s been holding her captive since?”
“I can’t make that conclusion. Although the bruises on her indicate she might have been assaulted or fought with someone recently, there was no evidence of sexual activity or rape.”
Luke expelled a sigh of relief, uncertain whether that was good news or not. He sure as hell didn’t want to hear that Stella had willingly slept with that man, or that the man had attempted rape. But an assault might help prove a self-defense case, and explain trauma severe enough to cause amnesia. Especially if the man had been holding her prisoner for months.
Dr. Morton shuffled his notes. “I’ll let you know when the DNA results are in.”