She turned to look at him. “‘Picking up anything?’”
“You know. Getting any additional information by being here at the actual site. Like you did at the house.”
She supposed she couldn’t blame him for asking. She had sensed several details at the house that he hadn’t told her. Turning toward the river again, she tried to focus. Open her mind.
“Well?” he asked again.
Sighing, she shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. I just feel kind of foolish, like I’m—I don’t know—playing psychic or something.”
“What were you doing when that stuff came to you back at the house?”
“Nothing. I just looked at the house and I saw the Christmas tree and the puppy. And you, hiding in the backyard.”
He looked beyond her to the river, then put the car into gear again. “Let’s try something. Keep looking out the window.”
“What?”
“Just let me know if you get anything,” he said, pulling back onto the highway and proceeding slowly down the road.
She wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but she cooperated by gazing out the passenger window, watching the river go by. The passing scenery was rather mesmerizing, and she could feel her thoughts drifting like the lazy current.
Until she suddenly went tense and said, “Here. Pull over.”
They were perhaps a mile and a half farther than before. Glancing into the rearview mirror to make sure no one was coming up behind them, Ethan drove onto the shoulder again and pushed the gearshift into Park.
The road was a bit wider here, with shoulder on both sides and a clear view of the river. No trees to impede the view, or to have stopped a car had there not been a guardrail.
“It happened here,” she said, staring at the water with a heavy feeling in her chest.
“What exactly happened?” He spoke very quietly, matter-of-factly, neither belief nor skepticism audible in his tone.
She frowned. “There was another car.”
“Someone ran her off the road?”
“No.”
“The witness was driving the other car? The woman who called in the accident?”
“I don’t—no.”
“Then what is it about the other car?”
Dragging her gaze from the river with an effort, she looked at him instead. He was watching her closely, his expression unreadable but his body tense behind the steering wheel.
She wished she could know what he was thinking. But because he seemed to be willing to listen to what she said, she told him what she had just realized. “Someone picked her up here. Her and Kyle.”
“After the accident, you mean?”
She shook her head. “They never went into the river, Ethan. There was no accident. The car was deliberately pushed over the side, and she and Kyle left the scene in someone else’s car. I think Carmen was the anonymous woman who called the police.”
Chapter Eleven
“Cassandra. Cassandra, can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes blearily, wondering why the voice sounded so strange and hollow. Why it was so hard to clear her vision. To clear her mind.
“There you are. Can you see my face? Do you know who I am?”
Blinking a couple of times, she forced herself to focus. “Dr. Thomas. What are you—what’s going on?”
He patted her hand, and she realized that his smile was strained, his face tight. “The staff couldn’t wake you,” he explained quietly. “You were out so deeply that they were getting ready to call for an ambulance by the time I arrived.”
“No. No ambulance. I don’t want to go to a hospital. I’m fine.”
Slipping his stethoscope into his ears, he pressed the bell to her chest. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
She concentrated on keeping her breathing and heart rate steady. Calm. “I’m fine,” she repeated evenly. “I guess I was just really tired. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, you know.”
“Cassandra, that was more than just sleeping. You were unconscious. But your heart sounds good,” he conceded slowly, wrapping the stethoscope around his neck again. “Your blood pressure is normal.”
“Perhaps it was a reaction to the new medication,” she suggested.
“Maybe.” But he didn’t look convinced, and she was beginning to worry that he was still considering hospitalization.
“I really do feel fine,” she said. “Why don’t we give it a few hours and let me prove that there’s no lasting effect? It isn’t as if I won’t have people to check in on me.”
He nodded reluctantly. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want. Please.”
Sighing, he gave in. “All right. We’ll see how it goes.”
Relief flooded through her. “May I have a glass of water? I’m really quite thirsty.”
“Of course.” Glancing around at the nurse who’d hovered behind him, the doctor satisfied himself that water was being fetched before turning back to Cassandra. He sat on the side of the bed, the concern slowly fading from his face. “You gave us quite a scare.”
She smiled briefly. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional.”
“You’ve been feeling well lately? No shortness of breath? No dizziness?”
“Except for a few episodes of insomnia, I’ve been very well. No complaints at all.”
Those too-perceptive eyes searched her face. “And when you do sleep, do you dream?”
An odd question. She mulled it over for a moment while she sipped the water the nurse had given her before leaving to take care of other duties. She wasn’t sure how to respond. It wouldn’t be with the truth. “Sometimes. Nothing particularly interesting. But no nightmares like before, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A lie, of course. But if it kept her out of the hospital, she considered it justifiable.
Still in that casually conversational tone, he asked, “Do you dream of the past or the present?”
Not certain where he was going with this, she shrugged lightly against the pillows. “I don’t remember, exactly. Just dreams.”
“Many of the residents here dream of their childhood, you know. They tell me about reliving some of their happiest moments when they’re asleep.”
“Lucky them to have had such happy childhoods to relive.”
“Does that mean your own wasn’t so happy?”
She merely looked at him.
“Ah. Now you’ve gone quiet again.”
“I can’t say the same for you.”
He chuckled. “Always have a comeback, don’t you?”
“Oh, I try.”
“I’d like to think we’ve become friends, you and I.”
“I’m very fond of you, Dr. Thomas.”
“Then why won’t you talk to me? Tell me a little about yourself?”
“Why is it so important to you to hear about my past?”
“Because I think it’s haunting you,” he replied simply. “I think you’ve been carrying some very heavy baggage that’s weighing you down now, causing you a great deal of pain. And it seems to be getting heavier, for some reason. I’d like to help you with that load if I can, Cassandra.”
“You’re a fine young man,” she told him, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “You care very deeply about your patients. Too much, perhaps. But there comes a time when all of us must accept that we’ve done as much as we can. There’s nothing you can do for me, Dr. Thomas, except to take care of my physical health, as you do the other residents here.”
“I’m not sure I can accept that.”
She shrugged again.
He shifted and reached for the chart that had rested beside him on the bed. “The medical history you’ve given us is far from complete, but from what I’ve read, you’ve had a difficult time of it even before you were stricken with MS.”
“I’ve had my share of ailments.” Some of which she had brought on herself, through dangerous and self-destructive behavior. That was before she had le
arned to accept—and forgive—herself.
“You told me you married your last husband when you were fifty. Were you ever married before?”
“Once. Briefly. What about you, Dr. Thomas? Ever come close to getting married yourself?”
She could see that he was on the verge of telling her that they were talking about her, not him—but then he seemed to think better of it. Perhaps it occurred to him that she would be more likely to share if he did. “I almost asked someone to marry me once.”
“Really? Why didn’t you?”
He chuckled. “Someone else beat me to it.”
“Then you weren’t meant to be with her.”
“That’s what I told myself at the time. Didn’t stop me from kicking myself for waiting too late, though.”
“You’ll find someone else.” She had no doubt of that.
“Maybe. I’m not in any hurry, though I wouldn’t mind having a family someday.” Turning that into a smooth segue, he asked, “You never had children with your first husband?”
She turned her head on the pillow, looking away from him, trying to hide the sharp pain that went through her in response to his question. It wasn’t the type of pain that he could treat, so there was no need to burden him with it. “I’d like to get up now, Dr. Thomas. Would you mind sending someone in to help me on your way out?”
He sat without moving for a few moments longer, obviously aware that he had just been gently dismissed. And then he stood, looking grave. “I’ll be back to check on you this evening. And I’ll probably have you monitored periodically during the night, just to make sure you don’t slip too deeply into unconsciousness again. In the meantime, if you need anything, anything at all, have someone contact me, will you?”
“Thank you, Dr. Thomas. I want you to know that I deeply appreciate your concern. There haven’t been many people who have cared for me as sweetly as you have.”
He leaned over to touch her cheek, the gesture so tender that it almost brought tears to her jaded eyes. “Someday you’ll feel like talking to me, Cassandra. And then maybe we’ll find a way to take some of that weight off your shoulders. You must be awfully tired of carrying it by now.”
“Go take care of Mrs. Kennedy,” she said, her voice a bit hoarse as she blurted the first thing that came to her mind in an attempt to control her strained emotions. “She’s not doing so well today. She needs you worse than I do.”
He straightened. “Now how would you know that? You’ve only just started the day.”
“I, um—she was feeling poorly yesterday. I don’t expect she’s any better today.”
“I’ll go check on her. Remember, call if you need me.”
“I will. Thank you.”
She watched the door close behind him and only then did she allow herself to swipe at her eyes. She would never reveal all the details of her past, of course. Dr. Thomas would never understand—and she couldn’t bear to see the disillusionment in those gentle eyes if he ever learned the truth.
It was hard enough for her to remember the things she had done before she had taken the name Cassandra and created yet another new life for herself.
“Where do you want me to put your bags?”
Aislinn looked rather blankly around the nondescript motel room, then waved a hand toward one of the two beds. “Just put them there.”
It was one of the handful of complete sentences she had uttered in the past hour, since they’d left the spot by the river and had driven back into town. She’d had no comment about the motel he had selected, speaking up only to insist on paying for her own room. And now she stood in the center of her room, frowning at her bags as if she had never seen them before.
She was pale again, he noted, studying her face. The skin around her mouth was tight, as if she were holding her emotions in check by force. He thought again that she would have to be an extremely gifted actress to be faking her reactions to the visions she’d been having—or whatever he should call them.
He was a long way from believing that what she had told him was anything more than figments of an over-active imagination, but he conceded that she seemed to believe everything she said. Whatever she was going through while she struggled with these episodes, it looked real. And obviously difficult for her.
“Do you want to rest a while before dinner? We can start tomorrow looking for people who knew Carmen.”
“I, um—whatever you want to do.”
“Get some rest. I’ll be next door if you need me.”
She nodded but remained where she stood.
He moved toward the door, then paused before opening it. He felt funny leaving her here like this, so dazed and wan. “Aislinn.”
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said in that same monotone.
He sighed and moved back toward her. Taking her arm, he guided her to the bed and put both hands on her shoulders, pushing downward until she sat on the edge. “Lie down.”
She blinked a couple of times, rousing a bit. “What?”
“Lie down,” he repeated, punctuating the command with another little shove that tumbled her backward against the pillow. Lifting her feet, he removed her shoes, tossed them on the floor and then stepped backward. “Get some rest.”
She started to say something and then she fell silent, curling one hand beneath her cheek as she turned on her side and closed her eyes. He thought she might be asleep by the time he reached the door.
He stood there for a few more moments, just looking at her. She was absolutely one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met. He wouldn’t have been a normal, straight male had the thought of joining her there in that cozy bed not crossed his mind. But talk about complications…
Pushing a hand through his hair, he let himself out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.
Aislinn woke with a start, not quite certain where she was. She was wearing her clothes, though her feet were bare, and she lay on top of the covers. There was a light shining in her eyes.
Pushing her hair out of her face, she sat up, only to find herself facing the chair in which Ethan sat reading a newspaper. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, feet crossed at the ankles, and he looked quite comfortable there in her room. Why was he there in her room?
He looked up in response to her movement. Checking her face with a shrewd glance, he nodded in satisfaction. “You look better.”
She had only a vague memory of checking in. Of being urged by Ethan to take a nap. It embarrassed her now to think about how out of it she had been.
“What are you doing in here?”
Setting the newspaper aside, he straightened in the chair. “You were sleeping so heavily I was a little concerned about you. You’ve been out for several hours.”
It was unlike her to sleep so deeply that he had been able to enter her room without rousing her. It made her uncomfortable to think that he’d been there watching her sleep, even though she was touched that he’d done so out of concern.
“I don’t know why I was so tired,” she said, swinging her feet to the floor. “I hardly ever do that.”
“Are you hungry?”
She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Actually, yes, I am. What time is it?”
“It’s almost eight o’clock.” He turned to the small, round table tucked into the corner and picked up a white paper bag. “I didn’t know if you would want to go back out tonight, so I brought food.”
“That sounds good. Give me a minute to freshen up.”
He nodded. “I’ll go get some cold drinks out of the vending machine. What do you want?”
“Anything diet.”
“I’ll be right back.”
As she washed her hands a few minutes later, it occurred to her to wonder how he had gotten into her room while she was sleeping. The door automatically locked when closed. The only explanation was that he had taken her key with him.
At least he knocked when he came ba
ck from fetching drinks. Crossing the room to let him in, she had the uncomfortable suspicion that he had knocked, before, too, but that she’d been sleeping too deeply to hear him. No wonder he’d been concerned about her.
They sat on opposite sides of the little table, knees almost touching as Ethan pulled food out of the bag. As he unwrapped deli sandwiches, he explained that he’d chosen something that didn’t have to be served warm. Turkey, cheese, lettuce and tomato on whole-wheat bread, along with two bags of baked potato chips. For dessert, he’d purchased two white-chocolate-and-macadamia-nut cookies.
Aislinn picked up her sandwich. “This looks very good.”
“I figured you wouldn’t mind a light dinner since we had a heavier lunch.”
“I don’t mind at all.” It was funny how ravenous she was all of a sudden. She ate the sandwich and all the chips, then started on the cookie, washing it all down with the diet soda Ethan had brought her.
She looked up to find him watching her. Self-conscious now, she wiped cookie crumbs from her fingers. “I was hungry.”
“I noticed.”
“It was good,” she said, reaching for her soda can. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So what happened to you this afternoon, Aislinn?”
She had been expecting the question. She wished she knew how to answer it. “I’m not sure, exactly.”
“You keep saying this is all different for you. Does that include the way you zoned out after having those visions by the river?”
“They weren’t—” She had started to speak automatically, but she stopped herself, knowing that this time she wouldn’t have been telling the truth. They had been visions. There was no other way to refer to them. “No. Nothing like that has happened to me before.”
“You really believe the things you saw are true?”
“You can confirm part of them,” she reminded him. “Everything I saw at the house. As for what I learned at the river, yes, I believe it’s true. Carmen Nichols faked her own death and kidnapped your brother. Someone helped her. I don’t know who. I don’t know where they went when they left there. But I know that’s the way it happened.”
“And you expect me to believe it, too. Just because you say so.”
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