STOLEN MEMORY

by Virginia Kantra

  Dylan shrugged. "Fine. I'll go bribe the musicians."

  Simon waited until his brother was out of earshot before he turned back to the police chief. "What is it? Or more precisely, who is it?"

  "The body is being transported to the hospital morgue. The medical examiner will perform a complete autopsy and confirm ID."

  "Confirm?"

  Denko met his eyes. "The victim went into the water fully clothed and carrying identification."

  Simon felt sick. "Who is it?" But he already knew.

  "The identification found with the body belongs to Peter Swirsky."

  You understand I'm only doing this to clear my father.

  Simon swore silently and glanced at the boat. Laura had ducked under the canopy to stand by the body, wrapped in yellow plastic on the deck. He couldn't see her face.

  "How long has he been dead?"

  "That's for the M.E. to say."

  "That's a load of crap," Simon said. "How long has he been dead?"

  "The body was in the water long enough for tissue decomposition to begin, which creates the gas that brought it to the surface. Eight to ten days, at a guess."

  "Since the break in to my lab."

  "That's right. When was the last time you saw Mr. Swirsky?"

  Simon stiffened. He didn't remember. That night was still a blank to him. "Do I need a lawyer?"

  Denko returned his gaze levelly. "Do you want a lawyer?"

  "I want to know what happened." God, did he want to know. "How did he die?"

  "I can't tell you that until after the autopsy report."

  "But you must have some idea. You've seen the body. You have to know if he drowned or if he was shot or if he was hit over the head."

  "Mr. Ford, you're not a pathologist. Neither am I. Without an autopsy to determine if there's sand or weed in the lungs, I won't know if he was alive when he went into the water or not. Between the natural abrasion that occurred while the body was at the bottom of the lake and the damage caused by the propeller, it's difficult to identify signs of a struggle. Is that clear?"

  Horribly so.

  That body down there, cut, abraded, decomposing, was Laura's father.

  While Simon stood by, she had assisted in its grisly recovery from the water. She'd participated as the scene was photographed, sketched and inspected. She'd been there when the wallet was salvaged from her father's pocket, when the first tentative identification must have been made. She hadn't flinched, hadn't hesitated, hadn't once broken down.

  Now she sat straight-backed in the prow of the boat, holding herself together, keeping herself apart. Competent. Contained. Alone.

  It ripped him up inside.

  "I have to see her," he said abruptly.

  "Not now," Denko said.

  He nearly snarled. "Do you think you can stop me?"

  "I'm sure I can," Denko said evenly. "But it's not my decision."

  Simon rounded on him, baffled and angry. "What are you talking about?"

  "It's hers. She wants to do this herself. She asked me to tell you she'll be in touch."

  Simon swore, turning to glare after the departing boat. It was leaving. She was actually leaving him.

  "Aren't you going to ask about the rubies?" Denko asked behind him.

  "What?"

  He hadn't thought about the rubies. How could he think about rubies when Laura was leaving?

  "Aren't you going to ask if the rubies were recovered with the body?"

  "God, I hope not."

  "Excuse me?" Denko's quiet, impassive voice was touched with surprise.

  "Bad enough her father's dead. Worse for her if she has to accept he was a thief."

  The other man was silent so long that Simon's hopes, never very high to begin with, sank. "You found them, didn't you?" he said flatly.

  "Actually, no. We didn't."

  Simon was relieved enough to feel annoyed. "So, what will you do now?"

  "I'm assigning an officer to stay here tonight until we determine cause of death."

  "Why?"

  "I've got one dead body on my hands. I don't need another."

  "And I don't need a baby-sitter. There are enough damn people on the island already."

  "Detective Baker asked me to provide you with extra security," Denko said.

  She'd thought of him. In the middle of her own shock and tragedy, she'd worried about his safety.

  Simon might have been moved by that. He could even have hoped it was a sign she cared.

  But there was a good chance Laura considered looking after him her job. Which meant she would attend to him whether she gave a damn or not.

  "E.C.I.P. provided extra security for the party, and I've got Quinn. You want to make work for your officers, get someone to look after Laura."

  "Detective Baker doesn't need a baby-sitter, either."

  "She needs somebody." And she didn't want him. Hurt, anger and wounded male ego combined and reacted in his stomach. Well, he was just going to have to change her mind. But in the meantime… "She's taking her father to the morgue, for God's sake. She shouldn't be alone after that."

  Denko regarded him thoughtfully. "I'll call home. My wife will want Laura to spend tonight at our house."

  "She'll say no," Simon predicted.

  Laura was good at saying no.

  Jarek Denko smiled. "No one says no to Tess."

  Laura sat upright, numb with shock and rigid with determination, as white water churned by the prow. The engine chugged. The wind fretted. Her blood buzzed in her ears.

  She took deep, careful breaths so she wouldn't pass out, inhaling through her mouth, as if the smell of rot could permeate the plastic tarp in the stern and infect her. She didn't want to smell anything. She didn't want to feel anything.

  Tightening her trembling hands in her lap, she concentrated on the rise and fall of the water. It was hard to grieve for the father who had turned his back on her. Dead or alive, hard-eyed, hard-handed Pete Swirsky had never encouraged signs of affection from his children.

  But he had given her life and shaped it. And now he was dead.

  Gusts lashed the prow, raising spray from the water that lay like tears on her cheeks. Laura shivered, buffeted by guilt, chilled by a regret keener than the wind that she had never made her peace with her father. "Cold?"

  Kathy Cowan, the coroner, moved forward from the stern, her round face alight with sympathy. "Can I get you something? A blanket?"

  "No, I'm…" Fine. The lie stuck in her throat. "Warm enough. Thanks."

  Kathy patted her clasped hands. "Let me know if you change your mind." The doctor made her way, a little unsteadily, to the pilot's cabin.

  Laura pulled Simon's jacket closer around her. The tang of him still clung to the material, hotly sexy, coolly expensive. On impulse, she rubbed her cheek against the collar and then cursed herself for her weakness. But there was no one to see. No one to recognize or report her foolish feminine behavior. Simon would never know how close she came, for one moment in the dark, to forgetting what she owed him and herself.

  I need to solve this case. And you need someone to protect your ass.

  She turned her face to the water. The wind stung tears to her eyes and then whipped them away.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  "Clean sheets are on the bed," Tess Denko said as she led Laura upstairs. "Clean towels in the bathroom. Jarek said he didn't give you much time to pack, so let me know if you need anything."

  The police chief's wife was effortlessly, exotically beautiful, with thick dark hair and bright red nails and a casual female confidence that somehow survived being woken at almost two in the morning to welcome an unexpected house guest.

  Laura felt like the little matchstick girl being foisted on the queen. She shivered and clutched Simon's jacket tighter.

  "I'm sorry to put you out," she said stiffly.

  "You're not putting anyone out," Tess assured her, opening a door. "Allie's at a s
leepover, so you're in her room tonight. I hope that's all right."

  Allie was the chief's twelve-year-daughter. Exhausted, Laura looked around the blue bedroom, sponge painted with clouds and decorated with rock posters, and felt more out-of-place than ever. "It's great. Thanks."

  The white twin bed was piled with pillows and stuffed animals. She wanted to crawl under the covers, pull them over her head and not come up for a week.

  "Well." Tess studied her, her warm golden eyes concerned. "That door's the baby's room. The bathroom is there. We're just across the hall. Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

  Laura dredged up a smile. She was not going to lose it in front of her chief's wife. "I'm good. Thanks."

  "Okay." Tess ambushed her with a hug.

  Laura didn't do hugs, but the other woman's generous sympathy brought unwanted tears to her eyes.

  "Sleep tight," Tess said. "We'll see you in the morning."

  Mortified, Laura stepped back, her throat tight, and nodded.

  Standing in the middle of the blue carpet, she listened as the other woman's footsteps crossed the hall. She heard a door open, a male murmur and Tess's soft reply. The overheard exchange made Laura vaguely uncomfortable. As a boss and as a man, Jarek Denko kept his private life private. This intimate glimpse of his other side left her feeling disoriented and even more alone.

  Mechanically, she undressed, folding Simon's jacket neatly to lay across the foot of the bed, letting her dress slither in a heap to the floor, and unhooking the Iron Maiden push-up bra. Wearing only her panties, she crawled under the covers. She was drained, empty, shaking with exhaustion and the hard, cold aftershocks of loss. But sleep did not come.

  Finally she reached down and dragged Simon's jacket from the bottom of the bed. She crushed it to her face, breathing in his faint, unmistakable scent. Hugging the jacket like a security blanket, she drifted at last into uneasy sleep.

  She woke to the sound of crying.

  Laura bolted from her pillow and stared blearily at the clock: 9:27. Her day had just started, and she was already behind. She had calls to make. Things to do. All the obligations that attended an unexpected death pressed in on her.

  Simon's jacket lay creased under her. She tried to shake the wrinkles out, but the task was hopeless.

  Julie's words came back to her. You can count on him to rescue you when things are really dire.

  Laura's breathing hitched. This was pretty dire.

  But she couldn't function as a police officer if she hung around waiting for rescue. She couldn't function, period. She could grow to depend on him, and then where would they be? What would she do when he didn't need her anymore, when he got back his life and his memory and didn't want her anymore? She stuffed the jacket in her bag to deal with later and dug out jeans and a T-shirt.

  While she was dressing, the crying stopped. The baby, she guessed. She scuttled across the hall to brush her teeth and swipe at her hair, praying she wouldn't run into her boss before she'd made herself presentable.

  But the hallway was quiet. Empty.

  The aroma of coffee floated up the stairs. Laura almost whimpered as she followed it down and into the kitchen.

  One cup, she promised herself. As soon as she was fueled for the day, as soon as she had enough caffeine in her system to function, she would go.

  Tess took one look at her face and reached for the coffeepot. She poured Laura's coffee, holding the pot away from the dark-haired baby on her hip.

  "Hot," Tess said firmly and set the mug on the kitchen table, out of his reach.

  Laura gulped gratefully. "Thanks."

  Tess, mercifully, didn't seem to feel the need for conversation before coffee. Laura had downed half a mug before she realized her hostess was in full makeup and a black linen dress.

  "Gee." Laura cleared her throat. "I didn't know I should dress up for breakfast."

  Tess grinned. "Mass this morning," she explained. "Jarek went to pick up Allie, so you'll actually have some peace and quiet around here."

  Her protest was automatic. "Oh, I couldn't—"

  "Can you hold him?" Tess thrust her son at Laura. "I have to run upstairs for my shoes."

  "Hold…?"

  "Nicholas."

  Laura regarded the baby with misgiving. She didn't back down from bar fights, vehicle stops or drunken domestic disputes. But babies scared the living daylights out of her. She hadn't thought about babies—she hadn't let herself think about babies—in years.

  Since she'd lost her own. A pang lodged under her heart.

  "I don't know," she said, "I…"

  A car engine rumbled in the driveway.

  "Oh, Lord, there's the car," Tess said, distracted. "I'll be right back."

  She dumped her baby on Laura's lap and dashed for the stairs.

  Laura blinked, her hands moving automatically to support the child.

  Nicholas blinked back, clearly as uncertain as she was about this new development.

  Laura cleared her throat. "Okay, here's the deal. I won't scream if you don't."

  His face creased.

  Panicked, she rushed into speech. "Is that a problem for you? Because I understand you probably have a tough time communicating at this point. So if I screw up, like if I'm holding you wrong or something, it's okay if you let me know."

  Nicholas gurgled.

  "That's good, right?"

  He flailed his baby hands and pushed with his baby feet against her thighs.

  Encouraged, Laura bounced him tentatively on her lap.

  The doorbell rang. She ignored it. Maybe she hadn't dropped him yet, but there was no way she was going to try to walk and hold the baby at the same time. Besides, she figured Jarek could let himself into his own house.

  She heard Tess coming down the stairs and the door open.

  Hey, she wanted to call, don't forget about us.

  But then Nicholas reached for her coffee mug and she lunged to move it out of his way.

  "Oh, no, you don't. Hot," Laura said firmly, doing her best to imitate Tess.

  Nicholas showed his gums in a gap mouthed, happy smile.

  Her own lips curved. "Don't give me that look. I'm a police officer. We're enforcing the rules until your mother gets back."

  He continued to grin, clearly delighted with himself and pleased with her.

  Laura couldn't help herself. She grinned back and bent to nuzzle his neck, inhaling his sweet baby scent. He chortled and kicked.

  "Visitor for you," Tess announced from the kitchen door. Laura straightened fast enough to give herself whiplash. Tess was beaming. And behind her … Simon.

  Their eyes met. Held. In Laura's whole life, nobody had ever looked at her the way Simon did, as if she was a puzzle he desperately needed to solve or the answer to a question he didn't know how to ask.

  Her tongue dried to the roof of her mouth. Her blood drummed in her ears. "I, uh…"

  "Did great," Tess interrupted her. "Thanks."

  She swooped up her gurgling son and balanced him competently on her hip. "Gotta run. Jarek and Allie are waiting in the car. Key to the front door is on the mantel if you want to go out for, well…" Her bright reporter's gaze traveled over Simon. "Anything. Take care."

  She dashed out, leaving Simon and an awkward silence behind.

  Laura wanted to run to him. Or duck under the table to hide.

  Since either action seemed incredibly stupid, she stuck where she was, gripping her coffee mug.

  "How are you?" he asked quietly, not moving from the door.

  "I'm okay." She risked another look. His face was pale. His eyes were serious. Her insides jangled with yearning, nerves and coffee. "How are you?"

  He frowned. "Fine. I'm sorry about your father."

  Her throat closed. She swallowed hard. "Thank you."

  "I didn't get a chance to tell you last night."

  The faint rebuke in his voice made her flush. "No. Sorry. Your jacket is upstairs. I was going to have it dry-cleaned."<
br />
  "I didn't come to get my jacket, Laura."

  The heat deepened in her cheeks. She plowed on. "The autopsy is scheduled for ten tomorrow morning. From the look of things, he—the body went into the water eight to ten days ago. Once the medical examiner finishes his report, we should have a clearer picture of what happened the night you were attacked."

  He paced toward her. "I didn't come to talk about the case, either."

  How could she put the necessary distance between them when he stood so close? She took a deep breath. "Why did you come?"

  He stopped, his eyebrows raising. "I came to be with you. People need to be notified. Arrangements made. I thought you could use some help."

  "You want to help me," she repeated carefully.

  "Why not?"

  For a smart man, he could be amazingly dense at times. She'd been thinking about this over and over until she was sick of it. Until she was sick, period. "Because my father isn't missing anymore. He didn't go on vacation. He didn't disappear. He's dead. And there's a very real chance he's guilty."

  "There was always the possibility he was guilty," Simon said.

  She shot him a resentful look. "Thanks. Now I feel lots better."

  "The only thing that's changed is now there's a possibility I killed him."

  She'd thought of that. It shook her to realize he had, too. "You can't have. You were unconscious."

  "You only have my word for that."

  "And the bump on your head. There's no way you could self-inflict a wound that size at that angle."

  "We could have fought."

  She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't even want to think about it. But she couldn't let Simon blame himself for a tragedy that wasn't his fault. She had to deal with his fears. They both did.

  "Sorry to burst your macho illusions, Ford, but you didn't fight. There were no signs of a struggle. You were in the lab. My father was in the lake. Unless you dragged his body while you were unconscious, you didn't put him there."

  "I was the last person to see him alive."

  "The last person we know of."

  Simon's face was set, his eyes tormented. "Did E.C.I.P. deliver the printout of the computer log yet?"