by Regan Black
He remembered it as if watching a bad television segment. He’d been belligerent, ordering her about at the first sound of gunfire. He recalled seeing the blood staining her shirt and trying to find a wound that wasn’t real. The only blood had been his, a minor graze from one of the bullets. He knew the gunfire had dragged him down into that abyss, knew he’d clawed for control and lost the battle. Lissa’s voice alone had pulled him back out again, and she’d managed that rescue before his peers arrived and found him acting like a maniac over a negligible scratch.
He owed her.
If she needed him to stay right here so she could sleep, this was where he’d stay. He wasn’t sure what to make of his sudden determination and didn’t care to sort it out right now. Aside from his occasional substitute shift for the PFD, he hadn’t done anything noteworthy since Sarah died. The woman in his arms needed help, and for some inexplicable reason, Lissa kept latching onto him.
Why couldn’t he see her in the detached way he viewed other patients? Bringing her to his home for observation that first night was part of it, yes, but there had to be another factor.
He stroked her hair, keeping them both relaxed as the thick silk sifted through his fingers. His phone vibrated on the end table, and he reached back to check the display. His supervisor, Evelyn, he noticed on the caller ID, probably calling for an upcoming shift. He didn’t envy her job, but she could find someone else this time. Carson refused to risk putting more than a few minutes of distance between Lissa and himself until Noelle’s killer was caught and behind bars.
As he thought about it, his muscles involuntarily tensed up, and Lissa’s breath hitched for a cycle or two before she relaxed again. Carson kept his own breath soft and even, and as recent events caught up to him, he dozed off.
He came awake, disoriented and chilled, to find himself alone on the love seat. Lissa had replaced her soft, warm body with the poor substitute of a soft crocheted throw. “Lissa?” he called, sitting up.
“In here.” Her voice carried from the bedroom.
He rolled to his feet and stretched, popping stiff joints. Taking a detour, he stopped in the bathroom and splashed cool water on his face before tapping on the open bedroom door.
She turned, her gaze not quite meeting his. “Did I wake you?”
He shook his head, not inclined to admit it had been her absence that had brought him awake. “How are you feeling?”
“Foggy, but better. I must have made quite a scene.”
Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, but she was packing an overnight bag. “It got Werner out of here, so you won’t get a complaint from me.”
Her lips twitched at one corner. “That is a plus.” She sat down on the corner of the bed and tossed the shirt she’d been holding into the luggage. “I didn’t remember anything new.”
“Did I ask?”
“No.” She pushed the heels of her hands across her forehead, clearly trying to wipe away a headache. “I’m not as patient as you.”
“And I’m not being hounded by a homicide detective.”
“Let’s not forget the killer. Assuming Friday night and this afternoon are linked.”
He was sure of it. “No, we can’t forget the killer.” He leaned into the doorjamb, watching her. “That brings us to why you’re packing. Is there somewhere you’d like to go?”
“It’s logical to leave, right? I’d rather not go, but it’s logical.” She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I don’t see how leaving changes anything.”
He understood her reluctance, but he wanted her far away from the rooftop incident. For my benefit or hers? He focused on her and the traits, both big and small, that she’d revealed in the short time since recalling her name and background.
“You’ve put down roots here. I understand that,” he said. “No one is forcing you out of town.”
“Then I want to stay. Here.”
“Lissa.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a crime scene upstairs. Logic indicates you’re a sitting duck if you stay.”
“And if I go, how long before whoever killed Noelle finds me? He could lie in wait and take me out at the museum for all we know.”
Carson winced at the scenario that popped into his head. “Do you have any vacation time?”
“I will not run like a scared rabbit.”
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Think of it as less running and more strategy. Why stay here where the killer knows he can get to you?”
“Noelle’s parents need closure. The community needs this guy off the street, whatever his crime of preference. Staying here puts us in the driver’s seat.”
“Driver’s seat?” He snorted.
“I’m not running.” She stood up and started unpacking her suitcase. “I’m close to work. I know the area. I have memories of Noelle here. All of that has to help.”
Her voice cracked, and he hurried forward into the bedroom. “Got it.” The apartment itself wasn’t an active crime scene, and more than likely the roof had been processed and considered cleared once the bullets were recovered. He only hoped they matched the signature bullets so Werner had a lead other than Lissa’s memory. “Will you leave long enough to help me pack some things at my place?”
Her chin fell. “You don’t mean to stay here?”
“I’m not leaving you alone until this is settled.”
“But—”
“I’m not running, either,” he said, mimicking the grit she’d shown. “Haven’t we covered this?”
She needed only a bit more convincing, and fifteen minutes later, he was explaining their plans to the policemen who’d been stationed on the street. At his place, Carson packed up the few things he would need, including a suit for the funeral on Tuesday. To buy some breathing space, he sent his sisters a text that he was helping out a friend for a few days, and then he updated Grant.
Although judging tone in a text message wasn’t easy, the reply from the Escape Club owner didn’t give Carson the impression that Grant was pleased with Lissa’s decision to dig in her heels and remain at her apartment. Carson handed Lissa the phone. “He’s not thrilled with either of us.”
“Yikes,” she said, cringing at the terse message. “You should return to your regular schedule. I’ll be okay.”
“We’ve covered this,” he reminded her through clenched teeth. He wasn’t going through it again. “Let’s grab some dinner and talk about your plans for tomorrow and the rest of the week.”
They chose a Greek restaurant Lissa favored, and Carson was as happy with the set up at the cozy family diner where he could see everyone as he was with the generous portions of soup, spicy gyros and cool tzatziki sauce.
They made a quick grocery list while they waited for the check and then completed that errand before heading back to her place. Between them they made it upstairs with his duffel and the grocery sacks in one trip. As she put things away in the kitchen, he went back down to his truck for the suit he’d covered with a garment bag.
He wasn’t a cop by training, but paramedics were taught to stay observant despite a crisis. He’d been an epic failure for Sarah on that front, but he was doing all he could not to repeat that failure with Lissa. He could almost hear the PFD chaplain asking if Lissa was a surrogate for Sarah’s memory. Carson didn’t want to believe he was using an innocent woman to make up for such a dreadful error. That was impossible. No one could replace Sarah or fill the void she’d left behind.
Lissa is not a stand-in, he thought, taking time to walk the perimeter of the house, getting a feel for the area and routes to neighbors. She’d come to Escape Club for help, with or without her memories, and Carson knew how vital it was to maintain the reputation the club had as a safe place for the community.
Grant, using the code name of Alexander, had
a reputation for helping out people who slipped through the cracks of typical law enforcement assistance. Lissa definitely fit that bill.
Carson circled back to the front door, knowing the cops had canvassed the area and looked for any sign of the shooter’s location. Still, as he walked to his truck, he felt exposed. It didn’t take special training or extra intuition to know someone wanted to keep Lissa from talking about what she’d seen that night. Until she regained her memory or the police found the killer, that someone was going to have to get by Carson first.
Chapter 6
Lissa woke early Monday morning, feeling something was off and quickly realizing it was the faint snoring from the man sacked out in her sitting room. She muffled an inappropriate giggle at the hitched breath and groaning sounds. The apartment wasn’t really big enough for two people, but Carson hadn’t let that hinder his determination to stay over. The guy was really too good to be true, barreling through a situation that clearly made him uncomfortable, just to keep her safe. If ever there was a man meant to rescue people, it was him.
She slipped her short cotton robe over the camisole and shorts she slept in and made a beeline for the bathroom, unable to resist sneaking a glance at his sleeping form. At rest, the persistent tension that lined his forehead and tightened his jaw was gone. It was so tempting to creep closer and steal another touch of that full lower lip, the way she had yesterday evening when she found herself in his arms after her meltdown. Quickly she closed the bathroom door, cringing at the squeaky hinge, and hurried through her morning routine so she would be out before he woke up.
“Good morning,” he said when she opened the door again.
His deep voice, rough around the edges, slipped under her robe and warmed her skin as effectively as the lingering steam from her shower. “M-morning,” she stammered. They’d circled around each other for three mornings now, and she was afraid she knew exactly why the first greeting of every day was becoming more of a challenge than a familiarity. “Um, it’s all yours,” she added, sidestepping to her bedroom and closing the door.
She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror near her closet and nearly laughed out loud. He wasn’t a date. He wasn’t here because he liked her or wanted to sleep with her. And who could blame him, with her wet hair bundled into a towel, no makeup, the remnants of a black eye and a robe that had seen better days? He was here to help protect her from a killer until her brain cooperated and she could give Detective Werner the information he needed.
As she dried her hair and dressed for work, she wondered how often people in official protective custody developed unwise attachments to the people guarding them. There had been more than a few movies and books with that theme, and in light of recent days, she was starting to feel more sympathy for the characters in those stories.
If only her nightmare could be resolved in the course of a two-hour movie or the three hundred action-packed pages of a book. She’d dreamed of Noelle all night long, but only the good times, nothing helpful about the night that mattered more than any of her other memories.
Dressed, she started on her makeup. It was careful going with concealer and foundation to hide her black eye, but she didn’t want to field questions about the injury all day long. At least the swelling was nearly gone. She paused in the process of carefully applying her mascara and forced herself to think about the last conversations she remembered with her best friend.
There were always things going at the hospital, good and bad. Noelle had been the type to vent the worst and then let it go. Her ability to compartmentalize had made her particularly good at her job and helped her advance. She had her eye on a move to Children’s, but it was a ways off on her life plan.
A knock on the door had her checking the bedside clock. “Crap.” She’d dawdled in here so long that she’d have to skip breakfast or be late for work.
“You okay?” Carson asked.
“Yes. Just a second.” Too easily she pictured him leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. Sliding into her shoes, she picked up the purse she’d chosen to replace the one she’d lost to police custody and walked out of the bedroom. “I’m ready,” she said.
He leaned back, his gaze drifting over her from head to toe. “You look terrific.”
The compliment caught her off guard. “Thanks.” She caught a gleam in his eye, and for a moment she thought he would kiss her. A happy image of domestic bliss rippled through her, swiftly evaporating in the savory scents of bacon, cheese and egg.
“Breakfast,” he said, pushing a wrapped sandwich into her free hand. “I’ll carry the coffee.”
“You made breakfast.” She stared at him as she inhaled the delicious aroma. “For me.”
“We bought groceries to use them, right?” He cocked his head. “Do you normally eat at work?”
“Yes. No.” She shook her head. “I mean, yes, this is why we bought groceries. I just didn’t expect this.”
“Let’s go,” he said, urging her toward the stairs. “Being on time is you, right?”
She laughed. “Yes. Very me.” She noticed his hesitation at the bottom of the stairs, knew he was checking the porch and street for visible risks.
Unable to stop herself, she peered over his shoulder, seeking anything out of the ordinary. As he moved, she followed, letting him lock the door since he would keep the key while she was at work.
While he made the short drive to the museum, she wolfed down the sandwich and scalded her tongue on the piping hot coffee, but it was worth it.
“I have time to pick up your purse from Werner while you’re working today,” he offered, pulling into the parking lot they’d used yesterday and stopping at the curb since he was dropping her off. “If that’s okay?”
Okay? It will be fantastic. She knew she was being a coward, but she wanted to avoid Werner until she had some substantial information. “That would be great.” She stuffed the last bite into her mouth and licked her fingers before she remembered her manners and used the paper napkin.
His gaze tracked the movement, and her heart skipped into overdrive.
“That was perfect,” she said. “Thanks.”
He grinned, the expression slow and too sexy. “You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I get another key cut for the apartment?”
“Fine,” she said once she’d swallowed. “Oh. Oh, no.” She pressed her hand to her lips and tried to breathe through the sudden, choking panic.
“What?” He looked around, checking the mirrors first and then twisting in the seat. “What’s wrong?”
“The key. Noelle h-had a key.”
He checked the mirror and pulled into the first available space, slamming the gearshift to Park. “Breathe.”
“I’m trying. What if...” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
“I’ll walk through with the police, and I’ll get the locks changed first thing.”
The list grew in her head. She should call the landlord for permission and find out what was compatible with the security system. Her mind started spinning until she found her hands cradled by his. “Carson,” she began, looking up into his face.
“I’ll handle it,” he promised. He lifted her hands to his lips. “Have a good day.”
The silly move soothed her, smoothing out the anxiety before it could swamp her again. She reached for the door and turned back. On a whim, she leaned over and kissed his cheek before she changed her mind. “I’ll call from the office when I’m ready to leave.”
“I’ll be here,” he promised.
He would be, just as he’d handle the locks and her purse, too. Overwhelmed with enough gratitude to embarrass them both, she pushed open the door and forced herself out before she did something really stupid. “I’ll...um... Okay, bye.” She imagined she could feel the warmth of his hazel eyes all th
e way into the building, and she refused to spoil the fantasy by turning around.
Once she’d run the gamut of good mornings and general concern after her face had been plastered on every local news outlet, she settled at her desk to review what needed to be dealt with today. She had the tasks in mind when an instant message from her boss, Elaine Jasper, popped up on her monitor: Stop in and see me ASAP.
Lissa stowed the purse that held little more than her temporary museum ID card, lip balm and twelve dollars she’d found in her dresser, and headed over. Lissa knew she’d been blessed by a good boss, as bosses went. Elaine could communicate up and down the food chain, ensuring their department was always picking up choice assignments from the art world and continually well-funded. Not an enviable task by any definition, and a challenge Lissa hoped to be prepared for in another decade or more. Right now she preferred the hands-on challenges more than the bureaucracy.
Elaine glanced up and smiled when Lissa came into view. She was a petite woman with an hourglass figure and a personality that stood ten feet tall. Her blond hair was always styled in a sleek bob unless they were working on a project. Then it was always pulled back and covered by a wrap she made look stylish better than anyone Lissa had met.
Elaine rounded the desk, sincere concern clouding her brown eyes. “Are you okay?” She held Lissa at arm’s length, tsk-tsking over the fading marks Lissa had covered with makeup. The woman had a knack for spotting the fake or forged. “I listened to your voice mail last night, but I want to hear the whole story, face-to-face.”
Once Lissa was seated, Elaine closed the door and pulled up another guest chair rather than returning to her side of the ruthlessly organized desk. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t tell you much more than I did on the voice mail.” She laced her fingers together. Even knowing this conversation was inevitable, it was hard to get the words past the lump of grief and gritty fear lodged in her throat. “Noelle and I were attacked when we went out Friday night. I survived. She, um... Well, you know from the news reports that she didn’t.”