Purgatory (Colorado series)

by Denise Moncrief

  “Go on.” He pushed the papers aside and gave her his full attention.

  “There’s a man staying at the Inn—”

  “What is it about him that makes you nervous?”

  Sometimes she hated Brian’s directness.

  “He stares at me.” Her complaint sounded limp even to her own ears. She grimaced in frustration. Maybe she should have practiced what she would say before she got there. She shifted in her chair, crossing her legs one over the other and then uncrossing them.

  “Lots of men stare at you.” Brian smiled. “You’re a beautiful woman.” His light-hearted response sounded like condescension, as if he explained something fundamental about the male-female dynamic to a two-year-old.

  Her beauty did not give some yahoo a good reason to ogle her. She hated that attitude and suppressed the urge to clobber him for his male impudence. “That’s not what I mean. I know what those stares look like. This is different,” she said with a bit of feminine defiance, trying hard to sound certain although she had plenty of doubt. She could be wrong. There could be nothing more to the man’s bold stare than he liked what he saw. But the man’s odd behavior didn’t feel right.

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s staying at the Inn, and I believe he works out at the site.”

  He nodded in apparent comprehension and rubbed the back of his head. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll check him out. What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know.” He shot her an incredulous smirk. She wanted to back out of the conversation and leave, but she was already here and committed to her complaint. “There’s something about him that really bothers me.” She hesitated a moment. Should she spill the whole story? “In the middle of registering him last night, I had a flashback.” Mention of her flashbacks always threw him into a protective tizzy. She was counting on it.

  Her strategy failed to get the desired response. “I’m positive you’re imagining things, but I’ll check him out just the same.” Just a hint of amusement tinged his reply. Was he patronizing her? Placating her maybe?

  “He gives me the creeps. The way he stares at me…”

  His eyes shifted to the papers in front of him, his attention drifting to what she had interrupted. She gave him a second to refocus on her problem once again and then nailed him. “Are you listening to me?”

  He glanced up. “Yes.” No hesitation, but she was sure his mind had gone elsewhere.

  “Well?”

  “I’ll check into it,” he muttered. She glared at him. “I promise.”

  Chapter Three

  Steve stepped into the construction office and found his foreman in conversation with local law enforcement. Frustration swept over him. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts this evening, alone with plans and blueprints, alone with the ache in his heart. He didn’t want to return to the Inn and risk running into the woman again…not just yet.

  “I thought you left for the day.” The moment became awkward, as his foreman wouldn’t, or couldn’t, explain his presence. Steve suspected Jeff had done something he shouldn’t, so he turned his gaze on the local cop, waiting for his foreman to introduce them.

  “This is Brian Parker, the LaPlata County Sheriff.” Jeff nodded toward Parker as if his brief introduction explained everything. Distaste radiated from his foreman.

  The situation must have been serious if the high sheriff was handling the interview personally. The big dogs usually sent their minions to pester the civilian population.

  Steve offered the sheriff his hand, despite his disillusioned opinion of law enforcement. “I’m Steve West. I own West Construction.” Parker rose from his chair and accepted his handshake. The cop’s grip was firm and strong. “What’s on your mind?” He motioned Parker to retake his seat.

  The sheriff flicked his eyes toward Jeff. “Maybe we could talk in private.”

  “Jeff is my foreman. You can say anything in front of him.”

  “Maybe not. Some things are personal.” The cop didn’t blink.

  Steve considered the sheriff’s assertion and frowned. “All right.” He turned to Jeff. “Would you excuse us?”

  Jeff hesitated and then took his time sauntering out the door, but only after he scowled first at Parker and then at Steve.

  The sheriff began his questioning as soon as the door closed. “Did you check into the Inn at Purgatory last night?”

  “Yes.” Steve took the seat Jeff had just vacated, leaning his elbows on the desk and tenting his fingers. He gazed directly into Parker’s eyes. He’d found this was the best way to handle cops. Show them you have nothing to hide.

  Parker’s expression was blank. “Did anything unusual happen?”

  Yes. Everything about seeing that woman was unusual. Had she complained to this cop about him? Their encounters had caused a tight ball of apprehension to lodge in his gut and remain there. Perhaps she’d had the same reaction. “I’m not sure.”

  Parker sat in the chair, ramrod straight, never twitching a muscle. “Who was on the front desk?”

  “Chris Smith.” Steve shifted in his chair, but kept his eyes glued to Parker’s.

  “Did she deliver some food out here this morning?”

  So the woman had gone to the cop. “Yes.”

  “Did you see her earlier this evening in Hermosa?”

  Just answer the question. Keep your answer short. “Yes.”

  “Ever seen her before?”

  That did it. He had to tell the cop what he suspected. He reached for his pocket. Tension exploded in the air as Parker jerked to alert attention. Such a typical cop reaction. “Just getting my wallet.” He grinned and pulled out the picture of Carol.

  Parker stared long and hard at the photograph. A wide variety of expressions crossed the man’s face. Concern. Skepticism. Fear. Anger. Disbelief. It was obvious the cop recognized the woman in the picture.

  Steve leaned forward, making sure Parker heard every single word. “That’s Carol. She’s been missing for five years. She was…she is my wife.”

  Parker lifted his eyes from the photo, a strange, unreadable expression on his face. “Did you show Chris Smith this picture?”

  “No.”

  “What did you say to her?” Parker’s panicked tone clearly indicated he had slipped out of professionalism. Was this personal for the cop?

  “I told her she looks like someone I used to know.”

  “What did she say to that?” The man appeared to hold his breath.

  “She didn’t say anything. She just…I don’t know…spaced out or something. Went all glassy-eyed. Her reaction was strange. But then I probably acted strange, too. Seeing someone who looks so much like Carol shocked me.”

  Parker’s upper lip twitched. “Then what happened?”

  “When another woman came in, Chris left in a hurry. I think I made her uncomfortable.”

  Parker seemed to chew on their conversation for a long moment. “I believe there is a doctor in Durango you need to meet.”

  ****

  The next morning, Steve met Sheriff Parker at the Medical Arts Building near Mercy Hospital. After Parker introduced Steve to Dr. Evans, the two men followed the doctor down a darkened corridor to his office. An aura of spent energy settled over the physician’s tired features as he led them through the deserted outer office and into his inner sanctum. Evans appeared to be a no-nonsense sort of person. The man said he had just finished a weary shift in the emergency room, and he didn’t seem to mind letting them know he was exhausted and in no mood for a lengthy conversation.

  Evans shrugged off his lab coat and tossed it onto a swaying coat rack in the corner. Parker dropped into one of the doctor’s shabby consultation chairs as if his butt had visited there often.

  Steve tensed for the coming conversation, his stomach churning with anxiety. He had managed very little sleep last night, drowsing through the dark hours of the night with restless anticipation. His concentration had wandered throughout the day, dwelling on all the
possibilities. Why did Parker want him to meet this doctor? He had asked the question, but Parker maintained a mysterious silence. At this point in his life, Steve wasn’t inclined to argue with law enforcement types. He’d learned a deep and lasting lesson from his previous experience.

  Evans stood before them as if impatiently waiting for someone to start the discussion. Parker handed him the picture of Carol. “Do you know her?”

  “Chris Smith.” Evans answered without reaching for the photo.

  “Are you positive?” Parker asked.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

  Steve’s heart thumped hard, banging the walls of his chest. Had he finally located his wife after all these years? No matter how much others insisted his search was in vain, he had persisted.

  “Who is she?” This time the doctor directed his question to Steve.

  “My wife.”

  Evans dropped onto the corner of his desk, a concerned frown spread across his rugged features. “Have you met Chris Smith?” The question held so many layers of meaning, and Steve sensed each one of them with an acute ache that caused his heart to stutter.

  “Yes.”

  Evans studied him for a long moment. “Maybe you should tell us about your wife.”

  The doctor’s statement seemed more like a demand than a request.

  “A little over five years ago, my wife was kidnapped from our home in Virginia. There was a demand for ransom. I paid it under the instructions of the FBI. They found a woman they thought was Carol, but…they never found my wife. I hired a private investigator to search for her, but he ran out of leads. I’ve been looking for her ever since.” He finished with a slight catch in his voice and pushed down hard the anger that threatened to escape him and spill out of his mouth all over these strangers.

  A silent glance passed between Evans and Parker. The doctor spoke first. “Chris was in an accident almost five years ago. She has hysterical amnesia. It is her psychiatrist’s opinion her memory loss is self-induced. In other words, there’s nothing physically wrong with her. She just doesn’t want to remember. Dr. Greene concluded there must be some trauma in her past…”

  Did Evans want him to fill in the blank? “If Chris Smith is my wife, there’s nothing I know of that would cause her such pain. If she’s suffered…” His mind reeled at the thought of all the ways Carol could have suffered at the hands of her captors. “There’s no way to know what all she went through unless she told us.”

  ****

  Chris always thought Dr. Evan’s office reeked of cigars and dirty socks. It didn’t smell medical at all. He left the antiseptic odor of disinfectant and bandages in the examining rooms. The front lobby crawled with the scent of gardenia air freshener. His receptionist’s doing, no doubt. Dr. Evans was not flowery.

  Chris turned her attention to Brian. “I really don’t want to talk to him about his wife.” She couldn’t suppress her anger. “How many grieving people have you introduced me to? None of them were my long lost…” She couldn’t force the remainder of the thought past her trembling lips. So much hope shattered. Not just for her, but also for those people searching for their lost loved ones. She didn’t think she could stand being so up close and personal to the suffering of others again.

  She had a husband somewhere, but she had given up hope he would ever find her. Maybe he didn’t want to find her. Maybe she didn’t want him to find her. Maybe she had been running from him when she wrecked her Jeep five years ago. Whatever the case, letting go of hope dulled the pain.

  “What about the flashback?” Brian asked.

  “What about it? It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve had those when you’re around. Are you someone from my past? If you are, it’s time you confessed.” She smirked at him.

  He rolled his eyes and the vein in his neck pulsed, a sure sign he was irritated.

  She pushed against the coarse threading that held the chair arm together. The thought of confronting this man about his claims scared the crap out of her. She didn’t remember Steve West, refusing to consider the flashback as a stirring of her memory. Talking to the man about his missing wife would make no difference.

  “What if he is someone from your past? He’s going to be out at the site for a while. He’s not going away anytime soon. And he’s determined to find out who you are. Besides, somebody out there is missing you and wanting you to come home. It could be him.”

  She hated it when Brian interrupted her inner turmoil with his irritating logic. “Nobody’s looking for me!”

  “How do you know that? You can’t give up hope like that. Maybe you should—”

  “No! I can’t talk to him.”

  Dr. Evans finally weighed in with his opinion. “I think Brian is right.” She stared at him with the blankest expression in her arsenal. He shook his head at her. “Don’t do it, Chris. Don’t blank out on me. It won’t work.”

  “They all look so hopeless when they don’t recognize me. I can’t do it.” And what could they do in the face of her flat refusal? Nothing.

  Chapter Four

  Chris stood in front of her fireplace, staring at the glow of dying embers, but not really seeing them. Her hand tightened around the matched set of rings. They were all she had of her past. An urgent desire compelled her to do what she must, but her troubled mind rebelled. If she continued to resist the urge, the long night would drag into early morning.

  Tears streamed down her face, as they always did when she dared to confront her terrors. She let them flow and run their course. Dragging her weary body to the bathroom, she tossed her hair back and washed her face. The hot, wet rag refreshed her as she cleansed away the sticky residue of her tears. She leaned on the sink, staring at the image in the mirror, the rings still clutched in her hand, the prongs digging into her palm.

  Who are you? What have you done that’s so awful you can’t face your past? Who have you hurt so bad you can’t face the memories? Her hand massaged her stomach as she interrogated the face in the mirror. Her reflection had no answers, but challenged her with yet another question. Would Steve West recognize the rings if she showed them to him? She tossed the wet rag into the clothes hamper. She had to show him the rings.

  And she had to do it tonight.

  ****

  Her call had roused Steve out of a restless sleep. Chris Smith wanted to show him something. He wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to see her on her terms. She was already waiting for him when he entered the lobby of the Inn. He slowed his stride as he approached her, because she sounded skittish on the phone and he didn’t want to scare her away.

  A polite greeting would have been in order, but her strained expression urged him to get to the point of their meeting. “What do you want to show me?”

  The raw terror in her eyes tore at his heart. Almost as soon as he saw the fear, it vanished. Her countenance went blank, devoid of any emotion at all. Dr. Evans warned him that she used the technique as a defense mechanism.

  Closing his eyes, he counted to ten, to calm his shaky nerves before he did something rash. He wanted to embrace her, to tell her everything was going to be all right. But he didn’t dare. He had a feeling nothing had been right for this woman for a very long time.

  She unfurled her fingers. A set of wedding rings glittered in the palm of her hand. Then he understood her hesitation and her fear. He stared at her outstretched hand for what seemed like forever.

  “Are they yours?” No expression. No look of hope. No look of fear.

  The emptiness scared him more than her terror. “I was wearing them when Brian…Sheriff Parker found me. I assume I’m married to someone, somewhere.” She explained, without emotion, as if the rings had nothing to do with her, as if she had shown him somebody else’s rings.

  No need to examine them. They weren’t his. He crammed his trembling hands into his pockets, searching for the rings he always kept on his person, and relaxed when he found them. Carol’s rings traveled with him everywhere he went, as if they we
re some sort of homing device that would eventually locate her.

  He couldn’t look at the emptiness in Chris’ eyes any longer and tried to find some other point of focus, riveting on the scar that zigzagged down the left side of her face. The rough mark didn’t seem as if it belonged there, stark against the otherwise ivory tones of her cheek. He ran his finger down its length, jerking his hand away when he realized what he had done.

  “Don’t!” Her fierceness shocked him as he shifted his gaze from the scar to her very familiar blue eyes. The angry tone and the blank stare didn’t match. “Don’t pity me. You’re the one who deserves pity. I know your story. You loved her, didn’t you? She was your life, wasn’t she? You’ve looked for her everywhere, haven’t you? I’ve heard it all before. I only wish…” She wilted as though all the passion of the moment escaped her unwilling heart and left her with nothing.

  Her astute summary of the last five years of his life punched him in the gut. “You wish what?” He released a ragged breath, regretting he didn’t have the nerve to embrace the woman.

  “I’m not your wife. I wish I were. Then your pain would end.” Her confession staggered him.

  He fell away from the compassion in her eyes, unprepared for her empathy or her pity. “What about your pain?”

  She shrugged as if the question meant nothing to her and walked away.

  ****

  Steve pushed aside Chuck’s heavy case file, straightened his pillow, and leaned on the headboard, contemplating what he just read. In the middle of the medical lingo, one statement stood out from the rest of Carol’s autopsy report. Something he hadn’t noticed until now.

  He dragged his laptop toward him, opened his browser, and typed the unfamiliar verbiage into the search engine, then waited for the medical dictionary to burp up the doctor-speak into plain English. He read the definition once. Read it twice. The information slammed him between the eyes. His heart raced. Could this new insight help solve the mystery of the woman who haunted his nightmares? He glanced at the clock by his bed. It was early, but Virginia was two hours ahead. He dialed the Norfolk Coroner’s number, a number etched in his memory from repeated use.