“So you can just leave that part out of your report. You can’t deny it’s the safest place you could take her. And you have a spare bedroom.”
“That’s beside the point.” Mitch shifted uneasily. “It wouldn’t be…appropriate.”
“And your guarding me in a hotel room when you’re compromised by lack of sleep would be?” Jane asked, hoping to appeal to that sense of responsibility and use it to her favor. The sharp look he shot her said she’d hit a nerve. “Admit it, Mitch. Staying at your place is a good idea. It’s my fault that you were up most of last night.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I was doing my job.”
“You were with her last night?” Lisa asked, her eyebrow lifting with curiosity—the same look Mitch had given Jane. She wondered if they knew how alike they looked.
“I was in the hospital,” Jane told her. “He spent the night in the chair next to my bed.”
“Awww,” Lisa said. “That is so sweet.”
“Ugh!” Mitch buried his head in his arms.
“That’s nothing,” Jane said. “When I was afraid to go into the bathroom alone, he went with me.”
Lisa balanced on the back legs of the chair and folded her arms over her breasts. “Oh, so you’ll take her to the bathroom, but not your own mother?”
Mitch lifted his head, glaring up at his sister. “I did not take her to the bathroom. I only stood in there while she looked in the mirror.”
“And he looked at my butt,” Jane told Lisa. “But only because it was hanging out the back of my gown, so it wasn’t really his fault.”
“Is that true?” Lisa asked Mitch. “You looked at this poor defenseless woman’s butt?”
“He denied it at first, then when we were grocery shopping later he said—”
Mitch slammed a fist down on the table. “Enough already! You win. We’ll stay at my house tonight. Jesus!”
Jane and Lisa shared a conspiratorial smile. That wasn’t so hard. Mitch acted tough, but on the inside he was a big softie. And he’d been right about one thing. When Jane wanted something, she did get it.
Chapter 7
He’d been played, big-time, Mitch decided as he drove the three blocks to his house. He would have expected it from Lisa, but cute, innocent little Jane? Innocent, my foot. He should have known there was a shark lurking behind the sweet exterior. He should have realized her potential when she’d jumped out that window.
And though he hated to admit it, Jane was right. Another night without sleep and his reaction time would be grossly compromised. He couldn’t risk that when her life could be at stake. He’d get a full eight hours tonight, then tomorrow night, if her memory still hadn’t returned, he’d check them into a motel.
“What did Lisa mean when she called you a pompous ass?” Jane asked from the passenger seat. “And why would her lack of a career be your fault?”
He cringed at the thought of hashing out the ongoing battle between him and his sister. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“What, like I don’t have time to kill?”
Mitch shot her a sidelong glance, recognized the determined look on her face, and sighed. Christ, she was a pain in the behind. Did she always have to be so difficult? “The short of it is, when our grandmother passed away, she left her house to Lisa and me. Lisa wants me to buy her half so she can open a dog grooming salon.”
“Oh. Can you afford to do that?”
“Sure, I can afford it, but why would I sit back and let her throw her money away?”
“What makes you think she’ll be throwing it away?”
“Lisa’s no businesswoman. She barely graduated from high school and she only lasted a semester in community college. The idea has failure written all over it.”
For a long moment the only sound in the car was the steady thrum of rain on the roof and the rhythmic thwack of the windshield wipers. He finally asked, “Should I interpret your lack of response as disapproval?”
“You really want to know what I think?”
Did he? In a way, he was curious, and at the same time, he was sure it would be in his best interest not to know. “I don’t know. Do I?”
Jane turned to him, her expression thoughtful. “This is something she really wants to do?”
“It’s all she talks about lately.”
“And it is her money to spend?”
Okay, he could see where she was going with this. “Technically, yes. But I control the estate. Lisa is horrible with money.”
“Be that as it may, technically, the only thing stopping her from the career of her choice is you. Right?”
“I know how it sounds, but it’s not that simple. You don’t know Lisa. She’s not exactly responsible. I mean, what if the business failed, what would she do then?”
“Hmm,” she said, nodding.
“What, you think I’m being unfair?”
Her shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Obviously your mind is made up. Why should you care what I think?”
He made a left down his street. “I really do know what’s best for her.”
“I’m sure you do,” she agreed.
He mumbled a curse under his breath. “Great, now you’re making me feel guilty.”
“If you’re sure you’re right, how could anything I say make you feel guilty?”
“Because you’re agreeing with me to shut me up.”
“If that’s the case, it isn’t working, because you’re not shutting up.”
“I can tell you think I’m wrong.”
“What does it matter what I think? You know your sister better than anyone, right? As long as you’re comfortable with your decision, no one else matters.”
“I am. Very comfortable.” As he pulled into his driveway, the security lights switched on, illuminating the interior of the car. “Is every female born with the ability to make a man feel like a heel or is that something they teach you in school?”
“Oh, please. What macho bull. ‘Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size.’” She spouted the quote with as much authority as his women’s studies professor in college. Then she frowned. “Wow. Where did that come from?”
“You just quoted Virginia Woolf,” he said. “From A Room of One’s Own.”
“Did I? It just…popped out.”
“That was interesting. I’d say it’s safe to assume you’ve had some sort of college education.” And that put an entirely new spin on the case. They’d been working under the assumption, considering her manner of dress and the contents of her shopping cart, that she’d been operating in a fairly low tax bracket. It was clear now—either she’d been educated, or was, at the very least, extremely well-read.
Or, God help him, a feminist.
“Anyone else you can quote?” he asked. “Thoreau? Dickinson?”
She shrugged helplessly, then glanced up through the windshield, as if noticing for the first time that they’d stopped. “This is your house?”
Mitch could swear she sounded a little apprehensive. Well, join the club. He wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea. In fact, it had disaster written all over it. Yet he was too exhausted to argue the issue. And he didn’t have the luxury of passing her off on someone else, not when he wasn’t sure who to trust. “You’re sure about this?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
They both climbed out and she followed him to the porch. He unlocked the door, letting her into the foyer, where he switched on the light and punched the security code on the alarm to arm the system. If anyone tried to get in tonight, he would know about it.
Jane walked ahead of him into the living room. “Nice. Although, I never pictured you living in a house with flowered wallpaper and pastel chintz furniture. You must be awfully secure in your masculinity.”
He took his jacket off and hung it on a hook by the door. “Not that secure. I just haven’t had time to change much
since I moved in.”
He led her to the kitchen, dropping his keys and badge on the table. “Hungry?”
“I could eat,” she said. “But would you mind terribly if I took a shower first? I’d really like to get the blood out of my hair.”
He removed the clip from his Glock and set them both on the table beside his badge. “I’ll give you the two-cent tour.”
“I don’t have two cents,” she said, and he smiled.
“You can owe me.”
He led her down a hall adorned with the same flowery print wallpaper to a bathroom decorated with so much bright yellow she had to fight the urge to shade her eyes. Despite the feminine touches the air was distinctly masculine, scented with aftershave and soap.
He gestured to the closet. “There are clean towels and I think there’s a new toothbrush on the top shelf. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
They crossed the hall to the spare bedroom. Decorated in dusty rose and leaf green, it was slightly less froofy than the rest of the house. A simple coverlet was draped over the queen-size bed and sheer white curtains hung in the window.
“The sheets are fresh and you’ll find extra blankets and pillows in the closet.”
Jane sat on the edge of the mattress, testing the springs. Lying back, she closed her eyes and sighed. “Ah, no lumps.”
“I think Lisa has clothes in the closet. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you borrow some. You look like you’re about the same size.”
“That would be great.” She opened her eyes and sat up. Mitch stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, head resting against the doorjamb. He looked exhausted and rumpled and so adorable her heart warmed at the sight of him. He almost looked vulnerable, when she knew deep down he was anything but. “Thank you for letting me stay here. I know you could get in trouble for doing this.”
He shrugged it off. “At least you’ll be safe. While you take your shower I’ll fix us something to eat. I think I have some lasagna in the freezer.”
As if he hadn’t done enough for her already. She should be cooking him dinner. That is, if she knew how. “Truthfully, I could go for something easy, like a tuna sandwich,” she said, picking the first thing that popped into her mind. Hopefully she liked tuna.
He looked relieved. “Do you prefer white or wheat bread?”
She didn’t have the slightest clue. “Surprise me.”
“Take your time,” he said, backing out of the room and closing the door behind him.
Jane stood and opened the closet. Several pairs of jeans hung there along with a few sundresses and a slew of T-shirts. She found one that looked large enough to pass as a nightshirt that read: Heart attacks…God’s revenge for eating his animal friends. Lisa was obviously an animal lover.
Do I like animals? she wondered.
Was she a cat person? A dog person? Was she allergic? Did she have a pet when she was a kid?
Right, Jane. You can’t remember your own children and you expect to remember a family pet. Way to keep those priorities straight.
Sighing, she pulled the shirt off the hanger and tossed it over her shoulder along with a flannel robe she found hanging on a hook on the back of the bedroom door. She searched the drawers of the dresser next, hoping to find a pair of underwear that might fit since hers had been cut off her at the hospital. If she’d learned one thing today, it was that denim chafed. Unfortunately, all the drawers were empty.
In the shower, she once again checked for stretch marks but couldn’t find a single one. Her stomach was flat, her breasts high and firm, if not on the extremely small side.
She just couldn’t accept that she had children. Natural or adopted. Or maybe the thought of her children, lonely and confused, waiting for her to return, was too much to bear. Why hadn’t anyone come to claim her yet? Where was her family? Wasn’t there anyone out there who loved or cared about her?
Sudden tears burned her eyes and she turned her face into the spray, rinsing them away. She’d come this far without totally losing it, she couldn’t give in now. She had to trust that Mitch would figure this out—that they would solve it together.
Stepping out, she toweled off and dressed in the T-shirt and robe. She tugged the knots from her hair with a brush she’d found in the closet, then leaned close to the mirror and examined her teeth. They were perfectly straight and white, and if she had any cavities, they hadn’t been filled with metal fillings. Would it be safe to assume a considerable amount of money had been invested in her mouth, or did she just have naturally strong and straight teeth?
She examined the greenish-purple bruises on both elbows and forearms, thankful she hadn’t landed on her face instead. She found a few small scars she hadn’t noticed before—a pale line about half an inch long above her right eyebrow, and a smaller scar at the corner of her right eye. Had an abusive husband done this to her, or had it been something as innocent as her falling off her bike as a child?
She frowned at her reflection. Scars, healed fractures…
Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
A new surge of hope blossomed inside of her and she flung open the bathroom door. She found Mitch at the kitchen counter, preparing the sandwiches.
He turned toward her as she entered the room.
“I just realized something,” she said. “I couldn’t have an abusive husband. I must be divorced.”
He carried two plates to the table, each with a sandwich, pickle wedge and a pile of potato chips. “How do you figure?”
“Besides my injuries from last night, I don’t have a mark on me. All I have are old scars. If I were living with an abusive man, wouldn’t I have recent injuries? If he were violent enough to break my bones, wouldn’t I at least have bruises?”
He gestured to a chair, motioning for her to sit. “I thought about that.”
She slid into her seat. “So you think it’s possible?”
Jane looked so hopeful, Mitch hated to say anything to break her spirit. Still, he couldn’t allow himself to reassure her with theories. “Anything is possible.”
He started to sit, but the phone rang. He glanced over at the caller ID unit on the cordless phone. Blocked. If it was someone from the precinct or Lisa, it would have registered.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Jane asked when he didn’t move.
“Someone is purposely blocking the number,” he said. “I want to see if they leave a message.”
The machine picked up on the third ring, but when the tone sounded, there was a long drawn-out silence, then a click.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” She paled and her steely gray eyes went wide. “He’s looking for us.”
“We don’t know that for sure. It could have just been a wrong number or a telemarketer.”
She didn’t look like she believed that. He didn’t mention that his number was unlisted, and obtaining it would have been difficult. Unless, of course, the suspect knew someone at the precinct. Or worked at the precinct. Even Mitch didn’t want to think about the possibility of that.
Jane pushed her plate away. “I think I just lost my appetite.”
“You’re safe here. No one is getting past the alarm without me knowing about it.” He wished there was some way he could erase her fear, her doubt. He reached across the table and slipped his hand over hers. Her skin was soft and warm but the tension in the muscles underneath clearly communicated her apprehension.
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”
Their eyes met and the mood shifted. The air between them sparked with energy and the pace of his heart accelerated. Aw, hell. He never should have touched her, yet he couldn’t seem to pull away. Jane was the one to tug her hand free, to break the spell.
She gave him a shaky smile. “I want to believe that.”
But she didn’t believe it. Her trust would have to be earned. He would have to prove that he could keep her safe.
“Why does a detective nee
d a state-of-the-art alarm system anyway?” she asked, picking at the crust of her bread. “You’d have to be either really brave or really stupid to break into a cop’s house.”
Mitch was grateful for the neutral subject matter. “It’s for insurance purposes. I have an extensive gun collection. It’s been in my family for generations. A few date back to the Revolutionary War.”
She nibbled on a chip. “What made you become a cop? Is that a family tradition, too?”
“My family has a strong military background. Everyone thought my dad would go career, but after one tour in Vietnam, he was through. He became a cop instead.”
“Twin Oaks?”
Mitch nodded. “He took an early retirement when he got sick. Stomach cancer.”
“When did he die?”
“It’ll be three years next month.”
She took a bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly. “And you’ve been taking care of your family ever since?”
“Pretty much.”
She nodded. “Hmm.”
He rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”
“What?” she asked, eyes wide and innocent. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” He finished his sandwich and carried his plate to the sink. “You’re making those little disapproving noises again.”
She gave him an honest to goodness laugh. “I am not.”
“Are, too.”
Jane placed her plate in the sink next to his. She’d barely touched her dinner. “I still contend that if you had nothing to feel guilty about, nothing I could say, no noise I could make, would make you feel that way.”
He only grunted. She was right, of course. So why, he wondered, if he had nothing to be guilty about, did he feel so damned guilty anyway?
Mitch heard moaning.
At first he thought he was dreaming. In fact, he had been—about Jane. He dreamt she’d come to his room and crawled under the covers next to him. It was shadowy and disconnected, yet he had been acutely aware of her hands on his body. The moist heat of her mouth on his skin, her warmth against him, but when he’d reached for her he grasped only air.
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