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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

 

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

Macon GA 31201

 

By a Silken Thread

Copyright © 2008 by MK Mancos

ISBN: 978-1-60504-198-8

Edited by Laurie Rauch

Cover by Anne Cain

 

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

 

First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: September 2008

www.samhainpublishing.com

By a Silken Thread

 

 

 

MK Mancos

Dedication

 

To Dave. It’s been a long journey, but here it is. Thank you for all the years of love, support and encouragement. You’re my knight with a shining jet pack. *wink* You know what I mean.

Prologue

Deer Creek, New Jersey

February 22nd

Tara Johanan looked down at her broken body, disconnected from the scene. Flashing lights from emergency vehicles lit the night. Bare trees, cocooned in ice, caught the reds and blues and sent them flashing back, turning the accident scene into a macabre discotheque.

Radios crackled with static. Police and paramedics shouted orders to one another in what sounded like a foreign language.

She felt sorry for their valiant efforts. They shouldn’t be out on a night like this, especially when she was already dead. Couldn’t they see the amount of blood coming up the plastic tube in her mouth? And that glazed look in her eyes? If that didn’t just scream death, nothing else would.

Give it up, will you? The words rumbled through her essence but she lacked the physicality for vocalization.

Weightless, Tara floated up beyond the canopy of trees. The freezing rain no longer stung her skin. Wind no longer cut through her clothing. Physical sensations ceased, but her emotional reactions were amplified. Yet, if pressed to name the state suffusing her, it would be contentedness.

So, this is what it’s like to die?

Tara had never been one to fear death. No, she had been one of the unfortunates who feared life, and all it implied. Now, her sad love life no longer mattered, nor the fact the opposite sex found her interesting only for as long as it took to reach orgasm.

Not even the horrible fight in the hospital ER with her best friend, Julianne, seemed all that important now. No, she’d been right. Tara knew nothing about relationships—not having had one that lasted past a first date—and should not be giving advice. The angry words had seemed important and eviscerating when Tara had fled the hospital in the middle of the ice storm. Now, they just seemed petty and small.

Floating above the scene, Tara could see the broken guardrail where her car left the road and plunged down the ravine. In the middle of the pavement lay a deer with his ass blown out from the force of impact.

Taking a peek back at the rescue squad, it didn’t appear she had fared much better.

Man, that’s gotta hurt.

But it didn’t. It felt invigorating. Liberating. Charismatic. The English language didn’t contain enough words to express how wonderful it felt to leave one’s cares and earthly body behind.

A sigh began at the center of her ethereal body, shimmering out along the edges. Above her, a pinpoint of light began to expand like a large gapping mouth. The maw swallowed her whole.

She fell.

Tara jerked awake and looked around.

Grasses, tall and green, swayed above her supine body. She rose on what could pass as elbows to a non-corporeal life-form. The scene that greeted her looked like the end credits from Little House on the Prairie, where a young Melissa Gilbert runs down a flower-spotted hill.

Sun beat down on her, yet she felt no heat from it. Nor did she feel the celestial breeze that ruffled the grass. Leaves fluttered on a large oak tree, but no rustling sound lilted down to her.

Dots of bright light speckled the landscape. Some were grouped in clusters. Others hovered along, parallel to the ground. None moved within range of Tara. She had no idea what they were, nor did she feel compelled to investigate at the time.

What she really wanted to do was spin.

 

 

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Same Night. Same Time.

Death surrounded Charlotte Durand.

It wasn’t something she cared to dwell on, but was an unmerciful part of her profession. As an emergency pediatrician, she saw death in all its many faces, but she’d never had to deal with one so close to home. Since she’d pronounced her ex-lover’s son dead two weeks before, nothing had gone right. A constant black cloud had descended over every aspect of her life.

The bridal shop had called and said her dress had been discontinued. The caterer had suddenly gone bankrupt, and she’d bounced the mortgage check. Intellectually, she realized Kyle’s death had nothing to do with her bad fortune, but disaster tailed her like paparazzi to a starlet.

She sighed and turned the car radio up a little louder, hoping to drown out the memory of the toddler’s little body rigid from the electrical shock that caused his heart to stop. The beat-box whoompa woob of the hip-hop tune did not fit her mood. She tuned to a station that played only old Southern Rock. Molly Hatchet yelled something about “flirting with disaster”.

Even the radio stations showed her no mercy.

She laughed and started to sing along.

It didn’t help to dwell on the tragedies that unfolded every day in the hospital. If she did, she would have quit medical school years ago. Doctors had to learn to divorce themselves from situations while maintaining a compassionate and caring manner. It was a fine line between apathy and empathy, but it was one Charlotte chose to walk.

Tonight, Kyle’s mother, Rebecca, stopped by the ER to see Charlotte. And Charlotte had been hard pressed to help the woman, but did offer to set up an appointment with a grief counselor for the following day.

How bizarre that her ex-lover, Ray’s, ex-wife would come to Charlotte for help. Hadn’t Rebecca’s teary eyes accused Charlotte of not doing enough the night Kyle died?

“Enough.” She said the word out loud, hoping to chase the blackness away. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. What was wrong with her tonight? Usually things didn’t depress her for more than a few moments at a time. Tonight, she couldn’t seem to cut loose the negative feelings. Maybe if she thought about the wedding.

Her forthcoming nuptials to Gil always made her happy, but the way that was shaping up, she would only have to face more frustrations. All day long she’d entertained the idea of asking Gil if he wanted to get the marriage license and have a judge perform the ceremony in chambers before leaving the courthouse. It would sure save on heartburn and headaches. She did have a day off coming the day after tomorrow.

She turned down the ink-black back road, taking the shortcut home. Lights in her rearview mirror blinded her. She blinked and flipped the mirror up as the car sped up beside her.

Probably teenagers out joyriding. She dismissed the thought out of hand as the car started to pass her.

As she turned to look, the passenger window rolled down and the driver lifted an arm as if pointing.

“What the…” She didn’t finish the sentence. Her driver’s side window exploded inward.

Pain registered for only a millisecond as the blood began to run into her eyes. Her hands left the wheel, no longer obeying her commands.

Her car headed straight for a light pole.

Charlotte watched in horror as she sped closer to it. Her feet disregarded her orders to brake. Fear squeezed her heart as her car struck the pole and the lights in the neighborhood went black.

The last sound Charlotte heard was the squeal of tires as the assailant pulled away, leaving her in a pool of her own blood.

 

The once beautiful glow of life drained out in a steady stream down the front of Charlotte’s trench coat. For a moment, she didn’t know how it was possible to be both victim and spectator to the scene. Panic escalated. This was not the way she had envisioned her death. Not like this! There was still so much to do. She was getting married to the love of her life.

That was it! She needed Gil to help her.

Time and space whirled until they merged. Charlotte found herself floating above Gil in the living room of the antebellum house they had bought from his grandmother and painstakingly restored. He was half reading a sports magazine, half watching the news.

He’s so beautiful. Taking a closer look, she noticed he had a strange glow about him, a corona radiating from his body. Charlotte tilted her head to the side as faceted energy covered Gil in a loving glow. Warmth spread through her. She realized she could see his aura. She could have watched him forever, but time was no luxury she could afford.

Gil, she said. To her surprise no words came out. The only thing she heard was the thoughts inside her own consciousness. Words without voices. She felt the thoughts. In her mind, she repeated the phrase, help me, until he began to look around the room, in search of a draft. He shivered once, then got off the couch and closed the open window. It was no use. He couldn’t hear her. She couldn’t communicate with him.

No! She refused to let someone get away with murdering her. There had to be another way to get his attention.

An insistent tugging lifted her as she moved away from the life she had known. Lights and colors became one with each other. She was too upset to enjoy the beautiful display of energy as it passed around her. A warm, loving calm came over her, yet she fought that, too.

How could she be comforted when everything she was had been extinguished? She had to find a way back to herself.

Hurtling faster and faster through space, the journey ended in a large open field. She floated past a cottage with a white picket fence that reminded her of her grandmother’s Kentucky farm.

The sound of a child’s laughter caught her attention. It wasn’t sound as she knew before, but an echoing inside her soul, plucking the strings of her heart like a well-tuned viola. Turning her attention towards the sound, a tawny-haired boy played in the sunlight, kicking a ball then running after it. Kyle! Ray’s son. The young boy turned and smiled knowingly at Charlotte then faded away.

Somebody help me. She sent the message out through her mind, hoping a heavenly being would hear and come to her rescue.

From her periphery, she could see the image of a young woman. She was spinning and laughing with such abandon she had to be an angel. She had brown hair and was slender built. Her form was solid, yet not. It must be an impression of how she had looked in life.

Charlotte was instantly drawn to her. How happy the woman looked, playing in the tall grasses. Definitely she was someone who belonged to the afterlife. Maybe the woman knew some secret to get Charlotte back into her body.

To Charlotte’s astonishment, the being looked so much like her it felt eerie. She looked so content. Could it have been a vision of what should be?

“You have to help me. I have to get back.”

The woman gazed at Charlotte. A shimmer of confusion moved around the edges of her essence.

“Why would you want to go back?”

“No, you don’t understand! There were no witnesses. The police won’t be able to find out who killed me. It was so dark…I don’t know who…I think, but I can’t be sure.”

“They’ll find out. Even if they don’t, it doesn’t matter to you now.”

Despair seeped in to fill all the voids where happiness should have been. No one could help her. She was stuck here with no link to the living world. What would happen to Gil? How could he go on now that she was dead? He had no way to know who killed her.

Light coalesced before them, sending beams upward and outward. The center turned opaque, forming a figure. Arms outstretched in offering, the being enfolded Charlotte in love. Despair melted away, replaced by peacefulness. The empyrean being was like nothing she had ever imagined. Surely this was a real angel. Bathed in the light of wisdom and love, her features were hazy, yet Charlotte could make out long golden curls of light. Her eyes were radiant pools of blue, like the oceans of the Earth. The pseudo-skin on her face appeared iridescent and the only words Charlotte could think of to describe her were pure energy.

Images of her life and everything that had happened to her since birth flooded her mind. The lake of memories surrounded her, and she became submerged. All the pain and sorrow felt by others she had known came to rest in her heart, along with all the joy, triumph, and love. It was an eternity of emotions released by the simple act of merging with the being.

Charlotte’s soul shook and melted. Grew and expanded, then finally released.

Let go of the pain, my child, the being whispered in her head.

Within the security of the being of light she felt another presence, touching on the fringe of her existence. She knew, yet not how, that it was the young woman she approached in the grass.

The woman was leaving. She was being sent back. The touch was meant to comfort. It did little but upset her again. It wasn’t fair! She was content to stay here and play in the afterlife, while Charlotte had a mission to find her own killer.

A gentle pulling jolted her conscious then tugged as their memories snapped and swirled together. Before her was an easel, and through eyes not her own, she could see a painting being completed. She stood watching a young man with brown hair and blue eyes kiss a girl in a cheerleading uniform, and her heart bled. Last, she saw a woman in a hospital bed, beaten bloody. A feeling of cold regret pooled inside as the woman blamed her for something out of her control.

As the being disengaged, she caught a name—Tara.

When Tara moved away, the being of light held Charlotte tighter to keep her from following. You, my child, will return as well. But be prepared, it may not be as you expect.

Chapter One

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Marcus Danforth hated calls like this one. As he got out of his unmarked police car, he felt a punch to his chest that nearly knocked his body to the red clay road.

Charlotte was being loaded onto a stretcher. The paramedics frantically tried to manually ventilate her through the tube in her lungs. The ambulance waited with doors open to take her to the trauma unit where they would continue the fight to save her life. The scene was too surreal for a man who worked with this every day on the Palmetto Springs Police Department, but when your stepsister was the victim, it was a different story.

He swallowed the gorge down.

“Hey, Danforth.” Officer Tim Merriwether walked over, placing a comforting hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “We have it under control here. Why don’t you go on to the hospital?”

Marcus waved the suggestion away. He still didn’t know if he would be able to speak, but he tried. “Find anything yet?”

“Power lines were down. Neighbors called in, said they heard a crash right before they lost power. When we arrived on scene, we found the victim…” Merriwether blanched “…er, Charlotte, shot in the left side of the head.”

“Anyone see anything?” Marcus surveyed the neighborhood and the people that milled about on their lawns in the chill February night. In the glare of generator-powered floodlights, he could see Detective Vinnie Caspan talking with a potential witness. The fully restored Javelin sat broken by the snapped power pole.

“No. So far everyone claims to have been inside at the time they heard the crash. No one saw a thing.”

“Has anyone called Gil or my parents?”

“Not that I know of.”

Marcus pulled his cell phone off his belt and dialed his mother’s number. He was about to hang up when she answered.

“Mom? Marcus.”

“Hello, sweetheart. William and I were just talking about you.”

“Listen, you and William need to get to the hospital as soon as you can.”

“Marcus? What’s happened?” Panic filled the genteel voice, and he could hear her take quick gulps of air. He started walking back to his car so as not to waste more time.

“Now, don’t fall apart on me. I need you to be strong for William. There’s been an accident, and Charlotte’s hurt bad.” Better to let her think it an accident for now and let them find out the ugly truth when they were safely at the hospital.

“Oh, my God!”

“I’m going over to Gil’s to pick him up. We’ll meet you at the trauma center.”

“Yes. All right, sweetheart. Be careful.”

“You, too. I love you.”

She mumbled something unintelligible into the receiver and the line went dead. God, he hoped she didn’t wreck her damn car on the way to the hospital. His mother was emotional enough, but William Durand would be inconsolable.

Marcus threw his cell phone onto the passenger’s seat and stared numbly out the windshield. Tears burned his eyes. He clamped his jaw tightly, fighting them back.

Who would have shot Charlotte? She had never hurt another soul in her entire life and had spent years learning how to help others. Her commitment to her career was obvious. Even to those who had only just met her. Well, the shitbag had better look over his shoulder for the rest of his miserable life because Marcus wouldn’t stop looking until he had the guy behind bars.

 

Marcus waited in his car to steel himself against what he was about to do. It was always the worst part of the job to tell a loved one that there had been a crime committed. Worse when the victim was family, and the loved one your best friend.

The front door opened and Marcus watched Gil walk out onto the porch with his hands shoved down deep into his jeans pockets.

He admitted it had been weird when Gil and Charlotte started dating. But if Marcus had handpicked the man his sister was to spend the rest of her life with, he’d have not done better than Gil Van Patric.

“Marcus? Is that you, buddy?” Gil took a few more steps across the porch. “Why don’t you come on into the house and have a beer. Charlotte’ll be home in a few minutes.”

Marcus opened the car door and got out, coming around to the stairs. He looked up at his oldest friend. Words bottlenecked in his throat. He coughed to clear them away and start again.

“Gil, Charlotte’s not coming home tonight.”

“Was there an emergency at the hospital?” He watched Gil’s eyes cloud in confusion and his brow wrinkle. “Well, no wonder she didn’t call.”

Marcus reached out and put a comforting hand on Gil’s arm. “Buddy, I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to say this. Charlotte’s been shot. She’s in the trauma unit as we speak. I wanted to come tell you myself.”

When Gil said nothing, Marcus cleared his throat to try again, relying on his many years on the force to keep from falling apart on his friend. The next thing Marcus knew he was lying flat on his back, looking up at the stars as Gil hit the ground running for his car, without shoes or socks, nor car keys in his hand.

Marcus rolled over and got to his feet. He ran behind Gil, pulling him back by the shirt and forcing him around to face him. “Hold on. You’re not going anywhere like that. Go get some shoes on, get a jacket, and I’ll drive you myself.”

Gil nodded dumbly and started back for the house, moving, it seemed, on autopilot. Halfway there, he turned and looked at Marcus. “Will she live?”

“I don’t know, buddy. I just don’t know.”

 

 

A long, lung-emptying sigh filled the dark bedroom as the shooter placed the gun back among its brethren in the cool blackness.

The location had been perfection! How accommodating for Charlotte to take a shortcut home on this of all evenings. Imagine her driving down a street with nothing but sea grass on one side and sparse homes on the other. It was truly a gift from God. It was a sign, however small, that the death of Charlotte Durand was sanctioned by a higher power.

Clearly, the darling of Palmetto Springs’ medical community would never have been tried and convicted for her crimes against society. Sometimes someone needed to step in and give fate a little push in the right direction. What better trial and conviction than that of the heavenly Father himself? Surely God would punish Charlotte for a lifetime of thinking herself better than the mortal circles in which she traveled.

The shooter pulled off the black hat and glasses and looked in the mirror.

The only thing left to do now was to show the world a face full of concern and appropriate shock over the liberation of Charlotte Durand.

 

 

Chaos reigned in the emergency room. Every nurse, doctor and respiratory therapist who knew Charlotte came to either pay their respects, or feed on the unfolding drama. From where he stood, Marcus watched William walking around the trauma room, looking lost and helpless among the bandages, plastic syringe caps, and other medical paraphernalia littering the floor. The smell of blood and death hung in the air, a specter of human frailty. In all the years he’d known William, he had never seen him in such a state.

Dr. Durand had raised Marcus like a son and had always been fair and just in both praise and punishment. Marcus loved and respected the man and his heart bled to see such a capable man brought so low.

Carol Durand and Gil were in the waiting room, unable to stand the sight of the trauma team rushing about, yelling out medical terms that sounded very bad. Marcus turned away from the scene and walked to the waiting room to join the others.

“Doctor Darby Payne, please report to the trauma room, stat. Doctor Darby Payne to trauma room, stat.” That had to be the twentieth time they’d paged Darby since Marcus arrived at the hospital. He gave a fleeting thought to the whereabouts of Charlotte’s colleague.

Gil looked up at Marcus with red-rimmed eyes. His dark wavy hair stood up in spikes where he kept running his hand through it. “Any news?”

“They’re still working on her. I heard someone say something about the neurosurgeon coming in.”

Carol tucked an errant piece of silver hair back into the bun drooping on the back of her neck. Marcus crossed the room and sat next to her, placing an arm around her slim shoulders. “Can I get you anything?”

“No. I couldn’t right now.”

Gil stood and paced the length of the room. Tension radiated from him, his muscular body ready to fight. “Tell me you’re getting this case,” he said, turning to Marcus.

“I doubt Chief Hunter will let me, not with a family member involved.” He held his hand up to stop Gil’s coming rant—and Marcus knew Gil too well the meaning in the look his best friend sent him to think there wouldn’t be a rant. “That is on the record. Hunter won’t have anything to say about what I do off the record and on my own time.”

Gil nodded, pacified for the moment.

William stepped into the room and motioned for them. “She’s getting ready to go to surgery. We have a few moments to tell her we love her before she goes…” His deep voice broke. He removed his glasses with a shaky hand, wiping at teary eyes.

Carol hurried to her husband. Placing her arm around his waist, she guided him back to the trauma room. Gil and Marcus followed in silent misery.

Curious stares moved over them as they walked to the trauma room. Marcus felt like a condemned man on his way to execution. Christ, couldn’t they just mind their own fucking business for one night?

The trauma room had been cleared except for a nurse who had her back to them, furiously writing on the chart. Gil sagged beside Marcus and he reached out to grab him before his knees could hit the ground.

“Come on, I’ve got you.”

Marcus half dragged Gil to a stool and set him down on it. He grasped the stool under the seat and dragged it over by the stretcher where Charlotte lay. Gil was a big man, but Marcus was bigger, and his grief was slowly simmering into rage.

Gil took Charlotte’s hand in one of his then smoothed her hair away from her forehead with the other. A blood-soaked bandage covered her left temple. Her eye socket looked like a huge blood blister.

Gil’s voice croaked as he hunkered down across her. “Christ, babe, wake up and tell us who did this to you.”

Tears ran down his face and plopped onto Charlotte’s closed lids. He kissed her still mouth, open slightly where a tube had been placed to secure her airway. “I love you so much.”

Marcus tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. Figures swam before him. He blinked, not wanting his mother and William to see him break down. He needed to be strong for them—for all of them, especially Gil.

The neurosurgeon walked in and gave William a nod. “I promise I’ll take good care of her, Bill.”

“I wouldn’t trust her to anyone else.” They shook hands and the trauma team prepared to transport Charlotte to the operating room.

Marcus leaned down and kissed her forehead. Shock made him start. She felt cold and waxy, like she had already died and only clung to life by a silken thread. His mother frowned in question, but he shook his head. It wasn’t anything he wanted them to know. Besides, he was probably just imagining things. It had already been a long night.

He glanced at his watch. Only nine-twenty! He watched as Charlotte’s stretcher was wheeled out of the trauma room. The night was about to get a whole lot longer.

Chapter Two

Deer Creek, New Jersey

Pain burned her nerve endings like Greek fire. She wanted to moan, but the tube in her throat made her cough instead. Alarms rang above and beside her as various machines exploded with sound.

A dark, broad face came into view.

“Tara, can you hear me?”

She nodded, or at least thought she did. The pain overwhelmed all other sensations.

“I’m going to give you some more Morphine. Your family is in the waiting area. Would you like me to send them in?”

She squeezed the hand that rested in hers, shaking her head. A stiff collar prevented her from moving her neck too far to either side. Why would she want her family to see her like this? All she wanted was to be left alone to die again. To escape the pain.

Another nurse placed a cool, damp towel on her forehead. “You go back to sleep, all right? I’ll let your family know you woke for a bit.”

Without another thought, Tara slipped once again into blessed peace.

She didn’t know how long she slept. Time had no meaning inside the velvet cocoon of the pain meds. Coming in and out of consciousness, she could sense movement, and sometimes hear voices speaking over her bed, but nothing filled her with as much clarity as the scene of her death.

Alarms began to go off over her head again and a hand gripped hers tightly. Voices whispered, urgent. Commands. Muffled sobs. They all ran together as did the days and nights, and always, just there, beyond the reach of even the most potent of drugs, came that one pleading voice, calling to her from somewhere past the veil of death. You’re the only one who can find my killer. No one knows who shot me.

 

Three weeks later

Tara coughed and sputtered. The tube hurt worse coming out of her throat than it had going in. Of course she had been hanging in the twilight between life and death at that point, and now she was very much awake.

The respiratory therapist placed a mask with cool mist and oxygen on her face. “Now, your throat might be sore for a few days because of the tube. The mist will help.”

Tara nodded. She didn’t want to speak. She didn’t want to do anything but lie in the bed and try to make sense of the odd images flashing through her mind. People and places she never knew ran in a constant loop, showing her scenes of times she didn’t remember—or did she? It was hard to say. They seemed so real, but maybe after the heavy pain meds she’d been under, she could no longer distinguish between dreams, reality, and movies she’d seen. God in heaven, she didn’t even know how long she’d lain there in constant pain, but it seemed an eternity in hell.

A nurse pulled back the privacy curtain and her brother, Stuart, came in to sit beside her. His fingers curled into hers and he leaned over the bed. His solid, dependable presence comforted her. The pain eased a bit. Stuart always made everything better.

“Mom and Dad went to get coffee.”

At least that was something to be thankful for. Her parents had a tendency to hover. Stuart, on the other hand, would sit with her for hours and not say a word. She liked knowing he would only lend his support without crying or demanding something from her caretakers.

Her eyes felt heavy-lidded again. It was frustrating to know she couldn’t seem to keep them open for more than ten minutes at a time without falling back to sleep. Something lodged deep in her soul, something imperative she had to get done. Time was of the essence. Yet, Tara couldn’t remember why. All her thoughts jumbled over one another in a drug-hazed alphabet soup.

She woke up a short time later, barely able to see beyond the veil of sleep. Someone sat by her bedside, holding her hand. A thumb brushed gently against hers. A name kept running through her mind, then tripped from her lips and fell into the void between them. “Gil?”

Chapter Three

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Ray Aldrich sat at his kitchen table, fingering the Glock. One pull of the trigger and it would all be over. The world would be better off without him. The only thing he’d ever done was cause pain and destruction.

Baby killer. He was a goddamned baby killer.

Bitter tears tasted of regret as they fell onto his lips. Loneliness ached in his soul, constricting his heart. He’d been taking care of Kyle when the accident happened. He should have watched closer. Should have done something more to ensure the house was childproofed.

Ray had had such big plans for his son. Kyle would never know the beatings and abandonment Ray had been forced to endure at the hands of his own parents. No, sir, not his son. In the garage was a fishing pole that had been Ray’s first. It sat waiting for the day Kyle was old enough to learn to fish. They would have gone. Ray had imagined the scene so many times, just the two of them out on a pier as he taught his son how to bait and cast.

Those plans, along with Kyle, were dead and buried.

The weight of the gun felt good in his hand. Reassuring, like it held all the answers. This time he’d be a man and end it all. It’s what he deserved.

Keys jangled in the front door.

“Ray,” Rebecca called from the foyer. Damn. Why’s she here?

The sharp click of her heels on the parquet floors echoed through the house. “Ray?”

His back was to the kitchen door, so he felt her presence before he saw her. Slowly, he turned to take her in. God, she was beautiful. Memories of her naked, needy body straining against him spilled in his gut. Tension fissured in the air between them, filling the silence of the room. Despite all that had passed between them, he still loved her. And he thought she felt the same. But how in heaven’s name could she even look him in the eye, knowing he was responsible for killing their son.

Rebecca’s gaze fell from Ray’s to land on the gun in his hand. Shock had her eyes opening wider. She adamantly shook her head.

“No,” she whispered.

Ray shrugged in his own defense. “You shouldn’t have come. I could have been done with it.”

“And had me find you?” She moved closer and held out her hand to him. “I never wanted…”

He held up his hand to stop her words. “I can’t live with the guilt. It’s my fault Kyle’s dead.”

“No, baby.” She slid her arms around his neck, leaning her head on top of his. He buried his face in the soft pillow of her breasts.

She smelled good, like hope and love and everything that was right in his life. Like everything he’d fucked up. His arms came around her and held her close, as if to stop her from leaving him again. “What am I going to do, Becca?”

“I don’t know.” A light kiss brushed against the top of his hair. Her hand caressed the back of his neck. “But you don’t have to go through this alone.”

“Don’t leave me tonight.”

Rebecca placed her hands on the sides of his face and lifted it from her chest. She looked down into his eyes. “I’ll stay as long as you like. I don’t want to be alone either.”

His mind reeled. Maybe he could get her back. Perhaps they could get a second chance. He had never gotten a second chance in his life. Not with his family, and certainly not with Kyle.

“Come on.” She pulled his arm and made him stand. “Go take a shower and I’ll make you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Neither am I, but we have to eat.”

Leave it to Becca to be the voice of reason, even in the depths of her deepest pain.

He leaned over and kissed her mouth. It was more of a gentle brush of his lips than an actual kiss. He was afraid to take any more from her than he already had. “I love you.”

She looked as if her heart had split in two. “I know.”

 

With the gun secured in the safe, Ray stood under the shower and let the water and suds sluice his body. If only his problems could wash away as easily as the dirt and smell. How long did it take to grieve for an only child whose life was extinguished much too early? Would the pain never end?

But Becca was here, in the house they’d shared while married. He had to hold on to that at least. If she didn’t still care, she wouldn’t have shown up, wouldn’t still have her keys.

She’d caught him contemplating suicide.

How would he ever live that one down? She was so gentle and loving. He’d pushed her away with his constant need for approval. To make everyone believe he wasn’t the failure the world thought he was.

He shook his head and soap ran into his eyes. It burned, mixing with the water. He tipped his head back and let the shower spray rinse his eyes clean. At odd moments like this, with his eyes closed tight against the light, he could see the replay from the emergency room pass through his mind like a relentless newsreel.

Impotent anger flared through him at his stupidity. He sent his fist into the tiled wall. Over and over, he hit the hard porcelain, letting the pain be his punishment. But deep down a voice called to him, telling him again that no punishment would ever fit the crime.

The shower door opened and Becca stuck her head in. “Dinner’s ready.” When she realized what he’d been doing, she leaned over and jerked the tap to the off position, getting her hair wet in the process. “Just stop it.”

She threw a towel over his shoulders and helped him out. “You need to get control, sweetheart. We lost Kyle, I don’t…no, I can’t lose you, too.”

He sat on the closed toilet seat and leaned over, resting his forearms on his legs. There was no way in hell he could look at her. No way he wanted to see the hurt and condemnation in her beautiful blue eyes.

“Ray? Please, look at me.” A long slender finger curled under his chin and lifted his face to hers. “We have to stay alive for Kyle.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. “We’re the only ones who can keep him alive.”

He stood and cradled her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. A sweet moan came from her throat and her mouth opened under his, a request for more. Christ, she tasted good, and it had been so long since they’d made love. Her hands moved down his hips to grip his buttocks, and she pressed her breasts into his chest. Desire rose in him. He wanted her so bad, but he couldn’t…

He tore his mouth away, holding her face still as he rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded, her face downcast. “I’ll let you get dressed.”

That took less than five minutes to complete. There was no need to worry about his appearance. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and walked into the kitchen.

Becca stood at the stove, dishing something that smelled suspiciously like chicken with Alfredo sauce. By trade, he was the chef, but she could definitely turn out a mean dish if need be.

“Smells good,” he said by way of announcing his presence.

“Well, it’s not Antoine’s, but it’ll do.” She dismissed his compliment by comparing her food to Antoine’s. But then no one’s Alfredo sauce was as good as the head chef at Ray’s restaurant.

They sat across from each other and dug in. Ray had to admit the food was good and hit the spot, even if regret made him force down every forkful. They ate in silence, until he could stand the sound of flatware against plate no longer.

“What made you stop by here tonight?”

She looked up from her plate and took a long sip of iced tea. “Went by the restaurant and was told you’d left early. I was concerned.”

She didn’t say it, but it hung in the air between them. Becca had good reason to be concerned for him.

The food went to dust in his mouth. Swallowing took a force of effort on his part. “I don’t know how you do it. You’ve never raged at me, or blamed me once. Not even when you left me. All you asked was that I find myself and get my priorities straight.”

“I only wanted you to be happy.” She stood and took her plate to the sink. “I couldn’t stand the thought that you might still want her.”

Her. The emphasis on the word said it all. Charlotte Durand.

How could he deny what they both knew? Charlotte had been his first real love. They were lovers in college, and into the first year of med school, until a stupid mistake had seen Ray’s expulsion. Their relationship unraveled like a cheap sweater after that and no matter how hard he tried, he was never able to knit the pieces back together.

“Charlotte was a long time ago, Becca.”

“And now she’s back in our lives.” She turned around to face him. Unhappiness etched lines around her perfect bow mouth.

Chair legs made a scrapping noise across the floor as he stood. “From what I’ve heard, Charlotte isn’t in anyone’s life at the moment.”

Becca nodded and turned back to the sink to rinse the dishes. “That’s true enough.”

“Seems odd though. It’s been three weeks and the police don’t have any leads yet.” A twinge of pity for the brilliant young physician cramped his heart. It was hard to imagine a woman so full of life and vibrancy lying in a bed hooked to machines.

His obsessive love for Charlotte had caused him so much pain in the past that seeing her the night Kyle died had reopened all the old wounds. In an odd sort of way, he blamed her for his divorce. Not because she had done anything to cause the actual break up, but more that he had been too stupid to reassure Becca that Charlotte was indeed a part of his past.

Now, the woman who was such a large part of his past looked as if she wouldn’t have a future.

Chapter Four

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Gil sat beside Charlotte’s bed. Her cranial bandages were gone, and the hair had begun to grow back. There was some sweetly sick smell about her that reminded him of disease and neglect. This was not the way she would have wanted to look on this of all days.

It was their wedding day.

The police still maintained the shooter had to be a random drive-by, since their investigation did not uncover any likely candidates who would wish such a thing on her. Charlotte, as far as he knew, had no enemies. No one spoke anything but praise for the promising young doctor, and the list of suspects had gone from short to non-existent. Marcus still ran leads, but even his determination to bring in the shooter couldn’t produce one from thin air.

Repeatedly Gil begged Charlotte’s parents to discontinue life support, knowing in his heart Charlotte wouldn’t want to live in such a way. The Durands, Dr. Durand in particular, kept saying miracles could happen, not to write her off so soon. Somehow Gil didn’t think that waiting for a miracle was something he was strong enough to endure, especially if it left Charlotte little more than a broken, useless body. Who knew if her mind was even intact? But Dr. Durand said that the bullet hadn’t damaged her brain stem, and as long as that functioned, her heartbeat and respirations would continue. But heartbeats and respirations were not the essence of the woman he loved.

A rap of knuckles against the open door made Gil turn around. He nodded to Charlotte’s colleague and old high school friend.

“Darby.” Gil stood, shaking the doctor’s hand.

“Gil.” Darby Payne was a smallish man, with dark brown eyes and a shrewd, efficient manner. The man missed nothing. Charlotte had always trusted his judgment, but she said sometimes he tended to try to run roughshod over her. For all Darby Payne’s accomplishments, it was Charlotte who received the accolades. Darby was in his last year of residency and planned to join the pediatric team at the hospital after graduation.

Darby’s small eyes surveyed the room. His gaze settled on Gil again. “This isn’t the day Charlotte had planned.”

Gil nodded solemnly, wondering how Darby had remembered such a thing. “I suppose she drove everyone crazy talking about the wedding.”

“That and everything else. We were all pretty sick of hearing about it.” He gave a slight smile and came to the bed, looking down at Charlotte. “She was always a tremendous pain in the ass, but we all loved her.”

Gil didn’t like the use of past tense, though he appreciated what Darby was saying. “She’s not dead yet.”

Darby looked up sharply, adjusting his glasses. “No, she isn’t. But do you really think she’ll ever be the same?”

“No, and I have to say, he may be your mentor, but there are times I’d like to strangle the good Dr. Durand for putting her through this.”

The petite doctor shuffled his tassel-loafered feet and put his hands deep into the pockets of his lab coat. “Dr. Durand preaches the importance of consulting families to give up when all is lost. That’s especially important if the families want to donate organs. Sometimes organs that would be good for donation deteriorate as the body begins to shut down, then you have nothing to salvage. I guess it’s just harder when the person you’re pulling the plug on is your own child.”

“I don’t begrudge them their decision, but I know in my heart Charlotte wouldn’t want to live this way.”

“If you ask me, Gil, this ain’t living.” He placed his hand on Charlotte’s and squeezed, then patted Gil’s shoulder and strolled from the room.

Chapter Five

Deer Creek, New Jersey

Tara stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at the scars disfiguring her torso and legs. A large purple one dissected her midsection. The chest tubes had left slits on either side. A slim fingertip traced the jagged lines that ran across the tops of her thighs where the dashboard had cut into her flesh. The green and yellow of healing bruises remained along her ribcage.

The trauma surgeon called her lucky. She wasn’t so sure she agreed.

Her eyes slid shut to steel herself against the emotions that welled inside. The least of which was anger. Why hadn’t she been allowed to stay dead? Was she such a failure at life that the hereafter didn’t want her either? And why did she have this horrible nagging feeling in the back of her brain as if she needed to do something urgently?

Tara had never pegged herself as a defeatist, and yet here she stood in a hospital bathroom, completely nude, feeling as if there was something she needed to accomplish before moving on to the next plane of existence. Something crucial she’d missed the first time around.

Her gaze traveled up to lock with her reflection. She was a complete and utter mess. Thick brown hair brushed her thin shoulders. Water from her recent shower beaded on her small breasts. Golden-green eyes looked too large for her face that had grown thin during her illness. Her lips, which she had always considered her best feature, now had hardly any color and looked like over-chewed bubble gum that had lost its color.

She was nondescript at best, or so she believed from the lack of interest the male species gave her. Invisible. Unremarkable.

A long sigh escaped past her lips. What good did it do to lament relationships that were obviously not meant to be? She’d tried her hand at them—love affairs. Or could one consider them such when the men had never called her again? Her few brief affairs were with men she had known in the art world, friends. The sex had always felt perfunctory, like flossing, and the men had disappeared from her life. The friendships severed. She despaired she wasn’t any good in bed and because of that men became disinterested once they had her.

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked her reflection. Her gaze stared dully back.

The lines of her face shifted and changed, morphing into someone she had only glimpsed on the other side. Scenes of a life not lived flashed before her eyes like a kaleidoscope gone haywire. Dear God! I’m losing my mind.

Images whirled by in an instant replay of a life so unlike her own. Excitement permeated the air, heightening her perception.

Eyes very much like her own stared into hers from the other side of the mirror. A voice with a sweet southern drawl invaded her head, whispering along her consciousness. Please, Tara, you have to help me. There’s no one else I can turn to. No one I can talk to. You’re the only one who understands. No one knows who shot me. I think I may have an idea, but only you can hear me. Help me. I don’t know how much time I have left.

Her tentative grip on the sink slipped. Tara succumbed to the blackness of another’s memories.

Sometime later, she didn’t know how long, she woke to hands gripping her shoulders. The person pulled her into a sitting position. “You little idiot. Why didn’t you call someone?”

She let Julianne help her stand, then walk to the bed. By the time they limped and struggled there, Tara was soaked in a cold sweat and in desperate need of another shower.

“You want me to call the nurse?” Julianne hovered close, a worried expression on her face.

“No, but could you get me some clothes. I’m freezing.”

After a brief glance around the room, Julianne moved back into the bathroom and retrieved the silk robe Tara had taken in there before her shower. Tara batted Julianne’s hands away as she tried to help Tara put it on. “I can do it myself. I passed out. I’m not an invalid.”

“All right, excuse me for being concerned.” Julianne sat in a chair beside the bed, watching Tara closely. Long acrylic nails ran through impossibly thick auburn hair.

“Would you stop staring at me? I’m not going to pass out again. I think I just overdid it with the shower and all,” Tara lied. Whenever she blinked she could see those eyes staring into hers, imploring her to help find a killer. She was losing her mind, and the beginnings of a super-sized headache began to build behind her eyes.

“If you’re sure that’s all it was.” Julianne stood again when Tara began to get under the covers. “At least let me help you straighten these out.”

A reluctant smile tugged the corners of Tara’s mouth up. “Thanks.”

With Julianne’s face so close to her own she could see the vivid reminder of that cold day in February rendered in the healing gash above expertly painted lips. A jagged shard of regret poked Tara in the heart.

“In a few weeks you won’t even be able to see it.” Tara nodded to Julianne as her best friend settled back into the bedside chair.

Dark brows pulled down over even darker eyes. “It’ll probably take longer than that. The ones on your thighs look pretty bad.”

“No, you idjit. Not my scars, the one Steph gave you when he busted your lip.”

Julianne’s hand moved to finger the scar in a self-conscious manner. “Oh, yeah, makeup does wonders.”

Uncomfortable silence settled over them. It was the first time either of them had brought up the night they both ended up in the ER—one beaten savagely at the hands of a jealous boyfriend, the other a victim of car versus deer on icy roads.

Suddenly Julianne let out a shaky sob. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said those terrible things to you. I love you.”

Tara shrugged the apology away. “What did you say that wasn’t true?”

“But it was wrong of me. You were only trying to help, and were worried. I know that. At the time, I was just so scared Steph would beat me up again.”

Tara shook her head in wonder. “Did you ever think to hit him back?”

Julianne looked as if the very thought horrified her. “I don’t think I could have. He’s too strong. It would have probably been worse for me if I had.”

“Or surprised him so much he stopped.” She reached out a hand for Julianne to take. She did, in a strong grip. “Please, don’t go back to him. No matter how much he begs you this time.” Tara had told Julianne time and again to throw Steph out of her life. The man was jealous and bent and more than a little scary—or so Tara always thought. It was no wonder he finally snapped when Julianne finally had enough and kicked him out.

And of all things to become jealous over. Julianne had worked hard for that promotion at the law offices where she worked as a legal secretary. She had gone from being low woman on the totem pole to head chief in less than five years. She now managed the entire office for the six attorneys in the firm. Not a small accomplishment by any stretch of the imagination.

“He’s agreed to get counseling.”

Tara’s stomach did a dive. “I’m glad, but what did you have to agree to?”

“You’d be proud. I didn’t agree to a thing.” She swung her long hair over her shoulder then studied her manicure. The action said more than the words ever could. Julianne was hiding something.

“But you didn’t break it off with him either, did you?” Tara raised a brow and stared at Julianne with an unwavering gaze.

“Not exactly. We’re taking it one day at a time, and I’m keeping my apartment.”

“Does he have a key?”

Julianne sighed and put her head in her hands. “He asked, but I told him no.”

“Well, good. At least that’s something.”

“Besides, I’m seeing someone new.”

“Really? Who?”

Julianne shook her head. “I’m not telling anyone. He and I are going to see how it goes first. I’ll say he’s the most amazing man I’ve ever known and the sex is unbelievable.”

Incredulous, Tara’s mouth flapped open. “You’re sleeping with this new guy already?”

Julianne put her hands up and shrugged. “We couldn’t help ourselves. We’d both had a really long day, and were trying to comfort each other, one thing led to another…”

Tara held up her hands to stop the details. “I get the picture.” Better to leave that conversation where it was than to have to listen to her best friend justify jumping into a physical relationship with a man she’d just met.

“Tara, don’t be mad at me. We came so close to losing you. I don’t ever want to fight with you again.”

The woman had no idea just how close it was. Tara let out a snorty laugh tinged with bitterness. “I guess Steph’s jealousy is contagious. I envy the fact men seem to fall at your feet. I mean, other than the occasional nut job, you’ve been with some really decent, hardworking guys, and they adore you. Me, I haven’t even found one who didn’t pull out, roll off, and hit the pavement afterwards. I’m twenty-eight years old and have no idea what a post-coital cuddle feels like because I’ve never gotten that far after sex to find out.”

Julianne shook her head. “Only you.” She stood and walked to the cards pushed with pins into the corkboard hanging on the wall.

“Only me what?” Tara sat up a little straighter, prepared to be insulted.

“Only you would knock on death’s door and then come up swinging. I’ve never once, in all the years we’ve known each other, ever heard you complain about your love life.” She held out a hand to stop Tara when she started to interject with a protest. “I know. You don’t have to say it. Knowing that, and knowing you, makes what I said to you the night of your accident even worse. I think all this is just leading up to that one special man. Once you meet him, that’ll be all she wrote and there won’t be any going back or living without him.”

Touched that Julianne would have such faith in something so unlikely to ever happen, tears filled Tara’s eyes. “With my track record? You’re setting yourself up for disappointment if you believe that. I think I’m going to end up like one of those women you read about in the supermarket tabloids. I’ll be a recluse with nothing but a paint box and my twelve cats to keep me company in my old age.”

“I think you’re wrong.” Julianne turned a confident smile away as she looked through the cards on the wall.

As she scanned them, Julianne read the names out, stopping suddenly to turn to Tara when she came across the card that sent a big lump of surprise into her throat every time she looked at it.

“Colin Masterson. You got a card from Colin Masterson?”

“Apparently so.” A slight flush rose to her face and she burrowed down deeper into the covers. She’d made a perfect ass of herself in front of the entire senior class the year she and Julianne graduated high school. All in the name of unrequited love. “You know, he never appreciated me.”

Julianne chuckled. “I can’t believe he did that to you. That was so wrong. And after all the time you spent tutoring him. What a jerk.”

Tara didn’t want to talk about all her failures, or even hint about the one big humiliation she referred to as the incident. “I wonder how he found out about the accident.”

“Probably from work, I would imagine. I heard he took a job with The Daily Tribune a few years back.”

Even if Julianne believed there was that one great love waiting out there for Tara, she just couldn’t picture it. The scars inside were often worse than the ones on the outside. And Colin Masterson’s betrayal had stung her pride and wounded her with a ferocity she thought impossible at the time. It hung like a specter over all her relationships and doomed them to failure. His memory had become a curse. One that would take supernatural intervention to break.

Chapter Six

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Marcus rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. Two a.m. He had been in bed for three hours and still hadn’t drifted off. This wasn’t working.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, the sheet draped around his mid-section. Paige snored softly beside him. Christ, he didn’t want to hurt her, but it would probably be for the best if they went their separate ways. She deserved better than his indifference. Hell, she at least deserved a man who didn’t have his head up his ass all the time.

Her breathing changed and the bed moved under his bottom.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, as if worried about waking up the entire apartment complex.

“Can’t sleep again.” Marcus stood and pulled on some shorts.

He put a robe on as well and padded out to the living room where his computer desk sat. He fell into the chair and began the futile exercise he had been doing every night since February—looking for a possible suspect in the case.

With no witness, weapon, or statements it was hard to even find a place to start. The ballistics on the slug taken from Charlotte’s head didn’t match any gun the PSPD had on record. Canvassing databases of other law enforcement agencies came up with bupkes as well.

The investigation petered out when even no evidence of gang activity in the area surfaced. Lists of recently paroled convicts and their current whereabouts had to be checked one name at a time. The arduous task proved too much for the overburdened police force when they had active cases with leads to follow. Marcus had taken the task upon himself on his lunch breaks and after-hours.

He worked for several hours, compiling a list of possible names from the printouts he’d brought home from the station. None of them looked too promising, but he wasn’t willing to write anyone off as a suspect until they had an ironclad alibi.

Paige came out of the bedroom. The tight lace nightgown barely contained her brick shithouse body. Marcus spared her a glance.

She came up behind him, placing seductive kisses on his neck and running her long, painted nails inside his robe and down his chest. She flicked his nipple a few times. “Come on back to bed. I’ll help you take the edge off and you’ll fall into blissful sleep after.”

It sounded like a plan, but it failed to stir him.

“Not tonight.”

“It’s never tonight,” she argued and left off her amorous pursuit. “I swear you’ve been limp since Charlotte was shot.”

“Excuse the hell out of me,” he fired back. “But knowing the perp is out there somewhere and able to strike again does not exactly work like an aphrodisiac on me.”

“She’s your stepsister. And I think you’ve got the hots for her.”

Marcus blinked a few times to help process the sudden attack. “There’s no step here as far as I’m concerned. She’s always been my little sister. And I’m not ashamed of the fact I love her. But know this right up front, Paige, I would be sitting here doing the same damn thing if it were my mother, William, or Gil lying in that hospital bed.”

His gaze locked with hers. Paige tried to out-stare him, but relented and uncrossed her arms.

“I’m just worried about you. You never sleep anymore, hardly eat, never want sex. I mean, why am I here?”

“Oh, I don’t know, for moral support maybe?” He turned back to the file, not even aware of what he was looking at. “Just because you and your sister Patty don’t get along so well, don’t assume the rest of the world has the same problems with their siblings.”

“Can’t you give me one night?” she whined.

He blew out a long breath. “Yeah. Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

The answer pacified her. She bent and kissed his forehead and walked back into the bedroom. “If you’re a good boy, I might be persuaded to do that tongue thing you love.”

The tongue thing. Yeah, that’d wipe out the memories of her unfounded, incestuous accusations. He shook his head.

He finally looked at the file before him and a name screamed from the page. Merrick Chandler.

So, he’d been released on parole? Perhaps Marcus should make a point of tracking him down to see just where ol’ Merrick had been the last few months. If the penal system gave college credit for every crime committed by a felon, Merrick would have been granted his Ph.D. a long time ago. His list of priors read like a thug’s dissertation—credentials any convict would be proud to display. However, there was nothing Marcus could do about it tonight.

His eyes felt like sandpaper and his head developed a dull throb. He laid his head on his arms across the desktop to close his eyes for a few minutes.

A hand on his shoulder woke him from a sound sleep.

“Have you been out here all night?” Paige was dressed in a suit and had her briefcase in one hand. She was a loan officer for Palmetto Springs National Bank and always maintained a professional and immaculate appearance.

He looked her up and down. “Shit, what time is it?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“Oh, man. I’m already late.” He rose from the desk chair, stiff and sore from sleeping hunched over.

Paige set down her briefcase and followed him into the bathroom, where he had already stripped down and stood by the shower, adjusting the water.

“I realize this is probably a bad time, but we need to talk.” She leaned against the sink, crossing her arms over her impressive bust.

Marcus looked down at his nakedness then up at her. His brow raised in warning. Here he was about to feel sorry for neglecting her lately, and she was prepared to break it off with him while he was standing in the buff. Women.

“Well, talk.” He climbed into the shower and adjusted the water some more, then the showerhead. Paige always flipped the damn thing all the way down to drain after she finished. It annoyed the hell out of him.

“I’m really sorry about last night. I know you’re going through a lot right now with your family, and, well, I don’t think you are as committed to this relationship as I am. I think we should take a break for a while.”

Marcus pulled the shower curtain back and looked at her. “I think you’re right. I’m sorry, Paige.”

She straightened away from the sink, her hands going to her sides. Her short platinum hair stood up in a spiky do that she thought was trendy, but Marcus thought made her look older than her thirty-five years. The severe plum-colored suit complemented her fair coloring, but looked too serious for her. It occurred to him as he looked at her that he felt nothing for her. There was a fondness there, but no passion. Had there ever been?

“You agree?” Surprise dimmed her dark eyes. Her painted mouth drooped.

“Yeah. What? Did you think I was going to fight with you over this?” As soon as the words were out, he realized that was exactly what she wanted. And he called himself a detective. He was supposed to be good at reading people.

He ducked his head back into the shower. “Let me finish showering and we can talk. All right?”

High heels clicked on the tile floor then disappeared into the carpet. He listened for what he knew would surely come next, and was slightly disappointed when he was correct. The front door slammed.

“Great, Danforth. Just great.”

Some days were just not worth waking up for.

 

The PSPD was located downtown amid the various buildings that made up the Judicial Arts Center of Palmetto Springs. The complex contained the police department, courthouse, town hall, and county jail. Across the parking lot, a separate building housed the morgue and medial examiner’s office. The buildings were all square, red brick and serviceable with very little to distinguish them from millions of similar buildings across the country.

Marcus sat behind his desk. His computer whirled that it was working, but he doubted it. It seemed as if the damn thing had purposely decided to run slow today.

“Hey, what’s up?” a familiar voice said from the other side of the desk.

Marcus looked up in time to see Gil grab a chair and pull it over in front of the desk.

He closed out the program he’d been working in and shrugged. “Paige broke it off with me this morning.”

“I’m sorry. You all right?”

“Yeah. Actually she beat me to the punch.”

Gil only nodded and looked around the room, avoiding eye contact with Marcus. It was a game they played every few days. Gil stopped by on his lunch hour or after ball practice in the evenings just to visit, and Marcus would pretend Gil wasn’t there to find out if anything new had materialized since the last time they met.

Gil rubbed his hands across his pants legs. “William said they’re going to try to wean Charlotte off the ventilator this week.”

Marcus looked up. “Really? She’s breathing all right on her own then?”

“Apparently so. Enough that they think she may be able to go without.”

“Maybe if that’s the case she’ll wake up soon and give us an idea of who put her there to begin with.” Marcus stood and moved around the desk. Gil stood too and followed him out of the room and into the warm Florida sunshine.

When they walked a good distance from the building, Marcus turned to Gil. “I came across a few names last night that look promising, one name in particular. I’m going to check them out later and see if they were anywhere in the area the night of the shooting. Or if they heard anything about it.”

Gil’s shoulders lifted. “Finally.”

“Now, don’t get your hopes up. These are extreme long shots. Your chances are probably better to get struck by lightning while simultaneously winning the lottery than these names producing much.”

“No. That’s cool, bud.” Gil slapped Marcus’ shoulder. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Yeah, but you will.”

The confidence Gil had in him felt misplaced. Quite honestly Marcus had no idea how he was going to pull a miracle out of his ass, but he definitely could use one.

Chapter Seven

Deer Creek, New Jersey

The healing skin on Tara’s legs and thighs itched with a ferocity that seemed cruel after all the other misery she’d been through. But the discomforts of her physical ailments were no match for the emotional ones.

Daily visions appeared from the miasma of debris littering her mind after the accident. When she first regained consciousness, her memories were a terrible jumble of images from her life, and those of another. As she healed, her own memories became stronger and the alien images receded until they were nothing more than a blip in her periphery. But since seeing the stranger’s eyes and face in the mirror, reaching out to her across the miles, Tara could no longer deny something strange and wondrous had happened to her when she died.

Days before, she had persuaded her brother to bring her a composition book to record the memories that floated free-form through her brain. The ones not connected to her life, or accounts remembered as being of her experience. However, she hadn’t wanted to alert Stuart to her odd condition, so she’d simply told him it was to help pass the time until her release. A kind of journal of her recovery. He’d believed her. It was the first time in her life she’d ever lied to him.

Guilt crested like a wave over her. She’d tell him the truth eventually. But not yet, not until she had the chance to figure it all out for herself.

A knock on the doorjamb made her look up as Julianne sauntered into the room with a big white plastic bag under her arm. “What’s that?”

Julianne laid the bag in Tara’s lap. “I didn’t see any supplies last time I was here, so I thought I would take it upon myself to provide you with the necessities.”

“After that speech, there better be a man in here.” Tara opened the bag and her breath caught. There were Bristol boards, pencils, pens, and a sketchbook. A shiny tin with a painted flower on the top sat at the bottom of the bag. “Pastels? Thank you. This is really thoughtful.”

“Ah, well. That’s me.” A stray ray of sunshine filtered in through the open blinds and highlighted the deep reds in Julianne’s hair. She really was a beautiful woman, and more than once in their long friendship, Tara felt a ghost of envy shadow her heart.

They had been friends since elementary school. Julianne Romalotti was dark of hair and eye, a beauty that was credit to her Italian ancestry. She was outgoing and vivacious with a flair for drama. Men adored her. Women hated her because of it. But Tara had always been loyal, and now, more than ever, she needed to have that loyalty returned.

Unable to think of how to start the conversation, or how to even come up with the right words to describe her journey during her near-death experience, Tara picked up the bag of art supplies again and took out the sketchbook and a pencil.

The room filled with a quiet peace as the drag of the pencil across the thick paper made the only sound in the room. From the hallway came sounds of activity—nurses delivering meds, patients calling out, and visitors walking past. All that faded into a hazy soup of background noise as her vision narrowed into a tunnel and she became lost in creation.

“Wow, that’s really nice.” Julianne stood looking over the drawing. Tara had been so entranced with her work she hadn’t even realized Julianne had moved.

Tara held the sketch back and studied it, trying to look at it through an unbiased eye. The drawing was very rough—more of a large thumbnail than a finished work—and showed two women facing each other through the mirror. The mirror image held out a hand to the woman gazing into the glass, reaching for her.

She frowned at the pad.

Tara hadn’t intended to draw that. She hadn’t intended to draw much of anything. It was merely a doodle to pass the time, and help her gather her thoughts. But now she considered it, it was the perfect segue.

“Julianne, I want you to do something for me.”

“Sure, what?”

Tara turned to her and looked into the deep brown eyes she had entrusted with a million girlhood secrets. “I need you to find someone for me.”

“Who?”

Tara pointed to the drawing of the woman in the mirror. “I don’t want to wait any longer, and it may take a while. When I leave here my parents want me to move back in with them while I heal, and they’ll stifle me and become suspicious. Plus, I’m in here without Internet connections…”

“You’re rambling. Just tell me what you need me to do.” She glanced down at the page and then back up at Tara. “Is this some existentialist crap about finding yourself?”

“No, but if you must know, it’s more metaphysical.” Tara’s finger traced the image of the woman in the mirror.

“You know this person?” Julianne moved closer, taking a seat on the bed next to Tara. After studying the picture a moment, she raised her brow. “Looks kind of like you when you had longer hair.”

That comment got a shrug. “I might know her, or I might be going crazy. I don’t know yet, but I promise to tell you everything when and if you find her. Will you do it for me?”

“Of course, I will. Just tell me who I’m looking for.”

“I don’t exactly know who. And I have no idea where. You’ll have to do a wide search on newspaper databases.”

“All right. What kind of story am I looking for?”

“A shooting. Unsolved. Same night as my accident.”

Julianne gave a half-hearted laugh and stood again. “This is a little weird.”

“No, it’s a lot weird, but don’t let that put you off.”

They stared at each other. Years of memories moved between them as can only happen with long, close friendships.

Finally, Julianne nodded. “I’ll see what I can find. But don’t hold your breath. There are a lot of papers in this state.”

“Um, Jule? I’m afraid it’s a little bigger than that. Could you check all the papers in the U.S? Try concentrating on the South.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!”

“Please, I think it may be important. Maybe even a matter of life and death.”

“All right. But why is it so important to you?”

Tara sighed and lay back against the bed. “Because I may be the only one who can find her killer.”

 

 

The pleasant smell of roasted meat and baked bread filled the kitchen. Tara took a deep breath and surveyed the sumptuous meal materializing under her mother’s expert hands. In honor of Tara’s homecoming, her mother promised to make her favorite foods. There was a major problem, however, in that Tara’s mother wouldn’t let her help with the preparations. So she sat at the kitchen table, watching as her mother and older sister took on the responsibility.

Mia and Eva Johanan moved around the kitchen as if they were performing a culinary ballet. The two women were so at ease with one another, so comfortable with who and what they were. Tara never fit in, even within the confines of her family. Now, it seemed, even less so. Though she worked at her parents’ jewelry store as a designer, she always felt more employee than daughter, and used all her free time to explore her own artistic endeavors.

“Are you all right, love?” Eva draped a dishtowel over her shoulder then placed her hand on Tara’s forehead.

“I’m feeling a little lightheaded. I think I’ll go out and get some air.” Tara stood and walked to the backdoor. She pushed it open and headed out onto the screen porch.

The evening was mild. Mid-April in New Jersey could be either unseasonably warm or bitterly cold. Tonight was somewhere in between. The sun was about to set on the western horizon, beyond the ridge of the far hills.

Trees were finally beginning to show vestiges of spring. Nubbins dotted branches, promising to burst into leaves soon, but so far had not materialized. From somewhere deep within, Tara could feel a memory surface. It was spring, but very warm and the sun set over a vast body of water. Purple, russet and orange painted the sky, reflecting along the waves. In the distance, condos dotted sugar-white sands. A deep pull centered in her sternum. An ache started there and radiated out to her limbs. The memory wasn’t from her stores of trips to sub-tropic climes, but of somewhere she hadn’t been, yet knew with a certainty.

The door opened and Eva stepped out onto the porch with her, breaking the thrall of the displaced memory. Tara watched Eva take a chair and gaze out at the sunset, unaware of her younger sister’s discomfort.

Eva was probably the most beautiful woman Tara had ever seen. She was model-thin with long black hair and pale green eyes. She moved with a cat-like elegance, cool and aloof to those around her.

“Mom said you’re going home after dinner. You’re not going to stay here after all?”

“No. They’ll drive me crazy with their hovering. It’ll end up in a huge fight I’d rather not have to deal with.” Tara opened and closed her hands a few times, trying to work out the tingling sensation that remained. A dull throb began behind her eyes. The kind of throb she associated with visions.

“They’re just worried about you. We all are.” By we, Eva meant their parents, Eva and Stuart, Eva’s twin.

The twins were ten years older than Tara and lived very different lives than her. They were both lawyers. Eva practiced property law and Stuart worked at the corporate level for one of the local pharmaceutical companies.

“I need some time alone. The hospital is no place to rest and if I’m here it’ll be just as bad. I really want my life back.” What she really wanted was to stop hearing that voice in her head. But her sister didn’t need to know that.

Eva’s shrewd eyes narrowed at her sister then traveled down to Tara’s fisted hands. “Is something else the matter?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“I get the feeling you’re hiding something from us.”

Tara laughed. “Me? What would I possibly have to hide? My life is an open book that makes for very boring reading.”

From inside the house, Tara heard the phone ring and her mother answer it.

“Tara, Julianne’s on the phone,” Mia called from the kitchen.

“Be right there.”

Even a narrow escape was still an escape. Eva would have kept probing until she got the information she sought. In this case, Tara wouldn’t have been too happy to impart it. Even the thought of telling Julianne of her suspicions was something Tara was not looking forward to in the least. However, Tara had promised to tell Julianne and she’d keep that promise.

Tara walked back into the kitchen and took the cordless phone from her mother then disappeared into the den so as not to be overheard by curious ears.

“I’ve found something. You aren’t going to believe this.”

“Try me.”

“Palmetto Springs, Florida. Popular local pediatrician Charlotte Durand, twenty-seven, was shot Thursday evening on her way home from an on-call shift at Palmetto Springs General. There were no witnesses to the crime.”

“Is that all it says?”

“No, there’s more. You want me to read the rest of it to you?”

“No! No, I would rather not know. I want to see if anything else comes to me first.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is about yet?”

“Yes. Give me a few days, though, I don’t quite know how to tell you.”

“Tell her what?” Mia Johanan asked from behind Tara.

Tara spun on her mother. The quick movement made her head spin. The phone dropped from useless fingers, clattering on the hardwood floor. A voice from far away echoed inside her head. You have to help me. No one knows who shot me.

Mia helped her daughter sit then picked up the phone. “She’ll call you back.” She hit the off button and set the phone aside.

“I knew it was too soon for you to come home, but did the doctors listen to me? No. What does a mother know?”

“It’s all right. I just turned around too fast. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“But it’s not right. You’re dizzy, and shaking…”

“Mother, please.” Tara took her mother’s hand to soften her words. A faint tang of onions lilted up to her nose. The scent reminded her of how hard her mother worked at making the night normal. “I appreciate I’ve been in the hospital a long time, but I’m not made of glass.”

Mia squeezed Tara’s fingers. “Don’t try to do too much too soon. You need time to heal properly. You’ve always taken on more than you can handle.”

“Art isn’t exactly strenuous. It’s how I relax.”

“I know, sweetheart, but your father and I are so worried you’ll over do. You’re so driven.”

Well, she had been pretty singled-minded with her art. But then she hadn’t had much else up to this point but her work. Though not from lack of trying. “I am pretty restless. I think I’ve been cooped up too long.”

Mia raised a brow at her daughter. Impossible green eyes—the same shade Eva had—stared back at Tara. “I really wish you’d reconsider staying here with us for a few weeks.”

Tara let the argument die on her lips. Best to leave the field of battle and live to fight another day than enter into a campaign against Mia. There would be time to press her position when it came time to leave. For now, she would bide her time and pretend to relax.

She smiled and leaned over to kiss her mother’s smooth cheek. “I love you.”

 

The family assembled around the dining room table. Food, colorful and aromatic, covered the table in expensive dishes. The feast could rival Thanksgiving, and God knew the Johanan family had plenty to be thankful for on this occasion.

Knickknacks from childhood projects decorated the walls and shelves. Most were from Tara’s own hands as Stuart and Eva were more cerebral than creative, even as children. As her gaze moved along the familiar objects, they seemed vague to her, as if she knew them but didn’t have a part in their creation. How odd to feel separated from her life.

Axel began to carve the roast, and once again Tara was transported to another place and a memory not her own. Her family morphed to that of another seated around a table. A turkey, large and golden, sat on a platter at the head of the table. A tall, distinguished man carved the bird as the family looked on.

Tara looked down at herself. Small, child-like hands gripped a cloth napkin. The skirt of a frilly dress fanned out across the chair. Legs swung back and forth, encased in red tights and black patent leather shoes. A boy sat across the table from her, his tawny hair glowing gold in the candlelight. He watched in rapt attention as the man carved the bird. Then the memory faded and Tara once again sat with her family. Flatware clinked against china, and conversation continued unabated. The dull ache behind her eyes intensified.

The memories came more frequently in the past few days. It seemed as if the woman—Charlotte—wouldn’t leave Tara alone until she solved the crime. The sooner Tara left for Palmetto Springs, the sooner she could reclaim her own life. The pages of the vision journal were beginning to fill with random snippets of scenes out of time.

“Would you like some wine?” Stuart leaned over, the bottle of Merlot poised near her glass.

“Please.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Eva interjected. “She shouldn’t be drinking in her condition.”

“What do you mean, my condition? I’m not pregnant.” Tara nodded to Stuart to pour the wine for her. “Nor am I on any medication.”

“Leave her alone, Eva.” Axel picked up the platter and handed it to Tara to serve from first.

His reprimand served to stall Eva for only as long as it took to dish food onto the plates.

“You should take a nap after dinner.” Eva looked up over her glass before she took a sip of wine.

“What am I, incapable of figuring out when I’m tired all by myself?” Tara snapped.

Eva set her glass back on the table and dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “No, I’m concerned for your welfare.”

“You’ve been on my case since Dad brought me home.”

Stuart held his hand up for peace. “Girls, please. What’s gotten into you two tonight?”

“I can’t walk two feet in this house without someone dogging my heels. I’m fairly self-reliant and intelligent. Why should I have to fight for some independence or solitude because I was unfortunate enough to hit a deer on an icy road? I didn’t hit my head in the accident.”

Axel put his fork down and regarded his daughter. “We came so close to losing you.” He put his head back down, but not before Tara could see his eyes fill with tears.

If he only knew how close, Tara thought. She let out a sigh and picked at her food. How did she tell them she didn’t want them staring at her either? But they kept looking at her as if she’d vanish before their eyes.

Conversation resumed with father and son entering into a lively debate on local politics. Eva interjected a statement here and there to not to be outdone by the men. Mia remained silent and watched her daughter in a not-so-covert manner.

“What?” Tara finally asked after a good ten minutes of intense scrutiny.

“You’re not eating. You’re only pushing the food around on your plate.”

The conversation stalled and Tara, once again, had everyone’s undivided attention.

“I’m not very hungry right now.”

“Do you want me to fix you something else?” Mia placed her napkin on the table and moved as if to stand.

Tara stalled her with a hand to her wrist. “No. Please, sit and finish your dinner.”

Mia made herself comfortable again, but kept a close eye on her daughter.

Tara tried a few bites of her meal. The roast melted in her mouth. The potatoes were ambrosia. Still, the epicurean delight did little to comfort her. Restlessness stirred her conscious and made her want to run. A visceral compulsion pulled her taut, pointing her attention due south. The problem was whether she had the stamina to undertake such a trip so soon after leaving the hospital. Better to start with baby steps than to try to find a killer when she didn’t even have the strength to sustain normal activity.

During a lull in the conversation Tara said, “I’m thinking of coming back to work tomorrow.”

Axel put his fork down and stared at her as if her last working brain cell had just abandoned ship. “Absolutely not.”

“Dad, please. I’m bored senseless. I need to get back into a routine.”

“I can’t stop you from working on projects at home, but I don’t want you coming into the store and dealing with the public.”

“What if I promise to stay in the back with you and work? Bridal season is around the corner, I’m sure you could use the help getting caught up. I already know for a fact you’ve taken a hit this quarter with having the store closed because of me. At least let me help you recoup some of the losses.”

Axel shot Stuart a withering glance. He would have been the only person to divulge such information.

“Don’t look at Stuart. It wasn’t hard for me to figure out on my own.”

“We can handle the losses. It’s only one quarter. This one looks to be very promising. Our online business is booming.”

Tara smiled. At first her parents were resistant to the idea of having Johanans’ Jewels go into the online market. Once Tara showed her mother the joys of shopping online, Mia had been all for the idea of expanding the business in that direction.

“Why don’t you let me come in and fill orders for you then?”

Axel shook his head again. “No, sweet girl. I want you to rest. Give it a few more weeks and then we’ll talk about it again.”

“By then I’ll be in a rubber room.”

“You should listen to him, Tara,” Eva said over her wine glass. “You’ve been too sick to argue with anyone.”

That was the last straw. She placed her napkin in her uneaten food and stood. No one, not even her family, should dictate her recovery. “I think I’ll call Julianne and have her come pick me up. I’m not spending the night defending my right to regain some small scrap of independence.”

Her family stared at her as if an alien invasion had taken place in their own dining room. Finally, Axel made a motion to Stuart who stood as well. “I’ll take you home if you want.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Tara moved to the end of the table and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to make tonight special, but I can’t do this right now. Maybe we’ll try again when I’ve been home for a while and have a chance to settle in and you all have a chance to realize I’m not likely to break.”

Mia touched Tara’s hair then chucked her chin. “Call me tomorrow.”

“We’ll see.”

Mia rose and headed into the kitchen. “I’ll just put a plate together for you to take with you. With the amount of food you ate tonight, you’ll be hungry in a few hours.”

The least Tara could do was accept the offering since she felt like a shit for turning her happy homecoming into a temper tantrum, something Tara never indulged in. She was not the temperamental artist.

She looked up at her father, who was looking at her with a worried expression. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

He waved away her apology.

 

The ride to Tara’s apartment took ten minutes, but it seemed to drag forever. She glanced at the speedometer a few times to be sure they were actually moving. They remained silent for the ride, but Tara could feel tension seeping from her brother. He would want to discuss her behavior. Though he was a brilliant debater, he was also a frustrated peacemaker. Stuart Johanan would not be satisfied until Tara felt chastened and chagrined over her attitude.

Once at her apartment, Stuart got out of the car and walked her to her door, taking her elbow in his hand to assist her. She hated when people did that. It made her feel as if Stuart didn’t think she had enough sense to walk unassisted.

“May I come in?”

“I was praying you would let it go, Stu.” Tara unlocked her door and was welcomed by the smell of stale air. “But if you’re staying for any length of time, you might as well help me open some of these windows.” Tara put the covered dishes on the counter then opened the kitchen window first.

They moved around the apartment, cracking windows slightly to air out the rooms, then met in the living room.

Tara looked at her brother, her hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans. “Can I at least make you some coffee?”

He nodded and followed her back into the kitchen. Tara assembled the coffee press and ground the beans. She set the teakettle on to boil. She always drank fresh ground coffee, so Stuart didn’t question the time it took her to get the coffee going, though she knew she was stalling for time. When she could stall no longer, she sat at the kitchen table with him.

“All right, let me have it. Tell me what a horrible person I am for disappointing Mom and Dad like that and not letting Eva walk all over me like I’m a toddler incapable of caring for myself.”

Stuart wiped at the dust on the kitchen table with long, elegant fingers. Embarrassment rose in Tara’s cheeks.

“Here, let me wipe that before you get all dusty.” She started to hop up again, but her grabbed her arm.

“Leave it. It’s fine.”

She sat back down and Stuart slid his hand down her arm to hold her hand. “I am not going to tell you you’re horrible. I’m not even going to tell you to lay off Eva. What I am going to do is make you see their point of view.” He gave a slight smile. Stuart was not a classically handsome man, but he was attractive in his own quiet way. He was compassionate and had a wonderful warm way about him that made people trust him on first meeting.

“Great. This is going to make me feel guilty.”

“Painlessly so, but I think it’s something you need to hear.”

“Go ahead then. Let’s get this over with.”

He took a deep breath and began. “Mom and Dad tried for a long time after Eva and I were born to have other children. I remember coming home from school a few times to find Mom crying. I didn’t know until years later the reason she was so upset.”

“The miscarriages?”

Stuart nodded and squeezed her hand. “They wanted a house full of children and couldn’t seem to have more. Finally, after years of frustration and disappointment, they stopped trying and resigned themselves to having only two children when Mom found out she was pregnant again. God, she was tense. So afraid she’d lose another one.”

“I think I see where this is going.”

“Smart girl.”

“Woman. I’m twenty-seven, not twelve,” Tara automatically corrected him.

“Even so, can you understand how, after trying for so long to have another child and being blessed with one so sweet and kind, talented and beautiful, they would be devastated at almost losing her?”

“Not having a child of my own, I can only vaguely imagine.” Tara smiled then and cocked her head to the side. “Did I just hear my big brother tell me I’m beautiful and talented in the same breath?”

“I also said you’re sweet and kind.”

“Yes, but those can be manufactured. It’s kind of hard to fake talent and beauty.”

“I have to disagree with you on that, but I didn’t come here to discuss your more pleasing attributes.”

The teakettle whistled. Tara took her hand from Stuart’s and got up to pour the boiling water into the coffee press. “I only have powdered creamer. I’m sure the half and half in the fridge is bad by now.”

“Powdered is fine.”

Tara assembled the supplies, her back turned to her brother. She loved him dearly and wished he would find a woman worthy of him. She despaired of ever being an aunt by him. Wishing Eva would marry was out of the question. The woman was too vain and career-driven to ever submit to such a fate as being a wife and mother.

“Are we finished with our talk now?” She turned back to him, bringing the coffee over to the table.

“For now. Why?”

She placed the carafe and cups down and started to pour for them. “I wondered if we could talk about you for a while.”

“Me? Why would you want to talk about me?”

“Just wondered if you were seeing anyone now. You never talk about your love life.”

“Ah.” He added creamer and stirred as if thinking about how much to reveal.

“There is someone. I want details.”

Color rose in his cheeks. “Not yet. It’s still in the very early stages. Wait until I see how it plays out.”

“I never knew you to be superstitious.” Tara blew on her coffee, watching him through the steam.

“Not superstitious, cautious.” He took a sip and made a face. He put the cup back down and regarded her. “Now, tell me who Gil is.”

Chapter Eight

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Gil left the police station and drove to the hospital, hoping to visit with Charlotte until he had to be at the high school for baseball practice. Not that his mind was on the team much lately, but being around the students tended to keep him from thinking about what was happening in his life. The more escape he could manage, the more air he felt he could take into his lungs. Only God above knew Gil hadn’t taken a good breath since Charlotte was shot. One of the reasons he’d been contemplating a career change. He needed to be proactive.

When he entered the hospital room, Dr. and Mrs. Durand were sitting by Charlotte’s bedside, and Darby Payne was discussing something with a surgeon dressed in blue scrubs. A ventilator was once again connected to Charlotte’s tracheotomy tube.

“What happened?”

Gil waited while no one answered him. He walked over to the bed and kissed Charlotte’s forehead. It didn’t appear she had been bathed yet. Her hair was dirty and disheveled. Anger churned in Gil’s stomach. Shouldn’t her mother think to have someone come in and at least take care of the details Charlotte would have tended to if she were able? Mrs. Durand and her husband were the ones who insisted she remain alive in such a state.

Darby gave Gil an uncomfortable smile as his gold-framed glasses reflected the fluorescent lights above. Gil sometimes thought Darby’s grin was a little on the creepy side, like he had some deep, dark secret he was pulling over on the world, and the fact he couldn’t see the man’s eyes at the moment made it worse.

“Charlotte got a PEG tube in her stomach today.”

Jesus, he hated when they talked medical. What the hell was a PEG?

Darby seemed to sense Gil’s confusion. “It’s a tube that’s inserted directly into her stomach to feed her. See,” he pointed to Charlotte’s nose, “she doesn’t have the tube in her nose anymore.”

Gil turned to Charlotte’s father and stepmother and gave them a look of contempt. “Why wasn’t I told about this?” He turned back around and shrugged. “But then again, I’m nothing but the fiancé.”

“Oh, Gilford.” Carol Durand sighed. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ve been here when we discussed the possibility of having a permanent one placed. Instead you act like a spoiled child for being left out.”

He certainly didn’t remember them discussing it. But that wasn’t anything new. They had been trying to keep him from discussions of her care more and more lately. In the beginning, they included him in everything, but now they were being more secretive. It was frustrating, to say the least.

Dr. Durand cleared his throat. He was the epitome of the perfect southern gentleman. Almost a throwback to a bygone era, he was the embodiment of moral righteousness and hospitality. His silver hair was cut just long enough to brush back from his forehead, and never was there even one that would dare to be out of place. He was immaculately dressed in a light gray suit, white shirt and maroon silk tie. Shoes were buffed to a high polish in the same shade of maroon as his tie. The man hadn’t changed in appearance since Gil was a child and William Durand had been his doctor. What had changed was the way Gil perceived him. Awe and admiration had been replaced in recent months by frustration and contempt.

“Where were you this morning, Gil? I had my receptionist try to call you.”

Oh, that was rich. His receptionist. “I went to see Marcus.”

“Did he have anything new to report?” William asked.

A little catch made his heart lurch. Gil was sorry to disappoint them. He shook his head as he rubbed Charlotte’s fingers. “Nothing really. He’s still running through that list of parolees.”

Gil caught the look that passed between the Durands and Darby Payne. “What?”

They all pretended ignorance. Gil looked at his watch, wanting the time to speed along. He’d come back after practice when the Durands would be long gone and Darby Payne would be elsewhere.

“Well, I have to go. Practice today.” Gil leaned over and kissed Charlotte’s forehead, then ran his hand through the hair that had grown back over the shaved section of her head. That was another fine example of something that bothered him about her care. They should have shaved her entire head and let the hair all grow in at the same pace. As it was, she looked like some ’80s punk-rock reject, Flock of Seagulls wannabe.

Good God! He had to get out of that room before he started yelling at them. He was losing his mind. One moment he was wishing she died just to spare her the indignity of living in such a state, and the next he worried about something as benign as cosmetic problems.

As he left the room, Darby hailed him.

“I’ll walk down with you. I have to go that way anyhow.”

When Gil started for the elevator, Darby nodded toward the stairs.

They walked down a few flights then Darby stopped him by putting a hand on his arm. “Watch yourself, Gil. I think the Durands are getting suspicious of you.”

“Of me? What in the hell are you talking about?”

Darby looked around like a man afraid of departing with nuclear secrets in an unsecured location. Seeing that the stairwell was clear, he leaned closer to Gil and whispered, “Did you know Charlotte had taken a large insurance policy out right before she was shot?”

Gil didn’t like the bent of the conversation. “Yes. We’d discussed it. Why?”

“And you’re the beneficiary?”

“Yes.” There was a dark, deep pit that began to open up in Gil’s soul and panic began to drift out. “Are you saying that the Durands think I had Charlotte shot for insurance money?”

“Lord, I don’t know what they were talking about. I was standing outside the room looking at her chart, and I heard them talking. I heard your name, insurance and a whole lot of zeroes. I know about the policy from Charlotte. She asked me who handled mine.”

“Fucking-A.” Gil put his hands on his hips and hung his head. “I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Darby put his hands up in a defensive manner. “Hey, I wouldn’t believe it for a moment. The fact is Charlotte had a brilliant career in front of her. She would have been worth a lot more to you alive than…well, what she is now.”

Trying to calm his racing heart, Gil took in a slow, steady breath. “This is crazy. I was the first one the police investigated when it all came down. Marcus told me that in a case like this, with no witnesses, they always investigate the boyfriend or spouse first. I thought the Durands knew that.”

“If I were you, I’d make sure they remember it.” Darby’s pager went off and he grabbed the waist of his scrubs to look at it. “That’s the ER. I have to go. Just remember what I said.”

If anything Gil was more confused than ever. He could have sworn the way Darby was exchanging looks with the Durands that he was their man. Evidently not, or he would have kept his mouth shut about their suspicions.

He had to think about this then find out from Marcus what he could do about it. If the Durands were going to make an issue over that insurance policy, or suspect him of something so heinous as having her shot…Christ Almighty! Gil ran his hand down his face and started down the stairs again. If they thought he posed a danger to Charlotte they would do more than not let him in on any decisions on her care. They could bar his visits.

Fuck. He didn’t need this.

 

 

 

Ray opened the door of the beach house. It had been closed since the divorce and neither of them had wanted to go through the process of clearing it out and placing it on the market. Now Ray stood in the foyer, glad that they had not sold the place. Maybe this weekend together would mend more than their broken hearts.

He came to the beach early to clean and air the place out. He placed a vase of red roses on the bedroom dresser and calla lilies in the kitchen. Pleased with his handiwork, he moved into the kitchen to begin the preparations for dinner.

After his expulsion from medical school, Ray went into the service industry and found he had a talent for it. Now, he owned his own successful restaurant in downtown Palmetto Springs. He returned to school to train as a chef, but never spent much time in the kitchen. He preferred to hire chefs to do the hard work while he ran the restaurant and had a more flexible schedule. Flexibility had been important when Kyle was alive.

A painful catch clamped Ray’s heart. It still hurt to think about his boy. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever get over the pain, but he figured pain was the least of his penance for letting his child die while in his care.

The knife blade caught the light and sparkled. How easy would it be to end it? A quick slash down the wrist and it would all be over. By the time Rebecca arrived, he would already be gone. Ray set the knife on the counter and moved away from it as if it had put the suicidal thoughts into his head. He needed therapy. He needed to do something to purge the self-loathing from his soul. The front door opened and a light sea breeze blew through the house.

“Ray?” Rebecca’s cheery voice called from the foyer.

“In the kitchen.” He moved back to the abandoned vegetables on the butcher block. No need to let her know he was entertaining such thoughts again.

She came into the room, high-heeled sandals clicking against parquet.

Ray gave her a quick survey. She had changed after work. Her sundress bared her freckled shoulders and hugged her pert breasts.

“You look great,” he said, feeling his throat tighten.

“So do you.” Rebecca put her arms around his waist from behind while he continued to chop.

“Are your bags still in the car?”

“Bag. Singular. I brought it in already.”

Ray stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her. A frown creased his brow. “One? You aren’t planning to stay the weekend, then?”

A seductive glint filled her eyes. “Yes. I just didn’t think I’d need much in the way of clothing.”

His heart went directly to his throat. “Mmm. I like the way you think.”

Rebecca took the knife from his hand and placed it on the cutting board. “Before you get too involved in making dinner, why don’t we go into the bedroom and explore some of my more pleasing thoughts?”

Ray gave her a crooked smile. Nothing dispelled suicidal tendencies faster than a willing woman. And who knew, perhaps he could talk Rebecca into having another baby with him.

Chapter Nine

Deer Creek, New Jersey

Julianne spread the downloaded articles across Tara’s coffee table. Late-day sunshine came through the sliding glass door and reflected off the crystal sun catchers that hung from the ceiling, painting the room in circles of color.

“When I found the initial article on her, I did a search for any follow ups,” Julianne explained, glancing over the material.

“And she’s still in the hospital?”

“According to this article dated last week, the poor woman is still in a coma.”

Tara picked up the papers and scanned them quickly. So, the woman who occasionally communicated through some strange cosmic link wasn’t dead. That was a minor relief. “I really don’t want to know about the case. I’m afraid it will taint everything.”

“Okay, you’re talking in riddles again.” Julianne sat on the floor in front of the coffee table and continued to shuffle through the papers as if to entice Tara to read them.

“I know. I’m sorry. I need to come clean with you at least, and maybe Stuart.”

Julianne looked up. “Why Stuart?”

“He asked a specific question last night that still has me spooked.”

“Come on! You’re killing me here. Tell me.”

Tara looked around the room but refused to look at Julianne. Her best friend was going to think she had gone completely bonkers. Stuart hadn’t bought her explanation the night before of him misunderstanding what she had said, and it was the Morphine talking. What made her think that Julianne would believe the truth?

Because Tara had never lied to Julianne before, that’s why.

“All right. But before I say anything, you have to promise me you will not, under any circumstances, advise me to seek counseling or medications.”

Julianne put her hand in the air. “Scouts’ honor.”

“Good enough.” Neither of them had ever been scouts of any kind, but could appreciate the sentiment.

“How did you find out about my accident?”

“Steph came to visit me the next day and told me.”

Tara let the fact Steph had visited Julianne after the beating go for the moment. “Did he mention how bad it was?”

Julianne shuddered. “He didn’t have to. He brought the newspaper with him. Your car made the front page. That pretty much said it all.”

“So, if I tell you that for a few minutes I died, you’d believe me?”

Big dark eyes grew wider. “You died?”

“I don’t remember the accident. I remember what happened right after, but from above it. I can tell you every minute detail of the scene. I can tell you who the paramedics were, and the police. I can even describe how the blood ran from my mouth and down my chest.” Tara stood and started to pace the room.

“Julianne, everything you hear about the tunnel and white light are true. At first I thought I was being sucked into some big Hollywood cliché, but it was real.”

Julianne had her hand to her mouth. Tears filled her eyes.

“Could it have been a dream?” Tara asked then answered her own question. “Yes, I suppose it could have been, but that doesn’t explain how I know the details of someone else’s life.”

“What do you mean?”

Tara circled around the coffee table and grabbed the computer printouts. “These. Memories of Charlotte Durand’s shooting. How could I possibly know the details of a shooting that happened over a thousand miles away, unless I died at the same time she did?” Tara went to the entertainment center and handed Julianne the black and white composition book she’d kept as a record of all the visions. “Here, look through this for a minute.”

Julianne scanned a few of the pages and look up. “Your accident happened around seven, right?”

“More or less.”

“Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Tara held her hand up. “You don’t have to tell me. I know already, or I wouldn’t have had you look into it.”

It took Julianne a few moments to collect herself. “Why do you feel the need to look into this woman’s shooting?”

Tara shrugged. “She asked me to.”

Julianne shook her head in disbelief. “When?”

“When we were dead.” Tara sat back on the sofa. “And she keeps reminding me every few hours of my duty to find the shooter.”

“What? You can talk to her psychically?”

“Maybe that’s what it is. I don’t know. It is a kind of psychic bond, I suppose.” She huffed out a long breath. Frustration shot her to her feet again to resume her course around the room. “It’s more like flashes. Then every once in a while I hear her voice.”

“Are you sure these flashes aren’t things you’ve suppressed, or just forgotten?”

“Oh, I’m positive.” Tara said, remembering the strange vision at dinner the night before.

“I don’t know what to say, Tara. I’m half in awe, half in disbelief. I mean, you hear about these things on television, but you never think it could happen to someone you know.”

The sound of the kitchen clock beat time as the conversation stilled. Outside, the sounds of children returning from school filled the neighborhood with laughter. Tara moved to the sliding door and opened it. A breeze blew in and stirred the sun catchers.

“Tara?”

“Hmm.”

“How does it feel to die?”

Tara turned a smile to Julianne. “It’s nothing to be afraid of. As a matter of fact, I would have been perfectly happy to stay dead.”

“Don’t say that!”

She gave another shrug then ran her hand through her hair. “It’s the truth. I was actually a little pissed off that I came back. I thought I had done something wrong that I wasn’t worthy to stay.”

Julianne frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“An unremarkable life. What have I done to ever help my fellow man? I’m an artist and a jewelry designer. I don’t get involved in politics, or volunteer my time. In retrospect, I’ve led a pretty self-involved life.”

“How can you say that? Your art gives people pleasure, and that’s more than most people give to others.”

Tara gave a lame smile from the corner of her mouth. “Maybe, but now I have a chance to make a big difference. I’m going to Florida.”

Julianne laughed. “Your parents won’t even let you go back to work. What makes you think they’ll let you travel?”

“I am an adult. There really isn’t much they can do to stop me.”

Julianne shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing. Are you actually thinking about defying your parents? You’ve never done that before.”

“I’ve never been this desperate before. How do you think they would feel if Charlotte Durand and my positions were reversed and I was the one in a coma and no one knew who shot me? I have every faith that they would move heaven and earth to find the one responsible.”

“But are you going to tell them the truth about why you’re going?”

Tara had the decency to blush. “No. If I admitted to them I died they’d never let me out of the house, let alone their sight. They’d probably have me grafted surgically to their sides.”

Julianne tilted her head to the side, an odd look on her face. “Then what are you going to say to them?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to ask Stuart what he thinks first and go from there.”

“He won’t be any more pleased than your parents that you’re going.”

“No, but I can get him on my side.”

Chapter Ten

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Merrick Chandler lived in a tract of homes on the outskirts of town where the bay faded into swamps. The community was rife with poverty and neglect. The homes were barely inhabitable by man or beast, and if Marcus had any guess in the matter it would be that the beasts probably had the better deal.

A rusted-out car sat in the side yard, jacked up on cinderblocks. The white vinyl top had turned black with mildew. Something that appeared to be an engine sat on the ground beside the car, nearly covered by the advance of kudzu.

No wonder he’d had a hard time tracking the ex-con down. Who’d have thought anyone lived in such a place.

A window opened and the barrel of a shotgun slid out. “Geet the hell offa’ my property.”

Marcus held both hands up. “I’m Detective Marcus Danforth with the Palmetto Springs Police Department. You need to lower the gun, now.”

“What do the friggin’ cops want with me? I ain’t done nothin’.”

This was getting him nowhere. He couldn’t even see if it was Chandler holding him at gunpoint. However, the voice didn’t sound like Chandler’s. “I’m here to speak with Merrick Chandler.”

“Oh. He lives in the shack out back.” The gun moved as the man motioned with it.

The shack? Did that mean this abode wasn’t one? “May I go speak with him?”

“Suit yourself.” The gun was withdrawn from the window and it slammed shut again.

Marcus shook his head. He would rather face the gun-toting redneck again than to walk through the tall grasses to the shack. The way was probably filled with gators and water moccasins. Too bad the Crocodile Hunter was dead. He’d have a field day here.

He took off around the side of the house where a barely visible path wound back behind the tract homes and between tall pines.

The shack sat near the water and appeared to have been absorbed by the landscape. Calling the dwelling a shack was a kindness that any self-respecting shack would consider an insult by comparison. The corrugated metal roof had to be hot in the summer, and from where Marcus stood, he couldn’t see anything that would pass for an air conditioner—unless one counted the broken-out windows in front.

Marcus kept his eyes on the ground, but his ears listened for any sound that would indicate the same welcome at the shack as he received at the main house. He looked up as he reached the porch whose railings were fashioned from the remains of old headboards and chair backs.

“Jesus in June,” Marcus swore. “Now this is poor.”

He knocked on the door, or what could pass for one.

“I tol’ ya’, Skeet, I’m on parole. I don’ need no trouble.” A voice called from inside right before the door swung open to reveal a thin, balding man with pockmarks and walleyes. “Oh, shit. What do you want?”

Marcus held up his badge, though Chandler seemed to remember him from their previous run-ins. “Just a little information.”

Chandler took a belligerent stance. “What’s this here about?”

“I only want some information from you.”

“About what?”

“There was an unwitnessed shooting in a residential area back in late February. Have you heard any of your cronies talking about it?”

Chandler gave a phlegmy laugh. “You want me to roll someone over? Become a snitch?”

“If you want to stay on parole and not go back to visit your buddies in the pen.”

Somewhere in the distance a gator clicked. A light breeze blew across Marcus’s skin and cooled him slightly.

“You can’t do that.”

Marcus only stared at Chandler with a steely blue gaze he knew could intimidate those weaker than he.

Chandler swallowed.

Marcus smiled. “You were released when?”

Chandler lifted his chin now, getting back some of his spine. “Lemme consult my calendar.”

“Cut the crap, Chandler.”

“Well, I don’t fuckin’ know where I was. That was months ago.”

“Let’s start with something easy. You were released in the middle of January.”

“That’s right.”

“Where did you go after your release?”

“I don’t have to answer nothin’. You didn’t come here with a warrant.”

Marcus held his hands palm up. “No, you’re right about that.”

“Then get lost.”

“All right, but I will be back with a warrant.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds your landlord greeted me with a shotgun in my face.”

“Skeet’s a stupid asshole.” Chandler took out a mangled cigarette from his overalls and lit it.

“Are we going to continue our conversation here, or do you want to wait until I come back with a warrant?”

“You wouldn’t risk it, I could run.” Chandler blew smoke out in little puffs.

“You could, and then you’d be a parole violator.”

Chandler took a few more puffs on his cigarette. “I was in Atlanta.”

“For how long?”

“Two weeks or more. Something like that.”

“Who did you stay with while you were there?”

“My sister.”

Marcus took out a small pad and pen. “Name, address and telephone number for her.”

Chandler provided the information.

“Thank you.” He closed the pad and put it back in his pocket. “I’ll be in touch.”

As Marcus started to leave, Chandler hailed him. “Hey, I’ll let you know if I hear anything about that shooting.”

Marcus stopped and turned.

“We’ll be square then, right?”

“Only if the lead brings in the shooter, Chandler. Have a good one.”

Marcus walked back to his car, uncertain if the Merrick Chandler angle would payoff. Someone of the ex-con’s caliber generally fled at the first scent of pork. But if he did decide to turn stoolie on one of his cronies, Marcus might be able to tie up several unsolved crimes.

His cell phone jangled on his belt. He flipped up the screen to glance at the number.

Christ. What did she want? Didn’t she realize they’d broken up? All of Paige’s stuff had been taken out of his apartment and sent off to her new digs. They had nothing left to discuss.

However, he had the feeling if he didn’t deal with her now, he’d have to deal with her later.

“Danforth,” he answered as if not knowing who was on the other end.

“Hey, baby, I wanted to know if you felt like meeting me for lunch today and maybe a little nooner for dessert.”

Had she lost her mind? Maybe other men slept with their exes, but he wasn’t that hard up yet.

Marcus stopped at his car. He opened the door and waited until the hot, sticky air inside cooled.

“I can’t. I’ve got backlogged cases I’m working on.”

The chill on the other end of the phone was so absolute he could have used the receiver for air conditioning.

“Fine.”

A loud click and dial tone filled his ear.

He closed his phone and climbed into his car.

So far his day equated to shit on toast. And there wasn’t much hope for improvement.

Chapter Eleven

Deer Creek, New Jersey

“I don’t quite know how to tell Mom and Dad.” Tara placed a plate of pancakes in front of Stuart. Before the accident, he came to her apartment for breakfast a couple times a week. Now that Tara was feeling better, they continued the practice. This morning, pancakes weren’t the only item on the menu.

“If you’re hedging to get me to do it, forget it.” Stuart poured a generous amount of syrup over the mountainous pancakes. Butter slid down the side of the sticky-sweet rapids.

“It’s sad that I’m almost thirty and can’t face my own parents to tell them I’m going away for a while.”

“I don’t think they’ll mind, but they may ask you to stay around until you’re feeling better.”

“I can’t, I’ve made a promise to someone.”

“Gil?”

Tara sat across from him and spread her napkin in her lap. “You just won’t give up on that, will you?”

“Come on, I know you too well not to recognize when you’re not telling the entire truth.”

She reached out, giving his hand a pat. “At least you didn’t call me a liar.”

“Well, you may not be giving the entire story in this case, but I know you would never openly lie about anything.”

“How comforting.” Tara topped off her coffee and gave Stuart a look over the rising steam. She wasn’t about to mention she had lied to him about the composition book.

Stuart’s phone rang then, forcing Tara to put the conversation on hold. Not that doing so was much of a hardship. Stuart may play peacemaker, but he would definitely make her walk into the lion’s den first. He could also go for the jugular and sic Eva on her.

His face suddenly turned pink and he got up from the table and walked into the living room. The rest of his conversation was carried on in hushed tones. When he returned to the table, his eyes were unusually bright and had trouble meeting hers.

“Must have been the new lady in your life.”

Stuart nodded then rose to put his cold coffee in the microwave.

“Wow, she really has you tied in knots. You can’t even talk about her.”

“Don’t pry.”

“Is she married?”

“No, she isn’t. I wouldn’t be fooling around with a married woman.”

“Oh, so now you’re fooling around with her?”

Stuart returned to the table and took a sip of his coffee. His brow lifted in an imperial manner. “Do you need a ride to the airport?”

Tara was neither offended nor put off by his dry humor. It was just one more thing she loved about her brother. “I’ll have Julianne take me.”

At the mention of her best friend, the top of Stuart’s ears began to turn red. Warning bells went off in Tara’s head. “Oh. My. God.”

Stuart started eating again, but stopped with those three punctuated words. “What?”

“You and Julianne?”

“We didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?” Tara sat back against the chair and studied her brother. “Did you think I would mind?”

“We thought it might be awkward for you.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He shook his head and started eating again.

“Go ahead, hide behind your breakfast.” Tara threw her napkin on the table and stood. “Julianne of all people should know I would be ecstatic to know she isn’t seeing Steph anymore.”

A thought suddenly occurred to her and she moved back to Stuart, grabbing his arm. “Wait a minute. She told me she and Steph are taking it one day at a time. Is she seeing both of you?”

“Yes and no.”

“Oh, boy.”

“It isn’t like that. She doesn’t want to discourage him right now. The therapy seems to be working.”

“Are you a moron?” Tara exploded at him. “God! Believe me, I love Julianne, but I won’t stand by and watch her hurt you.”

“She isn’t going to hurt me.”

“Stu, be sensible about this…” Tara’s words choked off as once again the tunnel opened, swallowing the present.

She stood, looking up at a tall, elegant man with light brown hair and a neatly shaped goatee. The room looked like a small, well-furnished apartment. Behind the man, sliding glass doors revealed a beachfront view. His words echoed in her head, reverberating down her spine and planting somewhere in her sacrum.

“I didn’t intend to get caught.”

“Then why did you do it?” She heard the words come from her, but it was not her voice. A smooth, southern accent elongated the vowels. The voice she now recognized as Charlotte’s.

“I wasn’t going to pass otherwise.”

“And now you’re being expelled.”

“I still have a chance to go before an appeal board.”

“Oh, Ray, be sensible about this. They have you dead to rights. Take the expulsion and move on with your life.”

“I can’t fail again, Charlotte. You don’t know what it’s like to be a constant failure.”

“You’re the only one who thinks you’re a failure. Now you’ve given other people reason to believe it, too.”

The scene ended and Tara looked up into Stuart’s worried face. His hands dug into her upper arms and her hair hung in her face.

“Are you back?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

He dragged her into the living room and set her down on the sofa. “Was that some kind of seizure?”

“No. Just a sick feeling I get sometimes. Dizzy.”

“I’m not so sure you didn’t have a head injury. I think you need to go back to the doctor’s and have a few more tests run.”

Tara grabbed a throw pillow, hugging it to her. Hair stuck to her face and neck where a cold sweat broke out on her skin. Her head began to throb with a sudden headache.

“You’re pale. Lie down. I’ll get you a blanket.”

Tara did as told, unable to resist even if she wanted to. Never had a vision been so bad. Before she hadn’t really heard anything, other than the ethereal voice of Charlotte Durand begging for Tara’s help. Now, she could hear the conversation so clearly, as if she had been present.

Stuart disappeared into her bedroom and came out with her comforter. He threw it over her, tucking in the sides. He smoothed the hair back from her face then leaned down on his haunches.

“I think this scraps your trip.”

“No, this only makes me more determined to go.”

“Postpone it then.”

“No.”

“Then take someone with you.”

“That’s not practical. Working for Mom and Dad, I can take off as much time as I want and be gone as long as it takes. No one I know can afford to do the same.”

“As long as it takes to what?” Stuart moved away, appalled at her answer.

“To get my life back.” She hunkered down into the cushions. “My ticket is for the end of the week.”

“You won’t be satisfied until you’ve killed yourself.”

Tara bit back the been there, done that retort burning its way up her throat. “I love you, Stuart, but you’re being a mother hen. It’s not attractive.”

 

Palmetto Springs, Florida

As it turned out, both Julianne and Stuart took Tara to the airport and saw her off. Her parents still refused to believe she was going on such a trip, and had threatened to physically restrain her to keep her home. In the end, Tara promised to call everyday and not to overtax herself. She assured them she was going for a much-needed vacation. Stuart looked at her as if she would burst into flames for her lies, but he said nothing on the matter. Now, as Tara moved the rental car through beach-bound traffic on the way to her hotel, she wondered how in the hell she would ever find Charlotte Durand in such a place.

Palmetto Springs was located on the west coast of Florida, halfway between nowhere and purgatory, as the locals liked to say. Tara got her first taste of local humor at the car rental desk when she asked directions to the town proper.

The man behind the desk with a nametag that proudly announced him as Jimbo, pointed to the west. “Y’all go up ’ar ’bout two miles. Turn right at Bob’s house. Follow the road around a big “S” curve until you get to a flashing yeller light. Now, ya’ll are gonna go straight through dat light.”

Tara held up her hand to stop his directions. “Wait, let me write this down.”

He started laughing. “Exit the parking lot and make a right. Follow the road and it will take you directly to Main Street. From there you’ll see signs for the beaches, Palmetto Springs University, and the Acres.”

“Where’s the accent?”

“I only use it to impress the Yankees.”

“Please, I’m a Mets fan.” Tara rejoined with her own brand of regional humor.

Downtown Palmetto Springs was a picturesque area with magnolia trees lining the street. The scene reminded Tara of every Hometown, U.S.A. picture she’d ever seen. Even though the downtown area seemed to be comprised of only a few streets, Palmetto Springs sprawled from the Gulf of Mexico inland for twenty miles. Most of the land between town and the beaches remained undeveloped. Here and there, subdivisions peppered the landscape. The roads were well-maintained and frequent signs directed travelers in the proper directions. Tara was impressed with the city planning but disappointed that Charlotte’s memories didn’t seem to extend to Tara’s navigational needs. Shouldn’t something about the town feel familiar? Didn’t Charlotte live and work in this very town?

Tara sat at a red light, the turn lane for the beaches area backed up for a block or more, when a blue and white H sign caught her eye. She put on her turn signal and eased her way out of the left-turn lane and into the right lane. Perhaps she should stop by the local hospital before heading out to her hotel. It would save time, and if her lack of déjà vu was any indication, Charlotte Durand may be the wrong woman altogether. Deep down Tara didn’t think so, but there was always the possibility.

The hospital stood nestled among kudzu-covered pines with a small pond off to the left. Tara parked in the visitors’ lot and entered the front lobby.

For a community hospital, the lobby was a bustle of activity for an afternoon. Volunteers in colorful pink smocks manned the information desk. Tara approached them, her stomach rumbling in trepidation.

She had definitely not thought this through enough. What if the family were in the room? How would she explain her presence? Surely the same people visited Charlotte on a continual basis. And what if she had been released home? How could Tara gain access to her then? The last newspaper article about the shooting had been over a month ago.

“Doctor Darby Payne, report to the PICU stat. Doctor Darby Payne, to the PICU stat,” came an overhead announcement, and suddenly the floor dropped from beneath Tara’s feet and all her doubts ceased.

When the feeling of disorientation lifted, Tara walked to the information desk and smiled pleasantly, if not a little shakily, at the volunteer. “I’m here to visit Charlotte Durand. Could you direct me to her room?”

The volunteer smiled in return. “I thought you looked familiar. Are you a cousin?”

“Yes. I just arrived from out of town.” Lying was becoming a much easier proposition the longer she was at this surreal quest.

The volunteer wrote down the room number on what looked like a hall pass and handed it to Tara. “Take these elevators to the third floor. Walk down the long hall then take a left. You’ll see the nurses’ station on your right.”

“Thank you.”

Tara held her head high and proceeded to the elevators. The only way someone would question whether she was supposed to be there or not would be if she looked as if she didn’t belong. It was a mantra she repeated even as she walked into the private room.

A sigh moved through her as she took in the room and the fact the only person inside was the one in the bed. At least she would have time with Charlotte while her family was not around.

She moved slowly across the room. Charlotte lay immobile on a bed that came to Tara’s waist. The gentle roar of air circulated beneath the prostrate figure. A long, blue corrugated tube attached to the plastic collar around Charlotte’s neck, blowing oxygen into the tracheotomy tube. Tara leaned over and smoothed Charlotte’s hair from her face. Her resemblance to the comatose woman was startling. If Tara had given into the urge to dye her hair blonde, they could pass for twins or at least sisters. It was a face she recognized clearly from the other side.

“Charlotte? It’s Tara. I’m here.”

There was no movement, but Charlotte took a deeper breath and let it out slowly.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you can hear me. I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you, but I spent so much time in the hospital after the accident…” Tears started down her cheeks. She brushed at them, irritated at her emotions. Charlotte didn’t need her tears. She needed resolution. “I promise I’ll find the person responsible for this, if I have to stay here for the rest of my life to do so.”

Tara waited for a sign—even a small one—that Charlotte understood. But none came. How frustrating it must be for her loved ones. As if pulled by an unseen force, Tara’s attention settled on the tributes posted on the far wall.

Pictures gave testimony to Charlotte’s full and productive life. Tara couldn’t resist the need to see if she recognized anyone from her visions. There were photos of Charlotte with children, the tiny patients she cared for in her practice. There were friends and family members, all smiling, glad, it seemed, to be alive.

Tara scanned them all, drinking in the vague feelings of recollection she had for some of the images. In one of the photos, Charlotte held her cheek to that of a dark-haired man. Her hand was held up to the camera to display a large diamond ring. A vague memory of the same man on bended knee skittered through her mind. He’d been in tears when he proposed to her.

The picture must have been taken right after the engagement. They both looked so happy, so full of hope and promise.

Another photo caught Tara’s eye. A tall, tawny-haired man posed with Charlotte. Both wore Mardi Gras beads and held beers up to the camera in salute. Something about the man made Tara’s breath hitch. He looked familiar, but not in the same way the fiancé did, or the pictures of Charlotte’s parents. He was the same boy, now grown, from her vision of the Thanksgiving dinner. Charlotte’s brother? There was another picture of him with a platinum blonde bombshell. His arm slung around her in what looked like a wrestling move. Both were laughing into the camera. But where the picture showed joy, Tara only felt misery at the pose. She tried to shake the feeling when she realized she was no longer alone with Charlotte.

“Can I help you?” a deep voice came from behind her.

Tara turned and nearly dropped to her knees. The picture did not do the man justice.

Chapter Twelve

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Marcus knew how it felt to get a fastball to the gut. Back when he and Gil were kids they played for the local little league. There was this guy delusional enough to believe he would get picked for the majors at twelve. Marcus was up to bat when the kid let go of a crazy pitch. The ball hit Marcus before he could move away, and he dropped to the ground and curled up into a ball. The feeling was much like the force he felt looking into this stranger’s eyes.

The woman seemed stunned for a moment before she began to move. “I just dropped by to see how Charlotte’s doing.” She twisted her wrist to look at a very expensive watch. “I have to run.”

Marcus watched her bend over the bed and kiss Charlotte on the forehead. Her simple sundress was cut along elegant lines and fit her slender form beautifully. She moved with a dancer’s grace to the door. It took Marcus a half beat before he realized she was going to leave.

“Wait!”

She turned around with her incredible eyes showing a flicker of panic. “Yes?”

“You didn’t give me your name.”

“Did I need to?” she asked, then closed her eyes. When she opened them again she held her hand out to him. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day of traveling. I’m Tara Johanan.”

“Marcus Danforth, Charlotte’s brother.” Marcus took her hand and pumped it up and down gently. His large, calloused hand swallowed her soft, delicate one. Her skin felt warm and silky against his.

Tara took her hand back, making a tight fist at her side. “I need to go. I haven’t even checked into my hotel yet.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The El Dorado.”

“Nice place.”

She smiled and looked down her at feet, shod in a pair of well-made sandals. “I’m not too fussy when it comes to hotels. As long as it’s clean, quiet, and has good water pressure, I’m set.”

Marcus raised a brow. Her appearance said otherwise, though anyone with a smile like Tara Johanan’s could probably get away with saying anything. Her mouth was something out of a porno movie.

“How long are you going to be staying in town?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m on leave from work.” Her gaze moved to Charlotte and a frown knit her brow. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Danforth.”

He took her hand again, not knowing why just holding it made him feel better than he had in months. And besides, when she smiled she had the most beautiful dimple at the bottom right corner of her mouth, and he was a sucker for a woman with a dimple.

 

 

Tara threw her bags down by the door and herself on the bed. She’d been shaking all over since meeting Charlotte’s brother. It had taken more strength than she thought she possessed to drive to the hotel and check in. Her first impulse upon leaving the hospital had been to drive straight back to the airport and return to New Jersey.

She buried her head in the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. Helping Charlotte was certainly a noble deed, but how could Tara ever think she could meet the family and not be moved by them?

Tara opened her palm and looked down at it. The sides still tingled where Marcus Danforth’s hand came into contact with hers. It had been warm and calloused, and made her imagine, quite vividly, how it would feel while stroking her more sensitive parts.

The best thing she could do would be to avoid him. There was something about his dark blue eyes that disturbed her, made her feel as if she were being stripped to her bones. Heat raced to pool between her legs at the mere thought of him. Her nipples hardened. “This is not good,” she mused before rolling to her stomach and closing her eyes. Never had a simple handshake turned her on.

Julianne’s romantic musings of Tara finally meeting the right one came back in vivid color.

“Oh, get a grip.” She punched the pillow with an annoyed fist.

She woke a short time later to the room phone ringing. Groggy from the unexpected nap, Tara leaned over and answered.

“Ms. Johanan? There is a visitor for you in the lobby.”

“A visitor? Who?” She sat up, running a hand through her hair.

“A Mr. Danforth.”

“Tell him you rang my room, but I didn’t answer.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

Tara closed her eyes, trying to draw patience from some well within. “He’s standing in front of you, isn’t he?”

“That’s correct.”

“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“I’ll have him await you in the lobby.”

Tara hung up and cursed her rotten luck. Why did she have to tell him where she was staying? She could have told him she had yet to find a hotel.

She rifled through her suitcase and found her toothbrush and a change of clothes. No sense in going to the lobby not looking presentable. While brushing her teeth, a thought struck her. Even if Marcus made her nervous, so far, he was the only cognizant link she had to Charlotte. Everything she needed to know, she could learn from him. Plus, he was so damn sexy, looking at him was not a hardship by any stretch of the imagination. But why had he come to her hotel? Could he have felt that same instant attraction Tara had? She laughed at that thought. A man being attracted to her on first meeting? Highly unlikely.

Tara came into the lobby and spotted him immediately. Marcus Danforth stood at the opposite side of the lobby, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Gulf of Mexico. Sunshine poured in the window and painted him in golden hues like a young beach god. He turned as if sensing her presence. His intense blue gaze caressed her body, making gooseflesh rise on her arms. The man had a penetrating stare she felt in all the right places.

“You wanted to see me?” A warm rush made her thighs go up in flames.

His gaze moved over her again. “I wondered if you had a chance to have a late lunch or early dinner. You left the hospital before I could ask. It’s the least I could do, you being a friend of Charlotte’s.”

Her stomach rumbled loudly. She rubbed it, but she didn’t know if she was hungry, or if it was the sound of his deep voice and soft southern accent making her feel that way. “Well, maybe I am a little hungry.”

He smiled at her and her stomach betrayed her yet again by taking a downward dive. Marcus Danforth had an illegal smile. It suggested knowing more than he should about how to please a woman, and not being afraid to use that knowledge to his advantage. His mouth was about as sexy as a man could possess and still look masculine. Another erotic thought flitted through her mind. How would that mouth feel on her naked flesh?

“I know this place where the seafood is so good you’d swear you’re in heaven, and the zydeco music makes you think you’re on the Louisiana bayou.” His words pulled her from her sexy musings. He started to take her arm then stopped and frowned at her. “Jesus, I don’t even know if you’re traveling with anyone. You might have a man upstairs waiting for you.”

Tara shook her head. “I’m traveling alone.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble with your man.”

Marcus held out his arm for her to take, which she did, but she didn’t answer his charge of her having a man or not, though she didn’t know why.

Marcus drove her to a tiny isthmus at the far end of the beach. Palm trees lined the road. White sand dunes stood on either side of the pavement and almost eclipsed the view of the water. Beachgoers carried chairs, coolers, and surfboards over the dunes and down to the pristine expanse of sand.

Tara watched them and envied their sense of freedom. They were truly on vacation, enjoying the sun and sea in a way she was unable to do. Nothing mattered until Charlotte’s shooter was brought to justice, and Tara’s mind was freed from the haunting images of the other woman’s life. Not even dinner with Charlotte’s handsome brother could matter. She couldn’t let it matter.

She felt his gaze on her again. Neither of them had opened their mouths since they got in the car. She sensed a tension about him and wondered when the other shoe would drop. His motives may have been neighborly, or even an extension of southern hospitality, but Tara knew there was something more simmering beneath the surface.

To stave off the eventuality of him saying something she didn’t want to hear, Tara turned to him. “Have you always lived in Palmetto Springs?”

“Yeah. My mother is originally from Chicago. She moved down here to go to college and never moved back. She met my father at Florida State. They fell in love. He got her pregnant, married her, then he left us.”

“Then she married Mr. Durand?”

Marcus turned a slight frown to her. “Not right away, but yes. He was my pediatrician.”

Tara made a mental note to remember Charlotte’s father was a pediatrician. Perhaps Tara should have read the papers Julianne obtained more thoroughly. A friend of Charlotte’s would know all these little bits of information. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought the situation through enough, nor did she think she would come into contact with Charlotte’s family. She wanted to slap her forehead for her stupidity in thinking otherwise. During her hospital stay, there was usually some family or friend in her room. Why would Charlotte’s family be any different?

Instead of calling more attention to her faux pas, Tara addressed another question. “How old were you when your mother married Charlotte’s father?”

“Four or five. Charlotte was just a baby.” Well, that explained why they had different last names.

Tara didn’t dare ask where Charlotte’s biological mother was, but assumed she had died. No woman in her right mind would leave an infant daughter alone with a man who had as demanding a schedule as a doctor—unless a granny or a nanny were available to help with the baby.

They pulled into the parking lot of what appeared to be a small beach shanty. The place should have been condemned or at least evacuated. Yet, the lot was full as the dinner crowd began to arrive in earnest.

Marcus proved a gentleman when he opened doors for her. It had been a long time since she had been on anything even remotely resembling a date, and so far, other than the uncomfortable conversation and lapses into silence, she was duly impressed.

The interior of the restaurant was a complete contrast from the exterior. Low lighting and deep red upholstery gave the room a romantic ambiance. Double doors led to a deck where patrons could enjoy dining al fresco.

The hostess showed them to a table on the deck where a cool breeze blew off the gulf and the waves played an interesting counterpoint to the music that flowed from inside.

Marcus pulled her chair out for her and made sure she was comfortable before taking his own. He picked up his menu and glanced at her over the top of it. “You aren’t a vegetarian are you, or allergic to seafood? I should have asked first.”

“It’s fine. I’m not fussy,” Tara said, looking over the selections.

The waitress came to take their order and disappeared back into the dark confines of the restaurant to get their drinks.

“Where are you from, Ms. Johanan? I don’t hear even a drop of the south in your voice.”

“New Jersey.”

“New Jersey? How did you meet Charlotte? I didn’t know she had any friends that far north.”

The breeze blew Tara’s hair over her mouth, and she raised a hand to brush it aside. “We met out of town then we lost touch. I only recently heard she was in the hospital.” Nothing she said so far had been a lie, though she was definitely skirting the truth.

“And you came all this way to see her?”

“Like I said, I’m on leave and planned a trip anyways. It wasn’t much of a stretch to come here. I’ve never been to the area.”

Their drinks arrived and Tara smiled at the fact he had ordered an iced tea rather than a beer to go with his dinner. It demonstrated either one of two things—he was a very responsible person who did not drink and drive, or he didn’t drink at all.

“What do you do when you aren’t traveling?” He took a sip without taking his attention from her.

“I’m an artist, and work as a designer for my parents’ jewelry store.”

“Do you do those moody landscapes you see in hotel rooms, too?”

A small shiver passed through her. She used to, but now landscapes all seemed to turn into the field where she met Charlotte. Since the accident, any medium of self-expression had taken on mystic dimensions that had not been there before. “Anyone with paints and a Bob Ross video can paint a landscape,” she chided.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen some landscapes that will take your breath away, but in general they aren’t for me.”

His gaze strayed to her hands. “I would love to see the work you do.”

“I only brought a few small sketchbooks with me.” She looked at him. Her heart kicked up a few notches. “They’re back at the hotel.”

The conversation dragged for a moment. Tara fidgeted with her napkin, checked her watch and looked out at the water. Marcus continued to stare at her and she felt more uncomfortable by the minute. Normally, such open appraisal of her person would have her at least attempt her poor stab at flirting, but now it only made her more aware of her deficiencies. But even as it did so, his attention amplified her attraction to him. She could feel her nipples harden again as he watched her. Now, she wished she hadn’t worn the snug-fitting silk T-shirt.

His gaze slid down to her small breasts. Adrenaline poured into her system as she watched his pupils dilate. No touch could have been as penetrating as the look he gave her. Tara could imagine his hands skimming over her body as he looked at her. It was almost as if he were willing her to feel him.

Unable to take the overwhelming tension any longer lest she go up in flames, she decided on a frontal attack. “Why do you keep staring at me? I realize Charlotte and I look somewhat alike, but is it really that striking a resemblance?”

He studied her more closely. “You don’t look a thing like Charlotte.”

“Then what?”

He shook his head and didn’t answer. The waitress arrived with their food and Tara dug in with gusto, burying her head in her food, afraid of what his answer would be when he did offer one.

How stupid of her to even think she looked like Charlotte. She had seen the pictures of the woman with the vivacious smile and curves most women would pay in blood for. Tara knew instinctively Charlotte was the kind of woman men were drawn to. Tara, as Julianne had pointed out, had never had a long-term relationship. No one had cared enough to try.

The food suddenly went to cardboard in her mouth. A stray piece of swordfish dangled on the edge of her trachea, causing her to cough. She sat still for a moment, hoping the feeling would pass. But it was hard to overcome a function of preservation.

Whatever the reason Marcus Danforth had for tracking her down to her hotel had not been because he was attracted to her. It was probably because she was a curiosity. The realization stung, but should not have been wholly unexpected. This was her life after all. She’d lived it long enough to know first sight sparks weren’t likely to fly when she was involved.

Tara put her fork down and dabbed her mouth with her napkin, hiding the remains of her cough behind it.

Marcus stopped chewing and swallowed. “Is something wrong?”

Tara shook her head, afraid to talk.

“You look a bit flushed. You aren’t going to pass out are you?”

She took a sip of her club soda and tried to choke down the lump forming in her throat. That seemed to help with the immediate problem. “No. I’m fine.”

Unbelievable! Tara had known this man less than four hours and already disappointment reared its ugly head. But then she hadn’t come this far south to become distracted by visions of improbable steamy sex with a handsome man. What she needed was to get back on track and begin her inquiries.

She set her glass down and smoothed her napkin back in her lap. “You know, I was wondering when I visited Charlotte, if the police are any closer to finding her shooter?” Tara moved the food around on her plate.

“No. There are possibilities, but nothing concrete as of yet.”

“Have any witnesses come forward, then?”

He shook his head. “I’m beginning to think this is a cold case that will never be solved.”

“What about tire tracks and ballistics? Weren’t they any help?”

“No. That can only narrow down the field so far.”

“With all the technology these days, you’d have to wonder at a police force that still had squat after three months.”

Marcus raised a brow at her, looking particularly offended. “We can only work what leads we can get, and so far there have been none. Believe me, if I could have arrested the bastard who put Charlotte into a coma, I would have done it by now.”

The words we and arrested used in close proximity to one another sent warning bells screeching through Tara’s mind.

“You know, I don’t think shoe leather is a complementary side dish for seafood.” She grimaced at her own observation. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

He moved his linen jacket over and exposed the badge clipped on his waistband. “Detective.”

Now Marcus’ interest made sense to Tara, and it was worse than she thought. His penetrating stare was one of suspicion, not attraction. Though she knew nothing about the shooting, she still had plenty to hide and none of it she wanted to reveal to him. The entire point of the dinner was to get her to relax so he could observe her in a casual atmosphere. He had taken a chance though in thinking that, as a friend, Charlotte would not have told Tara that Marcus was a cop. Still, that didn’t stop her from feeling like an absolute fool for her earlier assumption. She should just walk around with a big letter L embossed on her forehead so everyone would know she was a loser.

Tara placed her napkin on the table. “I think this may have been a bad idea.”

Marcus reached out and grabbed her hand as she stood. “All right, I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

When they reached the hotel parking lot, Tara didn’t wait for him to open her door, nor walk her into the lobby. And when she turned to see if he had followed her, it was with a pang of disappointment that she realized he hadn’t. But then what had she expected?

Chapter Thirteen

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Marcus watched Tara walk into the hotel lobby. Only once, she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. A frown wrinkled her perfect brow. He leaned his head back against the headrest.

When he first saw her standing in Charlotte’s room, he hadn’t been able to think a coherent thought. God, she was lovely. But Tara Johanan was a tense woman. He could feel it roll off her in waves. Perhaps it had been his inability to keep from staring at her, but he couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t a man alive who’d blame him for that or his horny thoughts.

He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. A car pulled up behind him under the awning and honked.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m moving,” he muttered as he put the car in gear and pulled away from the lobby entrance.

He drove toward town and the judicial arts center. The workday hadn’t even begun for him, even if he did indulge his need to see Tara again before going to work. He still had his car and hadn’t even discussed with his partner, Sims, what they would be working on tonight.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have rushed the issue by going by her hotel. If he had waited until he ran into her again, maybe things would have gone differently. But then he didn’t want to leave bumping into her to chance. She said she was on leave and came to the area for relaxation. That was far from a guarantee she would visit Charlotte again.

Did he read the signals wrong? Hadn’t she looked at him like she wanted to eat him alive? Hadn’t her excitement shown through the sheer fabric of that damn tight, silk T-shirt of hers? Man, it had taken everything inside him to pull his gaze away from the beauty of that view. It was a good thing he had been sitting or she’d have known how he’d responded to her.

He would give her a few days and if she didn’t come around he’d attempt to contact her again. Hell, a lot could be said for starting all over again. Maybe this time she wouldn’t try to get away from him.

 

 

Tara sat with her cell phone in her hand, waiting for Julianne to answer. She left a message on the voice mail and dialed her parents instead. The conversation was short and to the point, with her mother only begging her to return to New Jersey once, which Tara considered excellent restraint for Mia.

Her phone chirped and she looked at the screen to see Stuart’s number.

“Hi,” she answered, feeling immediately better than she had when she first came into the room.

“We haven’t heard from you and I’ve been worried. How is everything down there?”

“Warm and beautiful. Palmetto Springs is the best-kept secret in Florida, I think.”

“Well, you sound like you’re in good spirits.”

If he only knew she had made a total idiot of herself this afternoon. But since Stuart knew nothing of the situation in Florida, she would not enlighten him now.

“The hotel is nice. Comfortable. I can’t wait to see the sunset.”

“Any more dizzy spells?”

“No.” She could hear some whispering in the background. “Is Julianne with you?”

“Yes.”

“Can I speak to her for a moment?”

“Yes, but first I have some news that’s going to shock you.”

“What’s that?” At this point she doubted anything Stuart had to tell her could even raise her brow.

“I ran into Colin Masterson at the diner today. He asked about you and wanted me to tell you hello.”

There was no love lost between Stuart and Colin. Tara’s feelings were a different matter. Her throat threatened to close with remembered humiliation. “That’s nice. Could you put Julianne on?”

Stuart grumbled then she heard the phone being transferred. At the same time shouting from the hallway blocked Julianne’s greeting right before the sound of shots rang out.

“Oh, my God!” Tara breathed into the phone and scrambled off the bed toward the bathroom to lock herself in.

“What the hell was that?” Julianne asked frantically.

“I think they were gunshots.”

“Gunshots!” Julianne screamed back.

Tara heard the phone fumble on the other end.

Halfway between the bedroom and bathroom, a strange sensation filled Tara’s head. An explosion in her left temple stopped her dead in her tracks. The phone fell. She heard Stuart’s voice calling to her, but couldn’t utter a call for help.

She fell to the floor. Black enshrouded her vision.

A dark street rushed into her memories. A car fled the scene. Tires kicked up dirt in a spray, pelting the windshield with rocks. Blood, warm and sticky, ran down into her eyes. She was going to die and no one would know who killed her.

 

 

Marcus listened to the busy signal and returned the phone to the cradle. So far he hadn’t been able to track down Merrick Chandler’s sister. The Atlanta number had been disconnected and he hadn’t found even a paper trail on her to verify Chandler’s whereabouts the night of Charlotte’s shooting. Not that he honestly believed Chandler was responsible, but Marcus wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he had not pursued that avenue and evidence later proved that Chandler had been involved. The actions of shooting and hauling ass were certainly cowardly enough moves to run parallel with Chandler’s past offenses. However, Chandler had never been incarcerated for commission of a violent crime. But he knew plenty of people who had.

Marcus’ desk phone rang.

“Danforth.”

“You’re up. There’s been a shooting at the beaches.”

“Where?”

“The El Dorado.”

His stomach rolled then fell into his shoes somewhere. “I’m on my way.”

Chapter Fourteen

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Uniformed officers patrolled the lobby trying to restore order and question people. Guests milled about, visibly shaken at having their vacations marred by violence. Detective Rosy Sims, an athletically built Hispanic woman with a bounty of dark curly hair, met Marcus at the door and walked him to the elevator.

“Shots were fired on the fourth floor. Called in by guests.” She punched the up button and turned to him. Her dark eyes filled with pity.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like that, Sims?”

“Fuck it all, Danforth. No one saw a thing. They heard the shouts right before the gunshots, but no one’s claiming to be in that part of the hall at the time. The security cameras only caught it from a distance.”

The elevator doors opened and paramedics exited. Marcus had known them both for years. Cathy Gillespie shook her head at him. “Couldn’t save this one. You need to call the medical examiner.”

Tyler Grace held the doors from closing on them. His broad dark face showed his disgust at the situation. “There was no way we were going to do anything. Two shots to the head, close range. Walls look pretty gory.”

Marcus thought he would short-circuit. Another woman shot in the head. No wonder Sims looked at him like she was having her teeth pulled without Novocain. He patted Grace on the back and got on the elevator. “Has anyone gotten a list of guests from the desk?”

The doors closed. Sims handed him the list sticking out of her back pocket. “I didn’t have time to start speaking with anyone yet. Dispatch said they called you, and I thought I should meet you downstairs. The uniforms are up there to keep people from trampling the scene. There aren’t many people in their rooms at the time of day. It’s happy hour in the bar until nine.”

Marcus nodded once and scanned the list of guests, turning to the page for the fourth floor. Blood drained from his head to feet. “Oh, God.”

“What is it?”

He handed the list back to her and stared straight ahead.

“Do you know someone on this list?”

The words got lodged in his throat. He tried to swallow around them, but couldn’t.

Sims grabbed his arm and made him look at her. “Danforth, do you know someone on this list?”

Marcus clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times. “Tara Johanan. She’s a friend of Charlotte’s.”

The elevator doors opened. Marcus followed Sims to the scene. His attention strayed to the room numbers. His heart sunk lower as the numbers decreased. They were getting too close to Tara’s room.

He wanted to turn back. He wanted to go to the lobby, walk past the uniforms and get in his car and leave. He didn’t want to see Tara lying in a pool of blood, her beautiful face no longer intact, but sprayed over the walls like some macabre Rorschach test.

As they rounded the corner, Marcus could see the body lying on the floor in the middle of the hall. Long blonde hair spread around what was left of the head. The victim wore bathing suit bottoms, but nothing else.

Two uniformed officers guarded the hallway and the body. The curious had been sent on their way and the hallway was relatively deserted. Marcus slid his hands into his pockets, giving a quick survey of the area. Judging from the position of the body, the young woman had been fleeing her attacker.

“What do we know about her?” Marcus asked. “She obviously doesn’t have any identification on her.”

One of the uniforms shook his head. “The hotel staff said she entered the hotel with one of the registered guests, but they didn’t know her.”

“Which guest?”

“A Dean Jones of Biloxi.”

“What kind of reservation? Single? Double?”

“Double. But she could have been anyone.”

Marcus raised a brow. He didn’t need a uniformed cop to tell him that. He turned to Sims. “We need to get into Jones’s room and look around. Study the security films, and get a description out on this guy. Get in touch with a judge and get a search warrant. Get in touch with the D.A. and the M.E.” Sims nodded her dark head and turned back to the elevators.

While she did that, Marcus fully intended to check on Tara.

 

 

An insistent knocking on the door jarred Tara to consciousness. A dull pain throbbed in her temple. She moved her hand to it and felt a goose egg there. Her fingers came away sticky with blood.

“Tara, are you in there? Answer the door, it’s Marcus Danforth.” The words were punctuated by more frantic pounding.

Marcus? What’s he doing here again?

“J…just a minute,” she called back, not even sure if he could hear her.

She rolled to her back. Vertigo washed over her. She waited for her head to settle before she rolled to her knees then stood with the assistance of the bedside table. The trek to the door took a few moments as she supported her unsteady gait by holding onto the furniture.

“Tara?”

She looked out the peephole then opened the door.

“Christ, what happened here?” He charged into the room and swept Tara up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Her arms linked around his neck, not wanting to let go even when he set her down.

Immediately the shaking started.

“You’re trembling.” He switched positions and sat with her in his lap instead.

“I’m cold.” Tara buried her face in his neck. “And I have a headache.”

His hand came up to cup the back of her head against his shoulder. She could feel him swallow. His voice was very low, but harsh against her ear. “I’m sure you do. Were you attacked?”

“No.”

“There’s blood all over your shirt. And how did your head get banged up?”

“I don’t…” Tara thought about it for a moment. The sense of falling returned in full. The dark street, the bright lights behind her blinding her. No, not her—Charlotte. She snuggled more fully into Marcus’s unyielding body. His arms were around her now. His hands moved up and down her back.

“I’m going to call an ambulance. You need to have that looked at.”

The thought of going back into a trauma room terrified her more than the thought of dying. The pain—there had been so much pain the last time.

“No.” She shook her head as more tremors moved through her. “I’m fine.”

“Fine? You don’t even know who you are right now.” One of his large hands cupped her face, moving her away from his shoulder. “You don’t remember what happened, do you?”

She did. She just didn’t remember the right what.

The room phone rang then. Marcus leaned over, answering it for her.

“Tara! What the hell is going on there?” She could hear Stuart’s excited voice come from the phone before Marcus said hello.

Marcus handed the phone to her but she shook her head. She didn’t feel like dealing with her over-excited sibling at the moment. He foisted the phone on her anyways.

“Stuart?”

“Don’t ever scare me like that again! Julianne and I are going crazy here wondering what happened to you.”

“Please, don’t shout at me.”

“You don’t sound well.”

“I’m fine. I have to talk to the police now. I’ll call you later.”

“I want you to come home. Now!”

“I don’t want to come home. I want to stay here.”

“Why? So you can be killed by a stray bullet.”

Heat filled her face. Marcus took the phone away from her, his fury evident in the set of his jaw.

“This is Detective Marcus Danforth of the Palmetto Springs Police Department. I am ending this call. Ms. Johanan will return your call if she wishes to. Until then, you will not harass her. ” With that he set the phone back in the cradle.

Tara could imagine the look on Stuart’s face about now and felt bad for him, but was glad that Marcus took matters into his own hands. The same hands that were now lowering her onto the bed.

He followed her down and stretched out beside her, but put some distance between them. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing important.” Tara’s ability to lie took a sudden dive. She could gauge the barometer of her success by the look on Marcus’ face—and it wasn’t good.

“Please, don’t lie to me.” He let his hand trail over her face, moving her hair to expose her injury. “You’re hurt, you’re scared, and some lunatic just called to harass you. Are you running from him?”

The thought of anyone running from Stuart struck her funny, but she still had enough presence of mind left to keep from laughing at Marcus’s suggestion. Truth be told, the only person she was really running from was herself. Or was she running to herself, it all seemed much more complicated now.

Her memory cleared enough that she could offer him an explanation of how her injury occurred. “I was talking to my best friend, Julianne, and my brother on the phone when I heard screams and then shots outside the door. It must have scared me and I tripped. I probably hit my head on the bedside table. I woke up when you were pounding on my door.”

He didn’t say anything but pulled his cell phone from the holder and hit a button. “Yeah, this is Detective Danforth. I need an ambulance at the El Dorado.”

Tara put her hand over her face to hide the tears that started to gather in her eyes. She rolled on her side so her back was to him. The paramedics could check her out, but she would not consent to going with them.

“Don’t be angry with me. You lost consciousness after hitting your head. That constitutes a head trauma.”

The irony of that statement didn’t escape her. She snorted.

“Head injuries can be tricky. Sometimes you don’t realize how bad they are until a few days later when they’ve had a chance to bleed internally.” His hand cupped her shoulder, massaging it gently. “You don’t want to have permanent brain damage or die because of something you could have prevented.”

Tara looked at him over her shoulder. “Marcus, I don’t fear death. I only fear pain.”

She could see the disturbed look in his eyes right before he shuttered it from her view.

 

 

Marcus left Tara shortly after the paramedics arrived to inspect Dean Jones’s room for clues as to the dead woman’s identity, and what possibly could have transpired for such violence to erupt. Marcus and Sims walked through the room. The photographers were in to take pictures. Sims sorted through the abandoned luggage while Marcus looked for a purse or wallet.

Even as he worked, his mind kept shifting to the look on Tara’s face when she told him she didn’t fear death. It was the look of someone who had an intimate knowledge of such things, and that thought scared the hell out of him.

When he finished for the evening, he was going to go back to her room and insist she check out of the hotel and move to a more secure location. Not that that mattered. Charlotte had been shot on a residential street in town. Having Tara change hotels would only serve to make Marcus feel better. Normally in such situations, the police would interview the hotel guests then move them away from the crime scene. This time Marcus would do one better.

The room was a disaster. Food containers were strewn from one corner to the other. Dirty clothes littered the floor. A lamp had been knocked off the table. It appeared a struggle had taken place in the room then escalated into the hall.

Marcus could see the direction the fight had taken by the placement of fallen objects. How could no one have heard the fight before it spilled out into the hall? Tara’s room was only two doors down and she admitted to not hearing anything until it was in front of her door.

After the room had been photographed and searched, they were still no closer to finding the identity of the dead woman. Perhaps the medical examiner’s office would have more luck with fingerprints and dental records.

The lab came in and dusted the room for prints, then crime scene tape was placed across the door. Sims left to go to the station and write reports and Marcus stood in front of Tara’s door, waiting for her to answer.

“Just a minute.”

His heart thumped painfully against his ribs. He left her with the paramedics and told them to take her to the hospital no matter what she said. It appeared they hadn’t listened to him.

She opened the door in her nightclothes. An expensive silk robe was tied over what looked like a matching nightgown. She looked soft and feminine and Marcus longed to get closer to her. He put his hands into his pockets, his palms tingling with the need to touch her.

“Hi,” she said, looking up at him with her green eyes large and uncertain.

The sound of her voice and the way she said the “hi” made his toes curl. He almost couldn’t speak, and when he finally found his voice, he surprised himself by issuing a command. “I want you to move to another hotel.”

“Excuse me?”

“Please. I want you to move to another hotel.”

“Why?” She moved back from the door, allowing him to enter. Her hand went to her temple and rubbed at the lump there.

Pain gripped his stomach again. What was it about her that made him feel so possessive? Even if she said the injury occurred from a fall, it still made him sick to his stomach to think of her hurt in any way.

“There was a murder in the hall down from your room,” he stated in an attempt to stop the argument before it began.

“Thanks for the reminder, but it was unnecessary.”

Frustrated, Marcus turned from her and muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Why are you being so stubborn?”

“Why are you coming into my room at this time of night and insisting I uproot and move somewhere else?” She sat on the bed, looking up at him as if her question was perfectly logical.

“Going back to what I said before. There was a murder outside your door. Isn’t that explanation enough for you?” Marcus moved towards her. He loomed over her, trying to impose his will on her by the sheer force of his size.

Tara looked up at him. If he intimidated her, she hid it well. His glacial stare seemed to have no effect on her. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but do you honestly think the killer is still hanging around the hotel somewhere, waiting to be caught? If you can make a convincing argument then I’ll leave, but not until.”

“You make me want to yell.”

“An interesting assessment after so short an acquaintance.” Tara smiled at him, all innocence and light. “Usually people become frustrated with me much further into a relationship.”

He leaned over her and placed his hands on either side of her, bracketing her in the cage of his arms. “I can’t wait to find out how true that is.”

He watched her gaze fix on his mouth. Her lips parted slightly and Marcus could hear her take in a slight breath. Christ, he wanted to kiss her. Just plant one on her smart mouth and keep kissing her until she would do anything he asked of her—without question.

“Please, get your luggage and let me move you to another hotel. The police are going to insist you move anyhow, might as well make it count.”

Tara nodded dumbly, still staring at his mouth.

“Good girl,” he breathed before he brushed his lips across hers. It wasn’t exactly a kiss. It wasn’t even a taste. It was barely a sensation, but it ignited a fire that ran from the top of his head to deep in his groin. “Get some clothes on while I pack your suitcase.”

She nodded again but didn’t move. Baby blue silk gapped open and Marcus had a clear view of high, sweet breasts. Her nipples were tight little peaks. Desire exploded through him. If he didn’t take a step back, he would be on top of her, making love to her instead of getting her to safety. Such blatant lack of control wasn’t like him at all.

With much regret and the hard-on of his life, Marcus moved back, allowing her to get up from the bed. He watched her graceful movements as she gathered an outfit from the dresser and disappeared into the bathroom. It wasn’t until she turned to look back at him that he noticed Tara wasn’t as cool as she seemed. The closeness and almost kiss had unnerved her as much as it had him.

 

Tara leaned against the bathroom door and sighed. This could not be happening to her. It had been an instant attraction for both of them. Something she had wanted all her adult life, but so ill-timed it bordered on being some sort of cosmic joke. Wait until she told Julianne.

Tara hurried and collected her toiletries and changed into the black skirt she wore earlier and a T-shirt. The white shirt she had worn had bloodstains and Tara had thrown it into the garbage instead of trying to salvage it in the hotel room. Waste usually bothered her, and this time was no exception, since she could hear the shirt calling her from the trashcan. She dug it out again and folded it.

Marcus knocked on the door. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’ll be out in a minute. Can you get me the black square case with the handle?”

“Sure.”

Tara changed quickly and folded her nightgown and robe. Marcus knocked on the door again, and she opened it to grab the case. The unintentional brush of her fingers along his caused her movements to stall. He had the most sensuous hands she had ever seen on a man. They were broad and dusted with tawny hair on the back. The nails were short and clean, but not fussy with a manicure. They had a wealth of character in them. If Tara could read palms, the stories Marcus’s would reveal, she was sure, would be rich.

She shook the spell he cast and turned to place the case on the vanity. “I just need to gather my bath things then I’ll be ready.” She lifted the lid and silk panties popped out. Oh, God. She hadn’t even thought of him touching her underwear.

Marcus loomed in the doorway, his face as red as hers. “I thought that was a lingerie case.”

Tara could feel the tension uncoil in her gut and a little well of laughter tried to bubble up. She tamped it down, not wanting to embarrass him further. She walked past him and opened her suitcase, dumping the lingerie on top of the other clothes. Then she returned to the bathroom to begin collecting the last of her things.

Marcus stood in the doorway again, watching her. His hands were stuck deep in his pockets, his blond head cocked to the side. “I made you a reservation at the Acres West.”

He said it as if she should know the importance of that statement. “Is it on the beach? I really wanted a beach-front room. If I’m going to be here, I might as well take advantage of the beaches.”

“Of course,” he said and gave her one of those intense looks like he had given her over lunch.

Tara snapped the lid shut and moved past him. “I’m ready.”

He pointed to her feet. “Not quite.”

Bare, manicured toes looked up at her. She wiggled them. “Yeah. Shoes would probably be a good idea.”

He carried her luggage out of her room, and walked her in the opposite direction of the crime scene. She turned and looked at the yellow tape pulled loose over the adjoining corridor. Down the hall, a woman had lost her life, shot in the head like Charlotte Durand had been.

Tara caught up to Marcus, who waited at the elevator for her. She glanced back to the crime scene tape. “Marcus, you don’t think the same person who killed this woman is the same one who shot Charlotte, do you?”

The look he gave her told her more eloquently than words that it was in the very forefront of his mind. His answer, however, was more diplomatic. “There’s always a possibility.”

 

The new room was more of a condo than a hotel room. It was large, with a kitchen and patio that opened directly onto a private beach. Tara looked around at the opulence of the place. Marcus had put her luggage in the bedroom and now stood out on the patio looking towards the water.

Tara made a quick inspection of the accommodations then joined Marcus on the patio. “I can’t afford this room. It must cost a fortune.”

Marcus turned to her. His arms were crossed over his chest. He lifted the fingers of his left hand in a dismissing motion. “I arranged it with the manager. They’re giving you the same rate as the El Dorado.”

“That’s very generous. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” She placed her hand on his arm. His muscles tensed under her touch.

“This is a very secure place. The beach is private. There are guards who patrol twenty-four seven. They even have silent alarms rigged to the police station.”

“So, now what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s late and I have a busy day tomorrow. This isn’t my regular shift. My partner and I were filling in for another team tonight.”

“You should go home and get some sleep.”

Marcus nodded and looked off at the water again. He was quiet for a moment and showed no signs of moving from his place. Then slowly he unwound his arms and reached for her.

Tara went to him as if being with him this night was a foregone conclusion. His arms slid around her waist, pressing her against his hard chest. His mouth came down on hers, full and open. Tara didn’t hesitate to accept the sweet assault. A low moan issued from deep in his chest, vibrating against her hands. His tongue caressed hers, sending desire racing hot through her veins.

Tara’s hands moved along his chest and circled his neck. He was a hard, broad expanse of man and she reveled in the feel of him. She moved closer, wishing she could bury herself inside his skin. He felt so warm and alive.

His hands splayed wider on her back, inching down to her rear. He shifted position. Legs braced apart, he moved her against the length of his erection.

Tara shuddered against him. It would take so little for her to agree to go to bed with him. Instead, he broke off the kiss and moved her to an arm’s distance.

He looked at her with blue eyes hot and needy. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Please, don’t apologize. I don’t think I could take that.” Tara didn’t even recognize her own voice, it was so thick with desire.

“I wasn’t apologizing. I was going to rationalize it.”

She held up her hand. “I think that’s even worse.”

“I’m usually more of a gentleman…”

Tara shook her head. “Please, leave it. It’s not like you forced yourself on me.”

Marcus smiled, reaching out to brush her hair back from her face. “No. Thank God for that.”

Tara turned her face and kissed his hand. She surprised herself by the intimate, yet natural action. “You should probably go. If you don’t, I may be tempted to ask you to stay.”

He moaned again and leaned down to place his forehead against hers. “You’re not making this any easier.”

“If you wanted easy, you shouldn’t have come after me today.”

A low, sensual laugh rolled out of him. “Technically, it was yesterday.” He leaned up and brushed his lips against the bump on her head. “But you should probably get some rest.”

Tara agreed, though she didn’t want him to leave. She had indulged in one-night stands in the past, but those were few and far between and only with men she had already known. She had never taken a near stranger to bed before and didn’t intend to start now. But the mere thought of his bare skin sliding over hers, their bodies entwined in sensual activities, made her shiver again.

Marcus moved her back into the room, his mouth covering hers again. His large hand skimmed her side. His thumb grazed over her tight nipple, as she arched against his touch.

He pulled his mouth away. “I’m leaving.”

“I know.”

“I mean it this time.”

“I know.”

He kissed her again then set her away from him. “I’ll see you later?”

Tara nodded, unable to speak. It was probably for the best.

Chapter Fifteen

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Ray rolled over, unable to extricate himself from the sea of percale that currently tried to drown him. Sometime in the night, his legs had become twisted in the sheets and he was too exhausted from the bedroom gymnastics to even care. Now he tried to get up without waking Rebecca.

She shifted and murmured something in her sleep. Ray stilled and waited for her to fall back to sleep. When she didn’t move anymore, he carefully began the process of untangling his legs.

Coffee. He needed a dose of caffeine stat. He would not be able to function until he had the correct blood-to-caffeine ratio in his system.

After a quick shower, he headed out to the nearest convenience store for the morning paper and a cup of Joe. He put money in the newspaper vending machine then folded the paper and stuck it under his arm.

Still in the dazed stupor of the undercaffinated, he moved to the coffee station to pour two cups and gather the condiments to take back to the beach house. He paid the clerk and drove home hardly able to focus on the experience.

Rebecca was up when he returned. She stood in the kitchen looking out at the water. The day was overcast and wind whipped the sea oats around. The gulf churned, the water dark.

“It looks like rain,” she said.

Her usual upbeat personality had been replaced by a melancholy one. Two depressed people in the house did not make for a good weekend.

Ray placed the cups on the kitchen table and moved to put his arms through hers as she stood deep in thought. He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “I brought you some coffee.”

Rebecca leaned against him, resting her cheek against his. She linked her hands with his where they rested on her stomach. “Thank you.”

He didn’t know what else to say to her. Since Kyle’s death, she had been the strong one. He had relied on her to pull him out of the depression that accompanied the guilt over their son’s death time and again. Now he felt ill equipped to do the same for her. Not that he didn’t want to—he did, very much—he just didn’t know how to go about it.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” he asked.

“No.” She turned her head and kissed his cheek. “I don’t want the weekend to end.”

“It doesn’t have to. We could move in here. Together.”

Becca turned in the circle of his arms and stared into his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Very serious. I had planned to sell the other house. I can’t stay there. It hurts too much to live in it.”

She continued to look at him, as if assessing the truth of his statement. Tears filled her eyes. She blinked, spilling them down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. All this time and I never thought of how you must feel still living there.”

Ray closed his eyes and pulled her closer to him. He tucked her head under his chin. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. I could have sold it before now, but I’ve been having so much trouble just getting from one day to the next that engaging in a project like selling a house seemed overwhelming.”

The sobs began in earnest. Rebecca clung to him and cried months’ worth of tears.

Ray made shushing noises and held her tightly to him.

“I want my baby back,” she cried into his chest. “I loved him so much. Why didn’t God let us keep him? He was a good boy. He never hurt anyone.”

Ray tried desperately to keep his own tears in check but failed when his own questions came from Becca’s tear-strained voice.

They slid to the floor, mourning in a way they hadn’t since the freak accident that took their child from them.

Ray could feel Becca’s hands on his face, moving him slightly away from her. He looked down at her through a veil of tears. Her brow was knit into a questioning frown.

“Why wouldn’t Charlotte save him? Why did she give up on him so soon?”

“She tried, love. She tried. The entire trauma team tried.”

The last thing he wanted was to defend Charlotte to anyone, but he knew her dedication too well not to know she had tried every means at her disposal to save Kyle. Even though medical science performed miracles every day, doctors were still not equal to God. They could only do so much. It was knowledge of little comfort, and not a justification he would share with Rebecca while she was in such a state.

She shook her head. “He was just a baby.”

“I know.”

“His birthday’s next week, and he won’t even get to blow out the candles on his cake. He’ll never see the puppy I was going to get him.”

He moved her face back to rest against his chest. He couldn’t stand to see the tortured look in her eyes. “Oh, Becca. I love you so much. It’s killing me to see you like this.”

She froze in his arms. Her eyes were enormous when she looked at him again. “You really still love me? After all I’ve put you through these past few years, and you still love me?”

He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “Every day since I met you.”

She smiled a shaky smile through her tears. “And here I thought it was just incredible sex.”

He put his finger and thumb up in front on her, gesturing measurement. “Only a little bit of it.”

They stayed on the kitchen floor for a while longer, the coffee long since grown cold on the table.

 

Ray sat at the kitchen table while Rebecca took a shower. He warmed the coffee up in the microwave and finally pulled the paper out to start reading it. The initial crisis seemed to have passed, and Rebecca seemed calmer than she had an hour earlier.

It was hard to think of Rebecca falling apart as she had, but if anyone had earned the right to have a breakdown, it was his ex-wife. Lord above knew she had kept it together for everyone else. Her time had definitely come, and then some.

Ray flipped the paper open. The headline stopped him cold. Woman Found Slain in Hotel Hallway.

He scanned the article quickly, looking for pertinent information. Murders in the sleepy Gulf side town of Palmetto Springs were usually committed by transients, against tourists. They were quick crimes, with quick solutions. Charlotte’s shooting had been the last big crime to make the paper, and now here was a new one with eerily similar details. Granted, Charlotte had not died as a result of her injuries, but Ray was sure the intent had been to kill her. Why else would someone shoot another person in the head?

“What’s wrong?” Rebecca stood in the doorway, rubbing her hair with a towel.

“Another shooting. This time the woman died in a hotel hallway out here on the beach.”

Rebecca pulled out a chair across from him and sat. “What does the article say?”

“There were no witnesses, but police are still watching the security tapes to try to piece together what happened. They don’t have an ID on the woman either.”

“Good God. What is this town coming to?”

Ray looked at her over the paper. “I wonder if it was the same person who shot Charlotte.”

Rebecca stirred cream and sugar into the reheated coffee. “Why would you think that?”

“The physical description of the victim—five-five, long blonde hair, one-hundred-thirty pounds. Sounds like Charlotte.”

“Eye color?”

“Doesn’t mention that.” He went back to the article. “It happened at the El Dorado.”

“Where did Charlotte and Gil buy that house?”

Ray shrugged. “I have no idea. You think it was near there?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Hmm. It would be interesting to find out. I bet Marcus is going insane right about now. First his sister and now a woman with her general description.”

“He is a rather intense individual.” Rebecca took a sip of her coffee and got up from the table. “I’m going to go get dressed. I want to visit the cemetery today.”

Ray folded the paper. “Would you like some company?”

She nodded. The sadness came back into her face. “Always.”

 

St. Anne’s Cemetery sat on a small piece of land on the outskirts of town, away from civilization and the bustle of the busy tourist trade. There were fountains and a manmade stream that ran through the property. The low babble of water gave the place a serene atmosphere, even if only of the manufactured variety.

Kyle Aldrich’s resting place sat among a few other family plots. Ray’s paternal grandparents were buried nearby, as were a few great aunts and uncles. The headstone was a veined blue marble with a picture of the boy encased in Plexiglas.

Ray kissed his fingertips and placed them on the picture. “Daddy misses you so much, buddy.”

Rebecca sat on a stone bench, watching him through the dark lenses of her sunglasses. He couldn’t read her expression when he turned, but the corners of her mouth were drawn down into a frown.

Two tears slipped down her cheeks.

Ray came to stand in front of her. Taking her chin in his hand, he moved her face up to look into his. At this distance, he could barely see her eyes, but caught the faint flicker of her lashes. “I’m so sorry, babe. For some reason I always seem to have happiness just within my reach and then I do something to fuck it all up. I really fucked it up royally this time.”

“Don’t say things like that, Ray.” She moved her chin out of his hand and looked away from him.

He took a seat beside her. “It’s the truth. I’m not afraid to admit it, though I struggle with it everyday.”

“You know I don’t like it when you say things like that.”

They sat in quiet for a moment. Birds called to one another in the trees. A plane flew overhead. After a few moments, Rebecca put her hand in Ray’s. He let his fingers curl around hers.

“I remember the day we found out I was pregnant.”

Ray smiled at the memory. “So do I.”

“I had my head in the toilet gagging and in between retches I kept asking if the test was positive.”

“You couldn’t even wait for me to do the test for you. God, you were so sick.”

Rebecca gave a teary laugh. “I could tell by the look on your face before you ever told me the result. You were so excited.”

Ray nodded in agreement. “I loved Kyle from that moment on.”

“You’re a wonderful father.”

No, he had fallen short on safety. It was a mistake he would pay for the rest of his life. How could it have happened so fast? To this day, Ray couldn’t understand how Kyle’s curiosity and busy little fingers could have gotten past the safety caps on the wall sockets. But Ray should have double-checked everything, should have been vigilant in ensuring such things were secure.

Rebecca surprised him by asking, “Do you want more children someday?”

“Definitely.”

“How many?”

“I’d consider myself blessed if I had even one more.” He glanced at her profile. “It wouldn’t be a replacement for Kyle, though.”

“No. It would have to be its own person.”

Ray nodded. He knew all too well how hard it was to live up to someone else’s expectations. Damned near impossible. He’d been beaten too many times as a child by his drunk mother and her warped expectations to want someone else to live up to his.

“I loved being pregnant. I could have done without the morning sickness, though. I really didn’t enjoy that.”

Scooting closer to her, he placed his arm around her shoulders. “Would you like to have another baby?”

She nodded and sniffed.

“With me?”

She nodded again then turned into his chest. Ray didn’t say anything more. For now, he’d let her confession feed and sustain him. Things between them were going too well to push and break the fragile new beginning.

Chapter Sixteen

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Tara couldn’t stay away. The hospital drew her like magnetic north. After Marcus left her room the night before, Tara stayed up writing in her journal. She wanted to get down all the details of the shooting before they fled her mind forever. However, knowing how Charlotte operated, the comatose woman would keep sending the images until Tara went insane.

The hospital was busy for a Saturday morning. Visitors shuffled around the hallways, visiting loved ones, or running errands for those stuck in the confines of the hospital.

Tara walked into Charlotte’s room and hurried to the bed. The blinds hadn’t been opened yet, and she could barely see Charlotte. “Hi, sweetheart. Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t sleep last night and made up for it this morning.” She bent over and kissed the woman’s soft cheek.

“Who the hell are you?” a deep voice came from a dark corner of the room.

Tara spun around and looked at him. Gil. The fiancé.

Unlike Marcus, Gil’s pictures had done him justice. He was just as handsome in person as he had been in the photographs. Tara’s breath caught when the image of him on bent knee placing the engagement ring on Charlotte’s finger skidded through her mind again.

He switched on the lights and sucked in a deep breath. “Damn!”

The poor man looked like he had seen a ghost. Her heart went out to him. No matter if Marcus said she didn’t resemble Charlotte, one look at Gil’s face told her differently.

She moved to him as he stood and backed up. “I’m Tara Johanan.”

“You look like her.”

“Not according to Marcus,” she said teasingly, anything to break the tension and his unwavering whiskey-colored gaze.

“You know Marcus?” That statement had the desired effect on him. He held his hand out to her.

“I met him yesterday.” She nodded in the direction of an empty chair. “Do you mind if I sit for a while?”

“No. No, go ahead.” He sat back in his chair and kept staring at her. “How do you know Charlotte?”

“We met out of town. Lost touch over the last few years.” She stuck to her story; it was, after all, the only one she had.

“What brings you to Palmetto Springs?”

“What brings most people here? The sun. The beaches. I’m on leave from work, so I thought I’d come down here. I was shocked to hear what happened.”

“Join the club,” he replied without humor.

Tara started to get up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have intruded. I’ll come back later.”

Gil ran a hand through his dark hair. “No, I’m sorry. Please stay. Charlotte never has any visitors except colleagues and family. I’m sure she’s glad you’re here.”

Tara took her seat again and she and Gil began to lapse into an easy conversation. They shared the basic information people often do when first meeting—work, friends and family history.

“Your siblings are ten years older than you? That must be akin to being an only child.”

Tara shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that. My brother Stuart and I are really close.”

“You and your sister aren’t close then?”

“No. Not really. She’s not a very warm individual and has a tendency to treat me like I’m still a toddler.”

“She’s just trying to protect you.”

Tara laughed. “Enough with the protection. I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

“We all think that. But then someone comes along and suddenly being taken care of takes on a whole new meaning.”

Tara thought of Marcus and couldn’t agree more. She wouldn’t mind having him take care of her. Warmth filled her. “You don’t have any siblings?”

“Marcus is my brother in all but blood.” Sadness crept into his eyes.

The weight of the world hung from his broad shoulders like an ill-fitting jacket. Gil Van Patric had fine lines around his eyes and mouth, suggesting he spent a lot of time laughing at the world and his place in it. But the laughter had been replaced by pain.

“I can’t imagine you and Marcus as children. I bet both your parents had their hands full keeping the two of you in line.”

A good-natured chuckle chased the sadness from around his mouth, but it remained in his eyes. “There was that one time we painted the dog blue.”

Tara laughed. “Why would you do something like that?”

Gil shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“No. That’s too easy. You have to give a better reason.”

Gil settled in, as if preparing to spin a yarn. He rubbed his hand around his mouth. “Well, you see Marcus had this big white dog named Blue. He had these mismatched eyes that drove me crazy. One was dark brown, like a dog’s supposed to have and the other…”

“Blue?”

“Not just blue, but a ridiculous cotton candy blue. I told Marcus he had a sorry excuse for a dog. But ever since we were kids, Marcus has been the champion of lost causes. So in the true spirit of wanting to make his friend happy, he got some blue food coloring and vinegar. I guess he thought to dye the dog like some big, furry Easter egg. That was supposed to at least make the dog and his one eye match.”

“What about the brown eye?”

“We were going to put a patch over it.”

“Had it all figured out, did you?” Tara crossed her legs, swinging her foot while she listened.

“Hey, we were six. What do you expect?”

“What did the dog do when you started painting him with a vinegar bath?” The visuals alone had her smiling.

“He didn’t like the smell very much, but he was a good-natured dog, so he stood there wagging his tail and let us saturate him.”

“What happened when his parents saw the dog?”

“They flipped. We both got a spanking. I actually got two of them. One from his parents and one from mine when I got home.”

“And the dog?”

Now Gil laughed. “Poor Blue. If it’s possible for a dog to be embarrassed, I’d say he was. He got taken to the groomer’s and was washed, dried and still had a slight blue tint. He ended up having to be shaved down pretty close.”

Gil got a faraway look on his face, the sadness returned. “God, I miss that dog.”

Tara wanted levity, not melancholy. She smiled. “You think that’s bad, let me tell you about the time…”

 

 

Marcus stood over Sims’ desk. The reports were not good. Not only had they not gotten any closer to finding the identity of the dead woman, but the reports on Dean Jones were not promising either.

He looked down at the driver’s license faxed from Mississippi. The man in the picture didn’t look anything like the suspect on the security video. And, according to the information on the license, the real Dean Jones was almost six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier.

“We called Mr. Jones this morning and it seems he’s embroiled in an ongoing investigation for identity theft,” Sims said.

“You don’t say. Boy, this case is shaping up to be a real bitch. It couldn’t be an easy slam dunk, could it?”

“It will be if we can find the suspect. The tapes clearly show the perp shooting the woman, and there are a few frames of her walking down the hall where her face is clear. The lab was able to blow them up.”

“So we can get those out to the media and get an ID on her.”

“Already on it,” Sims said, turning back to her computer monitor. “We’re also in contact with the Biloxi police to verify Mr. Jones’s story.”

“Well, I’m pretty useless here then.” Marcus put his hands on his hips. “I think I’ll take a ride out to see Merrick Chandler and find out why his alibi suddenly doesn’t have a phone.”

Sims turned her head so fast her springy dark curls flew. “What are you doing digging into Merrick Chandler? And what case?” She held her hand up. “Forget I asked. If Chandler is involved it could be about anything. Oh, how’s that friend of Charlotte’s? Was she all right when you went back to check on her?”

Marcus’s skin warmed with the thought of Tara. He could still smell the gentle scent of her perfume. See the soft look in her eyes. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I moved her to the Acres West.”

“Mmmhmm.” Sims’ brow quirked like she’d heard the best gossip in months. “She must really be something if a cheap ass like you put her up in a place like that.”

“I didn’t put her up, I got her a great rate with the manager. Big difference. Besides, I don’t think she would have allowed me to do more than that.” He tried to reel in his thoughts of just what she would have allowed had he given into his baser instincts and stayed with her.

Marcus left the station and headed to the track houses where Chandler lived. It was not a trip he wanted to make, but he needed to stay productive. Maybe he’d stop by the hospital since it was on the way.

 

He entered the room to the sound of Gil’s laughter. Something he hadn’t heard in so long, he’d forgotten the man had any emotion other than frustrated.

Tara sat across from Gil, her legs crossed and a dainty shoe dangling from her toes. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“…and there I was with this stupid striped straw hanging out of my nose, stuck in the soft tissue.”

Marcus didn’t concentrate on the improbable words, but let the sight of her fill him. “What’s so funny?”

Gil continued to laugh and point at Tara. “She just told me the funniest story about something that happened to her in high school.”

“What’s that?” Marcus moved closer to Tara in order to bask in the radiance of her smile. Seeing the sweet dimple near her mouth made his blood heat.

She shook her head. “I’ll tell you later. It may completely change your opinion of me.”

“I doubt that.”

Gil had quit laughing and watched both of them. Tara stood and straightened the front of her dress. “I should go. I have some running around to do today.”

She held her hand out to Gil. “It was nice to finally meet you, even if the circumstances aren’t the best.”

“Believe me, the pleasure has been all mine.” Gil’s dark eyes sparkled and his smile could have blinded a person.

Tara moved to the bed and said goodbye to Charlotte. Marcus followed her out of the room, stopping her before she could make it to the elevator.

They stood in the hallway staring at one another.

Overhead, the page operator requested Dr. Darby Payne to call the PICU, stat. People jostled by them. Tara moved closer to get out of their way.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Tara looked at his mouth again. God, he loved it when she did that. Her eyes got all smoky and sexy.

“For making Gil laugh. I haven’t heard that since before Charlotte was shot.”

“He’s a nice man. I feel sorry for him. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for him—what it’s still like for him. I don’t think I could come here day after day and see the person I love in such a state.”

Marcus moved closer, pulling her to him. “Do you love someone, Tara? Is there someone in New Jersey you can’t wait to get home to?”

“No, there’s no one.”

“Then there’s hope?”

Tara looked up at him, her brows drawn together. “Marcus, I didn’t come down here to fall in love, or even for romance. I’m only here for a short time and then I’m going home. What happens then?”

“Why don’t we worry about that when the time comes? In the meantime, we can see where this takes us.”

“It’s been a day.”

“And?”

“And…”

He couldn’t deny himself the taste of her lips a moment longer. His mouth opened on hers and began to plunder, trying to persuade her to change her mind and give them a chance. So what if they had known each other for only twenty-four hours. He already knew enough to know he wanted to know all of her.

He pulled away from her. Her lips were plump and parted. Her eyes closed. She looked as if it wouldn’t take much persuasion before she’d agree to make love with him.

Slowly, her eyes opened. “I can’t think when you do that.”

“I can’t seem to help myself.” His gaze was riveted to her lips. “You’ve got the most amazing mouth.”

The words seemed to startle her. A panicked look filled her eyes and she glanced around him to the open elevator. “I have to go.”

She left him standing in the hospital hallway, curious as to why his attention would scare her so, but happy she mentioned falling in love. Even if she was against the idea. He could still try to change her mind.

After Marcus watched Tara get onto the elevator, he turned and headed back to Charlotte’s room.

Gil had moved a chair closer to the bed where he sat and held Charlotte’s hand. His thumb worked over the back of it. It was a tender gesture Marcus had seen Gil do time and again, and it made his heart sink a little to see him doing it now.

“Any change today?” he asked to let Gil know he was no longer alone.

“Not really, but I think she feels a little warm to me. I asked the nurse to take her temperature again, but she said it was normal before.”

Marcus moved to the bed and placed his lips on his sister’s forehead. She did feel a little warm, but not a great deal warmer. However, with her substantial injuries, a little temperature could spiral into much more. “They take vitals every four hours on this floor, right?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry about it. If she spikes they’ll catch it and give her something for it.” Marcus tried to sound reasonable and reassuring, but truthfully he was as worried as Gil.

Gil looked up at Marcus. A slight smile curved his mouth up at the corner. “That Tara is something else.”

Suddenly Charlotte wasn’t the only one with a temperature. Marcus could feel his face begin to burn a dull red.

“You have the hots for her?”

“Well, like you said, she is something.” Marcus shrugged and pulled over a chair for himself. He sat on the opposite side of the bed from Gil. “When I walked in here yesterday and saw her standing by the family pictures, there was just something about her. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Gil’s gaze slid back to settle on Charlotte’s face. “You don’t have to. I know exactly what you mean.”

“Do you remember the time Charlotte begged us to go bungee jumping with her?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“That’s how I felt. It was like plunging off that platform and doing a freefall.”

Gil nodded. “You got it real bad, bro.”

He did, only he didn’t know what he was supposed to do about it or how he was going to get her to stay once her leave was over.

 

 

Tara found the public library and the county archives. She didn’t quite know what she was looking for, just anything that would point her in the right direction. Would she even recognize a clue when she saw it? What was the use of having someone else’s memories if you couldn’t access them at will, or figure out why you were having them in the first place? But she had to start somewhere, and digging into Charlotte’s history was as good a place as any.

Gil had given her enough information to begin her search. Since Tara’s memories of Charlotte were spotty at best, it would serve her investigation better if she could put some kind of cohesive order to them. Though the county archives would only be able to help her so far, she felt uncomfortable asking Marcus or Gil to see any photo albums or such that Charlotte may have, at least not yet. And probing questions would certainly be way too suspicious to ask.

She pulled old yearbooks from Palmetto Springs High School off the wall from the years Charlotte attended and started looking through them. Not that there had been any indication that the shooter had come from that far back in Charlotte’s past, but it never hurt to be armed with extra information, especially when she didn’t know what she was looking for.

Tara looked through the book, trying to absorb the sights and sounds through osmosis or collective memory, or whatever zapped her consciousness in the afterlife. Some of the photos stared at Tara in placid two-dimensional nothingness. Others came alive and threatened to pull her into a quagmire of spiraling emotions. Each time Tara turned a page, the book presented like some demented pop-up book hopped up on hallucinogens.

One particular picture screamed at her from the black and white depths of school history. A smallish young man in wire-framed glasses stared from the page. His dark eyes looked at the photographer in an intense, nearly defiant stare. It was as if the subject dared the photographer to take the picture. He was seated at a desk in a classroom, with no other students around him. Tara read the caption and dismissed it as unremarkable. But something about the young man bothered her, something she felt she should remember.

Not knowing what class he was in, Tara had to go page by page to find his picture, and when she did Charlotte’s memories gelled inside her.

His name was Darby Payne.

A beautifully manicured hand reached out and grabbed the white lab coat. A huge diamond ring sparkled under the glare of fluorescent lights. “Darby, you have to tell me what’s going on. I can’t keep going to bat for you if you’re holding out on me.”

He shrugged off her hold and turned away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“How can you say that? We’ve been friends for years. You know I’ve always been there for you.”

Guilt flashed behind tortured eyes as he looked over his shoulder at her. “I know. This is just very complicated. I’ll work it out, I promise.”

“Please do. Dad’s starting to ask questions. I don’t know how long I can keep lying for you.”

“I never meant to get you involved in this.”

“Well I am.” She squeezed his shoulder in a mix of friendship and frustration. “You need to do the right thing. I’m serious.”

“I don’t know if I can. It’s gone too far.”

“Jesus,” she said under her breath.

Darby looked at her with pleading eyes. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

She nodded and moved away. That’s all she could hope for.

Tara rubbed her head and moved from the chair. She needed to get back to her room and take a nap and write the vision down in the journal. Darby Payne had been up to something Charlotte hadn’t liked. But what? Until Charlotte chose to reveal it, the incident would be lost to Tara and the mystery left unsolved.

Chapter Seventeen

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Merrick Chandler’s home—if one could call it that—had not undergone any major transformations since Marcus had been there last. If there had been changes, they were only in the vegetation that surrounded the building. If it were not taken care of soon, the imposing swamp would completely overtake the structure.

Marcus approached the porch and knocked with three hard raps. He didn’t want to be here any longer than necessary. Just standing there amidst the refuse of the porch made him want to run to the nearest shower and wash off with a strong delouser.

He waited for a few moments and, when there was no response, he pounded harder on the door. The gun-toting redneck known as Skeet hollered out the back door from the main house.

“He’s moved out.”

Great. Just what he needed. “When was that?”

Skeet scratched his stubbled chin and thought for a moment. He turned his head to the side and spit a wade of tarry juice out into the bushes. “Well, I reckon about two days ago.”

“You’re positive he moved out?”

“Purty sure. All his shit’s moved out, anyways.”

“He didn’t leave a forwarding address, did he?” That was probably the biggest understatement of the century. Known felons usually didn’t leave forwarding addresses when they skipped town, and Marcus sincerely doubted Chandler checked in with his parole officer either.

“No, and the fucker owes me money. If you see him, you tell him I’m lookin’ for him.”

“Are you the landlord here?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you mind if I have a look inside?”

“Won’t do you any good. I already did and didn’t find nothin’ worth knowin’. Suit yourself though.”

Marcus didn’t bother to point out that what might look like trash to the layman may be a clue to a cop. He tried the doorknob and it turned easily in his hand. The room was small and dark, cramped with a thousand odds and ends that had no rhyme or reason to them. If Skeet said all Chandler’s belongings had been moved out, did that mean all this garbage came with the rental?

He started to sift through the surface layer of debris in order to find anything that would point him in the direction of Chandler, when his cell phone rang.

“Danforth.”

“We need you to come into the station,” Sims said on the other end.

“What about?”

“A couple just came in and said they think our Jane Doe may be their missing daughter.” Sims paused for a moment. “The description fits.”

 

Marcus dealt with the couple in record time. Though their daughter had disappeared over five years before and should be hitting forty soon, he asked them to provide DNA samples just to rule them out as family of their Jane Doe. He doubted their vic was anywhere near forty. But he’d also learned not to assume anything in police work.

His mind kept going back to how she looked when he arrived on scene. Her long hair spilled out around her, covered in blood and gore. Her bikini bottoms the only article of clothing. She had not died in dignity and that upset Marcus in no small way.

After he sent them on their way, Marcus sat at his desk trying to decide if he needed to get involved any further with the disappearance of Merrick Chandler when Sims came and sat across from him.

“Find anything out about Merrick Chandler?”

“Only that the bastard skipped out.”

“Not good.” Sims flashed her dark eyes at him in a look that said she expected nothing less.

“No, and he’s not my problem. Well, maybe my fault, but hardly my problem.”

“How is his skipping out of town your fault?”

Marcus leaned back in his chair. It squeaked in protest against his large frame. “I went to visit him to find out exactly where he was the night Charlotte was shot. I just had to be sure. I also asked him if he’d heard anything about the shooting.”

“And now he’s skipped town. Oh, that does not look good for our boy.” She shook her head and picked up the desk phone in front of her.

“Could also mean nothing. I’m trying not to jump to conclusions. Knowing Chandler, the fact a cop showed up at his house was enough to make him skip. I never mentioned to him exactly what case I was working on.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t find out.” She held up her finger to pause their conversation. “Yes, this is Detective Sims. I’m looking for the officer assigned to Merrick Chandler.”

Marcus nodded. He was going to make that call himself, but if Sims wanted to get involved on his behalf, let her.

“Yes, I’ll hold.”

He listened to this end of the conversation. He had to admit she had style. When it came time for her to drop the bomb to the parole officer, she did it without hesitation then waited patiently while the voice on the other end of the phone grew louder. Sims held the phone away from her ear and made a face. Clearly, the parole officer had known Chandler before this.

Sims placed the phone back to her ear. “So, what you’re saying is he did not leave a forwarding address with you.”

She held the phone away again. “I see. Well, thank you for your time.”

When she hung up, she looked at him and shrugged. “Sorry, he couldn’t seem to help.”

Marcus looked out the window that faced the parking lot and the morgue across the way. His mind drifted from the whereabouts of Merrick Chandler to the more immediate problem. “I’m halfway wishing the person who shot Charlotte is one and the same who killed our Jane Doe, and half hoping to God it isn’t.”

“Either way, we aren’t any closer to finding out who that is.”

“I know, and it’s killing me.”

Marcus spent the rest of the day tying up loose ends on other cases, or at least the cases he was supposed to be working on. Officially, he had never been assigned to Charlotte’s case. But if the hotel murder had anything to do with Charlotte’s shooting, the cases would cross and he would be forced to become involved in an official capacity. Or Chief Hunter would pull him off both and reassign him. That scenario seemed far more likely.

He finished around quitting time and got in his car. Before he realized where he was headed, he found himself showing his badge at the security gate at the Acres West. It was as if the car pointed him in that direction and he hadn’t even questioned it. He shook his head.

Tara came into his life like a category-five hurricane, leveling his common sense and wreaking havoc on his emotions. What was it she said yesterday at lunch? Oh yes, she realized she looked like Charlotte. How was that? She and Charlotte couldn’t be any more different.

His sister had been alive and vibrant. She moved through a room like a snapped power line, electrifying all those poor souls left in her wake. Tara moved with the grace of a ballerina. Her serene expressions and soulful eyes made it impossible to overlook her, and yet she invoked a need for protection from the world.

With Charlotte there were no filters. The exasperating female had spoken her mind from the moment she learned to talk. No one was ever left to wonder what she thought or how she felt, because all information was given freely.

Tara seemed to keep things close to the vest. There was mystery surrounding the woman, and Marcus couldn’t wait to unravel it. However, he was sure whatever it was it couldn’t be bad. Perhaps she was just shy around people she didn’t know well. Though he couldn’t tell from the way she kissed. Man alive, her kisses set him on fire. He hadn’t been that hot in…hell, he had never been that turned on.

He pulled into the row of condos. Her rental car was in the parking lot, the windows rolled down to let in fresh air. It looked like she was planning on going out again soon. Good, maybe he could persuade her to have dinner with him. Though the last time they did that she ended the evening early by getting upset, and then someone ended up dead in front of her hotel room. With luck, the night wouldn’t end in the same way.

He walked up to her door and knocked. From inside he could hear rummaging and then the door opened. She walked so lightly he hadn’t even felt the telltale vibrations of her moving across the floor.

Her brow creased as she looked up at him. “Hi.”

“Bad time?” he asked even as his stomach caught at her greeting.

“No. No, it’s fine. Come in.” She opened the door wider to allow him to enter. He took in her appearance and his heart thudded a few times as she moved deeper into the room. The silky little sundress caressed her dainty curves like a breath. The muted green complemented her fair skin and brightened the gold-green of her eyes.

“I wondered if you wanted to try dinner with me again tonight?”

She looked down at her dress and then at him. “Will you give me a few minutes to change? I’ve been in this dress all day and I’m feeling a little rumpled.”

He looked her up and down again. “You’re kidding, right?”

She frowned and headed towards the bedroom. “No. Why do you ask?”

She wanted to know why he asked such a question. Only because she looked like a million bucks in what she had on, but if she wanted to change into something fresh, he wasn’t going to stop her. He only hoped it was skimpy.

His gaze wandered the room, trying to keep his mind off the fact Tara was in the bedroom, possibly naked, or some other state of undress. His palms grew damp at the prospect.

On the coffee table, a sketchpad sat with a black and white composition book. Curiosity reared its head and he moved toward the siren call of her personal belongings. If any items told the story of Tara Johanan, it would be her sketchbook and journal. It would be so easy to uncover her mysteries and get to know her intimately with only a peek behind the covers of those books.

He could hear her opening and closing the dresser drawers, rambling around in the bathroom and, as if signaling the end of the primping symphony, the toilet flushed. He snatched his hand back from the journal as if he’d been shot. What was he thinking? Talk about breaching someone’s trust. They hadn’t known each other long enough for him to start pawing her subconscious for information. It was much better to let her reveal herself in small, personal details.

Tara emerged from the bedroom looking fresh and clean and pretty. And yet, Marcus marveled, she didn’t look at all different from when she went in. She wore a light purple dress that came to just above her sexy knees. The dress had no back, and barely covered her sweet breasts. Tight nipples were outlined clearly, centered in softly raised aureoles. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

His mouth went dry.

Her pale shoulders desperately needed kissing. Marcus wondered if she knew that and meant to taunt him the entire evening.

“Wow. That’s some dress. Thanks.”

She smiled at him. “Glad you like it. I’ve only recently started wearing colors. I generally wear the artist-requisite black.”

He laughed and moved her to the door. “Yeah, why is it that people who deal in color and texture seem to prefer to dress all in black?”

“For me, it’s a matter of simplicity. When all your clothes match, you don’t have to think about wardrobe.”

“I guess that makes sense.” He locked the door behind them.

Marcus drove them to a little restaurant on the circle. It was a quirky little establishment that served Cajun food in a Mardi Gras atmosphere. Even the building looked as if it had been transported directly from the French Quarter.

He and Gil ate at LeRoux’s quite a bit, but Charlotte had a hard time with her patronage of the restaurant. Ray Aldrich, her ex-boyfriend, owned the place. There were too many memories and hurt feelings between them to make her comfortable, though she managed to make it to the big opening night celebration several years before. Marcus and Gil had no problem spending their money at Ray’s. And besides, neither of them had any problems with the man and the food was truly unbelievable.

They were seated immediately in a cozy corner near the bar. The room went beyond ambient lighting and was downright dark. A candle sat in the middle of the table, giving off a soft glow. Marcus wanted to pat himself on the back for bringing Tara here where he could stare at her by candlelight.

She opened the menu and started to look over the selections. Her hair fell forward and she delicately tucked it behind her ear on one side. Marcus stared at the thick mass of it.

His hands itched to run through the silky strands. When she turned her head, the candlelight picked up the golden highlights and made them shine.

Without looking up from her menu she said, “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, why?”

“Because you keep staring at me.”

“It’s like kissing you. I can’t seem to help it.” He ran his hands over his pants legs then looked down at his own menu. He wasn’t about to apologize for looking at her. How did she expect him not to when she was wearing a dress that should have, by all rights, been illegal?

She put the menu down and folded her arms on the table, looking over at him. “I should probably tell you, I’m not used to such undivided male attention.”

“Why is that?” He mirrored her pose, his gaze boring into hers. Her eyes were even more expressive in the dim light.

Tara looked away from him to the other diners. To Marcus it appeared she was trying to decide how much she should reveal about herself, or if anyone could overhear her. “Insecurities, I guess.”

“Baby, from where I’m sitting, you have nothing to be insecure about.”

She smiled shyly and looked down at her hands. “When it comes to my art, I don’t seem to have many inhibitions. I just put it out there and see what happens. Even criticism doesn’t bother me because ultimately it will make me a better artist. I’ve never been able to be that philosophical about myself.”

Marcus raised a brow at her. “Don’t most artists believe their art is an extension of themselves?”

“Oh, it’s most definitely that. For me, though, I think my art is all the best parts. I don’t think there’s much else there to see. There never has been.”

He took her hand in his. “I think you drastically underestimate yourself.”

She let him hold her hand in the dark and seemed content to do so while the other diners talked quietly around them. After a moment of silence, she smiled from the corner of her mouth where her dimple indented slightly. “I haven’t had it easy with men. They aren’t attracted to me the way they are most women.”

That concept he couldn’t quite get his mind around. Tara Johanan was probably the most quietly sensual woman he’d ever run across. If other men didn’t—or couldn’t—see it, he could only pity them.

“Must be a large blind male population in New Jersey.”

“No. I just think I’m not very good at the whole man-woman thing.”

He rubbed her hand. “I can’t agree with that.”

“Maybe I should consider lesbianism.”

A surprised laugh spurted out of him. Marcus couldn’t tell from her earnest expression if she was joking or not. “You think that’ll work for you?”

Finally she shook her head. “No. I’d probably have just as much trouble with a same-sex relationship.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Glad to hear it.”

 

Ray Aldrich surveyed the dining room. All seemed to be in order. Everyone appeared to be enjoying the food and the atmosphere. Now if he could only scoot out the door early and get back to Rebecca at the beach house. He knew when the call came that the manager had taken ill with some bug he wouldn’t be able to get out of coming in and working the busy dinner crowd, especially on a Saturday night.

Ray began a circuit of the dining room, greeting his guests and making sure all was as it should be. He found that the guests tended to become regulars if the owner made a point of stopping to talk with them.

As he made his way to the back of the restaurant, he stopped in his tracks. At a corner table near the bar sat a slimmer, more graceful version of Charlotte Durand. The hair was different and her smile seemed sort of shy, but she could definitely pass for Charlotte.

She looked up at him and he felt trapped by the look in her eyes. Did she recognize him?

The man with her turned to look at him. A deep frown marred the handsome face that Ray suddenly recognized as Marcus, Charlotte’s brother.

Ray managed to make his feet begin to move again and he approached their table. “Marcus.” He held his hand out in greeting.

Marcus looked up and smiled. He took the offered hand and shook it in a friendly manner. Ray let his gaze slide to the woman with Charlotte’s brother. Up close, she didn’t look as much like her as she did from across a crowded room. His heart fell a few inches to where it had been lodged in his throat and back to his chest where it belonged.

“Ray Aldrich, I’d like you to meet Tara Johanan. Tara Johanan, Ray Aldrich.”

Tara held her hand out to him and gave him a surprisingly firm shake. She still looked at him as if she knew him, and it was a look that troubled him deeply. It was the kind of look someone gave you as if to say, I know your deepest, darkest secrets.

“Tara is a friend of Charlotte’s. She’s visiting from New Jersey,” Marcus supplied into the breach.

He felt himself nod, but didn’t feel capable of making any other form of response. So, she was a friend, not a relative. Ray found that piece of information interesting. He would have thought she was a cousin at the very least.

He mumbled for them to enjoy their dinner and moved away from the table, not stopping until he was behind the safe confines of the office door.

 

Marcus divided his gaze between Tara and the road as they came closer to the Acres. Things had been going well until Ray came over to say hello. The moment she fixed eyes on him, her entire demeanor changed. Had she known him at the same time she met Charlotte? Had there been an indiscretion? Judging by the startled look on Ray’s face, something had happened between him and Tara.

Not knowing how to approach the subject, he decided to take the indirect route and see where that got him. “Ray’s restaurant is nice, isn’t it?”

“Hmm,” she gave a noncommittal answer.

So much for the indirect approach. “Gil and I go there for lunch sometimes. Sit at the bar. It’s more casual for the lunch crowd. I don’t think Gil would appreciate having a romantic lunch with me.”

“Hmmm,” she answered again.

Man, he didn’t want to come right out and say it, but knowing she and Ray may have had a past was eating away at his heart. No wonder she and Charlotte had lost touch.

He turned into the Acres and he waved at the night guard then started down the complex to her condo.

“How long were you and Ray seeing each other before Charlotte found out?”

“What?” She turned to him now, her eyes sharp and caught under a severe frown.

“I asked how long you and Ray were seeing each other before Charlotte found out.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s pretty obvious, Tara. When you spotted him you looked like your whole world just ended. Now, I can’t even get you to carry on a conversation with me.”

Tara shook her head as if trying to clear it. “It’s not that, Marcus. I’ve never met Ray until tonight. I just remembered something Charlotte told me about him. Somehow I thought he’d look different now. More sinister, perhaps.”

“Sinister?” The detective in him perked up at hearing that word, though Charlotte had never relayed anything to Marcus that could be considered sinister in regards to Ray.

“Well, maybe that’s too strong a word. Sneaky might be a better fit.”

He pulled up into the parking for her condo. He shut off the engine and turned to her. “Are you talking about him cheating on exams in med school and getting expelled?”

“Yes. Charlotte was angry with him over that incident.”

“She was,” he confirmed before getting out of the car and coming around to open her door for her.

“I don’t know. I guess I expected the guilt to wear on him over the years.”

“No. He moved on.” He took the key from her hand and escorted her to the door. “I think in a case like that he almost had to. He certainly burned his bridges as far as a medical career was concerned.”

“I wonder if it bothered him, knowing he’d never be a doctor.”

“If it did, you’d never tell by the way he runs his business. I think the guy was a born restaurateur. It may have been one of those blessing in disguise sort of things.”

Tara nodded again and looked up at Marcus as he unlocked her door and opened it for her. “I must seem terribly judgmental to you.”

“No, not really. I take you for the kind of person who always tries to do right by people and play by the rules. You expect the rest of the world to do the same.”

“Something like that.”

They walked into the condo and Tara headed to the living room. She put her purse on the table next to the sketchbook and journal. A stricken expression filled her face as she contemplated the composition book.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I…” She got up and put the composition book in the bedroom. When she returned, she sat and patted the seat next to her. “You wanted to see my sketchbook?”

Tara had been throwing all kinds of signals at him tonight, and every one of them mixed. She was in turn open and honest then just as quickly she would close off and become secretive. Whatever had her in its grip was not something she would easily give away.

Marcus sat next to her, his thigh touching hers, as she opened the sketchbook. He might as well see how the night played out. And he really wanted to see her work.

She handed him the sketchbook and let him thumb through it at his own pace. She sat with her body turned toward him, leaning over the open book. He liked the close proximity of her body to his, but it definitely made it hard to concentrate on the drawings. Purple silk melded to her breasts as she leaned forward. Judging from the size of her breasts, his large hands would swallow them completely. Suddenly the nipples tightened into pebble-hard peaks. He looked up to find her watching him stare at her breasts. Embarrassment stained her cheeks a dull red.

Clearing his throat, he forced his attention back to the book.

As he turned the pages, his mind filled with the lifelike portraits of people he had never met but swore he could hear breathe. The textures, the way the light played on skin looked so real, though every drawing was rendered in simple pencil.

He turned the page and his breath hitched. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen stared back at him from the page. There was no warmth in her eyes, and yet her mouth showed a definite vulnerability.

“My sister, Eva,” Tara said simply. “Now you understand one of the reasons why I’ve never had any confidence when it comes to men. She’s kind of a hard act to follow.”

He gazed at Tara’s profile. He wasn’t so sure about that. Tara was so pretty, it made him ache to look at her.

He turned another page and a man looked to something off the frame. Marcus guessed the man could be considered handsome. He looked solid and dependable. Someone a person could count on when the chips were down.

“My brother, Stuart.”

“Looks like a nice guy. What does he do?”

“Corporate law for a pharmaceutical company.”

Marcus could feel himself make a face before he could stop.

“Not all lawyers are bad.”

“No, just as long as they’re prosecutors.” Something tripped in Marcus’ brain. “He’s the one who called yesterday? The guy I thought was bothering you?”

Tara nodded and smiled. “It’s all right. He’ll get over it. When I talked to him later he said he was glad I had police protection. You scored big with him.”

“Yeah?” He turned his face to her, concentrating on her mouth. “I would rather score big with his sister.”

“I don’t think you’re Eva’s type. But then again, what do I know?”

He kissed the sweet dimple at the corner of her mouth. Her smile broadened. He set the sketchbook aside and took her into his arms. Lips slid together. Mouths opened. Tongues swirled. Hands caressed.

Marcus lay Tara back against the couch cushions, his body covering hers. He tore his mouth away from the sweetness of hers. He wanted to kiss every inch of her body. Christ, he just wanted to strip her naked and lick her from head to toe.

His hand moved to the back of her neck, kissing her mouth as deep as he could while he untied the halter of her dress. The sides fell away and her breasts were his for the taking. They were every bit as lovely as he’d imagined—more so in her excitement.

“God, they’re beautiful.” And so sensitive, too.

He took one into his hand and lifted it, then lowered his mouth to it. Tara arched her back as he began to suck the sweetness of her nipple.

A moan passed through her parted lips.

Slim thighs spread, and he centered himself between them to rub his raging erection against her barely concealed mound.

Fingers wound into his hair as he lavished attention on first one breast then the other. Man alive, he couldn’t decide which tasted better, the right or the left. What he really wanted to taste was much farther down. He kissed her mouth again as he started to slide the dress down so he could kiss a path down her body, but Tara’s hands gripped his shoulders.

She moaned and pulled her mouth away from his. “No.”

That two-letter word was akin to a bucket of ice water poured over his head. Slowly, as if all his muscles were in spasm, he moved away from her and sat up. He stood and walked to the other side of the room. It was safer that way. If he stayed anywhere near her, he was liable to lose control.

Fabric rustled behind him, but he dared not turn around and watch her as she put her clothes back together. “I’m sorry, Tara.”

“I told you last night not to be. I was just as much involved in that kiss as you were.”

God was she ever! “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”

“Marcus, I’m not ready yet. I usually move much slower.”

“Slow is good, too.” At least she wasn’t denying her attraction to him. Of course she couldn’t very well do that after the way she returned his kisses and lay beneath him with her breasts in his mouth. But he wasn’t so sure they had that kind of time. What happened when she went back to New Jersey? She had an entire life up there. She worked for her parents, for crying out loud. While that kind of family commitment was certainly commendable, it did nothing to instill confidence in a long-term relationship with her. And by all that was holy, after only two days, he was crazy enough to think of the long-term.

He turned back around to see what she was doing, and his heart froze in his chest. Glassy eyes stared off into nothingness. Her porcelain complexion looked even paler than usual. Her hands were tucked into her lap, knuckles white in tension. Tara looked as if she were in the grips of a seizure.

 

“I’m so sorry, Ray. I had no idea…” Hands reached out and took Ray’s in a hard grip. The same large diamond engagement ring turned to fire under the lights. “We tried everything we could, but the shock was too much for his little system.”

Ray crumbled onto her shoulder and began to sob. Coarse beard stubble raked against her cheek as she held him close to her. Tears soaked her lab coat and wet the scrubs beneath.

“How could this happen? Why? Why?” he choked between sobs. “He’s just a baby.”

“I don’t know, Ray. It’s not fair.” She smoothed his hair on the back of his head as she had when they were together. It was an action that had soothed him in the past.

She opened her eyes and looked to the doorway. Darby stood there with tears in his eyes. He mouthed, “Are you all right?” to her.

She nodded, not wanting to disturb Ray, and let him purge his pain. What she really wanted was for Rebecca to arrive and take over for her. Ray needed his ex-wife now, not his ex-girlfriend.

The terrible thought that kept rolling through her mind was how lucky she was to be with Gil.

God in heaven, if she and Ray were still together, would that have been their son in the trauma room? Would she have gotten a call to resuscitate her own child? Not that the staff would have let her, but just the thought crippled her.

“Where is she?” Ray sobbed. “Where’s Becca?”

Charlotte continued to rub his neck, massage his shoulders. “I don’t know. We’ve sent the police out to find her.”

She sat with him, feeling like the worst kind of friend.

His son died on her watch.

Until the day she died, she’d never get over it. Ever.

The fog lifted and the vision cleared from her mind. She was back in her room at the Acres West. Strong masculine hands were on top of hers, rubbing warmth and feeling back into them. She took a deep breath, like a swimmer who surfaces from under water.

“Are you back with me now?” Marcus moved her face to the side so he could look in her eyes.

She nodded. Why did she have to have a vision in front of him? And one that was so sad, her heart felt as if it would break? Charlotte was on duty the night Ray Aldrich’s son died.

Her stomach took a sudden pitch and roll. She stood on shaky legs and hurried to the bathroom, Marcus following in her wake. She slammed the bathroom door before he could follow her in. She kneeled before the toilet right before the dinner she ate came back in all its retching glory.

Her eyes watered and tears ran down her face. Never had a vision made her so violently ill. Perhaps it was the circumstances of the vision that made her react.

Charlotte’s memories slammed into her brain like a freight train on greased tracks—the call to the ER, the chaos in the trauma room, the violence of the chest compressions, the limp little body, the defibrillator making his little body jump, round after round of meds. It had all been a fruitless attempt to save the boy’s life.

Tara rested her elbows on the side of the toilet seat and held her head in her shaking hands. How could Charlotte have seen things like that every day and kept her sanity? Tara was about to lose it and she had only witnessed it in the loop of Charlotte’s memories. But it felt real—so damn real.

The sights and smells surrounded her and permeated in her hair and clothing. They lived in the cells of her body and tried to take over until there was nothing left of Tara Johanan.

She retched again, trying to expel the foreign experiences from her body for good. She wiped her mouth with her hand and sat back against the side of the tub, sobbing.

“Tara, are you all right?” Marcus called through the door.

Was she all right? No, she was losing her freaking mind and didn’t know what the next step would be to reclaim it.

She sat there for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts and forcibly push Charlotte’s memories to the back of her mind. When she could move, she turned on the shower and stood under the spray. Her muscles felt languid under the warm water and she started to relax.

Before turning the water off, she brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth. Feeling slightly more normal, Tara wrapped her robe around her, tying the sash. She wasn’t going to worry about underclothes or her hair being wet. Such things were beyond her scope at the moment.

When she opened the bathroom door, she found Marcus sitting on the bed, looking up at her. Her face immediately turned red.

“Sweetheart.” He rose and came to her, pulling her against his hard chest. “A seizure disorder is nothing to be ashamed of. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She wasn’t about to argue with him about what just happened, so she told another half-truth. “It’s something new to me. I’m still learning to deal with it.”

He kissed the top of her head. “What causes them? You don’t have a brain tumor or anything like that, do you?”

“No, I don’t have a brain tumor.” She moved out of the circle of his embrace and sat on the bed. “I’m really tired now and I have the beginnings of a horrible headache.”

“I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

Strike another blow for her independence. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine. I need to rest is all.”

“And if you have another seizure? Look, you already have a bump on your head where you fell yesterday. Next time you could kill yourself.”

Tara went rigid at the thought. “I told you before, I don’t fear dying.”

“I know, you only fear pain. What kind of bullshit is that?”

“Don’t yell at me.” Tara balled a pillow up under her head and lay against it, closing her eyes for a second.

Marcus took off his jacket and threw it on the dresser, then slid off his shoes. He took off the gun holster and laid it beside his jacket. Tara watched him make a circuit of the bed. He lay down behind her, draping one arm over her hip. His breath felt warm against her ear. “I promise I won’t jump you. But I have to admit seeing you in nothing but that silk robe of yours is mighty tempting.”

“You’re about as subtle as a bulldozer.”

“It’s part of my charm. Now go to sleep.”

A reluctant smile tugged the corners of her mouth. Tara knew he wouldn’t try anything. He had given his word to her. When she uttered her quiet “no” earlier, Marcus had moved away and not proceeded to try to make love to her.

She laced her fingers through his. It felt so right being with him like this. If he kept it up, she would definitely be in danger of falling in love with him. But Marcus Danforth was an easy man to love. He had honor and charm. A good sense of humor. Not to mention he was easy on the eyes. Tara snuggled her bottom closer to him.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to make love to him. She did. The Lord above knew how much she wanted to make love to him, but she didn’t have the best track record with men she knew. How was a man she barely knew going to react when he saw the purple scars on her body? No, it wasn’t that she didn’t want Marcus—it was more the fact she didn’t want him to see her scars or answer the questions that would invariably come once he saw them. Nor did she wish to be dropped like a hot rock when he decided she couldn’t satisfy him.

She fell asleep cuddled into the safety of his arms and slept better than she had in weeks.

Tara woke with the sun streaming in the window and an unnatural quiet in the room. The weight of Marcus was no longer behind her on the bed, and yet she knew he hadn’t left.

Slowly, as if fearing to face the executioner, she turned around to see him.

His eyes were filled with horror and rage. In his hand, her journal.

Chapter Eighteen

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Marcus woke early. He usually did, anyhow. That was just the way his circadian rhythm seemed to run. Tara still slept beside him. His body reacted to her nearness, and he moved slowly away from her. Paige had accused him of not being able to get it up since Charlotte was shot. If she could only see him now, he had trouble keeping it down in Tara’s presence.

He looked at the clock. It was only seven.

For the first time in a long time, he was actually glad to have the day off. He fully intended to take advantage of it and get to know Tara better, doing things that didn’t involve anything other than being lazy. Maybe she would like to take advantage of the private beach. They could take a blanket and picnic out and sit in the sun.

His gaze traveled up her slim legs. She didn’t look like a sun worshipper. As a matter of fact, she didn’t look as if she even used the spray-on kind. Tara was all natural, and that suited him just fine.

Maybe he should go get them some breakfast though. That would be nice for her to wake up to. After all, the meal they ate last night hadn’t lasted long in her stomach after they returned to the condo.

Marcus grabbed his jacket off the dresser and knocked the composition book onto the floor. He bent to pick it up and the words that filled his eyes sent chills spearing through him.

The scene was exactly as Marcus remembered it when he arrived. The details of the shooting, all the things the media never knew were staring at him from the page, written in Tara’s hand in black ink.

He flipped the page back and began to read. It was all there, from the time Charlotte left the hospital until the car fled the scene. He tore his gaze from the evidence of her betrayal and looked to where she slept on, oblivious that her crime had been discovered.

How could he possibly have been so wrong about her? Was he so blinded by her sweetness he couldn’t see the evil that hid beneath the surface? And why did she do it? What could have motivated her?

His mind raced, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. The way she had reacted to Ray Aldrich last night had definitely been a sign. Were they in on it together? Did she lie about a relationship with him?

Christ, he was sick inside.

Tara stirred on the bed. She lay completely still, as if sensing the change in the room. When she turned to him, she looked as if she were going to be ill again. Marcus had all the proof he needed of her guilt.

“You demented little bitch! Why’d you do it?” he yelled at her, unable to contain the overpowering rage that welled inside him.

She stilled at the verbal slap. Marble garden statues had more animation in their faces than Tara’s did at that moment.

She gathered the sides of her robe closer. The hand holding it secure at her throat had white knuckles. “I didn’t do anything. Please let me explain.”

“Explain? How can you explain away attempted murder?” He shook the book at her. “I have all I need to know right here. You’re guilty and you’re under arrest.”

“I didn’t do anything.” She eased to the end of bed. Her free hand tugged the hem of her robe down where it crept up her thighs. “I swear to you. I was in New Jersey when Charlotte was shot. Please, just let me explain what you’re holding.”

“I know what I’m holding—it’s called evidence.”

“No, it’s not.” Panic filled her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I know it looks bad, but it’s not what you think.”

“Talk about a cliché.” He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and hit a button. He turned his back on her, going for the living room and her purse. “This is Detective Danforth. I need you to run a trace for me.”

He grabbed her purse and fished out her wallet. Her license was behind a plastic sleeve on the inside flap. He read the name and number to the operator.

Tara moved to stand behind him. “Please, listen to me.”

He held his hand up to shut off her argument and keep her at a distance. Covering the mouthpiece with his palm he said, “Shut the hell up. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. You’ve been lying since you got here. Don’t think telling the truth now is going to save you.”

“Marcus…”

“I mean it.”

She blinked a few times as if clearing her eyes. He couldn’t look at her. She was going to make him commit violence if he did.

“Unless you want to go to jail in nothing but your robe, you better get dressed.”

He could see her swallow.

The operator came back on the line. “She doesn’t have a record. No outstanding warrants. She hasn’t even had a ticket, moving or non-moving. There was a report of a single vehicle accident back in February.”

“What was the location of the accident?”

“New Jersey.”

“Can you get me some details?”

“This might take a while.”

He turned his gaze to Tara, who clutched at her damn silk robe like a nun in a biker bar. “I’ve got a few minutes. Dig up what you can and call me back.” He closed his phone and stared at Tara.

Single vehicle accident back in February. He cleared his throat. “I thought I told you to get dressed.”

She calmly took a seat on the sofa. Her face had yet to change expressions from that of a statue. “The only thing investigating me is going to tell you is that I was in the hospital in New Jersey the night Charlotte was shot.”

Marcus’s stomach did a free fall. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t hire someone.”

She closed her eyes and bent her chin to her chest. There was something of the wounded dog about her. “I might make good money, but not that good.”

The composition book burned like acid in his hand. He wanted to read every entry to find out just how much she knew about Charlotte. Was she living some twisted Single White Female fantasy? That scenario was bad enough, but her lack of emotion was even worse. That bothered him. Big Time.

“Why don’t you tell me how you really met my sister? Was it in college? Did she steal your boyfriend or something so you wanted revenge?”

Her body jerked slightly. Words came from her mouth too low for him to hear.

“What was that?” He moved closer so he wouldn’t miss it this time.

She looked up at him. Her eyes dull. “I said…I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

He doubted it was the truth anyhow. No woman who looked as good as Tara would be without a boyfriend. It was an act. Just like all the bullshit she spread at dinner the night before. His phone rang, cutting off what he might have said. But what could he say?

“Deer Creek Police are faxing a copy of the accident report,” the operator said. “But the officer I talked to said it made the front page of the local paper. Car ended up hood-down in a ravine. They lost the victim a few times in the field.”

Marcus turned to look at Tara. His mouth went dry. “What was the date of the accident?”

“February twenty-second.”

He closed the phone again.

There were no words.

It’s a mistake. They have the wrong accident. She has to be the one responsible for Charlotte’s condition.

Gathering his thoughts, he waited a moment before trying to speak. When he did, his voice came out low and rough. “Tell me about the accident.”

She shook her head and rose. “You’ll only tell me it’s another cliché. If you aren’t going to arrest me, I’d like to take a shower.”

“At least tell me how it happened.”

“What difference does it make? I’m a demented bitch, aren’t I? Can’t trust me to tell you the truth, right?” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “But I will tell you this much. I went to a state college in New Jersey. If Charlotte did her undergrad up there, then it’s possible I had her in a class.”

Charlotte had gone to the University of Florida in Gainesville and did her residency in Pensacola. She’d never left Florida.

Tara pointed to the composition book. “Take it if you want. Read it. Maybe there’s something in there that can help you find the shooter.”

He wanted to ask her how, but didn’t think she’d tell him anything at this point. Losing his cool when he found the journal wasn’t a good thing. He’d be lucky if he got her to tell him anything now. And the woman definitely knew something.

But if she wouldn’t talk, he could go to New Jersey and find out what Tara wasn’t telling him.

 

Marcus went straight to his apartment and packed a small bag. As he placed it by the front door, he took out his cell phone and rang Chief Hunter.

“Hunter.”

“It’s Danforth. I’m going out of town for a few days. I got a lead on a case and I need to fly up to New Jersey.”

“New Jersey?” the chief’s gruff voice rumbled in question. “What case are you working on that’s taking you that far?”

Marcus choked. He didn’t want to tell Hunter the truth, but he couldn’t afford to lie to a man he admired and respected. “Charlotte’s.”

“Marcus.” Hunter shifted from that of boss to that of friend by the subtle shift in names. “You aren’t even assigned to the case.”

“I know, but I came across some information that I think might be crucial. If it ends up panning out, I’ll surrender all my notes to Giotti and Caspan and let them pursue it. I just need to do this for myself first.”

“All right, but be careful. If you find anything that leads to an arrest, I don’t want there to be questions about a conflict of interest on our part.”

“I won’t touch any evidence. I just want the chance to interview a few people.”

Hunter sighed into the phone. “I don’t want this to come back and bite either of us on the ass.”

“I appreciate it, Hunter.” Marcus signed off and grabbed his bag. He wanted to stop by the station and pick up the accident report before he headed to the airport.

In a few hours, he’d know everything Tara didn’t want to tell him.

Chapter Nineteen

Deer Creek, New Jersey

The receptionist kept Marcus on hold for a good five minutes before she came back on the line. “I’ll transfer you to Mr. Johanan’s office.”

“Thank you,” he said and tried not to mutter “about time”.

Marcus decided he should begin with an apology to Stuart. It wasn’t as if Marcus didn’t believe Tara had been injured. He’d already read the detailed report verifying the accident. Marcus had also tracked down one of the first responders. He was amazed to learn Tara had survived once she was taken to the hospital. According to the paramedic, Tara’s injuries were so extensive they’d had to resuscitate her several times. The hospital hadn’t been willing to deal with him though, too many laws on the books protecting patients’ rights. There weren’t too many things he could get without a warrant. So far she was only a person of interest—at least to him.

Stuart Johanan came on the line, his tone brusque and efficient.

“Mr. Johanan, I want to apologize for intruding on your workday, but I need some answers and hoped you could supply them for me.”

“If I can. What is this in reference to?”

“I need some information on your sister, Tara. I understand the two of you are close.”

Silence for a beat or two preceded an outburst. “What’s happened to Tara?”

“Nothing. She’s fine. I just need you to answer some questions for me. Could we meet this afternoon, or sometime tonight?”

“Yes, of course.”

They agreed on a time and place and hung up.

Marcus leaned back on the hotel bed and stared at his cell phone. He felt for Stuart Johanan. The man obviously worried and cared for his younger sister, much as Marcus did for Charlotte. It wouldn’t be the first time he sat across a table from a man and accused a beloved sister of conspiracy to attempt murder. The hardest thing to hold onto for him was the belief that Tara might have had something to do with it at all. At least not directly. What he really needed to do was to prove Tara knew anything about Charlotte before the accident in February that could tie her to the shooting.

He picked the composition book up off the bedside table. The entries weren’t labeled according to when they actually happened. Some of the entries were dated in early April, but were scenes he remembered from his childhood. The entries also weren’t in any chronological order according to how they occurred. What was that all about? And more importantly, what could it mean?

 

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Tara felt as if all the energy had been drained from her body and her empty husk left on a clothesline in the sun. Several times over the past few hours she considered changing her return ticket and going home. The look on Marcus’s face as he held the journal was a look she never wished to see again in her life. It hadn’t taken long for him to find an excuse to disentangle himself from her. For a man who was reported by his friends to be the champion of lost causes, he sure ran as far and as fast as he could from her cause.

He’d called her a demented bitch. No one had ever called her a bitch before. At least not to her face. She’d never given anyone a reason that she knew of to call her names. Well, there was Colin Masterson, but he didn’t really count.

An empty pit opened in her gut. God, she’d been such a fool. She’d been so stunned by the strength and ferocity of Marcus’s accusation, she hadn’t even been able to adequately defend herself. She’d sat there like a stupid lump, letting him rip her heart out and feed it to her.

How could Marcus possibly think she would hurt anyone? Hadn’t he held her just last night when he thought she was ill? Couldn’t he look in her eyes and tell she was as much a victim in all of this as Charlotte? The only difference between them was the fact Tara could make a difference, and Charlotte lived by the mercy of a body that no long acquiesced to her commands. Of course she could have told him she was a psychic, but he’d probably only have laughed in her face.

Tara pulled up a chair and took Charlotte’s hand and began to talk, telling the comatose woman of the fight. “I think my time here in Palmetto Springs is going to be very short. I’ve been expecting your brother’s friends in blue to come knock down my door at any time.”

There was no answer from Charlotte. Not that Tara expected one. She sat there for a few moments then rose. She had work to do if she was going to help Charlotte and return home before she got arrested for being two thousand miles away when a crime was committed. What a nightmare.

If truth be told, Tara expected to leave the hospital under police escort. She hated to think that Marcus would have her arrested for expediency’s sake and not due to facts. Stranger things had happened in the annals of law enforcement. Her addiction to true crime television proved that on a daily basis. But as she’d told Marcus yesterday—Jesus, was it only yesterday—she didn’t come to Florida to fall in love. It was time to renew her search for the shooter while she still had time.

She walked out to the nurses’ station. Tara had been to the hospital so often in the last few days the staff began to recognize her. So when she asked the secretary to page Dr. Darby Payne, it didn’t seem so outlandish of a request. She told the secretary she would be sitting in the waiting room.

And she waited.

And waited.

“Hello,” came a soft male voice from the doorway. Loafers made a shuffling noise on the linoleum floor.

Tara turned to see Dr. Darby Payne enter the room. “Hi.”

He looked like he had just run a marathon in his scrubs and tassel loafers. “Sorry to keep you waiting, I’m covering the Peds ER this month.”

Tara smiled at him. He seemed like a nice enough man. She extended her hand and introduced herself to him.

“What can I help you with?”

Tara needed strength. She was about to jump off a very high bridge and wanted some support. “You were on duty the night Ray Aldrich’s son was brought in, weren’t you?”

Darby’s once open and friendly face fell, and he blanched. “Yes, but I can’t discuss it with you.”

“I understand you can’t talk about the case, but I was wondering more about Ray Aldrich, not his son.”

“Ray? What about him?”

“How was he acting that night? I mean, besides the obvious. Did he ever threaten Charlotte Durand?”

Darby frowned and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Are you a private investigator or something?”

“No. A curious friend.”

“A reporter then?”

“No.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her business card. “Here. It has my family’s website and address. You can find out all about me there.”

He gave the card a cursory glance. “You’re an artist?”

“And a friend of Charlotte’s. Please, I need to find out what happened to her.”

“You and everyone else who knew her.”

“Will you help me?”

He nodded. “I’ll do what I can.” He took a seat across from her and leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. “Ray Aldrich never said or did anything in front of me that was inappropriate. Hell, what is appropriate after you lose your only child.” He scratched his cheek then rubbed his mouth. “As far as threats to Charlotte, I don’t think he’d ever be brave enough to try something like that, no matter the circumstances. Not with Gil and Marcus in the picture.”

Tara nodded. It was a point well made. But grief could make a person do things they wouldn’t normally do. “Were you on duty the night Charlotte was shot?”

“Yes, but it was all confusion. By the time I got to the ER, they were already wheeling her into surgery. My God, it was a mess.”

Tara felt a little crestfallen. She’d hoped Darby had seen someone in the ER who looked suspicious. By the way he was talking, he hadn’t even arrived until very late in the game. “Were you with patients and couldn’t get away?”

Darby shook his head then let out a small, yet telling, cough. “The beeper system here isn’t the greatest. I didn’t get the page until later.”

Something told her he had used that excuse more than once. Charlotte had been angry enough with him over something to confront him. She’d let that question go for now.

“So, you don’t remember anything out of the ordinary that night? Anyone hanging around who didn’t belong?”

“Charlotte was sitting in the ER with a bullet in her head. Nothing about that night was ordinary.”

Tara thought about that for a moment. “I’m sorry, Dr. Payne. I don’t mean to upset you, I only want some answers.”

Darby made a dismissing motion with his hand. “Charlotte was my friend and my colleague. Believe me, if you find out anything at all, let me know. I only wish I could have been more help.”

Tara left the hospital not knowing where to go or what to do next. As horrible as it seemed, she wanted it to be easy and straightforward. But hadn’t Marcus already explored the connection between the death of Ray’s child and Charlotte’s shooting? Maybe she was asking the wrong person. She needed to talk to Gil Van Patric.

Chapter Twenty

Deer Creek, New Jersey

Marcus met Stuart at a diner, the main staple of the Jersey dining experience. He was a short, stocky man who looked like he kept in great physical shape. From the picture he’d seen in Tara’s sketchbook, it had not been difficult to pick the man out inside the crowded diner.

After introductions, and with coffee in front of them, Marcus began to question Stuart on his sister and the accident that almost claimed her life.

“How did you find out about the accident?”

Stuart looked into his coffee cup. His mouth sagged at the corners. “I got a call on my cell phone from our sister, Eva. They were already en route to the hospital. I was stuck in a meeting and had my phone turned off. The roads were so bad that night, it was no wonder she had an accident. Tara’s a good driver, a careful driver. Stupid deer. I swear they’re as bad as the twelve plagues of Egypt around here. Locusts with antlers.”

Marcus could see the emotion in every line and angle of Stuart’s face. Clearly, he tried to hide his pain behind sarcasm, much like Tara. The adoration he had for his sister was genuine, and the memory of her close call still had the power to bring pain.

“I understand her injuries were severe.”

“They were. She had chest tubes on either side because her ribs had punctured her lungs. Her liver and spleen were lacerated. She lost so much blood.” His eyes filled with tears and his voice broke. It took a moment before he started again. “I’ll never forget seeing her for the first time in the ICU. I couldn’t imagine how she’d survive. There were so many wires and tubes coming out of her… There are some things Tara doesn’t know about that night. I haven’t had the heart to tell her.”

“What’s that?”

“The paramedics lost her a few times on the way to the hospital. It was so bad, they didn’t want to move her, but they figured she was already dead, if they lost her she would be a D.O.A. The trauma surgeon told us he didn’t expect her to live through the night and that she had been fully resuscitated a few times already, and again in the O.R.”

The hair stood on Marcus’ forearms. While his sister fought for her life in Florida, Tara had been waging a similar battle in New Jersey. “Why would you keep something like that from her? That’s assuming she didn’t already know.”

Stuart gave an elegant shrug. “When she made it through the first few days then week, and they started to let her up from the sedation, I could see her fighting to stay alive. I knew she could hear us when we were there because her heart beat a little stronger, a little faster. As she continued to improve, I didn’t want to tell her for fear she’d have a setback. Now, it doesn’t seem important.”

Marcus glanced around the diner and lowered his voice. “Do you know about the seizures?”

“Seizures?” he snorted. “She’s such a bad little liar.” A reluctant smile tugged the corner of his mouth and Marcus noticed for the first time Stuart had a dimple in the same spot as Tara. “She and I had a disagreement about my dating her best friend, Julianne. Tara was afraid I’d get hurt if Julianne went back to her abusive boyfriend, and told me what a moron I was being. Next thing I know, she’s staring off into space, white as a sheet, with fine tremors in her hands. She told me it wasn’t a seizure, only a dizzy spell.”

Marcus felt for the man. He knew all too well what it was like to almost lose a sister, though at least Stuart could still communicate with his. “I think it may be more than that. She’s had a few since arriving in Florida. One unwitnessed, the other two I saw firsthand. Scared the hell out of me.”

“Did me too. I begged her not to go to Florida alone, but she’s a stubborn woman.”

“So I’ve learned. I had a hell of a time trying to get her to move to the new hotel after the murder in the first one.”

“There was a murder?” Stuart slammed his coffee cup down onto the saucer and sat forward in his seat. Several people around them turned to look at him. “She only said there was a shooting. She never mentioned anyone had been killed.”

Marcus felt chagrined for telling on her, but it did prove she kept things from them. But then hadn’t Marcus kept some things from his family, too?

“Don’t sweat it. I said Tara was a bad liar, but she’s not above omitting the truth in order to keep from having to tell lies. Like with this new guy she’s seeing.”

Even though Marcus had vowed never to see her again, the thought she had a man in her life made jealousy rise like a phoenix in his blood. He tried to play it cool. She had told him there wasn’t anyone. “What about him?”

“Well, when she was in the hospital she kept asking for him. Gil. Gil. She said his name over and over. When I asked her about it later, she denied ever knowing anyone by that name. She said it must have been the Morphine talking. But I’m telling you, she had one hell of a guilty face. Hey, are you all right?”

Marcus might have been a lot of things, but all right was not one of them. He’d known Gil since they were babies. There was no way he’d believe Tara and Gil had conspired to kill Charlotte. Never. Yet, the detective in him continued to run the possible scenarios over in his head.

No. There’s no way Gil’s reaction to Charlotte’s shooting had been faked. He dismissed the idea before it had time to fester.

“Did Tara ever mention a woman named Charlotte Durand to you? Or did you ever hear the name Gil before the accident?”

“No, on both counts.”

“Has Tara ever been to Florida before this trip?”

Stuart laughed. “Who hasn’t? We’ve been to Disney World several times. Tara went to the Keys with Julianne for two weeks after their high school graduation, but that’s been ten years now.”

“Any long-distance relationships you know of? Boyfriends who live there? Online romances?”

“Tara? No, she’s a homebody. I can’t see her making a commitment to someone who lived far away. As far as the Internet is concerned, I’ve heard her pontificate on the cons of computer-based dating. And honestly, I don’t think she’s had a boyfriend. At least no one she’s introduced to the family. Why?”

“Just fishing.”

Stuart raised a brow at him. “For yourself?”

“No, a case I’m working on.”

Anger flashed in the depths of familiar-looking green eyes. Stuart leaned over the table, menacingly close to Marcus. “If you’re accusing Tara of any kind of wrongdoing, you better pray you have DNA evidence and an archangel as a witness, because you’ll need both or I’ll tear you apart myself.”

Marcus leaned back. He didn’t doubt Stuart for a moment. He gave a slight incline of his head to show they understood one another. “Would you mind if I spoke with your girlfriend?”

“You’ll have to ask her yourself. But I warn you, she’s even more protective of Tara than I am.”

And most likely holding onto more of Tara’s secrets.

 

Stuart set up an appointment so Marcus could speak with Julianne. They agreed to meet at Tara’s apartment, since Julianne wanted to show Marcus something. She wasn’t specific on the phone, but said it may change his mind about his suspicions. Marcus didn’t like what that implied. Tara had obviously talked to her best friend about the events of the morning before.

A local map sat on the passenger seat of the rental car. At the major intersections, Marcus would pick up the map and glance at it again. Deer Creek wasn’t a large town, but it was spread out among the winding roads that transected a series of hills. Tara’s apartment lay in the valley between two of the hills, on a flat plane. The structures were a decorative gingerbread style with small lawns in front and patios in back. Each unit of four apartments was single-story and sat on adjacent angles to the other units. The placement made for a scattered, haphazard appearance, but it afforded the renters a bit of privacy.

Marcus parked in front of Tara’s apartment. Stuart and Julianne were already waiting for him. He got out of the car and walked towards them, feeling like an invader in a foreign land. He was working without a net now. There were no search warrants to protect him, no physical evidence to tie Tara to any crime, only suspicious entries in a personal journal.

He shook both their hands and Stuart pulled a set of keys out of his pocket.

“Tara said we could go in, so you can wipe the worried look off your face.” Julianne gave him an unsure smile. She might appear to be helpful, but Marcus was sure underneath her surface friendliness she was every bit as protective as Stuart said she was.

They entered the apartment and Marcus was assailed with the force of Tara’s presence. Her personality lived in every detail of the décor. Original art hung from blue walls. There were paintings, carvings, etchings, and all manner of decorative art. The furniture was plain wood that balanced the interior without detracting from the carefully placed decorations. Nothing about the rooms looked slipshod or overdone. They all looked elegant and expensive—just like Tara.

The ghost of Tara’s fragrance hung on the air. Marcus took in a deep breath and let it penetrate his being. A fluttery, unsettled feeling began in his gut, radiating out to his limbs. He opened and closed his hands a few times to try to relieve the pins and needles from them.

Julianne looked at him with a brow raised. When Marcus said nothing, she directed both him and Stuart into the second bedroom where Tara had set up a studio. It wasn’t a large room, but had been stockpiled full of canvases, paints, brushes, palettes, and other implements of her trade. Across the room sat a sleigh daybed, dressed out in a lacy feminine comforter. A matching highboy stood on the opposite wall.

Marcus looked around the room and could imagine Tara working late into the night and falling onto the daybed, exhausted from a day absorbed in the creative process.

“All her finished works are in the closet in here.” Julianne began. “She hasn’t really painted anything since the accident. At least nothing she’s finished. Her sketchbooks will give you a better idea of what she’s been doing.”

She opened the closet door and thumbed through canvases stacked against the wall. She selected a few and pulled them out, setting them outside the closet. Then she collected a few sketchbooks and placed them on the bed.

“Now, look at these paintings and tell me what you see?” She flipped her hand like a game-show beauty.

Marcus scratched his chin. If this was a trick question, he didn’t get the gist of it. “I’m near about stupid when it comes to being an art critic. What am I looking for?”

Julianne frowned. “You are a cop, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you are supposed to have developed a good sense of observation, right?”

One that had failed him recently, but he had one. “Yes.”

“So, observe. Look at the paintings from before the accident.” She frowned and looked around the room. When she spotted what she was looking for she moved with a start. “And then look at this sketchbook, and tell me what the difference is.”

None of the paintings were what Marcus would call remarkable. Certainly none of them were probably worth much. Oh, she had talent, but her paintings were nothing like the pencil drawings she’d shown him in the little sketchbook she had with her in Florida. These were not portraits, but were…dare he laugh out loud? Moody landscapes. Hadn’t she lectured him at lunch about anyone being able to paint a landscape?

“When did she do these?”

Stuart grabbed a canvas, turning it over. “This one says eighty-eight on the back, so she was about twelve at the time.”

All right, for a twelve-year-old, the painting showed definite promise. “Do you have any more recent? Maybe a year before the accident?”

Julianne rummaged around in the closet for a few minutes. “The problem is she doesn’t have them in any chronological order. She takes the canvases and has prints made out of them, then sells the prints at art shows. It all depends what kind of art show she’s doing as to what sells.”

Stuart had taken a seat on the daybed, watching Julianne and Marcus look through the canvases. So far he had been a silent observer to the Tara Johanan collection. Marcus figured the man was still pissed over finding his sister the focus of an investigation, even if he didn’t know the seriousness of the charge.

“Ah, here we go. This is more like it.” Julianne backed out of the closet again. This time the selections ran from portraits to works inspired by Maxfeild Parrish and Pierre-Auguste Renoir.

Julianne placed a painting of a woman, dressed in nothing but a sheer gauze wrap, against the doorframe. Small breasts stood out in relief against the filmy material. Breasts he remembered holding and tasting. Long slender legs were crossed as she leaned against the window frame. Light bathed her body and made her glow golden and untouchable. The woman was Tara with longer hair, and a dreamy, faraway expression.

Marcus pointed to the painting. “Is that a self-portrait?”

Now Stuart stood, walked towards them. He glanced at the painting and made a face. “Jule.”

“What? I think it’s beautiful.”

He huffed, picked up the painting and stuck it back in the closet. “I don’t think Tara would appreciate you showing nude portraits of her.”

“Stuart got none of the artistic genes in the family,” she said by way of apology. “It’s titled Myself. If you want a copy of it, I think she was selling the prints on eBay.”

“Julianne!”

She shook her head. “I’m joking. Not about the title, about her selling them on eBay.”

Marcus was still awed by the painting. “How did she manage to pose and paint at the same time?”

“All right, art lesson one-oh-one. Photo reference. She posed for a photograph and then painted it from the photo.”

Marcus’s blood heated. Christ almighty.

Suddenly his collar strangled him. He put his finger under it and pulled it out to get the air and blood circulating again. It was going to be very difficult to separate his professional sensibilities from his personal attraction with paintings like that available.

“Does she have a particular photographer she uses?”

“Sure. Me.” Julianne stuck her head back in the closet and pulled another painting out. “We’ve been dressing and undressing in front of each other since before we ever had breasts. It’s no big deal. So when she wants to do self-portraits, she has me take the photos.”

His tongue grew thick. “She’s done more like that?”

“Sure. It was for a class she was taking on portraiture or something about portrait and the human form. I don’t know, something like that.”

She stacked another picture up against the wall. “This one was inspired by Caravaggio.”

The painting left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Tara reclined on the sleigh bed, with rose petals all around her. Her head was turned to look over her shoulder. Eyes averted. Her skin was flawless and translucent. The woman was absolutely breathtaking.

A small catch made his heart stumble. He turned away from the painting.

He had to clear his voice before he could speak. “Let me see the sketchbook.”

Julianne handed it to him and he sat on a stool to look through the pages. He started at the back and worked his way forward. Every picture in the sketchbook showed a definite change in perspective. No one seeing Tara’s work from before and after the accident would have even thought the same person did them. Though there were elements in the nudes that had that mystical, dream-like quality.

He turned over the last page and stared. Tara stood before a mirror, touching hands with Charlotte. “Damn.” He breathed.

His stomach took a nosedive.

Julianne looked over his shoulder. “She did the thumbnail for that in the hospital. I didn’t realize she’d finished it.”

Marcus took out his wallet and flipped the pictures until he found one of Charlotte, Gil and himself. He handed the picture to Julianne, who passed it to Stuart.

“This confirms Tara knew Charlotte.”

“It confirms nothing.” Julianne’s semi-friendly demeanor evaporated. “And what if she did? Charlotte probably knew a lot of people, I’m sure. People who had a hell of a lot more access to her than Tara would.”

Said like that, Marcus felt like an idiot, but it still didn’t explain the composition book full of information she couldn’t possibly have known. “Then how does she know the things she does?”

“What did she tell you?”

“Nothing.” Marcus shook his head, his gaze going back to the nude portrait. How could someone so sweet, so unassuming, so ethereal, be capable of such malicious deeds?

“Man, I don’t want to be the one to say anything.” She shot a nervous glance to Stuart, as if gauging how much she could say in his presence.

“But she told you something?”

“Yes. And I believe her.”

“Believe her about what?” Stuart passed the photo of Charlotte back to Marcus. After a few minutes of ear-shattering quiet, Stuart said, “Someone better start talking.”

 

Julianne placed a tray of ice tea on the coffee table and poured Marcus a glass. He recognized her actions for what they were—she didn’t want to tell them Tara’s secrets. It was a bad place for her to be, dating the brother and protecting the sister’s secrets.

“I had gone to visit her a week before her discharge and found her on the bathroom floor, passed out.” She gave a small lift of a shoulder. “I wanted to call the nurse, but she refused help. I was so afraid she’d fall again and bash her skull. With all her injuries, she didn’t have a head injury.”

Having witnessed a few of Tara’s seizures, Marcus could sympathize with that.

Stuart, however, huffed and switched positions in his chair. “She never told me that. Neither did you.”

“She asked me not to. So I didn’t.” She picked up her tea and stared into the liquid. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it after I left. I’ve never seen her be anything but strong, and capable. She may look fragile, but she’s far from it. I worried about her getting up and walking around so much that I bought some art supplies to her in hopes she’d get so into drawing she’d stay in bed. When she’s working, she tunes out the world.

“I sat down and we had a nice visit, then she started doodling on a pad, and drew the picture of the two women. I asked her if she knew the one in the mirror, but she was somewhat evasive. Told me it was metaphysical. Then she asked me to check the Internet for any shootings the night of her accident.”

Marcus didn’t like the sound of that. Metaphysical.

“You were playing detective for her, and you never told me?” Stuart’s tone sharpened. He was clearly pissed his girlfriend had been holding out on him.

“She swore me to secrecy.”

Marcus split his glance between them and then made a gesture with his hand. “And?”

“And, I thought the entire thing was very strange, especially when she told me to look for shootings from all over the country. She didn’t know where it had happened, only that it had.

“When I found the articles from your local paper about Charlotte, I told Tara about them. She knew without me reading the articles to her over the phone that I had the right person.” Julianne grabbed her briefcase and opened the latches. “And before you accuse her of paying someone to do it, I’ll tell you preemptively you’re insane. Tara never once discussed knowing anyone from your area. I would have been the first person she told, even before Stuart.”

Marcus took a long breath and let it out slowly. “What about Gil? Did she ever mention him to you?”

Misery filled Julianne’s dark eyes. “No. If she had, I would never have said those terrible things to her the night of her accident.”

Stuart reached over, taking her hand in his. “You don’t have to do this.”

She gave her boyfriend a weak smile. “I think I should.”

“It wasn’t your fault, no matter what you think.”

She leaned over and kissed Stuart’s cheek then turned to Marcus. “The night of Tara’s accident, she and I had a bad fight. My ex-boyfriend punched me and split my lip open. She came to see me in the ER while they were stitching me up. She begged me to leave Steph.” Tears filled her eyes. “I said some horrible things to her. Things no best friend has a right to say. I hurt her so badly…” She hiccupped. “She left there…” Julianne wiped her eyes. After taking a minute to compose herself, she continued. “Look, Tara would never stand by and allow someone to commit a violent act against another woman. It’s just not part of her character. I know that firsthand.”

Logic warred with instinct. He’d known Tara had a good soul from the moment he met her. Logic told him there was no way she could possibly know the things she did about that night unless she had been there. But obviously she hadn’t been. “What about revenge? Would she ever look to get even with someone she thought wronged her?”

“Never.” Julianne shook her head emphatically. “Even when she had good reason to never speak to me again, she excused me for it. Told me nothing I said to her wasn’t true.”

She handed him a folded newspaper that lay forgotten on top of her briefcase when the conversation had turned. “Look at this and you may change your mind about her involvement.”

He took the paper and opened up the paper to the front page. The headline read Local Woman Injured in Crash. The picture showed a car at the bottom of a ravine. The hood had become one with the ground, crumpled like an accordion. The driver’s side of the door was open, and even in newsprint he could see the pool of blood on the front seat.

“Is the car still around somewhere?”

Stuart narrowed his eyes at Marcus. “Why, so you can see if she has any evidence of Charlotte Durand in the glove compartment?”

“No, I just need to see the car for myself.”

As they started for the front, Marcus stopped and looked up at the painting that hung over the door. “Did Tara paint that?”

“She painted everything in here. That’s from what she calls her Pre-Raphaelite period.”

“It’s beautiful.” It wasn’t just beautiful; it was the original to the framed print hanging in Charlotte and Gil’s house.

Chapter Twenty-One

Palmetto Springs, Florida

The home looked like something out of a miniature version of Gone with the Wind. In other words, it was Tara, but scaled back. She wanted to laugh. Mia Johanan loved the movie so much, she named her youngest daughter after the antebellum plantation in it. Of all the names she could have picked from the cast and characters, she chose to name her after a house.

Tara got out of her rental car and headed for the huge wraparound porch that led to the front door. The whitewashed railings around the porch looked new and freshly painted. The front door opened and Gil stepped out wearing a pair of paint-splattered shorts and no shirt. His shoulders and chest hair were speckled with the proof of his hard work.

“Miss Johanan, what brings you to my front door?” His smile was open and friendly. He either did not subscribe to the same quick temper as Marcus, or the suspicious detective hadn’t bothered to call and fill Gil in yet.

“I wondered if I could ask you a few questions? If this is a bad time, we can make an appointment to meet later.”

“Hell, no. Come on in. I was just finishing up some painting that needed to be done.” He stood back from the door and held it open for her.

The foyer separated the two sections of the house. The right led to what looked like an old-fashioned morning parlor. To the left, a modern living room complete with big-screen television and impressive stereo system. Farther back, Tara could see a pool table and game room.

“This is a beautiful home.” She waited for Gil to tell her which direction they were going.

“Thanks. Been in the family for years. Was my grandmother’s, but she let it run to ruin. Charlotte and I had to take out a mortgage on it just to salvage the old girl—the house, not my grandmother.” He motioned for her to follow him up the old wooden staircase and into a back bedroom devoid of furniture but rich on paint fumes.

Gil bent over, rolling the paint roller across the pan. “You don’t mind if I work while we talk, do you?”

“No. If you have an old shirt I can put on, I’d be glad to help you.”

He gave her a slow smile. “Now, as a proper southern gentleman, my mama would be appalled if I took you up on your offer. As a man with very little time and a lot of work to do, I’m going to accept. But do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

Tara laughed and set her purse and car keys outside the room while Gil went to get her an old shirt to cover her dress.

A few minutes later they were working on opposite sides of the room. It felt good to have a paintbrush in her hand again, even if it was a roller and she was painting a wall instead of a canvas. There was something about putting paint on a surface that made everything clean and new again. Paint, in any form, could cover a multitude of sins.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I want to know if Charlotte told you anything about the night Ray Aldrich’s son died, or the days following.”

Gil stopped rolling and turned to look at her. “You playing amateur detective?”

“Someone has to.”

“You don’t think her case has been handled well?”

Judging from Gil’s tone of voice, he didn’t think the case was handled well either. “I’m thinking maybe the right questions weren’t asked. Or worse, they were asked but the information was disregarded as unimportant.”

Gil let out a long breath. “Have you mentioned this to Marcus?”

Her heart gave a painful squeeze.

“No. Marcus is no longer speaking to me.” Tara bent and got more paint on the roller so Gil couldn’t see her face.

“Really? Hmm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just, hmm.”

They both slapped the walls with paint for a few more minutes. Tara didn’t think Gil was going to answer her question.

“That night was a bad one for Charlotte,” he finally said.

“I can imagine.”

“She takes things to heart, you know. I think, even though nothing could be done to save the kid, she took it as a personal failure that he died.”

Tara searched through Charlotte’s memories and felt Gil had it right. She had been angry and frustrated that she couldn’t do more. “What else?”

“Nothing much. She went to the funeral.”

“You didn’t go?”

“No. I’m not good in those situations. Being a teacher and a coach, I see my share of bad things that happen to children and I thought the entire ordeal was too much. I told her I’d go with her anyways, to support her. She understood, though, and said she wouldn’t ask me to do something that we both knew would be difficult. She’s good that way.”

“She went alone then?”

“No. Dr. Payne went with her.”

Darby Payne, the little crumb, hadn’t mentioned attending the funeral with Charlotte.

“Is something wrong?”

Tara waved her hand in front of her to dismiss his question. “No. Did Charlotte ever mention being threatened or anything weird happening to her at the hospital after that night?”

“No.” Gil put down his roller and came to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I appreciate you asking questions and getting involved, but I went through all this when she was shot. The police couldn’t find one iota of evidence that would make them suspect anyone in Charlotte’s acquaintance.”

Tara felt uncomfortable. She wanted to help, but she didn’t want to cause anyone any more pain, especially Gil. The poor man had been through too much already.

“I’m sorry, Gil.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and went back to his work.

They finished painting the room and Tara offered to take him to lunch since she had bothered him with her questions. While he was getting cleaned up, Tara wandered around the house looking at the comfortable, yet expensive furnishings. It appeared they shopped at only the best stores, but bought their pieces sparingly. Some of the tables and shelves were antiques that had been lovingly restored to their original glory. The entire house was warm and inviting. It hit Tara like a wave of sorrow—Charlotte would never live in this house again.

She explored the game room, the living room and, last but not least, the morning parlor. The morning parlor looked like a room that time forgot. Not that the place was dusty or neglected, but rather it was like stepping into another era. She turned on the light and took in a deep breath.

It looked like a museum manor home Tara had once visited in Williamsburg. The only thing it needed were the red velvet ropes to keep the public at bay. Every detail about the room was perfection, until she turned and her breath fled her body.

There, hanging on the wall between two ornamental floor lamps, was a print of her Lady of Shalot.

Tara sat on the floor, blindly looking up at the print. Memories flooded her eyes, blocking out the present.

Gil walked beside her, holding her hand, trying his damnedest not to look bored out of his skull. “What are you looking for exactly?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll know when I see it.” She took a sudden turn down another row of tables.

Arts and crafts stretched out as far as the eye could see. Most of the wares were too homey for what she had in mind for the house once they finished the repairs to the structure. She didn’t want it to look country, but to reflect a quiet elegance.

At the end of one row she spotted it. There, hanging on a pegboard, was a painting both romantic and elegant. A woman sat on the bank of a river, staring off into space. Her face showed equal measures of hope and despair. At her feet was a small red boat, ready to launch her to some unknown destination.

“This one.”

Gil stopped behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder, looking at the print with her. “It’s only a print.”

“But I like it.”

The man selling the print looked at them. “The artist only runs about twenty prints of each painting. She’s pretty exclusive that way.”

“Is she local?” she asked.

“No. She lives in New York, or New Jersey. Something with a new in it.”

She looked at the sticker. Forty dollars. Not so bad for a limited-edition print. Even if the artist was an unknown. “We’ll take it.”

“Tara, are you all right?”

She shook her head to clear the fog. Charlotte had bought the print because she thought it was romantic and elegant.

“Do you know who the artist is?” Tara pointed to the print behind Gil’s back.

He turned around and looked at the print and then at the signature in the corner. “T. Johanan,” he read and then turned back to her. “You painted that?”

“The original is hanging in my apartment back home.”

“I’m surprised Charlotte didn’t recognize the name when she bought it.”

Tara shrugged, not wanting to push the conversation further. She was stupid to call his attention to it. The shock of finding evidence of her work in Charlotte’s home made her want to share it. If only Marcus could have seen it. But then perhaps he had seen the original by now. Even if he had, he probably didn’t notice it. Or thought it proved a physical connection.

Gil held a hand out to her and helped her to her feet. “Where did you want to go?”

“You decide. This is your town. But I insist it’s my treat.”

“Hmm. I could use a steak right about now.”

“Sounds good to me.” And surprisingly enough, it did.

 

Tara entered her condo and put her purse on the table. Her talk with Gil hadn’t been as productive as she would have hoped. Neither had her talk with Darby Payne. The words “don’t quit your day job” reverberated in her head. As an amateur detective, she was an abysmal failure. Charlotte’s memories could only take her so far, since even Charlotte admitted to not knowing who the shooter was, only a suspicion—otherwise she would have been able to whisper the name in Tara’s mind.

Sun streamed in the patio windows and bathed the room in bright light. Since her arrival to the Sunshine State, Tara hadn’t indulged in that particular natural resource. It would be a shame if she returned to New Jersey and hadn’t even gotten the requisite sunburn.

She went into the bedroom and donned her plain black tank suit. It was serviceable and hid her scars. She may be forced to hit the beach with legs the same hue as the underbelly of Charlie Tuna, but she didn’t have to show vacationing families what happened when deer meets car. The thigh scars could be hidden behind shorts or other wear.

In her toiletries was the sunscreen she’d packed just in case. She spread a liberal amount on her arms and legs, then her chest, face and as much of her back as she could manage. She searched through her suitcase until she found the perfect cover for her suit. The sarong was made of colorful raw silk and, once tied on the side, would hide the scars from public view.

A large lump formed in her throat. If she’d been less than a hit with the male gender before the accident, once a potential lover got a load of her scars, they’d run screaming even before they could get down and dirty. Really, those twelve cats looked more promising every minute.

Depressed, but determined to shake off the remains of another romance withered before it ever really started, Tara opened the sliding glass door and walked out onto the patio then down the steps to the beach.

A lot could be said for stretches of unmolested beach. As far as a resort complex went, the Acres West tended to keep as much of the natural landscape as it possibly could. The complex was built on a hill that sloped downward to meet the gulf front. The sand was white and unnaturally hot.

“Damn!” Tara made a mad dash for the water line so she could walk down the beach where the waves met the shore. It would probably save a layer or two of skin that way.

Everyone talked about the white sand looking like sugar and the water of the Gulf of Mexico being an emerald green, but no one ever told you the temperature of the sand could only be measured by how many layers of skin it burned from the bottoms of your feet. Sandals would have definitely been a good idea. This was a facet of vacationing she didn’t remember from her last trip down.

She plunged her feet into the water and smiled in bliss. After literally cooling her heels for a moment, she took off in no particular direction and began to walk down the beach, following close to the water line. Waves came up and splashed over her feet and kept them from baking in the hot sand.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, she turned and headed back the way she came. Her legs were beginning to tire. Her muscles burned. It had been since before the accident that she had pushed her body to perform any form of real exercise. It felt good to be out in the fresh air and sunshine, but it was also making her a bit drowsy. Determined not to let the exertion get the better of her, she continued at a brisk clip, swinging her arms rhythmically as she went. There was nothing better in the world to stave off a bit of the blues than to exert one’s self physically.

The closer she got to the condo, the harder she pushed herself. The exercise felt good. She would definitely sleep like a baby. Not like last night when she kept thinking any minute the police were going to break her door down and haul her off to jail.

Maybe Marcus had changed his mind about her involvement. Tara couldn’t blame him for wanting to speak to her friends and family about her accident, but he hadn’t called her to apologize for the name calling. And probably never would. He’d no doubt decided he’d made a narrow escape and probably felt embarrassed for having acted like he cared in the first place.

At least she’d been able to throw some of his words back into his face. How dare he stand there and accuse her of being involved in something so heinous, so revolting, as attempted murder! She definitely understood the grasping at straws mentality—it had been months since the shooting and no new leads had come to the surface—naturally Marcus wanted to reach for anything that could mean closure. Still, he should have known even after their very short acquaintance that she could never do any such thing. Though, through his eyes, the journal was definitely damning.

Had he read the entries, or just lifted it so she no longer had access to it? If he had read it, he’d see the entries had no rhyme or reason. Not only that, but how would she have known details of Charlotte’s childhood? All he had to do was read the entry of the Thanksgiving dinner to know Tara hadn’t been there. How could she have possibly known details as minute as the style of shoes Charlotte had worn that day? But again, Marcus wouldn’t have cared had he read it. He would have thought Tara had gotten the details from Charlotte before the shooting. That was Tara’s fatal mistake, letting Marcus believe she and Charlotte had been friends before. The only thing Marcus really cared about was proving Tara was guilty no matter the evidence to the contrary.

She turned inland toward the condo. Suddenly Tara’s feet could go no farther. Hair prickled on the back of her neck. It felt as if the hot breath of hell blew across her skin. She turned and looked over her shoulder.

In the window of a beach house, a curtain fell back into place where someone had been watching her progress across the sand. And somehow Tara knew it hadn’t been the curious gaze of a benign onlooker.

 

“No, it’s not possible.” The words dropped from trembling lips, powerless to hold them in check. The shock at seeing her again was so great. Tiny pulses behind the eyes brought vision in and out in a strobe effect. “She’s in a coma.”

The way she swung her arms and moved with such purposeful strides it could only be one person—Charlotte Durand. No one looked quite like her. Had as much haughty confidence as she. She looked a little different though.

The once bleached-blonde hair had grown out to its natural color, and she had lost about twenty pounds or more.

Blood pressure made an already achy head pound harder. The shooter turned from the window and slid down the wall to sit on the living room floor.

No! You shot her once, you have to finish the job now.

The shooter grabbed a ball cap from the hall rack and went out the front door and around the house to the next-door neighbor’s yard and down to the beach that way. The only thing needed was the condo where Charlotte came from.

Two can play at cat and mouse, dear Charlotte. Last time I didn’t take time to toy with you properly. This time I’ll enjoy seeing the fear in your eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Deer Creek, New Jersey

Marcus lay on his hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. He should call her. He should let her know he’d revised his thinking.

In order to commit a crime, one had to have motive and opportunity. So far neither of those points could be proven. Shit, he didn’t even have enough proof to tie Tara to Charlotte. The only thing he had was circumstantial, and that wasn’t enough to even convince himself of a crime at this point.

The painting had been a shock, but then again, it was only a coincidence. He had to find out where and when Charlotte and Gil obtained the print in their house. Who sold it to them? He knew Charlotte hadn’t gone north, so Tara would have had to go south to sell it to her. Marcus rubbed the dull throb in his head. No, he was reaching again.

Tara wasn’t insane. She wasn’t making up lies. Tara had not been anywhere near Palmetto Springs on the night of Charlotte’s shooting, nor had she been anywhere in the two months following, except a hospital room. But when Marcus thought of the spiritual ramifications of her experience, he was suddenly confronted with questions he didn’t want answered.

He picked up his cell phone and dialed her number. Her voice mail picked up, so he hung up. He didn’t want to talk to a mechanical voice telling him his call was being forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. He wanted to hear her say “hi” in that sweet way that made his toes curl. There was just something about the way she held that vowel sound out a little and made it end in a near sigh that made him think of how she’d sound when satisfied.

Metaphysical? He couldn’t get the damn word out of his head. It wouldn’t leave him alone. It kept gnawing at his brain like a worm.

He’d seen shows about near-death experiences, but he’d never believed in them. He’d always thought those claiming to have had one were mistaken in the details of the situation. Someone had unknowingly fed them information after the fact. He couldn’t dismiss Tara’s knowledge as easily. According to the reports, she and Charlotte had suffered significant trauma at the same time.

His entire body shuddered at the thought.

His thumb hit a button on his phone and his address book popped up. Gil’s number was halfway down the list so he scrolled and hit the call button.

“Hey, Marcus. Where you at?”

“Working out of town. What you doing?”

“Nothing much. Finally finished painting the guest room.”

“I told you I’d help you with it. Why didn’t you wait?”

“I needed to get it done. I’m thinking of selling the place back to my parents and getting something smaller.”

The news shocked Marcus, but he didn’t let on. After three months, it was pretty certain Charlotte would never wake from her coma. It wasn’t right to expect Gil to keep that big house all on his own.

“I still would have helped you.”

“I know, but I had some rather interesting help anyhow.”

“Oh, yeah? Who would that be? Did Darby come over and get his hands dirty for once?” Marcus laughed at his own joke.

“No, actually, Tara stopped by to visit.”

A bullet through the gut would not have been as painful as hearing those words. It took Marcus a moment to respond—a moment when there was nothing but the static of bad service in the midst of dead air.

“Did she now?”

“Yeah. She’s a hard little worker. We had the entire room painted in a couple hours. Then we went to lunch.”

Anger swelled in him. Gil had a fiancée. Why was he visiting with Tara and letting her help him paint his house, then taking her to lunch? What else had they done in the day and a half Marcus had been gone? Had he been mistaken and Gil and Tara did have something going?

No. Stop that. If he did, he sure wouldn’t talk about it.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. Why aren’t you speaking to her anymore? The other day you were mooning over her. Did you get what you wanted and decided you didn’t want it after all?”

“I’m still talking to her. I’ve just been busy with a case I’m working on.” The lie didn’t even sound convincing enough to fool himself. He’d pretty much severed any relationship they could have had. He’d called her a demented bitch, for crying out loud. Women just didn’t forgive a man for things like that—and they shouldn’t.

“Oh. Well, she thinks you’re mad at her for something.” Gil paused. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story. Nothing I’d bore you with right now.”

“Try me.”

Marcus gave an uncomfortable laugh. “I’d rather tell you in person.”

“Well come on over. We can take some beers out on the porch and relax.”

“I told you I’m out of town.”

“How far out of town?”

“New Jersey.”

It was Gil’s turn to say nothing.

Marcus gave a sigh into the phone. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. Do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Keep an eye on Tara for me. She has seizures and beaned herself the other day.”

“Yeah, I saw the goose egg.” Gil paused then said, “Should she be driving? What if she has a seizure while she’s behind the wheel?”

Leave it to Gil to come up with the very thing Marcus was trying not to think about. She’d hurt herself bad enough from hitting a deer. “If she’s smart, she’ll feel it coming on and pull over until it’s finished.”

Tara wouldn’t do any such thing. She was too damn stubborn to even listen to reason. Marcus cleared his throat. “I better go. I have an early-morning visit to a junkyard then a plane to catch.”

“You’ll be back tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Not much for me to do up here. It’ll be later tomorrow night, though.” He hesitated then asked the question burning the back of his throat. “Gil, you know that picture hanging in the parlor? The one of the girl casting a boat into the water, where and when did you get that?”

Gil let out a laugh. “Tara almost fainted when she saw that print today. Charlotte never told her she bought it. And funny thing is, Charlotte never mentioned she knew the artist. Can you imagine? If I knew an artist that good and I found a print of hers at a craft fair for sale, I’d be telling everyone.”

“So, Tara wasn’t the one to sell it to her?”

“Hell, no. I don’t remember who sold it to us, but it definitely wasn’t Tara. Why you asking?”

“It’s no big deal. Just wondering.”

They rang off and Marcus set the phone down on the nightstand. Well that blew the portrait theory to tie them together. He knew his sister too well to know Gil was right. If Charlotte had known the artist, she would have told everyone. Then again, perhaps she had known her, but not realized it.

Oh, what in the hell was he doing? He was sitting alone in a hotel room a thousand miles from home trying to fit square pegs into round holes. The pieces wouldn’t fit no matter how hard he stuffed them in. He’d briefly thought to ask Gil to watch Tara around Charlotte—to not let her near the hospital. But Julianne’s words came back to him. Tara might be stubborn, but she didn’t go looking for trouble.

He wanted to visit the junkyard today, but a sign on the gates of the family-owned business indicated there had been a death in the family and they were out of town. The sign read that it would reopen on Tuesday.

If Marcus were asked to explain exactly why he felt the need to see the car where Tara nearly lost her life, he wouldn’t be able to. How could one explain away a compulsion? He needed to see the bloodstained seats. The imprint had to be made on his mind to make it real. How could Tara have been dead, when inside the protection of his arms she felt so alive?

There was no way he could reconcile how warm and pliant her body felt under his, to the cold wax-like feel of death. The image tripped over and over in his mind until he thought he would shout.

Marcus ran a hand through his hair and slid down farther onto the bed. No matter what, he’d make it up to her. He’d get her version of the story out of her. And he’d believe her, no matter how weird the story.

 

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Glass shattered.

Tara sat up in bed, her heart pounding in her chest. Fragments crunched under shoes as someone entered the condo via the broken sliding door.

She picked up her cell phone from the bedside table and headed for the bathroom, trying not to let her rapid breathing alert the intruder to her whereabouts.

A flashlight beam scoured the interior of the living room. Tara caught a glimpse of the silhouette, but not much more, nor did she stay around to ID the intruder. She found the bathroom by moving her hands in front of her in the dark and closed the door with a quiet click, then turned the lock. She didn’t turn on the light, afraid the sudden illumination under the door would be noticed and her position discovered.

She stepped into the tub and curled up. The farther away from the door she was, the less likely she would be detected. She flipped her phone open and dialed nine-one-one. The operator came on the line and started to take down the information, though she said the people in the neighboring condo had already called police. The silent alarm had also been tripped.

“Could you speak up, I’m having trouble hearing you.”

“No, the intruder is still in my room. I’m locked in the bathroom. I don’t want him to hear me.”

“I have a unit on the way. Stay on the line until they arrive.”

“All right.”

Time slowed to a crawl. Tara didn’t know how long she should stay in her hiding place, but if she were forced to stay there all night she would. The police would arrive soon, she kept reminding herself.

She really had nothing of value with her to steal. Her clothing and makeup were of good quality, but as far as she knew there wasn’t a big black market for silk sundresses and department store cosmetics.

Feet shuffled on the carpet outside the door. Terror filled Tara’s brain and made her break out into a cold sweat. There was a bump then a crash then the sound of feet running away.

The dispatcher came back on the line. “The police are there.”

“They’ll either have to come in the broken slider, or break in the front door. I’m not moving.”

A few minutes later, there was knock on the bathroom door.

“Miss Johanan, I’m Officer Tim Merriwether from the PSPD, are you hurt?”

Tara crawled from the tub and huddled close to the door. She imagined he had his gun drawn and ready. It wouldn’t do for her to suddenly show herself. She could end up in a room next to Charlotte’s.

Even though the dispatcher told her the police were there, she wasn’t taking any chances. “Take off your badge and slide it under the door.” What would that prove? He could have stolen the badge, or worse a cop could have done this.

Tara closed her eyes for a moment. This was no time for paranoia to get the better of her. She hit the light switch.

A badge slid under the door, and Tara picked it up and looked at it along with the photo identification. Tim Merriwether looked like the definition of a Bubba.

She opened the door and handed them back.

Officer Merriwether looked at her and grimaced. “You’re hurt.”

Tara touched her face. Dried blood was crusted on her cheek. She hadn’t even known how that happened. Hadn’t felt a thing. “I guess so.”

Another officer stepped into the bedroom as Tara was walking out of the bathroom. This one had dark hair and a muscular build. His nametag read Fuentes.

“Entry through the broken slider door.” He looked at Tara. “You’ll have to tell us if anything of yours is missing.”

She looked around the bedroom. The bedside lamp was knocked over and broken, and complimentary hotel stationary she’d been writing on before falling asleep was missing from the table. Her heart dropped, but she tried not to panic.

Maybe it fell under the bed when she’d jumped off to hide in the bathroom. She got on her hands and knees, lifting the bed skirt to look underneath.

“What is it?” Merriwether asked.

“Nothing. I left a pad of paper on the bedside table. Maybe not.”

She started gathering her clothes and shoving them into suitcases again. Marcus would have to be out of town investigating her when this happened? Just her luck. The one man on the entire PSPD she actually knew personally, and he had to be trying to pin her for an attempted murder she knew nothing about.

Tara hurried into the bathroom and dumped her toiletries back into the case and closed it with a snap.

“Are you going somewhere?” Merriwether asked.

She stopped in surprise. “You aren’t suggesting I spend the night in a room that someone has already broken into?”

“No. We just need to question you about the incident first.” He took out a pad as if to begin to write.

“If we’re going to do any talking we can do it somewhere else. I’m not staying in this place another minute.”

At the sound of her raised voice, another man she didn’t know stuck his head around the corner. Tara screamed again, and made the officers jump. Fuentes pulled his gun on the man.

“Christ, James. Make a sound, will you?” He put the gun back into his holster. “You could get shot sneaking up on people like that.”

Tara couldn’t help but feel as if she had just walked into a bad rookie cop movie. Not only that, but apparently the man had a close relationship with the local police. “Yeah, James.” She seconded the motion. “And who the hell are you anyways?”

He walked to her and held out his hand. “James Trudee, evening manager.”

Tara held her hand out to him. “Tara Johanan, traumatized guest.”

He raised his hand to his chest. “I’m so sorry this happened. Please accept my apologies. I’ll be more than happy to secure you another room.”

Her head began to shake before she even knew she would refuse the offer. “I’ve had it with hotels in this town. The first one I stayed at featured a king-sized bed and murder in the hallway. If tonight’s entertainment is part of your deluxe vacation package, you can keep it.”

She grabbed her cell phone off the bedside table and opened the drawer of the nightstand. The phone book stared up at her along with a Gideon bible. “I think I’ll call someone and see if I can crash at their place tonight.”

James Trudee pulled a card from his pocket and scribbled something on the back. “If you change your mind, give this to the rental agent at the front office and you’ll get a free week’s stay.”

Tara reluctantly took the card from him and started to put it in her shirt pocket when she realized she was still in her bathing suit. “Geez.”

She decided not to stress over the inappropriate attire and opened the phone book. She found Gil’s number and dialed before Merriwether lost patience with her. From the look of him he wasn’t that far from it.

“Gil, it’s Tara. I’m sorry to bother you, but would it be possible for me to borrow your couch for a night or two?”

Shocked silence crackled over the phone line.

“I know it’s an imposition, but I really don’t feel safe in the local hotel community anymore…” She almost went on to explain when he cut her off.

“What happened? Of course you can stay here. Do you need a ride?” The questions were fired at her like bullets.

“No. I have the rental car. I might be a while though. I have to talk to the police first. I don’t know how long that will take.” She looked up at Merriwether as he not so casually listened to her end of the conversation.

“Police? Now, tell me what happened.”

“Someone broke into the condo.”

“What?”

Tara could hear the sounds of him rustling around. Papers crinkled in the background along with the sound of pencils and pens being knocked over.

“Are the police there now?”

“Yes. A Merriwether and a Fuentes are here.”

“Are they nearby?”

“Yes.” Tara didn’t feel comfortable with the tone of his voice. Gil was near panic, and much more forceful than he’d been around her before. “Hand the phone to Merriwether.”

“All right.” She held out the phone to the officer. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“Gil Van Patric.” She didn’t know if the name would mean anything to him or not.

Merriwether gave her a surprised look and took the phone. “Hey, Gil.” The uniformed cop listened for a few minutes and stared at Tara as a bright red hue crept up the man’s neck and flooded his face. “I see. All right. Will do.”

He handed the phone back to Tara. “You should have told me you’re Marcus Danforth’s girlfriend.”

Tara didn’t correct him, but she would correct Gil when she saw him. The only thing of Marcus’s she was was his suspect.

 

Gil had the porch light on and sat in a deck chair facing the drive when Tara pulled up. She popped the trunk and climbed from the car.

Gil stood and slid his hands into his jeans pockets. His gait was slow and easy as he came down the steps and ambled over to the car. Tara could definitely see the attraction for Charlotte. Gil Van Patric was one sexy bastard.

“You need help with your bags?”

“No. I’ve got them.” She pulled the big case out and extended the handle to roll it up the walk. “I appreciate this so much…”

Gil brushed his thumb along the bandage on her cheek. “Another souvenir?”

“At this rate I’ll be in a body cast before I go home.”

Gil turned and led the way into the house. “I do have a spare bedroom off the game room you can use, so you can scrap the idea of crashing on my couch. The room is private and has its own bath.”

The room was much better than private. It was dark and quiet and decorated in muted tones. “It’s lovely.”

“Charlotte decorated it. I think if she hadn’t followed in her father’s footsteps she would have been an interior decorator.” He ran a hand over the unfinished dresser. Sadness pulled the corners of his mouth down.

Gil was in a sad situation. The woman he loved could very well live the rest of her life in a vegetative state, and everything that surrounded him was a bold reminder of her. Tara’s heart went out to him, and guilt filled her own.

If he ever learned of her accident—and she was sure he would before she returned to New Jersey—he would no doubt feel like he’d been duped, or at the least become as angry as Marcus had. Staying in Gil’s home, accepting his hospitality, it could be a definite slap in the face if he knew her real reason for coming to Florida. But if he was going to hear anything, she preferred he hear it from her and not wait for Marcus to give him some misconstrued version of the truth.

“Look, Gil. I need to come clean. I wouldn’t feel right staying here and not telling you the entire truth. If, after you hear it, you want me to leave, I’ll try to find a hotel.”

He frowned and pulled out the desk chair and sat. “Does this have anything to do with why Marcus is in New Jersey right now?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Should I get a stiff drink to wash down what you’re going to tell me?”

Tara sat on the bed and shook her head. Instead of looking at him, she looked at her hands. It was one thing to know you have to do the right thing, quite another to actually do it.

“That depends if you like to drown bad news in alcohol.”

“Oh, so this is confessional time?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Tara reached down and pulled her shirt up at the bottom. “Before I say anything, I want to show you something.”

“Hey, don’t do that.”

Tara glanced up at him. Poor man looked like he was about to have a breakdown. She swallowed. She’d never shown anyone her scars. But this was different. She needed the visual proof. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing sexual.”

“Glad to hear it. Marcus would kill me.”

“This has nothing to do with Marcus. This is about Charlotte and me.”

“Charlotte?” That name had Gil’s attention.

Tara pulled her shirt up to below her breasts. “I got this scar the night Charlotte was shot.”

His gaze was riveted to her torso. “How?”

“Car accident.”

“Were you here in Palmetto Springs? I don’t remember any other traumas in the ER that night, but then my mind was kind of focused elsewhere.”

“No. I was back home.”

“Then what does your accident have to do with Charlotte?”

“First, let me ask you this. How much do you know about near-death experiences?”

“Not much. The basics only. I have a minor in psychology, but we really didn’t focus much on parapsychology. Charlotte believes in stuff like that. Her attitude is that anything is possible.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you saying you died in the accident?”

She only nodded.

Gil blew out a long breath and leaned against the chair back. He linked his hands behind his head and studied her. Slowly, Tara lowered her shirt then showed him the scars on her thighs. “I understand these bled pretty bad, but not as bad as my liver and spleen.”

After a strained silence he said, “Now connect the dots for me.”

Her hand drifted to the swollen bruise on the side of her head. “Every once in a while I get flashes, moments really, of Charlotte’s life. I don’t know how, some kind of psychic residue from wherever it is the soul goes when we die.”

He smiled pitifully. “You don’t believe in heaven?”

“I believe we go someplace, I don’t think what it’s called is important.”

“I take it you aren’t very religious.”

Tara ran a hand through her hair and scratched her scalp. The area where she parted her hair was sunburned and felt tender to her touch. “I was raised Jewish. My family has never been overly religious. Oh, we celebrate the big holidays like Passover and Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah, we make a big deal of Hanukah, but I think my parents lost their faith somewhere along the way.”

“Your parents don’t talk about it?”

“Not really, and I’ve never asked.”

“Did you miss not having the structure of organized religion in your life?”

Tara let out an uncomfortable laugh. “How can you miss what you don’t know? I think they did us kids a favor in that we were free to experience all religions. It’s made me rather open-minded. And my best friend is Catholic, so I’ve been to Mass with her quite a few times over the years.”

Gil looked at her for a long moment. His gaze searched hers. “You never met Charlotte until that day you came to the hospital, did you?”

Tara shook her head. “My best friend Julianne found the article about her shooting on the Internet. It matched the story to the things I saw in my visions. I thought if I could find Charlotte, I’d be able to put the pieces together and find her shooter.”

“And Marcus found out about this and went to New Jersey to investigate you?”

She turned her head and looked at the delicate shading on the wallpaper. Charlotte really had a great eye for detail and color. “I don’t blame him. In his place, I’d probably have done the same.”

Gil got up and began to pace the room. “I don’t know how much of this I believe. I believe that you believe it. But I think I’m going to reserve judgment until I hear from Marcus.”

The maw opened beneath Tara again. A feeling of being weightless and falling made her weak. She sat still, trying to push the hopelessness away. Gil could block her from seeing Charlotte; hell, Marcus could do that. The thought chilled her. “I understand. I just thought you should know.”

She stood and gathered her suitcases.

Gil turned and frowned at her. “Where are you going?”

“Given what I’ve just told you, I think it might be best if I go.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re more than welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

“You’re serious? You don’t mind?” Tara couldn’t believe the depths of his generosity, but then she knew how good a man he was from Charlotte’s memories.

“Truthfully, I’d feel bad about sending you out there after what happened to you tonight. And I’d have to endure Marcus’ wrath.”

It wasn’t what Gil said, but how he said it. There was a slight stiffening of his shoulders and tilt to his head. The body language made it clear to Tara that he may want to wait until he had Marcus’s input on the matter, but he was also going to reevaluate the incident at the condo.

“You probably want to get some sleep.” He started to leave. At the door, he turned and looked at her. “Have you called Marcus about the break in?”

“No. I’m sure he would accuse me of fabricating the entire thing. Or breaking the sliding door myself.”

“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit.”

The recollection of Marcus’ kiss and how it felt to be in his arms was overshadowed by the look of betrayal and venomous words he spoke before they parted. “I hope you’re right.”

Gil was almost out the door when Tara called him back. “Why did you tell Merriwether that I’m Marcus’s girlfriend? I think you vouching for me was enough.”

He gave her a steady look then the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “You’re a good girl, Tara Johanan, and maybe that was wishful thinking on my part. I think you and Marcus would be really great together.”

Tara nodded. “All right, just don’t get your hopes up because I’m sure it’s all going to come to nothing. He’s already made it clear he doesn’t want anything more to do with me.”

“I think you might be surprised.”

When he left her alone, Tara couldn’t suppress the little thrill of hope that went through her body.

 

 

Ray snuck into the beach house and tiptoed into the bathroom. The shower ran and he could hear Rebecca mumbling to herself. The woman had never taken a relaxing shower in the time since he’d known her. She used it more for an outlet to frustration and anger. She would climb in the shower, turn the water on as hot as she could stand it and vent. By the time she dried off she was back to her perfectly centered self. That was probably why she could hold herself together in all other aspects of her life. Even after Kyle’s death. The woman kept nothing inside for longer than it took to get clean.

He stood at the door and listened for a moment, but he couldn’t make out the words. Love swelled inside him. Rebecca was a spunky, quirky woman who never bored him. If anyone could see him through the depression, it was her.

“I’m home.” He decided at the last minute not to scare her out of her wits.

She jumped anyways and spun around, opening the curtain to stare at him. “Oh. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Well, I thought about stripping and joining you. But I didn’t want to scare you.”

A smile grew lopsided and seductive on her face. Ray’s blood pressure kicked up a few points.

“So, what had you raging this time?” He skimmed his hand along the edge of her breast.

Rebecca’s gaze turned bleak before she turned her head away.

“Kyle?”

“And all that’s happened since.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think things are looking up lately.” Ray moved the curtain a bit more so she could see the bulge behind his fly.

She laughed despite her obviously somber mood. “You propositioning me?”

“Definitely.”

Rebecca reached wet hands out to him and began to remove his tie and shirt. He leaned in to kiss her mouth. Her breasts flattened against his chest.

When he released her, her breasts left two wet circles on his shirt. “I think I’d better get out of this shirt and join you.”

“Yeah.”

He hurried to undress. The boxer briefs he wore got caught on his erection and pulled. Ray sucked in his breath and tried again more gently. Damn, he was ready to be inside her.

Water sluiced over them as he took Rebecca into his arms and moved her up against the tiled wall. “Lift your leg, sweetheart.”

She started to move it, but he needed her with an urgency he couldn’t pinpoint or put a name to. He grabbed her leg and lifted it up and around his hip. Fingers slid up the inside of her thigh and began to stroke.

“Mmm, were you waiting for me?”

She moved her mouth to his ear. “Do you want to hear what I’ve been doing?”

“Is it dirty?”

She whispered fantastical things in his ear, making him hotter than he had been. He moved her face so he could claim her mouth again. He slid his tongue between her lips and into the warm recesses of her mouth, at the same time lifting her slightly so he could drive his rock-hard erection into her.

A small whimper came from her throat. Ray couldn’t be sure if it was of pain or ecstasy. He moved his hips, plunging inside her again and heard what sounded like pain.

He slid out of her and looked at her face, concerned that he’d moved too fast and hurt her.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s my shoulder. I think I slept on it wrong last night. I can’t brace myself without pain.”

He kissed the notch where the joint was. “Come on, we’ll finish this in bed then. There’s a lot can be said for the old missionary position.”

Rebecca gave him that sultry smile that never ceased to make his belly quiver. He would take that smile as a yes.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Deer Creek, New Jersey

Marcus rode in the passenger seat of Stuart’s BMW. In the backseat, Julianne tried to carry on a conversation with Tara’s sister, Eva, who had vehemently insisted on coming along. Eva, for her part, hadn’t said a word and continued to stare holes in the back of Marcus’ head. Tara had been right about the lack of warmth in her sister’s personality. She had also been right about how drop-dead gorgeous Eva was as well. But her clawing perfume permeated the car’s interior and started to give Marcus a headache.

The winding New Jersey roads took them about twenty miles west to the junkyard out in the middle of nowhere. The gates were open and a car was parked at the little brick building that passed for an office. Stuart parked beside the owner’s car and went into the office. He came back out a few minutes later and got into the driver’s seat.

“It’s to the left.” As far as directions went, it wasn’t very helpful. “I suggest we walk. I don’t want to drive my car back there.”

Julianne patted his shoulder over the seat. “Don’t worry, honey. I don’t think they’ll mistake this ride for junk.”

He gave her a lame smile in the rearview mirror as they all climbed out of the vehicle.

Marcus took in a deep breath and tried to clear his lungs of the expensive poison Eva bathed in. Christ, she needed to take lessons from Tara on how to properly apply perfume. Tara’s scent could only be enjoyed in very close proximity. The memory of her gentle scent swirled around his head. He made a fist, trying to block the memory.

As they walked towards the wreckage of Tara’s car, Eva came up beside him. Stuart and Julianne walked slightly ahead of them, their hands linked in unity and support.

“Tara isn’t a very strong person. She’s easily hurt by people.”

Marcus raised a brow and looked at her. Her dark glasses hid her eyes and Marcus thought they were more a defense from his scrutinizing gaze than protecting her eyes from the sun—not that there was any sun shining. Dark gray clouds hung heavy and full, threatening rain.

“She’s delicate and sensitive,” she continued. “She doesn’t have a lot of experience in the world, or with men.”

Boy, did Eva ever underestimate her own sister. Not to mention gave an entirely opposing account than Julianne had. Images of Tara’s naked breasts in his mouth and her arched back flooded his mind. He’d been cradled in the valley of her slender thighs, moving against her in an imitation of lovemaking. Her hips had come up to meet him…

“Did you hear what I said?”

He hadn’t, but he pretended he did. “You obviously don’t know your sister very well.”

Eva stopped and pulled his arm. He stood facing her, ready for the showdown.

“Stay away from her.”

“Or what?” He started walking again.

“Or you’ll hurt her.”

Too late, he already had. Even now, he could hear the ugly accusations he’d hurled at her when he saw the journal—could still hear her tell him in that tortured voice that she’d never had a boyfriend. “Look, I came here to find answers, not be interviewed for a position I didn’t even apply for. If I want to see Tara on a personal level, it’ll be because we both want it. I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

“She’s my sister.”

He held a finger up to her face to make a point. “Yes! Her sister. Not her mother and not her keeper.”

“If you had a sister, you’d understand.”

“I do have one. Charlotte Durand is my sister, and I’m trying to solve the crime that put her into a coma. Now, stay the hell away from me.” Marcus pushed passed her, catching up to Stuart and Julianne who were standing next to the mangled remains of what used to be a fully functional automobile.

“Christ Jesus!” Marcus exclaimed under his breath.

The newspaper photo might have shown the accident, but one had to be standing up close and personal to the car to appreciate the severity of what Tara had gone through. Dried blood flaked on the steering column, and along the now-deflated airbag. Fingers of it were smeared over the driver’s seat where the paramedics had dragged her from the car to work on her. Large blood stains pooled where her thighs had been rent open.

Marcus went to his knees and ran his hand over the evidence of her life’s blood. How could someone as small and fragile of bone survive such an ordeal? It had to have taken an incredible amount of willpower to combat such injuries.

When the accident occurred, Tara had been thinking of her own perceived deficiencies and the pain her best friend was in. How could anyone have survived such a crash?

Tears he didn’t remember shedding splashed on the balled fist resting on his leg. If she had died that night, he wouldn’t have met her. He wouldn’t have experienced that once-in-a-lifetime feeling of freefalling the first time he looked into her beautiful eyes. He wouldn’t have tasted the sweetest lips he’d ever kissed. Thinking of her dead was too much to bear.

Marcus stood and turned to Stuart and Julianne. Julianne’s face was buried in Stuart’s chest as she sobbed softly into the comfort of his embrace.

“I’ve seen enough.” What he really wanted to do was hurry to Newark and catch the next flight bound for Florida. He couldn’t be close to her soon enough.

 

Palmetto Springs, Florida

The day was beautiful and sunny, quite a contrast from the overcast skies in New Jersey. Now the sun was about to set and it painted the skies in shades of purple and orange. Warm air swirled around Marcus. The wind ruffled his hair. The drawback to living in paradise was the humidity. It always had a way of making him irritable, even if he was a native Floridian. But the humidity was only a partial cause of his bad mood.

The trip to the junkyard had been an emotional experience. He thought it would be difficult, but he hadn’t expected to be overcome. To think that while his own family tragedy unfolded, Tara’s life had briefly ended, he almost couldn’t comprehend it. Then, on the way back to his rental car, Eva tried to warn him off again. She mentioned something called the incident before she was told to shut up by Stuart, and threatened with bodily harm by Julianne. Marcus tried to get them to talk about it, but Stuart and Julianne refused. Unfortunately, Eva, too, had a change of heart about mentioning it. Now, he’d have to ask Tara about it.

Marcus shook off the thought and turned onto Gil’s street and could see Tara’s car in the driveway.

After going to the junkyard, he went to Liberty International Airport only to discover that he couldn’t get a flight out immediately. So, four more hours in Newark with nothing but time in which to think of all Tara had gone through and he was fit to be tied. It was a wonder they even let him on the flight. He was sure he was putting out some bad vibes. The badge on his hip, however, eased the tensions of the flight crew.

On the way home, and through the long layover in Atlanta, all he could think about was getting home to Tara, looking into her beautiful green eyes and apologizing.

Then he arrived and drove as fast as he could to the condo, only to discover that it had been broken into and Tara left under police escort back to the station.

The couple in the condo next to hers had been very forthcoming with information, more so than either Tara or Gil had been. However, the neighbors didn’t know where she had gone, so he had to call her cell phone and find out she had sought refuge at Gil and Charlotte’s.

He pulled into Gil’s driveway.

He stamped hard on the brake and threw the car into park. If he had known what happened, he could have been on a flight last night. He wouldn’t have stayed to see the car. Someone had broken into her condo. She could have been hurt or killed.

Marcus knew he shouldn’t have called Tara when he was upset, but damn it if she hadn’t made him angry. She should have called him the minute the trouble started. He could have had her in his arms already. He shouldn’t have had to find out about the condo the way he did. And Gil? What had gotten into him to not call? The worst part was Marcus knew why no calls to him were made, and it killed him. To think he had almost blown it sky high with her. He still may have. He doubted any apology he made to her now would ever be enough.

He looked out of the windshield and at the porch. Tara stood there in one of her sexy, silky little sundresses, backlit by the porch light, her arms crossed over her chest. Her stance said she was unready to forgive him, but he would not be above groveling to her expensively shod feet. She was still mad, but she looked so good to him, he had to put his hand to his heart to keep it from beating out of his chest. That same weightless feeling fell over him.

Before he knew what he was about, Marcus got out of the car and hurried to her. He swept her off the stairs and into his arms, burying his face in her hair.

“I’m so sorry.”

She hesitated a moment, her body stiff, then her arms were around his neck. Her head rested on his shoulder. Her resolve to stay mad must not have been great.

“I’m all right.”

“I’m sorry about everything. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I want to hear the entire story. Every detail. I’ll keep an open mind. I promise.”

“Marcus, you’re crushing my ribs.”

He eased up on the hold he had on her. “Did I hurt you?”

She hesitated. “More than I should have allowed you to.”

Even though he didn’t hold her as tightly, he still had her in his arms. He caught her double meaning, and felt like a shitheel. Her eyes were wary, and there was a distance in them he hadn’t noticed before. Or had he? That shyness, or holding back, he’d noticed on meeting her hadn’t been just because she feared someone finding out her secrets. There was a whole lot of hurt behind those eyes. Eva’s warning and Tara’s confession whispered through his mind. She’d been hurt before.

Marcus ran his hand through her hair. “I promise you, I’m going to do everything I can to help you. You can trust me. We can go over your journal page by page until we nail down something we can use.”

“Or until you’ve decided I’ve told you enough to hang myself.” She pushed out of his arms.

“What?”

“You know more about her life than I do. Those entries mean nothing to me. I don’t even know why they come or why so random an order.”

He’d noticed that when he’d read through the entries. It had also opened up more questions.

“Let’s face it, Nancy Drew I’m not.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I started to put together a list of people who don’t feel right to me. It was taken during the break in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’d been writing before I went to sleep and woke when I heard the slider break.”

He’d talk to the investigating officers at length about the break in the next day. Tonight he was going to try to win back some of her trust in him.

She looked so sad and so tired. That was not the face of a guilty woman; it was the face of one who was almost broken. She had a cut on her cheek. It had a scab, but she hadn’t needed stitches. Marcus pulled her close to him again, careful this time not to injure her delicate ribs.

“Come on, let’s go inside and get your bags.”

“Why? Am I moving again?” She pulled away from him again. The look on her face said she didn’t like the idea. “I’ve had as many places to stay as days I’ve been here.”

“You can stay with me.”

“Marcus…” she started to protest, but he put his finger across her soft lips.

“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

A tired and reluctant laugh came from her. Those sexy lips of hers stretched into a smile. Marcus slid his hand around to cradle her face. His throat felt like it would close on him. How could he have ever thought, even for a moment, that Tara had anything to do with Charlotte’s shooting? His gut should have been his guide. Granted, from day one he knew she was hiding something from him, but he couldn’t blame her. How many people could claim a psychic link to a comatose woman? No one in his experience—until her.

“Don’t look at me like that, or I may have to break my promise before you even decide to stay with me,” he growled.

“I’ll help you all I can, but I think we need to keep this on a professional level.”

“I told you I’m sorry. You can’t possibly know how much I want to go back and do that moment over again.”

She put up her hand to stop his apology. “I’ll tell you what I told Gil. I don’t blame you. I didn’t want you to see that book because I knew how it looked. I knew what you’d think. You’ve been months without leads and it finally looked like you’d found someone to blame…”

Her words were like knives piercing his belly. This is what Julianne meant about Tara not seeking revenge from people who’d wronged her. She tried to see their point of view. Honestly, he’d feel better if she riled at him—told him to go fuck off or something. Her gentleness killed him.

Gil came out onto the porch, his hands down in his jeans pockets. “I found the photo albums you wanted to see.”

Tara moved away from Marcus to the door. “Good. I think this may help more than my journal.”

Marcus watched her walk into the house, he standing there all but forgotten in the moment. Why did she need to see photo albums?

He followed them into the game room and sat on the couch beside Tara. She was already starting to look through Charlotte’s personal photos and scrapbooks.

“What are you looking for?”

“I can’t say. I’m not sure.” Tara flipped pages and only gave a cursory glance at some of the pictures.

Marcus placed his hand on the book and pointed to one of the pictures. He and Gil were dressed in their little league uniforms. Dirt covered them from head to toe. “Remember this, Gil?”

Gil stood in front of Tara, turning his head to see the picture. “Oh, shit. That’s when we won against Magnolia Grove to go to the state little league championship.”

Tara looked up at Gil then to Marcus. “How old were you here?”

“Twelve, maybe thirteen.”

“I bet you two had all the preteen girls’ hearts a-pounding.”

Gil laughed in remembrance. “Yeah, we were middle school studs all right.”

Tara continued to turn pages until she came to Gil’s senior picture. The photo sat among stickers of hearts and cupids. There were pieces of colored paper with Charlotte Lorraine Durand-Van Patric written on them and stuck along the sides.

Silence fell. Gil sat beside Tara. “I asked her once where she put my picture. She told me she didn’t remember.”

Tara rubbed his arm in comfort. “Looks to me like she held a torch for you for a long time. Maybe she was embarrassed to let you know exactly how long.”

“She planned to marry Ray Aldrich,” Gil said, apparently still overcome by the discovery of Charlotte’s long-held affection for him.

“Only because you two hadn’t gotten together yet. You two started dating after she graduated college, right?”

“Yeah.”

“From what I get from Charlotte’s memories, she and Ray were already over by then. I’m sure once the two of you started dating she never looked back.” She rubbed Gil’s hand, an action that made Marcus burn with envy.

“I wondered why she never wanted to go to Ray’s restaurant, but I figured there was too much history there. Sometimes I thought maybe she still had feelings for him and that’s why she didn’t like to go.” Gil shrugged off the emotion, but Marcus could tell the very idea of thinking Charlotte still loved Ray wounded the man deeply.

“Gil, one of the most vivid memories I have of Charlotte’s life is of you on bended knee asking her to marry you. “ Tara pointed to the decorated page in the photo album. “I think there’s enough proof on this page alone to make you believe Charlotte never loved anyone like she does you.”

Tears glistened in Gil’s eyes. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Love swelled inside Marcus. The thought of her having some of his sister’s memories made the hair stand on his neck, but the way she used those memories to reassure Gil of Charlotte’s love was completely selfless of her.

She began to turn the pages, going over the pictures more slowly. Marcus and Gil looked at them with her, bringing up memories and situations invoked from the photos.

A germ of anxiety began to gnaw at the pit of his stomach. How could he expect her to have anything but brotherly affection for him with the quagmire of Charlotte’s memories in her head? And how weird to have memories that weren’t her own?

“How much of Charlotte’s memories do you have?” Marcus asked.

“I don’t know. I get pieces now and then. The things you’re calling seizures are really visions that spring up from some unknown catalyst.” She turned her gaze to him, searching his face. “The night of the hotel shooting, when I hit my head, I had a vision. The sound of the gun firing spiraled me into the memory of Charlotte’s shooting. What you read in the journal, I wrote after you left the condo that night.”

“So you never know what’s going to trigger them?”

“No. There’s really no rhyme or reason.”

“Do you think hypnosis would help?” Marcus watched Tara’s face lose color again and she vigorously shook her head. “No? Why not?”

“I’m afraid to. What happens if I come out of the hypnosis and I don’t know who I am anymore? What if I think I’m Charlotte?”

“That only happens in really bad soap opera plots.” Marcus put his arm around her. “Think about it, please.”

“I’ll think about it, but I’m sure if we can find something that will trigger a memory I’ll be able to give you all the details you want. We’ll use the hypnosis as a last resort.”

Last resorts were never filled with hopeful possibilities. “I’d rather not think of last resorts at this juncture,” Marcus said.

“I think we’ve been in last resorts for at least two months now.” Gil stood and walked into the kitchen, leaving Marcus and Tara alone. Frustrated energy trailed in his wake.

“I didn’t mean to upset him.” Tara looked at the kitchen door.

“I know. He knows it, too.” Marcus heaved out a sigh and leaned against the cushions. “I was hoping the woman shot at the El Dorado would give us some clues. So far, all’s we’ve had is a couple who reported their daughter missing five years ago. I don’t have any confidence her DNA is going to be a match for our Jane Doe.”

Tara shook her head and turned another page of the photo album. The picture showed Charlotte at her high school graduation, holding her diploma in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other.

“Deep down, I can’t help but feel this was personal somehow. Charlotte knew who shot her, though she couldn’t see him during the crime.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, for one thing the street was deserted of traffic, but it was a residential area. The chances of someone being outside were pretty great, why would a shooter take that chance if the crime were a random drive-by? I don’t think he would. Someone had to have followed her from the hospital that night specifically to do her harm.”

“Crimes happen in broad daylight with plenty of witnesses, even with surveillance cameras in place. Some criminals are pretty ballsy that way.”

“I’d look at people she knew a little more closely.”

Marcus placed a finger under her chin and turned her face fully to him. “Now what aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t believe her. Her eyes were just a little too wide and innocent to be believable. “You know, your brother said you weren’t a very good liar.”

“I’m not lying. I’m just refraining from telling you the entire truth.”

“Why?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. Man, did he ever want to kiss her again. He’d missed that in the past forty-eight hours.

“You won’t believe me.”

“I promise I will, sweetheart.”

A long sigh escaped her and she pulled her chin from his hold. “Sometimes I can actually hear Charlotte’s voice in my head. When she asked me to help her, she said she had her suspicions of who shot her, but couldn’t be sure. I think if I hit on the right person, she’ll let me know.”

It just got weirder all the time. “Anyone you have in mind?”

Tara laid the photo album aside and picked up another one. She opened the front cover to a smiling, casually elegant Ray Aldrich. “I’d start with him.”

Ray had loved Charlotte. Marcus really doubted the man had it in him to try to kill her, despite having the possibility run through his mind a day and a half before.

However, losing a child could have a devastating effect on a man. One that might not show on the surface.

Suddenly, Tara grabbed his arm. She raised her head. Fear widened her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with Charlotte. She’s very afraid right now. Someone’s standing near her room. She doesn’t know who it is.”

Marcus pulled his phone from the holder and dialed the nurses’ station down from Charlotte’s room. His heart beat in his throat.

Had the shooter returned to finish what he started?

 

 

The sounds and smells of the hospital were enough to drive her over the edge. It all came back in a blinding flash.

Her baby died in this hospital.

“Dr. Darby Payne to the ER stat. Dr. Darby Payne to the ER stat.”

Rebecca shivered. She knew him from that night. That horrible night.

She stood on the threshold of the dark room. From this distance, and with only the light filtering in from the hallway, she couldn’t see Charlotte on the bed. What she did see was a lump of bed covers that seemed to sink into the high, thick mattress like a body trapped in quicksand.

Oh God. That’s how she felt. As if she’d been trapped in quicksand.

Her palm bit into the strap of her purse. She clung to it like a lifeline.

Laughter from the nurses’ desk startled her.

What was she doing here? There were too many people around.

She thought it would be easy to go into the room, but it wasn’t. Not when anyone could happen by and hear her.

This wasn’t like before.

A nurse started down the hallway toward her, a medication cup in her hand. “Can I help you?”

Rebecca shook her head. The less she said the better.

“Visiting hours are over.”

“I know.” Rebecca continued to stare at Charlotte.

The nurse switched on the overhead light and walked to the left side of the bed. She mixed some powder with water and pulled it up in a huge syringe then lifted Charlotte’s gown, where a long brownish tube came out of her stomach.

Rebecca watched in a moment of silent fascination. Palm sweat wet the purse strap.

There wasn’t enough air to breathe.

The quicksand closed in on her.

She had to get out of there.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Palmetto Springs, Florida

He’d been at it all day and now his eyes were about to cross. After a while, all the rings began to look the same. None of them were what he had in mind.

Ray let the loupe fall from his eye and handed it and the ring back to the jeweler. “I feel like I’ve wasted your time.”

The woman whose nametag read Isabelle gave him an indulgent yet pinched smile. “It hasn’t been a waste. At least we know what you don’t like.”

Ray gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You’d think I could settle on one. It isn’t like I haven’t married the woman before.”

Now Isabelle gave him a soft look from very dark eyes. “All this to renew your vows? That’s very sweet.”

“No, it’s worse than that. I’m remarrying my ex-wife.”

“I see.”

Ray could tell from her expression that she didn’t see at all. It didn’t matter to him. She didn’t have to understand; she only had to find him a ring that looked like it was made to be on Rebecca’s finger.

“Maybe we could look at some less traditional rings,” he suggested.

While the sales clerk went to pull display trays from the cases, Ray wandered to the other side of the store. He didn’t have this much trouble selecting her ring the first time they got married. Actually, he had taken back Charlotte’s ring and exchanged it for another one. Even though he upgraded in the quality of the diamond for Rebecca’s ring, he still only paid a few hundred dollars more. At the time he thought it was a brilliant idea on his part, but guilt over being too cheap to pay full price for Rebecca’s ring had never felt right to him.

He looked down at the display case and smiled. It was perfect. The marquis-cut diamond was bracketed by amethyst baguettes set in platinum.

“I think I found it.” Ray pointed into the case.

Isabelle hurried over, smelling a sale, no doubt. She took her keys and opened the case to get the ring he indicated. “Which one?”

“Solitaire with amethysts.”

“Oh, that is lovely. We must have just gotten this one in. I don’t remember seeing it before.” She picked up the ring and handed it to Ray.

He studied it in the light, and through the loupe. It didn’t matter to him if the stone had no flaws, one flaw, or many. The ring was perfect to him. Part of him had always blamed his ill-fated marriage on his hasty decisions with the ring and how he had proposed to Rebecca. This time he intended to do everything right and maybe, just maybe they would have good luck this time around.

“I’ll take it.”

 

 

Marcus looked at the reports on his desk. Hair samples from the El Dorado victim and the Collins girl didn’t match.

“Relieved or upset?” Sims took a chair at the desk across from his.

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“How did things go in New Jersey? Find what you were looking for?”

Marcus glanced up sharply. “Who told you where I went?”

“Hunter. He was concerned.”

“What did you tell him?”

Sims crossed her arms and looked at him with a penetrating gaze. “I told him not to sweat it, you were cool. Am I right?”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah. And to answer your question, I found something, but not what I thought I’d find.”

“Which means?”

“Which means there is still a gunman on the loose and we’re no closer to finding out who it is. I see the ballistics from Charlotte’s injury and the hotel doesn’t match either.”

Sims narrowed her eyes and studied him for a long moment. She wasn’t ready to let him change the subject. “You found something you don’t like.”

He sighed. How was he supposed to keep something of such magnitude from his partner? “I found more questions—ethical, moral, spiritual. I also think I may have found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, and that scares the hell out of me. Christ, I’ve only known her a total of five days.” Marcus stood and went to the coffeemaker. He needed a real strong cup about now.

He hadn’t slept the night before because Tara refused to leave Gil’s house and come home with him. He had lain awake tortured with visions of her and Gil having wild sex in the guest room. Not that he thought it would happen, but his mind just couldn’t stop going there. It also kept turning somersaults over her being able to talk to his comatose sister. Then Paige had shown up on his doorstep at two a.m., drunk as Cooter Brown, telling him what a big mistake she’d made. Forty-five minutes of hearing her sob over and over how much she loved him and how sorry she was had gotten old really quick.

He wasn’t a heartless bastard, but they’d been broken up for a while now and she needed to move on. He sure as hell had.

He poured a cup of the strong liquid and tasted it. Battery acid probably had a better flavor than the shit the boys in blue made. But what the coffee lacked in taste, it more than made up for in strength.

His cell phone beeped.

“Danforth.”

“Hi,” came the sweet voice over the line.

Marcus’s toes curled inside his wing tips. “Hi.”

“Can I ask a favor?”

“You’ve changed your mind and want to stay with me?” he guessed badly.

“No. I want to see the crime scene. Take me to where Charlotte was shot.”

“Tara,” he groaned as the knife twisted in his gut. “What’s that going to do but upset both of us?”

“I don’t know, maybe nothing.”

He closed his eyes and could see her in his mind. She was probably looking off in that faraway gaze of hers—the look she had when she was thinking.

“Look, I know we agreed to use whatever we could from Charlotte’s memories, but I think being at the crime scene might be a bit too much for you.”

“I’m old enough to decide what’s too much for me,” she huffed. A few beats of silence hung on the line before she said, “Tell you what, if you take me to the crime scene, I’ll spend the rest of my stay at your place.”

“Sure, dangle that carrot in front of me.” Marcus looked over to see Sims’s amused face. He turned around so his back was to her, as if that would make the conversation more private.

“Well, that’s the price for having the pleasure of my company.”

“You know you look soft and sweet, but you really know how to play hardball.” Or hit a man right where he was at his weakest. “All right, you win. But there will be ground rules.”

“At your place or the crime scene?”

“Both.”

She laughed, and it sounded so full-bodied to him he wanted to crawl through the phone and kiss her. “You know what they say about being careful what you wish for?”

“I know. Remind me to beat the hell out of they one day.”

She laughed at him again and rung off.

When he turned around, Sims had her feet up on the desk, arms folded behind her head. She watched him in speculation. “That must have been her.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve got a star-struck look on your face. You know, you never looked like that when you were seeing Paige.”

There was a reason for that—Paige never made him feel like Tara did. At least Tara had agreed to stay with him. If he had her there, he could change her mind about keeping him at a professional distance.

Sims’s phone rang. She raised her brow at him and held up her finger, letting him know the discussion wasn’t finished, then she answered the phone and her face fell.

She hung up, her expression grim. “They just pulled what’s left of who they think is Merrick Chandler out of the swamp. They’re bringing him to the morgue.”

“Why do they think it’s him?”

“His tattoo.”

Marcus put his hands on his hips. Chandler’s tattoo was a picture of a naked woman with devil horns and tail. The tattoo read Born for trouble. Never had a truer sentence been embossed on the skin of its bearer.

“I guess I should go over and at least observe.”

“Danforth, don’t feel guilty about the death of some slimeball like Merrick Chandler. It wasn’t your fault.”

Intellectually Marcus knew that, but not emotionally. He had given Chandler a reason to feel threatened and run. If Marcus would have just kept his damn, big mouth shut, Chandler wouldn’t have run and possibly met his end. No, Merrick Chandler was no one’s angel, and he certainly lived on the wrong side of the law, but that didn’t mean Marcus had to push him farther over the line.

“Yeah, well. We’ll see what the M.E. says.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Five

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Tara felt good about manipulating Marcus. To her knowledge, she had never successfully—or unsuccessfully for that matter—manipulated anyone in her life. But then he hadn’t actually been a pillar of strength in his position. No, for a big solid guy like Marcus, he had caved pretty easily. Of course, there was always the possibility she had played directly into his hand. Though he’d apologized, she still wanted to guard her heart from him. He’d break it again.

Absentmindedly, she reached up, rubbing the scab on her cheek. It itched something fierce, but she didn’t want to scratch for fear the scab would start to come off and she would end up with a scar there. The bruise on the side of her head still looked a little purple, but she noticed some green places where it started to heal.

She walked into the police station and to the desk sergeant. When she asked to see Marcus, it felt like all attention in the place focused on her.

An attractive Hispanic woman approached her and held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Detective Sims. Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Detective Danforth.” Tara felt more than a little self- conscious over the reaction her query had garnered.

Detective Sims pointed at her. “New Jersey, right?”

“Yes.”

A bright smile lit the face of Detective Sims. “Oh, you’ll do just fine.”

“Do for what?”

“Never mind.” Detective Sims waved her own comment away and pointed out the window and across the parking lot. “Danforth is over at the morgue, watching an autopsy.”

“Oh. Could you tell him Tara Johanan was here to see him?”

“You can wait if you like.”

“No. I don’t want to bother him while he’s busy. I was on my way to the hospital and thought I’d stop by and see if he had time to do something for me, but it’s not important.” Tara could feel the long, cool appraisal of Detective Sims slide over her and then move to the window again. She wondered what it was Marcus’s colleague wasn’t saying.

“I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks.” Tara held out her hand again. “Nice meeting you.”

“Oh, I expect we’ll run into each other again soon.”

With that cryptic remark hanging in the air, Tara left the station and walked back to the car. She didn’t know what she’d gain by going back to the hospital, other than being in Charlotte’s presence. Perhaps if the comatose woman knew Tara still actively worked to find her shooter, Charlotte would send more clues her way.

Tara arrived in Palmetto Springs so sure proximity would be enough to point her in the right direction. Now, after almost a week, she was no closer to finding answers. True, it may not be sufficient time—and most of that seemed spent moving from one lodging to the next—but it still wasn’t long enough to become discouraged.

The hospital parking lot was full, so she parked on the street and used a meter. She was shoving change into the slot when a car pulled up beside her. Chills broke out on her arms.

Sunlight glared off the closed window and obscured Tara’s view of the driver. Slowly the car pulled away. The tinted back window didn’t help to identify the driver. Only an ambiguous silhouette could be seen inside the car, and that scared her more than anything.

She shook off the feeling. Maybe it was as simple as the driver wanting the parking space. But it wasn’t like she was standing at the car door; she had moved on to the meter. Clearly, to anyone looking for parking, she had only just arrived.

The car itself was unremarkable, a light blue sedan with Florida plates. She managed to get the first few digits of the tag, but missed the last ones. Not that it would matter. The driver hadn’t done anything wrong save make her feel uncomfortable, and there wasn’t any crime in that.

Tara thumbed her purse strap on her shoulder and turned to walk into the front entrance. The uneasy feeling continued as she walked past the visitor parking and into the lobby. A strange pull began low in her belly and propelled her towards the elevator. It was almost as if Charlotte needed her and tried to hurry her along to the room.

As she approached, raised voices inside Charlotte’s room stopped Tara in her tracks. The words were garbled behind the closed door, but the intent was clear. Suddenly, the door swung open and she was almost run over by an angry Gil.

A tall, silver-haired gentleman exited the room fast on Gil’s heels. “Gilford James Van Patric! Do not walk away from this discussion.”

Gil turned, his handsome features pulled into a fierce scowl. He pointed a menacing finger at the man. “You don’t want a discussion. You want a convenience. The way I remember it, there was no discussion. I was told I was taking Charlotte home and having the duty and responsibility of caring for her, without anyone even asking me if I could.”

“Are you bowing out of your duty to her?”

“This has nothing to do with duty. Ever since day one you’ve kept me apprised of her condition, and let me voice my opinion, but you’ve never once let me make the decisions regarding her care. Now, when it’s convenient, you decide I need to take more responsibility for Charlotte. Well, I’ll be damned before I’ll let you use me like that.”

“I’m glad we know your character before you married her. I would hate to think how you’d have treated her if you were her husband.”

Tara gasped. Her hand covered her mouth. Anyone who had witnessed Gil’s pain couldn’t possibly suggest he didn’t love Charlotte enough. The man, who Tara now recognized as Dr. Durand, turned and looked at her. His face registered shock at seeing her.

Gil’s attention temporarily shifted to her. His face softened slightly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude,” she apologized to him.

Gil looked around, finally noticing all the visitors and hospital staff who had stopped to witness the fight between Charlotte’s father and her fiancé. “Christ, I need to get out of here.”

Gil ran a hand through his hair and headed for the elevator. Tara watched him leave then turned her attention to Dr. Durand. The good doctor still gazed at her. In a wave of embarrassment, she turned, following Gil to the elevator.

The doors closed before she could reach him, and by the look on his face, he didn’t want her company anyhow. What had happened to cause such an emotional explosion between Gil and Dr. Durand? If she heard right, they were planning to send Charlotte home and expected Gil to be her caregiver.

She shouldn’t get involved in whatever had transpired, but she could feel the pool of anxiety growing in her gut and somehow knew Charlotte had heard every word exchanged behind that closed door, and it had upset her greatly. When she got closer to Charlotte’s room, Dr. Durand was nowhere in sight. He had obviously done his damage to Gil and moved on.

Tara entered the room to find Charlotte alone, lying on her left side facing the window. Not that it mattered which way she faced, Charlotte hadn’t opened her eyes yet.

A chair sat facing Charlotte. Tara pulled it closer to sit in it. “I don’t know what happened in here, but it sounds like there may be trouble brewing between your family and Gil.” Tara took Charlotte’s hand and rubbed the back of it. “Is there anything I can do to help them, or to smooth it over? Can you give me a nudge to let me know what to do?”

A loud viscous sigh came from Charlotte’s tracheostomy. As an answer, it was about as eloquent as Tara had ever heard.

“I know, tell me about it.” She looked at Charlotte’s fingernails and winced. “They don’t take care of the aesthetics here, do they? I’ll tell you what, I’ll go get some nail care items and some makeup and I’ll pretty you up. We’ll do your hair. You’ll feel more like yourself.”

Perhaps it was her imagination, but Tara swore she could feel a slight tightening of Charlotte’s hand in her own. “Oh, you’d like that? I’ll come back and we’ll play day spa.”

Tara rose and leaned slightly over, running her hand through Charlotte’s hair, her heart going out to the woman. Primping could only make a surface difference. It could never take away the hurt of what Charlotte overheard—and Tara was sure Charlotte could hear and understand every word spoken. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m sure Gil didn’t mean it the way it sounded. If you could’ve seen his face when he found his senior picture in your photo album, you wouldn’t worry. He loves you so much. Never doubt that.”

Tara sat next to Charlotte for a while longer. The sound of hard-soled shoes on linoleum brought her attention to the door. Marcus entered, his face drawn into a grim look. It was not starting out to be a good day for members of the Durand circle of friends and family.

She stood, meeting him halfway across the room. Without a word, her arms went around him. His hands slid slowly around her waist. His arms followed to bring her to his chest in a tight embrace. They remained silent for a moment, and Tara could feel the little kisses Marcus placed on her head.

“I’m so sorry, Marcus. Detective Sims told me you had to watch an autopsy.”

“It’s all right. I’ve seen them before, it’s just the circumstances of this one sucks the big one.”

She moved him to arm’s length, debating whether to burden him with what she’d overheard.

“What’s that look for?”

“Well, this probably won’t make you any happier, but I stumbled into a fight when I got here.”

“A fight? Between who?” He frowned and put his hands on his hips.

“Your stepfather and Gil. From what I could gather, Gil is expected to take Charlotte home and care for her without having been included in the discussion about it.”

“What? That doesn’t sound right. William doesn’t operate that way.”

“That’s what I overheard. If you ask the staff, I’m sure they’d tell you the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were behind closed doors. In here, as a matter of fact. But the fight sort of spilled out into the hallway. I was on the way here when I got caught in the middle of the onslaught.”

“Christ almighty,” he swore and looked to his shoes, then the bed where Charlotte lay. “They were fighting in front of her?”

“Yes, but I don’t know for how long. When I got close to the door, I could hear raised voices, but not what was being said. I started to back away when Gil came out. He was so angry. I tried to follow him, but he didn’t look like he wanted company.”

“I’ll call him and my parents later to find out what’s going on.”

“I feel weird about telling you, but after the day you’ve had I couldn’t see sending you into Tombstone unaware.”

“Thanks, Wyatt. Much obliged.” He gave her a tender look and stroked her hair. “Are you ready to go? We might as well get all the unpleasantness over in one dose.”

“You’re going to take me to the crime scene?”

“Yes. You didn’t think I would back out with the incentive you gave, do you?”

Tara shrugged and looked towards the bed. “Let me tell Charlotte where we’re going. Maybe if she knows, she can direct me once we’re there.”

“Is that how it works?”

“I told you I don’t know how it works. But I just as soon tell her as not. I’m a firm believer in hedging one’s bets.”

“Remind me never to play poker with you.”

“Was your brother always this difficult, or is it a new trait since he met me?” she asked Charlotte, not expecting an answer. “Look, he’s taking me to the place where you were shot. I don’t know if it will help or not, but I feel I have to try. I’m almost out of ideas here. I’ve looked through your photo albums—well most of them—I’ve talked to some of your closest friends and I haven’t gotten any concrete feelings about any of them. Well, Ray Aldrich has got me worried. Would you tell me if you thought it was him?”

A slight twitch appeared at the corner of Charlotte’s eye. Tara moved closer, looking for it again. “Was it something about Ray?”

This time the mention of his name didn’t elicit the same response. Marcus moved in closer and leaned over Tara’s shoulder looking down at his sister. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I thought she might have responded to Ray’s name, but she didn’t do it the second time.”

Warm hands cupped her shoulders. “We’ve been months trying to find anything that would make her respond to us, waiting for any sign that she hears what we’re saying to her.”

Tara placed a hand on his. “She does. Even though what I remember is through a veil of sedation, I could hear people talking to me. I can’t tell you what they were saying, but I knew they were there.”

“You were awake, then?”

“For the most part, no. They kept me pretty snowed, and the pain when I did surface enough to respond was excruciating. I faded in and out. As I was coming up out of the drug, I could hear people.”

“Well, Charlotte’s coma is injury-related, not medication.”

“That doesn’t mean she can’t hear us. You never know, and I won’t listen to the experts on this because none of them have been there.”

He kissed her cheek. “God, you’re gorgeous when you’re being stubborn.”

A little thrill of excitement traveled up and thumped against her heart. He thought she was gorgeous. It took the edge off her wariness a little.

“I’ll be back to do what I promised, ok?” She leaned over and kissed Charlotte’s cheek then waited for Marcus to say goodbye.

As they were leaving, he put his arm around her. “What did you promise her?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s girl stuff.”

They agreed to take separate cars in case he got called away while they were there. Plus, she would need to return to Gil’s and collect her things before going to Marcus’s.

When they were in sight of her rental car, he stopped her. He fished into his pants pocket and pulled out a key. “Here. I had a key made for you. I don’t want you to feel you have to be tied to the place and not come and go as you please.”

Tara looked at the key and took it from his fingers. No man had ever given her a key to his place before, well, except Stuart, but being her brother he didn’t count. Tara tried to tamp down the feelings bubbling in her breast. Marcus’s having a key made for her was both practical and accommodating. It only illustrated his foresight, nothing more, nothing less.

“Don’t give me that look, baby. I know you haven’t had an easy time with men. And I know I damn sure didn’t help matter. But I can say I’m standing here and wishing I was giving you that key to keep.”

Tara laughed. “And here I was thinking how practical you are.”

“Ironic, ain’t it?” He smiled and herded her towards her car.

A piece of white paper flapped in the breeze underneath the wiper blade. “I hate it when people put those stupid advertisements on cars. No one ever keeps them, and they end up littering the ground.” Tara snatched the paper and noticed it hadn’t been done on a printer, but large block handwritten letters in thick black marker. “What the…”

Marcus snatched it from her hand, his gaze scanning down the sheet. His nostrils flared in anger. His face flushed with rising color. “What did you do this morning?”

“Me? Nothing. I got up, had breakfast with Gil, called you and then came by the police station. After that I came here. What does it say?”

“Do you have a plastic bag or something in your car?”

“No. Why? Do you think it could be from the same person who broke into the condo?”

“It could be. I don’t want to take a chance. There maybe fibers on the paper we can use.”

Shock reverberated through her. “Tell me what it says. If I’m in danger, I have a right to know.”

“If you’re in danger, I’ll protect you.”

“Not unless you’re planning to strap me onto your body like your holster. You can’t be with me constantly.”

“Either I can, or someone from the department can.”

“Marcus. Please.”

He had stopped listening to her. “Better yet, I’ll put you on a plane and send you home.”

“You can try, but you can’t force me to go.”

“Come on.” He grabbed her elbow and started walking toward to the visitor parking.

She shook her arm from his grasp. “Where are we going?”

“To my car. I’m not letting you stand out here on a busy street like a duck in a shooting gallery.”

“Then what?”

“Then we take that car back and get you another one.”

“What good will that do?”

“Whoever put this on your car knows what you drive. You’ll be harder to follow if they don’t know what you’re driving.”

“That only works until they see me driving the new one, and then what? Do I keep changing cars the way I have addresses since I’ve been here? No way. Besides, that note could have been meant for someone else. Maybe they thought they recognized the car.”

“I don’t think so.” He hit the lock remote.

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“I’m not taking a chance with your life just so you can prove a point.” He held the door open for her. “Get in.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts and stood her ground. “I don’t think I like your heavy-handedness. You won’t even let me see a note that pertains to me. That pisses me off.”

He pinned her with a sharp glare. “Not half as pissed as I am that someone put it there.”

She shut her mouth so hard her teeth clicked together.

Marcus opened the glove compartment and got out a plastic bag to put the note in, then stuck the sealed packet into his suit pocket.

As she fumed in the passenger side, she remembered the car that stopped while she was putting change in the meter. “Oh.”

Marcus turned and looked at her. “What?”

“I forgot all about it.”

“About what? Talk to me.”

“Something weird happened when I went to park the car today.”

He nodded. “And?”

“Well, a car pulled up beside me and stopped. I couldn’t see the driver because the windows were tinted. It kind of gave me the creeps, but I thought maybe they just wanted the parking space or something.”

Marcus nodded again. She couldn’t tell if he was bored or concentrating. “What did the car look like?”

“Light blue sedan. I’m not good with makes and models. It looked like a thousand other cars on the road.”

“It’s something anyways.”

“I tried to memorize the license plate number, but I don’t remember it now.” She put her head in her hands for a moment and squeezed her eyes shut. “Wait. The first few numbers are six-two-one.”

He reached over, caressing her shoulder. “You did good, babe.”

They rode towards the beaches area and not quite to the turn-off for Gil’s house. The street was a quiet residential neighborhood. Houses were lined up on one side of the street. The other was a vacant lot where sea oats grew rampant.

The scene unfolded in Tara’s mind. This time she could see it only as the whispery echoes of a normal memory, but she didn’t feel submerged in it like before.

Marcus steered the car to the side of the road, parking by a telephone pole that looked newer than the rest on the street.

“This is where her car hit the pole,” he said. It was the first words he spoke since their argument in the hospital parking lot. “Do you feel anything?”

Tara shook her head. “No. Nothing. I can remember it as it happened, but I’m not feeling the strong emotion I did when I first had the vision. Maybe if we came back at night. In the vision, it was dark.”

“All right, where to now?”

“I can’t leave the rental car on the street. If the meter runs out, it’ll get towed.”

“No, it won’t. Give me the keys. I’ll send someone over to get it.”

Rather than fighting the good fight, Tara reached in her purse and fished out the keys. “They can drop it off at your apartment, but I’m warning you, if you try to trade it for another car, I’ll be mad.”

“No. We won’t do that. I have a better idea.”

“What’s that?”

“You can drive one of my parents’ cars.”

“I would never impose myself like that on two people I’ve never met.”

“What imposition? They have more cars than they need. They each have one they drive regularly and the one they use for big errands.”

“Big errands?”

“Yeah, the kind that involves hauling large items from one place to another.”

“They do that often?” Tara couldn’t imagine what kind of items needed to be hauled around town with any frequency and would require a special vehicle for such activity.

“My mother volunteers at a local food bank. She’s always taking meals around to shut-ins or taking durable medical equipment for them. She needs space for that. Plus, William takes care of the flowers for the church.”

She smiled at him. “That’s lovely, and more of a reason why I wouldn’t dream of imposing.”

“Nonsense. We’ll get you settled into my place and then we’ll go pick up one of the cars for you.”

She had to shake her head at his determination. But a trip to his parents’ house might not be that bad of an idea. They were bound to discuss what transpired at the hospital.

“Are we done here?” Marcus asked, putting the car into gear.

“Yes, but I was serious about wanting to come back when it’s dark.”

“All right.”

 

Marcus looked at the words again and his heart filled his throat. What sick fuck had singled her out for harassment? It made him want to tear apart the person piece by bloody piece.

The note read Next time you die.

He dropped Tara off at Gil’s and came back to the station to hand the note over to the lab. He had made a photocopy of it before giving it to them. He wanted to study the words, break them down and process it. Maybe he should have let Tara see it, but his need to protect her had overridden any fairness. There had been no fingerprints recovered from the condo. The police hadn’t even dusted the place, but that wasn’t surprising, given the fact nothing of value was taken. There was nothing to compare it to, just like the fingerprints of the Jane Doe, and the bullet from Charlotte’s head. But perhaps the person who wrote the note had left trace fibers, or a hair on it. Who knew? Besides, latent prints may be a hard proposition to get from the paper.

“What you got there?” Sims looked over his shoulder.

“A note some sick bastard left on Tara’s rental car.”

Sims read the note. “Who did she piss off?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Sims walked around the desk and plopped into her chair. She put her feet up on the corner of the desk and leaned back. “She seems like a nice enough girl to me. Hard to believe she would inspire such violent emotions in someone.”

Marcus winced. It wasn’t that long ago she had inspired such violence in him, only then he thought she had been responsible for Charlotte’s shooting. Fog cleared in his mind and information shifted. Pieces of the puzzle suddenly locked into place. “Holy shit.”

The chair squeaked loudly as Sims straightened up. “What?”

“How much do you think Tara looks like Charlotte?”

“Enough to be sisters. Cousins at the very least. Why?”

“You really think so?” Marcus looked up to see Sims nod her head. “The first day I met Tara I took her to dinner and she said something about looking like Charlotte, but I couldn’t see it…I don’t see it.”

“Because you’re in love with her. What man wants to fall head over heels for a woman who looks like his sister? It’s a little sick, if you ask me.”

“I’m sorry I did. Anyhow, do you think there’s a strong resemblance between them?”

“From a distance, I suppose, and if Tara isn’t moving. She doesn’t move like Charlotte.”

“No, she doesn’t. But that’s to someone who’s looking for the differences. Say you had a grudge against someone and thought you laid her up in bed in a coma, wouldn’t you be pissed off to see her walking around, enjoying life?”

“You think Charlotte’s shooter put that on Tara’s car?”

“Who else could it be? It was parked at the hospital, granted out front at the metered parking, but at the hospital nonetheless. The perp drives by and sees Tara getting out. He wasn’t seeing Tara at all. He saw Charlotte, because he expected to see her at the hospital, and he doesn’t know Tara exists.”

Marcus felt a glimmer of hope in cracking Charlotte’s case. Maybe Tara wasn’t supposed to find the shooter after all. Maybe her presence in Florida was to flush the one responsible out into the open so he could be caught.

“Please let there be something on that paper.”

“I think you need to call Giotti and Caspan. They’ll want in on this if what you think is true.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Were they in today?”

Sims pulled out a printed schedule from her desk drawer and scanned it. “No, they’re pulling the evening shift.”

“Good. I’ll talk to them when they come in. Maybe by then we’ll know something more.” Maybe by then the sick feeling in his chest would have escalated to full-blown angina.

 

 

“So you agreed to stay with him?” Gil asked. He leaned up against the doorjamb with his arms folded over his chest, looking at her like a disapproving parent.

“He was giving me a hard time about taking me to where Charlotte was shot. It was the only thing I had to bargain with.”

Gil gave her a lazy smile. “Women always know how to hit a man where it hurts the most.”

She folded a silk T-shirt and put it into her suitcase. She could probably pack blindfolded by now. “He promised to be a gentleman. And it’s not like I haven’t slept with him before.”

Gil raised a brow at her. “You have?”

“Not like that. It was after I had a vision—the one where Ray Aldrich’s son died. I was in pretty bad shape and Marcus witnessed the entire thing. He didn’t want to leave me alone, so he stayed the night. Nothing happened.”

“You don’t have to justify it to me.” He put his hands up, palms out, to ward off any more confessions that might come his way.

“I’m not justifying, I’m explaining.”

“Well, you don’t owe me any explanations either. What happens between you and Marcus is your business, and none of mine.”

Tara picked up another shirt and placed it into the case. She tucked her hair behind her ear and turned to him. “Gil, what happened at the hospital today? I know it’s none of my business, and I should follow your lead here, but I can’t. I know you may not understand this, but what affects Charlotte affects me. Maybe not materially, but I can feel her pain and anxiety.”

He blew out a long breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I wondered how long it would take you to bring that up.”

“Am I already that predictable?”

He didn’t answer, but moved into the room and took a seat on the bed. “Ever since the night of the shooting I have never been included in any decisions the Durands have made regarding Charlotte’s care. I can understand that she’s their only daughter, but she’s the love of my life. I know she wouldn’t want to live the way she’s been living for the past few months.”

“And now they want you to bring her home?”

“There’s no want about it. William asked me today what the timetable would be to get the equipment ready for Charlotte to come home. The discharge planner even came in to talk to me before I threw her out of the room.” He shrugged and picked at the bedspread. “I guess I’m feeling a might resentful. They wouldn’t let me say dick about her care, but now I’m expected to turn the house into a hospital ward.”

“Did Dr. Durand give you a reason why they wanted her here and not their house? I know she lived here, but you would think if they were being so exclusive about decisions for her care, they would want her at their house on discharge.”

“Christ, I feel like a real shit for even making an issue of it. On one hand, when I asked Charlotte to marry me, I agreed to love her no matter what, and God knows I don’t love her any less now. On the other hand, I can’t help but wonder what happens if she never wakes up. Am I supposed to live the rest of my life tied to a woman who will never be a proper partner to me? Never give me children? I don’t know.” He gave a snort. “I should be grateful they want her here. The way I look at it, it’s my house, my decisions.”

Tara shook her head. She put the last of her clothes in the suitcase and zipped it. “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. Maybe they want her here because you have a lot of room you aren’t really using. But if they were that controlling before, they aren’t likely to give you free reign now.”

“You’re right. They’ll come in here and tell me how to manage my own house. Besides, they don’t know yet, but I’m selling it. If it’s the extra room they’re counting on, it won’t be a consideration for much longer.”

Tara put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I wish I could tell you what to do, or give you some wise advice, but this is something you’re going to have to search your soul for and ask if you’ll be able to live with the consequences of either decision.”

“I hate seeing her like that. Charlotte wouldn’t want to live like this. I resent her parents for keeping her alive in such a state, and I hate myself for thinking she would have been better off dying that night.”

Or staying dead, Tara thought, but didn’t say it. “The problem is you want her to be like she was before, and that may never happen. How she is now may be all there is. You have to find a way to come to terms with that, or it’s going to tear you up.”

“And that, Tara, is the crux of the matter.”

He picked up her suitcase and moved it out to the foyer so she would be ready when Marcus came to pick her up.

The plan had seemed like a good one when she first thought of it. Come down to Florida, solve the shooting and return home to begin her life anew. But no, Tara had to get involved in the day-to-day lives of Charlotte’s loved ones. And Marcus. There was no way Tara would return to New Jersey with her heart intact where he was concerned. She had already given it to him in gift wrap and bow then let him stomp on it. Now he was desperately trying to mend fences with her. How was she going to leave when all this was over and return to her life before? Did she even want to?

 

 

Long fingers tapped against the steering wheel. The radio droned on in low tones. Top of the hour news updated the citizens of Palmetto Springs to the local goings on.

“Police are still anxious to ID the woman shot to death in a local hotel. Pictures from surveillance tapes are being circulated via print and visual media. Anyone with any information regarding the victim or her killer is urged to call the local Crime Stoppers hotline.”

The shooter looked at the radio then back out at the sunset. The victim was probably a woman like Charlotte Durand. They had certainly fit a similar physical description. That was until Charlotte decided to metamorphose into a new person. That could happen with head injuries. Sometimes a person woke from a coma with a totally new personality.

The shooter wanted to take credit for the death—another dead whore was something to be proud of, like a safari trophy stuffed and placed on the wall. But this one no doubt deserved to be killed, even if the deed had been performed by someone else. A handshake, high-five or civic parade, though warranted, was not possible.

A busy hand ran through short hair and then scrubbed at a wan face, wondering what Charlotte thought when she saw the note on the windshield. Had she run to her brother for help? Marcus would coddle and comfort her after such a threat. He always did. How could there be a threat when no crime had been committed? What happened to Charlotte had been a fair and just karmic balance. A realigning of chakras, if you will.

On the passenger seat sat a laundry list of suspects, lifted from the condo. She had no idea who’d put a bullet in her brain, but it looked as if she were trying to solve the mystery. Let her look. She wouldn’t find anything.

It was as if the woman had risen like Lazarus to taunt and condemn the very person who’d tried in vain to rid the world of her faked good intentions.

This time when Charlotte Durand died, she would stay dead.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Palmetto Springs, Florida

There were light blue fibers found on the paper and a single blonde hair. But so far nothing had been positively identified as far as where the fibers came from. And nothing to match the hair to. It was reasonable to assume if the car Tara saw was light blue that the interior was of the same hue, but in no way a certainty. One could only hope, but it did not prove that the person truly wished Tara ill. She had made a valid point in her arguments when she said they could have thought she was someone else. But Marcus couldn’t help but think the mistaken identity only went as far as thinking Tara was Charlotte. Those problems could wait for now. He had a more immediate one to contemplate—getting a car from his parents.

He had practically promised her the use of it without knowing for sure if they would come through for him or not. The rental was back at the agency and with it his worry that she had been marked. He persuaded Giotti and Caspan to return the car when they came on shift. He’d called in his credit card number to pay for the rental, and asked that they not charge her account. It was the least he could do in response to the emotional upheaval she’d dealt with while being in Florida. She had already endured too much since her accident to have to worry about the added expense of a rental car—even if renting it had been her idea in the first place.

Marcus looked to Tara sitting quietly in the seat beside him. She hadn’t said much since he picked her up at Gil’s. Her hands, however, were in constant motion, twirling the birthstone ring she wore, or the simple gold chain that hung around her neck.

He reached out and ran a knuckle down her smooth cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ve never known my parents to bite anyone. At least not while I’m around.”

“It’s not that, Marcus. I just hate what they’re putting Gil through. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“You don’t know their side of it yet.”

He could see her face in the reflection of the window, but that was all. She had turned away from him.

“And you don’t know Gil’s side.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“Yes, I asked him about it while I packed. He’s really torn up.”

Marcus turned onto his parents’ street. “I don’t doubt that. I’ve seen his love for Charlotte from the beginning.”

She finally turned back to him. “Do your parents know we’re coming?”

“I called them from work. They can’t wait to meet you.”

“You didn’t tell them about my accident and all, did you?”

He parked his car behind his mother’s Lincoln Town Car and turned to Tara. Gently, he took her face in his hands. “No, I told them I was bringing the future Mrs. Danforth over for them to meet.”

Marcus watched Tara’s eyes go round in astonishment then she seemed to shake herself free from the spell of his announcement. “Liar,” she breathed before pulling her face from his hands.

He didn’t take offense. He laughed. “All right, if you don’t believe me.”

Carol Durand stood at the door waiting for them. She gave her son a kiss and held out her hands to Tara. “I’m so pleased to meet you, my dear.”

Marcus could see Tara search his mother’s face looking for the truth. Or maybe she was looking for some sign that would tell her Gil had been mistaken in his parents’ intent to send Charlotte home. It was hard to tell with her sometimes.

Tara finally smiled, showing off the dimple that drove Marcus crazy, and his heart swelled. He ushered them into the house where William stood at the bar opening a bottle of wine.

William turned a welcoming smile to them, which abruptly fell as he took in Tara’s presence. He set the wine bottle on the bar and started forward. “I remember you from the hospital this morning.”

Marcus could feel Tara shudder. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. “She was on her way to visit Charlotte.”

“Oh, are you a friend of hers?” William raised a speculative brow at her.

Marcus didn’t think Tara would answer, so he stepped into the breach for her. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Marcus, why don’t you let the girl answer for herself?” William commanded, moving her to a place on the couch and taking a seat beside her. “Open the wine, will you?”

Marcus looked at Tara as she settled on the couch to see if she was all right. Worried eyes met his. For all of William Durand’s charm and Tara’s sweetness, they didn’t seem to be hitting it off very well. There was a tension about William that didn’t set right with Marcus. Maybe Tara had been right. The fight she overheard was not a misunderstanding after all.

Marcus picked up the wine and studied the bottle. It was a fairly decent mid-priced Zinfandel. William obviously hadn’t thought Marcus’s girlfriend worthy of the best vintages stored in the house.

He started on the corkscrew, looking up at the scene unfolding before him. His mother had taken a place in a chair set adjacent to the sofa. Hors d’oeuvres were arranged on expensive crystal platters on the coffee table. The participants in tonight’s festivities didn’t look at ease in either their parts or the proposed script. It was like watching a doomed play by a demented writer.

Deciding to get the conversation going, Marcus grabbed for a topic sure to break the ice. “So, Charlotte’s coming home soon?”

William spun to look at Marcus. “Where did you hear that?”

Marcus shrugged. “Good news travels fast in a town this size.”

The cork came out and he poured four glasses full. He brought them into the living room and served. He took a seat in a chair across from the sofa and gave Tara a wink.

“We’re trying to get everything in place to bring her home. It shouldn’t be very long now.” William took a sip of his wine and made a face. “They aren’t doing anything for her at the hospital that a home care agency couldn’t provide.”

“You want her to live with Gil?” Marcus put just enough inflection in his voice to make it sound like he didn’t think it was such a good idea.

“It’s not that,” Carol started. “We thought maybe, given the amount of love and attention she poured into the house, she would come out of the coma.”

Tara looked up at him and he could see the doubt in her eyes, yet thankfully she remained quiet.

“Did you know Gil’s selling the house back to his parents? He can’t afford to live there anymore.”

“What?” Carol put her wine down on the table and turned an astonished look to her husband. “He can’t do that.”

“He can. It’s either that or file bankruptcy.” Marcus tried to stay calm. His parents, he loved them, but they could be dense at times. “Do you want to see him ruined?”

Carol shook her perfectly coiffed head. “No. Of course we don’t want to see that. Why wouldn’t he tell us he was in financial trouble?”

“Pride,” Marcus offered. “Depression.”

“What do you mean?” William asked, adjusting his glasses.

“You have a room here that still has Charlotte’s things in it.”

“So, most parents save some of their child’s belongings when they leave. It’s perfectly natural.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t. But how do you feel every time you walk in there, knowing she’s lying in bed, unable to communicate with you, unable to enjoy life like she once did?”

William gave Marcus a resentful look. “If you’re suggesting…”

He held her hand up to stop him. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m only saying that if you feel empty when you walk into that room, imagine how Gil feels living in a house where every piece of furniture, every fixture, is a reminder that the woman he loves may never walk through those rooms again.”

“Then he should bring her home,” William maintained. “Let her live in the house she decorated and painstakingly helped him restore.”

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Marcus said, sorry he’d brought it up in the first place. His parents would only end up resenting his interference. Tara would get a bad impression of them. “I brought Tara over here to meet you, and to ask a favor, not to lapse into a heated debate about who should care for Charlotte when she comes home.”

His mother took the hint and put a pained smile on her face. “How did you two meet?”

“She came to visit Charlotte and I saw her standing there looking at my picture. I was done.”

Tara blushed. “How do you know it was your picture I was looking at?”

He smiled, enjoying her flustered expression. “I could tell by the way you looked at me when you turned around.”

The dimple peeked out when she smiled. He lost sight of it as she bowed her head and talked more to her wine glass than him. “I was only thinking that the picture hadn’t done you justice.”

A growl began low in his throat, but he suppressed it before it could make its way up into his mouth. Man, he couldn’t wait to get her alone at his place, and in his bed.

“And what is the favor?” William asked, breaking the spell Tara wove over Marcus.

“It’s not important.” Marcus said, thinking it best to ask his mother about the loan of the car when they were alone and he could speak more freely to her.

They left shortly after. It seemed pointless to stay when Tara and his parents all seemed so uneasy around each other. In all honesty, his mother did try to be nice. William, however, had surprised him.

“I guess you should take me to the airport so I can rent another car. I really didn’t want to do this.”

“Don’t give up yet, I’ll ask my mother about it tomorrow. With the mood William’s in, I didn’t think it was a good idea to pursue it tonight.”

“That was probably a smart move on your part.” She pointed out the window to the turn that led to the beaches. “Can we go to the crime scene? It’s dark now.”

He put his turn signal on and hung a left, making a U-turn in the middle of the road. “You sure you want to do this tonight?”

“I want to get it over with, and besides we’re already out.”

As they neared the road, Tara began to squirm in her seat. She turned her body toward him, inching closer to Marcus.

“You feel something?”

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over and let me drive.”

“Why?”

“Because Charlotte was driving that night, she wasn’t a passenger.”

Marcus pulled over and changed places with her. She readjusted the seat and mirrors then looked at him, her face pulled into a thoughtful frown.

“This is where she was when she noticed the lights in the rearview mirror.” She repeated the action as Charlotte had done those months ago. Calmly, Tara put the car in gear and pulled forward. “The car is gaining on her. She thinks it’s a group of teenagers out joyriding.”

Tara pressed the gas and they started moving faster. “The car pulls up beside her. She looks over and the car has slightly tinted windows. It’s too dark outside to see the driver.”

Marcus was afraid to touch her, to tell her it would be all right. He was too afraid to interrupt the memories that flowed between Charlotte and Tara. He let her continue on.

“Charlotte pressed the gas and the car’s flying. The other car pulls up, it looks like a Toyota or Nissan, but it’s hard to tell. Power windows.” Tara turned her head to look out the driver’s window. “The shooter rolls down the passenger window and raises an arm. He’s wearing a ball cap low on his head. Sunglasses though it’s night.”

Suddenly Tara’s hands left the wheel and she grabbed the side of her head. Her foot stamped hard on the gas pedal, sending them careening for the light pole. Quickly, Marcus pulled the emergency brake. He jerked the wheel, steering them away from the pole. It took him precious seconds to get his foot over the center console and stamp on the brake.

He threw the gear in park and turned to Tara. She lay motionless. The shoulder harness had tightened from the sudden braking and she slumped forward.

“Tara! Baby, wake up.” He lightly patted her face a few times. “Come on, it’s not real. You didn’t get shot. Not you.”

He reached down, unlatched the seatbelt then pulled her into his arms. “Please.” He rained kisses on her face. “Please, wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Marcus?”

“Yes. Shhh. It’s all right. You just went inside her head a little too deep.”

“I have a headache.”

“All right. Switch places with me again and I’ll take you home.”

She was slow to move and clung to him instead for a few moments longer before doing as instructed.

By the time he drove them to his apartment, she was asleep in the passenger seat. He opened the apartment door and took her luggage in first before coming back to the car and lifting her into his arms. She stirred slightly then snuggled into his chest.

Taking her clothes off was a little more challenging under her dead weight. Luckily, she had worn one of her little sundresses. First, he rolled her over onto her belly so he could access the zipper. With that undone, he rolled her back over onto her back and pulled the bodice forward and down her arms. He drew in a quick breath. Did she ever wear a bra?

Her pert breasts were so inviting, he crushed the fine silk of her dress in his hands to keep from reaching out and caressing them. He promised her he would be good, and there was no way he was going to violate her trust by taking advantage of her while she slept. He knew from experience his big hand would swallow the small pale globes. He’d never thought small breasts would entice him the way Tara’s did, but hers were so lovely.

He took a deep breath and concentrated on his task.

The dress fell to her hips. This time his breath moved neither in nor out.

A long purple scar dissected her torso in half, beginning just under her sternum and ending at her navel. Two scars about an inch thick, one on each side, proved the claims her lungs had been punctured.

Bile rose in his throat.

The rest of the dress was a little more difficult since he had to shimmy it over her hips. The tops of her thighs had jagged rents in them.

“Christ, baby.”

He felt the weight of her direct gaze on the top of his head. He looked up to find Tara staring at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Undressing you.” Heat flooded his face. He had never been so sick or embarrassed.

“I can see that. Why?”

“I thought you’d be more comfortable, and I didn’t know how long you intended to sleep.”

She sat up and slid her arms over her belly. “I’ve fallen asleep in my clothes before.”

He swallowed.

She moved her legs so he could remove the remainder of the trapped dress.

There was no way he could stand it a minute longer. Seeing the evidence of her violent injuries tore him up inside. It was worse than seeing the car.

He got off the bed and stalked to the dresser. The T-shirt drawer was stockpiled full of items that would make adequate sleepwear for her. For once she wasn’t going to sleep in that sheer silk stuff she seemed to favor.

“Here.” He threw a plain gray shirt at her. “Put that on.”

“What for?”

“To sleep in. I’m not going to ramble through your suitcases for your nightgown.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

He was being tested and he couldn’t fail her. She was lying in the middle of his bed with nothing more than a scrap of red lace between her legs. Seeing the scars might have bled his soul, but it didn’t make him think she was any less sexy to him.

“Nothing’s wrong with it, if you don’t mind sharing more than the bed.”

She gave him a slow, unsure smile. “Not tonight, I still have a headache.”

“Tease.” He laughed in spite of the miserable situation. “I’m all for a cold shower right about now.”

He started to head towards the bathroom.

“Marcus?”

He stopped in the doorway and looked at her.

“Thanks for everything today. It means a lot to me.”

He smiled and went to pursue the coldest shower he could possibly stand.

 

 

A swath of light permeated the dark of the bedroom, illuminating the room just enough for Tara to see Marcus’s profile as he slept beside her.

What in the world was she doing here? Had she lost her mind? Here she was hurtling herself headlong into a relationship that would only end in pain and misery. Her track record spoke for itself. They always ended. She’d seen his face when he saw her scars.

Quietly, so as not to wake Marcus, she slipped from the bed and walked into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind her. She sat on the couch and curled her legs beneath her. The borrowed T-shirt was large enough for her to hide her legs completely.

The well-worn fabric felt soft against her skin. The gentle brush of it against her nipples excited and hardened them. Just the thought that he had worn the shirt in the past did odd things to her insides. She groaned and cradled her head on her arm. It was definitely not a good sign when she could get turned on just by wearing Marcus’s old shirt. Christ, he didn’t even have to be in it.

If she were a less cautious individual, she’d march right back into the bedroom, straddle him, and have her way with him. She doubted seriously if he’d object.

But that wasn’t her style. Dammit.

Instead of contemplating the sex she could be having at the moment, she groped the end table for the remote and switched on the television.

The late show had a rerun of An Affair to Remember on.

“No, definitely not,” she said to the flickering screen.

The next few channels had infomercials for exercise apparatuses that would probably end up as someone’s clothes hanger rather than the intended use. She continued to click through the channels until she found what looked like a low-budget slasher flick—the dead giveaway being two teens making out in the woods and the eerie music playing in the background.

“Geez,” she said and turned again.

The screen filled with the intrepid FBI agents, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, as they solved paranormal crimes sectioned as X-Files.

“Bingo.” Tara put the remote on the couch arm and sat back to enjoy the old show. It seemed appropriate since her life had turned into an X-File of sorts. But even though she had been a fan of the show, she never remembered them doing one quite like her experience. Or if they had, she’d missed that episode.

She watched in wonder, glued to the television, when the bedroom door opened, startling her.

Marcus glanced at the screen and came to sit next to her, running his hand over her bent legs. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine. Woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. I’m sorry, did the television wake you?” She watched the light from the screen dance across his face. A fine stubble of hair dusted his chin and cheeks. He looked damn sexy. She drew in a breath and held it to keep from grabbing him to her.

His eyes looked darker in the dimness. The heat radiated from his gaze and his body as he leaned in close to her and ran his lips over her forehead. “I worried when I woke and you weren’t beside me.”

Tara smiled. Just when she thought getting involved with him would be a bad idea, he goes and says something sweet to her.

A sudden scream from the television took her attention from him for a second. He glanced over his shoulder then back at her with a crooked smile pulling his mouth up on one side. “I see I have competition.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve had a thing for Fox for a long time. You understand?” she teased him.

He shrugged. “Sure, I understand all about celebrity crushes. To this day I can’t interrogate a woman without wondering if she’s wearing panties or not.”

Tara laughed and hit him in mock offense at his reference to the scene made famous by Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. “Oh, is that the real reason you became a detective?”

“No, just a side bonus.” He smiled at her for a moment before it died on his lips and his eyes got all hot and smoky again.

“You said if I stayed with you, you’d be on your best behavior,” she reminded him as he moved in closer to her. His lips moved over her face, barely a brush of sensation that drove her crazier than if he’d kissed her. There was something so achingly tender about his actions that made her melt back into the sofa cushions.

“Come back to bed,” he breathed against her lips. His voice was rough and deepened from sleep and desire. There was a desperate, ragged quality to his tone.

Tara brushed her hand across his jersey-clad shoulders. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

He nodded and rested his forehead against hers. “But at least come to bed so I know you’re all right. I won’t be able to sleep worrying you’re out here having a vision and making yourself sick with it.”

She backed away from him and ran her thumb along his bottom lip. “You’re being too noble for your own good.”

“It’s just the curse of being me.”

With that they got up and returned to the bedroom. True to his word, Marcus cuddled in behind her, but only held her to ensure she was guarded in comfort and safety. Within a few minutes, Tara could hear his soft snore as he drifted back to sleep, and she was left awake, contemplating how she had gotten in so deep, so soon.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Coffee. The aroma of fresh ground and brewed coffee filled the apartment, tickling Marcus’s senses. He rolled over and looked at the clock. Six-thirty. Still time to laze in bed before he had to get up and get ready for work.

Noise from the shower woke him again a few minutes later. A voice sang Sinatra tunes loud and off-key. She might be one hell of an artist, but Tara Johanan couldn’t carry a tune in a shopping bag. Marcus reached for the pillow she used, hugging it to him. A light floral fragrance filled his nostrils. Despite all that was going on in his life at the moment, he couldn’t remember ever waking in a better mood.

The water and singing stopped. Maybe he should knock on the bathroom door and ask if she needed any help drying off? Bad idea. He’d never make it to work on time then.

The bathroom door opened. Tara marched into the room in her little silk robe, with her hair twisted in a towel. She bent over her suitcase, treating Marcus to a shot that would have made Penthouse proud.

The sheet tented at his groin. She might be proper, but she was no prude. He groaned.

Tara spun a startled look to him. “Oh, you’re up.”

“And how.”

Red suffused her face. “I mean you’re awake.”

“That too.”

“I should probably get dressed.”

“Hey, no need to rush on my account.” His gaze followed her as she fled with clothes in hand back to the bathroom. Oh, did that woman ever fascinate him. First no bras, and now no panties. He’d never survive at this rate.

He lay there with his arms folded behind his head. There was no sense in getting up with his dick still inspection-ready. At this rate, it wouldn’t be going down any time soon, since he couldn’t get the image of her bent over that damn suitcase out of his mind.

A blow dryer started and he couldn’t resist watching her primp, hard on or not. He snuck into the bathroom and stood in the doorway, watching her. She was bent all the way forward, her hair hanging down and the dryer skimming along the underside of her hair. The thick mass of it looked darker wet, but no less tempting to his fingers. Her sweetly curved bottom peeked from under the hem of her robe.

She suddenly stood and screamed. “Don’t sneak up on me!” The reprimand was delivered with a slap to his arm with a hairbrush.

“Ow. Assaulting an officer.”

“You deserved it. You scared me.”

He laughed, reaching for her. “I wanted to watch you.” He reeled her in and put his arms around her waist. She looked down at the plaid shorts stretched to capacity across his erection as it poked her stomach. Her hands moved against the fabric of his T-shirt.

“Looks like you wanted something else entirely.”

“Lying to you is going to be pointless, isn’t it?”

Tara shook her head as if he were beyond redemption. “I made coffee.”

“So, I smelled.”

“I had to go out and buy beans and a grinder. Even before my shower, I want you to know. I can’t believe you buy pre-ground coffee. I’m surprised I didn’t find instant in your cabinet.”

“What does it matter? I drink the department coffee, and God knows it can double as paint stripper.”

Tara’s sufferance seemed to be at an end. “You are truly a barbarian.” She pushed away from his arms. “Why don’t you get another cold shower and I’ll fix you a cup. What do you like in it?”

“Black and strong. I like a real man’s drink, not some sissy cream and sugar version.”

“Why don’t I get a syringe and I can shoot it directly into your veins.”

Marcus put a look on his face as if considering the possibility. “Better still.” He gave her a quick kiss. If her sexy body wasn’t enough to do him in, her smart mouth would be.

He was out of the shower and dried and still no coffee in hand. She hadn’t even bothered to put it on the bathroom vanity. Did the sight of him naked scare her that bad? He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into the kitchen to see what was keeping her.

Tara stood by the kitchen counter, holding her head in her hands.

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

“Sudden headache. Dizzy, too.”

Her hold on the counter slipped. Marcus saw her going down and reached out for her. He picked her up and carried her back into the bedroom and laid her on the bed.

“Lie down for a while. You don’t have anywhere you need to be right away.”

“I’ll be all right in a few minutes,” she said. Her eyes shut tight against the pain.

He held his towel together and sat on the bed beside her. “Are you sure? I could call in sick today and stay home to take care of you.”

“I’m just going to rest a little while.”

“You mean you’re going to go unconscious like you always do when you have a vision.”

“I never said I had one.”

He raised a brow at her, though she couldn’t see it. After only a week they had come to a point where he could read her expressions so well.

“Well, I didn’t.”

Instead of arguing with her, he leaned over and gave her mouth a light brush of his own. Her eyes opened slightly.

“I’m going to finish getting ready for work. If you need anything at all today, call me.”

Tara reached a hand up to his face and ran her delicate fingers down his cheek. Her touch left a trail of burning flesh in its wake. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

 

The room stood in utter darkness, or as dark as Tara could make it. A wet washcloth lay draped across her forehead and eyes. The headaches were getting worse.

Could the doctors have missed something? Had the lack of oxygen to her brain during resuscitation caused the migraines? Or was it something simpler, like an undetected whiplash?

Tara rolled over onto her side. Agony punctured her frontal lobe with all the finesse of an ice pick. Someone whimpered—it had to be her, Marcus left a few hours before.

If she could just let go of the pain, maybe she could fall asleep. Analgesics were pointless since the nausea from the headache would bring them back up before they had a chance to work. No, Tara had to stay still and try to relax.

One way she usually relaxed was to paint, but since that outlet was unavailable at the moment, she closed her eyes behind the veil of the washcloth, imagining standing in front of a blank canvas.

Her mind began to paint.

Paintings always started with that one action line. It was the line that centered the entire painting and gave the artist the spatial relationship of items on the canvas. From there the bottom layer is applied. Each layer built atop the one before to add depth and realism to the composition.

Tara sighed and relaxed into sleep. The very last thing she remembered before drifting off was the portrait of a red-haired woman she had never met, but Charlotte knew well.

“I need your help. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I can call someone I know—a grief counselor—and I’ll set up an appointment for you.”

The woman nodded and looked at the clock. “Is your shift over soon? Maybe we can go somewhere and have some coffee, or a drink?”

“I’m sorry. I have plans with Gil. Do you want to meet tomorrow? We can, I have no plans.”

“That sounds good.”

They decided on a time and place to meet and said goodbye.

As the woman turned to leave, the ambulance bay doors opened and a pediatric trauma rolled in on a stretcher, and all Charlotte Durand’s attention was immediately channeled to her patient.

Sun beat a path through the crack in the blinds, sending the shaft straight into Tara’s eyes. The washcloth had slipped when sleep claimed her, leaving her eyes exposed to the light. The bedside clock read one-thirty. Geez, she had slept a lot longer than she wanted to. The entire day had practically slipped away and she had done nothing. Still, she did feel much better.

The scattered remains of the dream lifted like a morning fog from her mind. The face looked familiar in the refuse of stored memory, but Tara didn’t know why.

She sat up and her hand crushed a piece of paper. She picked it up, scanned the note then smiled. Marcus had come home for lunch and to check on her. He didn’t want to wake her since she was sleeping so comfortably.

She placed the note against her lips. Even if Marcus had lost faith in her for a few days, it ultimately strengthened his attraction to her. He didn’t have to say a word for his feelings to be apparent to her—the proof was in his pants. She just wasn’t as sure as he apparently was.

Tara chuckled. Poor man, he definitely needed some relief.

She rolled off the bed and stood. It would probably be a good idea for her to spend some time at the hospital today. After all, she had promised Charlotte she would come back and pretty her up.

The apartment phone rang as she rolled out of bed. Thinking it was most likely Marcus calling to check on her, Tara answered with the intention of thanking him for the note.

It wasn’t Marcus.

“You fucking whore.” The voice was low, ominous.

“Excuse me?” She held the phone away, looking at it as if it would bite.

“Spreading your legs for every man you meet.”

Obviously a wrong number or a crank call.

Tara set the phone back on the cradle. Some idiots weren’t even worth getting upset about. But that didn’t stop odd tingles of warning from shooting down her spine.

She shook it off.

It’s nothing. Just a wrong number.

After fixing herself, she gathered her makeup case and called a taxi to pick her up. Marcus was a good man, but it didn’t look as if he’d be coming through with the car he’d promised her. Oh well, she was too self-sufficient to let something like transportation stop her from doing what needed to be done.

Tara was still shaking her head in disbelief as she walked into Charlotte’s room thirty minutes later. Cabs in New York City didn’t cost as much as what Tara had just spent on a ride from Marcus’s apartment to the hospital. Most third-world countries didn’t have governmental budgets as high as what she’d paid. How did the cab company stay in business charging that much for a ten-minute ride?

She plopped the makeup case on the adjustable bedside table. “You never told me how much it costs to grab a cab in this town. I’ll be eating ramen noodles for the rest of the year.”

Charlotte lay there as always, not acknowledging her visitor or the tirade Tara made on Palmetto Springs’ public transportation system.

“I brought my makeup, though we aren’t the same coloring. I think if I mix my base with some bronzer, it will work for you.”

She set to work, painting Charlotte’s face with the same earth tones Tara wore. When she finished that, she tied a colorful scarf around Charlotte’s head where the hair grew back over the incision site.

Tara stood back and admired her handiwork. “You look much better, if I must say so myself. Now, to tackle those nails of yours.”

Tara kept her own nails short and well cared for. With all the paints and other chemicals she worked with, it wasn’t worth the price to ruin expensive manicures, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like them.

“Wow!”

Tara looked over her shoulder, smiling at Gil’s reaction. “She looks good, doesn’t she?”

“I can’t believe it. She looks more like Charlotte.” He came over to the bed and leaned over to kiss his fiancée. “Hey, sweetheart. You should see yourself, you’re beautiful.”

“She is that.” The compliment felt as if it were directed at one of her paintings. Tara took great pride in having done for Charlotte what no one had done in the months of her hospitalization.

Gil looked at her over the bed. “I could kiss you right now. Thanks.”

“I don’t seem to be getting closer to solving the shooting, so I thought I could help in some other way.” At his horrified expression, Tara was quick to add, “Don’t worry, I’m not giving up.”

“What are we going to do when you leave? I mean, you’ll have to go home sooner or later and there will be a definite void here.” He gave a shrug. “You’ve only been gone from my place one night and it already seems kind of empty there.”

“Gil…” she started, but he cut her off.

“I don’t mean it like that. Lord knows I’ve got enough on my plate right now, and besides I’d never do that to Marcus, but you’ve meshed here. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so.” She stood, gathering her belongings. “Believe me, I’ve been thinking a lot about what happens when I go home and I guess it’s just one of those things we’ll have to wait and see about. I may be able to communicate with a comatose woman, but I can’t read the future.”

She kissed Charlotte goodbye then came around the bed and gave Gil a kiss on his cheek.

Tara started down the hall and was glad to see Darby Payne walking her way. She still hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to him about the funeral. Maybe he had some information he didn’t know he had. At any rate, it was worth a try.

“Dr. Payne.” She smiled at him.

He frowned at her as if trying to place her. Sudden light dawned in his eyes. “Ms. Johanan.”

“Do you have a minute? I want to ask you a few questions.”

He looked at his watch. “About what?”

“You and Charlotte went to the Aldrich funeral together. I wondered if you remember anything out of the ordinary?”

He shook his head slowly then more aggressively. “No. Not that I recall. Are you still determined to find Charlotte’s shooter?”

“Until the person is behind bars I will be.”

“What makes you think you can do what an entire police force hasn’t been able to? It’s a cold case now.”

“Not to Marcus. Not to the Durands, Gil, or myself.”

Darby flinched then looked at his watch again. “I really have to get moving. I wanted to stop by and see Charlotte before I head back to the Peds ER.”

Tara indicated the direction of the room and moved out of his way. Now, wasn’t that the most interesting thing to happen today? For some reason Dr. Darby Payne was very nervous about the events surrounding the death of Ray’s son. It was definitely time to put a bug in Marcus’s ear.

 

 

“When is he being extradited?” Marcus sorted through the papers on his desk. He and Sims had just received word that the El Dorado shooter had been caught somewhere near Birmingham, Alabama, using stolen credit cards. They now knew his real name to be Carl Townshead.

“We’ll have to fight to get him. The FBI has first dibs on his sorry ass. Seems our boy also has a rather impressive knack for forgery and counterfeiting.”

“Surprising, given the state of his hotel room. You’d think someone into counterfeiting would be meticulous and organized.”

“Who knows how it looked before the fight broke out,” Sims said. “She could have trashed it herself.”

“No, those food wrappers were there for days.” Marcus rubbed his eyes. “One of us needs to go to Birmingham and see if we can interrogate Townshead.”

“By that, you mean me.”

“Hey, if you want to volunteer, I won’t argue with you.”

Sims rolled her eyes at him. “Sure, you stay here with your new babe and I’ll go to Birmingham and talk to a known murderer. I do have a husband and children I like to see every once in a while, you know?”

Marcus pretended he didn’t hear the sarcasm in Sims’s voice. “Thanks, you’re a good friend.”

“How are things going? Have you found out who put that note on Tara’s car?”

“Not yet, and I haven’t heard back on the fiber samples either.” He stood and moved to the window overlooking the parking lot. Traffic on the main road had come to a standstill as a power company truck pulled up to one of the lines to do work. “Before I left this morning, she had a migraine so bad she was on the bed, drawn up into a fetal position.”

“Does she have them often?”

He shook his head. What was he supposed to say? The woman he loved had a psychic link to his comatose sister and it caused her excruciating headaches? Sims would think he’d finally snapped.

“What the…” His attention was pulled from the conversation to the person walking across the parking lot. “I swear she doesn’t listen.”

“Who?” Sims asked, but she said it to Marcus’s retreating back. He didn’t bother to answer her.

He met Tara halfway across the parking lot. She looked sweaty and hot. Her cheeks were red, and she was limping slightly.

“Where did you come from?” he shouted.

“The hospital. It’s not that long of a walk.”

“Bullshit. You’re about to drop. Come into the air conditioning and get a cool drink.” He ushered her inside, not paying attention to the protests running from her lips like the sweat from her brow.

They headed back to his desk and he set her in his chair then ran to the water cooler for her. He came back and handed her the cup. “Here, take a small sip. Don’t gulp.”

“Marcus, I’m fine. It was only a walk.”

“In the hot Florida sun with your thick Yankee blood.”

She actually chuckled at his distress. “All right, I’ll sip, but then I have something to tell you that I found really strange.”

He pulled a chair over and sat next to her, resting his fingers on her delicate wrist. “What would possess you to walk all the way from the hospital?”

“I took a cab there and felt like I’d been robbed. I wasn’t about to pay those prices just to go a mile.”

“A mile. It’s more like two and a half, and have you forgotten someone threatened you yesterday?”

“No, I didn’t forget, but then you never actually let me see the note.”

He wanted to shout and pull out his hair. “No, I didn’t. I still don’t want you to see it, but that doesn’t mean the threat isn’t real.”

She turned her face away from him, her brow drawn into a frown. “I really hate it when people treat me as if I’m some sort of fragile flower that wilts under pressure. Believe me, I’ve had more than my share of heartache and pain. I know how much I can stand and how much I can’t.”

Marcus kept a steady gaze on her, willing her to look at him again. She finally turned angry eyes his way. He softened his voice. “And this morning you were so sick you couldn’t even stand.”

The anger dissolved, and her gaze melted. She touched his cheek. “It’s not your job to be my keeper.”

He knew that. He hadn’t earned the right. Instead of mentioning that, he tried for levity. “Not even if I beg?”

“Well, maybe then.”

He finally relaxed. The tension between them settled for the time being. “Now, what did you want to talk to me about that would bring you on a two-and-half-mile hike across town?”

“It wasn’t across town, it was down the street.” She reminded him. “I ran into Dr. Payne at the hospital today and I asked him about the Aldrich funeral.”

“The Aldrich funeral? Why?”

“Well, he and Charlotte went to it together. He never told me that when I talked to him the first time.”

“The first time?”

“Yes. What aren’t you following here?”

“The fact you’ve been going around investigating people who’ve been questioned and cleared.”

“I don’t think Dr. Payne did it, but I do think he’s holding something back. When I talked to him about it the first time, he didn’t mention going to the funeral with Charlotte. This time he was willing to talk to me until he found out what I wanted to talk about. I find that very odd. He may not have committed the crime, but I think he may know who did.”

“Tara, do you know what you’re saying? Darby could lose everything if he withheld that kind of information. I don’t think he’d take the risk.”

“At least talk to him.”

“All right. I’ll do it tomorrow. Right now, there’s something you need to do for me while you’re here.”

“What’s that?” She backed up slightly, going deeper into the chair, putting space between them. The wary look returned to her eyes.

“I need to have you fingerprinted.”

“Why?” Her hands came up and crossed over her heart protectively, the fingers curled inward.

He didn’t want to tell her it was for her protection. What happened if she was attacked or abducted and they needed to discover if she’d been somewhere? It was a possibility with some lunatic putting notes on her car. He’d just feel more comfortable with having hers on file. But he’d settle for some other truths.

“For my peace of mind. And because there is a possibility we can get latent prints from the paper.”

Marcus stood, taking her hand in his, helping her to her feet. “Come on, it’ll be quick and painless. I promise.”

“Nothing with you is quick and painless.”

He slid her a sly look. “You’ve got that half right, sweetheart.”

The entire process took less than five minutes. Upgrades in the department equipment and technology had provided the PSPD with a computerized fingerprinter. A person need only place their fingers on the laser pad and a picture would be taken of the print and could be uploaded into the national database.

Marcus walked Tara back to his desk. His hand rested on the back of her neck. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”

“I don’t think I like the idea of having my prints stored in a database. It’s like making me a criminal before I ever commit a crime. Have you ever seen the movie Minority Report?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s how I feel.”

“You have a very vivid imagination.”

“I’m an artist, it comes with the job.” She sat in the chair Marcus vacated earlier and let him have the one at the desk.

He leaned over and lowered his voice. “I have some good news that may shed some light on the case.”

“Really? What?”

“The Birmingham Police arrested Jane Doe’s murderer.”

“Maybe you can find out who she is now?”

“That’s the thought.” He was so close, he could feel her breath on his face. Man, did he want to plant one on her about now, but doing so in the middle of the station would be highly inappropriate.

Tara must have read his intent because she squirmed in her chair then stood. “I should be going. I don’t want to interrupt your work day anymore than I have.”

“Will you be home when I get there?”

“I should be. If you’re a real good boy, I’ll even have dinner waiting for you.”

He couldn’t take it a moment longer. He leaned over her and brushed his lips across hers. Just a taste. “How are you getting home?”

“I called Gil on the walk over and asked him to come by and pick me up on his way back from the hospital.”

Satisfied with the answer, Marcus walked her to the front door just as Gil pulled up.

“Great timing,” Marcus said.

Gil got out of the car and slammed the door. Body language and a stormy expression made for an imposing figure coming across the parking lot.

“He looks mad,” Tara said.

No, Gil looked royally pissed.

“Do you know what your stepfather just did?” When Marcus didn’t answer, Gil continued, “He offered me a bid on the house.”

Marcus ran his hand down his face and rubbed around his mouth. “I’m so sorry, man. I was trying to get the heat off you about bringing Charlotte home and I told them you were selling the place.”

Gil shook his head. His hands were fisted at his sides. “He said he would allow me to live there. I’d pay rent of course, but it would give Charlotte a chance to live there without them worrying about her getting tossed out in the street. Like I would ever let that happen!”

“I’ll talk to my mother alone. I may have an easier time with her than trying to talk to William. He was pretty standoffish last night.”

“I’m actually contemplating the idea of moving out of town just to get away from your parents. The entire time we’ve been friends, and even when Charlotte and I started dating, they were good to me. I don’t understand how I can go from being treated like a son, to being treated like an untrustworthy sonofabitch.”

Tara moved between them. She put her hand on Gil’s back and offered him comfort. “Come on, Gil. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“How about a bottle?”

“If that’s what you need.” She herded him to the car like one would a cranky child. Once he was behind the wheel, she turned back to Marcus and blew him a kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” Well, there went his home-cooked meal and a night spent making love to her.

He went back into the station with every intention of calling his parents and telling them exactly what he thought of their machinations.

 

“I don’t even know you two anymore.” Marcus leaned against the kitchen counter at his parents’ house.

His mother was busily trying to avoid looking directly at him. Every so often she would stop in her dinner preparations and pat her hair and look like she had forgotten something important. Now, she stopped and arched a brow at him. “What a horrible thing to say.”

“Mamma, I love you, but would you please stop and think for a moment about what you’re doing to Gil. You know him. You practically raised the guy.”

“Talk about not knowing someone anymore. I don’t think he ever loved your sister.”

“Now you know that’s bullshit.”

She hit him on the arm with a wooden spoon. “Watch your language. I taught you better than that.”

Today must have been his day for being hit on the arm by the females in his life. He gave a disgusted shake of his head.

“You know, we got to thinking last night after you left. If he is having financial trouble, then he’s probably the one who shot her. I mean, we all know about the insurance policy and William and I have discussed the possibility before.”

“Listen to yourself. I mean, really listen.”

“I don’t have to, I know what I think.”

“And you honestly think Gil’s capable of lifting a hand in violence to anyone?”

His mother’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “No.”

“Then why the noise? You and William both know Gil was the first one we investigated…”

“But now he’s in danger of losing the house.”

“Now. Not then.” Marcus slammed his hand on the counter a few times for emphasis. “You can’t remake the truth to fit your suspicions.” How well he understood that after the last few days.

She turned away and retrieved something from the refrigerator. “What about Tara?”

“What about her?” Marcus was unsure about where his mother was leading the conversation. As far as his parents were concerned, Tara was only a friend from out of town, there should be no other connections for them. He had only been teasing her last night when he said he’d told them he planned to marry her.

When his mother turned back around, there was a frown on her face. She looked at the head of lettuce as if she didn’t know how it gotten into her hands.

“What about her?” he asked again to prompt the answer from her.

She looked up, lifting a shoulder slightly. “I shouldn’t have said anything. William was only wondering.”

Marcus could swear Tara’s migraine was contagious. “What did he wonder?”

“About Gil and Tara.”

“What about them?” Fury clawed at his throat.

“Is he seeing her?”

“He better not be. I’m planning to marry her someday.”

Carol Durand stopped and gave him a long look. “You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

“You haven’t known her that long. Have you?”

“About a week.” He continued to stare at her, thinking she was going to say something to discourage his feelings for Tara.

“And you’re already thinking about marrying the girl? Oh, Marcus, give it some time. Get to know her first.”

“I did say I planned to marry her someday, not tomorrow.”

“How does she feel about you?”

He wiped at his mouth. The scratch of stubble began to grate against his palm. “I haven’t asked her, but I know there’s something there.”

“Don’t get hurt, honey. It hasn’t been that long since you and Paige broke up.”

That was true, but then his breakup with Paige had been, for the most part, mutually agreed upon. Though lately she seemed to have more trouble remembering that fact. “Paige and I were never going to stay together. Besides, I don’t think Charlotte liked her much.”

“And you can see yourself staying with Tara, even after only a week?”

An entire life spread out before him and in it he could see no one but Tara beside him. If he concentrated hard enough, he could catch a glimpse of their children and grandchildren. Just the thought of having her cook dinner for him had given him all kinds of warm feelings and a contentment he hadn’t ever felt with another woman. And all Tara had done was suggest she might feed him. Who knew if she could even cook?

“Oh, yeah. I can see it.”

Carol rubbed Marcus’s arm. “Then I can tell William not to worry?”

“You can tell him.”

The kitchen door opened and William walked in. He loosened his tie and leaned over to kiss Carol on the cheek. “Tell me what?”

“About Gil and Tara.”

“Oh, that.”

Marcus crossed his arms and regarded William with a raised brow. “Yes, that. I don’t know why or how you jumped to that conclusion, but you can forget it. Gil would never poach on my woman.”

“Son,” William put his arm around Marcus’ shoulder, “I wasn’t trying to start trouble between the three of you. I was only concerned about your welfare. I was suspicious because of how Gil looked at Tara yesterday when she showed up at the hospital. I misread the look. I apologize.”

Marcus nodded, pacified for the moment. “Promise me you two will lay off Gil. He’s gone through as much hell as the rest of us. Probably more so. The future he planned with Charlotte is never going to happen, and you just keep at him like a school of demented piranha, taking little bites out of him whenever you can.”

“Marcus!” Carol said.

“Charlotte may be my sister, but Gil is like a brother to me. Do you think I’m going to stand by with my hands in my pockets and watch this family implode? No freakin’ way.”

Carol sniffed and turned away. “You can’t understand how hard it is, knowing he wants Charlotte dead. He’s told us time and again to discontinue support.”

“He only wanted you to respect Charlotte’s wishes. You know she never wanted to live like this. You overrode her living will. That’s what he’s been against. Not Charlotte being alive.”

William’s phone rang and he moved into the dining room to answer it. When he stepped back into the kitchen, his face bore an angry red hue.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Carol put down the knife she was using to chop the vegetables for the salad.

“I told Grimes to call me if he had trouble reaching Darby again.”

“Is this an ongoing problem?” Marcus asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Yes. I’ve already spoken to him about it on several occasions, but he never learns. He’s been much worse since Charlotte’s been in the hospital. She seemed able to keep him in line.”

Something skittered across Marcus’ memory. He tried to zero in on it and lost it again.

“The part that makes me the angriest,” William continued, “is that Darby is a damn fine doctor when he can be found.”

Marcus felt the color drain from his face. The night of Charlotte’s shooting, Darby had been on duty, but had made it into the ER only when they were getting ready to take her into surgery, despite the fact William repeatedly had Darby paged. Not only that, but Tara had a journal entry suggesting Charlotte knew something damning about Darby and kept it a secret from William.

“What’s wrong, son?” William asked as Marcus pulled his keys out of his pocket and headed for the door.

“I’ll let you know if I turn anything up.”

 

 

Truman Grimes, the charge nurse in the ER, looked at Marcus and shrugged. Darby hadn’t answered his page and it was going on fifteen minutes since Marcus had stood and watched the man access the beeper system.

“When I called Dr. Durand, I didn’t think he’d send the cops after the little shit.”

Marcus gave Grimes a lame smile. “One of the perks of having a son on the force.” He tilted his head in the direction of the waiting room. “When he shows up, tell him I’m in the waiting room.”

“Will do.”

Another fifteen minutes passed before Darby finally showed up at the waiting room. The man was totally disheveled and nervous. He ran shaking hands through his hair and only managed to make it look more frantic.

When Darby turned his head to glance back at the nurses’ station, Marcus noticed something that made him smile, but he’d let Darby twist for a while before he told him about it.

“What can I do for you, Marcus? I’m really busy tonight.”

“Is that why it took you so long to answer your page?”

Darby looked as if he’d vomit. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think I do. What about the night Charlotte was shot? Why’d it take you so long to answer on that night, you remember?”

“All right,” Darby said it like a man at the end of a very short rope. He reached back and shut the door then moved to sit on the beige vinyl sofa across from Marcus. “Look, I could get into a lot of trouble for this.”

“More so than suspicion of attempted murder?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Start talking or I start digging into every last incidence of you not answering your pages. Believe me, I’ll find something.” He only felt bad for a moment for making Darby squirm the way he was.

“It isn’t what you think. I had nothing to do with Charlotte’s shooting. Damn it, you know she’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Then what?”

“I have a girlfriend.”

“Congratulations. What does that have to do with anything?”

“She’s a nurse here, and she’s married.”

The light began to dawn. “Ah.”

“I’m obsessed with the woman. She drives me crazy.”

“I think I get the picture. You’ve been seeing her at work, haven’t you?”

Darby ran his hand through his hair again, and adjusted his glasses. “It’s been going on for about six months now. Charlotte knew about it and tried to talk sense into me. Man, she was so pissed when she found out my girlfriend’s married. Told me she had no stomach for cheaters.”

“That sounds like Charlotte, all right,” Marcus agreed.

“Not only that, but she was afraid we’d get caught and fired. She ran interference with your father and the rest of the staff for us.”

Charlotte was also a hopeless romantic. “Do you love this woman?”

“Like I said, I think I’m obsessed.”

“Different animal altogether.” Marcus stood.

“Is that all?”

“No, one more thing. What is your take on Ray and Rebecca Aldrich? Did you get any strange vibes from them during that whole episode?”

“Only that it took a while for Rebecca Aldrich to get here. Ray was here alone for most of it. Charlotte had already pronounced the kid when the mother finally showed up. It was a shame, really.”

“How long after?”

“Not too much. Charlotte was in here with Ray. The man was destroyed. Charlotte was rocking him like a baby and he was just sobbing all over her. I had to leave. I can take a lot of things in this field, but watching a father cry gets to me every time. A mother, you expect, but the father…” Darby trailed off.

“Did Rebecca see Charlotte and Ray together?”

“Yeah. She walked right in here with them. They all sat in here for about ten minutes or so then Charlotte came out wiping her eyes and walked out of the emergency doors to get some air.”

“Anything else you remember?”

“Not much. After that it was pretty routine procedure for when a patient expires. The nurses cleaned everything up and once they were ready, they let the parents in to see the kid.”

Marcus swallowed the foul taste in his mouth. Damn, he didn’t know how Darby and Charlotte did what they did. In his profession, it was bad enough interfacing with families, but people came to a hospital with the expectation of getting well, not losing their loved one in the ER.

“Thanks, Darby. I appreciate your time.”

“No problem. Glad I could help.”

“You did. Maybe more than you know. Oh, and by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d do something about that hickey if I were you.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Candles lit the living room. Light reflected off cut crystal vases and strategically placed mirrors. Dinner waited in chafing dishes in the kitchen. Dessert would consist of a diamond and amethyst engagement ring and a marriage proposal.

Ray checked his watch again and looked out the front window. Rebecca would be home any minute—as a matter of fact she was running a little late tonight. He couldn’t wait to see the surprise on her face when she walked in the door.

Lights shone in the drive and Ray’s heart bumped against his ribs. He hadn’t been this nervous when he asked for her hand the first time. He took a deep breath and met her at the door.

“Close your eyes.” He stood so he held the door to where she couldn’t see in the room.

“What?” She looked up at him a bit surprised by the request, and he imagined she was just as surprised to find him at the front door.

“Close your eyes. I have a surprise for you.”

She tried to peek around him into the house, but he covered her eyes with his hand. “No cheating. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“You’re crushing my nose. I can’t breathe.” She started to pull away from him, but he lightened his grip and helped her over the threshold.

When they were inside, he stepped behind her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “Open your eyes.”

A quick intake of breath and Rebecca moved deeper into the room. “Oh, Ray. It’s beautiful.”

“Do you want to freshen up before dinner and I’ll bring you a glass of wine while you relax, or do you want to eat now?”

“I’ll take the wine and relaxation first.”

Rebecca kissed him then disappeared into the bathroom.

Ray poured a glass of wine and took it in to her. She sat naked on the edge of the tub as bubbles frothed up from the running water.

“Mm, that looks inviting. Mind if I join you?”

“If you want.”

Ray started to strip down, but then changed his mind. “You go ahead and get in the tub. I’ll be right back.”

He hurried to the linen closet and grabbed a couple towels then headed to the kitchen to get the ring. He’d thought to put it on her finger during dessert, but this would be better. He’d wait until she was up to her neck in suds and completely relaxed then he’d ask her.

As he came back into the room, she slipped into the suds like a mermaid reentering her watery home. She watched him as he brought in some of the candles from the living room and placed them in strategic locations around the bath. He turned off the overhead light and began to undress.

Rebecca leaned her head against the tub, watching him.

He shooed her away from the side and climbed in behind her. “Lie back on my chest. I want to hold you.”

He spread his legs so she could sit between them, then he wrapped his arms around her and brought her back to him. Immediately, he began to nuzzle her neck. She melted against him.

“Mmm, Ray.”

“Yes?”

“What’s the occasion?”

He gave a deep laugh into her neck. “Does there have to be one in order for me to show you how much I love you?”

“Well, no.”

“Then just go with it and see where the night takes us.”

“All right.” She snuggled down into him a little more.

Ray let his hands begin to explore all the silky crevices of her body. The soapy water made her skin softer than usual. If that were possible. He moved spread hands down her stomach and through the flame red curls covering her. She hunched down and pressed against his hands.

“Do you like that?” he asked into her ear then sent his tongue on a quest around the rim of it.

“Touch me.”

“How?”

“You know how.”

Yes, he did. He sent his fingers into her velvety soft folds. “Like this?”

She moved her hips back and forth again. She put her hand on top of his and moved it how she wanted it.

Water sloshed over the side of the tub as she began to move faster, her hips pumping against his hand. Only half the candles remained lit, having been doused by soapy water. One of Rebecca’s legs was braced against the wall and the other hung over the side of the tub, spreading herself for his frantic ministrations.

“Oh, God!” she shouted as she trembled against him, losing herself in her orgasm.

When the tremors finally passed, he kissed her neck. “Feel better?”

“I really needed that tonight.”

“Glad I could oblige.” He removed his hands from her body and grabbed the towel on the floor, careful not to lose the ring box as he did. “Now, maybe you’d do something for me?”

She started to reach behind her, feeling for his erection when he put the ring box under her nose. “What’s that?”

“Will you marry me? Again?”

Wet, trembling fingers opened the box. “Oh, Ray. It’s beautiful.” She turned slightly so she could see him. Tears filled her eyes.

“Don’t cry, baby. I love you so much. I promise to do it right this time.”

Rebecca nodded. “Yes, I’ll marry you again. Before we set a date, there’s something I have to do first. Can you wait?”

Ray couldn’t imagine what she meant, but he had already waited for what seemed like an eternity to get her back. If she needed more time, he’d give it to her. After all, he already had her answer—setting a date was merely a formality. “Of course I can.”

He helped her place the ring on her finger then stood and picked her up, slipping and sliding across the wet floor until he had her in bed where he wanted her.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Palmetto Springs, Florida

“Should we stay here with him?” Tara gave Marcus a skeptical look. Gil lay on the couch, a victim of too much whiskey and pain. His head rested on the arm, his mouth hung slack and a loud snore filtered out.

“He’ll be fine. Where’s his car keys?”

Tara handed the ring of keys to Marcus and he promptly put them in his pocket. “What if he vomits? He could suffocate.”

Marcus gave her a look as if she were the world’s biggest worrywart. “How much did he drink?”

“Two drinks.”

“Two drinks? And he’s passed out already? Believe me, I’ve seen him drink a hell of a lot more than that and still be on his feet. He probably just needs to sleep.”

“Are you sure? If anything happens to him…”

“You’re right. I’m being selfish.” He touched her cheek. “I’ve been waiting to be alone with you all day.”

Excitement fissured along her nerve endings. It was hard to stand so close to him and not fall into his arms and demand him to make love to her. She swallowed. Conflicting emotions weren’t getting her anywhere.

“We should probably make ourselves comfortable if we’re going to stay here.”

“I’ll go get some blankets and pillows,” Marcus offered. He walked out of the room and down the hallway towards the spare room Tara had used.

Tara ran her hands down her thighs. The scars tingled under her touch, the nerves still raw.

It wasn’t getting any easier being around Marcus. She thought now that he knew the truth and believed her, things would be easier between them. But their mutual attraction and hurtful words hung in the air between them like a living entity. What should happen if they made love and when it was time to leave he let her go without another thought? She didn’t think she could handle the heartbreak. Tara had been rejected too many times before to let that happen with Marcus, or to allow herself to be hurt by him again. However, if you didn’t jump into the water, you never learned to swim.

He came back into the room his arms full of bed linens and pillows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Couldn’t have been anything good from the look on your face.”

She didn’t answer, but moved to take some of the pillows from his arms. The blankets were light enough not to be too hot for the summer, but would still afford protection against the chill of central air.

Tara tackled the problem of making Gil more comfortable. When she touched his shoulder, he made a snorking sound and batted at her hand.

“Come on, here’s a pillow for your head. You’re going to get a stiff neck sleeping like that.” She gently lifted his head and put the pillow under him. Marcus grabbed Gil’s feet and pulled him down the couch until his head lay flat instead of cocked at such a weird angle.

She spread a blanket over him and backed away. A thought occurred to her that made her look over her shoulder at Marcus. “You didn’t try to undress Gil to make him more comfortable.”

“No, and I’m not going to either. If he wakes up while I’m trying to undress him, he’ll knock me out. Besides, he can’t possibly look as good naked as you do.” He laughed as her face filled with heat. “Hey, don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer.”

Tara kicked off her shoes and sat on the other side of the sectional. Marcus removed his shoes, belt and holster. He started to take off his shirt, but Tara shook her head at him.

“You want me to leave my shirt on? Why?”

“Because.”

“Does the thought of seeing my bare chest scare you that much?”

“Well, I won’t need a blanket if you take your shirt off, that’s all I’m saying.”

His blue eyes cut through her with promise. “I’ll tell you what, if you let me take the shirt off, I’ll keep on the T-shirt I have on under it. Deal?”

“Deal.” Tara allowed him to take off the dress shirt without further interruption. The bottom edge of ink could be seen on his triceps whenever his muscle flexed. “You have a tattoo?”

“Yeah. Want to see it?” He sat beside her and rolled up his sleeve. It was an unusual piece of artwork, but so fitting for him. It was a knight on horseback.

“I guess this makes you an official knight in shining armor?” She held his arm and ran her finger over the picture a few times. “The artist did a great job.”

“Yeah, I was pretty pleased with it.” He looked at the ink then up at her. “You don’t mind tattoos, do you?”

“It’s your body.” She shrugged, pulling his sleeve back down. “Feel free to mark it up as much as you want.”

“Good, because I was thinking about getting your name put on my…”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Heat shot to her cheeks.

“What? I was going to say other arm. You have a dirty mind.”

Tara gave him an elbow to the gut and leaned against him. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. It felt comfortable and right. This was how it should be between them.

He nuzzled his nose into her neck. “You might act shy, but I know secretly you’re turned on.”

“Will you listen to your misplaced confidence?”

The arm that draped around her started to slowly inch forward towards her breast. The backs of his knuckles grazed across her nipple. The sensitive flesh tightened on impact.

“See what I mean?” The nuzzle turned into a kiss.

She moved her hand slowly down, finding the evidence she sought without error. “Looks like I’m not the only one turned on,” she whispered, rubbing him.

“Oh God, baby, that feels good.” He found her mouth and attacked. Over and over again he swirled his tongue inside her mouth, fighting with hers for control.

She broke away from his demanding mouth and persistent tongue. Somehow he had managed to negotiate his way into her dress and his big hand covered her bare breast completely. “We should probably cool it.” Especially since she’d told him only the night before that she wasn’t ready yet. But damn if she wasn’t getting more ready by the minute.

“Um hmm,” he agreed around her earlobe.

“What about Gil?”

He pulled away from her long enough to say, “I’m not into threesomes.”

“No. What if he wakes up?”

“I wish he would, then I could take you home and make proper love to you.”

“You’re not doing such an improper job now.” As she uttered the words, his other hand snaked up under her skirt and rubbed the front of her panties. She nudged away from his questing hand and bumped against his erection. “Marcus?”

“You’re so ready for me.” His clever index finger brushed an edge of lace to the side and dipped inside her.

A moan tore from her throat. Her breathing faltered and caught. She could deny nothing now. His index finger flicked her clit. “I want to lick you right there.”

The image those words put into her mind sparked ripples low in her belly then spread. If he touched her again, she’d come.

Involuntarily, her hips rolled forward, moving against his hand.

The orgasm hit her like fireworks. She rose and exploded. Shivers rained up and down her spine until even the soles of her feet tingled.

Tara gulped in air, trying to steady her heart rate. Marcus slipped his hand from her panties and put both arms around her, hugging her to his broad chest. He buried his face in her hair and took in a deep breath. “Holy shit, you’re amazing.”

No one had ever said that to her after getting her off. And so easily, too.

After a few minutes, Marcus stirred and moved her away from him.

“What’s wrong?” He pulled her hands away, looking into her eyes. “Don’t be embarrassed. I want you. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Tara couldn’t stand it any longer. There was no way she could sit there with him as if he hadn’t just given her her first orgasm. Well, her first one with a partner. She usually had to wait until they snuck into the bathroom before she finished the job herself.

She got up and escaped into the bathroom to clean and straighten up. Marcus tried to hold her hand and make her stay, but she gently pulled her hand away from him. The few moments alone would help to restore some of her composure.

She stood in front of the mirror, looking at her reflection in the soft lights. Her face did appear a little different. There was a glow to her eyes that wasn’t there before. An internal sense of peace and love filled her. Was it possible that finally a man looked at her and saw a desirable woman and not just a quick fix for his libido?

Her heart skidded. Oh, did she want to believe in him. There were too many lonely hours spent absorbed in her art, hiding from the world rather than experiencing it. She might live through her paintings, but in the last few years, she had been more and more afraid to let her guard down and invite someone in to know her—until now. But what had she allowed him to do? They were grown adults, not a couple of hormonal teenagers at a keg party. If someone had asked her a month ago if she would ever let a man bring her to orgasm with someone else in the room, she would have been too shocked by the suggestion to give a response. She shook her head and cleaned herself up.

When she returned to the living room, Marcus had one of Charlotte’s photo albums on his lap, thumbing through it.

“Find anything of interest?” She took a place beside him. By rights, she should sit in Georgia to prevent a replay of the past hour, but that was impossible, so she took the seat available.

“Not really. These are her memories, not mine. I know most of the people in the pictures, but not the story behind the events in them.”

The pictures appeared to be from Charlotte’s college days and post-grad. Sitting beside Marcus, she realized she didn’t know much of the basics about him. “Where did you go to school?”

“I did four years at Palmetto Springs University then joined the police academy. You went to a New Jersey college, right?”

“Yes. I studied fine arts. I learned a lot, but I think I learned more by taking those skills and experimenting on my own. Plus, I’m always taking art classes here and there. I like to learn different mediums. About the only thing I can’t do very well is sculpt figures. I do fine making the molds for jewelry, but I think I have a block when it comes to rendering people in three dimensions.”

“But you could if you practiced.” The words were said with such confidence in her abilities it made her smile.

He turned another page of the album and to a picture of a younger Ray Aldrich as he leaned against the side of a dark-colored Nissan Altima.

“That’s the car.”

“It can’t be. Charlotte would have recognized it.”

Tara’s stomach quivered. Why wouldn’t he believe her? “Maybe she did see it. There are thousands of cars like that on the road. She would never suspect Ray of purposely hitting her car. She wouldn’t think it was him.”

“Why would she? He never raised a finger to her. Bedsides there’s millions of cars like that on the road. My ex-girlfriend drives one, for crying out loud.”

Tara tried to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat, and pretend jealousy didn’t have a grip on her heart. She tried to redirect her attention back to Ray and not the fact Marcus just mentioned an ex, making her heart feel ripped in two. “But Ray had never lost a child before. And remember, Charlotte said she thought she knew who it was.”

Marcus looked off to the opposite wall deep in thought. “All right. I’ll run a check on the car. If it was his car, there will either be a claim to fix any damage, or he’ll still have it. You need to understand, I can’t use the memories you have from Charlotte as evidence. I need something concrete to nail whoever it is, even if that proves to be Ray Aldrich.”

“I know.”

He flipped to the next page. His face showed something close to shock then he flipped again.

Tara stopped him before he could continue on. “Who was that you didn’t want me to see?”

“Nothing. Just a picture of me.”

“I want to see it.”

“I don’t think so.” He tried to turn another page, but Tara had a hold of the corner.

“Why, are you picking your nose or something equally embarrassing?”

Marcus gave a grunt. “No. I just—”

Tara managed to turn the corner enough to see another picture of him with the platinum blonde. The ex-girlfriend? Oh, God. Did he still have feelings for her? Is that why he didn’t want Tara to see the picture? Or because the woman was so strikingly gorgeous he knew Tara would feel every bit of her plain self?

A deep shudder went through her. A revulsion that went straight to her core. It probably wouldn’t take much but a come hither glance for him to go back to this woman. What man could resist?

Marcus kissed her head. “Baby, it’s so over with her. Please don’t look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re wondering if I regret not being with her.” He slid his arm around her shoulder and spoke into her hair. “The answer is no. She means nothing to me now.”

Tara relaxed a bit. It was disconcerting that he’d read her so well. And, in the interest of peace and preserving her dignity, she let the subject drop. “Did you talk to Darby Payne today?”

“Yeah. He’s having an affair with a married nurse. They’re carrying on at work. Charlotte used to run interference for them. Now, if he gets caught, they could both be fired.”

Tara only stared at him for a moment. “I can understand worrying about the career, but she’s having an affair. Just divorce the man. And learn to control yourself at work.”

A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know, I kind of like your brand of losing control. But I get your point about the divorce.”

“I guess I’m old-fashioned that way. I believe if you take a vow, you stick by it. You don’t just decide to arbitrarily use it when it’s convenient.”

He put an arm around her, and buried his face in her hair. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

They sat that way for a while. A strange current ran between them and Tara didn’t know what to make of it. A feeling grew from deep inside, one that told her if they were parted it would be akin to losing the most vital part of herself. The thought made her uncomfortable, so she changed the subject.

“Did he mention anything about the funeral?”

“Didn’t ask him about it. But he did say that Rebecca came into the ER after her and Ray’s son had been pronounced and walked into the waiting room where Charlotte was in the midst of comforting Ray.”

“Did Darby say if Rebecca acted jealous?”

“No. He said the rest of the scenario was pretty routine procedure.”

“What about your parents? Did you talk to them for Gil?”

“Mostly my mother. William came home as I was getting ready to leave.”

“What did they say?”

He made a face and turned from her.

“Marcus?”

He made a motion to indicate Gil. He didn’t want to talk in front of his best friend in case he was listening.

Frustration blanketed Tara and she rose to her feet to pace. She tried another tactic. “There has to be some link between Ray Aldrich and Charlotte’s shooting.”

“What makes you so sure? There was never any evidence to link the two.”

“Did your department look into it? Did they ask the right questions?”

Marcus gave her an offended look. “We are professionals, you know.”

“But things can be overlooked or discounted because they don’t seem important at the time. I see it all the time on television. Cases run cold because the clues are overlooked at first.”

He held his hand out to her, urging her to come to him. Reluctantly, she did. “I made a promise to Charlotte that I’d find her shooter, even if I had to die to do it. I promised you I’d do everything in my power to help you. I have never, in my life, gone back on a promise.” His gaze bore into hers, pressing upon her his sincerity.

His arm draped around her waist and he bent his head into her torso. “We’ll get this done. I know it.”

Tara put her hand in his hair. “Charlotte looks up to you. I know you’d never let her down.”

He raised his face to her. “I’ll never let you down either.”

Tara bent forward and brushed her lips against his. Passion ignited between them.

“Baby, don’t do this to me again,” he said, pulling away from her lips right before attacking them again.

Tara straddled his lap and put her arms around him. She rubbed against him provocatively. His hands moved up and down her back, pulling her closer to his chest. His hungry mouth started down her neck. Straight teeth bit her shoulder.

“Would you two get a room?” Gil said from the opposite couch.

Dynamite would not have moved Tara as fast as the sudden sound of his voice.

Marcus grabbed for Tara’s hand as she bounced from his lap. “I should have known you wouldn’t be passed out for long,” he said, giving Gil a sidelong look.

“Who could sleep with all that commotion going on over there? I tried to ignore it as long as possible.”

Marcus laughed, his face turning nearly as red as how Tara’s felt. “Well, you sound as if you’ve recovered, so I’ll just take my woman and go home.”

“I wasn’t drunk. Buzzed and exhausted, but not drunk.” Gil rolled over and stuck the pillow higher on the couch arm. “You two hit the road. I’ll be fine.” Depression dripped like ectoplasm from his words.

“Are you sure?” Tara did not want to leave him alone. Afraid he’d do something desperate.

He looked at her with a sly look and then to Marcus. “I think it’s better if you go. Marcus isn’t going to last much longer.”

Well, Tara wasn’t going to either. Thoughts of having Marcus inside her kept filling her mind, zapping her ability to think of anything else.

Marcus took Tara’s silence as consent and grabbed her by the hand before she could protest. After a hasty goodbye, Marcus put her in the passenger side and drove like Mario Andretti on jet fuel to get her back to his apartment.

Words threatened to explode from her mouth, but she was afraid to say or do anything for fear of being overcome by the force of her desire for him. God in heaven, she’d never felt like this about a man. Not even the unrequited love of Colin Masterson back in high school had felt this all-consuming. Marcus had a way of looking at her as if she were the most fascinating woman he’d ever met. The amazing thing about that was the fact he looked at her in that special way since before knowing of her link to Charlotte.

Suddenly, Marcus let out an aggrieved laugh.

“What?”

“I sure as hell wish this car had lights and sirens.”

Humor at such a crucial juncture surprised Tara, even if it was of the dry variety. Thinking of their prospective lovemaking as an emergency worthy of lights and sirens did have the potential for striking the funny bone. However, there was little humor in the fact Tara teetered on the edge of a full-blown panic attack.

They pulled into the apartment parking lot, the car stopped at an awkward angle. Marcus hurried Tara from the car and up the walk. He hadn’t even gotten the door unlocked before taking her into his arms and devouring her with his mouth. The doorknob pounded into her back as he pushed her against the door, his hand frantically trying to find the lock and keep hold of her at the same time.

Finally, the door swung free and they all but fell through the threshold. His hold on her tightened, his mouth barely breaking contact with hers.

Tara backed away slightly, placing a hand against his chest. “We better slow down, or we’ll hurt each other.”

Lips moved from her mouth to her neck then he bent and brushed across her heartbeat, slowing down his pursuit with each kiss. “I just want you so much.” He pressed his large hands against the small of her back, crushing her to his chest.

“I’m scared.”

He placed his forehead against hers. “I know. So am I.”

Confessions were supposed to be cathartic, but somehow Marcus confessing his fear only made Tara feel less in control. She had hoped one of them knew where their affair was going, or where they’d end up.

“Come on.” Marcus picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

As they walked passed the light switch, he flicked it on. Tara’s eyes grew wide. “No lights.”

“I want to see you.”

“You’ve seen me.” Panic lodged in her throat. He may have seen her naked or close to it before, but this was different. Besides, his ex-girlfriend was gorgeous. Plus, she probably didn’t have ugly purple scars down her body.

His eyes softened and a smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “I know, and I haven’t been able to get the sight of you out of my mind.”

He set her on the bed then knelt between her legs. His hands rested on either side of her bottom. They trembled slightly.

The way he sat, so perfectly still, gazing at her, waiting for her to make the first move was a challenge Tara couldn’t refuse. The bottom of his T-shirt remained tucked into his pants. Slowly, she began to pull it up.

Light brown hair dissected six-pack abs and disappeared under his waistband. As Tara moved the shirt higher on his chest, the hair fanned out and covered well-defined pectorals. Marcus Danforth’s chest was a sight to behold.

He lifted his arms and she pulled the shirt over his head. Her eyes couldn’t drink him in fast enough. Gently, she brushed her hands over his chest, smoothing spread fingers through the hair. Flat male nipples puckered in response.

“Tara,” he breathed.

She moved forward, flicking her tongue over one of his nipples. His hands came up to cradle her head. A moan rumbled up from deep inside him.

Marcus rose and placed a knee on the bed, guiding Tara into a reclining position. He hovered over her, gaze fixed on her mouth. His lips were parted as he dipped down and began to suck her bottom lip.

Hands moved behind her and pulled at the zipper of her dress. It parted easily and fell from her shoulders. She rose and shimmied the dress off the rest of the way, until she lay there beneath him in nothing but her panties—much like the night before.

His hand skimmed down the side of her hip. A finger hooked expertly under the lace and began to pull them off. Warm breath skimmed over her skin as he worked, leaving a trail of heat down her breasts and belly. He discarded her panties on the floor then moved back up to look her over from head to foot. The unabashed appraisal of her naked body stirred uneasiness in her.

Never when she posed for the nudes she painted had she worried of how someone would perceive her, or if someone looking at her portrait would find her beautiful. Now, she worried of all that and more.

What if Marcus found her lacking as a lover? Accomplished as she was at painting, lovemaking was a different activity entirely. There had to be something wrong with her for all her lovers to have bedded her then beat a hasty retreat, never to be heard from again. And then there were the scars.

Her hands slid over her abdomen, hiding the purple line from Marcus’s ardent gaze. His fingers closed over hers, moving her hands out of the way.

“I’ve seen it before, sweetheart.”

“Not like this. Not when we’re about to make love.”

He lifted a hand and traced a finger down the long scar on her belly. Quivers ran the length of her body, pulsing from her lower stomach. “This is the best part of you.”

Embarrassment bubbled up from her and she snorted. “You like a woman with scars?”

“Only this one.” He lowered his head and ran his mouth down the length of the scar, the touch barely a whisper of sensation along her skin. He traced it with his tongue. Then he kissed her. “It’s beautiful. It saved your life.”

Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes and fell into her hair. Love exploded in her heart. How could she not love this man? He had no reason to look at her as he did, and yet for some inexplicable reason, he found her sexy, and her scars anything but ugly.

He ran his tongue along the jagged scars on her thighs. First one, then the other.

A moan came from his throat and his mouth trailed to the springy curls guarding her femininity.

“Marcus?”

“Let me. I’ve wanted to taste you since I met you.”

His words sent heat coursing through her and pooling in the area under discussion. Regardless, no man had ever done that to her before. He eased a hand around the back of one thigh and lifted it. The angle spread her wide open for his appraisal.

“So beautiful.” He buried his tongue in her.

Tara’s back arched off the bed. Nothing had ever felt that good. Her fingers wound in his hair as he continued to pleasure her with his mouth.

The man was driving her out of her mind. She didn’t know how much more she could take before she flew into a million pieces. His lips and tongue were so soft on her burning, sensitive flesh. She raised her head and watched him for a moment. The sight of him going down on her, of watching how much he enjoyed loving her so intimately, sent her to the very edge.

“Oh God, Marcus.”

Her heightened excitement only spurred him on, made him work harder, zeroing in on the tight bud of her sex mercilessly.

Tara’s hips moved upward. Sights and sounds and heat built sensations along all her nerve endings. She couldn’t get close enough to the maddening pleasure of his tongue. A quickening coalesced in her sacrum, building, building, building, then exploding. Marcus continued to kiss and tease her, even beyond the peak of her climax and into the soft tremors that followed.

 

Marcus gave her a final kiss and moved up. Sweat glistened on her stomach and breasts. Christ, she was beautiful. She lay on the bed looking up at him, her eyes all heavy-lidded and soft.

He couldn’t believe he was finally making love to her. Couldn’t believe he was moments away from slipping inside the sweet heat of her body. There was never a woman who had tasted so incredible to him. He ran his tongue over her lips and enjoyed the unique flavor of her again.

He backed up from the bed and slid out of his pants and underwear while she watched him. Those gorgeous eyes of hers riveted to the erect flesh between his legs. If she didn’t stop looking at him with such hunger, he was liable to come before he ever got inside her.

He leaned over and opened the nightstand drawer and got a condom. When he started to put it on, she took it from him and unrolled it over the length of him in a torturously slow descent.

Gently, he nudged her over onto her back and moved between her open legs. Centering himself, he began to enter her. Hot, slippery flesh clamped down on him. Hard. It felt so fucking good he didn’t want it to end, and only wanted to drive deeper into her, feeling her take him to the hilt. However, he sensed the constricting of her pelvic muscles didn’t stem from an innate sense of eroticism, but more from fear.

“Relax, baby. I promise to go slow.” He’d hoped the orgasm a few minutes before had relaxed her enough, but apparently she was partial to worrying instead of just simply going with the moment.

“I don’t think you’ll fit.”

Did she have to say that? He was already out of his mind with the feel of her all around him. To top it off he could still smell and taste her on his mouth. It was driving him insane.

With as much care as he could muster, Marcus started forward again, sinking deeper. On either side of her shoulders, he braced his arms. They shook under the strain of holding back when he really wanted to push until they were fused.

“Take a deep breath,” he whispered against her mouth. “Let it out slowly.”

She did as told, and he finally went all the way in.

He moved inside her a few times, rocking gently against the deepest part of her, but not pulling out even a millimeter. It felt incredible, like nothing he had ever experienced in his life. All of his concentration centered on not slamming into her hard and fast. Tara raised her hips, resting her thighs higher on his, and he was lost.

If he didn’t do something, it would all be over too soon for him. He wanted this first time to last forever, to remember every sensation as if he’d never know it again. He gathered her in his arms and reversed their positions so she was on top of him. If he kept on the way he was, he would have probably broken her delicate bones.

Tara looked down at him, a slightly surprised look on her face.

“See, I fit perfectly,” Marcus said. He rolled his hips and surged up into her. The action didn’t do his peace of mind any good. He ground his hips in a deep circle.

“Oh.”

“Move for me, baby.”

She braced her hands on his chest and began a tentative movement over him.

“Do what feels good.”

She gave him a shy smile and looked at him from under her lashes. “You feel good.”

“Then show me how good it feels to have me inside you.”

When Tara started to roll her hips, undulating and grinding against him, Marcus thought he would die. Then she gave him a tight squeeze and he rose off the bed to meet her halfway.

“God!” He sucked in his breath. Delicate fingers curled around his balls and squeezed gently as she rode him. No woman had ever done that to him before. He lifted his knees to bring his buttocks higher off the bed, giving her better access.

“Do you like that?”

He nodded. What did she think? She’d rendered him speechless. Heartbeats thundered in his chest, temples and even behind his eyes. He throbbed with every movement she made over him, sliding up and down with her tight sheath hugging in a death grip every pulsating inch of him.

Her small breasts bounced as she moved, calling him as a siren calls a sailor. They fit and molded to his eager hands. Delicate blue veins ran across the pale globes. Pink nipples were tight with excitement. He brushed his thumbs over them. What he really wanted was to get them into his mouth and suck on them, but he was afraid if he moved now, he’d break her rhythm. And besides, he really loved what she was doing to him. What he loved most of all was the fact she kept her eyes on his as she rode him. He didn’t know if she were gauging his response or trying to drive him over the edge by the sheer power of her will.

Convulsions started to vibrate along the heated walls of his prison. Tara’s eyes slid shut and his name dripped like honey from her lips.

The thin fabric of control ripped beyond his power. He rocked up into her, higher and higher, gaining speed and depth until he emptied his body and soul into her possession.

Tara lay over him, still joined. Hot breath stirred his chest hair. He wiped a hand down her damp back.

It was a full ten minutes before he felt able to move. He rolled off the bed and went into the bathroom to dispose of the condom in the trash. He wiped off and stood there on unsteady legs, looking at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. What had she done to him? She stripped him down to the very bone and left him feeling vulnerable and weak. Christ, he loved her.

When he got back into the bedroom, Tara sat on the side of the bed, her dress clutched in her hands, staring at the floor.

Thinking she was in the grips of another vision, he sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. She stiffened and turned her face away from him. Tears fell and splashed his hand.

Panic seized him by the throat. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was I too rough? I’m sorry, I tried to be gentle, but you’re so damn good…”

She turned an incredulous look his way. “I didn’t disappoint you?”

“Are you kidding? You liked to have killed me.” He took the dress from her hand and threw it to the bedroom floor. It landed in a wad of silk on top of his discarded pants. “Come on, lie back.”

He pulled the bed linens back and crawled under them with her. When they were comfortable, he snuggled her close to his side and began to stroke her arm as it lay draped across his stomach. “I suppose I should tell you that’s the first time I’ve been with a woman since Charlotte was shot.”

“Why would you think you needed to tell me that?”

“I guess so you know I’m not going to take this casually. Being with you means something to me.”

He felt her relax a bit more. A gentle kiss graced his abdomen, making a slow heat creep up his body.

“I’ve never been good at lovemaking.”

“Could have fooled me,” he laughed. When she didn’t share his levity, he crooked a finger under her chin and made her look up at him. “Whoever told you you’re not any good is an ass and a liar.”

“No one ever said a thing. They didn’t have to. They just never called me again, even after being friends for years. I call it the curse of Colin Masterson.”

“Who is Colin Masterson?”

“The unrequited love of my life,” she answered wistfully.

Jealousy reared its ugly head. Marcus could feel his jaw tighten in response. No, she did not just mention another man while lying naked in his arms. It took him a moment to modulate his voice so he wouldn’t come off sounding like a jealous jerk. “What did he do to you?”

She turned her face to him again. “What do most unrequited loves do? They ignore you.”

“Man must be blind.”

“Man? No, he was a boy when I knew him.” She continued to stare at him. “He went to Catholic school up until middle school. In eighth grade he arrived in the public school system like a Nor’easter.”

The tight band constricting his heart loosened a bit. Unrequited loves from her adolescence he could survive and deal with.

“I guess you could say we were friends. I was bookish and artsy, he was a jock. We spent a lot of time together studying. Our parents were friends, so he was over at my house a lot. As friends though, we didn’t have much in common. Besides, he dated cheerleaders and popular girls. I was never either of those things.”

The hurt in her voice broke his heart. “I think I would have been crazy about you in school. I always did have a soft spot for bookworms.”

She smiled. “He knew I had a crush on him, but as long as it was never openly expressed, I think he felt comfortable ignoring it. Well, one day, in our senior year, he decided he’d grace me with an invitation to a dance as his date.” Her bottom lip trembled and tears filled her eyes again. “I couldn’t believe it. He cornered me in the library in the non- fiction section and wouldn’t let me by until I agreed to go to the dance with him. I pretended not to be interested, when all along I was dying inside.

“I couldn’t wait to tell Julianne. Right away she picked up on something not being right. I thought she was only trying to put a damper on my happiness. At the time I didn’t understand how she couldn’t be happy for me. The guy I had loved from afar for five years had finally noticed me as potential date material. As the day of the dance neared, I got more nervous and excited, I stopped eating. I even went out and bought this hot, little red dress to wear.

“Friday afternoon he came up to me after school and told me he had to go to dinner first with his parents because his uncle had come from out of town and they had a family function, would I mind meeting him at the dance instead. Being the accommodating person I am, I said I didn’t mind at all.

“When I arrived at the dance, Colin was already there with another date—the one he had intended to take all along.”

“How do you know he intended to take her and didn’t just hook up with her when he got there?”

“Because Colin’s best friend Josh made a point of telling me right there in front of everyone that it was all a big joke. Everyone laughed at me. I didn’t know what I’d ever done to deserve that. I was so humiliated. I mean, I was standing there with the entire school looking at me in clothes I never would have worn if I hadn’t been thinking I was about to live out my teenage fantasy.”

Marcus reached out and caught one of her tears on his finger. “And the curse?”

“The curse is that none of my relationships, if you can call any of them that, ever worked out. It’s like he has a network of guys out there all more than willing to hurt me. I’ve been the queen of one-night stands. You are the only man who hasn’t gotten up and left after making love to me. But then I guess you can’t, this being your apartment. I just thought I wasn’t any good at it. I’ve even started believing my life has been one huge failure in the romance department. You know, some people are destined to spend their lives alone, and I started to think I may be one of them.”

Anger burned in him. How could any man have made love to Tara and walked away? Stupid-ass jerks. He sure as hell wasn’t going to leave her. He was halfway into planning their life together when a thought struck him. “So, you never actually slept with this Colin character?”

“No, and I never did figure out why he and his friends did what they did. I did hear that he was trying to get me to not like him. I don’t know if that’s true, but sounds right. Not that I understand his need to be so cruel. I also heard a rumor that Josh bet him he wouldn’t do it. Whatever the reason, my opinion of him suffered after that. Slimeball. I never spoke to him again. He did send a card to the hospital after my accident. I can’t imagine why.”

He couldn’t either, but if he ever saw Colin Masterson, he was going to beat the crap out of him for undermining the confidence of such a remarkable and talented woman as Tara Johanan. “What did you do after the dance?”

“Oh, I left and drove to Stuart’s place and cried on his shoulder. I thought he was going to rupture an aneurysm, he was so mad.”

The more Marcus knew about Stuart Johanan, the more he had to admit he liked the man. Then something occurred to him. “You never tried to get even with him, did you?”

“Not my style. I suffered in silence. I don’t think I even let Julianne know how bad I hurt, only Stuart. But believe me when I say, going to school the following Monday was the hardest thing I ever had to do up to that point. By Tuesday morning, no one but me cared anymore.”

“So, this is the incident?”

She turned a surprised look at him. “How did you know?”

“I’m a detective. It’s my job to know. ”

She ran her hand through the hair on his chest in a long sensuous movement. “A very sexy one, too.”

“Mmm.”

He pulled her up higher on his chest so he could capture her mouth. When he broke the kiss he touched her cheek. “You can take everything you ever thought about yourself and relationships and throw it all into the gulf. It doesn’t apply anymore. I know having something like that happen when you’re so young and unsure is devastating, but don’t let it dictate who you are now. You’re a talented, beautiful, fun, and incredibly sexy woman.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Oh, yeah.” He cradled her cheek in his palm.

She put her cheek back against his chest. Though they lay quietly cuddled together, the tension had yet to leave Tara’s body.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Marcus kissed the top of her head then brushed the hair from her face.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“Not if it’s bothering you.”

She raised her head to look at him. “How do you know something’s bothering me?”

“I can feel it.” He just couldn’t stop touching her, soothing her. The poor woman was fraught with hang-ups, but he vowed to shatter every one of them. “So what gives?”

“You’re going to think I’m a total loser.”

“Never.” He leaned forward, kissing her behind the ear. “And I’d thank you not to say that about my woman again.”

She shivered in his arms. “Pinky swear?”

Marcus laughed. He held up his hand. “Pinky swear.”

They hooked their little fingers together. He couldn’t resist kissing their linked digits. “Now are you ready to tell me?”

Tara sighed. “I’m curious about your ex-girlfriend.”

Marcus wanted to laugh, but one look at her solemn expression and he didn’t have the heart to. “What do you want to know?”

“Did you love her?”

“No. I cared about her, but we’re very different people. It never would have worked with us. In the end, she couldn’t understand why I’ve been working so hard to find Charlotte’s shooter.” He caressed her face.

“So it was pretty recent you broke up?”

“A few months.” He gathered her closer to him. There was no reason to tell her Paige refused to give up trying to get him back. He had no intention of taking the woman up on the offer. “She’s not in my life anymore. You have nothing to worry about.”

Tara was quiet for a moment, then said, “She’s gorgeous.”

“She’s nice-looking, but nothing like you. You make me hurt. You did something to me the first time I saw you.”

She finally gave him a dimpled smile. “Yeah, I made you suspicious.”

“With good reason.” It was his turn to grow solemn. “I’ll never be able to fully apologize for the things I said to you.”

She ran her hands through the hair on his chest. “You already have. More than you know.”

Her sexy little breasts were smashed against his chest. The hard point of her nipples dug into his skin. A rush of sensation pooled in his groin.

God, she turned him on.

“Are you sleepy, or do you want to have another go at it? Because I for one would love to show you just how sexy I think you are.” He ran his hand down her spine, dipping his hand between the clefts of her cheeks.

She slid up him, straddling his waist. The soft, crinkly hair at her mound brushed against his hardening shaft. She slid a little farther down and he could feel the soft folds of her parting for him. “Mmmmm, I have a choice? Then most definitely, I’ll have another go at it.”

They did, and Marcus proceeded to drive all thoughts of other men, bad relationships, and negative feelings out of her head.

Chapter Thirty

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Tara slept soundly beside Marcus. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She had rolled over onto her back, her hand curled up by her face. Soft skin beckoned him to touch, and he ran a hand down the curve of her cheek. There were patches of red in places where his beard stubble chaffed her. He cursed himself for that. He leaned over and kissed the irritations. She stirred.

It was his day off, but he was going into the station to check on the matter of Ray’s old car. He didn’t think he’d find anything, but it wouldn’t hurt to look. Lots of loose ends needed to be tied up today before he could spend some quality time with Tara. But what quality! After last night, he couldn’t wait to do it all over again.

The jangle of his cell phone made him curse out loud. “Danforth,” he whispered so he wouldn’t wake Tara.

She rolled over, her bare butt sticking out from under the covers. Damn, the woman had a nice ass. He ran a bent finger down the curve of it and got his hand swatted for the effort.

“We have an identity on our Jane Doe,” came the voice of Chief Hunter.

“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be there.”

After getting dressed, he sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned over and kissed Tara’s cheek again. She smiled in sleep then her eyes opened.

“Good morning,” he said, unable to resist touching her.

She scooted closer and took his hand. “You’re dressed.”

“I have to go to the station. We have an ID on Jane Doe.”

Tara held the sheet to her breasts and sat up. “Marcus, that’s wonderful.”

“Yeah, we can finally notify the family and close the case.”

“Oh, her poor family.” Her eyes grew round with sympathy. “They’ll be devastated.”

That wasn’t necessarily a given, but Marcus refrained from telling her so. In his line of work he saw all sorts of dysfunctional family units. It could be that Jane Doe had no family who cared enough about her life to think much about her death.

“I’ll check into Ray’s old car while I’m at the station and see what I can find. Then I have a few more loose ends to tie up.”

“Sounds like you have a full day planned.”

“Hopefully, I won’t be gone that long.” He snaked an arm around her and pulled her closer to him. “Today is my day off.”

“Can’t you work today and not go in tomorrow? That way you’ll have the entire day off with me and we can stay in bed all day long.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange,” he murmured against her lips.

After a thorough kissing, he got up and headed to the station, trying to switch gears from lover to cop. It wasn’t easy to do. Marcus could remember the feel of her sliding against him, see the look of passion on her face, and smell the fragrance of her body.

The station bustled with activity. Phones rang, keyboards clacked and voices mumbled. Marcus walked to Chief Hunter’s office and knocked.

“Come in,” Hunter called from behind the door.

Marcus opened the door and was surprised to see Sims sitting there. “I thought you were going to Birmingham?”

“I’m not going. Conners had some other business in Birmingham and said he’d interview Townshead while he was there.”

“That’s lucky for you.”

“Not really, I got the impression Conners just wanted a crack at the guy.” Sims stood and put her hands in her pockets. “But you came in for Jane Doe, didn’t you?”

Chief Hunter walked from behind his desk, a manila folder in his hand. “Our Jane Doe is one Camilla Sands from Panama City Beach, up in the panhandle. Seventeen-year-old runaway. Took off from her stepfather’s house about six months ago. Hasn’t had a word from her since.”

“How’d we come by the ID?” Marcus took the file and looked through the faxed transmissions from the Panama City Beach Police Department, and the missing persons’ database. The pictures in the file looked very little like the girl in the surveillance tapes. “Are we even sure of the ID?”

“We’re sure. Carl Townshead finally cracked and the search of records pulled this file up. We notified next of kin for verification,” Sims said as she leaned over and looked at the records with him.

“Makes you wonder why she left home.” He turned another page and looked up. “Did you say she left her stepfather’s house?”

Hunter nodded. “No mother in the picture, according to what we got from the PCBPD. I don’t have the full story yet, but I’m sure it’s a bad one.”

Marcus had to admit to a certain level of nausea himself over the possibilities of why a young teenage girl with no mother in the picture would run away from her stepfather’s house and get caught up in criminal activity ending in a violent death. Poor kid.

“Did Townshead say why he shot the vic?” Marcus slid his hands in his pockets. He leaned against the desk, waiting for the news he knew would probably make him angry. No one deserved to be gunned down in such a manner.

“Spoils of theft.” Hunter frowned. “According to the Birmingham Police, he caught the vic skimming off the top and stockpiling money away. Chances are she was going to run again. They had a falling out and she started to leave.”

“In nothing but her bathing suit bottoms?” Marcus believed the falling out, but not necessarily the part about the vic leaving when the murder occurred.

Sims raised a brow. “I have two words for you, Danforth—high drama.”

He gave a snort of derision. “Doesn’t mean she deserved to get blown away in a hotel hallway.”

“I’m not implying she did. I’m only saying that it could have very well gone down the way Townshead said. He’s really the only witness.”

Even so, not only would the shitbag go down for murder, but statutory rape. Chances were he wasn’t going to see freedom for a very long time.

Since there was nothing more he could do until the next of kin arrived to positively identify Camilla Sands, Marcus went to the computers to run a check on Ray Aldrich’s vehicles. Ray Aldrich did own a Nissan Altima, no surprise there, but he had signed it over to his ex-wife in the divorce. On a whim, he traced the path the car took and was surprised to find it had been traded back in February. A quick search later and the screen filled with a sight that dropped Marcus’ stomach.

“Holy shit.”

Rebecca Aldrich now drove a light blue sedan.

 

 

Tara took a cab back to the airport and rented another car. Bless Marcus for a good man, but he didn’t move fast enough to meet her transportation needs. She smiled wantonly. However, all her other needs were met rather well.

A pleasant soreness pulled her inner muscles. It had been a long time since she’d been with anyone, much less one as well endowed as Marcus. It was no wonder she hurt this morning. Just the memory of his lovemaking made her hot all over. He was sweet and gentle, but no less passionate for it. And the dirty talk…that had surprised her more than anything. Secretly, she had to admit she liked it, though it wasn’t anything she would ever admit to anyone.

Tara started out for the hospital. There was something there that had been missed by everyone with a vested interest in Charlotte’s case. For the life of her, Tara couldn’t think of what it could be. Marcus told her everyone had been questioned, every angle scrutinized.

Traffic around the town circle came to a standstill once again. Power company trucks took up one lane, and a man in a bright orange vest directed traffic around the workers. Tara tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and tried to wait patiently for the line of cars to start moving. She turned her head just as a light blue sedan drove by. The car stopped abruptly, causing the car behind to honk its horn.

Surely the driver wasn’t the same one who stopped because of her in front of the hospital. How would the driver even recognize her in a different car? A chill of fear traveled down her spine. No, nothing would happen. Marcus’s caution over the note had made her paranoid. It was purely coincidence, and the driver probably stopped because of the car in front.

The man directing traffic waved her lane forward and cars began to move. Tara looked in her rearview mirror and spotted the light blue sedan make a turn into a parking lot. She let out a breath she didn’t remember holding.

The hospital looked relatively calm compared to her past visits. Perhaps today she could have a nice long visit with Charlotte and not feel as if she were in anyone’s way. If Dr. Durand were there, she wouldn’t stay no matter what. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, as if she had wronged him and his family. The look made her skin crawl and made her feel guilty for something she hadn’t done. The feelings she received from Dr. Durand were so discordant with what she knew from Charlotte’s memories, it was as if they were two people.

A possible explanation for his behavior could be as simple as embitterment after his daughter was shot without mercy or motive. Tara could rightly understand such a knee-jerk reaction, but what did that have to do with her? Marcus wouldn’t have told his stepfather of her link to Charlotte, would he? No, she couldn’t believe he would.

Tara parked the car, thankful that this time the visitor lot had available spaces. She got out and locked the car door then proceeded up the walkway toward the front entrance. Footfalls hurried behind her, and Tara swung around to see who was there. The same redheaded woman from her vision stood not three feet away from her.

 

 

Marcus checked records for both Ray and Rebecca Aldrich to see if either had legally purchased a firearm. He knew for a fact Ray liked to hunt in bow season, but that didn’t necessarily mean the man owned a gun. However, it was feasible that if Ray owned a gun, Rebecca may have access to it. Then there was the possibility that Rebecca bought her own gun, or Ray had been driving the car on both occasions. There were several scenarios that could play out here, and he liked none of them.

Ray’s name and information filled the screen. He had indeed purchased several handguns within the last five years, one of them a 9mm Glock.

Search of property records for correct addresses gave him his second scare of the day. The beach house they owned was a few doors down from Tara’s condo at the Acres West. Too much of a coincidence for him. Tara’s condo was broken into and the only item missing was a list of people she had felt unsure of. Ray’s name was on that list.

Marcus stopped and took a breather.

He had to think logically, and not let emotion trip him up. First and foremost he needed to call in Giotti and Caspan to hand off the information to them. Though he wanted nothing more at the moment than to grab Ray Aldrich by the throat and shake the truth out of him, Marcus prided himself in being more of a professional than that. And if Ray or Rebecca did have something to do with the shooting, the last thing Marcus wanted was to see them walk on a technicality.

He pulled his cell phone from the belt holder and dialed Giotti’s number.

 

 

Bright blue eyes stared at Tara in disbelief a few times before the woman smiled and shook her head. “I’m sorry to stare. I thought you were someone else, but I was clearly mistaken.”

Tara smiled back. “You thought I was Charlotte Durand, right?”

“I admit, I did for a second or two. Though I knew you couldn’t be.” She held her hand out to Tara, who took it and pumped it up and down a few times. “Rebecca Aldrich. I take it you’ve been mistaken for Charlotte before?”

Tara introduced herself and answered the question good-naturedly. “A few times and mostly from a distance.”

“I’ve seen you around town.” Rebecca slid a look toward the hospital entrance. “Here as a matter of fact. Well, outside. In the parking lot.”

The rambling, almost nervous quality of Rebecca’s explanation sent warnings to Tara’s nerve endings. Adrenaline started to pump through her system. She swallowed. “I’m on my way up to see her now, if you’d like to join me.”

Tears welled and spilled down lightly freckled cheeks. “Could I? I haven’t seen her since that night. Well, up close at least. I…I came by the other night after visiting hours. But I…couldn’t bring myself to go into her room.”

Oh, God! Was Rebecca Aldrich the person who Charlotte had felt lurking outside her room the night before last? If Tara could get Rebecca into the room, perhaps Charlotte would let Tara know if Rebecca was the one who shot her. And if so, there would be plenty of people around at this time of day to help her.

Tara nodded, not trusting her voice.

They turned to walk into the entrance together, and to fate only knew what.

 

 

Detectives Michael Giotti and Vincent Caspan looked over the information provided by Marcus, listening as their colleague explained in a roundabout way his suspicions without ever coming right out and saying how he’d come by such circumstantial evidence. He told them about Tara, but not her strange abilities. And if this was a fishing tournament, the detectives weren’t biting.

“Look, Danforth, we gotta have more than this. If the latent prints come back on the note left on Tara’s windshield, we may have something,” Giotti said, running a tanned hand around his mouth. “But even then it might have nothing to do with Charlotte’s case.”

“What else could it be?” Marcus protested. “Tara doesn’t know anyone down here.”

“So she says,” Caspan pointed out, leaning forward in his chair. He held up a hand after a quick look to Marcus’s angered face. “I’m not casting aspersions on your girl, but it might not even be anyone from this area. Maybe someone followed her down here from home.”

Marcus shook his head. “No. Her brother and best friend would have told me.” He sat quietly for a moment before putting his head in his hands. “Shit. Damn. Fuck.”

“What?” Giotti asked.

“I wonder if her friend Julianne’s abusive ex decided to take his anger out on Tara this time?” Marcus wondered out loud more than he talked to them.

Caspan raised a dark brow at Marcus. “Why would he do that? He get off on terrorizing women?”

Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know much about the story. Only that Tara warned Julianne away from the guy, and he beat her up bad enough to land her in the hospital.”

“Tara?”

It was Marcus’s turn to raise a brow at Caspan. “No. I would have definitely made a side trip while in Jersey if that would have happened.”

Giotti blew out a long breath and looked back down to the papers spread across the desk. His light blue eyes held no encouragement for Marcus. “I think we have to fall back on Plan B.”

“We have a Plan B?” Caspan asked his partner.

“Sure. We let our esteemed colleague here pay a call on Ray Aldrich and ask nicely to see the pretty 9mm.”

“I’ll drive.” Caspan stood and grabbed his linen jacket from the back of the chair.

 

 

A damp, shaky hand reached out to encircle Tara’s. She glanced over at Rebecca Aldrich and noticed she’d turned a terrible shade of pale. They stood in the doorway of Charlotte’s room, looking in at the woman on the bed.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Rebecca whispered. “She looks so small and lost in that bed.”

That was true enough. Nothing about the woman in the hospital bed resembled the vibrant doctor in the photos on the wall. There was something vital and lacking in her that had been the very essence of Charlotte Durand.

“Maybe your visit will help her find her way back,” Tara urged and practically dragged Rebecca into the room to set her in a chair by the bedside.

As Rebecca sat stiff as a statue, Tara leaned over and kissed Charlotte’s cheek. “Hey sweetheart, I brought Rebecca Aldrich to see you.”

That same thick, mucusy sound Tara had heard before emanated from the vicinity of Charlotte’s trach. But if Tara thought Charlotte would give any sign that she sat in the room with her shooter, it wasn’t going to happen. The only feeling Tara got from Charlotte was one of unfinished business and the want to desperately speak with the woman who now sat by the bed, dissolved in a torrent of tears.

After long moments of uninhibited grief, Rebecca wiped her eyes and looked up, taking hold of Charlotte’s hand. “I have some news to tell you.” She swallowed audibly and started again. Through her tears a radiant smile grew. “Ray asked me to marry him again and I said yes.”

Tara could feel joy moving through Charlotte, and closed her eyes to the pain of knowing she couldn’t express it as she wished. And Tara couldn’t tell Rebecca how she knew Charlotte’s feelings.

A happy sob filled the room. “He wants to have more children with me. After all I put him through with the divorce, he still loves me and wants me. I can’t believe it.”

With tears standing in her own eyes, Tara could see through them just enough to watch as Rebecca’s grip tightened on Charlotte’s hand.

“I remember I used to be so jealous of your relationship with him. So envious of what you meant to each other, and I tried so damn hard to hide it all, but in the end I think Ray knew. He never said so, but I think he knew.

“But it doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve suffered so much, we deserve some happiness out of all this tragedy.” She gave a slight cough and continued, “I love him so much. I always have. From the first moment I met him. I just couldn’t stand the thought that he loved your memory more than me.”

Tara’s heart knocked against her ribs a few times. The accusations formed words behind her clenched teeth. But she said nothing. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, trying to stay the emotions from getting the better of her. If there was a confession to come, she didn’t want to stop it by opening her mouth and reminding Rebecca of her presence. It seemed as if the woman didn’t even remember Tara was there.

“I took your advice, you know? I called a grief counselor and started going once a week. I can’t tell you how much it’s helped get me through the difficult times. I wanted to send Ray as well, but I was afraid to bring up the subject. You see, a few weeks after this happened to you, I found Ray in the kitchen with a gun in his hand. He was going to kill himself.”

Shock and sadness moved through Tara, not only from her own heart, but from Charlotte’s as well.

“I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost him too,” Rebecca continued. “We spent that night together, and I think it was a real turning point for us. I have so much to thank you for. If I hadn’t taken your advice, I don’t think I’d have had the strength to help myself, let alone help Ray find his way back from Kyle’s death. He blames himself for it, though it wasn’t his fault any more than it was mine for not being there in time to say goodbye. Do you know where I was when they called me to the hospital? On a date. I had a goddamned date the night my baby died. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that and my cell phone had been turned off.” She put her head down and let the tears fall again.

Tara didn’t know how much of the catharsis of Rebecca Aldrich she could stand. No one should ever be witness to such gut-wrenching pain.

“By the time I realized the phone was off, there were several messages from Ray, and Kyle was already gone. I can’t help but wonder if I had stayed with Ray and Kyle that night instead, if my baby would still be alive.”

Silence reigned for a few moments, as Rebecca gathered herself. Finally, she looked up at Tara and blinked, as if finally realizing there was another person in the room who had heard everything from that terrible night when Kyle Aldrich died.

“I can’t imagine how Dr. Durand feels seeing her like this. It must be terrible for him.” Wavy red hair moved as Rebecca shook her head in what Tara thought must be unimaginable sympathy for another parent’s grief.

“He’s being optimistic, I believe. They’re hoping she can go home in a few weeks.” Tara tried to sound reassuring, but couldn’t help the little niggle of doubt that continued to rub the back of her neck whenever Charlotte’s homecoming was mentioned.

“What do you think?” Rebecca asked.

After listening to the intimate, albeit one-sided conversation, Tara couldn’t help but tell her the truth. “I think it will take a miracle.”

 

Rebecca and Tara said goodbye in the parking lot, and Tara watched Ray’s ex and future wife drive away with a quick wave of her hand.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Peace and contentment moved through her. So, she’d been wrong all along about Ray and Rebecca’s involvement. Charlotte should have made their part in everything clearer. Her anxiety over the situation had been nothing more than needing closure with the Aldriches, to carry out her last promise to Rebecca. To see she had gotten the help she wanted and needed. So, if Rebecca and Ray didn’t have anything to do with the shooting, who did? And why hadn’t Charlotte provided any substantial clues as to the identity. Then again, even if Rebecca didn’t, perhaps Ray had. If he’d been desperate enough to contemplate suicide, he could have been desperate enough to attempt murder. Was the suicide attempt due to Kyle’s death and Charlotte’s attempted murder?

Tara opened her purse and grabbed her cell phone to call Marcus and tell him what happened. She pulled out her keys and started to unlock the car door when something was jammed into her back. She was slammed up against the car.

“Move slowly around to the back of the car, and don’t try anything funny, bitch.”

Instantly, Tara’s mouth became a desert and her brain short-circuited. The voice was definitely female and absolutely pissed. It sounded vaguely familiar. But where did she recognize it from?

“Give me your fucking keys.”

Tara held them up, dangling them in front of the woman’s face. She could only get a brief look at her from the periphery. Blonde hair and medium height was all Tara could see. But it was enough. As Tara turned her eyes to meet the woman’s, Charlotte’s memories ripped through her, carrying her off to a place that dwelled only in the residue of space between life and death.

“Look, Little-Miss-Fucking-Perfect, I don’t care if your stepbrother did agree to help Gil build that fucking arbor, I told Marcus to be home by six for dinner, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let one of my meals go cold because you want to bounce those fake tits of yours in his face.”

Charlotte could feel the anger build behind her eyes at the accusations, but ignored them. The woman was deranged. “For your information, my tits are real.” She squashed them in her hands a few times for emphasis. “And if you want him to come home so damn bad, march your stupid ass out the back door and tell him yourself.”

Honestly, she didn’t know how her brother could stand the woman. He was usually a great judge of character, but he’d really dropped the ball on this one. She didn’t even pretend to be nice unless Marcus was in earshot. And yet, Charlotte never said a thing to him about his girlfriend’s behavior. He’d find out soon enough he’d made a bad choice with this relationship. But she would never be a meddlesome sister, regardless of how much she loved the guy. The only thing Charlotte could figure was the woman had to be awesome in bed. Go figure. Leave it to a man to think only with his sex organs.

“You didn’t even want to get married in your yard until you found out Marcus would be spending more time over here to help get the yard ready.” Long red nails poked Charlotte in the chest.

“You know, I’ve had it with you. Either get my brother and go home, or I’m throwing you out and telling him everything before you even get a chance to speak a word to him. And who do you think he’s going to believe?” Charlotte pointed her thumb to her chest. She had no worries about where Marcus’s loyalties lay. They would always be with his family first.

Dark eyes narrowed in hatred. “You just don’t like the fact he’s sleeping with me and not you.”

“You’re sick and you need help, Paige.” Charlotte would be the first to admit she loved her brother, and she was entirely proud of the man he’d become, but to even suggest there was anything there but sisterly love and affection was an insult to both her and Marcus. Not to mention their parents.

“You should take your own advice. Incest is still illegal, even this far down south.”

She closed her eyes and counted silently. When she finished, she opened them, surprised her brother’s girlfriend was still there. Out the sliding glass doors, she could see Gil and Marcus heavy into the work that would change the backyard into a fantasy garden where Charlotte and Gil would exchange their vows in a few weeks.

“Get out. I don’t have the time or energy for you. My only consolation is that sooner or later Marcus will come to his senses and kick you the hell out of his life. And, oh, how I’ll dance then.”

“We’ll see who dances.” Paige turned on her heel and stormed out the back door and into the yard.

Charlotte leaned her forehead against the doorjamb and took a long, slow breath. That woman would be the death of her yet.

The memory sliced through Tara’s mind like a bag full of razor blades. Bile rose to the back of her throat. Her knees started to go out from under her. A strong hand jerked her upright.

“Come on, Charlotte, we’re going for a little ride.”

Tara clenched her teeth to keep from vomiting as she spoke. “I’m not Charlotte. You know what Charlotte looks like. Look at me.”

The woman—Paige—grabbed Tara by the hair and forced her around to the end of the car. Paige popped the trunk on the rental car and held the gun trained on Tara.

“Climb in.”

Tara shook her head. The headache was full on her now, and bright spots of color exploded behind her eyes. She tried to ignore it. If she gave into the pain, it would consume her and she’d not be able to help herself.

Quickly, she thumbed the numbers on her cell phone, holding it where Paige couldn’t see it.

“Nine-one-one, operator,” a voice said over the line, loud enough to be heard in the quietness of the parking lot.

“Give that to me.” Paige started to grab the phone, but Tara held it away from her. In the struggle over the phone, the gun went off with a deafening crack and crazy shot, shattering the window of a car parked on the other side of the parking lot.

The sound put Tara’s senses over the edge and she gripped the side of the trunk as Paige tried to shove her inside. “Get in the damn trunk, or I’ll blow your fucking head off again.”

“You never blew it off the first time.”

“My mistake.” Her gaze darted to the healing bump on the side of Tara’s head. “I see I’ll have to do better this time. And this time they won’t find you, or your body.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not Charlotte Durand. My name is Tara Johanan. I live in New Jersey.”

Paige was unmoved and only grew more agitated. “I don’t fucking care what you call yourself now. I’ve seen you with Marcus. I watched you kissing him on his porch last night. Oh, God, it made me sick. I know he fucked you…” She broke off the words and brought the gun up and hit Tara in the back of the head.

Her eyes rolled back and she crumpled into the trunk.

 

Marcus sat in the back of Caspan’s car, behind Giotti’s seat as they moved through the lunchtime traffic in downtown Palmetto Springs. They would try the restaurant first to see if Ray was there. It was the most likely place at this time of day.

The radio squawked to life in the front seat. “All cars, shots fired in Palmetto Springs Memorial Hospital parking lot.”

Cold ran through Marcus’s veins. He took his phone out and dialed Tara’s number. The line clicked over to voice mail.

“Dammit,” he cursed and hung over the front seat. “Go to the hospital.”

Caspan hit the lights and sirens as they pulled out of the line of waiting cars and sped through the red light.

They weren’t that far away from the scene and arrived as several police cruisers pulled into the lot.

Marcus jumped out of the back seat and jogged to where Merriwether and Fuentes stood trying to take statements from onlookers.

“What happened?” Marcus came up short as he noticed Paige’s car parked near the milling police. “Oh, shit.”

Why had he not seen it before? How could he have been so blind?

Merriwether cut off the answer he was about to give and turned in the direction Marcus looked. “What’s wrong?”

“That car. Did anyone see who got out or what happened?” Panic and rage burned up into his throat and made his mouth taste sour.

“We’re still trying to piece it together. From what it sounds like, a woman was abducted from the lot, here.” He pointed in the direction of Fuentes. “Witnesses said they saw a woman hit another woman on the back of the head and stuff her in the back of a trunk after they fought and the gun went off.” He pointed to the vacant spot a few cars down from Paige’s. “There was a cell phone found on the ground there, still connected to the nine-one-one operator.”

“Why didn’t the witnesses help?” The words came out harsh, angry. He moved quickly to where the phone still lay on the ground. It looked like Tara’s, but he couldn’t be sure. He took out his own phone and dialed Paige’s cell number.

She picked up on the third ring. “Marcus, hello, sweetie.”

Her voice sounded squeaky and much too high-pitched. She must have been in some kind of manic state. “Where are you?”

“Out for a drive. What are you doing?”

He didn’t know if he could play the game she obviously wanted to play. He didn’t think he had the stomach for it. The worst part of it all was how much to reveal. No matter what he did, he had to consider Tara’s safety first and foremost. Even as he started speaking, the germ of a plan came to mind. “I’m at the hospital. I saw your car here, and thought I’d invite you to lunch if you were on premises…”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m kind of busy at the moment. I have to dump some garbage off. I can meet you after.”

Marcus bit his lip to keep from giving into the urge to curse her. Giotti approached him holding a gold earring in a plastic bag—an earring Marcus had given Paige for Christmas. There was no doubt in his mind now, Paige had been in the parking lot and had lost an earring in the scuffle.

“Hold on, Paige.” He covered the phone. “Did anyone see what they were driving?”

Giotti nodded. “Just keep her talking. We’ll get a track on her. Patrols are looking for them.” Marcus nodded. At least something was going right.

 

 

Total darkness greeted Tara as she opened her eyes. The car shifted and moved beneath her. Rolling waves of sickness made her break out into a cold sweat. The car hit a bump, sending her head to connect with the hood, and her teeth clamped down on her tongue.

Death would be the worst that could happen to her, and Tara had been there before. Death wasn’t bad. It was simply another state of being. Pain could immobilize. Pain could cripple. Pain could make one wish for death. And she had been in constant pain since Charlotte’s memories exploded into her mind like the flash of a star going supernova.

Dwelling on the pain, however, would not get her out of her predicament; action would. Forcing back the physical sensation, she centered her concentration on helping herself.

There had to be some way to get out of the trunk. Didn’t most cars come with a safety release in trunks now? Weren’t the stupid things supposed to glow in the dark? She felt along inside the top until her hand brushed against a small handle. She grasped it tightly, but, in the dark, it was hard to figure out how it worked. The car she’d wrecked was an older model and didn’t have the device. And she hadn’t gotten around to purchasing a new car since the accident.

She tried pulling the lever, and then pushing it. Nothing happened.

Damn it all to hell anyways. If she couldn’t get out of the trunk before they stopped, she was sure Paige would kill her when they arrived to their destination.

Tara swallowed the thoughts and moved her hand across the coarse carpet of the trunk.

The jack. Where the hell was the jack located? And the lug? The lug had to be here somewhere. It may not be a useful weapon against a gun, but it sure as hell could give her enough momentum to knock the gun away if she had to.

She scooted as close to the backseat as possible and reached across the trunk to pull at the carpet. Most cars had hidden compartments for the jack and lug wrench. Didn’t they? The carpet pulled up easily, but as she felt along the front edge of the trunk she couldn’t feel a handle or mechanism to spring a door open. She spread her arms out, running her fingertips out in a broader expanse.

The car came to a sudden stop, making Tara lurch forward. She abandoned her pursuit of the spare hatch in favor of banging on the trunk lid. Maybe she could get the attention of someone on the street.

“Help! Help me, please.”

She banged a few more times and yelled at the top of her lungs. The car rolled forward again. Chances were they were stopped for a traffic light. Smart thinking on the lunatic’s part. Drive like everything is fine and dandy and no one will suspect a thing.

Chills started in her sacrum and moved upward. What if no one witnessed her abduction? Tara was well and truly on her own. What did she know about protecting herself? Nothing. Sure, she’d taken a self-defense class back years ago, but she could remember little or nothing of that course now. Marcus told her he’d protect her. But he hadn’t known where she was going. He probably thought she was still in his apartment warming his bed.

“Marcus,” she whispered.

The memory of his face floated before her eyes. The way he’d looked at her that morning before he left for the station spoke volumes about his feelings. The passion in his kiss and the promise in his eyes were meant for her and her alone. Oh, God! How could she have been allowed to feel this way about a man, to know what it was like to finally be appreciated as a woman, and teeter on the verge of losing it in the same day? She wanted to see him again, to be held close in his strong arms. She wanted to experience that cherished feeling she got when he gave her those long, unwavering looks.

The car hit a bump and Tara’s head came up to collide with the trunk lid. The injury on the back of her head began to throb again. She put her hand up and it came away sticky.

She’d be damned before she allowed herself to lose it all because of mistaken identity.

Frantic to find the tools she needed for a weapon, Tara continued her search for the lug and jack. Maybe the jack wouldn’t do so well, but the lug would at least be heavy enough to cause some damage. If she could find it.

Finally, she felt the handle. “Thank you.”

She scooted over again to get a hold of the handle and pull. Her position didn’t allow for much leverage. The trunk may have been spacious by most standards, but not when an adult body was stuffed in there, trying to maneuver around. Silently she sent a prayer of thanks for possessing the slim gene. She lifted the handle and cracked her elbow on the lid. Instantly, her arm went numb.

She held her arm for a few minutes, trying to rub feeling back into it. She had to hurry. No telling where the woman was taking her.

Suddenly, the car picked up speed, and from beyond the enclosed trunk came the distant faint scream of sirens.

 

The three detectives piled back into Caspan’s car and followed the updates coming fast over the radio.

Regret, guilt and every other emotion slithered through Marcus’s veins like a water moccasin bent on filling him with its deadly poison. The entire situation was his fault. He was to blame for Charlotte’s shooting. If he hadn’t brought Paige into his life and bed, she wouldn’t have met his sister, she wouldn’t now have Tara stuffed into the trunk of a car, heading to God only knew where.

“Car has been sighted pulling onto Old Fort Road,” the voice advised over the radio.

Giotti turned and looked at Marcus. “Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll get to her.”

The news that the woman taken was Marcus’s girlfriend, and his ex the abductor, had probably burned up the cell phones. But even if Giotti’s words were meant to comfort, they did little good, since Old Fort Road was on the way to the swamps.

Marcus could see the flashing lights and black and white cars of the patrol cars ahead of them. He sat forward on his seat and prayed like he’d never prayed before.

 

With the lug free from its storage compartment, Tara hugged it to her chest and waited for a sign that the flight would come to an end soon. No telling what her captor would do once they reached their destination.

The car bumped over uneven ground. They must have left the main road and now drove over the dirt or off-road completely. Tara tried to make herself as flat to the floor as possible, so as not to hit her head again.

The situation had gotten more difficult to assess. Did the police even know she was in the trunk?

They came to a sudden halt, jerking Tara in the unrestrained confines of the trunk. The car shook with movement, not like when it was moving, but like someone—Paige—got out.

The trunk lid opened, blinding Tara in the bright Florida sunshine. An angry scream rose into the trees above. Birds scattered overhead.

The woman brandished the gun at Tara. “Get out of the car and start walking toward the water.”

Tara concentrated all her attention on the gun leveled at her heart. She could no longer hear the birds in the trees, or feel the wind on her face. Even the sun’s heat had turned to ice. The first time she died, she thought the cold was due to the weather, but now, under a blazing sun in Florida’s sub-tropic heat, she knew it had to be the cold dread of fear causing her to shiver.

Cop cars flashed red and blue lights as they pulled into the clearing. Tara tried not to let the action seen in her periphery distract her from the intense hate in Marcus’s ex-girlfriend’s eyes.

A cop raised a bullhorn. “Drop the weapon and put your hands up.”

Paige ignored him.

Tara looked into Paige’s maniacal dark eyes. “I don’t know why you were under the impression that Charlotte and Marcus were involved, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.”

The gun wavered back and forth in Paige’s unsteady grip. “You’re lying. You wanted him panting after you, just like they all did.”

“No. He’s Charlotte’s brother. She never felt that way about him.” Tara didn’t even want to know what Paige meant by the word they.

“I saw you. He couldn’t wait to get inside you. I saw you…” She choked on her words and her finger moved unsteadily on the trigger.

“You did see me, but I’m not Charlotte. Look at me. Listen to my voice. I don’t even sound like her.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

There was no sense in trying to convince someone who had left reality back at the last bus stop that you weren’t the person she was trying to kill. It was probably better to keep Paige talking then to stand and argue with her. At least that would give the police a chance to get her out of this Mexican standoff. Some standoff. From this distance, the lug wrench would do no good.

“Tell me why you did it. Tell me why you shot Charlotte,” Tara said. She tried to keep Paige’s eyes focused on her own and not the fact Tara was trying to inch closer.

Tears ran down Paige’s face. “I tried to kill you once and you wouldn’t die. I warned you away, but you didn’t go. I even came to see you in the hospital that night. I was going to kill you in front of all your colleagues, so they would know what a fraud you are.” She wiped at her nose. “The great Charlotte Durand never did a goddamn thing that didn’t serve her first and foremost. You’re a whore and a fake.”

That’s where she knew the voice from—the phone call yesterday morning. It hadn’t been a random thing. Paige had called to threaten and taunt her. Jesus, if she’d only kept her talking instead of hanging up, things might not have come to this pass. Marcus could have found and arrested her already.

Stupid. Stupid woman.

But despite Paige’s hate, this much Tara knew to be true—if Charlotte loved someone, she loved with her entire heart, and did not give her body freely. From the memories Tara had seen, Charlotte had always been careful when it came to her lovers. And she had only been a few weeks away from marrying the love of her life when Paige had put Charlotte in a coma.

Tara tried to keep her gaze forward even as she saw Marcus getting out of a car. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest. Please, don’t let him try anything stupidly heroic.

“Paige,” Marcus yelled. Tara diverted her gaze long to enough send him a pleading look.

Paige’s shoulders straightened back, as if renewed with purpose. “He’s here to rescue you. I knew he’d come for you. But he won’t get the chance to have you again.”

“You’re so wrong. Marcus and Charlotte have only the appropriate brother-sister relationship.”

“No! He couldn’t even get it up after I shot you. He was so distraught, he stopped coming to me. He never looked at me like a woman after that…”

“Paige!” he yelled again. Cops held rifles and handguns trained on her. “Let her go. This is between us. Leave Tara out of it.”

She turned to glance over her shoulder, but kept the gun fixed on Tara.

“She might call herself something new, but she’s still the same old Charlotte.”

“No. No, she isn’t. Please, drop the gun. We’ll sort this mess out. I promise.”

Tara inched closer still, the lug gripped tightly behind her back.

“I don’t believe you anymore. You came to her rescue. You always came to her rescue. Why didn’t you want to rescue me? Why couldn’t you love me like you should have? Like you do her?”

“Come on, Paige. Drop the gun and we’ll talk about it.”

“I’m done talking,” Paige addressed Marcus over her shoulder.

Tara took the moment of Paige’s diverted attention and brought the lug around. Bone cracked under the pressure, knocking the gun from Paige’s hand. She let out a loud scream.

“Tara!” Marcus yelled and started forward.

Tara bent to grab the gun, but Paige reached for it with her left hand. Madness shone from her eyes. “He’s never going to stop saving you.”

Paige raised the gun and fired, baptizing Tara in blood and gore. Then blackness came as the ground rushed up to meet her.

Chapter Thirty-One

Palmetto Springs, Florida

A voice called from somewhere in the distance. Strong hands held her against an immovable object. Something thudded dully against her cheek. Her lashes fluttered and her vision went from a narrow expanse of white to ceil blue. A silk navy and white tie brushed against her lips.

Tara took in a deep breath of Marcus’s scent. No one on the planet smelled like he did. Her hand lifted and she placed it against his chest. But all around her was the metallic tang of blood.

“You’re all right. You’re all right, baby,” he said over and over against her hair.

She lifted her face to look up at him. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“I was so scared.”

“I know.” He kissed her forehead.

Memories of the last hour swirled in her head. Gorge rose in her throat. “She killed herself. I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t mean it. I only wanted to get the gun away.”

“You were so brave.” He kissed her mouth. Tara could feel the tremors in him.

“I want to go home, Marcus.”

No sooner had she uttered the words then Marcus lifted her into his arms and carried her to the car.

“Danforth,” Sims called out. “Let the paramedics have a look at her.”

He nodded, but kept walking toward his car. His face was hard, his jaw set and determined. Around his mouth, a thin white line appeared.

Tara put her hand on his cheek. “I’m fine. I’ve survived worse.”

“Not since you’ve been with me.” He placed her on the driver’s seat then hunkered down in front of her. Shaking hands caressed her face and his mouth came down on hers.

The kiss was gentle, but no less passionate for it. Tara wound her arms around him, sinking into his embrace. When he pulled back from her, a whispered breath of “I love you” teased her lips.

She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes, drinking in the feel of him.

His hand touched the back of her head and she winced.

“Oh, God, baby. Look at your head. What’d she do to you?”

“She hit me with something. I wasn’t about to get in the trunk willingly.”

“Let’s get you looked at.”

“I just want to go home.”

“Let’s go by the ER first and have your head seen to. I won’t be convinced you’re all right until we do.”

Tara looked up at him. “I think you’re more worried than I am.” Finally, she nodded. “All right, then can we go home?”

“Anything you want, love. Anything you want.”

 

 

She had been here before.

It wasn’t the scene that looked familiar, but the way the air felt that seeped into her bone marrow.

“I have to go now,” Charlotte said.

She stood on a long pier that looked like it belonged at the Acres West. Sunshine backlit her, bathing her in an otherworldly glow.

“Thank you for all you’ve done. No one would have known it was Paige Carmichael without your help. She never liked me.”

“I know,” Tara said.

Charlotte gave her a thousand-watt smile and faded, becoming one with the finger of sunshine that stretched down from between a part in the clouds.

Tara sat up in bed, her heart thundering. She shook Marcus’s shoulder. “Marcus, wake up.”

He came to in a start. “What’s wrong?”

“You have to call your parents.”

“Why?” He turned on the bedside lamp.

“Because I think Charlotte just died.”

Blue eyes searched her face even as he reached for his phone. As he picked it up, it rang.

Tara watched him as he answered the call and his gaze darted back to her. “Are you all right?” he asked the person on the other end.

His empty hand reached out and laced fingers through Tara’s. He simply nodded and his eyes spilled.

“I’ll be over as soon as I can.” He listened for a moment longer. “Are you sure? All right, I’ll see you then.”

He hung up. “We’ll go over to my parents’ house first thing in the morning.”

Tara nodded, and slid down into the bedding. She opened her arms for Marcus and he came to her. “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t believe it. Deep down I guess I’ve been hoping for a miracle. I thought she’d come out of it eventually.”

“Maybe she only came back long enough to see justice done.”

He sat up abruptly. “Oh God.”

“What?”

“I need to go over and tell Gil.”

Tara threw the covers off and pulled a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from her suitcase. “I’ll go with you. He’ll need all the support he can get.”

Marcus stopped dressing and came over to her. “Are you sure? How do you feel?”

She thrust a foot through a jeans leg. “Well enough to go over and offer Gil my support. We got a confession, even if it did have a tragic ending.”

Marcus stood before her in a pair of Riddler boxer shorts poking out from the tops of his unzipped jeans. He traced a strand of hair from her face. “You mean you got a confession.”

“No, I mean we.”

“We,” he repeated as he lowered his head to kiss her.

 

Lights were still on in Gil’s living room. He came to the door before Marcus could ring the doorbell. His eyes were red and his face splotchy. Obviously someone had beaten him to the punch and called Gil already. Marcus hoped to be the one to break it to him. It was something that needed to be done delicately and in person, not over the phone.

Marcus could only try to make amends for someone’s blunder. He opened his arms for the best damn friend he’d ever had in his life—a man he’d hoped to have as a brother one day—and held him as he cried.

Memories of that cold night in February swirled in Marcus’s mind like so much flotsam. So much had happened since then. His world had capsized and crashed on the rocks and then a small wisp of a woman came in like a towrope and pulled him to shore. He moved away from Gil and his gaze went to Tara. She brushed tears from her cheeks.

How could he have come to love her so deeply in such a short time? They had known each other less a week, and already he knew life without her would be pointless. The thought that only that day the same woman who killed Charlotte held a gun to Tara made him want to shelter her inside his arms forever. The fact he had brought Paige into their lives made it even worse.

Emotion formed an uncomfortable lump in his throat. With Charlotte dead, Tara had no reason to stay in Florida. God, he couldn’t think of her leaving with his sister’s funeral on the horizon. It was too much all at once.

“What?” Tara asked, staring at him.

He shook his head and ushered her and Gil into the house.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Marcus hitched the bag of Chinese food up higher on his hip as he stuck the key in the lock and turned it. The ring box dug into his thigh as he moved. It probably wasn’t as elaborate of an engagement ring as what Tara would design, but it was the symbolism he was after. There was no way he’d propose to her without having a ring in hand.

He came into the kitchen and heard her before he could see her.

“No, Stu. I think it’s best this way.” She paused and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sure.”

Marcus hated like hell to listen in on her private conversation, but he could feel his future slide through his fingers like white sand.

“Yes. Tuesday.” She held up a piece of paper and read off a flight number and time. “If you can’t make it, I’ll have Eva pick me up.”

When he set the bag on the counter, Tara spun around and looked at him. She closed her eyes. “Let me call you back.” She flipped her phone closed and held it in front of her mouth. “I wish you hadn’t heard that. I didn’t want to tell you like this.”

He didn’t know what else to do but shrug. His first reaction was to fight, but she’d seen firsthand what ugliness he’d brought into her life. He should be surprised she’d stayed long enough to attend Charlotte’s funeral. Emotion burned the back of his throat, but he wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t show her that her abandonment cut him to the quick.

The stricken look on her face killed him. “I see. A shrug. I get a shrug.” She gave a mirthless laugh and started for the bedroom. “I knew this would happen.”

It dawned on him when she was halfway to the bedroom what she was talking about. He hurried after her and pulled on her arm to turn her around to face him.

“No. You don’t just get a shrug, but what do you want me to do? You even told me once I couldn’t keep you here against your will, and I’ll be damned if I’ll even try. But you’ll not walk away from me thinking I don’t want you, or that watching you go isn’t going to tear me up. But if you get to walk away from this relationship, I at least get a reason why.”

She sat on the bed and looked up at him, her big green eyes mirroring his misery back to him. “I want to stay. I do. But I think it’s best for now if I go home. We met under some pretty extraordinary circumstances and I think we need some time and distance to think this all through.”

“I don’t need time. I need you.” He knelt down in front of her, taking her face in his hands. “I love you, Tara.”

The tears that hovered on the edge of her lashes spilled down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, baby. Please. You’re killing me.”

She raised her hot sweet mouth to his and kissed him long and deep. When she pulled back, he knew he would be saying goodbye to her.

He gave a shaky laugh. “When you kept saying you wanted to go home, I thought you meant here, to my place. I didn’t think you meant New Jersey.”

“The entire time she had me, I thought about you and how much I love you and how wonderful you are, but I’m afraid that you’ll wake up one day and realize we’ve made a mistake.”

He brushed her hair back from her face. Misery and tears brightened the green of her eyes and made the gold in them shine. “God, baby, I’ve never seen any woman more beautiful in my life than you are.”

“Marcus…” She swallowed. “I never thought I’d ever hear myself say this, but thinking I’m beautiful isn’t enough.”

“No, you’re right, but you are beautiful, and not just on the outside. It’s who you are that I love.” He moved a thumb to her lips and caressed them. That mouth of hers was simply amazing, even when it denied what was between them. “Let me make love to you.”

She nodded and pressed her lips to his again. The kiss was hot and bittersweet. Marcus could taste the salt from her tears. It was more than he could take. She wanted to stay with him, damn it if she didn’t. He could tell it was there in her kiss and in her sighs. And the fast beat of her heart as he brushed his knuckles between her breasts.

He lowered her back on the bed and skimmed his hand down her side. The silky shirt she wore molded to the sweetest breasts he’d ever seen. There wasn’t a part of her body he wouldn’t miss. This time he’d make love to her slowly, so he could savor every sensation of being inside her. Who knew, it may be the last time he’d ever make love to her.

The thought made his heart clench.

“Let me see you, babe.” He started to unbutton her shirt, exposing the pale cleavage to his hungry gaze.

She moved her hands from where she’d been holding his arms and placed them above her head in surrender. “Look all you want.”

And he would. The shirt became short work, and the jeans were gone a few moments later. He slowly took off her panties, loving the way he could see how turned on she was in her glistening folds.

A sweet moan rose from her throat when he touched her there, running a finger through her and separating her for him. “You’re so slick and hot right now.”

Her hand held his arm, urging him to continue to rub against her. Marcus leaned over her and kissed her deeply. When he pulled away, he said, “I want to touch you all over. Have to, baby.” He didn’t bother to add that he may not get another chance.

Gently, he rolled her over onto her belly and let his hands run the length of her. From the sharp planes of her shoulders and down to the delicate arch of her spine. His fingertips glided into the dip of her waist and up the curve of her bottom. All over, her skin felt like silk. Right below her left shoulder blade she had a brown birthmark that he hadn’t noticed the last time they made love.

A sharp stab of pain caught him and made it hard to breathe. The birthmark symbolized all he had yet to learn about her, all the more he wanted to know.

He leaned over and placed a kiss on the mark. Christ, he didn’t even know her favorite color, or food, or how she liked to spend her weekends. What music she liked, or even her favorite movie.

He closed his eyes against the flood of emotions rioting inside him. It wasn’t fair. How could he have met the most amazing woman of his life and let her go?

“Marcus?” Tara looked over her shoulder at him.

“Yes?” He ran his lips up and onto the back of her neck.

“Don’t you want to get naked, too?”

He smiled into her hair. “But I’m enjoying having you naked. It’s kind of erotic touching you like this when I’m fully clothed.”

She flipped over onto her back again, running her hands over his chest. Her eyes were clear and full of love. Her expression serious. “No one has ever made me feel as beautiful as you do.”

“Then don’t leave me. Stay and I’ll make you feel beautiful for the next fifty or sixty years.”

“You know I can’t.” She gave a sad smile.

“I don’t know that. And I damn sure don’t accept it.” He touched her mouth then ran his hand down her throat, over her chest and caressed her breast. The nipple stood out, hard and lovely. He lowered his head and ran his tongue around the peak.

She rose under him, rubbing her wetness against the fly of his jeans. “I want you inside me.”

“I’ll only want to stay there.” But he couldn’t deny her request.

Together they removed his clothes and eased his body into hers. And Marcus pretended it wasn’t goodbye.

Damn it, it wasn’t goodbye.

At the risk of pulling a Paige on her, Marcus looked down into her eyes as he stroked deeper into her hot core. “Tell me you don’t love me. Look me in the eyes and say it.”

Her mouth opened on a moan as he drove higher.

“Say it. If you don’t want me, you have to tell me.”

Her eyelids slid closed. “No. I won’t. I can’t.”

“Then don’t leave me.” He took her mouth in a long, plundering kiss as he continued to move inside her. The sweet walls surrounding him squeezed his length. He almost came.

He held her tighter. There was no way he’d lose control. He wanted her there first, wanted to get her promise to stay as she shook with her orgasm.

It was underhanded, sneaky and dirty, but at the moment he’d use what he could.

“I love you. I love you so much.” The words were ripped from his soul as he lifted her leg up over his hip, changing his angle to drive in deeper still.

Tara’s back bowed up off the bed. Her breasts flattened against his chest. She screamed.

Her body hadn’t stopped milking him before he picked up the pace, taking her back to the edge.

“I can’t, Marcus. I can’t do it again. It’s too much.”

“Yes, you can. You’re so hot and wet. I know you want to come again.” He watched in fascination as tears fell into her hair. “I want you to come again.”

“It feels so good.” It came out as a ragged sob.

“It’s the best, baby. The best I’ve ever had.” He leaned his forehead against hers. The smell of sex assaulted his senses. He took in a lungful of air, tasting it on his tongue. “Do you love me, Tara?”

“Yes!” Her shout was both answer and affirmation. Her second orgasm ripped through him. This time, he didn’t hold back, but let himself come with her.

Their breath mingled in the space between them. He kissed her face from one side to the other, leaving no spot unloved.

After their breathing settled, and heart rates were back to normal, he leaned off the bed and picked up his discarded jeans where they lay in a wad on the floor.

He dug into his pocket, pulling out the ring box.

Sex and love were not the same thing, but Tara had confided in him that she thought her lovers had never stayed around because she wasn’t any good in bed. Maybe if she realized the love they made was the pinnacle for him and he was willing to commit, she’d stay.

“What are you doing?” Tara ran her hand over his bare back as he straightened.

He squeezed the black velvet box in his fist. He steeled himself against the possible rejection he faced.

Marcus turned to her. “I know I’m going out on a limb here, but frankly, I don’t care. I want you forever.” When she started to protest, he held up his hand. “Sometimes people take years to know if the person they’re with is ‘the one’. I knew the moment I saw you. I have no reservations in my mind or heart about us. I think we can make each other happy.” He opened the ring box toward her startled face. “Marry me.”

Tara laid a hand across her heart. “Oh my God. You’re serious. You really want to marry me.”

“More than anything in the world.”

“Oh my God.” She fanned her face. Tears fell down her cheeks. “Oh my God.”

“You said that.” He took the ring from the box and held it up. “Can I put it on you?”

She held her hand up for him. The ring slid home.

Marcus watched her stare at it on her finger. “Um, it’s tradition at this juncture for the askee to give the asker an answer.”

“Oh my God.”

Marcus laughed. “Is that code?”

She covered her mouth and nodded. Her beautiful eyes gazed at him with love. “I still have to go home.”

His heart dropped.

She shook her head. “I have loose ends to tie up at home. I have to make arrangements with my family to work from here. Pack all my stuff. Clear out my apartment and see if I can get out of my lease.”

Love swelled like a tidal wave in him. “Does that mean yes?”

“Yes.”

Marcus grabbed her, pulling her under him. “So what changed your mind?”

“The ring.”

Such a simple thing. “Why?”

“Because I know you wouldn’t have given it to me unless you meant to honor the commitment behind it. I learned that from Charlotte.” She wrapped her arm around his neck and snaked a leg around his hip. “And Julianne once said that when I met one special man I’d know it in an instant.”

“Yeah?” He had a feeling their life together would never be dull. She’d keep him on his toes.

“Yeah. And you know what?”

He worked on her neck, kissing his way from her ear to her collar bone.  “What?”

“She was right.”

About the Author

To learn more about MK Mancos, please visit www.MysticKat.com. Send an email to MK Mancos at MysticKat1965@yahoo.com.

Look for these titles by MK Mancos

Now Available:

 

The Host: Shadows

 

Dragon Tamer (as Kathleen Scott)

Solarion Heat (as Kathleen Scott)

 

Coming Soon:

 

ParaMatch.com

Scythe

 

Doing whatever it takes could get them both killed.

 

Living Lies

© 2008 Dawn Brown

 

Twelve years after her sister’s disappearance, Haley Carling spends her days trying to hold what’s left of her family together, running her late father’s shop and caring for her alcoholic mother. Then her sister’s remains are uncovered in the basement of their old home, and fingers start pointing. At the Carlings.

Dean Lawson, long the prime suspect in the Carling girl’s disappearance, is sure he’s got evidence proving who the killer is. He’s determined to clear his name, and he won’t let anything stand in his way. Not even his lingering attraction to Haley.

Haley is just as determined to protect her family from the former town bad boy’s accusations. But now someone is stalking her, and Haley realizes Dean’s the only one she can trust.

With a killer closing in, Dean wonders if he’s made the biggest mistake of his life…a mistake that could cost Haley her life.

Warning: This title contains a mystery to keep you turning the pages late into the night.

 

Enjoy the following excerpt for Living Lies:

The Mountainview Motel was neither on a mountain nor did it offer a view of one, as the name implied. Little more than a row of shabby rooms slightly north of town, Haley was surprised the place managed to remain open.

As she drove into the lot, she spotted Dean’s car parked in front of one of the rooms and pulled up next to it. What was she doing here, really? Hadn’t she had enough drama for one day? Maybe, but she needed to know why he was back. Why now?

With a sigh she opened the door and stepped out into the cold. The walk running the length of the motel had been shoveled, exposing weathered wood planks. She crossed to his door and knocked loudly before she changed her mind.

After a moment, the door swung back and Dean filled the opening. He didn’t look at all surprised to see her. Al had probably called to warn him after she’d left.

She could understand how she hadn’t recognized him. The boyishness had left his face, making his features sharper, almost predatory and, if at all possible, more attractive. Even his body seemed harder and leaner than she remembered.

Her heart rate quickened, and something fluttered in her stomach. Could he really have killed Michelle?

Killer or not, she would have to say something soon. She couldn’t just stand there staring like a twit all day.

“I didn’t recognize you earlier,” she said. Better than silence, but only marginally.

Dean leaned casually against the frame. “I figured.”

“Erin recognized you.” She should have stuck with silence.

“What do you want, Haley?” His voice was deep and quiet.

“Why are you here?”

He sighed and moved aside. “Do you want to come in?”

She hesitated. If she went inside that room, would anyone ever see her again? Allister was the only person who knew where she was and she didn’t have a whole lot of faith he’d come to her rescue if she needed him to.

“People know where I am,” she said at last.

Dean smirked, but said nothing as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“Nice place you have here, Matthew Clarke,” she said, taking in the faded beige wallpaper and gold shag carpet. An ugly oil painting of a gnarly sea captain hung over the sagging double bed.

“I wanted to keep a low profile.”

“I thought you would have stayed with Al.”

“Have you seen Al’s apartment?” A faint smile touched his lips. “This place is a palace.”

He had a point. She had seen Al’s apartment once and had gone straight home and showered.

“Sit down,” he offered, gesturing to the only chair in the room. As she pulled it away from the desk, she noticed a thick envelope and file folder with bits of paper curling around the edge stacked neatly in the top corner. She would have loved to go through those pages. To see just what Dean studied on alone in a grubby motel room.

“So,” she said. “Why are you here?”

“Maybe I just wanted to pay my respects.” He sat on the corner of the bed, his eyes bright and his mouth still twisted in that slightly mocking smirk.

“By lurking in the parking lot?”

The grin vanished. “I wasn’t in the parking lot the whole time. I watched the service from the door. When I saw you get up and start to leave I decided to go.”

“You came back for the memorial?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged.

“Or maybe you’re worried there’s something to link you to Michelle after all.”

A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw. “Is that what you think?”

I don’t know what to think, and you’re not giving anything away. “I don’t think you came back here just to watch Michelle’s memorial from an open door. So why not tell me what you’re really doing here?”

“What do you want me to say, Haley? That I did it? That I killed her?”

“Did you?”

“If I did, it wasn’t too smart to come looking for me now, was it?” His voice was quiet, but there was an edge, jagged, like a serrated blade.

A tiny ember ignited within her. A slow fury growing hotter and brighter each time he spoke. “Are you threatening me?”

“No,” he said on a sigh, suddenly sounding very tired. “No, I’m not.”

“Why are you here?” she asked again.

“I’m not ready to tell anyone yet, but when I am, I’ll tell you first.”

“That’s it? That’s the best you can do?”

He nodded.

“Well, sorry, not good enough. Tell me why you’re back. I’m not going anywhere until you talk.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “I was thinking about ordering dinner. Pizza or Chinese?”

“This isn’t a joke, Dean. My sister is dead.”

“I know. And I will tell you why I’ve come back, but not yet. I need to be sure of some things first.”

“Fine. You have until tomorrow. If I don’t get some answers before the end of the day, there isn’t a person in this town who won’t know you’re here.”

Haley stood and strode out the door, suppressing a smile at the sight of his stony stare.

As she marched to the wreck parked next to his car, Dean stood in the open doorway, half shocked, half irritated, shaking his head.

She’d threatened him.

It took her three tries to get her heap started, taking a little something away from her dramatic exit. But not much. As he closed the door, he could hardly believe it. Quiet little Haley, who used to watch him with those amazing eyes so long ago, had threatened him. And he didn’t doubt for a second that she meant what she said. To think, he actually felt sorry for her for a second there.

He would have to get things done tonight. That was probably better anyway. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get the hell out of this town.

Can her sixth sense be enough to stop the murders or does the killer have his sights set on her as his next victim?

 

The Killer Among Them

© 2008 Anita Whiting

 

Katarina Ramon is a busy, well respected attorney in New York City. Yet the dreams still torment her. More than dreams—they are replays of the clairvoyant flashes that show every detail of her parents’ murder years ago. She resents her gift, these sudden flashes that come out of nowhere, but accepts that she can see things others can’t.

When another couple is found murdered in her small hometown, her aunt begs her to come home and assist in the investigation.

Police Chief Cole Collins isn’t at all pleased with Katarina’s interference. Nor is he immune to her charms. Yet with someone in this little southern town is continuing the same murderous ways that killed her parents, Katarina and Cole are left with no choice but to work together.

Katarina’s vivid memories and sixth sense may stop the killing—or make her the murderer’s next victim.

 

Enjoy the following excerpt for The Killer Among Them:

Cole guided the car to a stop in front of a one-story log structure enclosed on all four sides by a large covered porch. Huge trees surrounded it, keeping the sun’s glare to a minimum. With the bubbling stream in front and the lack of neighbors, the scene was one of tranquility.

“Wow, Andy wasn’t kidding when he said the previous owners fixed it up. It looked nothing like this when I was here last.” She opened the door and slid out, her gaze moving to the newly constructed pier jutting out into the water. “That porch is new and the wood has been treated and cleaned.”

“Can we go fishing?” Tiffany asked excitedly. “Dad brought worms and some poles.”

“Only if you promise to stay put on the pier,” Cole warned.

“We promise. Come on, Liv.”

“I don’t know how to fish,” Olivia protested.

“That doesn’t matter, I’ll show you,” Tiffany said, urging her friend forward.

“Well, I’ll tell you right now, I’m not putting those yucky worms on the hook.”

Kat shook her head, smiling up at Cole as the girls headed to the car to get their gear. “A dollar says she’ll be baiting her own hook by the time we leave.”

He shook his head. “Not a good bet because I know you’re right.”

Kat reached in her pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “While I’m here, I might as well have a look around. Andy says it’s for sale and he has the listing,” she explained, walking up the wide steps. She couldn’t resist sitting in one of the big rockers strategically placed to view the slow moving creek.

Cole followed her slowly, noting the way the sunlight peeking through the trees turned her hair to gold and highlighted the blue of her eyes.

“I’m already in love and I haven’t even been inside yet,” Kat admitted as he walked up.

Cole had to resist the urge to run a hand through those silken strands. There was an attraction here that he wasn’t at all pleased about. He had no intention of starting another relationship when he was still smarting from the last one. “Then I suggest you unlock that door and we’ll take a look,” he said, his voice more curt than he intended.

She gave him a long, cool stare as she rose. “You certainly don’t have to accompany me, Cole. I’m a big girl, really. In fact, I don’t even have to have a man’s opinion. Imagine that,” she finished, turning her back to him as she fit the key in the lock.

He ran a hand through his hair, irritated with himself. “Hell, Katarina, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

She turned back to look up at him. “Let’s set a few ground rules here, Cole. Number one, I’m not your ex-wife. Don’t use her as a measuring stick for what I do or how I do it. Number two, I’m here because my aunt thought, as ridiculous as it sounds, that I might be able to help in some way regarding these murder investigations.”

Before she could turn back, he caught her arm, squeezing lightly. “I’ve got a few rules of my own, Kat. Number one,” he mimicked, “my ex doesn’t even stand on the same plain as you. Number two, as much as I hate to admit it, I sure as hell can use any help you can give me in regards to those murders.”

“Damn it, you’re good,” she tossed over her shoulder as she opened the door. “I like to fight and you ruined it.”

He laughed. “I’ll remember that the next time…”

She stopped so abruptly that he almost ran her over. “My goodness, will you look at this place,” she said, spinning in a circle. She pointed to the area around the fireplace. “This used to be a very small room. They’ve taken out the wall. What a difference.”

Cole liked the openness of the floor plan. The planks on the floor were a warm pine and the ceiling soared to the open rafters. A stone fireplace dominated one wall with pretty red overstuffed couches in front of it while a small but nicely appointed kitchen occupied the opposite wall. It still smelled slightly of paint and freshly sawn wood.

“The word cabin sure doesn’t seem to fit this place,” he said, examining the large round oak table next to the kitchen. “It’s obvious someone spent a lot of money sprucing things up. Wonder why they’re selling?”

Kat opened the cupboards, amazed to find them stocked with all kinds of canned goods. “Andy told me the couple that bought the place fixed it up then had a rather nasty disagreement.”

“Must have been really nasty to spend all this money and then sell.”

“It was,” she said, lips curving. “Apparently the problem was which couple was going to occupy the place, the husband and wife or the husband and mistress.”

He raised a brow then laughed. “I see.”

Kat explored the rest of the house. There was a small laundry room, a half bath and one large bedroom with its own very nice bathroom, which included a huge spa tub.

“What I wouldn’t give for sinking in that tub with a bunch of candles burning and a good book,” she sighed, running a hand along the fancy faucet.

“Funny,” Cole said, leaning against the tile wall, “my thoughts lean more toward a glass of wine and a woman.”

She could feel herself blushing at the look in his eyes. “Typical man versus woman imagination,” she scoffed, straightening.

“Oh yeah?” Before she knew it, she found herself against his broad chest. Her heart began to beat faster as their gazes locked.

It was there before she knew it. A glimpse of him, face grim and set, behind bars. Jail bars. A moment later, it was gone.

“What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

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