Intimate Knowledge

by Amanda Stevens

  From her earlier surveillance of the building, she’d determined that the hospital was laid out in the shape of a capital I. The front entrance was located in the top portion, along with the administrative offices. The long wing that ran straight back from the lobby housed patients’ rooms, and the bottom portion of the I, where Penelope now stood, was where she’d always assumed the physical therapy unit was located.

  The women’s voices grew louder as they neared the doorway, and rather than taking time to look around for a hiding place, Penelope darted down the corridor. Turning a corner, she took another moment to reconnoiter. She had no idea where the guards would be at that time of night, but she was far more concerned with the security cameras that monitored the hallway. Simon’s room was about halfway down, and Penelope wasn’t at all certain she could evade the lens of the camera before it turned once again in her direction.

  But she didn’t have much choice because the nurses were coming up quickly behind her. Sprinting down the long hallway, Penelope skidded to a halt in front of Simon’s door, then ducked inside.

  The light was off, and she waited at the door until her vision adjusted to the darkness. Then she moved swiftly to Simon’s bedside.

  He was gone.

  Her heart in her throat, Penelope flattened her hands against the bed. The sheets weren’t even warm. He’d been away for some time.

  She leaned against the bed for support. The knowledge that her instincts had been dead-on about this place made her legs go weak with fear. What had they done with Simon?

  She had to find him and get him out of this place. Unless…

  She closed her eyes for a moment. Unless he’d already left under his own steam.

  Penelope didn’t want to think about what that might mean for her. For them. She didn’t even know how to feel about such a possibility. All she could focus on at the moment was finding Simon. Then she’d get answers.

  Moving back to the door, she drew it open and glanced up and down the hall. The coast was clear, except for the cameras, which she could do nothing about.

  After closing the door behind her, she retraced her steps down the hall, but instead of making a beeline for the rear door, she searched along the back corridor until she located a set of double doors labeled Physical Therapy.

  Well, that answered one question. Fairhaven really did have a P.T. unit. Penelope had begun to wonder if the place was even a legitimate rehabilitation facility.

  Pushing open one of the doors, she slipped inside. The lights were off in here, as well, but she could make out the darker shapes of the equipment, and she could smell the faint scent of chlorine from a pool or spa. Simon wasn’t there, of course. At this time of night, no one was.

  Penelope turned to leave, but just as she pressed her hand against the door, she heard footsteps hurrying down the hallway in her direction. And then she heard voices. Loud voices. Panicked voices.

  The door closed with a swoosh as Penelope whirled and frantically searched the gloomy space for a place to hide. Moving cautiously away from the exit, she dropped behind a piece of equipment just as someone burst inside and the lights came on.

  Peering around the stainless steel machine, Penelope spotted two security guards. She drew back and tried to curl herself into a tight, invisible ball.

  “You take the right side, I’ll take the left. She has to be around here somewhere.”

  “Who was the idiot that let her get inside in the first place?”

  “She came in with a couple of the nurses. Jackson must have been asleep at the monitors.”

  “There’ll be hell to pay for that.”

  “There’ll be help to pay if we don’t find her. So let’s get to it.”

  The guards separated to begin a methodical search of the room. Penelope glanced around in panic. She was safe enough at the moment, but it was only a matter of time before they found her hiding place. And if she made a run for it, they just might shoot her. The law would be on their side, too, because not only was she trespassing—they’d made a big deal of that earlier, hadn’t they?—her actions lately might even be considered unstable.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t go around blabbing about what I saw. People might start thinking you’ve gone over the edge.”

  She put a fist to her mouth, trying to control her chattering teeth.

  Was that why Simon’s father had been so nice to her earlier? Did he think she’d gone over the edge?

  Or maybe that’s what he wanted people to think about her—

  Concentrate! She had to find a way out of this mess.

  She could hear one of the guards moving toward her. He was only seconds away—

  The lights suddenly went out, and the guard nearest Penelope cursed softly when he bumped into a machine. The other one called out, “Hey, you okay?”

  No answer.

  The guard’s voice rose in concern. “Frank, you all right?”

  Penelope listened to the silence as her heart raced in fear. She expected at any moment for the lights to come back on, but nothing happened. No lights. No sound. Nothing.

  After a few moments, she ventured a peek. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness so that she could once again make out the shapes of the equipment. But nothing moved among the shadows. It was as if the two guards had vanished into thin air.

  Penelope didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t stay hidden forever. The lights would eventually come back on. More guards would come looking for her. She had to find a way out of that room, and now seemed as good a time as any to make a run for it.

  But as she got to her feet, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth. A voice whispered in her ear, “Don’t scream. Don’t make a sound, understand? I’m going to get you out of here. In one piece, if you’ll cooperate.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Penelope awakened slowly. Her head pounded, and the sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window hurt her eyes. She threw an arm over her face to filter the brilliance.

  Wait a minute….

  Sunlight? Her bedroom window?

  Trying to free herself from the death grip sleep seemed to have on her, Penelope lifted herself up on her elbows and looked around. Evidently, she was back in Houston, in her apartment, in her bedroom, lying in her own bed. How she’d gotten there she had no idea.

  Okay, think! a little voice commanded inside her throbbing head as she fell back against the pillows. What was the last thing she remembered?

  Mexico. The police station. Alex. The airport.

  Suddenly, it all came rushing back. She remembered seeing a man who looked exactly like Simon in Mexico. And then Tonio Vargas had been murdered, and she’d been questioned by the police. She might even be in jail at that moment if not for Alex. He’d come to her rescue and then he’d sent her home.

  Only, she hadn’t gone home. She’d caught the next flight to Dallas. She’d gone to see Simon, and had even pricked his finger with a pin to make sure that he was still in a coma.

  Later, she’d driven back to Fairhaven, slipped inside and…

  She bolted upright. Something had happened to Simon.

  She remembered now, and she had to—

  What? Rescue him?

  She wouldn’t know where to start, and besides, the way her head felt, she wasn’t certain she could even drag herself out of bed.

  Gingerly, she massaged her temples, trying to clear her head and make the pain go away.

  She’d experienced the same strange disorientation yesterday morning when she’d awakened in her bedroom at Alex’s villa. And then the police had come to question her about Tonio’s murder.

  Panic welled inside Penelope. She couldn’t remember what had happened to her on the night of Tonio’s murder, and now she couldn’t remember anything about last night, either. What if someone else turned up dead?

  A knock sounded on her front door and Penelope jumped. Her heart started to pound as terror shot up her backbone. Who was at her front door? The police?

&n
bsp; Don’t answer it, that same little voice warned her.

  If she just ignored the knock, maybe whoever was out there would go away.

  The knock came again, followed by her doorbell. It rang three times in quick succession. Obviously, her vis itor wasn’t going to give up until Penelope answered the door.

  Throwing off the covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, pausing for a moment until her head stopped swimming. Then getting up, she put out her hands for balance as she staggered into the living room.

  Glancing down, she saw that she was dressed in her favorite pajamas, the blue ones with the sheep and clouds and the matching camisole. She didn’t remember putting them on.

  Standing on tiptoes, she peered out the peephole. A woman stood outside her door, but her head was turned so that Penelope couldn’t see her face.

  “Who is it?” she called through the door.

  The woman spun at the sound of Penelope’s voice. “It’s Helen. Pen, are you all right?”

  Helen? What on earth was she doing there so early? Penelope wondered. Her sister normally didn’t get up until noon. Then again, judging by the brightness of the sun, it could very well be after lunch for all Penelope knew.

  She opened the door and Helen gave her a quick once-over. “Are you okay?” She breezed past Penelope into the apartment. “We’ve all been worried sick about you. Where have you been?”

  “Mexico,” Penelope said with a shrug as she closed the front door. “But you knew that.”

  “Of course I knew you went to Mexico,” Helen said in exasperation. “I helped you pack, remember? But when Alex called yesterday morning to say he’d put you on a plane back to Houston…and then when you didn’t show up…when we didn’t hear from you…” Her eyes turned accusatory. “Where on earth have you been?”

  Penelope scratched her arm. “I went to Dallas to see Simon.”

  “To see Simon?” Helen asked incredulously. “Just like that? Without telling anyone?”

  “I didn’t know that I had to account for every minute of my time,” Penelope grumbled. “I wasn’t expected back from Mexico until today so I didn’t think I’d be missed.”

  Helen gave her a reproachful look. “Of course you were missed. Mother is fit to be tied. Thankfully, Alex was able to calm her down—”

  “Alex?” Penelope’s head jerked up. “He’s back, too?”

  “No, he phoned from Manzanillo.”

  “What exactly did he tell you?” Penelope asked carefully.

  Helen shrugged. “Not much. He said there’d been some kind of hitch in your plans, a misunderstanding or something, and you’d decided to come back early.” Helen lifted an elegant brow. “Care to elaborate?”

  When Penelope didn’t answer, Helen gave her another long scrutiny. “Never mind. You can tell me all about it later. If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like hell.”

  You should see me from the inside, Penelope thought.

  Helen took her arm and gave her a little push toward the bedroom. “Why don’t you go jump in the shower while I make a pot of coffee? You can tell me all about your trip when you get out.”

  Penelope balked. “Wait a minute. Do you actually know how to make coffee?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Helen gave her another little push. “Of course I know how to make coffee. I haven’t always had servants at my beck and call, you know.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  Helen’s smile turned wry. “Okay, I have. But I still know how to make coffee. I’m very good at it, as a matter of fact. So go jump in the shower, and when you’re finished, I’ll amaze you with my talents.”

  Penelope didn’t feel like arguing so she did as she was instructed. Plus, she found her sister’s presence a comfort. Which was strange because Helen wasn’t exactly the Rock of Gibraltar. Not someone Penelope would normally think to lean on or confide in, but she suddenly had the urge to do both. Her oldest sister was flighty, shallow, and self-absorbed. The perennial beauty queen. And if the coffee she made was even fit to drink, Penelope would, indeed, be amazed.

  Still, for some reason, she was glad that Helen had come over, and though Penelope frequently found herself irritated by her family’s meddling, she had to admit that she was touched by their concern. And she was suddenly very glad to be home.

  In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face while she waited for the shower to heat.

  Testing the water, she started to strip, then realized she’d left her robe in the bedroom. As she opened the bathroom door to step outside, she caught a glimpse of Helen in her bedroom. She had the closet door open and was busily rummaging through Penelope’s things.

  She must be looking for her dresses, Penelope thought and started to call out where she’d put them. But just then Helen turned, dragged a chair over to the closet and began to search through the boxes on the top shelf.

  What on earth was she doing? Penelope wondered in alarm. Evidently not finding what she was looking for, Helen stepped off the chair and carefully placed it back where she’d gotten it. Closing the closet door, she turned.

  Quickly, Penelope stepped back before her sister could see her, but she still had a view of her bedroom through the crack in the door. As she watched, Helen walked over and knelt to peer under the bed. Then she stood, glanced around one last time and left the room.

  Penelope stepped out of the bathroom and tiptoed down the hall. Helen was on her cell phone, pacing back and forth in front of the living-room windows.

  “I’m telling you, it’s not here,” she said in a low, urgent voice. “I’ve looked everywhere. Are you sure she didn’t leave it somewhere in Dallas?” As Helen paused to listen, she gnawed on her perfectly manicured thumbnail, a testament to her state of agitation. Penelope had never, ever seen her sister do that before.

  “All right, I’ll do what I can on this end,” she finally said. “But if I ask too many questions, she’s bound to get suspicious.”

  More confused than she’d ever been in her life, Penelope backed down the hall and padded to the bathroom.

  SHE QUICKLY SHOWERED and dressed, and then hurried out to confront her sister. She would simply demand to know what Helen was up to.

  But her sister was nowhere to be found.

  A note propped against the still-dripping coffee-maker read: Sorry, had to run. Call you later. Love, H.

  As Penelope read the note a second time, her hands began to tremble, and a thousand questions bombarded her.

  What had her sister been looking for in her bed room? Who had she been talking to on the phone?

  Why had Alex Salizar shown up in so timely a manner in Manzanillo? How had he known that Penelope was in trouble?

  Who had killed poor Tonio Vargas, and why?

  Why did Penelope keep having those terrible black outs? The memory lapses?

  And more important, why did she have a terrible feeling that everything was somehow connected to Simon?

  WHEN SHE WHEELED into the parking lot at the museum a little while later, she was shocked to see two squad cars pulled to the curb in front of the building. Normally, Penelope parked around back and used the rear entrance, but today she’d wanted to see the progress of the renovations while she’d been away.

  She sat for a moment, staring at the two blue cruisers as panic welled inside her. What were the police doing at the Morehart? Had they been notified by the Manzanillo authorities? Were they here to take her into custody and then extradite her back to Mexico to face murder charges?

  Her hands tightened around the steering wheel. What should she do? Call a lawyer? Her father? Make a run for it?

  Calm down. She drew a deep, cleansing breath and then released it. Just go in and find out what they want.

  But when she climbed out of the car, she was surprised to discover how unsteady her legs were. Strapping her leather purse over her shoulder, she crossed the parking lot—shaded by the gorgeous water oaks that were prominent in the area—and he
aded up the stone steps of the museum.

  Under other circumstances, she would have stopped to admire the building’s Gothic facade. The gray stone structure, adorned with winged gargoyles, reminded her of the architecture she’d seen on a trip to Berlin when she’d been in high school. Paris had captivated most of her friends’ imaginations, but the German capital had fascinated Penelope with its dark history and gloomy underground cafés.

  She was also reminded that she was to have been married at the Morehart. She’d imagined herself dozens of times on Simon’s arm, hurrying down the stone steps as well-wishers showered them with rose petals. Instead, Penelope had nervously paced her office that day, fluctuating between worry and rage, as the minutes ticked away. Finally, her father had sent everyone home, and Penelope had gone back to her apartment alone to drown her sorrows in champagne. Later that same night, the call had come from the hospital.

  Hard to believe her aborted wedding ceremony had been just two short months ago, because in some ways, if felt like years had gone by. Penelope hated to admit it even to herself, but there were times when she felt as if she hardly knew Simon anymore. It was as if the love affair had happened to two other people and she had only been a distant observer.

  Sighing, she entered the museum, but rather than detour to the wing under construction as she’d planned, she headed up to her office. Most days, she took the stairs for exercise; today she rode the elevator because her legs were still shaking.

  Jane looked up in surprise when Penelope got off the elevator.

  “What are you doing here? We didn’t expect you back until late this afternoon.”

  “I took an earlier flight.” Penelope glanced warily around the office. “Jane, why are there police cars out front?”

  The older woman got up and rushed over to Penelope. “Something terrible has happened.”

  Penelope’s heart dropped at the stricken look on Jane’s face. She almost never lost her cool. “Oh, my God, what is it? What’s happened?”