The fact was Terri knew he loved her just as he knew she loved him. They were soul mates, and nothing trumped a soul mate. So this guy, Luke Reed, had nothing to hold her with. Randy gritted his teeth as he tugged open the shower curtain and stepped under the warm spray. Luke Reed was going to pay for trying to drive a wedge between him and Terri. If there was one thing Randy didn’t tolerate, it was another man laying hands on his wife. Before the night was through, that man was going to wish he had never laid eyes or hands on Terri Cunningham.
With dark thoughts swimming around in his head, Randy toweled off and got dressed. He took time to make sure everything was in its place. When he was finished, he left out the front door as any property owner would, and got into his truck. Backing down the drive, one thought was foremost in his mind: He couldn’t wait to see the look on Terri’s face when she finally saw him.
Chapter Sixteen
Terri stood in front of the open window watching the sun slowly dip below the tree line. The shadows grew longer, stretching their limbs as if awakening from a long sleep. The picture before her was one of serenity, but inside Terri was anything but serene.
This morning she had awakened feeling like a truck had run over her. She knew the reason for it, as it happened about the same time every month since she was twelve, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Depression weighed on her like a ton of bricks and she had to drag herself out of bed.
Finding Luke bent over a mug of hot coffee, his nose buried in the Sunday morning paper, was becoming a routine. Terri plopped down beside him. “I’m calling off,” she told him bluntly, then stole his cup for herself. He let her take it, and poured himself another cup.
“Rough night?” he asked, seating himself beside her again.
“You could say that,” she skirted, sipping gingerly at the hot liquid.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly, a teasing tone in his voice. “You’ve given me no notice, so that leaves the bar shorthanded…”
Terri knocked his elbow with her own. “Come on,” she begged. “I’ll clean your house, do your laundry, scrub your floors with my toothbrush. Just give me today. I’ve never asked you for anything, not in all the time I’ve worked for you.”
Luke blew out a heavy breath, studying her with one eyebrow arched.
“Please,” she begged, batting her eyelashes playfully.
“Not even a week, and already she’s taking advantage of the boss,” Luke huffed. “I should fire you on principle alone,” he said, but his words lacked conviction.
“You’re heart’s too big to fire me,” Terri said confidently. “If you did, you and I both know you’d lie awake in bed every night wondering where I was, how I was doing, if I was cold or hungry… You don’t have it in you, Luke Reed.”
Grabbing her around the waist, Luke hauled her up against him and kissed her. “You’re too clever for your own good,” he stated, then released her. “You can have the day,” he said, “but I expect this house to be sparkling when I get back.”
“Slave driver!” Terri called after him. Once he was out of sight, her smile slipped and Terri felt the full onslaught of depression wash back over her like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her. She managed to keep a happy face whenever Luke came into the room, but it was difficult to maintain. She knew he sensed the change in her, but, thankfully, he didn’t press. By the time he left for work that evening, Terri was relieved. She truly enjoyed his company, but she preferred to dwell in her pit of sorrow alone.
Now, Terri was faced with complete and total silence. For the most part, she was fine with it. She had been living in isolation for more than a year now, so she should be used to it, but now that she’d tasted the warmth of basic human companionship again, she didn’t want it to go away. She liked sharing her space with someone else.
Pushing away from the window, Terri sought out paper and a pen so she could make a list of everything that she intended to get done around the house. She had meant what she said; she would clean the house for Luke. It was the least she could do to thank him for taking her into his home, but she also wanted to do it because she needed to keep busy.
In a kitchen junk drawer, she found what she needed: a small tablet of lined paper and a red pen. In her best cursive, she wrote out To-Do List. She made a numbered column down the left side and started filling each line in, starting with the basics.
Load dishwasher
Sweep and mop floors
Wipe tables
Make beds
Clean bathrooms
Take out the trash
Feeling that she’d covered just about everything, she got to work.
***
Detective Young was sound asleep when his phone began vibrating, yanking him rudely from a very nice dream. He had been running all day, trying to piece together what little information he had on the case. Unfortunately, he didn’t get far.
After his visit at Terri Cunningham’s house turned up a soon-to-be ex-husband who put out enough bad vibes to give him radiation poisoning, he intended on stopping in at her place of employment and cornering her there instead. He’d just pulled into the club’s packed parking lot when his cell went off. New information on another case he was working on had just come in and he had to bail on his current mission, placing it on the back burner for the day. He’d been running for almost sixteen hours straight, so he didn’t appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night.
Eyes still closed, he fumbled around the night stand until he found it. Blindly pushing buttons, he eventually managed to answer the call, saying in a voice thick with sleep, “Yeah?”
“Howard.” At the sound of his chief’s voice, Howard pushed himself to sitting and tossed his feet over the side of the bed. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his boss hit him with the news. “I just got a call from the hospital. Brent Lefebvre is awake.”
Howard was already moving, jabbing his legs into a pair of pants he scooped off the floor. They were a little wrinkled, but they would do. “Is he talking?” He worked the buttons on his shirt while heading into the bathroom for his toothbrush.
“Oh yeah. You’re going to want to get down there.”
“I’m on it.” Howard punchedEND and stuffed the phone in his pocket. He splashed cold water on his face to perk himself up, and scrubbed his teeth with such force his dentist would cringe. He ran a comb through his hair, but he didn’t have time to tame the stubborn colic that sprang up after each pass. He tossed the brush on the counter and called it good.
“Honey?” He turned to find his wife standing in the door watching him, her arms folded over her chest, her eyes filled with concern. “Is everything okay?”
Kissing her on the forehead, Howard pushed past her, searching out his shoes. “Everything is fine,” he said distractedly. Had he left them under the bed or somewhere downstairs? “But I have to get down to the hospital.”
Tugging her robe on, she sat down on the edge of the bed. Her body language was stiff, and her eyes tracked him around the room. “Is this about one of your cases?”
“Yeah.” Where was his wallet? And his keys? He patted his pockets and scanned the room, finally locating them on the highboy.
“I wish you could tell me what is going on,” she said, a small crease forming between her pale brows.
Howard stopped midstride to look at her. “I wish I could, too, Faye,” he said sincerely. “But until the case is closed…”
“Yeah, I know,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You can’t talk about it.”
Howard stared at her for a long time, wondering what the right thing to do here was. He could tell his wife was upset, hated being left in the dark, but that was the nature of his job. A part of him wanted to tell her everything, it wasn’t like she would blab it to the world, but it wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. His detective side was pulling him toward the door, but he fought it long enough to reassure her.
“Are we alright here?” he asked, clas
ping her shoulders.
She reached up and patted one of his hands. “We’re fine. I knew what I was getting into when I married you. It’s just hard sometimes, you know?”
He nodded solemnly. He knew all too well, but there was nothing to be done about it. “I have to go,” he said, kissing her briefly before he spun and was out the door.
***
Randy cruised down the darkened country road at a steady pace, searching intently for the illusive path that would lead him to his wayward wife. His trip had been delayed a bit, but if there was one thing he had learned while on the force, it was that you never went into any situation unprepared. So, he had stopped off at a little mom and pop hardware store for a pair of heavy duty metal cutters, thanks to the information that his tracker had passed along to him.
Now, he was killing time turning around and around, traveling the same two mile stretch of highway until he recognized every stick and stone along the way. He was preparing to do a U-turn again, when he caught headlights in his rearview mirror. Pulling onto the shoulder to get out of the way, he allowed the car to pass.
“What the…” Randy sat forward, squinting out the window as the car’s headlights caught on a rough clearing that he knew he’d passed by several times before. It was so subtle; no one would ever know it was there unless they knew to look for it. There were no markers or anything, just a patch of bare ground canopied by trees and surrounded by wild bushes that helped mask its appearance.
He knew instantly it was what he was looking for.
Making sure no cars were coming, Randy turned the truck down the beaten path, taking it extra slow to dampen the sound of his arrival as much as to spare him from a bruised ass. If anyone ever managed to stumble upon this sorry excuse for a road, they’d be so afraid of breaking an axle or popping a tire, they’d turn around again.
There was only one reason Randy could think of that a man would go to these lengths to keep himself hidden, and that meant he had some skeletons of his own in his closet. “What are you hiding from?” he muttered, then cursed when his tire slammed into a particularly deep pothole.
He didn’t know how long he’d been driving at the two-miles-per-hour pace he’d set, which still seemed to be too fast for this road, when the glow of artificial lights broke through the trees. Excitement roared inside him as he pulled the truck to a stop at the side of the road, not bothering to hide it. Why should he? He was here to retrieve his wife, after all.
As he walked up the expansive lawn, his bag of supplies slung over his shoulder, his feet light on the grass, Randy sized up the house. It wasn’t anything spectacular on the outside, but from what he knew from the Intel he’d received, it had enough going on inside to make up for it. Lights were on in every room in the house. Every curtain on the first floor was drawn, preventing him from seeing in as he rounded the house to the back where he was told the cellar doors would be, marking his entrance into the house.
Thanks to the lights inside and the glow of the moon overhead, his path was easy to follow. A very sturdy set of doors leading into the ground appeared as he rounded the back of the house and Randy whistled low when he set his eyes on the heavy duty chains wrapped tightly around the handles. This guy wasn’t playing around. Whatever he was protecting against, he was sure that his security didn’t stop at a set of chains, but he would have to cross that road if and when he came to it.
Dropping the heavy bag on the ground in front of his feet, Randy unzipped it and fished around for the cutters. Tool in hand, he placed his foot on one door and bent to line up the blade with the metal. When he had explained to the man at the store what he needed the cutters for, he expected him to lead him to some glorified pinchers. Instead, he had been pointed to a motorized hand tool with a rotating diamond edge blade. As he clicked it on, he worried briefly about the noise it created, but it made such quick work of the lock that he was done in no time.
Tossing the tool back in the bag, Randy ducked between the doors and began his descent into the pitch black basement below. In a few short minutes, he would be holding his wife in his arms again.
Chapter Seventeen
Evenings were peak operating hours for any hospital, and as Howard stepped through the emergency room doors of St. Anne, he got a taste of the chaos firsthand. Visitors and concerned family members crisscrossed paths with nurses who were busy tending to patients, answering phones, and carrying out various activities that he had no interest in.
Focused, Howard walked a straight path down the center of the wide hallway, forcing people to walk around him to avoid being mowed over. He wasn’t going to slow or stop for anything until he reached his destination.
Howard hit the elevators and punched the button for the third floor where the ICU was located at the end of the south wing. Elevator music hummed in his ears and the popping of the cables set his nerves even more on edge as he pictured one of them snapping and sending the car plummeting into the basement with him in it. He had never trusted elevators.
The second the doors slid open, Howard stepped off, eager to be free of the metal enclosure. Cutting a left, he bypassed the nurses’ station and took a right where the hall branched off in opposite directions. Brent’s room was the fifth on the left.
He found Brent propped up in his bed, an IV in his arm and looking like he could use a shower and a haircut. He was still attached to several monitors. His mother, Teresa, was hovering over him on one side of the bed, shoving spoonfuls of green Jell-O in his face and following it up with a straw attached to an unmarked beverage. One of the boys he’d interviewed early on in the investigation, Marcus if his memory served, sat in a chair opposite looking bored and completely unaffected.
“Mom,” Brent complained, pushing her hand away. “Only one of my arms is broken. I don’t need you to feed me.”
“But you just woke up,” she insisted. “You’re still weak. Why won’t you let me help you?”
Brent groaned. “It’s embarrassing,” he whined, glancing at his friend. “It’s bad enough Marcus has to see it, but what if one of the other guys shows up and sees you feeding me like a baby?”
Teresa’s expression showed the sting of rejection plainly and Howard chose that moment to step fully inside and make his presence known. “Glad to see you awake, son.” Brent and Marcus looked up, startled, at the same moment Teresa spun around.
“Detective,” she said, greeting him with a wide smile. Any indication that she had been upset had completely vanished. “How long have you been standing there? Come in.”
“Not too long,” Howard replied as he approached the foot of Brent’s bed. “How are you feeling?”
Brent lay back on his pillows and closed his eyes momentarily. “Got a pretty good headache, but other than that, I feel okay.”
“That’s good to hear,” Howard said with a friendly smile. He didn’t want to waste any more time. Producing the tablet of paper he always kept on hand for these types of situations, he clicked his pen and looked meaningfully back at Brent, ready to get down to business. “I need you to try and answer a few questions for me. Sound good?” At Brent’s slight nod, he continued. “Do you remember what happened to you?”
“I don’t remember a damn thing, but I’m told some freak ran me down with his truck.” The fierce look on Brent’s face told Howard that one day, no matter what he chose to do with himself in life, he would make waves.
“That’s understandable,” Howard said, feeling a shot of disappointment at the expected but unwelcome news. “Can you tell me anything? Anything at all?”
“Well, it’s kinda hard to take notes when you’re unconscious.”
Teresa spoke up, her tone apologetic. “The doctor said that people with a brain injury don’t remember anything that happened immediately before.”
Howard clicked his pen and returned it to his breast pocket. His disappointment was clear in the tone of voice he used. “Well, I guess we’re back to square one, then.” Tipping his head at Teresa, he glan
ced briefly at Brent and then at Marcus, who wore an interesting expression that he couldn’t quite read, before wishing them a good night.
He caught Doctor Pinsky just coming down the hall, and stepped in front of him, bringing him to a stop just outside the room.
“Doctor,” he said, leaving the pleasantries at home this time. “I was just in with the Lefebvre kid. His mother said it might be a while for his memory to return?”
Expression dour, Pinsky strode past him. After returning a folder to the nurse’s station, he turned back to him. “I know how badly you want to get answers, Detective, but I’m afraid you won’t find them here. Like I told Ms. Lefebvre, with the kind of injuries Brent has received, he likely won’t ever recover his memories from that night. Maybe a few from earlier on in the evening, but not from the accident itself.”
Howard pursed his lips, not liking what he was hearing.
“Personally,” continued Dr. Pinsky, “I have never seen a patient regain memory after experiencing something like that. I’m afraid you’ll just have to get your information elsewhere.”
Howard glared at him. “Well, I already looked. There is no information ‘elsewhere.’”
“Then I guess you’ll have to move on,” Pinsky said with a shrug, then walked away, leaving Howard standing there alone.
He couldn’t believe that no one, not one person he had interviewed, knew a thing about what happened that night. Determined more than ever to have answers, Howard stomped his determination into the tiled floor as he approached the elevators. Halfway down the hall, he heard the quick footfalls of someone approaching him from behind.
“Detective. Uh, Mr. Young?”
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