"How did she take the news?"
"She wasn't too happy. He was furious that I'd brought it up. She asked me if I'd take her home, and I said I would. Grant went berserk. He accused me of trying to take her away from him. He came at me, we fought, and he drew a gun."
"He carried a gun on his wedding day?"
"Always. He makes some powerful enemies in his line of work. Anyway, he shot me. The first bullet grazed my face. The second hit my shoulder. I guess I lost consciousness. The last thing I remember was Grant running out of the door after Sarah, yelling that she belonged to him."
"My God." Pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. "No wonder she had nightmares about being chased."
"Someone called the police. They apprehended Grant on a downtown street. Sarah must have eluded him—maybe cut through a shop or a side street. I'm assuming she was then hit by Annie Tompkins's car. I found out later we were both admitted to the same hospital at the same time."
Connor thought back to the story Sarah had told him—about waking up in the hospital with total amnesia and no identification on her. He understood now why she hadn't been carrying a purse, but… "Wasn't she wearing a bridal gown?"
"Nope. Some light-colored suit, if I remember right."
The realization hit him, then. If she hadn't married Tierney that day, she couldn't have married him at all. Annie had brought her straight home to Sugar Falls from the hospital.
"I kept waiting for Sarah to call me and ask how I was recuperating," Jack remarked. "She never did. I assumed she'd either gone back to Grant and was afraid to call me, or that she'd taken off for parts unknown to get away from him."
"Why didn't he look for her, or file a missing-persons report?"
"He's got a history of women running away from him. It's nothing new. And, until a few days ago, he's been in jail. Assault with a deadly weapon."
Sarah couldn't have married him. The knowledge pulsed through Connor with every beat of his heart. Struggling to understand the situation entirely—to be sure he wasn't jumping to a false conclusion—he questioned, "So then, why did you start looking for her?"
"Sarah's Aunt Martha called Grant's mother, who still lives next door to me. When she mentioned to me that Sarah's aunt hadn't heard from her since the wedding, I got worried and started checking around for her."
"But you told Annie her name might be Sarah Myers Tierney. If she'd called off the wedding, why would she have Tierney's name?"
"For all I know, she could have changed her mind and married Tierney while he was in jail. You did say she went back to him, right?"
"Today. A few hours ago." Angry at himself for not stopping her, Connor released a long, hard breath, cursed himself and tried to make sense of the situation. "She told me she was married to him, but she can't be. She's been here, in Sugar Falls, since the accident."
And she hadn't remembered Tierney's existence until last night. Yet, she'd said she loved him. Just remembering it pierced him with fresh pain. Had she gone back to Tierney with the intention of marrying him? He couldn't stand the thought. "Why the hell did she go back to him?" he blurted in frustration.
"I know this is hard to accept, Doc, but some women won't leave a relationship, no matter how bad it gets."
He couldn't believe that of Sarah. She had too much spirit to walk back into an abusive relationship; too much vitality, inner strength and self-esteem.
With a bemused shake of his shaggy blond head, Jack stated, "It took my sister two hellish years to wise up. She insisted she was in love."
Connor shut his eyes. "Do you love him?" he'd asked Sarah. "Yes."
But damn it, he didn't believe her. When he'd gazed into her eyes, he'd seen her love … for him. When they'd shared long, hot kisses and passionate lovemaking, he'd felt her love … for him. It could have been gratitude, fondness or lust, but his heart kept telling him that it had been love.
Why, then, had she returned to a man from whom she'd run in terror?
A possibility struck Connor. Maybe she hadn't remembered the ugly scene at the chapel. Maybe she'd pieced together incomplete memories and had come up with the wrong picture.
He could see how that might have happened.
She'd remembered a man pushing a wedding band onto her finger. She'd been told by her aunt that she was married to Grant Tierney. Sarah would have taken that as proof that she was, in fact, married. She would have felt a duty to do the honorable thing—to return to her husband and give her marriage a chance.
Which meant she now believed Grant Tierney to be her husband. She wouldn't know his true nature. She wouldn't know that the wrong word could fuel his rage. She might attempt to speak honestly with him. She might admit that she'd lost her virginity to another man.
Tierney would kill her. He'd surely kill her.
A cold fist squeezed Connor's heart. "Do you know where Tierney lives?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Tell me."
Jack frowned and slanted him a questioning glance. "Why?"
"I've got to get Sarah out of there."
"Are you crazy? He'll kill you, man. And you'll only make things worse for Sarah if she wants to stay. She walked back into the relationship with her eyes wide open this time. She saw him shoot me in a jealous rage, yet she still went back to him. As much as I hate it, there's nothing we can do until she's had enough."
"I don't believe she remembers him."
Jack's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"
"Amnesia. She's had amnesia. Memories have started coming back, and yesterday, she told me she remembered her husband. After hearing your story, though, I don't believe she remembers what happened at the chapel … or she wouldn't have gone back to him."
"You never know with women."
Connor leveled a hard, warning stare at Jack. "With Sarah, I know."
The exclusive Denver neighborhood looked vaguely familiar to Sarah from the back seat of the cab as it motored along quiet, tree-lined streets, past the clubhouse, tennis courts and swimming pool. She sat perfectly still with her hands clenched in her lap, trying to reason away the fear.
The cab turned into a sloped driveway, then pulled to a halt in front of sprawling, white-brick trilevel. The driver turned to Sarah, who remained frozen in the back seat. "This is the place, right?"
She barely heard him. Her fear had intensified. "Stay here," she instructed. "Wait for me. I may need to leave soon."
"Take all the time you want. It's your dollar."
She murmured her thanks, then ventured nervously toward the house. She remembered this place, with its manicured gardens, flowering trees and huge evergreens. She'd been happy and impressed when she'd first seen it. Why, then, were her knees shaking as she climbed the front steps?
Bracing herself as best she could, she rang the bell.
The glossy wooden door opened, and Grant Tierney stood there in a casual navy blazer, gray silk shirt and European-style trousers. With his crystal-blue eyes, ebony hair and aristocratic bearing, he could have stepped from the pages of a men's fashion journal or a celebrity life-style magazine.
"Sarah." A smile warmed his face and a sheen sprang to his eyes. "You've come back to me." With hands on her arms, he drew her into the house. "I've missed you so much. You have no idea what it did to me to hear your voice on that recorder, telling me you were coming home." He pulled her against him in a tight embrace.
The crisp scent of his cologne, the wiry feel of his body, the brush of his stiffly styled hair against her temple, brought back more memories of times they'd spent together. Specifically, the days before their wedding.
She'd been having doubts, she remembered suddenly. His embraces, his gazes, his possessive whispers, had begun to seem too cloying. She'd tried to chalk up the feeling to prewedding jitters.
She realized now, it had been much more than that. She hadn't really loved him. She'd been dazzled by his style, his charm and his extravagant attentions, but she hadn't known what it meant to really
fall in love.
She did now. She'd fallen hard for Connor.
"I'm sorry, Grant." She eased back from his embrace, conscious of the fear that kept her from relaxing in his presence. She felt as if she had to watch every word she said; as if she might somehow displease him. "This is hard for me. I've been away for so long. So much has happened."
"I thought you'd left me. I nearly went out of my mind."
She stared at him in dismay. She couldn't possibly stay with him. Had she realized that after the wedding? Was that why she hadn't slept with him; why her virginity had remained intact? Of course, these questions were only a few of many. Why hadn't he filed a missing-persons report? Why hadn't he told Aunt Martha?
"Grant, we need to talk. I have so many questions."
"Of course we need to talk. Where were you? Why didn't you call, or visit me?"
"Visit you?" She frowned. An odd thing for a husband to ask a wife who's been missing for two months.
"You didn't know," he said with sudden realization. "You didn't know that they'd taken me, did you?" He stared at her with eyes that shone a little too brightly.
"Taken you?" The fear stirred within her. "Grant, what do you mean?"
"The police. They arrested me. I've been in jail for over two months. Oh, Sarah, I needed you so much." He wrapped his arms around her in another tight embrace.
And the memories clicked into place. All of them. Vivid, full-blown memories. An unvoiced sob lodged in her throat. He'd shot Jack! She'd stopped the wedding and asked Jack to take her home. And Grant had shot him!
"Can you believe they're blaming me for what happened?" he said, his smooth-shaven chin pressing against her ear. "A man attacks me at my own wedding, and they blame me. Thank heavens I've got good attorneys."
Speechless with horror, she replayed the gruesome finale of their wedding day. There'd been so much blood. She'd thought Jack had died.
But he hadn't. He'd called Annie's house yesterday, looking for her. Jack had survived! How could she have forgotten who he was?
"Let's talk over supper." Grant slid an arm around her and swept her along through a spacious living room decorated in white, chrome and glass. "I've made some of your favorites. We'll start with Crabmeat Jean Baptiste, like they serve at Broussard's. You loved that dish there, remember? You wore your blue velvet dress, and the diamond earrings I'd bought for you in Paris. You were the most beautiful woman in—"
"Grant, stop." She halted near the archway of an elegant dining room whose table had been set for two. The late-afternoon sun slanted in golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the beauty of the crystal, silver and fine china. "I'm sorry if you misunderstood my message on your recorder, but I haven't come back to you."
He drew his dark brows together in a frown.
"I've come to get the luggage I left here," she explained, "and my purse, if you still have it."
"Of course I have it. The luggage is still packed for our honeymoon. I'm ready to start that honeymoon now. I've waited long enough already. We're going to have a cozy night together, and then tomorrow we're flying to Hawaii for a couple of weeks to start our life together, as man and wife." Though his voice was gentle, the determined sparkle in his eyes chilled her.
"Grant, we're not married."
"And whose fault is that?" he asked softly. With a sense of shock, she realized that anger lurked beneath the congeniality in his gaze. "Tell me, Sarah. Whose fault?"
"Mine," she whispered, her fear growing. "I stopped the ceremony because I had doubts. They were valid doubts."
"You walked down that aisle. I put my ring on your finger. I don't care about legalities." He leaned closer and whispered, "You're mine."
She swallowed against rising panic. He was furious that she'd stopped the wedding. So furious that he intended to ignore the fact that she'd stopped it.
"But I don't love you." She backed a few steps away from him, into the living room and closer to the door. She had the cab waiting for her in the driveway. All she had to do was get to it. "Why would you want to be tied to a wife who doesn't love you?"
"Oh, you'll love me." He said it as if he could force her into it. "You made promises to me, Sarah, and you will keep them."
She clasped her hands behind her back to stop them from trembling and casually paced away from him, toward the front door. How could he have hidden this side of his personality from her so completely? "You can't threaten me into marrying you."
Taking two long strides, he caught her face in his hand. "You have already married me." His grip on her chin grew painful. "Tomorrow we'll sign whatever papers we need to complete the process."
"Let go of me," she ordered with all the authority she could command. She couldn't allow the fear to overcome her. She had to keep a calm head.
He lowered his hand from her face, but his nearness forced her to back against the foyer's wall. "I will never let go of you. You will always be mine. And tonight, I'll take what's mine."
She stared into his obsessed eyes and realized she was living her nightmare. He'd been chasing her through all those horrible nights … and now, he'd caught her.
"Let's make this a happy night, Sarah." His gaze roamed her face. "It should be the best night of our married lives. It can be, you know. You'll like it. I promise."
A shiver snaked down her spine.
He swooped in to kiss her. She turned her face. His mouth nudged her cheek. He laughed softly, as if she'd delighted him. "I know you're nervous. That's okay. It's only natural, for your first time." Fervently, he added, "I've waited so long for this. You will not deny me." He covered her mouth with his.
She had to do something before he forced her to a bedroom. He held her too tightly; she couldn't move. If only she could get him to loosen his hold…
"Grant," she gasped, twisting her head to evade his prying kiss, "this won't be my first time."
He stiffened as if he'd been stunned by a live wire.
"While I was gone," she confessed, "I fell in love. And we were … intimate."
Slowly, with a hissing of breath, he drew back from her. A chilling hardness descended over his face, and his eyes pierced her with crystal-blue coldness. "Then you're just like all the rest. Tainted. Dirty. Used."
She gaped at him. How could he possibly be the same man who had once clamored to please her? "I wouldn't put it quite like that," she replied in a trembling voice.
He slammed his fist into the wall. "Whore!"
That supplied the adrenaline rush she needed. Concentrating all her strength into one swift move, she jerked her knee up into his groin. Thud.
A startled look suffused his face. He gasped, paled and doubled over.
With her heart hammering, she pushed the door open and flew down the steps, into the golden sun-glow of early evening.
As she looked back in abject fear, she ran solidly into a man's hard, broad chest. Strong arms clutched her, warm and steadying. "Sarah!" exclaimed the gruff, familiar voice. "Are you okay?"
Connor!
Her heart contracted with wild terror. "What are you doing here? You'll be killed!" She threw a panicked glance toward the door. "Get out of here, Connor. Now!" She pushed at his chest and batted at him wildly, trying to drive him backward, to force him to leave. "Go, go!" she cried through clenched teeth.
Flinching at her blows, he muttered an oath, grabbed her flailing arms and pulled her farther out into the yard, behind a huge, thick evergreen bush. "Shh. Sarah! Calm down." He gripped her arms and held her still. "Did he hurt you?"
"No, no." Her heart thudded with fear for him. "But he'll kill you if he sees you with me."
"Something sent you running from that house." Protective anger blazed in his beautiful eyes like golden-green fire, and a muscle throbbed in his jaw. "Tell me what it was. If he hurt you, Sarah I swear I'll—"
"Connor!" She caught his face between her hands, her desperation growing. "Please, please listen. He didn't hurt me. I just remembered …
oh, God, I remembered—" a shudder went through her "—he shot Jack."
He pulled her to him in a hard, rocking hug, whispering into her hair, "I know, sweetheart, I know."
"You know?" She pulled back and glared at him through the lengthening shadows of the encroaching twilight. "Then why did you come here? Are you crazy? Do you want to die?"
"I came to get you."
"I can't leave with you! If he sees us together, he'll get his gun. He'll kill you!" A sob escaped her. "I couldn't bear it. I'd rather die—"
Connor cut off her cry with a kiss. Her mouth opened beneath his and they clung together in sweet desperation. She knew, then. She knew that he needed her as much as she needed him.
"Hellfire!" exclaimed a deep, masculine whisper behind them, jarring them apart. "I get shot for saying I'll drive her home, and you're necking with her in the bushes."
"Damn it, Jack," Connor cursed, "you nearly gave me a heart attack."
"Jack!" Sarah gazed at him in astonishment, bewildered by how and why he was here. "Oh, Jack…" She left Connor's arms and went into his as tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry for getting you shot."
"Just a couple of flesh wounds. Gives me character."
"Your poor face!"
"Yeah, he's still too pretty," Connor muttered wryly. "Let's get the hell out of here before Tierney remedies that." He pulled Sarah to his side with an arm insistently around her.
"You two go on," she argued. "I'll take the cab I have waiting. I don't want to risk having Grant see me with you."
A shadow fell across the lawn before them. The shadow of a man.
Grant Tierney stepped into their path. Gone from his face was every trace of reason, leaving only stark coldness. "You're a little too late for that."
Sarah froze in terror at Connor's side.
"I sent the cab away," Grant informed with cultured gentility. "When I didn't find you in it, Sarah, I couldn't imagine where you were. In the bushes, I see. With a man. Why doesn't that surprise me?"
SAY AHHH... Page 16
