He should call a Realtor tomorrow and put the house on the market, get rid of it and find himself a small apartment somewhere. He probably should have done that three years ago.
The drapes in the living room were open, as he normally left them. There was no one outside to look in, but today he didn’t want to look out. He strode over and closed them.
He hadn’t meant to linger in the living room, but the bittersweet memory of Jessica curled in one corner of the sofa held him in its grip. Her floral scent still lingered on the air and he’d stood just over there last night, holding her in his arms, feeling her heart beating against his hand.
Damn!
He clenched his jaw and headed determinedly to his office. He’d put aside work the last few days to concentrate on Jessica’s case and now was a good time to start catching up. He flopped down in his chair, hit the button to turn on his computer and took an active client file from his desk drawer while the machine booted up.
But he couldn’t seem to focus on the documents in the folder. All he could think about was Jessica…the way he’d held her, touched her, made love to her, let her slip in under his defenses…the way that damn Sloan, a man he had no reason to hate but did, had taken her, and the way Cole had let her down.
Logically he knew he hadn’t let her down. He’d taken care of her until Geoffrey Sloan arrived on the scene to reclaim his bride. He’d put up the poster that led to Geoffrey’s finding her. He’d helped reunite her with her fiancé.
Still he’d let her down. She’d left him as broken and wounded as when he found her. She hadn’t recovered her memory. In fact, she’d had a relapse…putting Angela’s journal on her bed then forgetting it. And even worse, she’d heard voices.
Jessica was a troubled woman, so troubled she’d had to forget her past.
He recalled his worry that she’d witnessed a murder, and the killer was looking for her. Actually, he’d have preferred that to the explanation of a neighbor boy’s injured nose being the source of the blood on her gown. There would have been a good chance—a damn good chance—that he could have protected her from a flesh-and-blood murderer.
But against phantoms in the night, voices from nowhere and holes in her memory he had no defenses.
No more defenses than he had against the giant hole her going had left in his life.
Everything felt wrong, badly wrong. But he knew that was just his heart talking. Things were actually right again. Jessica was back with Geoffrey. She was slowly regaining her memory. And he was once again alone.
Except alone had never felt so lonely before.
That night when he went upstairs to bed, he chose the big bed he’d once shared with Angela. Making peace with her memory was much easier than sleeping in the bed where he and Jessica had made love.
Even so, sleep did not come easily. The feeling that something was wrong continued to nag at him.
He’d watched helplessly as Angela’s fears worsened until they completely destroyed her. But Jessica had become stronger even in the short amount of time they’d been together. She’d eagerly accepted his offer to teach her self-defense so she could take care of herself. What had happened to cause her relapse, to cause her to tear a page from Angela’s journal and then forget about doing it, to hear voices?
JESSICA AWOKE with a start, heart hammering against her ribs, panic in total control. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, only that she didn’t want to be there.
She scuttled out of bed and started for the door, then remembered.
The door was locked. She was in the condo with Geoffrey.
Sinking onto the side of the bed, she laid her head in her hands and took in great gulps of air, ordering herself to relax, talking herself down from the panic attack.
Everything was fine. Geoffrey had locked the door to her bedroom for her own good, so she couldn’t run away again or do something crazy, as she’d done at Cole’s house, running out into the night with a butcher knife. She had no reason to feel terrified, trapped and suffocated by Geoffrey’s actions. She should feel safe and protected.
But the awful truth was, she resented Geoffrey’s presence in her life, and that wasn’t right. She had an obligation to him. It certainly wasn’t his fault she’d run away, developed amnesia and fallen in love with another man. Geoffrey was the victim in all this.
The reason she didn’t want to be with him was that she wanted to be with Cole.
And that was not a valid reason to resent Geoffrey.
But it was a valid reason to cancel this hasty marriage he was planning.
She rose from the bed and went into the bathroom to shower. As soon as Geoffrey unlocked that door, they were going to have a talk.
The bathroom was stocked with everything imaginable, from several varieties of perfumed shower gels and lotions to a hair dryer and curling iron, with an entire line of styling products and a basketful of cosmetics. All the items appeared to be new or almost new.
After showering, she went to the closet to select an outfit. Like all the items in the bathroom, the clothes looked new. Apparently she’d brought nothing of her own with her. Geoffrey must have taken her on a shopping spree when they arrived.
She’d just finished dressing in beige linen slacks and a matching silk blouse when the lock on the bedroom door swung open and Geoffrey walked in. He wore slacks and a sport coat with the neck of his white shirt open and carried a silver tray with a steaming cup of coffee, a croissant and a banana. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early. Would you like breakfast in bed or in the dining room?”
She surveyed the polished tray with its meager offerings. Neither, came the involuntary thought. She wanted to be back in Cole’s big kitchen eating a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs and biscuits.
“I’d prefer the dining room,” she replied, suddenly anxious to get out of the enclosed, oppressive space of the bedroom.
Geoffrey smiled approvingly. “That’s my good girl.”
The words and his paternal tone hit a discordant note in Jessica. If that was the way their relationship had been before her accident, no wonder she couldn’t accept him as her future husband.
Although, considering how terrified and lost she’d felt when she woke up on the street in front of Cole’s car a few days ago, she could understand why she might have been drawn to Geoffrey at one time. Perhaps after her parents’ death she’d needed that substitute for paternal guidance.
But things had changed a lot since then.
She’d changed a lot.
She and Geoffrey walked silently through the condo to the polished ebony table that almost filled the dining niche. A waist-high room divider with carved posts to the ceiling separated the area from the small, galley-style kitchen.
Jessica’s gaze was drawn to that kitchen, to the hunter-green countertop, its immaculate surface cluttered only by four maroon canisters and a set of knives in a wooden storage block. The handle of the largest knife seemed to protrude much higher than the others, to beckon her, and she could almost feel the cool solidity of the wood as her hand wrapped around it.
“Jessica?”
Geoffrey’s voice jerked her back to reality. He held a chair for her to sit, a chair that would put her with her back to the kitchen.
She slid into the chair gratefully. What was it with her and knives?
As she buttered and nibbled the croissant then sipped the coffee, she avoided looking at Geoffrey across the table. The croissant was not fresh, and the coffee, in spite of the sugar and a strong flavor of hazelnuts, was bitter. She added more butter to the bread and another spoon of sugar to the coffee.
The sounds of silverware on china and cups clinking into saucers rang loudly in the silent rooms.
“I’ve made some phone calls,” Geoffrey said. “If everything works out, before the day’s over, you’ll be my wife.”
Her cup clattered into her saucer as she looked up in horror. “Geoffrey, I told you last nig
ht, we can’t do that! I’m just starting to get back my memories. This time yesterday I didn’t even know my own name!”
He frowned. “I’m aware you have problems, but we love each other, and that’s all that matters.”
His tone, his entire demeanor, expressed disapproval, and she wanted to back down, avoid the subject of their impending marriage, hope it would go away.
But it wasn’t going away. She had to deal with it.
“I can’t marry you. I barely remember you.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t love you.”
His frown deepened. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. I’m trying to be understanding about your problems, but that really hurts when you say you don’t love me.”
She clasped her hands on the tabletop. “I know I must have loved you at one time, but I don’t remember it.”
“That doesn’t matter. Even if you never remember what we had before, you’ll learn to love me again. As soon as we’re married, I’ll be able to take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry about your problems again.”
“That’s another thing. I don’t even know what my problems were.”
“You fell apart after your parents died. You were very depressed.”
“Of course I was depressed. Who wouldn’t be under those circumstances?” She leaned forward intently, desperately. “Geoffrey, whatever I did, I have to know!”
He folded his napkin and placed it carefully beside his plate. “There’s absolutely no reason for you to know things that can only hurt you. We’re together again and everything’s going to be fine now.”
“Stop treating me like I’m a child!” Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes.
Geoffrey’s features softened. He rose and came around the table to her. “Now see what you’ve done? You’ve upset yourself again.” He massaged her neck. “You’re all tense. Finish your coffee. I made it just the way you like it. I’ll take care of the dishes while you rest.”
“Rest? We just got up.”
But she was tired.
She lifted her almost-full cup. Maybe the caffeine would give her some energy.
The phone rang and Geoffrey went to answer it.
Jessica felt an enormous sense of relief when he left the room. As if a weight had been lifted from her, she sprang out of the chair, gathered up the dishes and took them into the kitchen, where she poured her coffee down the sink. The extra sugar had made it too sweet but still failed to disguise the bitter taste. If this had been the way she liked her coffee before, she had definitely changed a lot.
She started to load the dishwasher, but the knives again caught her eye, especially the largest one.
As if guided by a force outside herself, her hand moved toward that knife, her fingers wrapped around the handle, and she pulled it from the wooden block.
“That was Judge Robards. We’re all set for one o’clock this afternoon.”
She whirled to see Geoffrey standing in the doorway and for an instant she thought she saw blood on his left side.
His face contorted with fury as he rushed toward her.
Something clattered on the tile floor and she realized the knife had fallen from her nerveless fingers.
Geoffrey snatched it up with one hand and grabbed her arm with the other, yanking it roughly. “So it was all another one of your lies! You don’t have amnesia at all, do you?” He punctuated the sentence with another jerk.
“Stop it! You’re hurting me!”
His gaze searched her face for a moment. “I think you need to lie down and rest until it’s time for our wedding. You’re having another one of your spells.”
“My spells?” she repeated, cold fear washing over her. “What do you mean?” The fear drew icy fingers down her spine. “I stabbed you, didn’t I? There was no boy from next door with a nosebleed. I stabbed you. That’s where the blood came from.” With her free hand she reached for his left side, where she’d had the vision of blood.
“No!” He tossed the knife aside and grabbed her hand, pulling it away from his body, but not before she’d felt the roughness of sutured skin beneath his shirt.
“Oh, Geoffrey! What did I do?”
Even as she asked the question, she remembered the sensation of plunging the knife into his flesh, the coppery smell of the blood that soaked through her wedding gown to her skin.
The world around her disappeared and she staggered beneath the weight of the onrush of memories…unlocking the front door with trembling fingers, running down five flights of stairs, terrified at every moment that Geoffrey would come after her, handcuff her again, lock her in the bedroom.
He’d had to handcuff her because she’d tried to kill him!
No, that wasn’t right. He’d handcuffed her before she attacked him.
But that made no sense. Had she done something horrible even before that particular attack?
“Jessica, you need to go to your room.”
She shook her head, trying to clear it, to focus on the man standing in front of her, still gripping both her arms. “Just give me a minute to think.”
“You can do that in your room where you can’t hurt anybody.” He tugged, pulling her toward the bedroom. “I’ve been very patient with you, Jessica, but my patience is wearing thin.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for.
He led her through the bedroom to the closet and opened the door then yanked out a blue silk dress. “You can wear this for our wedding. White’s no longer appropriate for you, anyway, is it?”
She gasped at his insinuation. She hadn’t told him about Cole and her making love. How could he know?
“I’m not stupid,” he said as if in answer to her unspoken question. “The light never came on in your room after he carried you up those stairs. I know where you spent the night.” His smooth voice was rough, almost as if it belonged to another person. His eyes blazed, and his face was red with fury, the face of a stranger. “I wasn’t surprised. Not after the way you kissed him and the way you let him touch you when you were outside wearing nothing but that slutty-looking gown. You never let me touch you that way! I thought it was because you were saving yourself, but I was wrong about you, wasn’t I?”
“You were watching!” Her head spun as the image of him skulking around Cole’s house blended with images of him skulking around her apartment building, waiting half-hidden behind a tree when she came home from dinner with a friend, appearing out of nowhere when she left the building to go shopping.
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly. “I read what you wrote in that journal about being Cole’s wife! Well, you’re not his wife! You’re mine!”
She hadn’t torn that page from the journal then forgotten it. Geoffrey had been in her room. He’d thought Angela’s entry was hers. “That wasn’t my journal! I didn’t write that! Cole’s wife wrote that!”
In another sudden mood change, he kissed her forehead gently. “No more lies, sweetheart. You take a nap. I’ll bring your lunch at eleven so you’ll have plenty of time to dress before our wedding.”
He released her and turned to walk away, but she darted after him and grabbed his arm. “Geoffrey, you can’t want to marry me when you know about Cole and me!”
He smiled benignly. “I know you’ve been very sick and you’re not responsible for your actions. Because I truly love you and I know you love me, I forgive you, no matter how grave your sin.”
Those who truly love will always forgive no matter how grave the sin.
“That was you on the telephone and in my room!”
He took her hand between both of his. His eyes were feverish with the glow of madness. “I had to let you know that you could come home and all would be forgiven. I admit, I was pretty upset with you when you showed your appreciation for all the things I’ve done for you by hurting me and running away. But I kept reminding myself of how ill you’ve been. Do you know what kind of strings I had to pull to get a doctor to help me w
ithout reporting you and getting you in trouble?”
“That’s why there were no records of a stabbing at any of the hospitals!”
“I had to protect you. How would it look if people knew my wife had stabbed me? I’ve tried to take care of you since that first day I met you. You looked so sad and helpless and beautiful sitting there in that restaurant with your friends. I fell in love with you at first sight. You needed me and I promised you I’d always be there. But sometimes you make it awfully hard for me to help you.”
She pulled her hand from his and backed away in horror as his words brought memories crowding the edges of her mind, memories she wasn’t sure she wanted to own again but knew she must.
Geoffrey wasn’t her fiancé. He was her tormentor.
The parts of her life she hadn’t yet recovered involved him. Those were the parts she would just as soon never remember, the parts that had induced her amnesia in the first place.
Now they were coming back too clearly. He’d kidnapped her, handcuffed her and brought her to Dallas in the back of his van. When he’d forced her to try on the wedding gown he’d bought, she’d stabbed him and run for her life.
“Get some rest now,” he advised, taking her arm and gently guiding her toward the bed where he sat her down.
“Geoffrey, since you know I made love with Cole, you can’t possibly want to marry me.”
“What you’ve done doesn’t matter. I took care of that man you went to visit who had your pictures all over his house. I cleansed you of his touch. I can do it again.”
“The man who had my pictures? You mean Sam? You murdered Sam? I never even met the man!”
“He defiled you. Tonight I’ll get rid of Grayson and then you’ll be pure again. Our wedding night will be just like we’ve always planned.”
Geoffrey had murdered Sam and now he planned to murder Cole! The horror rang through her mind, paralyzing her so that she made no move to stop Geoffrey from leaving the room. He closed the door, and she heard the snick of the lock.
Private Vows Page 18
