by JM Stewart
She blew out a shaky breath and pulled her grandmother’s quilt up under her chin, relief flooding through her as she relaxed deeper into the mattress. “Hi.”
“Hey. It’s pretty late. You okay?” His tone was conversational, like he’d just been awake at three in the morning and had nothing better to do than talk to her, and she had to admit, she was grateful.
But her mind drew up an image of him, lying in bed in his pajamas, staring at the darkened ceiling above her, the way she was. Guilt grabbed her chest. She’d probably woken him, and here she was, calling him like a child. A silly little girl having a nightmare.
“I’m okay.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I feel silly now. I just . . . needed to hear your voice.”
“It’s okay. I told you, I’m always here. Whatever you need. The nightmare again?”
“Yeah.” She paused, unsure whether to tell him the truth or not, uncertain whether she wanted to relive it again. The lure of him on the other side of the phone won, the need too strong to deny. She wanted her best friend back. It was time she stopped letting her doubts keep her from doing all those things she used to once upon a time. That included confiding in him. “This one was different.”
“Different how?”
“Oh God, I saw faces this time. In detail. A man with dark hair, lying cock-eyed on the floor. A woman with hair the same color as mine, but longer. It was spread out around her head where she lay on the floor. They were covered in blood. And their eyes . . . they were open but sightless. God, is that what you see every night? How do you do that?” Cecelia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to close out the onslaught of ugly images.
“Yeah. I’m the one they call when they find a scene like that. I don’t think about it. I keep my personal feelings out of it. It’s a job. I know that sounds cold, but it keeps me sane. Keep talking. What about the faces bothered you?”
The images rose again, shining vivid and corporeal, in her mind’s eye, and a cold chill ran down her spine. “I’ve never seen the faces before. The strangest part is, I felt like I knew those people.”
The nightmares had come more often these past few days, sometimes as often as three times a night. The ghostly images slowly became clearer, more vivid. Too real. They left her with an overwhelming sense of panic she hadn’t experienced before. The urge to run, as far and as fast as she could. What she couldn’t bring herself to utter out loud was the odd sense she’d actually been there. That was crazy, right?
On top of it all, an awful feeling nagged at the back of her mind. That somehow the nightmares, those people, were connected to her past. She knew those people. How she had no idea, but every time she thought about them, the cloying ache of losing a loved one clenched at her chest. Like now. She wanted to weep for their loss. They meant something to her, she was sure of it, but what? How was it even possible? Wouldn’t she remember something like that?
“I can come over if you need me to.”
Kyle’s voice drifted soft and reassuring across the line, breaking her from her reverie. God, he had no idea how much she longed to say yes, but what would happen when he arrived? Would she be able to lie in his arms, hold him and sleep with him in a strictly platonic sense, the way they’d done for years? The way they might have done only six months ago? Her mind flashed on the night by the river, bringing back the feel of his mouth on her, searing wherever it touched. Heated tingles raced along the surface of her skin, replacing the cold chill of the dream. She couldn’t forget the solid warmth of his body against hers. How his hands set her on fire and made her ache. If he hadn’t stopped them, she held no doubt she would’ve made love to him that night.
The thought lodged inside of her, and she opened her eyes, dejection weighing on her. They weren’t the same anymore. She had no idea if she could lie with him and not want . . . more. Even now, even with these damn dreams, she didn’t know.
“No, I’m fine.” She let out a quiet, defeated breath. She couldn’t take the risk. Whatever insanity was happening between them had to stop, which meant redrawing her boundary lines. If she was lucky, in time, they’d go back to normal. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s okay. I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Headache?” Despite her previous thought, she couldn’t resist the lure of conversation. She missed him, missed the simple things, like talking to him. She needed to redefine this boundary line. If she accepted his offer, they were going to be parents together, and she had to find a happy medium. Laying in bed with him was inappropriate now, but conversation was always safe. Wasn’t it?
“Mmm. I was going over some of my files, waiting for the Excedrin to kick in.”
This admission worried her. She furrowed her brow. “You really should go to the doctor, Kyle. Sounds like migraines. They have special medication for that.”
“It’s just stress. This case is making me nuts.”
She wanted to ask him to talk about it, but she knew he couldn’t discuss the finite details of his cases with her. Neither was she ready to let him go. Talking to him, however simple their conversation might be, relaxed the tight knots in her chest. They’d have to figure out how to be together again without the tension always rising between them. If they couldn’t, then she really had lost him, and she refused to give up.
All the same, the conversation dwindled, and silence ticked out, echoing across the phone line, long and awkward. The thought made her chest ache. She hated this. Words failed her. She didn’t know what to say to him or how to talk to him anymore. Kyle was back to being that stranger again.
“What’re you thinking?” Kyle broke the silence first. His voice held a low, almost intimate, hum that called to the deepest part of her. Like he noticed the awkward silence, too.
She yearned with everything she had to tell him the truth. In her fantasy, they’d talk this out and he’d make everything better again, the way he always did. But the truth wasn’t so simple. Talking this out wouldn’t get them anywhere but where they’d already been. Hadn’t she proved that to herself?
So she drew up the questions she’d pondered before going to bed tonight. A much safer topic. “Actually, I wondered what we’ll tell the baby, about us, I mean. We’ll be living separately and all. He’s bound to ask.”
“We’ll figure it out when we get there. I think we have a few years yet before the kid starts asking questions. Does this mean you’re accepting my offer?”
Did it? She slipped her free hand beneath the quilt, rubbing over her still-flat stomach. She wasn’t even showing yet, but rubbing her tummy already made her feel connected to the tiny baby within. The idea of Kyle taking over as the baby’s father settled inside of her, and the fantasy filled her mind. Of them, a year down the road, after the baby was born. Kyle would be right beside her for the birth.
She saw them five years down the road when her child started kindergarten. Kyle walking their daughter to her first day of school. He’d make an excellent parent, and she did want a father for her baby. So what held her back?
The attraction seated between them. She kept her child from having a wonderful father, because the newly discovered attraction to her best friend terrified her. She was being selfish.
She squeezed her eyes closed and released a heavy breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’d like to.”
“Thanks. For putting your trust in me, I mean. I won’t let you down.” His voice lowered to a husky murmur, soft and joy-filled.
In the tiny silence that followed, their connection zinged along the phone line, wrapping around her like a protective shroud. The longing to be in his arms hit her again.
She rolled over in bed, staring at the clock again. “What are we going to tell your family?”
He sighed. “I still think you should tell them the truth. It would make this a whole lot easier. You’re not alone, Ceci. I’ll be there with you, right beside you, every step of the way. We’ll do this together.”
The tender conviction in his voice lodged inside her hear
t. She hoped she’d admit her fear to him and he’d say all the right things, that he’d soothe the wound and douse the fear like a flame. But the tenderness in his tone brought back the night she’d spent in his bed, not quite a week ago. For a moment, she closed her eyes, and he was there beside her again, lying with her, his strong arms holding her tight. This time, the effect was so different. A yearning ache filled her belly, heat pooling between her thighs. She couldn’t blame it on pregnancy hormones now. Their talk by the river a few nights ago had proven that.
She opened her eyes, her hands trembling. It was time to end the insanity. “I’m feeling better now. I’ll let you go. ’Night.”
More silence echoed across the line. This one came so full she could almost hear the things he wanted to say to her. She prayed he wouldn’t voice them. At some point, they had to move beyond this, but apparently tonight wasn’t that night.
An ache filled the center of her chest. She hated this.
Finally, he sighed. “All right. ’Night, Ceci.”
She returned the phone to the nightstand and settled back. The glowing numbers showed 3:15, reminding her why she’d called him in the first place. She glared at the clock, determination filling her chest. She was tired of being afraid. Tired of being scared of her shadow and afraid to trust her heart.
And damn tired of the nightmares. She couldn’t ignore them anymore and hope they’d go away. She’d been having them for twenty years. It was past time to put them to rest once and for all. Unfortunately, the right man for the job refused to help her. So she’d go to the second best. Chase.
***
The following morning, Cecelia’s heart raced as she stood in the middle of the long, cracked sidewalk, eyeing the old house in front of her. How many times over the past twenty years had she made this particular trek, across to the property adjoining hers? Too many to count.
The family that lived here once had long since grown up and moved out. Georgia had moved out a couple of years ago. She’d said that without her kids there with her, the house was too big. She rambled around in the space. So she’d gotten an apartment nearby.
Always good with his hands, Chase had offered to make the repairs needed on the house. The idea had originally been that they’d eventually sell the house, but Chase grew attached to the space and never left. He’d started his PI business in part as a way to earn money for the renovations.
Of the four siblings, Chase was always the loner. After he lost his partner, he’d become something of a hermit. Starting his private investigation business suited him. Like Kyle, he had a nose for research. He was good at digging up hard-to-find information.
Which was exactly why she’d come to see him. One way or another, she’d find her parents. Kyle refused to help her, so she’d ask Chase.
With a deep breath, she screwed up her last ounce of courage, mounted the front porch steps, and knocked on the door. Learning about her past had become more than simply wanting to fill the hole deep inside her. She needed answers, and she wanted them before she had the baby. A mother who lived in fear wasn’t much of a mother.
The sound of the dead bolt sliding sent excitement bubbling in her tummy. As the door swung open, she shifted like a child on Christmas morning. The door opened moments later to reveal Lila. In a knee-length black skirt and a red silk blouse, Lila appeared as perfect as ever. How she did it, Cecelia didn’t know, but it was barely eight in the morning. Not so much as a hair on her auburn head fell out of place.
“Ceci.” The surprise in Lila’s emerald eyes melted into a warm smile. “It’s good to see you.”
“Hi, Lila.” She returned the friendly smile. “I’m sorry to come by so early. Is Chase awake by any chance?”
“Awake as I get before my second cup of coffee.”
Following the familiar sound of Chase’s deep voice, she peered around Lila. Chase weaved his way through the furniture, coffee cup in hand. He wore nothing but a pair of worn jeans, complete with a hole in the right knee. Chase’s signature. Every pair of jeans he owned had one. Chase might be every bit as meticulous as Kyle in his work, but his clothing style was definitely more relaxed. She couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, she’d seen the man in a suit. Or anything resembling one. He’d told her once he hated ties, that they made him feel as if someone was trying to hang him.
“Hi, Chase.” She drew up straight as he came to a stop in front of her. “I’ll get right to the point. I want to hire you.”
Chase folded his arms and shook his head, the corners of his mouth easing into a lazy smile. “Sweetheart, you know very well I won’t take your money. What is it you need?”
She squared her shoulders and furrowed her brow. She wasn’t about to take no for an answer from any more of the Morgan men. “I want you to help me find my parents.”
***
Early the following afternoon, Cecelia sat among a sea of boxes. Chase had agreed to do his best to help her. He’d asked her to search for a few items, like any papers her grandmother might have kept. So she’d gone to Gran’s room to search. She’d been digging furiously for hours now but had yet to find anything.
Her eyes misted as she glanced around the room. The place reminded her of the woman who’d lived here, of the only mother she’d ever known. She’d gone through most of Gran’s things after she’d died, had packed up her clothing, clearing out drawers and closets, but she’d kept certain things. She’d kept the wallpaper Gran had loved so much. Soft yellow and dotted with light pink roses, Cecelia had always thought it tacky. She’d teased Gran a lot about it over the years, but Gran said it reminded her of the bushes in the front yard. Now, every time she walked into this room, she saw Gran, smiling at her ugly wallpaper.
She’d kept the four-poster bed as well, including the ancient white lace bedspread neatly covering the mattress, and everything lining the old dresser. Rising to her feet, she moved to the dresser against the left wall. Dark and richly textured, its age showed in the hairline scratches marring the surface. She ran her fingers along the decorative perfume bottles along the top before turning to the three-tiered jewelry box. From time to time, she’d come in here, open drawers, remembering the pieces Gran had loved the most, but she couldn’t bring herself to sift through it all or toss it.
Unable to resist, she searched through the contents of several small drawers. There were long, dangly earrings, more rings than her grandmother had fingers, even a necklace of painted macaroni. Gran had told her once she’d made it in first grade, though that was another memory she didn’t have.
She smiled softly and closed the top drawer. Even in jewelry, Gran’s tastes were eccentric. As she turned to clean up the mess she’d made, the sunlight streaming in through the window to her right glinted off metal, catching her eye. Through the decorative glass doors, hanging from one of the hooks, was a tiny golden key on a silver chain.
Why had she never seen this one before? Something about it niggled at the back of her mind, and she reached in to pull it out. As she held it in the palm of her hand, her gaze caught on the bottom drawer of the jewelry box. Another thing she’d noticed a lot over the years that had never occurred to her to wonder what Gran kept in it. There, in the center, lay a tiny keyhole that reminded her of the top drawer of Kyle’s nightstand. He kept his gun locked in that drawer. Out of curiosity, Cecelia gave a gentle tug on the drawer, but it refused to budge. Strange. She supposed all women had their secrets, but what could be so important Gran felt the need to lock it away?
The nightmare she’d had that morning flitted through her mind. As did all the times over the years Gran neatly sidestepped any talk about her parents, about her past. Curiosity got the best of her, had her hands shaking with the need to know. She shoved the key into the hole and was surprised when the lock mechanism gave way. The only item in the drawer was a small manila envelope, faded and wrinkled with age. She bit her bottom lip, hoping and praying it held an answer as she pulled the envelope out and dumped its contents into her p
alm.
Her shoulders slumped. Another necklace. This one was different from the rest. Pretty but more simplistic, only a heart hanging from a thin, braided chain. In lifting it with her palm, a small, silver skeleton key dropped out of the tangled chain.
A memory lodged itself in her mind then, bright and vivid, and she closed her eyes, immersing herself in it. In an instant, she was there again, in the tight, cramped space in her dream. Dust particles floated in the beams of light. Gunshots rang in her head, so real the ever-familiar cold fear sliced through her veins. She shivered in response, goose bumps popping up along her skin. The smell of gunpowder filled her nostrils.
Drawing inward, into the scene, something pricked her palm. Closing her fist around the necklace, sensations overlapped one another, as reality mixed with the images and sensations of her nightmares. The cool touch of metal filled the center of her palm, one sharp edge pricking her tender skin.
The sensation that she’d been there gripped her chest again, and she opened her eyes. Shaking now, trembles fanned through her body and sent the charm skittering across the surface of her palm. Something hovered at the edge of her consciousness, just out of reach, yet so tangible she could almost see it, feel it. Like a memory that wanted to break free from the dark silence of her mind.
A loud sound rent the air, startling her from the odd spell that held her, and she jerked her gaze to the bedroom doorway. Her pounding heart slowed as she recognized the sound as the warped front doorbell.
When it buzzed again, she couldn’t help the soft, wistful laugh that escaped. Of all the places to hear that sound. The warped noise reminded her of a sick cow. The bell had died years ago. Hating to have to hire someone, Gran put off getting it fixed. Now that Gran was gone, Cecelia couldn’t bring herself to fix it either, but only because every time it sounded, her grandmother’s soft, breathy laughter echoed through her mind. Every time someone came to the house, the two of them would dissolve into a fit of giggles.
