You Must Remember This

by Marilyn Pappano

  After a time, they shook out the quilt and returned to the car. Juliet dropped him off at the church, drove the short distance to the library and went inside. Instead of going to her office, though, she headed for the reference section. She found an out-of-the-way computer and sat down, pulling up the files she needed.

  The information available on Maxwell Brown was huge. There was coverage of business triumphs and charitable contributions. There was a wedding announcement, detailing a lavish wedding and featuring a picture of a handsome young man with a beautiful young bride. A few years later, there was a one-line mention of a divorce in the legal news column. He received honors and tributes by the handfuls and was active on Grand Springs’s social scene, though rarely with the same woman on his arm twice. His generosity apparently was exceeded only by his business acumen. His home, the site of charity balls and civic events, was nothing less than a mansion. He gave freely of his money and his time, the townspeople admired and respected him, children adored him, and he was kind to small animals.

  He was almost too good to be true.

  If Martin’s suspicions were correct, he was too good to be true.

  There was much less to find on Hal Stuart, much less stellar. Most of the mentions of him dealt with city council business. There was an announcement of his engagement to Randi Howell, the bride who’d fled her own wedding and fallen in love with someone else. An older story covered his graduation from law school and setting up practice in Grand Springs, and there were mentions of his election and subsequent reelections to the council. There was nothing new or interesting.

  With a sigh, she left the library and made the short trip to the police station. There was nothing more she could do for Martin. Now she needed to concentrate on her own work. Even if it was nearly impossible. Even if the hours did drag until the afternoon was finally over. With more relief than she would have believed possible, she shut down the computer, said goodbye to Mariellen and headed for the church.

  She hadn’t offered to pick Martin up after work, and he might have already left, but it was only a few blocks out of her way. When she parked at the curb out front, she saw that she wasn’t too late. Several people were inside talking, and one was Martin.

  The sidewalk led straight to the porch, where the double glass doors were propped open. She stepped into the hallway and hesitated until one of the men saw her and smiled. Martin turned and smiled, too, and held out his hand to her. He introduced her to the group—the Reverend Murphy and three of his parishioners, two older women and a man.

  After a polite hello, one of the women continued talking. “Now, you see here in this picture, the carpet is definitely burgundy—and pretty new, too. This was taken thirty-three years ago at our oldest daughter’s wedding.” She beamed at Juliet. “She’s still married to the same man, and they have four children and three grandchildren. Now, this picture is of Emma’s grandson’s wedding, and it’s this same green carpet, and pretty new, too. This was taken—” She looked at the back, squinted to read the writing, then looked at the woman beside her. “When, Emma?”

  “That was December. December 17, a Christmas wedding. His mother had always wanted a June wedding—”

  “Of what year, dear?”

  “Let me think. Their oldest boy just turned eighteen this month, so that means they’ve been married…” Emma’s fragile skin flushed a delicate pink. “Eighteen and a half years.”

  No one blinked at the discomfort her grandson’s marriage-of-necessity still caused all these years later, but, out of sight, Martin gave Juliet’s fingers a squeeze.

  The minister turned to Martin. “So you were here at some point at least eighteen and a half years ago but probably not more than thirty-three years ago. That’s more than a fourteen-year span. Not much help, is it?”

  Martin was shaking his head when the other man spoke for the first time. “I don’t remember you. I’ve been here every time those doors opened for a service. I’ve known every family who worshiped here. I’ve been to every wedding, every christening and every funeral, but I don’t remember you.”

  “He was a boy, Henry,” Emma said. “Maybe he’s changed.”

  Henry stubbornly shook his head. “You look faintly familiar—it’s something about your eyes—but no. You weren’t a regular here, not even a semiregular.”

  His very certainty gave Juliet cause to hope, and she said so to Martin once they’d said their goodbyes and reached the car. He gave her a flat, disappointed look. “Then you’re an incurable optimist, darlin’, because he didn’t leave room for hope.”

  “What is the one physical feature that doesn’t change with age?” When he didn’t offer an answer, she did. “You can gain weight or lose it. You can straighten a crooked nose or put a crook in a straight one. You can cover a high forehead, reshape cheekbones, reconstruct jaws and straighten teeth. You can make your nose bigger or smaller, and you can change the way your ears lie in relation to your head. You can cut, curl, color or shave your hair. But the only thing you can do to your eyes is a tuck on the lids or change the color with contacts. Henry said there’s something familiar about your eyes.” She smiled. “They are your best feature.”

  “They are, huh? And here I thought you were more interested in my—” He finished the sentence in a whisper, his mouth pressed to her ear, making her shiver and squirm before he kissed her mouth. It was the same sort of kiss he’d given her before work this morning, the sort that made her forget everything, including her name.

  Sitting back in his seat, he fastened the seat belt. “How about stopping by my apartment? You can keep me company while I clean up.”

  For a moment she looked blankly at him, her mind still occupied with sensations and not processing information. Finally, giving herself a mental shake, she started the car and pulled into the street.

  His apartment was quiet, dimly lit and still full of the day’s warmth even though outside the temperature had begun its usual evening slide. Juliet wandered around the single large room, half her attention directed to the bathroom, where Martin was in the shower. Naked. Washing, touching himself. Such a simple, everyday task. Such erotic images. They left her throat dry and sent an edgy, dissatisfied feeling through her.

  If she were bold, she would take off her clothes and be waiting in his bed when he came out. If she were brash and bold, she wouldn’t wait for him to come out but would shed her clothes and join him in the shower. She would take the soap from him, work up a lather in her hands and rub them over his body. She would tease and torment them both until they couldn’t stand any more, and then she would take him, first in her mouth, in a sinfully wicked kiss, then in her body, right there in the tub, with the water beating on them and around them, until—

  Catching her breath on a groan, she stopped in front of one window and stared out sightlessly, all too aware of her body’s needs, of the tightness in her chest, of the tension deep in her belly. She had indulged in a few fantasies before—what woman hadn’t?—but the fantasy of Martin was more appealing, more enticing, than the reality of any other man she’d known. He wasn’t even in the room, but her breasts were swollen, her nipples achy, her muscles trembly. The man embodied pure, raw sexual fantasy, and he was a danger—

  His arm wrapped around her from behind, and his fingers slid between buttons to stroke her midriff. He hadn’t made a sound crossing the room, but she could feel him now, could smell him—warm, damp, aroused, masculine. He came closer, until his legs brushed hers, until his erection was pressed against her bottom. Moving his hand lower, he worked a few buttons loose, then slid his hand inside her dress, his fingers leaving a damp, quivering trail across her belly, beneath the elastic band of her panties, probing between her thighs.

  She gasped when he touched her, when he found her hot, damp and craving his attention. When he slid his fingers inside her, whatever sound she might have made was lost in the flood of sensation. He stroked deep inside her, then outside, concentrating his touches where her r
esponse was most powerful, his talented fingers drawing her closer and closer, coaxing her to feel more, to want more, demand more.

  She clenched her fingers, then flattened them against the cool glass pane. She was so hot, so desperate, able to breathe now only in soft gasps that threatened tears, and still he tormented her, robbing her of everything but need, aching, killing need. It became unbearable, but she bore it, became painful, but she loved it, until finally, her body quivering, her back arched, with one great rush, with one writhing, whimpering shudder, she collapsed against him. She trusted him to hold her, to keep her on her feet, and he did. He wrapped his arms around her waist, held her tightly against him and spoke for the first time. “Hey, darlin’.”

  Chapter Nine

  Maxwell Brown’s house sat on the highest hill in Grand Springs, a monument to money, ego and the determination to succeed. With its Mediterranean styling, lush grounds and elaborate security fence, it would have looked more at home in the Caribbean or on one of the tiny exclusive islands between Miami and Miami Beach, but even high in the Rockies, it was beautiful. Both the house and the grounds were brightly lit in the night. No one would ever slip in there unnoticed. No doubt, there were perimeter alarms, motion-sensitive detectors and burglar alarms all over the place.

  “What a great place to live.”

  Martin glanced at Juliet, who was staring up at the house from their place on the dark street. Frankly, he couldn’t imagine her in a place like this, maybe because he identified her so strongly with her neat little green house. Oddly enough, though, he could see himself living in a place like this. Maybe…

  Damn, how he hated that word.

  She smiled at his fierce look. “Feeling cranky? You should have taken me up on my offer.”

  Tension born of frustration was immediately replaced by tension of a sexual nature. Back in his apartment, once she’d found the strength to lift her head from his shoulder, once she’d been able to speak coherently, she had made him several offers—to take off her clothes, to take him to bed, to do things to him that he might never have had done to him before. She’d offered earthy, lusty promises, made all the more indecent by her utterly innocent face, and he had been tempted, heaven help him, more than ever before. But the condoms were at her house. She hadn’t minded, but he had. No matter how urgent the desire, he couldn’t risk her future, maybe even her life, not even for the most incredible lovemaking that existed.

  So he had torn himself away from her, dragged on clothes that she’d kept trying to remove and made himself a promise. Later. He could have her later. The prospect was enough to give him some measure of control.

  “Exactly what kind of business is Maxwell Brown in?”

  He looked back at the house. “He used to be a stockbroker. Now he’s into a little of everything. He owns both residential and commercial rental property. He has a construction company, a trucking company and a couple of car dealerships. He owns an interest in the mall, one of the banks and in the commuter airline out at the airport. He’s also part-owner of the Squaw Creek Lodge.”

  “So he’s a respectable businessman whose interests are diversified. But you still have this feeling.”

  “I know it sounds silly—”

  “Not at all. I work three days a week with people who get paid for heeding their ‘feelings’—only they call them hunches. Instincts.”

  He gestured toward the endless wrought-iron fence that circled the property. “I know there’s money in business, but look at that house. There’s no mortgage on it. The fence alone cost more than most houses in town. Grand Springs is a small city. Just how much money can one man make here legitimately?”

  “Do you have any theories?”

  He looked at the house, then closed his eyes and saw similar houses in south Florida. He thought of the trucking company, the airplanes, the auto dealerships where nondescript cars could be easily brought in or disposed of, and the bank. “A wild guess? I’d say drugs. If I didn’t know he was a respectable businessman.”

  Juliet’s voice was soft in the darkness. “I think of drug lords as South Americans who have no heart or soul, who live surrounded by armed men and kill anyone who gets in their way.”

  “They come in all nationalities, darlin’, including upper-class American. And not all of them are heartless. Some of them love their families very much. They’re generous with the people around them. They’re protective, almost fatherly. The drug business is just that—business.”

  “Dangerous business.”

  “Extremely so. The cops either want to stop you or bleed you dry, and the competition wants you dead—” Abruptly he stopped. Why was he speaking with such authority? Because he’d lived that life before? Was that why someone had tried to kill him? Why he spoke Spanish fluently for an apple-pie American? Why the pictures of Miami had seemed so familiar? Why he knew that there were little islands in Biscayne Bay where houses like Maxwell Brown’s were abundant? Was that why Juliet heard trucking company, airline, car dealers and bank, and thought business, while he heard them and thought drugs?

  Was that why he dreamed of killing men?

  “What is it?”

  Ignoring her question, he stared away from her. Maybe Maxwell Brown was nothing more than a legitimate businessman. Maybe the only person involved in the drug trade around here was him. And maybe that was why no one had tried to find him after his disappearance: they simply assumed that he was dead, that whoever had wanted to kill him had succeeded.

  Juliet wrapped her fingers around his hand, squeezing tightly enough to make him wince. “Not you, Martin. Maybe someone you knew, but not you.”

  She sounded so sure, but she could be kidding herself. She wanted to believe the best of him, but he had to face the fact that there might not have been any “best” in him. He might have been the worst sort of person imaginable.

  In the silence that followed her assertion, headlights appeared at the top of the hill as Brown’s Lexus came into sight. “Duck,” he commanded, sliding Juliet half under the steering wheel, bending low over her. The lights bounced across Juliet’s car as the Lexus turned toward town. Martin waited a moment, then another before lifting his head in time to see the taillights disappear around a curve.

  Juliet started the engine and swung the car into a tight U-turn.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want to see where he’s going.”

  He smiled faintly. Prim, shy Juliet, tailing the most influential man in the county. Who ever would have believed it? Then he thought of last night in her bed and this evening in his apartment. Prim and shy, yes, but also sensual, sexy, uninhibited, wild, tempting and seductive. “I think I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

  She flashed him a smile. “If you’ve been bad, I don’t think I could survive good.”

  They came out of a curve into a straightaway just as, several blocks ahead, Brown made a right turn onto the main road. “Slow down,” Martin instructed. “Wait until he’s almost out of sight.”

  “But what if we lose him?”

  “We won’t.” He watched the Lexus for a moment, then nodded. “Now. You know, one-car surveillance is damned hard to pull off. Ideally, you should have at least two cars and radios or cell phones to stay in touch. Then if your guy gets suspicious, you can turn off and let your partner take over.”

  She was giving him a curious look. “Spoken like a cop.”

  “Or the subject of too much surveillance.”

  Brown’s car was several blocks ahead as they entered the main part of town. When his brake lights and turn signal flashed, Martin instructed Juliet to pull over and shut off her lights. She obeyed, stopping behind a delivery van that blocked them from sight, and he slipped from the car and moved to the side of the van to watch.

  Brown pulled into the parking lot beside the Monroe Building, took a quick look around, then headed for the alley entrance to the building. He was carrying a briefcase and looked as if he were just starting his business
day, not ending it.

  Martin returned to the car. “He went to his office.”

  “Oh, wow, that’s exciting.”

  “Who ever told you that surveillance was supposed to be exciting?”

  “So now what?”

  “Want some dinner?”

  “What if he leaves while we’re gone?”

  “Then we go home.”

  “Aren’t you curious about what he’s doing in there?”

  “Yes, but we’re not going to find out from here.” He looked at her for a moment, then relented. “All right. Let’s find a better place to park.”

  She backed up, went around the block and parked near the corner on a side street. Their position gave them a good view of the parking lot, part of the alley and the front entrance to the building without being too noticeable. As soon as she shut off the engine, Martin unfastened his seat belt. “I’m going down the block to the Saloon to get some burgers. Don’t go anywhere. If he leaves, let him go and wait for me. Don’t get out of the car for any reason. Don’t do anything.”

  “I’m not a child, Martin, and I’m not going to do something foolish.”

  “I know. Just don’t get carried away. If anything happened to you…” He stopped, unwilling to finish the statement, unwilling to admit the truth aloud—if anything happened to her, it would destroy him.

  “I’ll stay here. I’ll lock the doors, and I’ll be good.”

  He got out quickly so the dome light wasn’t on one second longer than necessary. Sticking close to the building, he backtracked half a block to the alley, then made his way to the Saloon, placing their order at the bar, waiting impatiently. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her. Maybe he should have forgotten about dinner or insisted that they go home. Maybe—

  “Hey, Martin, Stone and the chief and a couple of the guys are over there in the corner. Come join us.”