Silent Memories

by Pat White

  Where was Sean? What would he do when he got to the car? She fingered the ignition. No keys. She searched the visor, glove compartment, under the seat. Nothing.

  There had to be another way to start the car.

  You’re smart. You can do anything.

  She ran her hands down the steering column, searching for a way in, a way to get a hold of the wires that would spark her chance at freedom.

  The car doors unlocked with a deafening click and the driver’s door opened.

  “Move over,” Sean said.

  She scooted as far away from him as possible without jumping from the car. Where would she go in the middle of a thunderstorm with no clothes, money or mind to guide her?

  He tossed the ski mask into the backseat and pulled away from the shoulder of the deserted road. Her head snapped back against the seat.

  “Were you hit?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

  She studied his hard profile, square jaw clenched tight, eyes narrowed to make out the road between sheets of rain. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t care about her.

  “Say something, nod, anything,” he said.

  Sean squeezed the steering wheel, his leg throbbing from the bullet that had grazed his thigh. The injury wasn’t nearly as painful as the thought of the old man getting his hands on her. Or had someone else discovered her location? Someone who was after her formula?

  He jammed his foot to the accelerator, anxious to get far away from the evil that nearly had taken her from him for good.

  Yeah, like she was ever yours to begin with.

  He glanced at his passenger, her eyes wide, her arms wrapped around her midsection. She stared at him with such hatred and distrust.

  “Please tell me you’re not hurt.”

  She nodded and hugged herself tighter.

  “I’ll get you some dry clothes later, but first we need to get as far away from Appleton as we can. Do you understand? That man will probably come looking for you. We can’t let him find you. Do you understand?”

  He rambled like an idiot, not knowing what else to do. He wasn’t sure if she was mentally all there or not, if she understood a word he said. He sped down the Maine farm road toward the sea, knowing if he got her on his sailboat, the Minerva, she’d be safe for the time being. That had been the plan: keep her on the boat until it was safe to bring her in. He’d also rented a cabin as a backup.

  He would make sure she was safe. He owed her that. Then he would run like hell.

  “Who…are you?” she said.

  Her voice, rough with lack of use, touched his heart. How many months had he hidden in the shadows of her hospital room aching to hear the sweet sound of her voice? Willing her to open her eyes and forgive him? How many months had he prayed that someday she would even tell him she loved him?

  Fool.

  “My name is Sean. I knew you before the accident. Do you remember the accident?”

  She chewed on her lower lip. He figured she remembered something.

  “You were in a coma,” he said. “You woke up but were still out of it. You couldn’t speak. That’s why they moved you to Appleton.”

  “Husband?” she croaked, pointing her finger at him.

  “No, I’m not really your husband.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed with relief.

  His heart sliced in two.

  “You’re in danger,” he said, getting a grip on his emotions.

  Her eyes shot open and raked across his body. Heat pooled in his gut.

  “No, not from me. I’m going to help you.”

  The disbelief in her eyes slapped him with shame—had he helped her by making her fall in love with him? Using her, like the rest of the world?

  Damn, he should have demanded a transfer months ago.

  “Where…?” she asked.

  “We’re going to my sailboat. We’ll be safe there. And mobile.”

  Getting out to the Minerva without being noticed would be a trick. In their present state, they stuck out like two thieves on the run: Sean dressed in black, blood oozing down his leg, his companion dressed in mud-covered pajamas. Wet pajamas that clung to her like a second skin. Not that there was much to cling to. She used to complain about her weight, but Sean thought she was just right—round and voluptuous and incredibly sexy.

  He glanced at her. Her ribs poked through the starched cotton of her pajamas; her cheekbones were more pronounced than six months ago.

  “Didn’t they feed you at that place?” he said, unable to keep the anger from his voice.

  Her blue eyes widened and she wrapped her arms tighter around her middle.

  “Aw, hell, I’m not mad at you.”

  He reached out to touch her shoulder. She glared at his hand and he withdrew it. Just as well. He didn’t want any confusion about their roles this time around.

  “We should change before we get to the harbor. I don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. I brought some clothes.”

  They drove in silence for what seemed like eternity. This was his penance: protecting the woman he loved, the same woman who thought he was the enemy. In reality, wasn’t he?

  “There, a gas station,” he said more to himself than his companion. “We’ll use the bathroom to wash up and change.”

  He parked the car behind the station, got the backpack from the trunk and opened the door for her.

  “C’mon,” he encouraged.

  She glanced up, eyes wary.

  He crouched beside her. “I know you’re scared. But you’ve got to trust me.” He extended his hand and waited. His leg burned fire clear down to his toes, his mind raced with images of black-hooded men wielding silencers.

  He put his other hand to his wound and gritted his teeth against the pain. He knew he couldn’t rush her.

  She stared hard into his eyes and he struggled not to look away. He’d betrayed her once. If she spotted that in his eyes, she’d never get out of the car.

  “Okay,” she said, but didn’t reach for his hand.

  He straightened and stepped back. She shifted out of the car, swaying as she gained her footing on the damp earth. He resisted the urge to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to the bathroom. She wouldn’t welcome the gesture.

  Trust—he had to gain her trust.

  She limped to the women’s bathroom. He followed close, cursing fate for crippling her and cursing himself for letting it happen.

  He picked the bathroom lock rather than ask the gas station attendant for the key. The smell of stale urine and strong disinfectant made him gag as he opened the door. She blocked the doorway and pointed to the sign that read Women.

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight. Not for one minute. We can both change in here,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. Pretty gutsy, considering she had an assassin on her tail.

  “If I was going to hurt you I would have done it by now. Trust me until I can get you safe, okay?”

  He wanted to reach out, to slip the flyaway strands of auburn-streaked hair from her face.

  Tentatively, she stepped into the bathroom and he followed, locking the door. He placed the bag on the sink and pulled out clothes: pants and a top for her, jeans and a T-shirt for him.

  “I guessed your size.” He handed her navy cotton pants, a print shirt and sneakers. “They might be a little big.”

  The room was too small for two people to stand in, much less change in. She eyed the clothes dangling from her fingertips.

  “I’ll look the other way. Pretend I’m not here,” he said.

  But there was no way he’d be able to pretend he was alone. Her essence still captivated him. It wasn’t her scent or looks or anything he could put his finger on.

  It was her.

  Turning his back, he stripped the black knit top from his torso. He washed mud from his hands and glanced in the mirror. Her expression chilled his heart. Her eyes grew wide with horror as she studied his naked torso, the clothes clutched t
o her chest like a shield.

  The scars. She was shocked by the pattern crisscrossing his back.

  “Please get dressed.” He didn’t recognize the sound of his voice.

  Ripping his gaze from her, he slipped on the T-shirt and reached for his belt. His vision started to blur. Damn, not now. Okay, so he’d lost a fair amount of blood. He could make it for another half hour. He had to.

  Stripping off his pants, he heard her gasp. She must have caught sight of the bullet wound. The lead grazed him good, leaving his thigh bloodied and raw. He grabbed the gauze and tape from the backpack and did his best to patch himself up. He managed to pull on his jeans and the room started to spin. He pressed his forehead against the dirty tile wall and struggled to breathe. The overhead fan roared like a B-52 bomber. He was going to pass out.

  She touched his shoulder and he rolled his forehead against the cool tile. He could barely make out her eyes. But he remembered their color: blue like the virgin sea, clear and honest. She placed a handful of moist paper towel to his forehead. He came back a little then. The world stopped spinning quite so fast.

  “Thanks.”

  He closed his eyes and remembered the first time he saw her, dressed in her pink lab coat. She’d been fumbling with test tubes and beakers, chewing on her lower lip in concentration and poking at her black-framed glasses with her forefinger to keep them in place.

  “Your glasses,” he muttered, knowing she needed them, yet also knowing he couldn’t move from this spot if his life depended on it. But he wanted to get them for her. He wanted to care for her and protect her, even if she hated him for what he’d done.

  He touched her hand, just as he’d touched her for the first time a year ago. He’d never forget the surprise on her face or the heat that followed. He’d never forget the passion that haunted his dreams every night since.

  It was pure and right, and never before in his life had he felt this way about a woman. Never before had one touch consumed him beyond reason. And that’s why he could never have her.

  Her fingers trembled beneath his touch and he opened his eyes. Confusion creased her features, her eyes darkening with need, a need he remembered well.

  She jerked her hand away.

  “Don’t…don’t be afraid,” he breathed heavy against the tile. He was all right when she was close, soothing him. The minute she stepped away, the world vibrated with static, his focus blown to hell.

  The bathroom door squeaked open. She was going to run. Like before.

  “Don’t,” he pleaded.

  The crash of the door knifed his heart. With flattened palms, he slid down the tile wall to his knees. He’d lost her again. Lost her to fate and fear and his dishonorable nature.

  What a pitiful end to it all: passed out in a gas-station bathroom, with the woman he loved out on her own, running blindly from sure death.

  No. He wouldn’t let her die. He pushed to his feet and stumbled across the tile floor, clinging to the wall for support. Blinking away the pain, he yanked open the door.

  He squinted into the darkness, rain spitting in his face as he hovered in the threshold. A flash of movement caught his eye. She didn’t stand a chance without him. She was so innocent, so helpless.

  Stepping into the rain, he took a deep, fortifying breath.

  “Annie!” he howled into the night. The ground started to slip out from under him. “Annie, come back!”

  Chapter Three

  She froze. The chill from the metal car keys raced up her arm. What had he called her?

  Annie.

  Her legs wobbled and she leaned into the car. Voices assailed her, one voice in particular, a woman’s voice.

  Annie, bring your sisters in for breakfast! Annie, make your bed! Annie, put away those critters and do your chores!

  The singsong voice comforted her, yet paralyzed her with remorse. Memories flashed, sharp and quick: the scent of lilacs, sunshine warming her cheeks, sand oozing between her toes.

  She whipped open the car door and crawled inside wanting to get away from Sean and the memories he’d evoked.

  Annie, come home. Annie…Annie…

  She shoved the key into the ignition and gripped the steering wheel. Oh God, she didn’t know how to drive, did she?

  Annie girl, you’re smarter than anyone I know.

  A sob caught in her throat. Her mother.

  It’s okay to be different.

  She welcomed the comfort of her mother’s voice, yet her insides ached as if someone had jammed a knife in her chest and twisted hard.

  “Annie!”

  She jumped at the sound of Sean’s voice.

  He pounded on the window, his face scrunched in pain. “Open the door!”

  His chest heaved. “Annie, please?”

  Annie. Her special name. Sean knew this name. He was her only link to her mother and at the moment, she didn’t have a connection to another living soul.

  She couldn’t trust this man, but right now she needed him. Her pulse quickened and an ache started deep in her chest.

  What was this man to her before she’d lost her mind? Lover or enemy? Or both?

  She’d find her mom and cut this overpowering man from her life. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need any man.

  A shaft of pain sliced through her.

  “Let me in the car!” he demanded.

  She didn’t want to, yet had no choice. She hit the unlock button. He flung open the door, reached over her and jerked the keys from the ignition.

  “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?” He loomed in the open door, his eyes blazing fire, his teeth clenched in a near growl.

  She swallowed hard.

  “Do you want to die?” he said. “Do you?”

  She shook her head, wondering if she should have taken her chances with the rainstorm and Zinkerman’s man. Sean looked terrifying: blood smeared his hands, and rage flushed his cheeks bright red.

  “Don’t you know what they’ll do to you if they find you?” he said.

  She glanced away, remembering the aggressor who tore her from a sound sleep with brutal force.

  “I don’t like this any more than you do, but we’re stuck with each other.”

  Glaring out the windshield, she interlaced her fingers in her lap. Temporary, this was only temporary. She’d remember, find her family and get away from this creep.

  Her family. They were out there somewhere. Her chest ached.

  “I have to get my stuff. Change into the clothes I gave you,” he ordered, tossing her clothes.

  Ordered. Always ordered. She blinked, and tears of frustration burned her eyes. Vulnerable and helpless. So utterly helpless. And more than a bit scared.

  A few seconds passed and her skin tingled from the heat of his gaze on her body.

  “Just don’t…” His voice trailed off. She glanced up, into his eyes. They’d softened to a warm green. He suddenly looked tired and beaten.

  “Don’t leave me,” he said, his voice cracking.

  He shut the door and disappeared into the bathroom. She dug her nails into the dash as adrenaline raced to every nerve ending in her body. It took great effort to control her reaction, to prevent him from seeing how much he’d affected her. Fear, anger and something else unfurled in her belly, something hot and cold at the same time.

  She wished she didn’t need his help. If only she could find her mother on her own.

  “Why can’t…I remember?” She pressed her fingertips to her temples.

  Blank. Her mind held nothing but bits and pieces, images of numbers scribbled in a notebook, a large room with a high ceiling, lace-trimmed socks on her feet.

  She had to move forward. She pulled off her pajama top and slipped on the print shirt, relieved it bloused in front, hiding her chilled nipples. She glanced out the window, making sure he was still inside the bathroom. She peeled the pajama bottoms from her legs and stuck her bare feet into the cotton pants. Once dressed, she tied the sneakers he’d given her, then ran
her fingers through her hair, wishing she had a band to tie it back.

  A minute later, he appeared with his backpack and plastic garbage bag. Sliding onto the vinyl seat, he winced and tossed the bag in the back.

  “We’ll get rid of this someplace else,” he said. “They’ll track us if they find blood-stained clothes.”

  Blood. That’s right. His leg. He’d been shot by her attacker at Appleton. Shot trying to help her.

  Don’t feel sorry for him. He wants you for his own sick purpose.

  Buckling her seat belt, she glanced up. He blinked slowly as if trying to clear his vision.

  “Are you…okay?” she asked.

  His eyes radiated a kind of emotional pain she prayed never to feel herself. It made her want to reach out, to stroke away the demons that haunted him.

  No. She was mixed up, that’s all. Grateful to him for saving her life. Breaking eye contact, he reached across her, his arm brushing against her thigh. Her breath caught and she closed her eyes.

  He snatched a cell phone from the glove box, and pulled onto the farm road. She studied his profile, his stubbled face and hard set to his jaw. How would she convince this man to help her find her mom?

  “I’ve got her,” his said into the headset.

  His rough voice shot goose bumps across her shoulders.

  “Nope…yep. Not bad.” She spied his hand clutching his thigh. “Someplace safe… I thought you said… What problem?” Panic edged his voice. He kept his eyes trained ahead as if he knew she was watching him. “I don’t like it… I’ll get back.”

  He slapped the phone onto the vinyl seat between them. She could tell it took every ounce of his self-control not to scream, or worse. She sensed he wanted to hit something.

  They wound their way up the rural farm road in silence. She stared out the window, trying to figure out how to get away from Sean and find her family. He wanted her to stay with him and he outweighed her by at least fifty pounds—all muscle. His white-knuckled fingers, wrapped tight around the steering wheel, made her feel slight and frail, like a delicate piece of crystal. She wondered if she’d break at his touch, shatter into a million pieces. She hugged her midsection.