by Bonnie Vanak
Terrific. Brayden and Shane sidestepped the name of Demi, but West Brand kept bringing it up, asking her if she remembered the woman.
And when she denied knowing a Demi, he refused to share anything more about this mysterious woman. Instead, he asked different questions.
All these questions, when she had some of her own that weren’t answered. And her brain still felt foggy, her life filled with uncertainty.
“Who is Demi?” In frustration, she raised her voice.
Reeling back, he held out his hands. “Okay, okay! Demi is your sister. Your half sister. She’s the one everyone in town thinks is the Groom Killer, going around and killing men before they marry. There was evidence linking her to the first murder, but she fled town. She’s been missing awhile now. No one knows where she went. She was pregnant when she left.”
In dumbstruck disbelief, she listened, scribbling down notes as he talked. Her sister. Brayden and Shane never mentioned her.
West only wanted to know what she knew of Demi.
“The first groom murder was Bo Gage, her former fiancé.” Austin leaned close, his voice lowered. “Bo was marrying Hayley Patton and his bachelor party was at your father’s bar. When Bo’s brother, Carson Gage, arrived, he found Bo dead, a black cummerbund in his mouth.”
“And everyone thinks my sister, Demi, killed him?” Quinn tapped her pen on the page.
Austin shrugged. “Even you told me a while ago you weren’t certain if Demi was the Groom Killer. Although she’s pregnant, probably with Bo Gage’s kid.”
Quinn frowned. “My sister is pregnant?”
“Was. By now she’s had the baby. She was seeing Bo and then he dumped her and was set to marry Hayley three months later. You were pretty worried about Demi being on the run and alone with a newborn. Even though you weren’t close, you had tried to have a relationship with Demi.”
Her friend squinted at her through the thick lenses. “You sure you don’t remember any of this?”
“No,” she snapped.
Head aching, she set down the pen and notebook. Austin pointed to it. “Does that help?”
“Yes,” she muttered, her earlier good mood evaporating. “Remembering would help more.”
The therapist they’d sent in to work with her had told her writing things down was best with memory loss. Another one kept asking her questions, only these questions proved more frustrating because they were simple. Who are you? Do you know where you are?
Quinn felt like a child locked in a cell, unable to free herself.
The door opened and cute, tall and muscled West Brand strode inside. Here was one fine man she wished she could remember instead of hearing she had a business sliding deeper into debt. Today he wore jeans, a black T-shirt, heavy work boots and a lightweight jacket. He saw Austin, hesitated. Nodded.
“Hi, Miss Colton,” he said in his deep voice. “I stopped by to see how you were doing, and ask you a few more questions.”
West removed the jacket, folded it neatly and placed it on the corner chair. Quinn’s heart skipped a beat with pleasure. The action triggered a faint familiarity. Not a memory, but something close.
A pistol hung from his belt. Black, lethal looking. It gave her comfort, knowing he carried it, because this quiet, strong man seemed determined to protect her.
Quinn didn’t know why, but her instincts told her West Brand would put himself into danger to keep her safe. Going on instinct was all that guided her presently. Until she could get back into her home, and try to piece together the fragments of her life, she had little to aid her in regaining her memory.
West held a bottle of water and took a sip. His sharp gaze roved over her bedside tray, as if he checked to make sure everything was a-okay.
“Do you need anything?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she told him. “Austin and I were chatting.”
He’d been the same way last night, and held her hand as she fell asleep last night in the ICU.
Sympathy softened Austin’s expression. “We were talking about Demi Colton.”
If she hadn’t been studying West’s face, she’d have missed the slight tensing of that chiseled jawline. West looked at her. “What about Demi Colton?”
“Apparently she’s a sister I don’t remember,” Quinn muttered.
“Half sister. You stayed in cabin number seven last year.” Austin heaved a dramatic sigh. “I remember because you left me alone with temps to fill the orders. I threatened to hunt you down and drag you back to work.”
The smallest glimmer of...something...surfaced. And then it fled again. “I stayed at Pine Paradise with my sister?”
“Don’t you remember?” Austin looked sheepish. “Sorry, Quinn. Yeah, you rented a cabin in the early fall. You told me it was a great place for peace and quiet and to try to get to know Demi better. Isolated, and far away from people. You even kept her jacket, hoping she’d return to the store and pick it up. She never did.”
West shuffled his feet. Austin stood. Her friend pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone now.”
“Leaving me alone with the big, bad FBI agent?” Quinn teased.
“I’m sure you want to spend time with him. He is your boyfriend, after all. Probably your husband in the future.”
West choked on his sip of water. Quinn frowned. “How do you know?”
“Yeah, how?” West demanded.
Mischief twinkled in Austin’s gaze. “I saw you late one night, sneaking up to Quinn’s apartment when I returned to the store. Forgot my cell phone.”
“So much for discretion,” West muttered. “We were keeping it secret.”
Her business partner stared frankly at West. “Secret engagement? Can’t blame you, in this town.”
West compressed his mouth, but Austin grinned. “Aha. Knew it. Well, congrats, you two. My lips are sealed.”
Although Austin’s confirmation of West proved soothing, it remained frustrating. Quinn sniffed. “It’s all a secret to me now, because I have no memory of it.”
“You will,” West assured.
Austin made a large X over his heart. “Don’t fret, either of you. I won’t tell. Cross my heart. Never mentioned it to Quinn because I figured if she wanted to tell me, she would. It’s your personal life.”
Then her friend looked gloomy. “There’s enough trouble in this town trying to have a relationship with people dying and things blowing up. Me? I’ll stay single. Safer that way.”
Austin blew her a kiss and waggled his fingers. “Later, sweets. Gotta secure that order and keep the dough rolling.”
When he walked out, she gestured to West to sit. He didn’t, but paced.
“Do you need anything? How do you feel?”
“So many questions. I’m fine and I feel better.”
Much better than when her head felt like someone was stomping on it with nails and her mind was foggy. Thanks to the morphine drip she’d received, the pain had diminished.
“Did you find anything out? Anyone who might have done this?” Quinn pointed to her still-bandaged head.
“No. Nothing yet.” West pulled up the chair, reached through the bars on her hospital bed for her hand. Held it, the way he’d held it last night.
It felt good.
“Anything coming back to you? What about Demi?” West studied her in his intense manner. “You tried to get close to her, once.”
Demi again. But at least she knew who Demi was. “My sister, Demi?”
West blinked. “You remember Demi and who she is? That’s great!”
“No, Austin told me, since you and my brothers were reluctant.” She bit her lip. West had been nothing but kind and sweet to her, despite the questions. “I have a few flashes of memory here and there. Maybe I am getting better.”
“Of course you are,” he told her
.
She was loath to tell him about her morphine-induced dreams. Dreams of making love with this man, passionate kisses, amazing sex.
It could be wistful thinking. Maybe West Brand was only a decent lover and her imagination filled in the rest. But, wow, what an imagination!
Feeling overheated, Quinn reached for her water. He was there, handing it to her.
“You need anything?” he asked.
Quinn set down the cup, decided to level with him. “Information. What have you found out so far? Was someone trying to kill me?”
West’s jaw went tight. Quinn pressed. “Well?”
She had to know. Information was her best defense right now. Being in the dark, coddled by her brothers and this man who called himself her fiancé, was not.
“We don’t know. The investigation is in its early stages.”
Same answers as before. “Then hurry up.”
Anger flashed in his dark gaze. “That’s not how it works, sweetheart. You have to be methodical and pick through every single part, otherwise you miss critical evidence. A tiny fragment can be a crucial clue. What will help us is if you remember something. Anything, about what you saw prior to the blast.”
“Nothing yet.” She yawned. “I’m tired.”
“Sleep, honey,” he soothed. “Rest will help you recover. I’ll stay here with you for a while.”
Quinn dozed off. Real sleep was impossible, with the nurses checking on her, the sounds from the hallway. She awoke a few minutes later, feeling hungry. Lunchtime soon. But she kept her eyes closed because it was easier than opening them and facing the reality of this horrid fogginess.
And then she heard West’s deep voice, close to her bed.
“Yeah, Mike, I’m at the hospital. There’s a witness. Quinn Colton. She survived.”
Quinn strained to listen as his boots scraped the floor, indicating he walked farther away from the bed.
She caught snatches of conversation. Suspect. Unsub. And a word that made gooseflesh spring out on her bare arms.
Autopsy.
Tia had died in the same incident that caused her amnesia.
Who was Mike? Another FBI agent? Quinn’s suspicions rose. But she kept her eyes firmly shut.
Boot heels shuffled closer to the bed. No conversation. Maybe he was listening. Then he spoke in his deep, confident voice, quiet, but she could overhear every word.
“My loyalty is to the Bureau, damn it, Mike.”
Silence, and then he raised his voice. Angry. Biting.
“I don’t know if the Coltons are hiding Demi. Shane admitted to hearing from her a while back. If Quinn has information on her sister, she hasn’t shared it with me. She sure as hell won’t share it now because she’s lost her memory from the explosion. You have to give me more time.”
Her stomach pitched and roiled. Oh God. What was this man doing? Investigating her family? Was West searching for Demi and thought she knew something?
And remembered nothing now?
She remembered that kiss. Smoldering, passionate, making her toes tingle and her blood race. Clearly, there existed a hot attraction between her and West. The man was smoking.
And he had a wonderful, tight butt beneath the blue jeans he wore.
But was he her lover because he loved her? Or was he trying to coax out information about Demi?
Confusion filled her. It seemed much easier to deal with individuals like Austin, gloomy as he was. Austin was simple and straightforward.
No attraction there. No subterfuge, either.
“Goodbye, Mike. I’ll be in touch.”
Sounds of West walking away. Quinn kept her eyes shut.
She felt the soothing brush of warm, firm lips against her forehead. “You sleep, honey. I’m going for a cup of java juice. Be right back.”
The door opened and closed. She was alone.
Quinn fiddled with the remote for the television and turned it on, flipping through channels. There, someone at a desk talking about the news. Something about Congress. An interview with a politician with a big, wide smile talking about improving things.
Right. She changed the channel.
Local news. They mentioned the bomb blast at the real estate office. Quinn squinted at the television, not sure if her dizzy spell was from the head injury or the fear curdling in her veins.
Because the film they showed of the wreckage looked horrible. Shattered glass, yellow crime scene tape everywhere, bits and pieces of wreckage.
Of someone’s life that had been snuffed out by a killer.
And she’d survived that.
I don’t know anything about my life, who I really am and who I can trust. How can I trust this West, who’s supposed to be my future husband, when he’s talking about me as if I’m under investigation?
She turned off the television and reached for the cell phone Austin had brought her. Scrolling through the contacts, none of the names looked familiar.
Maybe they were clients. Or friends. She had no clue. Quinn swiped through the photos, hoping it would trigger something.
Many photos of herself with West. One at a fancy dinner, with candlelight, both of them smiling at the camera. One of them at an outdoor bazaar. A few more of West, his shy grin, as he rode a horse.
So, they’d been horseback riding. She must have enjoyed that. And shopping and eating dinner with him. The photos proved they shared a life or at least spent significant time together.
If so, why was he checking on her as if she’d done something wrong?
Quinn took her notebook and wrote down questions. Demi seemed to be the common factor in everything that happened, even the loss of business for the catering company.
The pen paused in midscribble. What if Demi is the person who blew up the real estate office? What if she wants to hurt me?
Having a sister who was on the run, suspected of killing grooms, did not endear her to Quinn. Having no memory of her felt worse, because she had no basis to make her own judgment of Demi, only what others told her.
She studied the other notes she’d made about family. Seemed as if she had a slew of Colton cousins, from the police chief, Finn Colton, to his kid sister, Valeria. Yesterday in ICU Finn had told her Valeria wanted to visit, and might be by today or tomorrow.
Valeria must be a cousin she liked, Quinn decided.
In the contacts section, she found Valeria’s number and went to dial. Hesitated. Best to leave that conversation in person, so she could judge facial expressions.
With the information Austin had relayed, she realized it wasn’t a simple matter of losing her memory.
She’d lost her memory in a town where a serial killer roamed, and was now setting off bombs.
The door to her room remained open after Austin left. There was a slight knock, and then a good-looking blond man in a charcoal-gray business suit walked inside. Clutching a vase of roses, he looked sleek and professional.
Tucking the phone beneath the sheet, she studied the visitor. “Hi.”
“Hi, Quinn. I’m Noel Larson.” At her look, Larson added, “Your landlord.”
Well, this was news. Quinn sat up, wishing her hair wasn’t mussed and her brain all scrambled.
“Came to collect on the rent?” Quinn gestured to the lines feeding out of the IV port in her hand. “I’m a little unable to sign a check now.”
“No problem.” He set the flowers on her nightstand. The fragrance was lovely, but overwhelming. “I know you’re good for it. Eventually.”
Noel Larson. The name was unfamiliar. Still, a tingle rushed down her spine.
Don’t trust this one.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
The smile on his handsome face seemed false. “Visiting to see how you are. It was a bad explosion and I was concerned.”
Right.
I may not remember much, but I know enough to trust sincerity. You’re as sincere as that politician on television. Except you’re more dangerous.
If she reached for the phone, he’d get suspicious. Instead, she kept the nurse call button within reach. The nurses on this floor responded quickly.
“They say you don’t remember anything about what happened.”
Quinn found herself fascinated by his hands. Elegant fingers, polished nails and smooth hands, as if he held a desk job. Not like her brothers or West, who worked in the field.
“I don’t. What do you know?” she challenged.
A shrug in that well-fitted gray suit. “Only what the gossips say. The office was destroyed. Poor Tia. She’s dead. You were quite fortunate.”
“Maybe I’m more than fortunate. Maybe I saw something happening, and ducked out of the way, only I wasn’t quite quick enough.”
Inside, she groaned. Why did she bait him like that? But she watched his expression widen.
She’d surprised him. Startled him, in fact.
“Perhaps you did. Too bad you can’t seem to remember.”
“Maybe my memory is coming back. Or not.”
There. Want to play games? A flash of memory—laughing and clapping as she sat at a table with an older woman, playing a game called Monopoly. Her mother?
Feeling more confident, Quinn fiddled with the button.
Noel came closer to the bed, the overpowering scent of his cologne making her want to gag. After the hospital antiseptic smells and the smells of medicine and machines, she didn’t need something else clogging her senses.
He picked up the IV line leading to the pole by her bed and studied it. “So many lines and needles. So much pain. Poor Quinn,” he murmured.
She was helpless, lying in bed, unable to defend herself. He could pick up a pillow and smother her and she’d be dead before anyone came.
Silly. Why would a businessman want to kill her? Or cause her any harm? He was her landlord. A dead tenant couldn’t pay rent.
Unless there was something else he needed from her more than money.
Silence.
Screams wouldn’t attract anyone. In frantic alarm, she pressed the nurse call button as Noel started to touch the morphine bag...
