Saving Grace (Serve and Protect Series)

by Wilson, Norah

  She dipped her head as though giving up, and he slackened his grip. The instant he did, she leaned into him, using her full weight. Had he anticipated such a move, she never could have budged him, but as it was, she overbalanced him easily. The next instant she sprawled atop him. The look of astonishment on his face would have been funny, under other circumstances.

  Oh, my God, I’m on top! What now?

  Quickly, before he could recover his wits, or maybe before she recovered her own, she bent and kissed his slack mouth.

  For a few heartbeats, he lay there, unresponsive. Fueled by equal parts of fear and need, she kissed him with renewed desperation. Then, just as she began to despair, she felt him catch fire beneath her. In a single heartbeat, he was right there with her. Trapping her head, tangling his fingers in her hair, he kissed her back.

  Giddy, she slid her hands over him, glorying in the way he arched up into her. Could she take him like this, claim him as thoroughly as he’d claimed her so many times? The idea sent bolts of excitement zinging jaggedly along her nerve endings. Did she dare try?

  Deciding she had nothing to lose, she broke the kiss and sat up so she could tackle his belt.

  He groaned and pulled her back down. Wrapping an arm around her, he rolled her swiftly onto her back, pinning her beneath him. She wanted to protest, but then he was kissing her again, deep and hot and insistent, and she couldn’t think of one single thing to complain about.

  Besides, it was probably best this way. She needed him to take her with an authority that left no room for doubt.

  “Love me, Ray,” she urged against his ear. “Love me like you’ve never loved me before.”

  His body stilled. Cursing, he levered himself off her and strode out of the bedroom.

  Grace was still trying to process what had happened when she heard the front door slam. A few seconds later, Ray’s truck roared to life, reversed out of the driveway and accelerated off. As she listened to the sound of his engine growing fainter, she realized she’d felt this same black despair before.

  At the wheel of her car as she sped away from her husband on a ribbon of wet blacktop.

  Chapter 2

  DAMMIT, HE REALLY SHOULDN’T have left Grace like that.

  Ray wasn’t a mile out of town before that sober second thought took root. Not that he let it stop him. He let a good twenty miles roll past before he finally pulled into a busy truck stop. Nosing his black Pathfinder in between an eighteen-wheeler and a gleaming RV, he killed the engine.

  She was starting to remember. Not everything, but it was beginning to come. He’d seen the fear in those pale blue eyes.

  He closed his own eyes, and instantly saw Grace’s face. And God help him, her softly rounded body, draped in his shirt. He’d almost dropped the damned tray when he’d walked in to find her sprawled on their bed, touching herself.

  It wasn’t just dismay over her introducing sex when he so desperately needed to steer clear of that minefield. No, the shock was that she’d done it at all. Then she’d pinned him to the bed like a wrestler taking an opponent to the mat and kissed him senseless. Grace just didn’t do those things.

  At least, not with you, chump.

  “Arrrgh!” Ray slammed out of the truck.

  For a moment he stood there in the parking lot, his chest heaving. Yards away, oblivious to his distress, traffic whizzed by, disappearing into the August evening.

  For a moment, he thought about getting back in his truck and driving straight into the deepening dusk. He could just drive and drive, stopping only for gas and to sleep. There’d be nothing and no one to stop him until he hit the Pacific Ocean, three thousand miles away. The idea was incredibly seductive.

  Sighing, he turned on his heel and walked into the brightly-lit restaurant. Though he’d kicked the habit eight years ago, the urge for a cigarette was almost overpowering. But instead of buying a pack of Export ‘A’s, going outside and chain-smoking a half a pack, he sat down and drank three cups of truck-stop coffee.

  Feeling both queasy and jittery from all that coffee, he left the tired-looking waitress a generous tip, climbed into his vehicle, and headed home.

  Four miles down the road, at sixty miles per hour, the front tire on the driver’s side blew out. The SUV veered sharply across the centerline.

  Ray hit the brakes, fighting with the wheel. Oh, Lord, a row of transports in the oncoming lane!

  Fear, sharp and acrid, lanced through him as he realized the vehicle wouldn’t be strong-armed back into the right-hand lane. He was gonna be bug-splatter on the lead rig’s grill!

  Taking his foot off the brake, he wrenched the steering wheel hard to the left. He sucked in his breath, half expecting the SUV to topple with that sharp maneuver. By some miracle, it streaked across the highway, avoiding a head-on collision by mere yards.

  The sound of an air horn echoing in his ears, he found himself on the paved shoulder. He struggled to keep the Pathfinder out of oncoming traffic and off the guardrail, which was all that stood between him and the Saint John River, glistening in the moonlight. Violent gusts from the rigs passing just inches away buffeted his vehicle. The guardrail suddenly looked about as tall as a street curb.

  Even as he thought these things, part of him marveled that he could. But every second seemed to stretch out forever, every action and reaction seemed reduced to slow motion.

  Had it been like this for Grace? When the Mustang careened out of control on that rainy highway, had she thought about the husband she’d left behind? Or had she thought only of her lover, grieving the fact that she might never reach him?

  Suddenly, he had control again. Like an elastic band, time snapped back.

  His heart hammering in his chest, he brought the SUV to a shuddering stop flush against the guardrail. Gripping the steering wheel, he sagged forward.

  Dear God, that was close!

  A moment later, the last of the trucks chugged past. When all was clear in both directions, he nudged his crippled vehicle across the lanes to the proper shoulder so he could change the blown tire.

  Quite suddenly, he wanted to jump out and smash the vehicle’s windows, its smooth, undented hood, its taillights. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run as hard as he could until the cool evening air turned to fire in his lungs.

  Instead, he took a deep, steadying breath, flicked on his hazard lights and climbed out of the Pathfinder.

  Retrieving the tire iron, jack and spare, he dropped them on the pavement. Grabbing the tire iron, he squatted. With hands that still shook, he felt for the lug nuts securing the tire.

  “Christ on a bike.”

  Couldn’t be.

  Ray shifted, letting the moonlight strike the tire’s rim. His eyes confirmed what his fingers had told him.

  The wheel was secured by a single nut. One. It was a miracle the thing hadn’t fallen off!

  In a mouth-drying flash, he imagined the wheel coming off, saw his truck pitching nose first into the pavement and flipping into the path of those rigs....

  Cursing, he shook the images away and bent to the shredded tire again. The wheel must have wobbled like hell, which explained why the sidewall had blown so catastrophically. Just wait until he got his hands on the people who’d rotated these tires!

  Well, changing the tire was out of the question. One nut wasn’t going to hold his spare on long enough to get him home.

  Home. He sagged against the SUV’s bumper.

  Home used to be Grace’s arms. Lord, he wished he could go there now. If only he could forget what she’d forgotten. He’d crawl into her arms, lose himself in her.

  But he couldn’t forget. Even if he could, sooner or later she’d remember, and despise him for his weakness.

  Or maybe not.

  What if the last few days before the accident were gone forever? To use Dr. Greenfield’s ‘RAM theory’, what if those memories never made it to the ol’ hard drive? Maybe he could win her back....

  Oh, God, you’re pitiful, Morgan.
>
  Yanking the truck’s door open, he grabbed his cell phone and called for a hook.

  An hour later, he climbed out of the cab of the tow truck. He stood at the mouth of his driveway as the wrecker pulled away, his shiny SUV still on board.

  Wishing he’d actually bought those cigarettes he’d only thought about at the truck stop, he watched the wrecker turn onto the next street and head east. He lost sight of it quickly, but still he stood there until he could no longer hear the deep roar of its engine. Sweet Jesus, he didn’t want to go inside.

  Reluctance was a band of steel squeezing his chest, making his breathing shallow and his pulse quicken. But he knew how to deal with fear. Ignore it, push through it. Scared, not scared‌—‌in the end, it didn’t matter. You just had to do what needed doing.

  Squaring his shoulders, he trudged toward the house. Three paces from the door, it opened. Grace stood there, silhouetted in warm, yellow light.

  “Ray, what’s wrong? Was that a tow truck?”

  “It’s nothing. I had some mechanical trouble.”

  Well, at least she was fully dressed. Armored, almost. She wore jeans and hugged a big, ratty sweater around herself. She stepped back to let him in.

  As he shouldered past, he caught a whiff of the stuff she used in the bath. His relief evaporated. With that scent in his nostrils, she might as well be naked, or wearing that damned shirt of his.

  Again, he thought how therapeutic a shot or two of hard stuff would be. Something with bite, something that would burn all the way down and anesthetize him for the exchange to come.

  No, that was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  “I need coffee,” he said.

  She followed him to the kitchen, where he found a full carafe of coffee already on.

  “We need to talk, Ray.”

  His hand was surprisingly steady as he poured himself some of the black brew. He inhaled. Regular dark Columbian, not the hazelnut half-caf stuff she usually sipped at night.

  He held the pot out, cocking an inquiring eyebrow. “Refill?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve already had more than enough.”

  “The high-test stuff, too.” He replaced the carafe and turned, leaning against the counter.

  “Ray, where was I going that night?”

  Guess that was it for the small talk.

  “Where, specifically?” He looked down at his mug. “I don’t know. You wouldn’t say.”

  “Then tell me why. I know you know.” She hugged the bedraggled sweater close. “Why was I out there?”

  Sorry, Doc. I can’t dodge her questions any longer.

  “You were leaving me.”

  Silence for a few heartbeats. “No.”

  A denial, but her voice was weak, her eyes glazing as though she were looking inward.

  “You’re remembering.” He put the mug down, the coffee untasted.

  “I think I remember needing to get away.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes covered with a sheen of tears. “But that can’t be right. Things were so good....”

  “Evidently not.”

  “What was it, then?” She straightened, obviously steeling herself to hear the worst. “What made me leave?”

  How dare she look so tortured? He was the one who’d been screwed over, dammit. Ray gripped the counter top behind him until his fingernails screamed.

  “You couldn’t take a guess?”

  “No. That’s why I’m asking you.”

  He turned away. Picking up his mug, he dumped the coffee down the drain, rinsed his mug and put it on the draining board.

  “Come on, Ray. For God’s sake, just tell me!”

  He turned to face her again, schooling his features into a bland mask. “Marital infidelity.”

  She took a step back at those two words.

  “Infidelity?” She gaped at him with horrified eyes, as though he’d just slid a knife between her ribs. “You were having an affair?”

  A harsh laugh escaped him. “Hardly.”

  “But you said infidelity....”

  “Not mine, Gracie.” He looked deep into those blue eyes and watched shock explode there. “Yours.”

  Grace fought the panic rising in her chest. “No!”

  “Yes.” Ray’s face was cold, implacable. “That’s where you were going. You were leaving me to hook up with lover-boy.”

  “No. That’s impossible.”

  “You stood right here and told me, in this very kitchen.”

  “No.” She was repeating herself, but no was the only word her mind could form.

  “Yes. I caught a home invasion just before end-of-shift, so I’d put in a couple of hours of OT and got home late. You were waiting for me here, about where you’re standing right now. But you weren’t keeping supper warm, were you Gracie?”

  She pressed both hands to her temples, trying to push back the confusion. It couldn’t have happened. She couldn’t have left Ray. She’d never leave him. Never.

  “That can’t be right. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Ah, but you did. You said you’d met someone else, someone who meant more to you than I ever could. You said you were sorry, but there was no point in my trying to stop you.” His voice grew stronger, louder with every accusation. “You said now that you knew what love was supposed to be like, you couldn’t settle for less.”

  Grace covered her ears. “Stop! You’re making this up.”

  He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Funny, that’s what I accused you of doing, making it up. But you convinced me.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides. “But there’s no one. I mean, I don’t remember‌—”

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Dr. Greenfield said you’d probably have random blanks. There’d be stuff you might not remember.”

  “Random blanks? But I don’t remember anything ... anyone.” God, she was losing her mind. Maybe she’d already lost it. “How can you call it random if a whole thread is missing?”

  Ray angled his face away, but she could see he was struggling with his own emotions. “Maybe it’s a new development. Greenfield said new memories can be especially vulnerable.”

  Grace swallowed. “How new?”

  “Three days.”

  She laughed, but it came out more like a sob. “You think I’d run away with someone I’d had a relationship with for three days?”

  “How should I know?” A muscle leapt in his jaw. “Until recently, I’d wouldn’t have believed it under any circumstances.”

  “But three days ... I wouldn’t‌—”

  “There’s another possibility.”

  “What’s that?” Hysteria welled in her chest, driving her voice higher. “Insanity?”

  “Psychological trauma.”

  “Psychological trauma?” she echoed. “Is this another thing Dr. Greenfield neglected to tell me about?”

  He looked away again. “No, Greenfield didn’t mention it. But I’ve seen it on the job. Sometimes people block memories selectively.”

  “You think I chose to forget that I’d taken a lover and dumped you?”

  “It’s not exactly a voluntary thing.”

  “But why?” she demanded. “What would make me do that?”

  His head snapped back around. “How the hell would I know?”

  His gaze blazed into her and she tried not to flinch. But dear heaven, he looked as though he hated her. Grace wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry. This is so new.”

  “I haven’t had too long to get used to it, either.”

  “When‌—” She choked, tried again. “When did I tell you?”

  “The night of your accident.”

  Her mind wanted to shut down, stop processing, but she couldn’t let it. After a week of blundering around in the dark, she needed the truth.

  “I just told you? I mean, I just flat-out told you, then left?”

  “Yep.”

  “I can’t see myself doing that.” She shrugged helplessly. “Doing any of it
.”

  “I needed some convincing myself, but you persuaded me.”

  She searched his face. He was telling the truth. She read it in the hard glitter of his eyes, the ruthless set of his mouth. This was the root of the underlying coldness she’d sensed in him even as he’d nursed her so solicitously. This was why he’d rebuffed her clumsy seduction.

  Oh, Grace, what have you done? And why can’t you remember? A dozen different emotions tried to jam their way through a narrow bottleneck in her chest.

  Stunned disbelief. I can’t possibly have done it.

  Hideous self-doubt. Could I have done it, but the trauma of the betrayal made me forget?

  Mind-numbing fear. Oh, Gracie, what if you did do it?

  Stomach-churning shame. Sweet mother of God, what if I really did it?

  The tumult of emotions melded into a single one‌—‌hot, despairing, improbable anger.

  “So, what’s the story?” Her voice was brittle. “If I hadn’t jumped you in there tonight,” she indicated the direction of the bedroom with a jerk of her shoulder, “if I’d waited like a good little girl for you to touch me like I always do, how long would it have taken you to tell me this?”

  His eyes narrowed. “The doctor said to give you a chance to remember it on your own.”

  “And what if that didn’t happen? Huh? What then?” she demanded. “What if I never recover those memories? What did Dr. Greenfield say about that?”

  “I don’t think we have to worry about that.”

  “Why not? Why the hell not?”

  She wanted to hit him. She wanted to pummel his chest, scratch him. Insanity. She had no right to this anger. She was the betrayer, he the betrayed. But knowing that didn’t seem to stem the frightening rage.

  “There’s nothing there. Do you understand me, Ray?” she said. “Nothing. It feels like I’m never going to recover anything from that fog. How can you say that’s not a concern?”

  His eyes went flat. “I’m thinking you’ll get a solid reminder any day now.”

  At his words, her anger peeled away, exposing its true face‌—‌fear. Her mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”