Needing diversion, she roped Ray into going shopping. He grumbled that one pair of baggy-assed pants was one pair too many, but he went along. Two hours later, laden with bags, they made their way to the motel. This one wasn’t as seedy as the one they’d picked in Fredericton, but it was no Holiday Inn either. It did, however, have two double beds.
As soon as they dragged their bags in, Ray picked up the telephone and called Air Canada. She listened to the one-sided conversation as she unpacked their purchases. By the time he’d struck out with the last of the airlines, she’d finished settling them in by installing their toiletries in the bathroom. Ray was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, his shoulders slumped, when she came back into the room.
“No luck?”
He straightened, putting the phone back on the night table. “Nothing.”
She swallowed to ease her dry throat. “Maybe I planned to buy a ticket on the spot.”
“Maybe.”
Except she wasn’t the impulsive type. She planned everything, down to the last detail. At least she used to.
She sank down on the other bed, toeing off the heavy athletic shoes without unlacing them. Frustration rose in her chest. She had to clamp down on the desire to kick the damned shoes across the room. “If I could just remember....”
“You will. You just have to give it time. The memories are already starting to come,” he reminded her.
She glanced quickly at him, then back at the floor. After a moment’s silence, she gave voice to the fear that had been growing all afternoon. “What if it’s not real?”
“What if what’s not real?”
“Maybe I imagined it, that I was going to the airport.” She contemplated her stockinged feet. “It’s all fuzzy now.”
Ray stood and walked to the window. Grace’s gaze rested on him as he flipped the curtain back and scanned the lot outside. Then he turned back to face her. “You think you were wrong?”
She dropped her gaze again. “I don’t know. It felt like the truth, when I said it. But now ... I just don’t know.”
He came to stand beside her, close enough that she could feel his body warmth. Then he slid a finger under her chin and tipped her face up to his. “You’re tired now. You’ll feel different when you’re rested.”
“Will I?” She desperately wanted to believe him.
“Absolutely. We’re safe now. We’ve got cash enough to lie around here for weeks, if we need to. Just concentrate on getting rested and don’t press too hard. The memories will come.”
“That’s what Dr. Greenwood said.”
“See? It’s good advice.”
She wanted to grasp his hand, to turn her cheek into his open palm. To prevent herself from succumbing to that weakness, she pulled back. She’d put him through enough.
His hand fell away immediately and he stepped back.
“Why don’t you have a hot shower?” he suggested. “I can go out and rustle us up some food.”
Her stomach rumbled at the mention of food. “I’ve got a better idea. You grab a shower first, then I’ll have a soak in that sparkling tub while you forage for supper.”
He nodded, heading for the bathroom. A moment later, she heard the shower running. Grace picked up the remote control and turned the television on, cranking the volume to compensate for the sound of running water. Flipping through the channels, she found a local news station. With the anchor’s familiar voice in the background, she turned to unpack her purchases.
Not a bad day’s shopping. Most of it was done at the city’s hippest shops, but a lot of the stuff she’d found at the Salvation Army thrift store. Too bad she hadn’t thought to start there. She wouldn’t have thought of it at all but for Ray’s incredulous reaction to the prices. She grinned at the memory of his words: “Grace, there are holes in these pants. I could get better at the Sally Ann, for chrissakes.”
“In local news, here’s a story that has police in Fredericton scrambling.”
Grace glanced at the TV automatically at the mention of Fredericton. There on the screen was her house, but the front door was blown off. She stood there, feet rooted to the floor.
“Ray!” she called, but the water kept running. Obviously he couldn’t hear her.
“A would-be burglar got a rude surprise when he tried to break into this Fredericton home,” intoned the announcer. “This and other stories after the break.”
As the program went to commercial, Grace raced to the bathroom. The door was unlocked and she threw it open. She would have yanked the shower curtain back, too, but Ray did that himself, almost colliding with her as he stepped naked from the shower.
“What is it?”
Grace just stared. His hair, sudsy with shampoo, stood straight up and water streamed off his body. But what riveted her attention was the gun he gripped in his fist. How had he gotten to it so quickly? Then she spied the towel on the floor of the tub, growing wetter by the second. He must have perched his gun on the edge of the tub, she realized, probably inside the towel.
“Grace!” He gave her shoulder a shake. “What’s wrong?”
She blinked, her gaze lifting to his face. “On the TV. The news. Our house....”
“What about it?”
“There’s been an explosion. I don’t know ... something about a burglar.”
Gun now dangling at his side, he pushed past her and strode dripping into the bedroom. She trailed behind him. An ad-man’s pitch for disposable diapers was running.
He shot her a look. “It’s over?”
“No. I just saw the teaser. The story’s coming up.”
He returned his gaze to the television, seemingly oblivious of his nakedness. She went back to the bathroom and retrieved a dry towel, which she handed to him. He used it to wipe dripping trails of shampoo from his forehead and the back of his neck before finally wrapping it around his narrow hips.
Then the news anchor was back again. “A twenty-seven-year-old man is in serious condition tonight as a result of injuries sustained in what looks like a housebreaking gone bizarrely wrong.”
The anchor’s serious face was replaced by a shot of their house. She heard Ray’s intake of breath as he took in the image of the smoke-blackened door of their home hanging ajar from one hinge. A black smudge of fire damage ran up to the roof, and debris from the explosion lay strewn on the lawn. Seeing the degree of damage shocked her, but it wasn’t until the camera panned the front lawn and she saw that her favorite Hosta had been crushed that it really sank in.
“The home belongs to Fredericton Police detective Raymond Morgan and his wife, Grace Morgan.” The camera cut to the newscaster again. “From what we’ve pieced together, it appears the injured man triggered an explosion when he tried to break into the house. The Morgans are said to be on vacation and unavailable for comment. Beyond that, police in Fredericton are being very tight-lipped. We will keep you informed of developments in this case, and of course will update you on the blast victim’s condition.”
The camera backed off to encompass the female co-anchor. “Wow, wouldn’t that be some kind of welcome home present for the absentee owners if it hadn’t been triggered by the attempted break-in?” Her partner agreed, and she segued into the next story about bed closures at the local hospital. Ray reached out and hit the power button on the TV, killing the picture.
“Damnation.” His soft oath broke the silence.
Shaken, Grace looked from the black television screen to her husband’s expressionless face. “Someone tried to kill us,” she said numbly.
“Again.”
That’s right. Two attempts so far. And the thing with his truck! That was three. The choking fear she’d felt after the sniper attack came rushing back.
Slow breaths, Grace. It’ll pass.
“Guess we did the right thing getting out of town,” Ray said.
“Are you sure? Maybe we should turn ourselves in.” Panic drove her voice higher. “They’ll listen to you this time. Someone tried to kill
you! They’ll believe you now when you tell them the sniper was trying to kill you, not Tommy.”
“They’ll have figured that out already.”
He was clothed only in a towel and his face bore no expression, but he somehow looked more menacing than he had earlier today with his fierce scowls and the hood’s clothing.
“Then why don’t we go in?”
“We talked about this before. I think we’re better off right where we are, at least for the moment.”
She looked away. “What are we going to do now?”
“Stick with our plan.”
“Which is?”
“Lay low, wait it out.”
“Wait it out?” She laughed, a harsh, breathless sound. She turned away, finding herself in front of the room’s only window. “Wait for my memory to come back, you mean.”
He didn’t sigh, but he might as well have. She could hear it in his voice. “Grace, nothing’s changed. Our situation is just the same as it was before you saw that broadcast. Yes, we’ve got to figure out where that money came from. And yes, it looks like the only way that’s going to happen is if you remember.” He came to stand behind her. “You’ve just got to put it out of your mind, relax. The memories will come.”
Relax? How could she relax?
No, she wouldn’t give in to panic. She lifted a hand, pressing a thumb and forefinger against her closed eyelids, pushing back the terror. She’d put them in this position with that God-forsaken money. Now she had to get them out.
Swallowing the lump of self-pity that had risen in her throat, she turned to Ray, only to find him much closer than she’d thought. Her heart took a leap.
Part of her wanted to take a step back, beyond the reach of his forceful aura. Another, bigger part wanted to move closer, to press her face to his chest and let the tears come. If she did that, she knew he wouldn’t turn her away. She knew, too, that it would take very little encouragement for that comforting contact to ignite into passion.
The temptation to take that half step was agonizing. She knew she could forget her fear in his arms. The terror could be banished in a molten rush, leaving room for nothing but sensation. A hot tendril of need unfurled in her belly at the thought.
Why not press her advantage? It wasn’t as if it wouldn’t be therapeutic for him, too.
Because it wouldn’t be fair to Ray. He’d made it more than clear he didn’t want to resume a physical relationship with her.
She stepped back. “You’re right,” she said crisply. “You’re absolutely right. Rest and relaxation.” She smiled to show him she was okay. “Now, why don’t you finish your shower? If I’m going to relax, I’ll need my hot bath and a hot meal.”
Surprise widened his eyes, followed by something that looked like admiration, and her spirits lifted.
He turned and followed his wet footprints back to the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, Ray left in search of supper. Within a few more minutes, Grace sank into a steaming tub. Lord, what a day. Closing her eyes, she slid lower to let the warm water lap at her breasts. Breasts that still ached from wanting Ray.
She’d made the right decision, though. She would have Ray back in her bed, but not that way.
Grace sat up, sloshing water over the edge of the tub. Wow! When had she made that decision?
Slowly, she sank back into the water’s embrace, her heart pounding.
Could she do it? She thought about how close he’d come to taking her with such swift authority this morning when she’d woken up sick. Absolutely.
Should she? She gnawed the inside of her lip. Under the right circumstances.
Did she dare? She had to. Intimidating as the idea was, it was a whole lot less scary than letting him go without a fight.
It would have to be a conscious choice on his part, she decided. Not through the back door on some comfort-the-female thing. Not on the crest of an adrenaline wave when any willing woman would do. When she seduced Ray, he was going to know what was happening.
Smiling, she picked up the bar of soap Ray had opened and lathered the facecloth.
There was something different about Grace. Ray couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew it was there. He watched her face carefully as she dug into her breakfast of poached eggs on whole-wheat toast.
Maybe it was as simple as coming to accept that she couldn’t force the memories. She announced that she would treat them like flighty horses—pretend she didn’t notice them getting closer and closer until she could slip a rope around one’s neck.
“Are you going to eat your orange slice?”
At her question, he looked down at the bit of garnish lying on his now empty plate. “No.”
She speared it with her fork, then transferred it to her fingers. Peeling the fruit away from the rind, she popped it into her mouth and sighed happily.
“I know.” She grinned when she caught him staring at her. “All I do these days is eat. It’s the absence of routine. I’m used to working from coffee break to lunch to coffee break to dinner. It’s been years since I’ve had this much time on my hands, which is a good thing for my waistline.”
“I’m sorry about that. You know, Quigg reminded me that we haven’t taken a real vacation in four years.”
She shrugged. “You’ve been busy. I’ve been busy.”
He cradled his coffee cup in his hands. Too busy to look after his marriage?
“Hey,” she said, “what are we gonna do today?”
It had been two days since they’d seen the newscast. They’d spent the first day seeing the sights of the Loyalists’ city. One of the oldest cities in North America, Saint John boasted a colorful past, one that Ray was ashamed to say he’d never explored. But they hadn’t indulged their curiosity too much. As Grace pointed out, like opening doors for women, it really didn’t go with the personas they’d created.
The second day they’d spent poking around the malls, drinking tall lattes at an Internet café while they surfed for news and browsed the newspapers.
“Could we go to Fundy?”
Ray set his coffee down. “The National Park?”
“Doesn’t have to be the park.” She popped the last crust of her toast into her mouth and washed it down with coffee. “I just want to walk on the beach.”
“It’d be cold,” he warned.
“Oh, come on, Ray. We can dress for it. You’re not scared of a little wind, are you?”
He snorted. No, he wasn’t scared of a little wind. And it would be nice for a change not to worry about being made. Their disguises were good. Hell, they were damn good, but he still worried.
“Sure, why not?”
An hour and a half later, a picnic lunch packed in a cheap Styrofoam cooler in the trunk of the old Toyota, they hit the beach. The tide was retreating, so there were miles of packed sand to walk and hours to enjoy it. With gulls wheeling and crying overhead and smaller shore birds darting at their feet, they strolled. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they walked in silence, and occasionally they stopped to explore a sun-warmed tidal pool teeming with tiny sea creatures. With the wind tugging at their hair and the sharp tang of the seaweed in their nostrils, Ray found it both invigorating and restorative.
Every once in a while, he threw a question at her out of the blue to try to lasso an unwary memory. For the most part, it didn’t work, but once, when he asked her where the plane she planned to board that night might be headed, she answered immediately: Mexico.
After that, they walked for a long time without talking.
Eventually, the tide turned.
“We’d better get back,” he said, mindful of the speed with which these, the highest tides in the world, moved.
They retraced their path along the strip of sand, theirs the only footprints on this blustery, overcast day. When they reached the high water mark, they found a perch among some rocks to watch the tide come in. They sat for another half hour, listening to the rush and retreat of the surf. Finally, when a sliver of
weak sun broke through around noon, Ray figured he’d better fetch their lunch.
“Wait here,” he instructed. “I’ll bring the cooler and we can have our lunch here.”
A short while later, he began picking his way back across the rocks, the Styrofoam cooler squeaking with his every step. Given the uneven footing on the rough rocks, he had to keep a close eye on the ground, glancing up frequently to make sure he was still on course for the large rock where Grace sat with her arms wrapped around her drawn up legs.
Clearing the roughest part of the terrain, he looked up to check his course again and stopped dead.
Grace was right there where he’d left her, but she’d rolled back to lie on the rock, her face turned up to the sun’s warmth. He felt sweat break out on his back. She’d locked her hands behind her head as a cushion against the unyielding stone, with the result that her breasts jutted invitingly, even beneath her thick sweater. She’d drawn one leg up, too, probably to ease the strain on her lower back imposed by the curve of the rock.
With anyone but Gracie, he’d suspect she’d choreographed the pose deliberately for maximum seductive effect. But she had no interest in enticing him. If she wanted to, she’d have done it two nights ago.
Yeah, he’d seen it in her eyes, the knowledge that she could pull him into that vortex of need that swirled dangerously beneath them. And she’d been so scared. He’d have obliged if she hadn’t pulled away. He wouldn’t have been able to turn her away.
If she hadn’t seized that opportunity, she sure as hell wouldn’t be trying to beguile him now. Unfortunately, knowing that didn’t make the picture any less provocative.
She lifted her head to search for him, no doubt alerted to his abrupt halt by the cessation of the cooler’s squeaking.
“Ray?”
She curled up to brace herself on her elbows. That posture did something completely different, but no less remarkable, for her breasts. Silently cursing, he started forward again, the cooler resuming its rhythmic squeak, squeak.
Saving Grace (Serve and Protect Series) Page 11
