The only contact who didn’t have it was Ally.
I picked up the cracked phone, which hadn’t rung in days. Now, unless it was a wrong number, the only person who would ever call it was her. I ran my finger over the broken screen and tapped the keys. I hesitated, then cleared my throat and hit voicemail.
“You’ve reached Adam Kincaid. I’m no longer at this number. If it is urgent, contact John Reynolds.” I gave his phone number, then paused, my voice dropping. “If this is you, Ally, come home. I love you. I’ll always love you.”
I hit save and turned off the power. Opening the file cabinet, I tucked it in beside her ring.
I picked up my bags and walked out.
Part 2
Four months later
Chapter 19
The Engagement Party
The ballroom was crowded. Overflowing with people dressed in gowns, tuxes, and jewels. Too many voices, too many faces; all laughing, moving, talking. I swallowed heavily, trying to stay in control. How different this was for her. There was a time she would have hated this sort of event as much as I did. The entire over-the-top fake glamour would’ve made her shudder, and she would never have wanted to be the center of attention. However, it would seem, things had changed.
She had changed.
She was here somewhere. I could feel it. I hadn’t been this close to her in months. And now that I was here, I wasn’t leaving without seeing her. I wanted to know why.
Why was I so easy to throw away?
Why had she stopped loving me so abruptly?
She owed me that, at least.
Getting in was easy. I was known well enough that most of the hotel security simply let me walk through. The one time I was stopped, I used my charm, a sly wink, as if we were sharing a secret, flashed my pass, and explained the bride-to-be wanted some special photos taken for her groom and I was doing it on the down low. The idiot let me in without another thought.
I moved around the perimeter scanning the crowd, keeping my eyes open for her mother and Ronald. If they saw me I would be escorted out immediately. I sidled up to one of the many bars and ordered a scotch, knocking it back quickly for added courage. I ordered a second and stood in the shadows as I watched.
Looking. Searching. For one person.
And then I saw her.
Across the room.
Surrounded by the sort of people she once claimed to dislike: fake, loud, brazen.
Seeing her felt like a hard punch in the gut. My stomach twisted, the acid burning its way up my throat as I observed her. She was still perfect. Small. Even in heels, she was tiny enough she would fit under my arm as though she was made to go there. Her vivid hair glowed under the light, twisted up in some sort of elaborate style on top of her head, not a strand out of place. Her gown: long, black, tight, and elegant—encasing her petite frame. It wasn’t the sort of dress she would have chosen. She always liked flowing, loose clothing that “let her move.” She always liked to wear my clothes.
“You ever gonna give me back that shirt, Ally?” I grinned at her across the room. “I might want to wear it myself one day.”
“Nope,” she giggled, popping the last part of the word loudly. “I like it.”
I crossed the room, leaning down, my hands resting on the arms of the chair she was curled up in. The one I’d had made for her so she could be comfortable in this sparse space where I lived. I brought my face close to hers. “I like it, too.” My lips ran down the column of her neck, my teeth pulling on the neckline of the shirt teasingly. “I like it far better on the floor, though.”
Which was where it ended up a few seconds later.
We were never able to keep our hands off each other.
I blinked, bringing myself back to the present. My eyes focused on her, staring, following her every move as she mingled, talking to people, often smiling as she listened to whatever they were saying. It took everything in me not to cross the room and grab her. My hand curled tight around the glass I was holding, while the other one twisted the strap of my camera, anger building as I watched in silence.
Her smile was still her—shy, sweet. Her posture still spoke of uncertainty, as though she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the spectacle playing out around her. Maybe she hadn’t changed completely.
My eyes narrowed. There was something else different—her usual gracefulness was absent and there was a slight limp to her gait. A twisted ankle, perhaps? Except, from the way she walked, it was as if the slight list wasn’t a temporary injury, but part of her now.
My gaze intensified and I willed her to look my way.
To see me.
I stared, my eyes never wavering, and then it happened. Her wide, too-big-for-her-face eyes met mine. Deep, flat blue met angry, confused brown. She blinked and stared, frozen in place. I glared and fumed, trapped in a haze of memories at the way her eyes used to look at me.
Warm and caring. Filled with desire. Flashing with anger. Flooded with tears. Overflowing with love. Always so emotional. So easy to read. Constantly changing in their beautiful hue, reflecting her mood and emotion—I’d seen them brilliant blue when she was happy, a soft mossy green when tired or sad, and a deep slate gray on the rare occasion when she was angry. I’d never witnessed eyes like that—I’d captured them all on camera. I knew their shades by heart—I could always read her. But now they were different, staring at me with an expression I didn’t recognize, a dullness I had never seen in them. They were always filled with life when she was with me.
Not confused and blank as they regarded me, and then she frowned and glanced away.
Dismissing me.
My fist tightened on my glass, my hand shaking so hard I was sure the glass would shatter at any moment, spraying scotch all over me and causing blood to drip down my hand.
The way my heart was dripping blood inside my chest at her indifference to seeing me after all this time.
“Adam?”
I turned to the shocked voice beside me. “What the hell are you doing here?” Emma demanded narrowing her dark eyes. “How did you get in?”
I smirked at Ally’s best friend, taking a swallow of my scotch, letting the burn settle the tight muscles of my throat. “I came to wish the happy couple congratulations. Capture the moment for prosperity.” I indicated the camera I had slung over my shoulder.
“You can’t be here! You have no right!”
“I have no right?” I sneered.
She stepped forward. “You chose to walk away. You can’t do this to her. Leave.”
I gaped at her. I chose to walk away? What the fuck was she talking about?
She grabbed my arm. “Please, Adam. If you ever had any feelings for her, leave. Leave now. I’m begging you.”
“I want to talk to her.”
“Why?” she hissed.
“I want some fucking answers.”
She shook her head. “She can’t give them to you. Don’t you understand?”
“No, Emma. No, I don’t. I don’t understand a fucking thing about this entire situation.”
She stared at me, puzzled. She looked past my shoulder, her eyes widening, but before she could speak, I heard it behind me. The voice that had flooded my memories in the day, and haunted me in my restless sleep. It was a voice that used to soothe me, but now caused a vortex of emotion: anger and frustration, mixed with need and want.
Her voice.
My Nightingale.
“Emma? Is there a problem?”
I turned, nudging Emma to the side. She stood there, a mere three feet from me, staring at me with a frown on her face. Her blue eyes, the ones I loved to capture with my lens, were confused and unblinking. I stepped forward, my entire body shaking, fighting the urge to start yelling and demanding answers. The logical part of me knew that would only get me thrown out, and I needed to remain calm.
“Not a problem,” I rasped, keeping my voice steady. “We were just talking.” I exhaled hard, knowing I had to get her somewhere private so
we could talk. “Hello, Ally.”
She grimaced, her hand flying to her forehead, where her fingers restlessly rubbed the skin as though she were in pain. Her fathomless eyes stared at me, her brow furrowed.
I realized in that one moment there was something terribly wrong.
“I apologize,” she spoke, sounding formal. “You have me at a disadvantage.” Her hand rose in greeting. “I’m Alexandra Robbins…and you are?”
I stared at her hand and then her beautiful face.
The woman I had loved passionately—desperately—and still loved to this day.
My former fiancée…who was looking at me with no recognition.
As if I were a stranger to her.
And then it hit me as I took in the emptiness in her eyes.
I was.
—
I paced the floor restlessly, stopping only to slam back another shot of scotch or run my hands through my hair in vexation. I didn’t have any answers. I only had more questions. What the fuck had happened to Ally?
I made many trips to the windows, looking for her car, but Emma still hadn’t shown up.
It had been two hours since she pulled me back into the shadows, her face as shocked as my own senses.
“What the fuck is going on, Emma?” I hissed. “Why is Ally looking at me as though she doesn’t know me? What happened to her?”
Her eyes searched my face, trying to determine if I was telling the truth. “You really don’t know?”
“What the hell am I supposed to know?”
She shook her head, her hand covering her mouth. Her gaze was wild as she scanned the room. Then she gripped my arm, tugging on it. “Adam, you have to go. Now.”
I wrenched my arm free. “I’m not fucking going anywhere until I get some answers.”
“I’ll come to you. As soon as I can. You have to leave.”
“Right,” I scoffed. “I’ll leave and never hear from you again. You’ll make sure I don’t get back in.”
“No, I will come to you. I promise.” She held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
Wordlessly, I did, and she tapped in her number. “What’s your address?”
“It’s the same. You dropped Ally off after lunch.”
Her fingers faltered. “You didn’t move?”
“Move? No, I didn’t move.”
“Go home, Adam. Wait for me.”
I looked past her, trying to find Ally, who after shaking my hand, turned and fled, leaving me gaping after her. It was only Emma’s hand pressing on my chest that stopped me from storming after her and demanding to know what the fuck was going on.
“Do it for her,” she pleaded.
“You’ll come? You give me your word?”
“I gave you my cellphone number. So, yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She stepped closer. “Don’t let anyone see you, or I can’t help you.”
I left as she requested, hugging the shadows, slipping out the employee entrance.
Now I was waiting.
I groaned, rolling my neck. I felt as if I was going to burst out of my skin. I had shed my jacket, tugged off my tie, and pulled my shirt out of my pants, leaving it loose. It still felt as if I was choking. The loft felt confining and small, my thoughts rampant. My gaze swept the unused space that for a brief time had felt like a home because of her. Pivoting, I stared out the window recalling the past four months.
I had returned to Africa. I had a burning need to forget, bury myself into a project that would distract me, to escape the pain. When I showed up back at the clinic with trucks of supplies and looking like a ghost, Peter and Edwina were surprised, but welcoming. When they’d found out I had no determined time frame for staying, they allowed me my privacy until I was ready to talk. Then they offered only their support and comfort. We grew closer as the weeks passed.
Over the next while the Elena Ames Center was built. It was a rough wooden structure that would service this small area. I also set up a fund that would ensure the clinic had supplies whenever they were required. Elena had been right, as usual. I knew when and where to use her money. These people would benefit from her generosity for years to come. I spent my days building and working with Peter and Edwina, and my nights fighting the memories and pain that never seemed to stop.
Finally, I came to understand they never would for me. I packed my bag and sat staring at the stars one last night. Peter joined me, sitting down with a sigh.
“All packed?”
I nodded in the darkness. “It’s time, Peter.”
“I’m grateful for every day you gave us.”
“I’ve arranged for supplies to be delivered monthly. If there’s something you need, all you have to do is call. Me or John. Whatever you need will be sent.”
“That’s incredibly generous.”
I barked out a laugh. “No, Peter, what you do is incredibly generous. You devote your life to these people. The clinic and the kids—this orphanage. You and Edwina. If I can make your life a little easier sending food, necessities, and medical supplies, it’s the least I can do.”
“You’ve given months of your time to me—to these people. You’ll be missed.”
“Thank you.”
“Where are you going?”
“I need to take some pictures. Happy ones. I’m going to work my way back to Toronto.”
“Will you try and contact her?”
His words hung in the air, heavy between us. I had finally broken down and talked about Ally to Peter and Edwina. Talking about her helped, but it didn’t take away my pain.
“I don’t know. I check my old phone and with Sean. She hasn’t tried contacting me. I think—I think maybe it’s over. I wasn’t what she needed.”
She was what I needed, though—then and now.
“You need to talk to her, Adam. Find some closure.”
I didn’t reply.
His voice was filled with understanding. “There isn’t any closure for you, though, is there? You still love her.”
“I always will.”
“Then find her. Open a dialogue with her.”
“I don’t know how to find her. I still don’t understand what the hell happened. What her parents did or said to take her away. I thought she was getting stronger. I thought she had finally figured it out, but…”
“You still think they were involved in some way?”
“Yes. I know that as surely as I know she loved me. She just wasn’t strong enough without me beside her. I should never have left.” I sighed as I scrubbed a weary hand over my face. Elena had been so right on that subject. Her parents’ cruelty knew no bounds.
“Are you planning on returning to your old life? Flying around the world and never putting down roots?”
“She became my roots. She was the only home I had ever truly known since I lost my parents.”
“Then find her. Once and for all, sit down and talk to her. Ask her what happened. Try and fix it.”
“I don’t know where she is.”
“Hire someone again—find her.”
I had been thinking along those lines—deciding it was time to try again. Hire new private investigators and look into her parents as well. Track down Emma. Not stop this time until I found her. I hadn’t been in my right mind when I left—I was too broken and I had given up too easily. My head was clearer now, and Peter was right. I needed closure.
“Then what will you do?”
“I’ll go back and decide. Maybe take Sean up on his offer to take destination photos. Or maybe I’ll do some of both. I’m not sure I’ll stay in Toronto. I may sell the building and go elsewhere.”
He stood, extending his hand. “Whatever you decide. If you need me, I’m here.”
I looked at him curiously. “Will you ever leave?”
“Yes. In a few years, I will. But this is where I have to be now.” He smiled at me and clapped me on the shoulder. “You, my friend, need to be somewhere else. Go and find your life. Don’t give up if she’s whe
re you have to be. Fight for her.”
Then he turned and walked away, his form swallowed up by the dark.
A knock startled me from my memories, and I rushed to the door, wrenching it open. Emma and her husband, Alan, were there. I had never met him until now. His expression was grim as Emma’s.
I stepped back to allow them inside, remembering my manners and offering them a drink. Emma shook her head. “Thanks, Adam, but I have a feeling you’ve drunk enough for all of us tonight.”
“I’m fine. Confused as fuck, but I’m fine.” My head was clear. I burned off the effects of the alcohol with the slow simmering anger that coursed through my veins.
Emma sat down, Alan beside her. I didn’t bother wasting any time. I’d wasted enough.
“Why doesn’t Ally know me, Emma?”
She held up her hand. “First off, Adam, how did you find out about the party? I thought you left town.”
“I did. When I returned the first time and found out Ally had broken things off with me, I couldn’t stay. I thought if I left, she could come back to her life here. So I returned to Africa.” I huffed in disgust. “I’ve only been home a few days. I saw the announcement in the paper the day I got back.”
I remembered my reaction to it.
I’d been skimming through a stack of newspapers left on the counter by the woman who came in and kept the place tidy. I had obviously forgotten to cancel my delivery. There wasn’t much of interest until a familiar name caught my eye.
Bradley Bennett.
I unfolded the paper and read the announcement.
My hands tightened on my paper, fisting it so hard it tore under my fingers.
The good doctor was engaged and getting married in a few weeks.
He and his new wife would be moving to Calgary, where he had accepted a new job at the hospital.
And there was a private party to celebrate two days from now.
My eyes were riveted to the picture of him and his bride-to-be.
Alexandra Robbins.
The glass of the beer bottle shattered as it hit the wall.
“You’ve been gone all this time?”
“I came back after my last assignment. But I had nothing here without her. She was gone—it was as if she disappeared.”
My Image of You Page 20
