Her and Cole’s explosive passion had called back her last awful memory about Sebastian, but that had to mean something beyond the obvious. Yes, her father had been understandably furious and grieving. After her brother’s death, he’d likely removed from the mansion all evidence that Cole had ever been in her life. But that didn’t make Cole responsible for what had happened to Sebastian.
So why hadn’t he told her the truth when she’d asked him why he’d left High Lake? She’d felt his protectiveness each time his body had sheltered hers. But had he been ashamed, too? Were the circumstances of her brother’s death what she’d sensed him hiding all along? And if so, what had really happened?
God, she was going to be sick if she didn’t stop thinking in circles. Her aching head was about to throb off her shoulders. She needed the questions to stop for just a little while. She slipped into the dated bathroom that instinct said she’d spent precious time in as a little girl.
She inhaled. The subtle scents of soap and powder and perfume seeped into her consciousness. The tiny black and white tiles on the floor never failed to make her smile. The decor belonged in a fifties-era sitcom, including the fluffy pink rugs scattered everywhere. The enormous claw-footed tub called to her the way it always did. A soaking bath wasn’t the most practical solution for washing away the adrenaline coursing through her. But it sounded light years better than heading back downstairs to confront Cole about how her brother had been burned alive and her teenage lover had ended up accused of setting the blaze.
Her arm shaking, she reached for the taps, opening both spigots as far as they would turn.
Cole wasn’t responsible for Sebastian, she scolded herself, any more than he was at fault for the crazy things that were happening in this house. If he were, why would he have held her, cherished her, the way he had? Why would he have let her go? He hadn’t charged after her or made excuses like Dawson. He was giving her the time and space to pull her panic back from its latest edge. And somehow she knew he’d stay until she pulled herself together. Because he’d promised not to leave.
She walked to the mirrored vanity, leaving the water to warm before setting the stopper. She stared at her reflection, searching for memories in her haunted eyes. Steam rose around her, obscuring things to a haze of white. Her image disappeared, an omen perhaps of how little of herself she’d managed to get back. It was like watching herself fade away for real.
She grabbed the nearest bottle of bath salts with a vengeance, prepared to do battle. Her fears would be waiting for her after her bath, but she refused to let them destroy this peaceful moment, too. She read the bottle’s label as she returned to the tub. She bent to place the rubber stopper over the drain. Her hand dipped into the inch or so of liquid in the bottom.
Her world exploded in agony.
“Ah!” she screamed, dropping the bottle. Glass shattered against porcelain. Pain streaked up her arm, through her body. “Damn it!”
Too late, she realized the reason so much steam had built up around her. The water coming from the tap was burning hot. She looked down at her stinging hand. The skin below her wrist was lobster-red, as if she’d dipped in it fire.
…
A handkerchief protecting his prints, Cole had carefully resecured the hidden door, then replaced the key in the center desk drawer. He’d been mentally kicking his own ass for kissing Shaw again and for not keeping his hands off of her when she’d been practically shaking from the shock of how quickly she was recalling things.
He’d been determined to give her the privacy she needed, as much of it as she needed, while he scoured the mansion for any signs of new threats to her safety. Then he’d heard Shaw curse. A crash had followed. He’d run to find her, bounding up the back staircase, rounding the top banister at a sprint.
“Shaw?” he called.
He raced to her bedroom. He heard a cry of pain from inside, too muffled to make out what she was saying.
“Honey?”
He tried the knob. It was locked. He pounded on the door with his fist. Had he pushed her mind too far?
“Darlin’, talk to me.”
“Cole?” she called out, the broken sound of his name overriding his decision to wait for her to come and find him when she was ready to talk.
He stepped back, drew his Glock, and kicked the heel of his boot into the door just above the knob. The frame splintered, giving way. The door swung inward to a bedroom filled with a haze that grew heavier as he scanned the room. A split second of fear shook him.
Fire!
Then he realized he was looking at steam instead of smoke. Weapon drawn, he entered the room, his weight balanced forward, prepared to react to whatever had upset her.
“Shaw?” If he didn’t find her in the next two seconds, he was going to—
“Cole?” came her whisper from the doorway to the bathroom while her cat raced from the room.
Shaw stood there, fully clothed, shock dulling her beautiful eyes, her complexion paper white. She was cradling her right hand, a dripping washcloth draped around it. Clouds of steam billowed from the half-full bathtub. Water rolled from the ancient dual spigots.
“What happened?” He approached, his gaze inspecting the ultrafeminine surroundings, searching for whatever had scared her.
Shaw didn’t respond. She had eyes only for his gun. The washcloth slipped from her fingers, revealing the flaming red skin beneath.
“God Almighty.” He returned his weapon to its holster, making sure the tail of his shirt covered both. “How the hell did you—”
“I don’t know. It’s too hot.” She swallowed and glanced at the tub. “I didn’t even look. I wasn’t paying attention, but I turned it on the same as I always do.”
Cole left her to turn off the water. The metal of the tap labeled hot lanced the nerves in his own hand.
“Shit!” He licked his forefinger to cool it.
He reached for Shaw’s hand and grimaced. She was trembling head to toe, but she bravely held her arm out to him without hesitation. Even after whatever she’d remembered about Sebastian, even after she’d run from Cole in horror, her subconscious trusted him.
Right then, right there, Cole became hers again.
Whatever happened next, whatever it cost him in the career that was his entire life, even if Shaw decided to have nothing more to do with him once she regained all her memories and hated him for his role on the task force—he’d remember this one moment forever.
He swept her off her feet and carried her out of the bedroom to the front staircase.
“Put me down,” she said, struggling as she had when she’d hurt herself in the kitchen and hadn’t wanted him to hold her.
“Let me.” He couldn’t let go. Not this time. He wasn’t certain who most needed the reassurance of physical contact—him or her. As he felt her relax into his embrace, the primal instinct to bind Shaw to him raged ever closer to the surface.
“Cole?” Her head settled exactly where it belonged against his neck, his name a whisper against his skin.
“I’ve got you, honey.” He’d be damned if he let anything or anyone else harm her. “I know we need to talk. But let’s put some ice on your hand and see how bad it is.”
How much of the truth did he give her next? How much danger was she really in, even from simply remembering too much, too quickly, and carelessly injuring herself in the aftermath? He had no idea. But he’d carved a career out of doing his best work without a concrete game plan. He’d nail this assignment, too, once they got her nerves back on an even keel.
A step halfway down the dimly lit staircase squeaked and sagged dangerously, threatening to crumble beneath their combined weight.
“Jesus!” He jostled her to mostly one arm and grabbed the railing with the other, his pulse lurching along with his body. “I think this house has a pers
onal vendetta against you.”
“Sorry.” The arms she’d wrapped around his neck held on tighter. “I should have warned you. It’s been like that since I got here.”
“I’ll take a look at it later,” he promised. He sidestepped the weakened boards and cleared the rest of the stairs in three strides.
They’d left the lights on in the kitchen, which looked far cozier with sunlight dappling in through the windows. He settled Shaw into the chair nearest the fridge and hunkered down in front of her, gazing into her exhausted, pain-filled eyes. Dark smudges of sleeplessness marred the delicate skin beneath them.
“I’m going to get you some ice,” he said. “It’s going to sting at first, but it will cool your skin down and halt some of the damage from the burn. It’ll numb the pain after a few seconds. Okay?”
He could feel her wariness, the weight of everything crashing down on her and of the questions she needed to ask. She reached out her good hand to him, the one with the thumb he’d already bandaged, and brushed his face with her fingertips.
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she said with a depth of certainty that humbled him.
His goal from the start had been to earn her trust. He’d succeeded in spades, far quicker than Dawson had thought possible. But where did that leave them now? He made himself stand and grab a mixing bowl from the cabinet beside the range. Filling it halfway with cool water, he set it on the table beside Shaw and carefully lifted her hand. She flinched but didn’t pull away as he lowered first her fingers, then immersed her entire hand in the healing liquid.
He left her biting her lip but keeping her injury covered, and turned to the fridge.
“That wasn’t so bad,” she said.
He snagged a nearby kitchen towel and opened the freezer, hating that he was about to blindside her relief to hell. He scooped up a handful of ice and plunked it into the center of the worn cotton that would protect her already damaged skin. Balancing it all on a raised thigh, he tied the opposing corners into knots and turned back to Shaw. Wariness had crept into her eyes.
He crouched, his gaze recapturing hers.
“Inhale and hold it for me,” he instructed.
When she bravely nodded, he wanted to kiss away her anxiety and take it into himself. The bitterness he’d held inside for so long was gone, he realized, leaving in its wake a renewed need to understand how things between them could have gone so terribly wrong. How had they lost the magic they’d once had together? A magic he found himself recklessly wondering if he now had a chance to win back.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice coming out shredded. At her nod, he slipped the bundle of ice into the bowl. “Inhale as deep as you can, and hold it.”
She did as he instructed. Her body tensed against the growing chill of the water, her gaze narrowing. He gripped her wrist when she would have pulled her hand away.
“Exhale, Shaw. Let the cold do the work. The pain won’t last, I promise.”
He knew how much it could hurt. He knew firsthand how burns far worse could flay your nerves to the bone while they were being debrided and treated with antibiotics and more. He’d been relieved to see that her injury likely wouldn’t blister, but it would hurt like the devil for a while.
A lone tear trickled a path down her cheek. He caught it with his thumb, kissing her cheek where it had fallen. He rested his forehead against hers, the way they had when they were kids too young to crave a more intimate expression of their obsession with each other.
“I’m so sorry,” he said while she exhaled, then inhaled again.
“It’s not so bad anymore.” Her words caught in her throat.
“Little warrior.” He pulled another chair over and sat. “Will you ever stop trying to pretend that what hurts you most isn’t so bad?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what you said before.”
He hadn’t. He was certain of it. Not today, anyway.
“What are you remembering, Shaw?”
She sighed, then brushed the emotion from her face and sat back. Her features composed themselves into those of a corporate CEO taking his measure.
Cole waited. This was her show, including whether or not she still wanted him in her house. Dawson could send in someone else, if need be, to formally monitor her. Cole would simply resign his position at the Bureau, then as a civilian, case the estate like a stalker himself. Whatever she decided, he wasn’t leaving High Lake until he was certain she was safe.
She sighed again, seeming to realize he wasn’t going to take the first step. “I have some things I should have talked through with you before.”
“Shoot,” he replied, bracing himself.
“Why did you say we were friends?”
“I told you. We were at first.”
“But I still don’t understand why you made it sound like we were just friends.”
“It wasn’t the best time to bring up the rest, until you remembered more.”
“Like remembering when we were teenagers, making out in the office, when you found me waiting for my father, and I was terrified of what he’d say?”
“Your father?” That was a misfire Cole hadn’t expected. “No. You were waiting for your brother that day. And I wasn’t going to let the little freak be alone with you.”
“Sebastian?” She jerked her hand from its ice bath. She let him push it back down. Her fingers curled around his, trapping them. “The brother who died in the barn fire?”
“Yeah. The one your dad accused me of murdering.”
“Because Bastian didn’t want us together, and he’d caught us in the barn.” The nickname only Shaw had ever used for the slime who’d tormented her had tumbled from her memory with no recognition on her part. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t I tell my former lover, who can’t remember me but needs my help, that I’d once been accused and then cleared of killing her older brother?”
Cole laughed at his rhetorical question, some of the bitterness returning. He distracted himself by tracing her frigid skin with his thumb. She deserved to know the rest, even if he’d sworn never to think of that time again.
“Even though I was released from jail almost immediately,” he said, “and cleared of the charges just as quickly, it didn’t matter to a goddamn soul. My affair with you was exposed. The town drunk’s son had slept with the princess of the manor. My father sure as hell didn’t want me back. Yours threatened to fire his drunken ass if he let me back on the mountain. When I came home, he’d already packed my bags. He tossed them to me in the front yard. And you? Your dad said he’d kill me if I came near you again.”
While Shaw, the girl who’d sworn to love him forever, hadn’t done a single thing to challenge Matthew Cassidy. She hadn’t come to the hospital to visit Cole. She hadn’t communicated with him in any way since the fire. Not once. He’d never seen her in person again, not until that night at Atlanta Memorial Hospital.
Would she remember why she’d rejected him so thoroughly? Reasons that, to this day, Cole didn’t know. And when she did remember, would she blame him all over again, call Dawson, and toss Cole’s ass out of her life for good?
“Why?” Her expression had softened. “Why didn’t you tell me you were making it your job to save my life, even back then?”
“Would it have made a difference?”
Cole slid away from her touch. He told himself to steer clear of the hero worship shining in her eyes. This was going to end badly enough as it was, when the rest of his secrets were revealed. She’d hate him for manipulating her feelings and emotions to do his job, even if the two of them could somehow find a way to leave behind the troubled past between them.
Evidently, she hadn’t recalled anything more than a single argument with her father. Cole needed to understand how she could have loved him one minute and believed
he’d intentionally killed her brother the next. But he had no business pushing her to remember for his own benefit. Just as he had no business allowing himself to put his hands on her again, in any other manner than to care for her latest injury.
“Of course it would have made a difference.”
He shook his head. “Your life didn’t need saving back then.”
To distract himself he walked to the stove and grabbed the kettle, filled it with water, and set it to boil. Employees interviewed for her FBI file said she made a lot of tea, that it soothed her. So he’d make her the best damn tea he could. When he resettled in the chair across from her, she reached for him again.
“You got me out of the barn when it was burning,” she said. “I needed you then. And I don’t care what my father said, you were there for me, not to hurt my brother.”
“Okay, other than that.” The warm, dry palm of her free hand smoothed up his chest. Caressing. Tempting. Seducing. The shocking feel of her needing him was as stunning now as it had been in the office. So was her easy confidence that he’d never intended Sebastian to die.
“I saw it mixed up in the dream I was having after you found me in the woods,” she said. “The flashes of memory since then have been trying to tell me the truth, even when I’m awake. Flames and screams and me running from… Cole, I thought you were chasing me. It’s why I ran from you in the office tonight. Not the fight with my father, or me believing what he was saying. Not really. It was all too much, and for some reason the chaos in my mind keeps circling back to you and the fire. I calmed down upstairs, you have to know that. I wasn’t afraid of you. You saved me. I believe you got me out of that fire. You’d never hurt me or anyone else. Including my brother.”
Cole’s body was coming to life beneath her touch, even as the scarred flesh on his back stung with his own memories of what had happened in the barn. “I promised you back then I’d never let anything happen to you.”
And he’d never meant that long-ago vow more than he did now.
“You promised me last night, too, and I believe you,” she said, while the turmoil of all she still didn’t know filled her gaze.
Her Forgotten Betrayal Page 11
