Unsanctioned Memories

by Julie Miller

  “Not tonight, Sam.” Would he take that gun and use it on Derek if he thought the teenager was in any way responsible for hurting her or his sister? Would his legendary control extend so far as to give a young man the benefit of the doubt? She suspected Derek wasn’t guilty of anything more than extremely poor judgment in how he raised extra funds. But the grim lines of fatigue around Sam’s eyes had her worried. “Tonight is all about recovering, you said. I need you to stay here with me. Please.”

  His head jerked as if her request had taken him aback. His pale eyes flooded with color. But then he blinked, and just as quickly the show of emotion had passed. “All right. Tomorrow, then. I’ll drive you to the Kent place myself, and then track down Derek to ask some questions.

  “Tonight it’s just you and me.”

  She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or frightened by the prospect.

  SAM REPLAYED Jess’s soft words over and over again in his head. I need you to stay here with me. Please.

  His heart heard them as an invitation—words of forgiveness that welcomed him. But his mind had wised up quickly enough. He might not possess the gentle finesse Jess needed in order to love, but he did possess the experience and skills she needed to live.

  Night had fallen hours ago, but the floor lamp at the end of the sofa was the only light he’d left on in the house—partly out of respect for Jess’s attempt to sleep after a silent dinner of Martha Taylor’s lasagne, and partly because the shadows seemed to fit his own dark mood.

  He’d tossed off his shirt and his boots and socks after Jess said good-night and went upstairs. His gun was beneath the pillow, and his jeans were unsnapped. Josh Taylor sat in an unmarked police car at the end of Jess’s driveway. Sam’s bones were weary, his muscles sore. He should be sound asleep.

  But something unsettled inside wouldn’t let him.

  He sat at the edge of the circle of lamplight, studying the tiny piece of silver he’d picked up at the scene of Harry’s stabbing. He fingered the tiny mechanism in the palm of his hand. It was the clasp of a necklace, similar to one he’d seen on his mother’s jewelry long ago. The clasp of a silver necklace not unlike the one Jess had seen at that auction, which had triggered the first of the flashbacks he’d witnessed.

  He considered the long, thin scar that cut across the fingers on Jess’s left hand. He didn’t need forensic proof to make an educated guess that she’d been strangled with a necklace, or that the scars were evidence of her struggle to save herself.

  But how could he turn that knowledge and this clue into something useful?

  Jess moaned in her sleep. Her mattress creaked as she tossed in her bed in the loft above him. Sam tilted his head and peered into the darkness. His body practically hummed with the need to go to her, to chase away her nightmares. But a man at her bedside in the dark of night?

  He huffed a humorless laugh between his lips and stayed put. He’d already frightened her badly enough in the bright light of day.

  The one thing he could give her without fail—the one thing she’d made him promise—was to get the man who’d hurt her. With a willpower that shriveled his soul into dust, he tuned out her whimpers and concentrated on what he knew thus far.

  A call to the sheriff had verified that the truck Sam had shot belonged to Derek Phillips. With little encouragement from Sheriff Hancock, Derek had confessed that he and a teammate had broken into Jess’s shed and tried to steal the buggy. Someone had left $200 and an anonymous note in the truck, daring them to steal the buggy. The note said that everything would be taken care of with Jess, that they were actually helping her reconnect with an old friend by taking it. Another $500 would be theirs when they delivered the buggy to an untilled field north of Derek’s home. A phone call had prompted them to try a second time.

  But paint that sick message for Jess? No way, the kid swore. The destruction inside the shed had already been done by the time he broke in.

  Sam was inclined to believe that story. It made Derek the perfect fall guy for someone with bigger, more sinister plans for Jess. Who? Could Derek provide a name? A voice? A number? Sheriff Hancock didn’t know to ask those questions. He was looking for a vandal, not a murderer.

  “No! Stop it.” Sam jerked his head up to the loft. Jess’s cry, pure and anguished, cut straight through him.

  This time he got up and crossed to the base of the stairs, following the needs of his heart and conscience. He wrapped his fingers around the pine log that served as a newel post and looked up toward the sound. “C’mon, babe,” he whispered to the darkness. “It’ll be all right. He isn’t here. You’re safe.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. If a man could wish a thing and make it so, he wished her peaceful, dreamless slumber. He wished her strength and self-assurance. He wished her love.

  Amazingly enough, her struggles quieted. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes and turned away that he heard the soft rustle of sound above him.

  “Sam?” Jess stood at the top of the stairs, her shape barely discernible with the drape of the quilt she hugged around her shoulders. As she descended toward him, the farthest reaches of the lamplight illuminated the russet streaks in her dark, sleep-tossed hair, which framed her face in a come-touch-me disarray. When she paused on the step above him, he could see the translucent pallor of her skin as well as the doubts and determination in her eyes. “Let’s talk now.” Her voice was a soft caress befitting the quiet shadows surrounding them. “It’s all coming back to me and I can’t sleep. I don’t want to face it alone.”

  He wanted to reach for her, but he didn’t. He merely linked their gazes and promised, “You’re not alone.”

  Her game smile of gratitude flipped over the resolve that had hardened inside him, leaving him feeling in vulnerable danger himself. He stepped aside, then followed her to the sofa.

  She stopped at the edge of the coffee table and took note of the badge and notepad lying on top. She glanced at the unused pillow and neatly folded blanket on the rug. Her gaze skittered across the dimensions of his naked chest with something that might be hunger or fear. “Looks like you haven’t slept well, either.”

  “I’m all right. Do you want me to put on a shirt?”

  “No. It’s a beautiful…” She tore her gaze away. “Don’t change for me.”

  Sam tried not to read too much into the half-spoken compliment, still it felt as if she’d just made some sort of concession. They both continued to whisper, as if a raised voice might shatter the tenuous truce between them. “We’ll do this however you like.”

  She nodded. “I’ll sit, then.” In the dim light he could see the determined set of her jaw, the tight clutch on the quilt. She looked down at the sofa beside her. “You, too.”

  Sam lowered himself to the couch, keeping the width of a seat cushion between them. He didn’t realize he’d been bracing himself for this conversation until he heard his own breath seep out in a pent-up sigh. “Do you want me to ask questions? Or let you talk first?”

  When she didn’t answer, he held out the silver clasp. “I found this in the woods where you were attacked. Do you recognize it?”

  Jess recoiled as if she’d been struck, and Sam was ready to end the conversation right now. But fear and shock weren’t going to stop this brave lady. Unfolding one arm from the quilt, she picked up the silver in his palm. “It’s from the necklace I was wearing that night in Chicago.” She turned it to the light and studied it more closely. “A silver chain with an amethyst pendant. Alex bought it for me on a trip we took to Dallas last year.” She pushed it back into his hand, eager to be rid of the macabre souvenir. “He…strangled me with it. I guess he kept it until he had an opportunity to finish the job.”

  She stared blankly at Sam’s hand until he tucked the clasp away in a pocket. “If he’s smart, he’d take anything that might leave fingerprints. And our guy’s smart.”

  Jess shook her head. “He wore black leather gloves. Last night, too. Even when he was—” Sam caught his breath al
ong with her. But she pushed through the unpleasant memory. “Even when he was naked, he wore gloves and that damn, stinky stocking mask that hid his face. He smelled of mothballs. All his clothes reeked of it.”

  “So it wasn’t his regular outfit,” Sam reasoned. “Our man dresses up, so to speak, for his outings. That shows premeditation.”

  Jess perked up at that. She turned in her seat to face him. “Yes. He was waiting for me at the museum—driving a cab. He pulled right up to the curb so I didn’t have to flag one down. I thought he was just looking for an easy fare.” Without thinking, she reached for his hand on the seat between them. The quilt fell from her shoulder as she linked her fingers to his. Sam held on tight, needing the contact as much as she seemed to. “When I complained about him going the wrong way, when I demanded that he stop and let me out, he pulled a knife on me.”

  Sam’s fingers clutched convulsively around hers. “Can you describe the knife?”

  “It folded up. But it was bigger than a pocketknife. It had a hunting blade, you know, the kind that curves down to a point at the tip?” She freed her other hand and gestured in the air. The quilt pooled around her hips.

  Sam couldn’t help but notice the strong curve of her shoulders beneath the man’s T-shirt she wore. He couldn’t help but wish the T-shirt she wore was his. Irrelevant, he warned himself. Focus. “I know the kind you mean.”

  “It had a fancy handle. Some kind of polished wood. And it had silver trim.”

  He dared to take her hand between both of his. She didn’t flinch or pull away. “So that’s how he got you to that dive neighborhood. All his victims have been successful professional women who wouldn’t have any reason to be in a place like that. That and his outfit tell me he’s planned his attacks almost obsessively. Probably to throw off authorities.”

  “Or to degrade us.” Jess’s visible shiver shook through him. “It’s all about putting women down for this guy. The things he said. The things he wanted me to say.” She curled her legs beneath her, folding her long body into a tight, protected ball. “Master. He wanted me to beg. To apologize.” Sam swore at that one, an instinct he instantly regretted when wide, terrified eyes locked on his. “He said he wanted to prove that he was superior to any blank-ing woman. And that I was damn lucky he’d chosen me so—” her voice stopped on a stuttered breath and the first hint of a tear glistened in her eye “—so I could learn that lesson.”

  Rage more profound than he’d felt that night in the morgue with Kerry’s body, battered Sam from the inside out. He exhaled deep, ragged breaths, trying to purge the anger. He’d known this would be hard to listen to, to hear the horrendous things that had been done to Jess. But he kept his head, knowing however difficult this might be for him, it was nothing compared to what Jess was going through.

  Sam wanted to do more than hold her hand. He needed more comfort for his own raw soul than what that platonic touch could provide. But he couldn’t ask and he wouldn’t take. With the pad of his thumb he wiped away the tear that spilled onto her cheek. The tiny drop was hot to the touch, but her skin was cool. Chilled, even.

  Damn, he wanted to hold her.

  “I’m sorry, babe.” It was killing him to see her hurting like this. “I’m so sorry.”

  It was the only tear to fall. She shook her head slowly, back and forth, stirring up the spice and ginger scent of her hair. “I need to finish this while I still can. I…” She pulled his hand from her cheek. “Could I sit closer?”

  “I don’t want to frighten you in any way. I don’t want to trigger a flashback. Especially when you’re talking about this.”

  She sat still for an interminable minute, considering his worry. When she finally spoke, she scooted across the sofa. “Just put your arm around me, and we’ll see what happens from there. If I feel anything, I’ll try to let you know. Before I hurt you or embarrass you.”

  Sam looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. “Jeez, baby, no. Never that.” She hugged the quilt and took his free hand into her lap, then leaned her head against his shoulder. His anger at the injustice done her eased, though his fears of hurting her kept him on edge. “Holding you is the best therapy I’ve ever tried. It’s the only thing that’s given me hope since Kerry died. Don’t ever apologize for that.”

  The darkness of the night and the stillness of the cabin cocooned them in their own little haven. Sam dipped his nose into the spicy silk of her hair and absorbed the gentle warmth of her body snuggled against his. For several minutes they did nothing but sit together like that. It was a chance to find some peace before the rest of the nightmare arrived.

  Jess started playing with his hand, absently rubbing her thumb back and forth across his knuckles. He knew she was sorting through her newfound memories. He held his tongue and listened as she began to recount the details of her attack.

  “I was on the bed. It was a horrible place. Filthy. Scratchy.” She shivered and he began drawing slow, smooth circles along her arm. “He…I was tied to the bedposts.” Now Sam’s skin crawled as he worked through the images she shared. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard to hear.”

  “Dammit, Jess, don’t be sorry. Tell me anything—everything—you remember.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and huddled closer. “He’s a white man. Tall. He tied me…each ankle and wrist, but my left hand…” He watched her fingers mimic the actions she described. “He’d used his belt. I worked it free while he was yelling…calling me names…” She swallowed hard. “He got up to put on a condom—more planning, I suppose. He didn’t notice my hand just lying there, unbound. Because then he was…on top of me…”

  “Oh, babe.” He kissed the crown of her hair. “You don’t have to say it.”

  She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his heart. He curled both arms around her now, pulling her as close as he dared. “When he was done, he started to tighten my necklace around my throat.” Her fingers automatically went to her neck, reliving the horror. “I caught my free hand there. He pulled so hard. He cut…”

  Sam pulled her hand away and spread it flat beneath his against his chest. “That’s how you got the scar on your fingers.”

  “I passed out. He must have thought I was dead. When I came to he was gone. I was covered up and positioned as if I was in a coffin. He’d taken all my things—my clothes, my purse, my necklace—”

  “A lock of your hair.” He sifted his fingers through the short, wavy locks that had probably been layered like this to camouflage the shorn tendril.

  “And I remember a cat. Right in my face.”

  “Are you sure it was a live cat? Maybe it’s a dissociative memory. Someone’s name or something he said? Was there fur on his coat? Maybe it describes his eyes.”

  “That’s the only thing that isn’t clear.” Her body jerked in frustration. “Something about a damn cat.”

  “That’s okay. Don’t force it.”

  Jess trembled and sagged against him. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  “It’s okay.” He had a general description to put on the wire now—tall, white male. He had a knife to look for. A souvenir necklace. He had the smell of mothballs, a black stocking cap, and a suspect with an insane need to prove his manhood by denigrating and murdering strong women. It was a lot of information compared to what he’d known back in Boston.

  And he owed it all to the brave woman at his side.

  For the first time that night, Sam yawned. With that much of a barrier broken, fatigue finally grabbed the foothold it needed to rush in.

  Jess had been so quiet for so long that he thought she might have dozed off. He nudged her gently. “Do you want to go back to bed now?”

  She blinked clear eyes at him. She hadn’t been sleeping, after all. “Not really.”

  She hadn’t moved away yet. “Do you want me to keep holding you?”

  “God, yes.” A frown creased her forehead. “Do you mind?”

  He answe
red by falling back into the pillow he’d propped against the arm of the couch, pulling Jess with him so that she was draped on top of him. There was no startled reaction as he stretched himself out on the cushions beneath her, no hesitation as he covered her with the quilt and tucked her soft curves against the harder planes and angles of his body.

  Within minutes she was sound asleep. Her breath teased his skin as she snored softly against his neck. Her heart beat a gentle tattoo against his. Sam watched over her, his blissful contentment at having Jess so close, so trusting, marred by vile images of what some beast had done to her, and the equally violent images of what he intended to do to the bastard once he got him in his sights.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charles Kent’s arboretum really was a beautiful place, Jessica thought. The clear roof with its individual panes of antiqued glass reminded her of crystal palaces of ages past. Exotic tropical scents, summerlike warmth, soothing greens and grays with surprises of bright red and yellow made this addition to the mansion a serene, rejuvenating escape.

  Charles needed a quiet place to escape, judging by the raised voices out in the main hall.

  “Mother! You have servants to answer your beck and call, not me.” Jessica had politely stayed put when Trudy Kent had asked to borrow her son for a minute. The minute had stretched to five. “I’m meeting with Mayor Benjamin tomorrow. That will be soon enough. I won’t change my plans to join his golf game this afternoon.”

  Trudy’s voice was equally sharp. “Timing is everything in business. I thought I taught you that. If Fergus Industries makes their pitch tonight at dinner, then tomorrow will be too late for us.”

  There was a beat of silence. Jessica found herself turning her head, waiting in anticipation for the next exchange. “No.” Charles’s voice had returned to its softly articulate level. “I have plans with Jessica this afternoon. She’s already here, and it would be rude to change them.”