Dark Memories (The DARK Files Book 1)

by Susan Vaughan

  They gaped at each other. Shook their heads.

  Both erupted in a fit of laughter. People surrounded them — actors rehearsing lines, other stage crew carrying props, the director checking the lights. The ozone odor of hot lighting mingled with greasepaint. Laura buried her face in Cole’s shirtfront. Better if the others thought the reason for their merriment a private, romantic joke.

  His other arm came around her, and his laughter reverberated in her, spiking sensation deep inside.

  “Laura.” His voice was husky, but not from laughing.

  She raised her gaze to his burning one. His masculine scent and the naked hunger in his face scoured heat through her and banished their surroundings.

  “Cole, Laura, you’re just the ones I need to see.”

  They jumped apart as Stan Hart approached.

  The resort owner was tying his character Cookie’s white apron around his stocky body. “Haven’t got any leads yet,” he said behind a hand. He clearly loved considering himself a coconspirator. “A lot of folks are on those docks all the time.”

  “And no one pays attention to what others are doing,” she said. “Some kids in my sailing class were on the beach. None of them saw anything unusual.”

  “I put a padlock on the boat shed this afternoon. Stop by tomorrow for a key.” He started toward the stairwell. “You sure it wasn’t like Burt said, kids mixing up the boats?”

  Storm clouds couldn’t loom darker than Cole’s expression. “Whoever shuffled those boats went to a hell of a lot of trouble to transfer the outboard motor to the damaged boat and to conceal the bottom of the good one. No accident.”

  Stan nodded glumly. “I’ll keep checking. Gotta go. Vanessa’s expecting me in makeup.” He raised an arm in a dramatic pose. “The show must go on!”

  After Laura finished helping set up the diner props, she whispered to Cole that she was going to the makeup room to talk to Vanessa, who’d been kayaking on the lake that morning. “Maybe she went out yesterday too.”

  Cole’s eyes snapped as he readied a warning. The male potency in his pale eyes took her breath away.

  “I know.” She countered with a sweet smile before he could open his mouth. “Don’t go off by myself. It’s a crush down there. I’ll be surrounded at all times.”

  “You got it, babe. Stick with Vanessa.” He tilted his head toward a trio of kids in the wings. “I got … a tip to ask Kay about what she saw yesterday.”

  Laura scrutinized the girl as Cole threaded his way through the milling crowd. Kay, in Rock-Star-Barbie mode with a boatload of mascara and a halter top that hugged her breasts, was gabbing with the girl who played Debbie and flirting with Burt.

  Maybe a talk with her parents was in order.

  She paused at the top of the narrow staircase leading to the lower level. In spite of his good humor about Bea’s cooking, all day Cole had brooded and hovered like a hawk, especially after her apology. Apprehension about what might happen next twisted her stomach in knots, but she wouldn’t let fear rule her.

  Was worry for her the cause of his lowered brow and hard mouth?

  She had secrets, and so apparently did he. She’d overheard two more phone conversations in Spanish, one with someone named Marisol. Whatever relationship he had with other women shouldn’t affect her. Acknowledging her resurrected love for him didn’t mean he reciprocated. She didn’t want him to love her. He mustn’t love her. There was no future in it. And he deserved a future.

  Whatever he’d said to Zach put the sunshine back in the boy’s disposition. Cole was a natural with kids. He’d make a terrific father. He needed more than a barren woman.

  Renewing her resolve ought to bolster her, but it only scraped at her heart.

  ***

  After their first-act duties ended, Cole and Laura searched for seats in the house. On Thursday, Death at the Diner had opened to a sparse house, but tonight the only seats left were in the last row.

  “Good,” Cole murmured, “we can make out.”

  His good humor over Bea’s culinary disasters was making him bold. Or was it his conversation with Kay? Laura elbowed him in the ribs. “Behave.”

  “What did Vanessa have to say?” His warm breath tickled her ear. Angled toward her, he practically nuzzled her neck. His scent, mingled with soap and charcoal smoke from their cookout, fuzzed her brain.

  Making out, indeed. This had to be part of his act as her lover. They both knew love between them had less chance of being real than a Persian mummy.

  She cleared her throat. “She stayed in the inn yesterday with sunburn, so my detection was a bust.” She ought to move over so he didn’t loom over her, but the man on her other side was too close. “And Kay?”

  “Later. The play’s starting.” A wink, and he adjusted his position toward the stage. Placing his hands on his knees, he focused on the rising curtain.

  When she realized what the action was at the start of the second act, she swallowed hard and edged away from him. Never mind her other neighbor’s bony elbow.

  The couple, Debbie and Cliff, were just returning from searching for an exit, and a romantic evening drive on the motorcycle. Debbie swung off the back of the bike and leaned over to press her lips to Cliff’s.

  Laura waited nervously for Cole’s reaction. This scene came too close for comfort to the first time she and Cole had kissed. Maybe he wouldn’t see the similarity. Or remember. Maybe her stomach was tied in a half hitch for nothing.

  Long ago, Laura and Cole had left the graduation party crowd to return to her car. Like the play character, she delivered a quick kiss, but even that brief contact stunned her with its heat and power.

  Debbie walked to the diner entrance, away from Cliff.

  Cole shifted in his seat, stretched an arm along the seat back behind her, his gaze on the performance. His scent caressed her, ensnared her so she scarcely knew what was memory and what was now. She had to resist the urge to snuggle into his hard strength.

  Onstage, the couple kissed a second, longer time.

  Laura had no awareness of what Cliff said to Debbie, but Cole’s words were branded on her heart. Even now, the memory of his mouth on hers evoked enough heat to speed her pulse and make her tug at her sweatshirt neck.

  She forced herself to concentrate on the action as the young couple entered the diner for the discovery of a murder. Cliff and Debbie were to find the waitress Daisy Rae prone behind the diner counter. One by one, the others would arrive for dinner, only to become witnesses. Laura liked the scene, which brought all the principals onstage together.

  Cole’s breath feathered across her temple. “Remember?”

  She jumped as if her seat had an electric charge. Oh God, he did remember what she’d said. “Wondered what that would be like, cowboy.” She tried to walk away, like Debbie, but the intensity in his eyes had held her as surely as his embrace. “Remember what?”

  “I could’ve written that bit. Better. I had a better line. I wondered too, babe. I still do. Well?”

  “Yes, all right, yes, I remember.” If she scooted farther away, she’d land in her neighbor’s lap. “Although Cliff Trigger’s an improvement over the original. He’s certainly more civilized.”

  Appalled at her snippy outburst, she scrambled to her feet and out of the theater.

  ***

  “I didn’t mean to push your buttons,” Cole said to Laura’s bedroom door. Damned clear why the reminiscence had upset her. Any memories of that time carried more emotional baggage than Maine had mosquitoes. “The scene brought back graduation night. I have great memories of that party.”

  He’d followed her out of the theater and back to the cabin, where she retreated to her bedroom. To escape him? Or the memories? First they laughed together. Then sitting close to her in the darkened theater, with that scene… If she hadn’t run out, he’d have kissed her.

  He was an ass. She’d have run out then sure as hell. Faster.

 
; The door opened.

  Laura stood in the gap, shadows beneath her eyes, the sparkling remnants of tears on her lashes. How she could look regal and perfect in a sweatshirt and jeans, he didn’t understand. “I’m sorry I overreacted. The business with the skiff must be affecting me. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  “You had a big day. Truce.” He held out his hand.

  “Truce.” She placed her hand in his, but slipped it away before he could savor the touch. She headed toward the couch, but veered to the chair, as if afraid to sit on what had become his bed. “You were going to tell me about your conversation with Kay.”

  “Ah, Kay. Yes. She spent some time yesterday afternoon on the finger docks. Some of it sunning herself in Burt’s outboard.”

  “The boat that you commandeered.”

  “The very one. She was waiting for him, hoping he’d give her a ride. And not just on the boat.”

  “I see.” A stripe of color spread across her cheeks. “Maybe I should talk to her about the dangers of chasing after older boys.”

  “Especially older boys with police records. Definitely jail bait. Did you know that our Cliff Trigger spent some time in the county jail?”

  “Of course.” She tossed her head with haughty assurance. Her hair swung gracefully.

  “How? I doubt he’d brag about being a jailbird.”

  “Stan told me a long time ago. Burt and some other boys stole an outboard motor from a marina in Alderport. He spent a few days behind bars. He was a teenager then.” She cocked her head at him. “Did you tell that to Kay?”

  He worked his jaw, chewing his decision again. “I started to, but I asked her only about yesterday. You saw her tonight. All tarted up. Hard to tell how young she really is. And I remember my teenage years enough to know that warning her off him might have the opposite effect, kinda like your folks warning you about the biker.”

  Laura blushed more at that. “Maybe I’ll have a talk with her dad. Or with Burt. You don’t suspect he’s in league with Janus? Not Burt.”

  Cole scrubbed at the scar on his chin, about as effective as trying to remove nagging doubts about the boy. The underlying suspicion came from his confused feelings, nothing concrete. “I don’t know what I suspect. The kid’s up to something. Isaacs said after they went to the other side of the lake to work he lost track of Elwell. But Kay said he didn’t come to the docks either. More likely he’s the resort burglar. He has keys and opportunity.”

  “I can’t believe he’d betray his uncle and Stan that way. He was probably goofing off, taking a nap or something. He’s not a self-starter. As distractible as a puppy. Stan has mentioned frustration at Burt’s occasional, shall we say, unauthorized absences.”

  “More puppy stuff. Geared for fun rather than work.”

  She yawned and pushed to her feet. “I’m going to need a nap soon myself. A long one. But since we’re here and not at the play, I have brownies to bake. I promised the sailing class a celebration tomorrow.”

  He enjoyed the sway of her hips as she sauntered to the kitchen. “You could call on Bea.”

  She laughed, music that warmed him to his toes. “The kids would never forgive me.” She rummaged in the refrigerator.

  “They’d forgive you anything.” He shared his conversation with Zach. He joined her in the kitchen and leaned against the wall to watch her as she measured and mixed ingredients Joyce Hart had supplied.

  “Poor kid. I knew his mom was away at work a lot, but I didn’t realize how much he was at loose ends.” She stirred cocoa into the mixture. “I’ll ask Stan if he can fit Zach into an archery class.”

  She cared deeply about her young charges in both the tennis and sailing classes. The dunking had deterred her not a bit from the responsibility of the regatta. Nurturing and mothering came to her as naturally as breathing. Years ago, they’d dreamed of having the family both wanted. Neither ever married. In spite of the past, and with danger facing them, he was falling for her again.

  Hard. The realization staggered him.

  They communicated like before. Better than before. With more honesty. She knew him better than anyone. He thought he knew her, except for the pain that shadowed her eyes.

  She kept telling him to toss the chip off his shoulder. If his rough background wasn’t the barrier, did it have to be too late for them? She wanted him. And he sure as hell wanted her. So why did she deny her feelings?

  If they could get through his questions about the baby…

  If he could get past that wall she kept around her…

  Chapter 16

  WHEN LAURA TURNED from placing the brownie pan in the oven and setting the timer, Cole was gazing at her solemnly.

  He pushed a hand through his hair, then scrubbed knuckles across his jaw, a habit of deep thought. At the confusion and questions she saw in his eyes, her pulse scrambled, and heat rose in her cheeks. She braced herself for the questions she feared.

  “If there had been a baby, would you have told me?” His words came out measured and slow and laden with anguish, dredged from his soul.

  A band tightened around her chest. He suffered too. But relief at his question eased her anxiety about what else to tell him. “I tried before … before I lost the baby.”

  “How? I was at Parris Island.”

  “I phoned your dad from Boulder, from the university.”

  “He had my address. Was he drunk?” His hard mask once again in place, he pivoted away to the doorway and looked out through the screening.

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything about the Marines, but he promised to get back to me with your address. I called again, but the phone was disconnected. I—”

  “That must’ve been after he died. Too late.”

  The pain in his forced ironic tone squeezed her chest. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve tried harder to find you.”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t want to be found.” He returned and gripped the chair back the same way she had. “How were your folks about the pregnancy?”

  A wistful memory lifted her lips. “That was the one bright spot in those dark days. Mom and Dad were great, very supportive, aside from wanting to keep it secret. I guess I wanted to hide too. At first I was too angry at you to tell you about the baby. I blamed you. I wasn’t ready.”

  “Yeah, I know. You were right.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “How did it happen? The miscarriage.”

  Oh God, how to begin. How to tell it without revealing everything. She could hardly breathe, let alone speak. “It was December, Christmas vacation.”

  “December.” As realization dawned, horror roughened his voice. “You were six months pregnant.”

  She continued, on automatic, the only way she could get through the tale. “My family came to Colorado, so they could hide my pregnancy from anyone at home. My cousin Angela and I were driving back to the cabin after skiing at Steamboat Springs.”

  “Angela’s the one you went to Europe with?”

  She nodded, a lump the size of France in her throat. “Actually, Angela skied, and I relaxed. I’m a fair skier, but being pregnant put me off balance. The car hit ice. Black ice. Invisible. My Porsche spun out of control. It slammed into the guardrail. It … burst into flame. The seatbelt was too uncomfortable on my belly, so I wasn’t wearing it. I got out. Angela didn’t.”

  Tears stung her eyes again, but she set her chin and blinked them away. She could still see in slow motion the other cars, the shocked faces of drivers as the sports car spun around and around, faster and faster toward the metal guardrail.

  She could hear the shriek of rubber on asphalt and ice.

  She could hear Angela’s horrified gasps.

  She could feel the sickening carnival-ride whirl.

  And the rush of air when the door swung open and an invisible hand flung her like a rag doll from the careening automobile. Then red-hot shards of pain in her side.

&nb
sp; “That must have been horrible.” She didn’t know when he moved, but he stood beside her. His hands on her waist seemed to be the only force keeping her on her feet. The anguish in his eyes must have mirrored hers.

  “I’m all right.” She plucked a paper towel from the kitchen counter and blew her nose. “I was pretty depressed for a while. Counseling helped, so I could move on. Talking about the accident brings back all the anger and sorrow.”

  “Can you go on?” The warm support in his voice offered a cushion for her pain.

  She nodded. “I tried to struggle to my feet, to go to Angela, but my legs didn’t want to work. People held me down, wrapped me in a blanket. And then I must have passed out.”

  “And you … lost our baby?” His voice was so gentle, so full of pain it made her chest ache.

  He placed the flat of his hand on her stomach. She felt the imprint of every finger, of the palm and of his heat. She allowed the gesture to comfort her. As long as he couldn’t see the scar beneath his hand.

  “When I woke up in the hospital, I was no longer pregnant. He was too premature and too damaged in the crash to survive.” Cole’s body went rigid, but she didn’t stop. “The surgeon brought him to me only because I pitched a fit they could hear in the next county. He’d been cleaned up and swaddled in a soft blue blanket, but he was so tiny, like a doll. So perfect. So still.”

  “A son.” His voice grated like ground glass on sandpaper. “We would’ve had a son.”

  She raised her head to gaze at him. His eyes were as opaque and bleak as winter frost. “I named him David Cole Rossiter.”

  “David. It’s a good name. Thank you for the Cole.” His tight mouth tilted at one corner. “A son. Laura, if only I’d known…” His voice broke, and he squeezed shut his eyes.

  “He’s buried in the family plot beside Angela. She died on impact.” In her own way, Laura had died too. The whole experience had left her scarred inside and out. And empty.

  But no emptier than she felt at this moment. Emptier than when she was bleeding in that car trunk. Empty down to her soul. Drained of all energy and hope. A hollow shell.

  His fingers smoothed her hair back from her face. “You couldn’t have saved Angela. You’d have only endangered yourself.” He pulled her into his arms.