Dark Memories (The DARK Files Book 1)

by Susan Vaughan

  Blood roared in her ears and her stomach roiled. “Yes, the sex was good. The best. We always had that. But it’s not enough. Go to Marisol. She needs you.”

  “And you don’t.” His voice was as glacial as the iceberg in his eyes. “I’ve got a news flash for you, Laura. You can’t send me away. Only the DARK director can do that. So you’re stuck with your shameful past — the biker, the hoodlum, the lowlife — until this damn trap catches a killer or two. Looks like I got over my past, but the princess didn’t and slapped me back down where I belong. I won’t forget again.”

  He stalked past her into the bedroom, every muscle and sinew bunched and leaped with tension.

  Laura felt the painful throb of her heart with each taut motion of his big body. Wadding his donated garments and his soot-stained Tevas in front of him like a weapon, he slammed into the bathroom. A moment later, the shower was rushing full force.

  Biting her fist to choke back a sob, she slid to the floor and dropped her head on her knees. Oh, God, what had she done? Her callous brush-off had hurt him more deeply than she’d anticipated. And in a way she didn’t foresee.

  But should have.

  She couldn’t allow him to believe the worst about himself. His inner doubt wasn’t rational. Self-doubt is blind, a shroud of darkness over a glowing beacon. He had risked the light, but her clumsy rebuff snuffed out the flame.

  Tears trailed down her cheeks. She clutched the chain at her neck. If only she could transform herself into the cold, unfeeling ore of Midas’s daughter, she wouldn’t feel this aching emptiness, this knot of pain constricting her breathing, crushing her bruised and tortured heart.

  She had only one choice. She’d hoped for a reprieve, but time was her enemy. She owed him the rest of the truth, the secret she’d harbored in her soul.

  And the truth would drive a wedge between them.

  Not a wedge but a vast rift that would demolish any dreams he had of a future together.

  Chapter 26

  WHEN COLE OPENED the bathroom door, he clamped down his emotions and forced himself to think with the cool control that had saved him and his people from enemy fire. A different kind of danger, but as hazardous as a battle-field.

  Laura sat at the kitchen table, shoulders slumped and bent over a mug of coffee. She looked drained, like trying to send him away was hurting her as much as him.

  She was wrong. He hadn’t lost his new belief in his worth. She’d urged him to get over himself, and with her by his side, he fought his way to that point. But her dismissal took him by surprise. Anger honed his tongue and he lashed out.

  So if not because of their past or his bad-boy rep, why was she rejecting him? Last night he could’ve died with her in the explosion. Was she protecting him? She would risk endangering herself to save him, to send him out of harm’s way. The need to protect her consumed him, the need to erase the smudges of worry beneath her eyes, to heal the cut marring that cheekbone. Deep within him, she’d kindled sparks where only cold and darkness had lurked.

  Ever since she left him, he trusted no one. He never let anyone close to him, not his team, certainly not a woman. But life meant more than just surviving. She was the missing part of him. If there was a chance for them, he wouldn’t give up without a fight.

  No. Hell, no.

  The stresses of being a murder target and the sorrows of the past were getting to her. That was the reason. After the tragedy ten years ago, depression and denial had set her course. He understood her burying herself in her work and charity tennis lessons. But that was an unfulfilled life.

  She should have children — their children — to love instead of surrogates.

  She was gentle and kind and so sharp she kept him on his toes like a damn ballerina. She was the sun coming out after a storm. He thought up stupid jokes just to see her smile.

  And her tears made his soul weep. He wanted this trap sprung and the bad guys wrapped up like rodeo calves, so he could think without this massive vice binding his chest. So he could get on with making sure Laura never again had cause to shed anything but happy tears.

  When he entered, she looked up with haunted eyes. She gripped her coffee mug with both hands, like a drowning victim clutching a life ring. Before he could think of what to say, she held up a hand. “You were wrong, Cole. My reason for ending our affair has nothing to do with your past or our history.”

  “Then why? You can’t tell me you don’t care for me. I know better.”

  She nodded, her head moving mechanically as if blocking emotion. One hand flexed against her flat belly. “Because I do … care for you, I have to tell you the rest of the truth.”

  His heartbeat tripped on itself. What secret was she still keeping? “The truth? Truth about … our son?”

  “Not exactly.” Her chin came up, but her eyes were dark and opaque as a moonless night, with no sparks to warm them. She set down the mug and pushed to her feet. “There’s more about the accident that took our son. I couldn’t bring myself to go into it before. Perhaps it’s guilt for having let myself become pregnant in the first place. I don’t know. I’m ashamed to admit that trying to spare myself only hurt you more.”

  He strode to her side. Started to reach out to her, but she backed away. “What then?”

  “The crash damaged me too.” Her lower lip wobbled, and her voice caught on a suppressed sob. “Beyond repair. David was the only baby I can ever have.”

  Her words exploded in his face. They swirled in his brain in a language he couldn’t fathom. His legs felt as weak as an invalid’s, and he sank into another chair beside her. Finally he made some sense of her new bomb. “You can’t have children.”

  Shaking her head, she slid to the door. “The doctors had to perform a hysterectomy. I’m barren. I can’t give you babies. I can’t give you the family we used to talk about, the family you’ve always longed for.”

  He sat quietly for a moment, then said, “I saw the scar. I figured it was from the accident.” All the revelations of the past week poured over him in a flood of confusion and pain. He wanted to rub his eyes to clear the blur. “And you kept this from me until now.”

  There must be alternatives. But what? The impact of what she said evaporated his synapses and numbed his senses.

  “I planned to tell you once this crazy trap ended, but I couldn’t go on allowing you to think you were that hoodlum you believed you had to be to survive. Toughness got you through hard times. You had nothing to be ashamed of then, and you have so much more to be proud of now.”

  She slipped her ash-smeared visor on her head, and jammed on her sunglasses. They concealed the melancholy in her eyes, but not the pain leaching all the color from her cheeks and lips. “I have to go. The sailing class.”

  He had to stop her. He strode closer to face her. “But—”

  “No, there’s no way around it. You may think now that we could make it, just the two of us, but one day you’d hate me for robbing you of your dream. That would kill me. And wound you far more. Ending it now is the only way.”

  “No. You love me. What we have together is too precious for us to walk away because you’re afraid to take a chance. And it’s not just sex. I want to be with you, to sit at the table and share morning coffee or a meal with you, to argue with you and make up afterward. In the past days, I thought I’d regained your trust, your smiles, your quiet moments and your passion. And I want them for the next fifty or so years. Marry me.”

  “Please don’t ask me that. I can’t marry you. I won’t. It would never work. You deserve the family a whole woman can give you, not a hollow shell of one.” She slumped against the door and hugged herself.

  He lifted her chin so she had to look at him. “Sweetheart, you were the one who helped me to grow, to overcome my insecurities. You badgered me to change. You showed me that I had changed. Now it’s your turn. Let me help you change things for you. For us.”

  A frown knit her brow. Tears clogged her
voice. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re right that I’ve always wanted a family, a loving family with a bunch of children. But it’s love, not blood that makes a family. We can’t get our son back, but we can make a home for lost children who need parents. We can adopt kids.”

  “Adopt?” She pronounced the word carefully, precisely, like a strange word in Pashto. Shaking her head, she said, “It wouldn’t work. One day you’d long for a child with your eyes or my mouth. You wouldn’t mean to, but you’d resent me because I denied you that heritage. Eventually you’d detest me.”

  He clenched his fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. His heart pounded against his ribs like a desperate prisoner. But she was the one escaping. “You’re wrong. If you run away because you’re afraid to take a chance on me — on yourself, on us — you’re not the woman of courage I thought you were.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “No. I’m not. I’m a coward. I love you, but I can’t face seeing your love turn to resentment. To hatred.”

  A sob escaped her. She ran outside and down the path before he could stop her.

  ***

  Enveloped in a pall of silence, Laura and Cole walked into the theater that night. During the day, a front had moved in, bringing with it opaque fog and pewter drizzle heavy enough to sink her spirits to the bottom of Passabec Lake. The wind was the only thing picking up.

  Stan didn’t cancel the performance of Diner since so many people had bought tickets ahead. Instead, before the curtain rose, they would have a moment of silence for Burt Elwell.

  This was the longest day of her life. Laura was relieved to be in the theater, busy and surrounded by people. To avoid Cole between sailing and tennis classes, she’d manufactured mindless chores to do in the boat house and around the inn.

  Avoiding him was impossible.

  A taciturn and grim-faced Cole trailed along with her everywhere. He brooded in grim silence interrupted by an occasional phone call. Little communication passed between them other than the perfunctory kind.

  The second weekend of performances opened to a packed house. After the flurry of costuming, makeup and props, the director and most of the stage crew milled around behind the orchestra seats and watched the performance. In the dark, Laura could barely distinguish who was there, but she thought DARK officers mingled with Bea and Rudy and the others.

  The dark scowl on his battered face keeping everyone at a distance, Cole leaned against the tech booth alone.

  Forbidding or not, she ached for him. Her hands itched to ease the tension in his broad shoulders. She longed to crush herself against his chest and absorb his essence and his strength.

  She forced herself not to approach him, not to make an effort to soften the blow. She stayed where she was behind the right orchestra seats, a barrier of stage crew between them. Separation and distance were for the best. She’d known that from the start, but her heart had overruled her brain for a while.

  Separation and distance. She repeated it to herself like a mantra, but repetition didn’t ease the anguish stabbing her heart and scalding her throat.

  When the third act was halfway through, Laura felt a sharp jab in her side.

  “Come with me quietly or I’ll turn this gun on your boyfriend.”

  The whisper in her ear branded her brain. The coppery taste of terror froze her. “Who—”

  “Shut up.” The gun dug painfully in her ribs. A steel hand clamped her elbow and forced her to turn toward the door. “Move. Now. But nice and slow. Keep your hands were I can see them. Act normal.”

  She glanced at Cole, but he appeared absorbed in the play. He wasn’t looking her way. How could she signal him? Her heart spasmed with fear and indecision.

  “Don’t. You warn him, and he’s a dead man.”

  Her pulse tripping over itself, she managed to put one foot in front of the other as her captor herded her through the rear doors and into the lobby.

  No one glanced her way. No one noticed their departure.

  ***

  Cole fisted his hands in his pants pockets. Only his training kept him from jumping out of his skin. All day he’d spent trying to understand Laura.

  Missions had gouged a few battle scars in him. Last night’s explosion probably added one or two. The knife attack on her left gruesome tracks on her neck. But all of those together didn’t match the internal scars. He was straining to understand how she thought, how she felt.

  She was so terrified of his possible rejection of her that she had to cut him off first. Yes, her inability to bear children — his children — shocked him. He could make snap analyses and decisions in a tight spot with terrorists. Did his impulsive suggestion of adoption misfire? Or did it add to the past week’s emotional minefield? Any misstep would blow up in his face.

  So for the rest of the day, he’d guarded her from the distance she wanted and avoided the minefield altogether.

  He allowed himself a glimpse of her. She was an exotic bird, an elegant bird in a borrowed yellow shirt that showed off her tan and jeans that were tighter than usual — just right in his judgment. Her bright facade might fool her friends, but not him. Renewed grief and pain faded the gold flecks from her eyes and smudged shadows beneath them. She might fool herself into believing their parting would be for the best.

  Letting her go would be the worst thing he could do. That much he knew.

  Happiness was beginning to trickle into the hollow places inside him. He was working at trust, at cracking the long-standing barriers built to protect his heart and soul. Only one person, only Laura had ever seen through those barriers.

  With her, life had real meaning.

  Because danger still stalked her, he couldn’t take the necessary steps to heal their relationship — or lack of one. Making amends and making plans were impossible. Healing the pain, the breach, would take work. But healing had to happen. He would ensure it. She needed him. And the more he was with her, the more he needed her.

  This distance between them hurt both, but gave him the space he needed to be more alert to danger. He glanced at her again. Safe enough with this harmless bunch. His teammates were stationed nearby, but if Cole couldn’t spot them, neither would Janus. Or Markos, if he dared show his face.

  If only they could have this business with Markos behind them.

  If only Janus would make his damn move.

  Cole wanted the trap sprung, so he and Laura could get on with building a life together. Sure, the thought of her belly never swelling with his child saddened him, but he could get past that loss.

  As long as he had her.

  Decision made, he turned his gaze to the stage.

  Cliff Trigger, played by a fresh-faced new guy with script in hand, helped his new-found love Debbie and her father, the police lieutenant, close the trap on the killer. Using a deception carried off by the obnoxious dowager, played to the snooty hilt by Doris Van Tassel, Cliff tricked the murderer into incriminating herself.

  No, himself.

  Wait a damn minute. Cole had never read the script nor seen the final act, so he didn’t know who committed the murders. He watched the climax in stunned silence, oblivious to the laughter and clapping around him.

  As the denouement proceeded, Bea Van Tassel rushed over to him. She whispered, “Isn’t that a marvelous ending? The audience is fooled every time. No one suspects Cookie is a man. Stan Hart is perfect in the role. And the wig! If only he had that much hair, poor man.”

  Cole nodded. In the unisex outfit of baggy pants, striped shirt and white apron, Stan sure as hell looked like a motherly, middle-aged woman. Cole had just figured they didn’t have a woman to play the part. Duped him along with everybody else. And he’d watched a rehearsal or two.

  Amazing. Cookie turned out to be the supposedly dead owner of a bankrupt ski resort, a man who for years plotted revenge against all the people who he imagined responsible for his ruin. He knew them, but they didn’t know each
other.

  Devious. He watched Cookie, minus his wig and chef’s hat, be handcuffed and led away.

  A dual role. A successful hit man might have to play a dual role. One respectable for the public. One underground, clandestine.

  Cole scraped a hand through his hair. More ways to examine the damn puzzle only gave him more headaches. No answers.

  The performance would end in a few minutes. After the curtain calls, he and Laura were slated to help clean up. He turned toward where she was standing.

  No Laura.

  Shit! “Where is she?”

  Bea clapped her hands together. “I have to see my sister when the play ends. Wasn’t her fake death scene terrific?”

  “Bea.” He gritted the words through his teeth. “Where. Is. Laura?”

  For his harsh tone, he received a schoolmarmish frown and a haughty sniff. “I saw her head to the lobby.”

  “Alone?”

  “Someone was with her. I didn’t see who. What—?”

  The tracker on Cole’s phone put Laura still in the building. He slammed through the double doors at the back of the theater.

  Chapter 27

  THE LOBBY WAS deserted. Where the hell did she go? The tracker still had her inside, but the damn app wasn’t precise. He turned toward the door to the stairs, 9mm in his hand. He took the stairs to the lower floor two at a time.

  With everybody onstage or behind the orchestra seats, the corridor of storerooms and dressing rooms stretched ahead lit only by dim emergency lights. Silence reigned except for echoes above of voices and creaking boards.

  Was she down here? Who the hell had her?

  He flattened against the wall. He adjusted the tiny microphone in his collar and tapped the button on his phone to call her.

  No answer.

  He tried again.

  Nothing.

  Why the hell wasn’t she responding? Suspicion crawled up his spine.