Her Secret Past

by Amanda Stevens

  Amy sat on the couch, huddled beneath the blanket as she recited to Con what she could remember from the letter. When she got to the part about a weight tied to her ankle, a dark chill came over him. The cold-bloodedness of the act filled him with rage, and it was all he could do to sit there and listen to Amy, instead of going out and tearing those woods apart until he found the person who had done that to her.

  When she stopped speaking, she sat watching him, the tension between them almost unbearable.

  Finally, she dropped her gaze, staring at the floor as she held the blanket around her. “I didn’t run out on you that night, Con.”

  It was a moment before he could say anything. “I know.”

  Amy tucked a damp strand of hair behind one ear. “I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out who hated me enough to want to kill me.”

  “Maybe it was more than hate,” Con said. “Maybe you were a threat to someone.”

  “But who?” Amy said desperately. “Lottie? Fay?” She paused. “Mena?”

  When Con didn’t respond, she said, “Mena’s in love with you.”

  “I don’t know about that. Maybe.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I’ve never done anything to lead her on. I hope you believe that.”

  “She was in love with you even back then.”

  Con got up and strode to the window, staring out into the darkness, “I dated her a few times, but when I thought she was getting too serious, I broke it off. I knew there could never be anyone for me but…” He shrugged. “She didn’t take it well. She started following me around at school and in town. Sometimes when I’d look out my bedroom window at night, I’d see her down by the river, just staring up at the trailer. Then some of my clothes started missing from the clothesline….” He glanced at Amy and saw her shiver.

  “That sounds a little…creepy, if you ask me. But maybe no more so than Fay wanting to be popular so badly she accused Frankie of trying to kill her. She got him sent away, and I’d be willing to bet Frankie didn’t lay a finger on her.”

  “I don’t think he did, either,” Con said, “Fay’s always had a cruel streak.”

  “And then there’s Lottie,” Amy said. She worried her bottom lip in contemplation. “Amberly is…I don’t know…symbolic to her. Corliss said Lottie lived there as a little girl, and she and my mother used to pretend they were sisters. Then Lottie had to go live with relatives who didn’t want her, and I imagine that must have been pretty traumatic for her. Maybe Amberly represents stability to her, and she thought I was going to make her leave. You said yourself, that house has always evoked powerful emotions in people.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, turning away from her face. “Maybe more than you know.”

  * * *

  AMY AWAKENED WITH A start. She didn’t remember dozing off, but as she gazed around, she saw that she was in a strange room, sleeping in a strange bed. Con’s, she presumed.

  She saw him standing by the window, staring out at the night sky. Getting up from bed, she padded across the room toward him.

  “How long have I been sleeping?”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Not long. You fell asleep on the couch, but I thought you’d rest better in here.”

  Amy studied him in the moonlight. He wore only jeans, and he’d wrapped a fresh bandage around his arm. His hair looked damp, as if he’d just come from the shower. She could smell the faint scent of soap and shampoo, and the fragrance was uncommonly masculine. Virile.

  “Have you gotten any sleep?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t need much sleep.”

  She moved beside him, staring out the window into the darkness. Several yards from the trailer, she could see the skeletal frame of a house. “Are you building a home?”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, then, “It was going to be my mother’s house.”

  “I thought you sold all your property to that development company.”

  “I started the house before my mother died, and once she was gone, there didn’t seem much point in finishing it. I don’t mind the trailer…not anymore.”

  “Con—”

  “Amber—”

  They both started to speak, but she said in a rush, “Let me go first. I may lose my nerve otherwise.”

  He looked as if he were going to protest, then he shrugged. “Go ahead, then.”

  She drew a long breath and released it. “You said I married you to spite my father.”

  “That’s what I thought. That’s what I heard.”

  “Is it possible you could have been mistaken about what you heard?”

  He searched her face in the moonlight. “What are you getting at?”

  She took another breath, her heart beating in long, painful strokes against her chest. “If that was the only reason I married you, how do you explain the way I feel about you now?”

  She sensed more than saw him tense. His gaze darkened on her. “How do you feel about me?”

  “I…think I’m in love with you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HE GAZED AT HER for a long moment, as if he wasn’t quite sure he could believe what she was saying. As if he might not want to believe what she was saying.

  Amy held her breath. “Should I not have admitted that?”

  He almost smiled. “You always did say what was on your mind.”

  “Then I guess there’s no reason for me to stop now, is there?” She moved toward him, lifting her hands to cup his face. “I’d like for you to make love to me.”

  He inhaled sharply. “Amber—”

  “I know,” she said breathlessly. “I know all the reasons why we shouldn’t. I’ve only been back here a few days. But it seems like an eternity and…” She trailed off, holding his face in her hands, staring up at him, wanting him. “Someone out there hates me enough to want me dead. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

  Something flashed in her eyes. He did smile a little then. “I think I do.”

  “I’d like to believe there’s also someone who cares about me. At least a little.”

  Con closed his eyes briefly. “I do care about you. I’ve never stopped caring about you. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I couldn’t get you out of my head. You haunted me. That’s why I’ve…done some things I’ve done.”

  Amy’s hands trembled as she let them slip to his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. “What have you done?”

  When he opened his mouth to speak she put a fingertip to his lips. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want the past in here with us now. I just want you.”

  His gaze made her melt. With one hand, he reached out and cupped the back of her neck, drawing her to him, then plowing both hands into her hair. He stared down at her for the longest moment before he lowered his head to hers.

  The power of the moment was breathtaking. Amy’s lips trembled beneath his, and then opened like a flower, drawing him inside. With a groan, Con ground his mouth against hers, tasting, savouring, pouring nine years of longing into the kiss.

  He kissed her again and again, silently and intently, and when they broke apart, Amy’s legs threatened to collapse right out from under her. But Con wasn’t finished with her. He pulled the undershirt over her head and tossed it aside, so that she stood before him naked with desire.

  His gaze worshiped her, ravished her, and then he did the same with his hands and his lips until Amy thought she would go mad from wanting him. He walked her back a few steps, and when she felt the bed against her legs, she lay back, watching him in the moonlight, ravishing him with her gaze as he stripped aside his jeans.

  Then he moved over her and in her, and all Amy could do was whisper his name over and over.

  * * *

  AMY’S EYES WERE CLOSED, but she could feel Con’s gaze on her, moving over her, and the sensation was incredible. When he circled her breast with his fingertip, she opened her eyes and stared up at him.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

&
nbsp; “Thank you.”

  She grinned. “I’ve been lying here wondering about something.”

  “And?” His finger drew tighter and tighter circles. Amy shivered.

  “Was it always this way between us?”

  “You asked me that once before.”

  “And you never answered me.”

  When he didn’t answer now, Amy demanded, “Well?”

  He cocked a dark brow. “Do you think I’m the kind of guy who kisses and tells?”

  “I’m serious. I want to know. Were we lovers?”

  He hesitated, then rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Once. The night we were married. It was down by the river. I guess that’s why when you didn’t come back, I thought I’d better go find you. I already had my suspicions about your motives. And then, too, I was a little worried I might have hurt you somehow.”

  Amy frowned. “Hurt me?” She turned over to stare at him. propping her chin on his chest. “You mean physically?”

  He shrugged.

  “Why would you think you’d hurt me? From everything I’ve been able to gather, I wasn’t exactly an innocent.” When he still didn’t say anything, Amy lifted her chin and stared at him in surprise. “Are you telling me I was a virgin?”

  “Surprised the hell out of me, too.”

  Amy flopped back on the bed. “But I thought…I mean, everyone keeps telling me how wild I was back then.”

  “Apparently, neither one of us sowed as many wild oats as we led other people to believe.”

  She turned her head, staring at him. “You mean you were a—”

  He grimaced. “Damn near it. But let’s keep it to ourselves. No use spoiling our reputations after all these years.”

  Amy put her hands to her face and laughed.

  “It’s not that funny,” he said, glowering at her.

  “No, you’re right. It’s very…sweet.” She sighed. “So what was our wedding night like?”

  “Awkward. Fumbling.” He paused. “Beautiful.”

  She sighed again. “I wish I could remember.”

  Con trailed a fingertip across her lips and Amy shivered. “Why don’t you concentrate on the memories we just made?”

  “I plan to,” she said, kissing him. She kissed him lightly at first, and then more deeply, more confidently as she felt his body respond.

  * * *

  AMY LEANED ON HER ELBOW, watching him. His eyes were closed, but he could feel her gaze on him, moving over him. The sensation was powerful, and when she traced a finger down his stomach, he opened one eye and stared at her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked gruffly.

  “Just checking.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not you were asleep,” she said innocently, although her eyes told him something very different.

  He captured her fingers, linking them with his, and then lifted her hand to his lips. “Sleep might not be a bad idea. We’ve got a lot of decisions to make in the morning.”

  “That’s hours away.” But a shadow passed briefly across her features. “And anyway, you said you didn’t need much sleep.”

  “Good thing.”

  She smiled down at him. “I have another question for you?”

  He sighed deeply.

  She traced his tattoo with her fingertip. “What does this mean?”

  There was an odd note in her voice. He gave her an amused glance. “It means I had too much to drink one night in Rio.”

  “That’s all?” She looked vaguely disappointed.

  He turned his head to stare at her. “What did you think it meant?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Tell me about being in the service.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  She paused, then said, “I heard you were almost killed in South America. Is that true?”

  Con closed his eyes again. “You can hear a lot of things in this damn town. You should know that better than anyone.”

  “Were you in the special ops? When he opened his eyes and gave her a look, she said defensively, “Well, isn’t that what they call it? And isn’t that why you have that tattoo?”

  “You’ve been watching too many Sylvester Stallone movies.” Con stared at the ceiling for a moment, not wanting to remember. Not wanting her to know everything he’d seen and done in the past nine years. His service to his country had been honorable, and he wasn’t ashamed of following orders, or giving them, but somehow even the bravest of acts didn’t always translate well in the civilian world. “I was in the service. Period. I got my knee shot up in a third-world country no one has ever heard of, and if the State Department has their way, no one ever will. After that, Uncle Sam didn’t have much use for me, so we parted company. Does that answer your question?”

  “Why did you get the Silver Star?”

  He tensed. Damn Mena for writing that article.

  Amy said softly, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

  Con didn’t, but maybe he should. He’d never told anyone what happened back then. It was part of his past, and he thought he could shove it into the shadows, along with Amber’s ghost. But both had haunted him over the years. Both had changed his life in ways he was only now coming to understand. “We were fighting guerrillas in the jungle. We’d been told they were little more than peasants with outdated weaponry and an immoral cause, when in reality, they were professionals armed by Castro and well-trained by the KGB.”

  Amy frowned. “I didn’t know the KGB existed anymore.”

  “A lot of people don’t. And that’s what’s scary. We had no idea what we were getting into down there.”

  “What happened?”

  Con drew another breath. “The rebels ambushed our unit one night. We were badly outnumbered, and some of our men were taken prisoner. After the smoke cleared, we couldn’t find out where they were being held. It was almost as if they’d just disappeared into the jungle. The attempts we’d made to infiltrate the group hadn’t worked, and we’d already learned that intelligence was unreliable. The only way we could find out where the men were being held was for someone to lead us in.”

  “Like who?”

  “Another prisoner.”

  He sensed more than saw Amy’s shock. “I think I understand. You allowed yourself to get captured so that you could lead your unit to the prison camp.”

  She was quick. He’d give her that. Con shrugged. “Someone had to do it. We had reason to believe the hostages would be tortured, and several of them had been given sensitive information. If I hadn’t volunteered, we would have drawn straws. A lot of the other men had wives and families back home. It made more sense for me to go.”

  Amy’s arm slipped around him, hugging him, as if she could protect him from the memories. “What happened?”

  “We got the men out.” He turned to meet her gaze, saw a dark knowing in her eyes.

  “How long did it take for your unit to come and rescue you?”

  “Three days.” That’s enough, he told himself. Time to draw the shutters. He didn’t want her knowing any more. He didn’t want her looking at him with the same pity he’d seen in a medic’s eyes when he’d tried to field dress Con’s knee. He’d been luckier than a lot of guys in that hellhole.

  Amy drew a tremulous breath. “You’ve been through so much.”

  He smoothed his hand down her hair. “I guess neither of our lives has exactly been paradise.”

  “Until tonight.”

  * * *

  CON WENT BACK OUT to look for Frankie the next morning. Amy stayed inside the trailer, with the doors and windows closed and locked. She felt like a prisoner of war herself.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t have many options. She could pack her bags and head back to Houston, but flight wouldn’t necessarily guarantee her safety. Running away might even be more dangerous in the long run. Back in Houston, or anywhere else, she might become complacent, and who was to say her would-be killer wouldn’t be waiting around th
e next corner when she got careless? Here at least she would be constantly on her guard.

  There was also Jasmine to consider.

  And Con.

  She drew a deep breath, thinking of last night. How wonderful it had been. How deeply she loved him.

  It seemed impossible. She hardly knew him, and yet there it was. She couldn’t see her life without him now.

  And stranger still, she didn’t think she could leave Amberly. Not yet, at least. Her ancestral home was so much a part of who Amber Tremain had been, that leaving it now would be like leaving something of herself behind. Something she was just now coming to know.

  So if she didn’t want to leave and she was afraid to stay, what other option did she have? Go to the same sheriff who had arrested Con for her murder nine years ago? Without Winona’s letter, why would he even believe her? And even if he did believe her, what if he blamed Frankie, as Winona had feared all those years ago? Or Con?

  Amy’s stomach tumbled at the thought. Con had told her once he didn’t want history to repeat itself, but what if it came to that? What if he was once again blamed for something he didn’t do? How would he feel about her then?

  Her predicament was paralyzing. The only thing she could do at the moment was to stay locked inside Con’s trailer. If he could somehow find Frankie, and if Frankie could tell Con who shot him, then Amy would know who had tried to kill her all those years ago. She’d be able to look her would-be murderer in the eye and ask, Why?

  She sighed, not wanting to consider how important—and how remote—those ifs were.

  * * *

  AS THE MORNING CREPT BY, Amy’s imagination went wild. The walls started closing in on her. She was sure something must have happened to Con, and it was all she could do not to go out and look for him.

  Stay put, she ordered herself. Don’t get antsy.

  No one knew where she was, and she had to keep it that way for the moment.

  But the need to be out there, looking for Con and for Frankie, was almost too great to bear.

  By sundown, when she’d still had no word from Con, Amy couldn’t stand it any longer. She knew if she didn’t do something to relax, she’d start climbing the walls. Or worse, leave the trailer and put herself in danger.