Bridal Reconnaissance

by Lisa Childs

  One he wouldn’t inflict on anyone else, especially not his runaway wife.

  Royce sighed as he unwrapped the crinkly paper from a butterscotch, then popped the candy into his mouth. “So you’re not going to tell me anything about the past between you and this beauty.”

  Evan shook his head, not knowing where to start. But knowing that he had to finally accept that it had ended.

  The ex-FBI agent crunched on the hard treat. “Tell me one thing. Why are you so anxious to find her now?”

  Evan wished he knew. Although he had that gnawing feeling in his gut that she needed him again, he’d been wrong about that before.

  He glanced down at the wedding ring banded around the third finger of his left hand where Amanda had slid it almost seven years ago. Then he’d believed they would last forever. But he hadn’t known then what he knew now. Amanda had been smart to leave him.

  Finally, after a heavy sigh, he answered his friend, “It’s time.”

  Time to truly set her free. And himself.

  SHE ONLY HAD A FEW DAYS to pack up over five years’ worth of belongings. Amanda tossed toys into an open box, glad that she’d sent Christopher to school that morning despite her initial separation anxiety. Maybe now she’d have everything packed before he got home.

  And with that animal in prison for a few more days, Christopher was safe yet. She’d had to convince herself of that before she’d been able to put him on the kindergarten bus. She had to keep as much normalcy in his life as she could right now. When they ran, she’d be turning his little familiar world upside down.

  The old doorbell pealed out its disjointed tune, startling a gasp from her lips. Heart hammering, she dragged in a deep breath. He wouldn’t ring the bell. And as she kept reminding herself, his release wasn’t scheduled for three more days.

  As she crossed the overcrowded living room, the song rang out again, the notes echoing flatly throughout the small house.

  “Who is it?” She hated the quaver of fear that weakened her voice, but the only remedy was safety. She doubted she’d ever feel safe once that animal was out.

  “Amanda, it’s me.”

  Relief sighed out as a shaky breath. With trembling fingers she fumbled with the old-fashioned chain lock and threw open the door. “Mr. Sullivan.”

  The River City district attorney tugged at his wrinkled tie with one hand while he ran his other over his iron-gray hair. “Amanda, I came over today as soon as I could.”

  “I know.” Ever since her attack, Peter Sullivan had been there for her, offering the comfort and guidance of a father since she couldn’t remember if she had one of her own.

  “The police managed to lift some prints from the inside of your van last night. They’re running them now.”

  “You had the van brought back here, right?” All she wanted to do was load it with all the boxes she’d packed. The prints didn’t matter to her. Nothing mattered but safety for her son and herself.

  “Amanda, we’ll track this guy down—”

  “And do what? Arrest him for telling me what you wouldn’t? That animal’s getting out!”

  “I knew you’d get upset—”

  “Damn right!” She welcomed the surge of anger sending heat coursing through her veins. Ever since her encounter the night before, she’d been so cold. Now she was hot. “I should have been told he was getting out early.”

  “Only four months.”

  “He served less than six years for all the years of my memory he stole.” The injustice pressed against her chest, making deep breathing impossible. “He tried to kill me and my unborn child.”

  The D.A. tugged at his tie again, and frustration wrinkled his already lined brow. “We couldn’t prove that. You were only a few months pregnant. He couldn’t have known. All we could prove was assault. The witness didn’t see everything, and your testimony…”

  “He tried to rape me!”

  “Amanda, we couldn’t—”

  “Couldn’t prove it. I know. If I hadn’t fought…” She would have lost more than her memory.

  “You wouldn’t be alive. Neither would your son. You know that. I know that, but there wasn’t enough evidence to prove it to a jury. Then he and his lawyer kept telling that crazy story that you were a hitchhiker trying to steal his car—that he’d only been defending himself.”

  She nodded at the appropriate place in their old argument, but frustration and impotent rage rolled through her empty stomach.

  “If you hadn’t fought, he would have gotten away, Amanda. You took him off the streets for almost six years. You saved a lot of lives of other young women.”

  She shivered despite the sunshine radiating through her picture window and heating the room. “You’re still convinced that I wasn’t his first victim?”

  “The police could link him to areas where other women disappeared but nothing more. He had no previous record, and there was no evidence to link him to the women who were never found.”

  Lost. Just as she was. “I disappeared, too.”

  “Amanda…”

  “No, it’s true. If not for this necklace, I wouldn’t even know my first name. I’ll probably never know my last. Whoever I was before he grabbed me, she’s gone, too. And after nearly six years and countless shrinks, nobody’s been able to find her.” She allowed herself to dip into the well of self-pity for just a moment and wonder why nobody had looked for her. No loved ones. Not even the man who’d fathered her baby.

  Or had he been some anonymous sperm donor? She had no clue. Nothing but a necklace she would be forced to pawn for traveling money.

  Peter Sullivan shook his head. “I can’t imagine what you feel like—”

  “No, you can’t.”

  He smiled, a weak effort. “Another woman would complain more about the physical scars he left you.”

  Amanda slid her fingers through her short tresses to the hard ridge of the scar on the back of her scalp. She almost lifted her other hand to the slightly crooked bend of her nose, but what did the physical injuries matter? “No, I’m more upset about what he stole from me. My past. And my courage.”

  “That’s not true. You’re very brave in light of your circumstances.”

  She smiled even though tears of frustration burned behind her eyes. “Very brave for a victim. That’s what you mean.” She was so sick of being a victim, sick of pity and fear.

  “Amanda, you’re letting him get to you—”

  “No! He won’t get to my son or me. We’ll be long gone before he’s set loose.” To her he was a rabid dog. Not William Weering III, not a human being. He was a beast.

  Fortunately she didn’t remember the attack, but she knew him from the courtroom. From the testimony of witnesses, she knew what he’d done to her and she could guess what he would have done if those witnesses hadn’t intervened.

  She also knew him from her one visit to him in prison when he’d been properly confined behind bars. She’d screwed up the last of her courage and asked him for her life back. But whatever he’d known of her past, he’d kept locked in his twisted mind behind a cruel grin.

  She never intended to see him again.

  The D.A. jerked at his tie. “Let me help you find a place to stay.”

  “No!”

  He winced at her shout.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t trust anyone now. How did he find me? You made up this last name for me and helped me find this house—”

  “You think I sold you out?” Red flooded up from beneath his wilted collar.

  “No, not you. But somebody did. His family has money, connections. You told me that. I saw it in court with the high-powered attorney he had. And now he’s bought himself an early release.”

  The D.A. sighed. “The truth is that until we find the guy from last night and confirm the threat, I can’t offer you much protection.”

  “What can you offer me? Can’t you keep him behind bars?”

  “Not unless we find this guy, Amanda. But I could try for
a restraining order.”

  She swallowed a bitter chuckle. “As if he would abide by it.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. But once he’s out, the minute he violates his parole, we’ll get him back behind bars.”

  “Violates parole? And exactly what does that mean?”

  The D.A. wore his earnest face. “Missing appointments with his parole officer. Owning a firearm. Associating with known felons.”

  “Hurting a child? Assaulting a woman? Or murder?” She shuddered. “Once he’s out, any parole violation he commits will be against me. And putting him back behind bars will be too late to help me.”

  The D.A.’s forehead furrowed as he grimaced, reflecting her frustration. He couldn’t argue with her and they both knew it. “Amanda, I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” On impulse she pressed a kiss against his cheek. Except for her son, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d touched anyone.

  That was something else she was sure he’d stolen from her. Affection, the desire to touch and be touched. By anyone but her son. “Thank you, Mr.—”

  “Peter,” he corrected her. “How many times have I told you to call me…”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “You take care. When are you leaving?”

  “Soon.” She had more to pack, one gown to finish sewing for the bridal shop, hoping to be part of someone else’s memory if only in the fit of a dress. After almost six years of no one finding her, she had accepted that no one searched or Mr. Sullivan would have found a missing person’s report on her. He’d kept looking, had kept in contact with other police departments. But then in all these years, she hadn’t gotten close to anyone, hadn’t ever used this caring man’s first name. “I’ll miss you, Peter.”

  He nodded and pulled open the door. “Be careful. And check in with me, so I can tell you when it’s safe to come home.”

  Come home. She had waited years for someone to show up on her doorstep and make that request. No one had come. And she had nowhere to go. But that hadn’t stopped her all those years ago and it wouldn’t now. She’d run and she’d hide and she’d make a home for her son, even though she doubted she’d ever find one for herself.

  FROM THE PASSENGER’S SEAT of Royce’s SUV, Evan stared at the small vinyl-sided house. He briefly noted the departure of a gray-haired man who climbed into a nondescript sedan and backed it from the narrow drive.

  “A visitor.”

  “Wasn’t there long,” Royce pointed out. “Not as long as we’ve been sitting here.”

  Evan smiled at the impatience in Royce’s tone as he continued to study the plain little house with its white siding and simple black roof. No flash of color. Nothing to distinguish it from the dozens of others lined up the same distance from the curb on the block.

  He laughed and shook his head. “There’s no way that Amanda’s living here.”

  “You’re probably right. This one was a long shot. She uses the name Amanda Smith, really unoriginal. And as you pointed out with your wife’s birth certificate and marriage license, her real first name isn’t Amanda. Hell, Amanda isn’t even her middle name.”

  “Her real first name is Caroline, after her paternal grandmother. But when the inevitable divorce happened, her mother stopped using that name and started calling her Amanda. Probably another husband’s mother’s name. I don’t know. I lost count of my mother-in-law’s marriages.”

  “Her parents haven’t heard from her?”

  He shrugged. “So they claim. She and her mother rarely spoke. Her mother was always too busy even when Amanda was a child. Neither of her parents was talking to her at the time she took off, so they haven’t even looked for her. She’d had a fight with her father, and he had disowned her when she quit working for him. I hadn’t even known about it. Probably wouldn’t have, but I tracked them down when I couldn’t find her. They weren’t surprised that she had left me.”

  As they had gone from relationship to relationship, they had believed Amanda would do the same. Maybe she had.

  “But you were married to this woman?”

  Evan ignored the disbelief. “Still am.” For now. “At least I never received any divorce papers.”

  Royce snorted. “Doesn’t mean much. Marriage doesn’t mean much to some people. You don’t have to be separated this many years to file for divorce on grounds of desertion. You could have divorced her pretty easily without ever seeing her again in person, if that’s what you’d wanted.”

  From the corner of his eye, Evan caught his friend’s intense stare, but he didn’t turn his head. He couldn’t comment; it wasn’t about his wants anymore. Maybe if he hadn’t wanted so much six years ago, she never would have left.

  No, she would have left. Leaving was all she knew.

  “You’re not going to know how wrong I am about your wife living here until you knock on that door.” Candy wrappers crinkled in accompaniment to Royce’s words.

  Evan sighed. “Yes.”

  He swung open the door and stepped onto the quiet street. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Whatever.”

  Evan slammed the door and startled some birds from the barren trees. With a hand on his lapel, he pulled his overcoat closer to guard against the brittle cold early-spring air. Despite the bright sunshine, patches of dirty snow stood curbside and the grass was brown and dead.

  As dead as he sometimes felt inside…

  He might as well get this over. Knock, offer a token apology for the mistake and continue the search for Amanda. Purposeful strides carried him across the street and up the narrow walk to the front door of Amanda Smith.

  He pressed a leather-gloved fingertip against the bell and winced at the distorted sound echoing behind the door, which after a few moments opened.

  “Mr. Sullivan—” The breathless voice stopped and green eyes widened behind black horn-rimmed glasses, the type of reading glasses only available at a chain drugstore. “Who are you?”

  He glanced down her body at the shapeless sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants sagging on her small frame. Nondescript gray. Amanda had never owned anything in that color.

  He lifted his gaze to her face, peripherally taking in the shaggy tangle of dark blond framing it. Except for the slight crook of her small nose, the high cheekbones and rounded chin bore a resemblance to the photo lying on the table in his hotel suite. But that was all.

  She was hardly the glamorous woman who had worn designer gowns and jetted around the world. But with one look of her green eyes she still jump-started his pulse.

  “I asked who you are. What do you want?” Fear trembled in her voice and she stepped back, swinging the door forward.

  Like a pushy salesman, he positioned his foot in the jamb, so she couldn’t shut him out. But if she’d hit him square in the jaw with the solid wood, he wouldn’t have been more stunned than he was by her altered appearance.

  Even her voice was different, deeper, and her tone diffident, something he never would have expected from his wife. “Amanda?”

  “I—I don’t know who you are—” Fear and confusion shook her voice and blurred her green eyes.

  “Amanda…”

  A diesel engine drew his attention toward the street and she gained an opportunity to push the door closed. But then she stopped and stepped over the threshold to stand beside him, trembling in the cold.

  A yellow school bus, lights flashing, pulled to the curb across from Royce’s SUV. The door opened and a child skipped down the stairs and up the walk.

  Evan’s knees weakened and his heart jumped in his chest. The boy had curly black hair and dark eyes; the exact features Evan saw when he looked in the mirror every morning.

  He’d not only found his runaway wife. He’d found his son, too. The son he’d never known he had.

  Chapter Two

  Amanda contained her scream of panic by sinking her teeth into the fleshy part of her bottom lip. And she didn’t let up the pressure. Another pressure built behind her eyes in a blinding headache. But
unfortunately she still had her vision and could still see the devastatingly handsome man who bore such a striking resemblance to her son.

  Christopher stopped in front of the stranger, his little mouth falling open as he looked way up at the man. “You’re tall.”

  She swallowed a hysterical giggle over his habit of stating the obvious.

  Despite the shock that had stolen the color from the man’s face, he found his voice. “And you’re not.”

  “I’m five. How old are you?”

  The man chuckled and bent his knees to lower himself closer to the boy’s level. Amanda resisted the urge to snatch Christopher into her arms, run into the house and bolt the door behind them. But she couldn’t frighten Christopher. Not as she was frightened.

  When she’d first opened the door to the stranger, her pulse had raced, her breaths had grown shallower, what few she’d been able to take…

  Who was this man that her body knew even though her mind had no recollection of him? Was he her child’s father?

  “I’m thirty-five.”

  Startled by his delayed response, she turned to find his dark stare on her face. Questions raced through the depths of his eyes. He’d come to the wrong person if he wanted any answers.

  And he’d come at the wrong time for her to ask any questions of her own. She had no time for the past when she had to secure her future.

  “Christopher, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?” The wobble of fear in her voice negated any sternness she’d attempted.

  Christopher lifted his head toward her, his dark gaze questioning. “Mom?”

  “Go in the house, okay? I’ll be there in a minute.” She held her breath while he hesitated before the man, then turned to dart around her.

  The stranger’s gloved hand came up, as if to grab her son, then dropped back to the side of his expensive camel-hair overcoat.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you better leave!” She backed toward the open door on trembling legs.

  “Amanda…”

  The tortured sound of her name in his strangled voice stopped her retreat.