by Terri Reed
Nothing. She felt, or rather remembered, nothing.
Roman got out and came around to her door. He held out his hand. “You ready?”
Placing her hand in his, she said, “As ready as I’m going to be.” He gave her hand a squeeze, and she was grateful for his steady presence as they walked toward the gated path that led to the front entrance. Nervous flutters attacked Leah. Was she really ready to find out the truth?
Roman paused at the gate and glanced around before unlatching the lock. The hinges on the black wrought iron gate squeaked as he shoved it back.
Leah preceded him into the yard. The heavy scent of decaying vegetation hung in the air. On either sides of the cracked walkway were signs of a once beautifully landscaped yard. Planter boxes overflowed with choking weeds; roses once lovingly tended had been allowed to go to seed.
What had happened that the Renaults would leave such a magnificent estate to rot away?
The stairs leading to the wide front porch were marred with moss and plants that had found their way through cracks. Roman tried the plain wooded front door, but it was locked. Leah moved to the window and peered inside the dark, empty house.
“Do you remember anything?” Roman asked, his gaze searching her face.
She shook her head with a sigh. “I don’t recall ever being here.”
She wandered to the edge of the porch and peered around the corner of the house. The side yard gave way to a large back area. An unkempt paved driveway curved from the main road to a structure she guessed had once been the garage. “Let’s go around back,” she suggested.
They fought their way through the overgrown foliage. As they entered the expanse of weedy land behind the house, Leah’s gaze was drawn to a huge stone fountain that probably had once been a focal point of the landscape. At the top of the fountain, a huge brass bird tried to fly away, but its sharp talons were embedded into the stone.
Blood rushed to Leah’s head. For a moment the world spun. She braced her feet apart to keep from going down.
“The bird,” she whispered as shudders racked her body.
Roman’s arm came around her waist, an anchor in the raging tide of her emotions. Fear gripped her, forcing her breath from her lungs. She stared at the brass bird that perhaps once had shone brightly in the sun but now had darkened with age and neglect. Its wide wings were spread, its beak hung open. The image in her nightmare.
She must have been here. Standing in this same spot, staring at the large pelican that seemed trapped in eternal fright, trying desperately to escape. Adrenaline laced with excitement grabbed her fear by the tail. This was the only solid clue so far.
“I remember this,” she said, her voice shaky.
“Were you alone?”
She closed her eyes, visualizing that day. Bleakness invaded her as she related the images that flittered across the screen of her mind. “The sky had been gloomy. The bird so forlorn yet frightening in its need to escape. It made me sad. I’d been waiting.” She grimaced in frustration. “I don’t know why.”
She tried to focus. “There was a noise from behind me.” She sucked in a shocked breath as memory rushed in. “I was waiting for Dylan. But then…”
She concentrated hard on that moment. What had happened? “Pain. I remember this horrible pain.” Her hand went to her head. “I was struck from behind on the head. I fell to the ground.”
From there the images blurred. “There were hands pushing and pulling at me. Then…darkness.”
Leah opened her eyes to stare at Roman in shock. “Do you think Dylan did this to me?”
“Maybe, but now someone else doesn’t want you found.”
She shivered as his ominous words took hold. “I hate this. I hate not knowing. I just wish I could remember why I was meeting Dylan. I feel like that’s the key.”
Roman put his hand on her shoulder, the gesture tender and comforting. “You’ll remember. Look how much has already come back.”
His touch brought so much comfort and strength. “True.” She had to keep trying.
“We better get going before anyone sees us,” Roman stated.
They were in the truck heading back to the Peel house when a thought struck Leah. “Could we go to my house? Maybe being in the place where I lived will trigger more of my memory.”
Roman contemplated that idea. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. We’ll have to wait until dark because your apartment is right on Main Street over the pawnshop your husband owned.”
Though she wasn’t sure they were any closer to solving the mystery of who was out to kill her, she did feel they were making forward progress. Tonight, she prayed her mind would release the rest of the answers.
She turned to stare at the man who’d virtually crashed into her life mere days ago. With him by her side, she was confident she could face whatever she discovered.
As the evening light gave way to the shadows of the night, Roman escorted Leah to Farley’s Pawn Shop in downtown Loomis. He parked the truck several blocks away. Main Street was deserted and the outline of buildings against the backdrop of the moon made Roman think of the old graphics in the comic books he enjoyed as a boy.
“What?” Leah asked.
He shifted his gaze to her. Pale light filtering in through the window revealed the worry in her brown eyes. “Excuse me?”
“Something’s wrong. I can see it in your expression,” she said.
“No, nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“Comic books.”
Her eyes widened with horrified regret. “Your collection. I’m so sorry.”
He was, too. “The way the moon backlights the buildings reminds me of some of my favorite series.”
“How old were you when you started reading them?”
“Eight. Discovering comics was my refuge when my mother was working. I’d retreat to the world of superheroes and crime fighters.” He gave a small laugh. “Batman was my hero and Gotham City a place of adventure.” He turned to look at her. “Then I discovered the comic book detective series called The Maze Agency. I couldn’t get enough of them. That’s when I decided one day I’d be a detective.”
That dream had solidified the night his mother was attacked. Roman had confiscated the shot glass with the rapist’s fingerprints, just as Jennifer Mays, the main character in the comic, had done in one issue.
He’d kept that glass in a plastic bag for years, waiting for the day he could join the police force and run the prints. That was ten years ago and still no hits.
But he wasn’t ever going to give up. One day the man who’d driven his mother to commit suicide would be made to pay.
“Come on, let’s get this done,” he said.
They left the vehicle and rushed from one darkened doorway to another.
Leah clutched his shirt as they darted into the shadowed overhang of an office building.
“There,” she whispered, and pointed across the street to the brick building. Across the front window he could barely make out the words Farley’s Pawn Shop.
“That’s it,” he confirmed. “Wait here while I make sure all’s clear.”
She refused to let go of his shirt. “Don’t leave me.”
Her palpable fear clutched at his chest. “I’ll only be a moment,” he reassured her. “Trust me.”
“I do,” she replied, and released his shirt. “Hurry.”
Her trust both pleased and scared him. He peeled away from the door and hustled across the street. He moved stealthily around to the back of the building. The back door was locked, as well, but easily picked. Carefully, he entered. Using the small handheld flashlight he’d brought, Roman took a quick survey to assure himself the place was deserted.
But after six months, he had heard the crimes were not high priority for the local sheriff, and from what he’d learned through Clint, the FBI had pulled their people and were working the unsolved murders from New Orleans.
Satisfied that it was safe
for Leah to enter, he went back across the street to get her. “All clear,” he said.
She pointed to the plaque on the wall next to the door that read Jocelyn Pierce, Child Psychologist.
“Yeah?” he questioned.
“Her name. I’ve seen it before.”
His pulse quickened. “You remember her?”
Leah scrunched up her face. “I…I don’t know. Do you think my brother, Clint, would have taken Sarah to see Dr. Pierce for help? I mean, this doctor was our neighbor. My daughter would have known her and maybe trusted her,” she said in a whisper full of angst. “I would have known her.”
Her vulnerability and desire to push for the truth moved him. He touched her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll find out tomorrow.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”
“Come on, before someone sees us,” he said, and urged her to walk slowly, just a couple out for a midnight stroll.
They moved past the front door and dashed around the corner to the back. He led her inside and kept his flashlight aimed at the floor so the beam of light wouldn’t shine through the front window.
Tentatively, Leah walked forward, her hands skimming over the counter that used to be full of jewelry. “He was found here, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. On the floor in his office.”
She stepped into the office and stood on the spot where her husband died and shuddered as she tried to recall the scene. Nothing surfaced, and she had to admit to herself she was thankful. “They thought he committed suicide, right?”
“At first glance. The forensic evidence says otherwise. Only his prints were on the shotgun, but the angle of the blast couldn’t have been self-inflicted,” Roman said softly.
Leah walked back into the main area of the store. “I don’t remember this place.”
Trauma. So much trauma here. But had she simply witnessed or been an active part…?
“Let’s try your apartment upstairs,” Roman suggested.
Her apartment. “Yes. That would be…” She hesitated. Helpful? Heartbreaking?
Steeling herself, she followed Roman up the stairs at the back of the shop. On the top landing, he paused and fiddled with the doorknob. Amused, she realized he’d picked the lock. “Another interesting skill,” she murmured.
The charm of his smile in the flashlight’s beam almost made her forget where they were and why. Almost.
The door swung open. Light from the moon and the streetlamp outside flooded the interior, revealing a small living space with a serviceable couch, coffee table and two plush chairs arranged for maximum viewing advantage of the wide-screen TV in the corner. The sight of several toys lying haphazardly around, as if Sarah would be back any moment to play with them, clutched at Leah’s heart and made her pulse pound at her temples. Her poor baby didn’t even have her toys with her.
As she ventured farther into what once had been her home, she tried to calm her racing heart and open herself to memory. She picked up a picture of her wedding day and angled the frame to take advantage of the light from outside coming through the open curtained window.
In the photo she looked happy standing next to the tall, dark-haired man. The man who was a stranger to her now. The man who was dead now.
Returning the framed photo to the side table, she walked toward the hall, instinctively knowing the bedrooms were behind the closed doors. She was aware of Roman trailing her, his presence a comfort.
Pushing open the first door, she felt tears spring to her eyes, and she sighed at their inevitability. Sarah’s room. The glow of the streetlight from the window spilled across the frilly bed overflowing with stuffed animals and dolls. Though the room smelled musty, there was a lingering scent that tantalized her senses. On the dresser top she found a bottle of baby lotion. She sniffed the lotion and closed her eyes, trying to force some memory.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. A drum solo of frustration pounded at her temples.
She abruptly turned away and found herself colliding with Roman. His arms encircled her. She rested her forehead against his chest, soaking in his support. After a moment, she pulled away, determined to continue. Something had to surface. It just had to.
She proceeded to the next room. The bedroom she’d shared with Earl.
The dark quilt on the bed was neatly made. The dark dresser against the wall was organized and tidy. She moved to the walk-in closet and flipped on the light.
“Hey,” Roman exclaimed, and hustled to the window to draw the curtain. “Tell me before you do that again.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, her attention on the clothes hanging on either side. Men’s clothes on the left and women’s, apparently hers, on the right. She fingered the fabrics of the dresses and blouses, thinking maybe she could remember wearing them. But, no.
She turned her attention to Earl’s clothing. A row of button-down shirts lined the top rack. Pressed slacks hung over wooden hangers on the bottom bar. She stepped closer. A scent hung on the clothes. His aftershave. She breathed deep and closed her eyes. A flash seared her mind.
Her breath came fast and labored. She recoiled from the memory that made her head pound until she thought it would explode.
She had to get out of there. She stumbled back from the closet and blindly ran out of the bedroom, across the apartment and down the stairs. Once she broke free of the building, she kept running until strong arms captured her and lifted her against a solid wall of chest.
From what seemed like a great distance, Roman’s voice beckoned to her. She fought to find him in the chaos going on in her brain. She wanted Roman, not this…ugliness twisting in her mind.
“Whoa, Leah, wait, calm down. You’re all right.” Roman’s voice broke through.
Her gaze fastened on him. She breathed in his unique scent, allowing the memories assaulting her to dissipate. She collapsed into the reassuring comfort of his hold, her legs buckling and her head falling forward so that her cheek rested against his heart as he kept her upright.
Easily lifting her into his arms, he carried her away from the pawnshop toward the park a block away. He sat on a bench beneath a live oak tree and settled her beside him. She clung to him as the pain in her mind receded.
His arms felt so protective and comforting wrapped around her, offering security and reassurance. He pressed a kiss against her temple and murmured soothing words. She arched toward him, wanting more of his attention like a flower stretches to the healing warmth of the sun.
She tilted her face upward and met his lips in a tender caress. She could feel his surprise, but she refused to release him. She needed his strength, his honor, to banish the horrors living in her mind.
He relented and deepened the kiss, offering her what she sought. Then slowly, inevitably, he withdrew his lips and dropped his forehead against hers as his chest heaved with labored breath, as if he’d just run a mile rather than merely kissed her.
Hope streaked through her, and she quickly tamped it down.
Yes, she trusted this man. Yes, she appreciated all he was doing for her, and yes, she was hugely attracted to him. But she could not allow herself to fall for him when she knew he could easily break her heart.
He believed her innocent now, but she still feared when push came to shove, he’d hand her over to the police if it meant justice would be served.
She shifted to rest her head on his shoulder. “I remembered something. Something awful.”
“I gathered that by the way you bolted,” he said, his tone husky.
She closed her eyes. “Earl and I were in the walk-in closet. He was so angry. He was yelling. He grabbed me by the arms, his fingers digging into my flesh. Then he hit me, calling me awful names. He said something about shaking down Dylan Renault.”
“Shaking down? That sounds like he had something to blackmail Dylan with,” Roman said, his voice carrying a sharp edge.
Leah sighed and lifted her head. “Yes, it does. But what, I don’
t know.”
Frankly, she was afraid to find out.
Roman’s arm tightened around Leah as he tried to reason out the last few moments. She’d remembered something important.
She’d kissed him.
And he’d kissed her back. Idiot that he was, he couldn’t have denied her even if he’d tried. But the truth was he’d wanted to kiss her almost since he met her.
He wanted to again.
No, not a good idea, he mentally chastised himself. Get back to the situation at hand. Earl Farley knew something worthy of blackmail about Dylan Renault. Had Dylan killed Earl in an attempt to keep him quiet and staged Earl’s death to look like a suicide?
If so, then who killed Dylan?
Despite his growing feelings for Leah, suspicion gathered on the fringes of Roman’s thoughts as his gaze searched her face. Had Leah been in on the blackmail? Had she tried to continue with the scheme after her husband’s death, then ended up killing Dylan in retaliation?
Then who would be after Leah now? Was there a third person in on the blackmail?
His whole being rebelled at the thought that Leah had been involved in either of the deaths. But was the rapidly expanding attraction and affection for her in his heart making him want to believe in her innocence? Had he let his guard down too much?
Yes, he had. He’d lost focus. Kissing her only served to remind him how dangerous a game he was playing. He had no intention of letting himself fall prey to the feelings bouncing around his head and his heart. Justice had to be pursued to its end. Whatever that may be.
Finding out who really killed Earl and Dylan and now wanted Leah dead was of the utmost importance. Keeping that goal in the forefront of his mind was paramount. No matter what his growing feelings for Leah were.
“Come on. We should get back to the Peel house before we’re seen,” he said as he rose from the bench.
Leah placed her hand in his as she stood. He tried not to notice how nicely it fit within his or how her touch made him fully aware of her.
