Lost But Not Forgotten

by Roz Denny Fox

  Getting out, he flagged her into a vacant, adjacent parking spot.

  Darn, what was there about him that sent her common sense into a tailspin?

  He was good-looking, yes. Like a lean wolf. Hair, slightly longer than dictated by current fashion, all but dared her to muss the dark curls with her fingers. Rich, coffee-colored eyes erupted in a smoky fire each time they cruised over her. Eyes that didn’t roam when another woman came on the scene. It was something that made Gillian feel special, and it had seemed so long since she’d felt special. Nor did it hurt that Mitch Valetti wore his clothes well. Rack items took on new life on his rangy build.

  Tonight, Gillian was glad she’d worn a dress. Mitch had shaved and changed into black slacks and a brick-red shirt with the sleeves rolled midway up his muscular forearms. He had on his trademark cowboy boots, but this pair was more formal—highly polished snakeskin.

  “You made it worth the wait,” he said. He took her hands and held her steady at arm’s length. His low, very masculine growl of approval brought heat to her cheeks.

  “Like cotton candy. That’s what your dress reminds me of. The pink stuff I used to buy as a kid at the county fair. Hey, I thought redheads weren’t supposed to wear pink.”

  Caught. When she’d left home she’d been her normal blond self. Fortunately, she was spared an explanation by the arrival of a van-load of noisy, chattering women. All seven in the party knew Mitch.

  “Are you coming or going?” one of them asked Mitch. The women showed definite curiosity about his companion.

  “We’re on our way in.” Mitch took a minute to introduce Gillian. “Erica, Jenny, Melissa, Katherine and Elizabeth…uh, Lizzie,” he corrected when the pretty brunette doubled her fist and socked him on the shoulder. “Ouch. These are some of Ethan’s sisters,” he informed Gillian. “Jessica is his cousin, and Lexie, here, is married to his brother, Matt. What’s the occasion?” he asked.

  “Girls’ night out,” the most elegantly dressed of the seven said. “Don’t worry,” she added in an undertone, “Amy couldn’t make it tonight.”

  Gillian noticed that the announcement had all of them gazing on Mitch a bit sadly.

  But if he noticed, he didn’t mention it to Gillian. He simply cupped her elbow in a warm, steady hand and led the way into the restaurant. All the same, harkening back to what Flo had said, Gillian was curious about the missing Amy.

  “Mitch!” A swarthy, heavyset man standing behind the cash register glanced up in dismay. Mitch released her to shake hands with him.

  “They’re not all with me, Vincente,” Mitch said quickly. “I’m here with Gillian,” he added, doing that thing with his eyes again, caressing her without a touch.

  She squirmed inside, knowing they’d drawn the attention of this man, Vincente, as well as Ethan Knight’s relatives.

  She groaned silently. In the Desert City phone book, there were five pages of restaurants. Murphy’s Law, Gillian thought, that the family of a man who detested her and seemed possessive of Mitch, would all show up at this one tonight. However, it stood to reason that if they were all good friends, they’d frequent the same establishments.

  Her jackhammering heart settled some after Vincente showed the boisterous sisters into a separate room. When he returned, he led her and Mitch to a table secluded by potted palms.

  Mitch ordered wine before Vincente lit the candle in the middle of their table, handed them gilt-edged menus, bowed and left. Setting the menu aside, Mitch toyed with the container holding the candle, which had already mushroomed out in many layers of bright color.

  “I guess you’re wondering who Amy is. She’s Ethan’s youngest sister. Works at the station as a police dispatcher.”

  “Six girls. Wow! So what’s significant about Amy?” she asked casually.

  “We dated off and on. Nothing serious,” he said, surprising himself because he suddenly believed it. “Last month she eloped with the county D.A. Rocked the police community.” He shrugged. “We shouldn’t have been so shocked. She was nuts about the guy.”

  Gillian heard what Mitch had left out, and what Flo had hinted at. Amy Knight’s elopement had hit him hard. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “The heart takes a long time to heal, Mitch. But given time, it does heal. At least according to what I’ve read.”

  He patted his left shirt pocket. “Mine’s all in one piece now,” he said.

  A waiter brought their wine. Mitch tasted it. “Go ahead and pour, Leo. How are Mariella and the kids?” The two chatted as Leo filled both glasses.

  “Shall I give the lady a minute with the menu, Mitch? You, I know, will order lasagne.”

  “I hope you don’t have anything against predictable,” Mitch muttered to Gillian as Leo withdrew.

  She thought for a moment, letting go of his hand to taste the wine. “Mmm. If the food you recommend is as good as the wine, I’ll suffer through predictable.”

  Grinning lopsidedly, Mitch threw an arm over the back of his chair and visibly relaxed. “Glad you like the vino. I aim to please. As for the food, you can’t make a bad choice.”

  “In that case I’d like the cannelloni. House dressing on my salad, please.”

  Mitch motioned to Leo and gave their order, never averting his eyes from Gillian.

  She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d held one hundred percent of anyone’s attention. Not even in the early, happier days of her marriage had she captured Daryl’s entire focus. From the moment they met in college, his mind had been on his career. In the end, it had stolen what affection they’d had for each other. Sad, but even in death, Daryl’s business continued to manipulate her.

  Mitch snapped his fingers in front of her face. “I lost you. I hope you aren’t still thinking about Amy. At the time, her elopement bothered me. I swear I’m fine now.”

  “You know what they say about people who protest too much, Mitch. Who could blame you? They’re all gorgeous women. If Amy resembles them…well…”

  He gathered Gillian’s hands. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  She flushed and pulled away. Actually, she hated looking in the mirror since she’d deliberately changed her appearance. “Looks are such a small part of a person’s total package.”

  “Believe it or not, I heard you laughing with Flo, and that’s what first caught my attention. You laugh, yet your eyes are always so serious.” He frowned. “I’m not explaining this very well.”

  “It’s all right, Mitch. Who can explain what attracts two people? Let’s just accept that we’re here together because we want to be.”

  “You bet. I’m not interested in psychological mumbo jumbo. While I was recovering at Ethan’s, I listened to Regan and her office partner, Odella Price, analyzing people. They had to know why a person acted the way he did. In Ethan’s and my work it was a simple matter of separating good from bad. I tend to think the bad should be put away, regardless of why they veered off track.”

  A pit yawned in Gillian’s stomach again. “Sometimes there are extenuating circumstances that alter people’s choices, Mitch.”

  He grimaced. “You’re starting to sound like the defense attorneys who try to get slimeballs off with a slap on the wrist. Daddy drank and mama did drugs. Society ought to understand that’s why they bought a gun and blew away their wife and kids.” Mitch glanced up and saw that Gillian had gone pale and had an iron grip on the stem of her wineglass. “Hey, forget it. Badasses aren’t my concern anymore.”

  His descriptions had transported Gillian back to her experience in Flagstaff when she’d seen the blue car ruthlessly run down Pat Malone. The same men had left Daryl McGrath lying on his doorstep in a pool of blood. If Mitch Valetti really believed all the stuff he’d just spouted, then he wouldn’t have anything to do with that sort. Would he? If it was coincidence that they’d happened to be in his lane, then maybe she could trust him.

  Maybe.

  Leo delivered their food on piping hot plates. He grated Parmesan c
heese over both orders, and refilled their wineglasses before he moved to another table. With eating uppermost on their minds, talk turned from police work to Gillian’s job at Flo’s.

  “You ever done anything besides wait tables?” Mitch asked.

  Gillian weighed the wisdom of being truthful. She was so very tired of making up stories. “I’ve worked with flowers.”

  When Mitch paused with his fork halfway to his mouth and his eyebrow arched, she expanded. “I’ve crafted and sold floral arrangements, dried centerpieces, funeral sprays and all the flowers for bridal parties.” She didn’t tell him where she’d worked or that at one time she’d had her own shop.

  “Which job did you like best?”

  She pretended to give it some thought, even though it was no contest. She had loved everything about flowers—until she’d been the recipient of too many bouquets when she’d lost her baby. She’d probably never smell roses again without wanting to throw up. “Food service is basically happy. People send flowers for a lot of sad occasions.”

  “Hmm. I never thought of that. Cops learn to turn off their emotions.”

  “So your motto is Don’t Get Involved?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “Some cops get involved. Take Ethan. I know you didn’t walk away with the best impression, but he does a lot for abused kids. He bucked the system and built an underground network of safe houses. Until I got hurt, I coached underprivileged kids in basketball and football at St. Margaret’s Church. I started the program because I hated seeing poor kids hanging out on the streets. I always tried to scrounge up hot soup or chili at practice. Some kids wouldn’t have had anything hot in their bellies, otherwise.”

  “Contrary to how it might seem, Mitch, I don’t dislike your friend. And you just explained why he’s protective of you. It’s his nature.” She set her fork down and picked up her wine again with unsteady fingers. “Maybe you should heed his advice. Ethan’s right. What do any of you know about me, really?” She felt somehow obliged to give him an opportunity—a second opportunity—to back off.

  “Have you murdered anyone?” he asked abruptly.

  “No,” she gasped.

  “There you go.” A smile kicked up one side of his mouth. “I happen to think Ethan should give me more credit for being able to judge a person’s character. Let’s not hear anymore remarks of that type. Okay?”

  Gillian flinched when Mitch clinked his wineglass against hers. Nevertheless she felt a sense of relief even though she’d tried warning him off. Again she was gripped by a strong sense that Mitch Valetti was a man to be trusted. It was the first time in over a month that she’d felt any measure of safety. That’s it, she decided. This man made her feel safe, and it was a good feeling.

  They talked about inconsequential things throughout their meal. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked too many personal questions about her past. Most were generalities comparing their childhoods.

  “My two sisters are older,” he admitted. “No one suggested I was an accident, but I figured that out. My parents were busy stockbrokers, rarely home. Gran Valetti took care of me. She died when I was nine. I had nannies and housekeepers after that. And my folks wonder why I didn’t have a burning desire to join their brokerage.” He shook his head. “I hope you have better family support. Have your parents been understanding about your divorce?”

  She hesitated, not wanting to lie, but not wanting any roads to lead back to her past life. “My parents are…gone,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her back in a childish attempt to cancel out her lie. “My father sold insurance. Mom did mending for a dry-cleaners. She brought the work home. They wanted more children but apparently couldn’t have any. The summer I graduated from high school, they went on vacation without me. A Carribean cruise. Their small sightseeing plane shouldn’t have been flying in the aftermath of a hurricane. Wind sheers, I was told, dashed the plane against a rocky island coast.” She knew she was leaving the impression that both her parents had died. Her father had. Her mom was never the same afterward. She lived life at a breakneck pace. Gillian didn’t blame her, but she’d never really understood, either. Oddly, maybe now she better understood her mother’s need to have…someone to count on.

  Mitch’s eyes darkened. “That must have been rough.”

  “It was. Dad’s affairs were a mess.” That much was true. “He’d borrowed against his life insurance to pay for the trip. He’d second-mortgaged the house to prepay my college tuition at his alma mater. Did I mention I met my husband there? In some ways, we were kindred spirits.” That, too, had been true. “His parents died when he was young, in a commuter train accident.”

  “We’ve hit on morbid dinner conversation. It seems to have stolen your appetite. I don’t suppose you want dessert?”

  “No. I’m not big on sweets. But you go right ahead. I’ll take coffee. That wine sneaked up on me. It’s making my head fuzzy.” In reality, Gillian was sick over weaving so many tangled webs. When would one catch up with her?

  “Maybe I’ll have coffee, too. Sweets are my weakness, but it’s a weakness I can’t afford, since I’ve skipped my normal exercise routine since the surgery.” Mitch signaled Leo and ordered their coffee.

  “What about playing ball with the kids at the church? Will you eventually be able to go back and coach them?”

  “I hope so. A guy doesn’t have to run to coach.”

  “You have much to be thankful for. You’re lucky to be alive,” she said, leaning back while the waiter poured the rich black coffee.

  “Who’s been talking out of turn?”

  Gillian suddenly caught herself. She’d been obsessing over Daryl’s death again. “No one. I gleaned a few bits and pieces at the café.”

  “I feel a whole lot luckier since I met you.”

  She smiled and sipped her coffee, oddly content. And yet, deep down, she felt as if she were using him. Right now, though, he provided the only lead she had. Her suitcase had disappeared from the private road leading to Mitch Valetti’s ranch. Plus, her only sighting of the thugs since she’d left Flagstaff had occurred on the same lane. Whether she liked it or not, she was inexplicably tied to her handsome escort. And sticking close to him certainly wouldn’t be a hardship.

  As if he’d read her mind, Mitch brought up their next meeting. “I need to hang out at home and take care of some overdue chores next week. I’ve neglected a case I sort of…accepted on the side.” He peeled bills for the check out of a money clip and dropped them on a silver tray. “The offer to join me for a horseback ride on your next day off is still on the table.”

  “I’d like that. Next Sunday? Same time? Is eleven good?”

  “Great. I can’t wait.”

  They stood, and he placed a hand on her back to guide her through the tables to the front door.

  They’d stepped outside, laughing at something Vincente had said to Mitch. Gillian glanced up, saw a big blue sedan pull into the lot. Her laughter died on a squeal of alarm. She gulped in a strangled breath and dodged behind Mitch.

  He paused, buttoning his wallet into his back pocket. Frowning, he followed her wide-eyed gaze to the car. A well-dressed elderly couple climbed out and started toward them. Feeling Gilly glued to his back, hanging on with trembling hands, Mitch twisted and stared at her over his shoulder. Her eyes remained dark with fright. “Gillian? Do you know those folks?”

  By now the tottering man, easily in his late seventies, had moved to where he could grasp the handrail on one side and his companion’s arm on the other. The old guy made an inane joke about aging. Only then did Gillian slacken her death grip on his shirt.

  “Darned high heels,” she said, trying for a breezy air. “I’m not used to wearing them. Sorry to grab you, Mitch.” Moving around him, she skirted the elderly couple and walked swiftly down the steps.

  Mitch would stake his reputation as a good detective on his belief that her cowering behind him had little to do with tall shoes. Since all he had to base his conclusion on was a g
ut instinct that had lain dormant for a while, he let it go. Just as he ignored the sock to his senses that suggested maybe Ethan’s instincts about Gillian Stevens were more correct than his own.

  Her nerves still jittery, Gillian unlocked her car before turning to tell Mitch good-night.

  She bumped up against his chest, shocked anew when he suddenly bent and kissed her. His lips were warm and soft and electric. The keys trickled from Gillian’s hand and clattered on the pavement. She curled her fingers in the fabric of Mitch’s shirt, rising on tiptoe rather than lose the physical connection between them.

  He had thought to keep the kiss simple. But he’d been dying to kiss her from the moment she arrived wearing that candy-pink dress. When she moved against him, he tested her lips with his tongue, and felt lightheaded at being allowed entrance to her mouth. It was way too late for songbirds to be out, yet Mitch could swear he heard them. Spanning Gillian’s narrow waist with both hands, he lifted her, bringing her closer. Eventually his lungs screamed for air, forcing him to raise his head. Not before both he and Gillian were thoroughly rattled by the kiss, however.

  “I…you…caught me by surprise,” she mumbled when he released her. She knelt to retrieve her keys from the ground.

  “Do you want to slap me?” Mitch thrust out his jaw and tapped a point on his chin. His eyes were serious.

  She dragged her top lip between her teeth. Averting her eyes, Gillian broke into a shy smile and shook her head. “I wouldn’t change anything about the evening,” she admitted, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  Mitch fumbled his keys out of his pocket. “You acted…I don’t know…frightened a minute ago. I’m following you home to make sure you get there safely.”

  “That’s absurd! My place is a mile out of your way. I’ll be fine.”

  She sounded so firm, Mitch backed off. He barely managed a wave as she roared out of the parking lot. Damn, but she confused him. She had mood changes the way a chameleon shifted colors.