Sunset Promises

by Carla Cassidy

Colette remained at the table, her heart aching with his words. Funny, even this particular heart pain seemed familiar. Was it possible she’d experienced this same kind of thing with Brook’s father? Had she mistaken lust for love and he’d rejected her? Had she been a naive little fool not only with Hank, but with another man, as well?

  She drew in a weary breath. Hopefully she’d have all the answers soon. Hopefully the doctor would be able to retrieve not only the memories the prosecution needed to put away Collier, but also the personal memories she needed to know.

  She was working on her second cup of coffee when Hank stuck his head through the doorway. “The doctor is here,” he said.

  Fear mingled with anticipation. She stood and smoothed her hands down the side of her sweatpants, nervous, scared…anxious of the answers she might receive, not only about the crime, but about the kind of woman she was. Taking a deep breath, she left the kitchen.

  The doctor was a burly man with glasses that couldn’t hide his piercing, cold blue eyes. He shook Colette’s hand, introducing himself as Dr. Wallace, then turned and looked at Hank. “Perhaps you could get a breath of fresh air or take a walk. A patient generally relaxes more easily if it’s only the two of us working together.” Hank hesitated and Dr. Wallace smiled. “I’m a cop first, a therapist second.” He patted a bulge beneath his coat jacket. “She’ll be fine with me.”

  Hank hesitated a long moment, then nodded and disappeared out the front door. Dr. Wallace turned to Colette and smiled, a gesture that did nothing to alleviate the cold harshness of his eyes. “Now, my dear, if you’ll have a seat right there on the sofa, we’ll get started.”

  Colette sank down onto the sofa, her heart thudding with anxiety. “Are you going to hypnotize me?”

  “No, my dear.” Dr. Wallace eased down into the chair across from where she sat. “At least not right now. For the moment we’re just going to talk.” He crossed his legs and pulled a small notebook and pen from his breast pocket. “Now, tell me any memories you have about working at Cameron Collier’s law firm.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  Dr. Wallace frowned at her. “Close your eyes and think for a moment…the memories are there in your head, all you have to do is retrieve them.”

  Dutifully Colette closed her eyes, wanting desperately to remember something, anything. She frowned, searching, digging, trying to pierce the black shroud that fogged her mind. Nothing. She opened her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything. But I’ve had some dreams,” she offered.

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  It didn’t take long for her to relay what little information her recurring dream contained. “I know it’s not much,” she finished.

  “You wouldn’t be faking this bout of amnesia in an effort not to testify, would you?”

  “No.” Colette laughed uneasily. “If only I were everything would be much easier. I want to testify, I want to do whatever I can to get Collier behind bars, but I can’t tell what I don’t remember.”

  “And beyond your dream, you don’t remember hearing a conversation between Collier and another man?”

  “No.”

  “And you don’t remember being chased down the hallways of the law offices?”

  “No.”

  “Ask the lady if she remembers cutting me.”

  The voice came from the kitchen doorway. Colette whirled around to see Bob Sanderson standing there. And in the instant of seeing him here, where he didn’t belong, Colette’s memories whirled, her brain tilted and all her memories locked into place.

  It had been Bob’s voice she’d heard in Collier’s office. It had been Bob who’d chased her down the hallway. Bob was Collier’s hit man.

  Colette jerked back around to face the doctor, seeking help. To her horror, the doctor tucked his notebook and pen back in his pocket and stood. “I’ll just leave you two old friends to get reacquainted,” he said, then without a backward glance, he left the house.

  * * *

  HANK WALKED down the sidewalk, the sun warm on his back, his thoughts filled with Colette. All along he’d known he was playing with fire, loving her in bed, attempting to distance himself from her when out of bed.

  It had been the same before she’d run, before she’d lost her memories. He’d found himself getting too deeply involved with her. Damn her for crawling beneath his defenses, for making him forget his own rules, for making him remember the promise of hope, the joy of love.

  In any case, it didn’t matter. Once the doctor helped her get back her memory, she’d remember everything. Not only would she remember the murder, the identity of the hit man, but also the fact that he’d turned his back on her when she’d needed him most. She’d remember she hated him.

  It was better that way. He kicked at a stone and watched it skitter across the sidewalk and into the street. Better she hate him than know the truth; that he loved her and was too afraid to do anything about it.

  As he came to the intersection that would carry him into the next block, he turned and started back the way he’d come. He wondered how long the doctor would be. Funny, he thought, over the years he’d talked to every psychiatrist the department had on staff, but he couldn’t remember ever hearing anyone mention a Dr. Wallace.

  A bad feeling rose in his stomach, an instinctive knot of knowledge that screamed something was wrong. He should have never left the house, should never have left her alone with the doctor. Dammit. He’d been in such a hurry to leave because of the personal tension between him and Colette, he’d made a stupid, rookie mistake.

  He quickened his pace back to the house, each step causing an increase of tension. When he was two houses away, he broke into a run, all his instincts shouting danger.

  It’s probably nothing, he tried to assure himself. Just because he’d never personally heard of Dr. Wallace wasn’t cause for undue alarm. Still, his instincts refused to quiet beneath the calm rationale.

  His bad feeling increased when he reached the house and discovered all the draperies tightly drawn, making it impossible for him to see what transpired inside.

  Maybe they closed them to allow Colette no distractions. Maybe a dark room was necessary for whatever methods Dr. Wallace was using as therapy. All the maybes his mind could conjure didn’t still his frantic-beating heart, the bad taste in his mouth that told him something was horribly wrong.

  He crept around to the back of the house. Peeking into the window, he saw nothing in the kitchen to arouse any suspicion. He tested the back door and found it locked, just as it had been when he’d left the house. Moving farther down the back of the house, he came to the window of the bedroom where Colette had been sleeping. Peering inside, he saw Brook, asleep in the crib. Again intellect fought with instinct. Nothing looked wrong, but Hank felt wrong.

  He leaned against the side of the house and pulled his gun from the top of his boot. Now what? He could burst through the front door, gun drawn and hopefully if something was amiss, he’d get a jump on the situation. The worse that could happen would be that he’d disrupt the doctor’s work and scare Colette with his unnecessary heroics.

  Or, he could play stupid, get back inside and assess the situation coolly and calmly. He replaced the gun in his boot top, then walked up to the front door and turned the knob, surprised to find it locked.

  “Colette? Open the door.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Hank, we aren’t finished yet.” Colette’s voice drifted through the wooden door.

  “That’s all right. I’ll go into one of the bedrooms. Just let me in, it’s hot out here.”

  Again his words were met with pregnant silence, then the soft click of the door being unlocked. Colette opened the door, her eyes wide with some emotion Hank couldn’t decipher. “Hank…” She was jerked aside and Hank found himself facing the barrel of a gun.

  “Well, well. Looks like old home week. Hank, come on in and join us. Colette and I have been reminiscing about our past.” He motioned Hank inside and to the
sofa, then shoved Colette down next to Hank.

  “It was him,” Colette said to Hank. “He’s the one I heard in Collier’s office. I remember. I remember it all.” Her eyes were wide with terror. “I heard their conversation, talking about the death of the councilman. When I turned to leave, I knocked a book off the desk. He…he chased me, but I got away.”

  “But I found you again.” Bob eased himself down in the chair facing them, the gun never wavering. “I found you in Las Vegas.”

  She nodded, seemingly dazed with the memory. “You chased me through a casino.”

  “And when I caught you, you did this to me.” He stroked the length of the scar on his cheek.

  “I had a key in my hand…my room key. The blood. There was so much blood. That’s when I lost it. That’s what stole my memories…all that blood.” She closed her eyes, her face paper white.

  Hank’s fingers itched to pull his gun, but he stifled the impulse, knowing if he wasn’t quick enough Bob would manage to get a shot at Colette. Patience, he told himself, hoping the right opportunity would present itself to get both himself and Colette out of this mess.

  “So, you’re the one who pushed Colette down that root cellar at the ranch,” Hank said.

  Bob nodded. “She wasn’t supposed to be found.”

  “And you pushed me off the butte,” Colette added.

  The gunman frowned. “That wasn’t me. Maybe you’ve got more enemies than you know about at the ranch. All I know is you’ve been one pain in Mr. Collier’s behind.”

  “And you’re going to do Collier’s dirty work,” Hank returned. “Collier never gets his hands dirty. He always hires big, stupid bozos like you.”

  Bob laughed. “You think you can rile me by calling me stupid? Get me angry so I make a mistake?” He laughed again. “I’m not doing this for Collier.” He pointed the gun at Colette’s forehead as his other hand crept up to touch his scar. “This one is just for me. Bang!”

  Colette jumped, Hank swore and Bob laughed harder. His laughter died and his gaze grew hard. “Well, this little walk down memory lane has been nice, but it’s time to finish this.” He stood. “What I have in mind is a murder/suicide scene. Hank here kills Colette, then overwhelmed with grief, kills himself.”

  “Nobody will believe that,” Hank scoffed. His heart pounded frantically as he tried to figure how to get to Bob before Bob got to Colette. As long as Bob held the gun firmly trained on Colette, Hank couldn’t take any chances.

  “Ultimately I don’t care what anyone believes. As long as both of you are dead, nobody can point a finger at me or Mr. Collier. Now, let’s go slowly into the bedroom. If you cooperate, I’ll even let you kiss each other goodbye.”

  Knowing no perfect opportunity was going to present itself, as Hank stood he grabbed the gun from his boot. As he shot, he threw himself in front of Colette.

  He had the satisfaction of watching Bob sprawl to the floor before Hank became aware of a searing, burning pain in his chest. He heard Colette scream as he crumpled to the floor.

  “Hank, oh, God…Hank.” Colette fell to her knees by his side.

  “Call 9-1-1,” he whispered, fighting the blackness of unconsciousness, knowing if he gave in to it, he’d never wake up.

  Colette scrambled to the phone and dialed the emergency number. As she screamed into the receiver, Hank raised his head to see how badly he’d been hit. Bad. Blood seeped far too quickly from the wound in his upper chest. If medical attention didn’t happen quickly, he feared he would bleed to death.

  Colette hung up the receiver and crawled back over to him. “Hang on, Hank. Help is on the way.”

  Again darkness danced at the edges of his vision, beckoning him into the dark void where he wouldn’t feel the pain. He fought it, breathing shallow, fiery breaths as his lifeblood continued to drain. “Colette, you have to help me.” He closed his eyes, finding the act of speech exhausting.

  “What should I do? Tell me what to do.”

  He opened his eyes and looked at her, saw the tears that sparkled on her lashes, the fear that trembled her lips. “Get a towel or something. You need to stanch the bleeding.”

  She left him and was back in a moment, a bath towel in hand. As she leaned over him to position the towel on the wound, he saw that her face was void of all color. “So much blood…” she murmured faintly. She swayed as if fighting a faint.

  “I’ll do it,” he said, knowing how the sight of blood affected her. He tried to raise his hand to place it on the towel.

  “No.” She inhaled a tremulous breath. “I’ll do it.” She seemed to draw from a source of strength he didn’t know she possessed. Placing her hands on the towel, she gazed into his eyes. “You saved my life.”

  He forced a smile. “That’s my job.”

  “You’re Brook’s father.” Tears splashed on her cheeks. It wasn’t a question and he didn’t answer. “You lied when you told me I was pregnant before overhearing Collier. You’re Brook’s father and you didn’t want her. You didn’t want me. That’s why I ran from you.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance, signaling their approach. Hank closed his eyes once again, not wanting to see the pain reflected in her eyes. “I never made any promises. You said you expected nothing from me. You promised you understood the rules.”

  “It’s a promise I can’t keep.” Her voice was thick with tears. “Damn you, Hank. I love you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he breathed softly, then gave in to the darkness that beckoned.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  For weeks Colette had prayed to get her memories back, now she wished she’d lose them once again. She was glad she had the memories to help put away Collier, although they were no longer as necessary as they had been.

  Bob was dead and Dr. Wallace had been arrested and was singing enough songs to help put bars around Cameron Collier for the rest of his life.

  The trial was set to begin the next day, then Colette would be free to return to Cheyenne. Free to go back to her life with only haunting memories of love and a fatherless child to show for the experiences she’d been through.

  She walked over to the window of the lush tenth-floor hotel room. She peered outside, wishing the bright afternoon sunshine could warm the chill around her heart.

  “Ma’am, would you move away from the window?” the baby-faced policeman said.

  Colette flushed. “I’m sorry. I forgot.” She let the drapery fall back over the window. She’d been instructed to stay away from the windows, the officers fearing her making a target of herself for a sniper’s bullet. They were taking no further chances with her less than twenty-four hours to go before the trial.

  “I think I’ll go lie down for a little while,” she said, more to herself than anyone in particular.

  The officer nodded, then returned his attention to his paperback book. Colette went into the bedroom and sank down on the bed. Grabbing a magazine and stretching out on top of the bedspread, she tried to shove away thoughts of Hank.

  The past eleven days were a blur of hotel rooms and strange faces. They’d moved her every day to a new location, another hotel room with a different set of officers each time.

  She hadn’t seen Hank since he’d been taken away in the back of an ambulance, although she’d heard reports on his progress. He’d come through a surgery fine and as of yesterday was out of intensive care. He’d live without scars, without any lingering after-effects despite his ordeal.

  Funny, he was the one who’d taken the bullet, but she felt the pain as if she’d been shot. Her heart would carry scars for a long time to come, the scars of loving a man who refused to love her back.

  Tears burned in her eyes as she replayed the time she’d shared with Hank. From the very beginning something had connected between the two of them. Within two weeks of her being in his custody, they’d made love, unable to fight the intense attraction they shared. Their lovemaking had brought an intimacy to their relationship that Colette had apparently mistaken for love. />
  She’d been such a fool. She’d actually anticipated he’d be happy when she discovered herself pregnant. But he hadn’t been happy. He’d been angry, and it had been his anger that had caused her to run.

  After stealing all the money he had in his wallet, she’d caught a flight to Las Vegas, certain she could stay hidden in the surreal world of glitter and gambling. And for several months she had stayed hidden…until Bob Sanderson had spotted her.

  She’d managed to get away from him, but the horror of cutting his face, seeing his blood, had driven everything else out of her mind.

  Brook cried, awakening from her nap, and Colette got up and approached the playpen. Brook immediately waved her hands and legs, as if happy to see her mom.

  “Oh, sweet baby.” Colette bent and picked her up, the cuddly warmth of the child assuaging some of her heartache. She carried Brook back to her bed and placed her on her back.

  Studying the little girl’s features, Colette was amazed she hadn’t seen Hank’s genetic stamp before. Now she couldn’t look at Brook without seeing Hank in the raven hair that covered her scalp and the dark eyes that peered at her so intently. Even the shape of Brook’s lips reflected her father’s genes…a father who didn’t intend to be a part of his daughter’s life.

  Damn Hank Cooper. For the first time since she’d gotten her memories back, a flare of anger surged. He’d been so adamant, so self-righteous in reminding her that he hadn’t made any promises.

  But he had…each time he took her in his arms he’d made a promise; each time he’d made love to her, she’d felt his promise.

  Angrily, she wiped a tear off her cheek. Hank was the loser in all of this. He’d miss all the beautiful moments of raising a child. He’d miss all the love Colette could have given him, a lifetime of love and commitment.

  “Ms. Connor?” The baby-faced officer stuck his head in her doorway. “We just got word that Cameron Collier killed himself.”

  “What?” Colette scrambled off the bed and faced him. “When? How…”

  “We don’t have all the details, but from what we heard his lawyer found him at his home. He hung himself, left a note that he’d rather die than spend a day behind bars.” The officer grinned widely. “Looks like you’re off the hook, Ms. Connor. You can go back home and forget you ever heard about Cameron Collier.”