by Rita Herron
“Shh, don’t think about it.” Collin covered her hand with his. “It’s over and everyone’s safe. That’s all that matters.
Sydney’s lower lip trembled. “And your eyes?”
“They seem fine.” A smile twitched at his mouth. She was actually worried about him. “I told the doctor about the transplant and he examined me. We’ll see what the specialist has to say.”
She sighed softly and his gut clenched. He vaguely remembered her being in the ICU when they’d brought him in. Or had he imagined it?
“Some vacation you’re having. I guess you’ll be leaving Beaufort?”
Collin wrestled with telling her the truth. She looked so lost and vulnerable, so utterly sexy with all the worry in her eyes. She couldn’t possibly be a killer. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“I’d like to know your plans, too, Mr. Cash.”
Collin’s head snapped up at the harsh sound of Raeburn’s voice. Sydney curled her arms around her middle in a protective gesture. “I’m not sure,” Collin replied slowly.
Raeburn lumbered in, his thumbs tucked in his belt loops, his uniform reeking of smoke. “The doc release you?”
“He’s going to. He said for me to rest I inhaled a little smoke and my throat’s raw, but other than that, I’m fine.”
Raeburn angled his head, his penetrating gaze traveling back and forth between Collin and Sydney. “Seems the two of you are always close by when there’s trouble around here.”
Collin’s jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean, Sergeant?”
Raeburn’s shirt stretched across his girth as he folded his beefy arms. “Means, it has me wondering...”
“Wondering what?” Collin asked, fighting a cough.
“About the connection between the two of you.”
“What?” Sydney asked in a choked voice. “There is no connection.”
“I told you I’d never met Sydney until I came to town. Do you really think Sydney tried to drown herself in the ocean by cutting her own brake lines and that I set the Beaufort Bed-and-Breakfast on fire, then barely crawled out alive?”
Raeburn’s dark eyes glinted with anger. “I don’t know what to think. All I know is this town used to be nice and safe.” His mouth worked, chewing on a wad of gum. “Then Green was murdered and all sorts of things are going on. And I don’t like it.”
“Then do your job and find out who’s causing all this trouble,” Collin snapped. He broke into a coughing fit, then took several deep breaths, striving to control his temper. “How did the fire start?”
“As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m here.” Accusations hardened Raeburn’s gaze.
Sydney dug her fingernails into the flesh of her arms. “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”
“It don’t look like it was, Mizz Green.” Raeburn leaned his bulk against the doorjamb, ankles crossed casually. “It looks like someone set the place on fire.”
“What?” Sydney stumbled backward. Collin wanted to reach out and help her sit down, but Raeburn would misconstrue the gesture. Besides, the damn IV kept him from moving.
“Looks like arson,” Raeburn continued in his gruff voice. “In fact, someone used chemicals to start the fire.” He angled his head toward Sydney. “The sort of chemicals used to develop pictures.”
Chapter Eight
Sydney stared at the sergeant in shock, her earlier fears escalating.
“How can you be certain the fire was started with photo-developing chemicals?” Collin asked in a tone Sydney knew wasn’t as casual as he’d made it sound.
“Fire marshal found a rag soaked in acetone and a charred can of developer.” Raeburn’s fat jowls worked his gum into his cheek. “He’s running tests to make sure. Said he may be able to narrow it down to the name brand.”
Tension tightened Sydney’s throat muscles. “I don’t understand. Why would someone want to burn down the Davenports’ bed-and-breakfast?”
“You got me on that one.” Raeburn shrugged. “But then, there’s a lot of things been going on lately I haven’t figured out yet. Strangle thing is, the fire was started in the wing where you were staying, Mr. Cash.”
Raeburn’s gaze cut to Collin, then back to Sydney, razor sharp and probing. “Any theories, you two?”
The air whooshed from Sydney’s lungs. Then it was conceivable that whoever had set the fire wanted to hurt Collin.
Collin frowned. “You’re the investigator—you tell us.”
Raeburn smirked. “Think about it, Cash. You come here on vacation. Then you hook up with Mizz Green, a suspect in a murder case, and you almost die. Doesn’t that strike a funny chord with you?”
Collin shrugged.
“Think about it,” Raeburn said as he turned and strode out the door, leaving the pungent smell of smoke and suspicion hanging in the air.
Sydney forced herself to remain calm, fighting panic at Raeburn’s implications.
“Do you still want to give me a ride?” he asked.
Sydney jerked her head up, surprised he wasn’t accusing her after what Raeburn had implied. Her gaze met his and locked for a brief moment. A tingle of awareness and some other emotion she couldn’t name warmed her insides. He didn’t think she’d started the fire.
“You still want to ride with me?”
“Sure, but I need a favor first.” His husky voice soothed her nerves and caressed her with a tenderness that obliterated the horrors of the morning.
“A favor?”
He gestured at his boxers. “I need some clothes. Everything I brought was destroyed in the fire.”
Her gaze riveted to the wide planes of his bare chest, to the soft, dark hair curling on his forearms. A faint scar ran in a thin line across his flat belly, and another small round one graced his right side near his collarbone. Otherwise, his body was perfect. But the thought of the fire immediately sobered her, and she dragged her gaze away, embarrassed when she noticed he’d caught her staring. “Sure. I...I still have some things of Doug’s you could borrow.”
“I’ll return them when I buy some more clothes,” he said a little tightly.
She nodded, wondering how she would handle seeing him in Doug’s clothes. “Okay. I’ll be back with them shortly.”
His eyes darkened with something that at any other time or place, she might have construed as male interest, even desire. But given the hospital, the fire, Raeburn’s implications...she must be misreading him.
Dismissing the idea from her head, she walked slowly from the room, wondering where she would drive Collin once she returned. After all, he couldn’t go back to the inn. And with her attraction to him, it would be dangerous for him to stay at her place.
COLLIN STUDIED Sydney’s slender figure as she disappeared from the room, anxious about her leaving. Knowing the fire at the inn had been set deliberately made him nervous, but he couldn’t believe that Sydney had anything to do with it. He’d seen the fear in her face when she’d arrived. He’d felt it when she’d stood beside his bed.
The realization that she cared for him did crazy things to his insides. Heat suffused his body. In spite of his injuries, he’d had a hard time not pulling her down and kissing her. Then Raeburn had shown up. Damn. What the hell was going on here?
The fire hadn’t been set to hurt Sydney. So how could it be related to the person who’d cut her brakes? The photo-developing chemicals were definitely used to frame Sydney. Who wanted to see her in jail?
Raeburn obviously suspected Sydney, but why? Other than the insurance policy, did Raeburn know something about Sydney and Doug’s relationship that he, Collin, hadn’t discovered? Had Green had an affair, a mistress, that would give Sydney another motive?
The memory of his partner’s death surfaced quickly. What if he was making a mistake in trusting Sydney?
What if she found out that you’re a cop, that you lied to her, that you came here hoping to solve Doug’s murder? What if you’re getting too close to her and she’s scared you’ll discove
r the truth?
A knock at the door broke into his disturbing reverie. A young doctor wearing small, wire-rim glasses walked in, a clipboard wedged beneath his arm.
The doctor introduced himself as Franks, a specialist from an eye clinic in Atlanta, and mentioned that he’d spoken with Darber, Collin’s doctor. “I’d say you were a lucky man.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose.
Collin grimaced. “Believe me, I know.”
The doctor did a brief exam then removed the IV. “Are you having trouble with your vision? Headaches? Any of the symptoms your doctor warned you about after your surgery?”
Collin told him about the headache the night before. “But my head’s better today.”
“Any other problems?”
“Dr. Franks, have you had much experience with transplant patients?”
“As a matter of fact I studied with a European physician. He was involved in experimental eye procedures in France.”
Impressed, Collin decided to tell him about the visions.
“You believe you’re actually seeing something that happened before?” Franks asked when Collin finished.
“I know it sounds nutty,” Collin said. “But I see Green being shot, and it’s as if it’s happening to me. I’ve also met people in the town and remembered talking to them...as Green.”
Franks stroked his chin with his forefinger. “You know, Dr. Barringer encountered a couple of similar incidents in his research.”
“What? You mean you believe me?”
Franks laughed. “We haven’t yet discovered all the ramifications of transplant surgery, Mr. Cash. And Barringer has been researching the effects for several years.”
Collin nodded. “So, it could be possible—I mean, medically?”
“Let me explain the theory we developed.” Franks folded his arms over the clipboard. “People have neurotransmitters present in the anterior chamber of the eye. When the cornea is harvested for transplant, some of the neurotransmitters are transferred to the corneal-transplant recipient.”
“So I received some of Green’s neurotransmitters as a bonus?”
Franks grinned. “I guess you could put it like that. Anyway, if Green lived for a while after he was shot, it’s possible that when his corneas were removed, some of the neurotransmitters that hold memory were also transferred.”
“Unbelievable.” Collin collapsed against the back of the hospital bed. “So I’m not hallucinating?”
Franks shook his head. “The antirejection drug you’re taking is supposed to increase vascularization and decrease rejection, but it causes the neurotransmitters to be absorbed. These neurotransmitters, the ones you received from the donor, convey the memory of the trauma to your brain.”
He was actually witnessing Doug Green’s murder. It took him a moment to absorb the news.
“Are you all right?” the doctor asked.
Collin ran a hand over his jaw. “Yeah, but it’s wild, isn’t it? I not only received the man’s eyes, but part of his memory.”
Is that why I’m so drawn to Sydney,
“It’s modern science.” Franks tapped his pen on the clipboard. “But it’s really nothing compared to all the genetic research being done. Soon we’ll be cloning people.”
“Will these visions fade with time?”
Franks shrugged. “Maybe. Mr. Cash, you should contact Darber so he can document the effects of the experimental drugs.”
A soft knock interrupted them, and they looked up to see Sydney standing in the shadow of the door, holding a plastic bag. No doubt her deceased husband’s clothes, Collin thought, which she’d brought for him to wear home. The doctor excused himself, then smiled at her in passing. Uncertainty pulled at her face as she walked farther into the room.
He had some of Doug Green’s memory. Did it include feelings for Green’s wife? Could that be the reason he was so attracted to her?
The muscles in his forearms hardened as he reached for the bag of clothes. A wave of apprehension gnawed at him. It seemed he was becoming more and more entrenched in Doug Green’s life. And he wasn’t sure he liked it.
SYDNEY HESITATED beside Collin’s bed, her palms sweaty. She gave him the bag. Did he feel as awkward as she did about him wearing her husband’s clothes?
She wondered if she’d made a mistake in coming. But how could she not? She felt drawn to Collin, connected to him by some power she didn’t understand, but couldn’t resist
“I appreciate your doing this,” Collin said quietly, his gray eyes settling on her face warily.
Their fingers brushed slightly, his mere touch awakening feelings she thought had died long ago. All the way from her house to the hospital, the memory of the fire had consumed her, the image of his body being carried from the burning inferno shaking her to the core.
His mouth quirked in a half smile, and she stifled the thoughts as he dug inside the bag, dragging out a pair of shoes, brand-new socks, faded jeans and a chambray shirt.
“I only brought one outfit,” Sydney said. “I don’t know your size, but I figured these would do until you could go shopping.”
Collin unfolded the shirt. “Doug never wore that,” she said. “He told me he didn’t like the color.”
Collin’s gaze locked with hers and she felt as if he’d read her mind—she hadn’t been able to bring one of Doug’s worn shirts. Too many bad memories, too much heartache. Thank goodness, she’d found this new shirt in the closet, still in the package. She’d bought it for Doug’s birthday. He’d said he was going to be working. When she’d gone by the office to surprise him, his secretary had informed her he hadn’t been in all day.
“Thanks, Sydney. I’ll change and then we can go.”
When he started to stand, Sydney realized he still wore only his boxers. A blush crept onto her cheeks.
“Oh, sorry. I’ll wait outside.”
“It’s okay.”
But Sydney spun around and strode toward the door. Seeing Collin bare-chested and watching him dress seemed too...intimate.
Every time she looked into Collin’s eyes, she saw part of Doug. But he was nothing like Doug. His jaw was stronger, his wavy hair much darker, his body more muscular. Doug had been easy on the eyes, but Collin was a man who would turn any woman’s head. A man who made her pulse clamor and her mind forget that she was a widow.
She closed the door and leaned against the wall, her heart beating frantically. She’d trusted Doug. She’d promised herself to him in marriage. But he’d painted her a fool. She couldn’t afford to care about another man. Not now. Not ever.
COLLIN QUICKLY DRESSED, wondering if it had been painful for Sydney to sort through her husband’s clothes and have another man wear them. The grief in her eyes was so overwhelming that guilt plagued him for the desire he felt for her.
He had to get a grip, solve the murder case and get back to Charleston, away from the woman’s alluring body and arresting eyes. He didn’t need anyone, didn’t want to become involved with any woman, much less a troubled widow who quite possibly saw him as some sort of reincarnation of her dead husband.
Raeburn’s news about the fire worried him. He needed to talk to Sam, find out if he had any new information. He coughed again, then tucked the stiff shirt into the jeans, noting they were too short and the shoes too tight.
Stuffing his hands in the denim pockets, he started to leave the room, but he found a small paper in the pocket. Hmm, a motel receipt. The date, a month before Green had died.
The hotel, Red Baron Inn, popped into his head, and his eyesight blurred, replaced by a quick flash of a door opening. He reached for the wall to steady himself, trying not to fight the vision—He was walking into a hotel room. a woman wearing a shimmering red dress, sashaying in front of him. Collin strained to prolong the image, to clarify the woman’s face, then the room dimmed into darkness. The red dress slipped off her shoulder. He saw his hand touching the delicate column of the woman’s neck pushing back the long red strands of her hair....
/>
Sydney’s voice brought him back to reality, and he realized with sickening clarity that the woman Doug had been with had not been his wife.
“Are you ready to go?” Sydney’s slender face slid into focus. “Collin, are you all right?” She moved quickly, appearing at his side.
“year let’s go,” he said. his voice sharper than he’d intended.
She paused, her slender fingers tightening around the doorknob. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can call the doctor again. Or maybe you should stay here and rest.”
He hesitated, wondering if he should speak to Dr. Franks, then mumbled he was fine and hurried out the door. If the vision he’d just seen had been true, then Doug Green had definitely cheated on his loving, trusting wife. If he discovered the other woman had something to do with Doug’s death, he didn’t want to have to be the one to tell Sydney.
And if he told Raeburn, he’d have to admit Sydney had a motive besides money for killing her husband. He might as well slap the handcuffs on her himself. Raeburn would take her in in a skinny minute.
“IF YOU WANT, we’ll go back to my house and you can phone around to find another place to stay,” Sydney suggested as they drove from the hospital. “That is, unless you’re going back to Charleston.”
Collin stared out the window at the passing scenery, watching the relentless June sunshine beat against the tall, dry grasses, thinking about the man who’d donated his eyes. Should he go home and leave the murder in the hands of the local police? He’d always thought a person who’d donate their organs for another human was honorable, selfless. But the more he learned, the more he saw of Doug Green, the more he disliked the man. Maybe he didn’t owe Green anything, after all.
It was obvious from the depth of Sydney’s grief at the graveyard that she’d loved him deeply. If he kept digging, what else would he find out about the man? Something else that would hurt Sydney?
“Collin, did you hear me? I said I’ll take you back to my house so you can phone around for another place to stay or make arrangements to go home.”
