by Linda Style
Just then, Bruno lumbered over and nuzzled her leg. He turned, growling. Cleo barked. Tori froze. “What’s up, pups?” she whispered, then glanced out the window. As she reached to stroke Bruno’s head, the doorbell at the gate rang and both dogs barked nonstop.
She crossed the room to the intercom and hit the speaker button. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Serena,” a woman’s voice warbled.
Tori buzzed her childhood friend in through the outer gate, then went through the family room, living room and into the circular foyer to open the front door. As Serena walked up the stone path toward the house, both Bruno and Cleo bolted outside to greet her.
Almost every room in Tori’s Santa Fe–style home had a clear view of the Twin Buttes and West Lee Mountain in the Sedona-Verde Valley region of the Colorado Plateau. Built on a small rise, the split-level adobe house conformed to the rocky, high desert terrain. The main living area was on one level and Tori’s studio, a few steps up on the next. Outside, the yard rose in three different levels: the patio, the garden and the open space where the dogs spent a lot of time. The security wall around the perimeter of the property had been a major factor when Tori had purchased the home five years ago, and then she’d had the gates connected to a high-tech security system.
Gordon was right. She was as safe as she could possibly be without being locked up in custody somewhere.
The small town of Spirit Creek lay in the shadows of the larger town of Sedona, seven miles east. While the upscale, artistic community of the larger town blazed with activity and drew as many tourists as the Grand Canyon, Spirit Creek was laid-back, the town and its people as solid and secure as the eons-old rock it was founded on.
“Hey, doggies,” Serena chirped while kneeling down to give each animal a rub behind the ears. “It’s nice to be acknowledged,” she said with a sidelong look at Tori.
“They love you, too,” Tori said, ignoring the friendly dig about not calling.
Tori had told Serena she’d been working in Phoenix on a project when she’d actually been sitting with Linc at the Scottsdale Trauma hospital. During that time, she’d stayed at her parents’ home and hadn’t seen much of her friend. Tori and Serena had always joked about how opposite their parents were. Serena’s had a laissez-faire attitude toward parenting, while Tori’s watched her every move. Relocating a hundred miles away from them was the best thing Tori had ever done.
She waved a hand for Serena to follow her into the house. “I need a jolt of caffeine. You?” Serena and the dogs followed Tori to the kitchen.
“Tea for me, please—chai,” Serena said at the same time as Tori mimicked her, and they both repeated, “I get enough coffee at the café.” Laughing, Serena pulled a thread from the frayed edges of the hole in the knee of her jeans, then hoisted herself onto a bar stool at the center island.
Tori laughed, too, their morning ritual as predictable as the sun rising over Twin Buttes. Serena made a point to hike one of the trails near Tori’s house every morning before opening her café in town.
“Who’s the hunk outside the gate?”
Tori stiffened and almost dropped the electric teakettle she held under the faucet, filling it with water. “Someone’s out there?”
“A guy in a van is parked next to the gate.”
“Oh…” She plugged in the teakettle. “…that would be Quint, the handyman-slash-painter who’s going to do some patching and painting on the wall. I told you about him, didn’t I?” She paused, then said, almost to herself, “But he isn’t supposed to start until next week.”
Dammit. Gordon had warned her about the possibility of someone from the media getting hold of the story…someone who’d heard about Crusoe’s release and somehow found out who she was…and where she was. Her stomach knotted. It was a big story and if word got out… “What did he look like?”
“He’s blond. Sexy. Great body.”
She sighed, nerves unwinding. “Yep. That’s Quint.”
“Where’d you find him?”
“I saw his flyer in Thompson’s Hardware Store. Apparently they know him. I talked with him and he seems like an okay guy. The Thompson’s gave him a good recommendation for work he’d done for them.”
“Too bad he’s not local. But Flag isn’t that far away.” Serena gave a sly grin.
“I guess he’s out there evaluating the wall to see how long it will take.”
Serena plucked a clementine from the fruit bowl on the counter. “Or maybe he’s interested in something else.”
Tori smiled, arched an eyebrow. “He’s not. And I’m not. But I might be able to arrange something for you, if you are. He said if he gets enough work here, he’s going to move down from Flagstaff.”
“Only an observation, my friend.”
If there was anyone less likely to be interested in getting involved than Tori, it was Serena, though they both talked a good game. “Well, you have to start somewhere.”
“Yeah, like you have. And by the way, you look like hell.”
Tori pushed the hair out of her eyes. She barely bothered to brush it this morning, hadn’t even put it in her usual ponytail. She hadn’t done a lot of things. “Okay, change of subject. I’ve got more important things on my mind.”
She took out some tea, Earl Grey for her and chai for Serena, two cups, and a small pitcher of milk, and set them on the round copper table in the breakfast nook, where she could see the garden through the bay window. Though she wasn’t going to win any Rachael Ray awards for Yum-O culinary expertise, the kitchen was Tori’s favorite room in the house and she’d had it remodeled, blending her eclectic tastes with colors and textures that harmonized with the Arizona high desert landscape.
Serena, wearing a yellow-and-green flowing top with her threadbare jeans and cowboy boots, owned the Cosmic Bean, a coffee café in an old Victorian house in town. The café took up half the lower portion of the house and Serena lived in the rest. Friends since childhood, Tori and Serena knew everything about each other. But then, so did half the people in Spirit Creek. Except for one thing. Serena and their friend Natalia were the only ones who knew about Tori’s assault years ago.
“You know, that’s why I like being with you,” Tori said, smoothing the legs of her sweatpants. “I can be myself and not worry about how I look.”
Serena gave her friend an exasperated look. “Seriously—” she tugged Tori’s hair “—I could do something with this if you let me.”
“And, seriously, I could say no. And I will. Forget it.”
“Yeah, but the jazz festival is coming up. As vendors, we’ll be meeting a lot of people, maybe even a few musicians.”
“Musicians are on the road all the time.”
“That’s what’s so great about them. Here today, gone tomorrow.” Serena reached up and pulled out a lock of Tori’s hair. “I’d cut off about eight inches, for a start,” she said. “Give you some highlights so it’s more blond than—” She coughed as if she had a tickle in her throat.
“More blond than dishwater?” Tori eyed her friend.
“Uh, well, yeah…kinda like that. But really, seriously. I could do lots of stuff.”
“Well, really, seriously, who wears cowboy boots out hiking? I could give you a pair of jogging shoes since we wear the same size―”
“I don’t hike. I walk…and boots protect me from rattlesnakes and other critters. And we’re not talking about me.”
“We’re not talking about my hair, either.” Tori poured hot water over the tea bags in their cups, handed Serena a spoon and sat next to her. “Besides, right now, how I look is the least of my problems.”
Serena frowned. “Dylan have something to do with it?”
“No, not even remotely.” Tori and Dylan had remained friends after the divorce and, for a while, they’d even continued to do things together. Dylan had been so patient, waiting for three years after the assault…until she’d finished therapy…before they married. What happened didn’t matter, he’d sai
d. But in the end, it did. It sat there between them like the proverbial elephant in the room. “I haven’t seen him for a few weeks.”
“Good. I think it’s great that you’re friends and all, but it does interfere with your social life.”
“I think this is one of those pot and kettle moments,” Tori joked. Serena talked a good game, but she had her own elephant when it came to relationships. She’d been married right out of high school after a tragic breakup with Cole St. Germaine. But the rebound marriage had been doomed from the beginning. Even though it was years later, Tori was sure her friend still felt regret about the secret she’d kept from Cole.
Serena laughed.
“And,” Tori drew out the word, “I like things the way they are.”
“Yeah, but you need to change it up once in a while.”
“Like you’re Miss Social Butterfly?”
“At least I try,” Serena said, then quickly added, “For all the good it does. This town isn’t exactly a draw for single thirtyish guys with lots of money.” She eyed Tori. “Okay, I know that’s shallow, but it’s really not. I just know what I want, and if I ever marry again, why not find someone who isn’t living in his car.”
Tori took a sip of tea, perseverating about Crusoe and what to do about him as she listened to her friend rattle on about twenty different things. Something Serena did frequently. Sometimes she even answered her own questions.
“Okay. If it’s not Dylan, then what?” Serena said coming back to the original subject. “What’s going on?”
Tori sighed. She had no reservations about telling Serena anything. They’d shared everything since they were kids. Maybe she’d have some ideas.
“Okay,” Tori said. “I had this conversation with Gordon and—” Once Tori started, she couldn’t stop. She stood up, then sat, then stood again and sat again, repeating the conversation with Gordon almost verbatim. When she finished, she slouched back in her chair.
Serena’s mouth hung open.
“So…” Tori scrubbed her hands over her face, all energy depleted. “That’s it. The whole frigging story.”
Serena already leaning forward, placed a hand on Tori’s arm. “Oh, man. I don’t know what to say. How horrible for you…for everyone.” Another long moment passed. “You know, I think I saw something about this on the news this morning. Only I wasn’t paying much attention. I never imagined—”
“How could I have been so wrong? I was absolutely sure.” Tori got up and paced from the table to the window, from the window to the stainless steel fridge and back again. “It was dark, but I saw him. Not a hundred percent clearly, but when I saw him in the lineup…I knew. I just knew. At the time, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind!”
Her friend reached out, grabbed her hand and forced her to sit again.
“Maybe you weren’t wrong. Maybe the tests were. That’s been known to happen. Nothing is foolproof.”
“I’ve thought of that, too. I’ve thought of every possible way this could be a mistake. But it’s not. Gordon said the police had been checking out another case similar to Crusoe’s and did DNA testing to make sure he wasn’t guilty of both crimes. But the DNA tests proved him innocent in both cases. Gordon said the DNA is ninety-nine percent accurate.” Tori shivered, as if an icy wind had rushed through the room. She rubbed her arms. “And just as horrifying is that the real sicko is still out there.”
“Geez, Tori. You can’t think about that. If the police have the DNA, they’ll get him. They can do a national matchup or something.”
“They did that. The DNA doesn’t match anyone in the police computer system. Gordon said the police would reopen the case, but twelve years later? Even if they find and arrest that monster, a man still spent ten years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit…all because I identified him as the one who did it.” She went over and stared out the window. “Should I forget about that, too?”
The room fell silent. Seconds later Serena came over and put an arm around Tori.
She was thankful her friend didn’t offer advice, as her parents would have, or Gordon. She swallowed, shook her head. “I can’t stop thinking about any of it.”
“No kidding. You’d be inhuman if you could.”
Tori turned to Serena. “I have to do something.”
“You can’t change what happened, sweetie.” Serena’s voice cracked with emotion. “You can’t turn back the clock.”
Tears welled in Tori’s eyes. Again. “I know. God, how I know.”
“The police will get the creep who did it, and as for the other guy, you did what you believed was right. Remember, there was other evidence that helped convict him. In fact, I remember now…that’s what I saw on the news this morning… Someone was talking about evidence, only I didn’t connect the dots—”
The phone rang. Tori jumped. Could be her parents. She’d put them off every time they’d called, saying she was in the middle of something.
And right now she had a decision to make. She had to figure out what she could do to help Crusoe without him finding out who she was.
“You want me to get it?” Serena asked.
Tori glanced at the caller ID. Her breath caught. Not her parents. It was the hospital.
CHAPTER THREE
TORI HURRIED TOWARD the entrance of the Scottsdale Trauma Center, pulled out her cell phone and put it on silent. Weeks ago, Gordon had warned her not to contact Crusoe. He’d said it could make things worse if Crusoe decided to file a civil suit. He was probably right…from a legal perspective.
But from the moment she’d heard about his innocence, she couldn’t think of anything else. She’d had Gordon contact Crusoe in prison to ask if he would see her. She’d wanted to explain, see if she could do anything to help him, but he’d refused to meet with her. Then he’d been in a fight and hospitalized in the county hospital where they took care of inmates. She’d had Gordon call the hospital every day to see how the man was doing. And every day there was no change.
When Crusoe had been transferred from the prison hospital to the trauma center in Scottsdale, where she could get inside without permission, she’d disregarded Gordon’s warning and made the decision to talk to him. But no one had told her the extent of his injuries. She’d had no idea he was in a medically induced coma. Once she did, she’d gone back every day, sat by his side reading poetry, because the nurses said sometimes people who were in a coma could hear, and it might help his recovery. It was the least she could do.
But then he’d come out of the coma and remembered nothing. She’d left the hospital even more confused about how she could help him. That he’d asked to see her again could mean anything. Had he regained his memory? Had he figured out who she really was?
Pushing her way through the glass doors, cold air blasted her bare arms, a stark contrast to the eighty-plus temps outside. The Valley was always hotter than the higher elevation of Spirit Creek, and the cold air was little comfort when her white shirt stuck to her sweaty skin like plastic wrap.
Dread washed over her as she walked to the elevator. Her hands were clammy, her armpits wet with sweat, and waiting for the elevator doors to open, she couldn’t seem get more than a short breath. Inside, the elevator jerked upward and her stomach did a somersault. She hauled in a lungful of air. Okay. It’s going to be okay. He couldn’t know who she was. Her name was different. She looked different. And if he’d suddenly remembered and knew who she was, he wouldn’t have asked to see her, would he? The nurse had simply said he wanted to see her as soon as possible.
But whatever happened, one thing was certain. She was going to find a way to help him. If she didn’t, she couldn’t live with herself.
Brooding about it for a week the only thing she’d come up with was that she could pay Crusoe’s hospital bills. Her trust money, combined with sales of her paintings, was more than she needed to live. She donated to charities all the time, so why not to help Crusoe?
She’d contacted the hospital’s finance department to
anonymously pay the hospital bills that wouldn’t be covered by the state. It would take all of her available money, but she still had enough to get by until her next quarterly distribution arrived. And if she sold some artwork, it would be frosting on the cake. Crusoe would never know where the money came from.
The elevator doors swished open on the fourth floor. A sharp medicinal scent permeated the air as she walked past the curved desk in the middle of a room and where several hallways branched out in different directions. Her insides still shaking, she took a right toward Crusoe’s room.
Even if he’d remembered who he was, he couldn’t possibly know Tori Amhearst was really Victoria Culhaine, could he? Her friend Natalia, who’d majored in psychology before joining the Army, had said keeping her married name after the divorce was Tori’s way of separating herself from the past. Maybe so, but right now, the reason didn’t matter. The name served her well.
She hauled in another deep breath. He’s not him. He’s not him, she reminded herself one more time that Crusoe, the man…the face that had haunted her nightmares wasn’t the man who’d assaulted and raped her.
Still, as she stepped forward to peer inside his room, her heart raced. She braced herself. He wouldn’t be in the position he was if it weren’t for her. She’d wrecked his life. Now she had to help. Whatever it took.
A nurse stood near the head of the bed so Tori couldn’t see Crusoe’s face, only the arm in a sling, the leg in a truss. Just then the nurse moved.
His eyes were closed. The nurse checked the chart, then on her way out, she frowned at Tori and said, “He’s asleep, but go on in. He’ll be awake soon.”
Tori watched her leave, held her breath and turned.
~~~
DARK. COLD. PAIN. Linc curled into a ball on the concrete floor of solitary, retching from the spoiled mush they’d given him after three days of only water. He shivered. So cold. So cold his bones might crack. Almost in the same instant he was burning up. Fire inside his body. Cold and fire. Cold and fire. Thrashing, panic convulsed in Linc’s chest as he fought to get out, get away, escape…but then he was drowning, and he kept sinking and coming up for air, but he couldn’t get out and he couldn’t breathe. Choking, gasping, clawing…“No—don’t—don’t,” Linc called out just as he came to and his eyes flew open.
