DARE TO REMEMBER

by Debra Cowan

  She shook her head, reminding herself of exactly why he stood in her doorway. She clutched her purse tightly and walked past him, needing to get away from his lean strength, the gritty blue gaze, the faint hint of spicy cologne. "Like what?"

  "We can offer you police protection if you think you need it." He followed her out the door.

  She could read nothing in his face—no pain, no loss, no emotion at all. There was no hint of the dimple in his right cheek that she found irresistible. Sadness wound through her along with an unexpected pique.

  "Is that why you were sitting outside my house all night?" She glanced at him, surprised to see color flush his neck. She had intended not to mention that, but she suddenly wanted to throw him off balance as much as he did her.

  "Sorta." He kept his gaze averted, so she knew that wasn't it at all.

  Now she regretted asking the question. He would realize that she hadn't slept last night any more than he had. But he didn't seem to want to dwell on the subject.

  Outside they stopped in front of her four-door compact sedan. She recognized the '64, apple red Mustang convertible next to her car. The paint gleamed like new. Mace had always taken immaculate care of his car.

  "Is there anything you want to change in your statement?"

  "I'm sure of every last word." She sounded a lot more confident than she felt. But she owed this to herself. And to Dad.

  Pride gleamed in his eyes, then disappeared as Mace studied her silently for a moment. "Good. It would be best not to discuss this with anyone."

  She nodded, unlocking her door. "Anything else?"

  "That's about it." He turned to leave.

  "Will I hear from you as things progress?"

  "Yeah."

  "All right."

  Their gazes locked and silence strained the air between them. It seemed so odd to calmly bid him farewell after the trauma and nervous anxiety of yesterday.

  "Why, Dev?"

  At his nickname for her, her heartbeat stuttered. "Why what?"

  "Why couldn't you come to me about this?" Pain flickered in his eyes, then disappeared. "Why go to Captain Price first? You know I would've—"

  "Mace, please. I didn't do it to hurt you."

  "I know that. I just thought… Hell." He shoved a hand through his dark hair and pivoted away, then back. "I know it's been hard on you, Devon. I wish I'd been there. I wish you'd let me… I wanted … to help."

  His simple declaration brought a sting to her eyes, but she fought the tears. "I handled it, Mace. I needed to do it on my own."

  He nodded, but she could see the protest in his eyes. He was agreeing simply because he didn't want to argue.

  "It's important to prove that to myself," she said quietly. He didn't understand and probably never would.

  He didn't jump at every noise, didn't cringe in fear when strange people walked onto his porch and rang the doorbell. He didn't have the nightmares she'd suffered, which thankfully had almost totally disappeared.

  "I didn't mean to hurt you, but I can see I did."

  His blue eyes met hers and the depths were unreadable. "Forget it. You're right—it's not my business anymore except in an official capacity."

  She wondered if she'd imagined the faint bitterness beneath his words.

  "Take care of yourself." He gave her one last, thorough stare, as if storing away a memory. "I'll be in touch."

  The words sounded so final that they unexpectedly stung. She got in her car, started the engine and put the car in reverse. In the rearview mirror, she saw him standing next to his own automobile, watching her. He looked stoic and angry and strangely lost.

  Her breath tightened in her chest and she quickly averted her eyes, feeling as if she could see the pain on his features. She drove slowly through the parking lot and exited onto May Avenue.

  Making a concentrated effort to keep her thoughts from Mace, she increased her speed, passing a pasture full of cattle as she drove down the hill.

  Seeing him today had shaken her as much as it had yesterday. Why, Dev? Why couldn't you come to me? The hurt in his voice nagged at her.

  It appeared nothing about her involvement in this case was going to be easy, the least of which was seeing Mace. Thankfully, she wouldn't have to deal with him on a daily basis. Seeing him scrambled her thinking, made her want to believe she was strong enough to be what he needed. And she wasn't.

  Breaking up had been best for him, for both of them. Now she had to figure out a way to concentrate on being strong for the trial, without dwelling on Mace.

  Nearing the stop sign, she applied the brake, but the car didn't slow. She pushed the pedal again, but the car picked up speed as it reached the bottom of the hill.

  Alarmed now, she pumped the brakes, her hands gripping the wheel until her knuckles threatened to pop through her skin.

  Panic clawed at her. Her gaze darted right and left. Vehicles moved toward the four-way stop from both directions.

  What was wrong?

  Laying on the horn, she shot through the intersection, her breath wedged in her chest and a sob burning her throat. Horns blared behind her. Someone yelled angrily.

  The car cornered off the pavement, tilted, then skidded onto the shoulder. She fought back panic, her mind racing. Turn in the direction of the skid. She yanked the wheel, sharply turning the tires and aiming for the ditch. They screeched on the asphalt and gravel like a wounded bird; rubber burned the air. The automobile rocketed into the ditch and hit an embankment, jarring her into the windshield.

  The car slammed to a stop, trapped between the jaws of a barbed-wire fence.

  * * *

  Fear ripped through him. Mace scrambled out of his Mustang and bolted down the hill, his heart aching in his throat. Devon. Devon. Devon.

  He could only think her name over and over, wouldn't allow himself to consider that she might be hurt. Or worse.

  Frustrated and disappointed at her obvious unease around him, he'd been prepared to turn in the opposite direction when he'd heard the screech of her tires.

  His legs pumped harder as he raced toward her. Cars pulled to the side of the road. An older gentleman reached her car. Two women and five children clustered in a knot behind him.

  "Police. Let me through." Mace shouldered his way through the scant crowd, and his breath jammed in his lungs.

  Devon sat slumped over the steering wheel. The older man knelt next to her, his hand on her leg as he spoke quietly.

  Mace's chest hurt. "Excuse me, sir. Police officer."

  The man moved aside so that Mace could get close to Devon.

  He squatted next to the car, his heart hammering, his palms cold and slick with sweat. Both her hands gripped the wheel, and he covered one with his. "Dev? Dev, talk to me."

  She stirred and lifted her head. Confusion clouded her silver-green eyes. "Mace?"

  Relief warmed him. He focused on her face, tilting up her chin with one knuckle. "Are you okay? Let me look at you."

  Her creamy skin was pale. Blood trickled from her hairline and a bruise was forming on her left cheekbone, but there were no other visible injuries to her face. Quickly he ran his hands over her arms and legs, up her neck. "Feels like everything is where it should be."

  "Good," she said faintly.

  His large hands gently framed her face, his gaze scouring her features. Before he even registered the thought, he bent to brush a kiss across her forehead.

  She drew in a breath. "I—I think I'm okay."

  What was he doing?! Stunned, he jerked his hands away, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs. "Good."

  "My head…"

  He silently cursed and eased back, gripping her forearm so she could move from the car. He rose as she stepped out.

  "Are you dizzy?"

  "A little unsteady. Probably from seeing those scratch marks on my paint job." She attempted a smile, then winced, moving a hand to her head. "Ooh, what a headache."

  He wanted to haul her into his arms and hold her
tight. Instead he stroked her dark hair away from her face, trying to get a better look at the cut. It was a small one at the base of her hairline, and he realized how lucky she was.

  She raised a hand to the wound. "Will I need stitches?"

  "Nah." He grinned, wanting to clear away the concern that shadowed her features.

  She offered a weak smile, but it didn't spread to her eyes. "My brakes—something happened to them."

  Keeping a firm hold on her elbow, he propelled her gently toward the road. "Have you taken the car in recently for any work?"

  "No. Well, strictly for a tune-up. The mechanic said everything was fine."

  "When was this? Yesterday?" It wouldn't be the first time shoddy workmanship had caused an accident.

  Devon frowned. "No. It was a couple of months ago." She trembled from shock, and Mace kept hold of her arm though she managed to walk steadily enough. His chest still ached from the fear of seeing the accident.

  "Officer, should we call someone?" The older gentleman, who had identified himself as Mr. Phillips, followed. "An ambulance?"

  "I'll run her by the hospital. It's not far from here. We'll get her checked out."

  "I'm fine. Just a little jarred." She stepped away from him, clutching her purse and staring blankly at the blood on her hands.

  Though his own hands shook and he kept replaying the way she had slammed into the embankment, Mace resisted the urge to pull her back against him.

  Mr. Phillips offered her the use of his suit jacket. Despite the summer heat, she shivered as if she were cold.

  As the other man led Devon to the car, Mace turned back to look at the accident scene. Cattle meandered up to the fence, stretching their necks to pull up grass from the other side, oblivious to the vehicle that poked like a giant snout into their territory.

  Mace circled the car. The front end appeared to be the only part that had been banged up. The fence had gouged a long scratch across the burgundy hood and the fender was jammed into the small incline of red dirt. With a good push, Mace and the other gentleman could probably move it so a wrecker could hook on to it from the road.

  Had something indeed happened to her brakes? Dread drummed a heavy rhythm in Mace's gut. He didn't want to consider that they might have been tampered with, but the wreck coincided too closely with her visit yesterday to the station.

  Mace lay down on the ground and rolled to his back, squinting under the car until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Some liquid dripped from a severed hose, but he couldn't tell whether it was transmission fluid or brake fluid. Neither could he tell if the hose had been destroyed due to the accident. But the boys in the lab would know.

  If Devon's brake lines had been deliberately cut…

  Mace staunched the thought, but that telltale spot between his shoulder blades prickled. One thing at a time. Take care of Devon first.

  As he was instructing the wrecker driver to take the car to police headquarters, a patrolman arrived on the scene. Mace introduced himself and recounted the accident.

  "I'm taking Ms. Landry to the hospital. You can find her there for questions."

  "Sure thing." The stocky, balding officer ambled toward the other witnesses.

  Mace returned to Devon. Amid well wishes and concern, he managed to finally get her into his car. Slapping the siren on the dash, he raced for Mercy Hospital, dread hammering at him.

  The image of her car careening into the ditch plucked at his nerves. She hugged the opposite door and cradled her head in one hand. Her other hand was clenched in her lap.

  "Doing okay?" He had this insane urge to take her hand, but he didn't.

  She glanced up. "Yes. My head hurts."

  He stopped at the emergency-room entrance, and a doctor met them at the door. Mace explained what had happened as the doctor hustled Devon inside and behind a curtain.

  Remembering how she had reacted upon finding him at the hospital with O'Kelly last year, Mace started to follow. A bulwark of a nurse blocked his way.

  "You need to wait out here. She'll be fine. They'll be finished in a few minutes."

  "She doesn't like hospit—"

  "You'll just be in the way." Beefy fists settled on her ample hips as she stared pointedly at his badge. "You can ask whatever questions you need to later."

  "I'm her…" Her what? Ex-fiancé?

  The nurse eyed him sternly. "Yes?"

  "All right." He turned and walked to the door of the waiting area. Then he pivoted and strode back to the curtained area that hid Devon.

  Restlessness churned through him. For a brief instant, Mace wished Linc were on staff at this hospital, then just as quickly decided it was best his brother wasn't here. Linc had never understood Devon's decision to break off the engagement, meaning he'd never quite forgiven her for dumping Mace. No, Devon didn't need to contend with Linc on top of this accident.

  The soothing murmur of the doctor's voice drifted to Mace. The odors of antiseptic and blood stung the air. Mace wanted to see her. How was she? Was she frozen in terror, as she had been when he and O'Kelly had been here last year?

  She laughed, a soft sound of agreement and the band around his chest eased somewhat, though impatience still raked through him.

  The minutes dragged by, but finally the curtain snapped open and a young, dark-haired man walked out, peeling off a pair of latex gloves.

  "You were the officer at the scene?"

  "Yes."

  "She'll be fine. Just sustained a scrape on her head when she hit the windshield. She didn't even need stitches."

  Mace exhaled in relief, his stomach settling. He probably would've reacted worse than Devon if stitches had been required. "Can I see her?"

  "She's ready to go." The doctor scribbled on a chart.

  At that moment, Devon walked up beside Mace, and he was grateful to see that faint color brushed her cheeks.

  She lightly touched the small bandage at her hairline. "No permanent damage."

  "Good." He smiled.

  As Devon finished up the paperwork and paid for her treatment, he wondered if he should voice his suspicions that someone might have tampered with her brakes. No one except he, O'Kelly and Captain Price were supposed to know about the statements Devon had given, yet it was possible someone could have learned of them.

  Mace meant to find out. And until he did, he wasn't going to leave Devon alone for a minute.

  He opened the door and she preceded him outside. "I guess you'll have to take me home."

  "No problem." He watched her carefully for any signs of groggy behavior even though the doctor had said there was no concussion. Armed with a prescribed pain reliever, she slid gracefully into the passenger side of the Mustang.

  "Oh, I forgot. I need to get my car."

  He closed her door and climbed in on the driver's side. "I'll take care of it."

  "I should have the wrecker tow it to a mechanic, I guess," she said faintly, fumbling with her seat belt. "Don't you think?"

  He was uncertain about how much to tell her. Mace drove out of the emergency-room portico and halted at a stop sign, keeping his eyes longer than necessary on the empty roadway.

  "Mace?"

  "Hmm."

  "What about my car?"

  He glanced at her and noted the sudden sharpness in her silver-green eyes.

  She shifted on the seat. "What are you not telling me?"

  Since when had she become so interested in learning unsavory details? Mace wondered if now was as good a time as any to find out if she had even an ounce of the strength she was going to need for the trial.

  "Something's going on and I want to know what it is." Her voice was slightly breathless, but otherwise calm.

  "Devon—"

  "You're scaring me."

  His gaze sliced toward her. He registered the fear that fringed her eyes and realized he was making things worse. "I had it towed to the lab downtown."

  "The lab?" Her voice rose and she winced then touched her head gingerly. "The pol
ice lab?"

  "Yes."

  "Why? I thought it was just a problem with the brakes."

  "Right." He took a deep breath. She needed to know, especially if his suspicions proved to be true. "I want to rule out the possibility that it was deliberate."

  "Delib—" She stared him full in the face. "You think someone did this? On purpose?"

  "It's possible." The itch on his back intensified, but he cautioned himself to wait for the lab report. "I want to be sure."

  "That's ridiculous! Why would anyone—"

  "Think about it, Dev."

  "Oh, it can't be." She dismissed the notion in exasperation. "Why? Because I went to the police station yesterday and gave a statement? That's just like a movie!"

  "It's no movie," he said tightly. His blood still hummed from her close call. "This way, the lab boys can tell us if something is wrong with your car or if someone tampered with it."

  Concern clouded her eyes; the scrape at her hairline looked stark and cruelly red. "And what if someone did?"

  "We'll deal with that when we find out."

  "When will that be?"

  "In the morning, sometime."

  "You'll call me?"

  He pursed his lips. He wasn't her protector anymore and could assign one of his men to her case, but he owed Bill. His decision had nothing to do with Devon. Nothing. "You'll be staying at my place tonight."

  Alarm darkened her eyes. "What?"

  "You can pick up some things, but you shouldn't be alone until we find out if this was deliberate or not."

  "I can't stay with you!"

  "You can and you will. Even if I have to sleep on the front porch."

  She rolled her eyes. "I think I can spend the night alone."

  "You can. But you won't. Not until I know what's going on."

  "I don't like it."

  "It's only one night, Devon. Just to be safe." She leveled a scathing look at him and he was reminded all over again of how she hadn't felt safe with him before. Wasn't that part of the reason she'd broken their engagement? He believed that, even if she wouldn't admit it.

  "Mace?"

  "Yeah." He turned onto her street.

  "If my brakes were deliberately cut, then someone found out about my statement."