Silenced Memories (Hidden Truths)

by Brittney Sahin

  Take a deep breath, Kate. You’ll be fine. She shut her eyes for a moment, allowing the music to fade into the background. Just breathe.

  She gave a nervous swallow as she opened her eyes and moved toward one of her employees, gliding in strappy heels across the ballroom floor. “How are things going?” she asked, trying to sound as upbeat as possible.

  The young brunette looked up at her boss and smiled. “Everything is perfect. The guests look happy. The mayor looks ecstatic. The music is divine.” She nodded and looked toward the orchestra, eying one of the base players, whom she seemed to find particularly delectable.

  “Excellent. I think you guys have everything covered. I’m going to go outside for a bit and get some fresh air.”

  “It’s pretty cold out. The forecast shows snow, which is way too early for November.”

  “I’ll be fine. I have a jacket.” She smiled, grabbed her jacket from the coat check, and reached the large set of glass doors, noticing a slight tremble in her hand.

  She ignored the alarm bells that sounded in her head as she stepped out onto the empty patio area. She rubbed her shoulders a bit, but the cool air was a welcome change to her heated and flushed skin.

  She looked up to see the sun beginning to set, offering a blur of orange and pink that settled midway in the sky.

  She tried not to feel a little empty as she glanced inside the ballroom through the glass doors, watching the happy couples move around the dance floor. She tried not to remember that she’d met Michael because she had been hired to plan his gala.

  But the memory of their first kiss, on the night of the ball, slipped into her head and filled her with a mixture of pleasure and sadness. She missed his lips. The way they tightened when he stared at her as if he was struggling to control his desire. How they made her body hum to life with every kiss.

  Breathe, Kate. How many times would she need to remind herself to breathe? Tonight was such an important night. Thoughts of Michael bopping around in her head would only get her in trouble.

  She forced her feet to move, to walk farther out into the maze that was the ghost of a garden. She found a bench and sat down, careful not to rip her dress as she pulled the soft coat snug to her body. She clasped her hands on her lap and shut her eyes. She needed a minute.

  Just one minute.

  “I thought that was you. What are you doing out in this frigid weather?”

  She looked up at Erick Jensen. Throughout the coordination of the event, she had spent a lot of time working with him—at his insistence. “Just taking a break,” she said, offering him a small smile. “How’s your wife? Feeling any better?”

  “She just has a touch of the stomach bug.” He took a seat next to her and rubbed his hands together. His black blazer was most likely not keeping him warm enough. “You did an amazing job tonight. Your mother would be proud.” He moved a little closer to her, his leg brushing up against hers.

  She gave a polite nod and forced herself to respond, “Thank you.”

  The touch of his cool hand against her cheek stunned her. She pulled her brows together and studied him with caution, her shoulders arching back a touch.

  “God, you’re stunning.”

  She ignored her nerves and moistened her lips. “Do you miss her? Elizabeth?”

  The pad of his thumb had brushed across her lips before he placed his hand on her thigh. “Having you here has made me miss her a lot more.”

  She could see him swallow. “The flowers you gave me two weeks ago—the white tulips . . . you said they were my mother’s favorite, right?”

  He nodded, his eyes darkening a touch as he focused on her mouth.

  “Do you ever visit her grave?” she asked in a steady voice, hoping he couldn’t hear the loud thumping of her heart.

  He tilted his head to the side and eyed her.

  “You loved her, didn’t you?” She started to stand.

  “Please, don’t go. Just wait.” He stood up next to her and reached for her arm.

  His hand on her forearm sparked a warning inside her, but she disregarded it. “Erick, please, just tell me—did you love her?”

  He looked up to the heavens and back at her again, his eyes ablaze with . . . something. “Yes.”

  “Do you want me? Do you want me because I look like her?” Kate’s eyes widened to a disproportionate size, and Erick’s mouth dropped open. He gaped at her in silence. “Erick?” She tilted her head and took a step back.

  “I did care very much for her, and you just look so much alike. It can be confusing.” He braced his hands on her shoulders, pulling her toward him. “Yes—yes, I want you.”

  “Then tell me the truth. Tell me what actually happened to her. I won’t blame you. I promise. I just need to know what happened.” Please, let this work. Oh God, please.

  Without responding, he reached for her, and his lips smacked against hers.

  She struggled against him and pulled free. “You killed her. You killed my mother. Admit it.” Her voice was raw now. And her body warm from adrenaline.

  Something inside Erick changed at that moment. He no longer studied her with a love-struck gaze. His face grew taut with emotion—with rage. “I want you, Kate. I need you. Let’s forget the past and just move forward.”

  “I love someone else.” She took a step back.

  He shook his head, his face twisting with anger. “No. You’ve been flirting with me these last few weeks. Wearing tight clothes and brushing up against me. You’ve been teasing me.” He shoved his hands through his hair before balling them into fists at his sides. “You’re a whore like your mother.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her against him, his hot breath on her face. “Your mother fucked me, made me fall in love with her, and then wouldn’t leave that asshole, David. She was everything to me. Fucking everything.” His voice, a low growl, echoed through the air.

  She could feel his spit on her face as he yelled. She tried to remain calm.

  “And you’re just like her—a manipulative bitch.”

  “Why kill her if you loved her?” Keep him talking, Kate.

  He tugged at her and forced her down the path, farther away from the ball.

  “No.” She fought back. She twisted and turned in his arms and slammed her heel into the top of his shoe.

  “Bitch!” He released his grip for a moment before seizing her arm again. “Your mother wouldn’t be with me, but—Goddamn it—you are.”

  “Let her go.” The voice roared through the air.

  Kate shut her eyes at the sound. No, not yet. I didn’t get it yet!

  Michael was on Erick in a split second. He reeled his hand back and socked him in the jaw, knocking him off his feet and to the ground. He kneeled down and reached for the lapels of his blazer before twisting Erick’s arms behind his back, effectively disabling him.

  “Get the police,” Michael yelled before shoving his knee into Erick’s back, pushing his face against the concrete.

  She wasn’t sure if she should leave Michael alone or not. His face was frightening to her. It was cold. Hard. Crimson with anger. If she left them alone, would Michael kill Erick?

  She needed to hurry. She chucked her heels and rushed with bare feet down the cold path to the ballroom, screaming for help as she neared the doors.

  The security guards were at their stations, and there was a crowd of police, as well. The Boston Police Department was being honored at the ball this year. “Help!” she hollered as loud as her lungs would allow.

  Everyone in the room stopped dancing, and the orchestra members dropped their bows. The party came to a screeching halt.

  She was shaking.

  The armed security guards and unarmed, uniformed police officers followed her down the trail. They rushed to action when they saw Michael standing over Erick’s body.

  The guards aimed their weapons at Michael. “Back away!”

  Michael looked up from Erick, his exhaled breath evident in the cool night. He held his hands up as
he locked eyes with Kate.

  “No. No, he’s the one who saved me,” she cried out, but no one seemed to hear. She watched in horror as they cuffed Michael and his eyes never left hers.

  ***

  “Explain what happened tonight,” the detective suggested while sitting across his desk from Kate.

  Kate glanced around the police department, wondering where they were holding Michael. Why wouldn’t they let him go already? But what had Michael been doing outside the ball to begin with?

  Kate looked down at her hands in her lap and back up at the green eyes of the middle-aged detective staring back at her. “I have something I would like you to hear.” She took an uneasy breath and reached into the pocket of her jacket.

  The detective cocked his head and leaned back in his chair as Kate set her phone on his desk.

  “Listen,” she said. She hit the play button.

  A few moments later, the detective squinted his eyes and leaned forward across his desk. “I didn’t hear him say he murdered your mother. Angry at her, yes . . . and he certainly came on to you.”

  Kate pressed her palms against the desk, knowing she needed to speak fast. “Twenty-seven years ago, in Charlotte, my mother, Elizabeth Merrill, was shot while she was eight months pregnant with me.” She continued to explain the story, as well as the events that had led up to Dustin Scott’s arrest two months ago. “You can verify the story with the FBI.” She leaned forward in her chair and focused on the detective’s green eyes, which were lit with distrust.

  “What finally tipped you off that Erick, a friend of the mayor’s, allegedly murdered your mother?” He scratched his chin and reached for a pen.

  “The flowers.” She blinked a few times, still a bit shocked by how everything had come together. “When I was in Charlotte, white tulips were left on my mother’s grave—and delivered to me anonymously at my hotel. I thought it was Dustin, but it wasn’t. Erick gave me the same flowers a few weeks ago, telling me they were my mother’s favorite. Something in my gut told me he was the guy.” She took a second to catch her breath, replaying the last few weeks in her mind. “I wasn’t sure, so I put my theory to the test. Flirted with him. Made him feel at ease with me. And then, tonight, I had hoped he would make his move—and he did.”

  “A little risky, don’t you think?” he said, looking up from whatever note he was jotting down.

  “I knew there were dozens of police officers at the ball. I wasn’t too worried.” Maybe it was a little stupid. “But I needed to draw him away from the ball a little. Make him feel comfortable.”

  “And then you secretly recorded him.”

  She nodded.

  “And your friend, Michael Maddox . . . was he a part of the plan?”

  No. “You’d have to ask him what he was doing there.” She bit her thumb, nervousness settling in now that the adrenaline rush had dissipated from her system.

  “I guess I’ll go talk to him myself.” He stood up from his desk. “Don’t go anywhere,” he warned before walking through the maze of desks and toward a closed room.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kate parallel parked her car and walked a block or so down the street to her brownstone apartment, feeling safe in the dark hour, even though she’d been attacked by Erick not too long ago. He was in custody, after all. They’d made the official arrest. Which meant Michael should be on his way back to Charlotte.

  The detective never told her what Michael had said to him, but it must have helped since Erick was now in jail. She wished she could have seen him, though. She would like to have thanked Michael, at the very least—and had the chance to ask him what he was doing at the ball.

  She felt like she was losing him all over again.

  As she neared her home, she came to a slow stop, just a few feet away from the steps. Her heart plummeted into her stomach with no parachute—there was no saving her.

  “Hi,” Michael said, looking up at her from the front stair.

  She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She stared at Michael. His hair stuck straight up like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. His jaw was tight, and his electric blue eyes looked pained. He was in a tuxedo. Only his tux was in pretty bad shape.

  He rose to his feet and approached Kate, who was still standing before him, a statue. “You okay?”

  “You’re here,” she muttered, toying with the straps of her purse.

  He stopped just inches from her. He pushed his hands into his pockets and swallowed. “Of course I’m here.”

  “How’d you know where I live?” Stupid question. This was Michael.

  He dipped his head down a fraction and looked up at her from beneath black lashes. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

  “For which part? Saving me? Or spying on me?”

  “I saw Erick’s wife a week ago.” He took a deep breath and continued. “She was stepping out of a limo alone, and I asked her who she was—and then I saw her necklace.” He reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. “Here,” he said while handing her a photo.

  Kate pinched her brows together as she stared at the photo of her mom.

  “His wife looked just like you, and had a necklace that looked like the one that was stolen from your mother.” He placed his hands in his pockets. “I did a little research, and I discovered that Erick had two other wives before this one. All of the women in his life had plastic surgery, becoming like clones of your mother.”

  Her mouth parted, showcasing her obvious shock. No wonder I never met his wife.

  “I told the police that if they obtained the necklace, the serial number of the diamond would most likely match the one from the police report in regards to your mother’s murder.” He cleared his throat and took a step back.

  “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “But it looks as though you already figured out who Erick really was . . .” He removed his hands from his pockets and rubbed the nape of his neck. “I can’t believe you approached him like that—alone.”

  She angled her chin up and studied him. “I guess I wasn’t alone after all.”

  “I went to the police as soon as I had my suspicions about Erick, but they wouldn’t listen to me. So I began following him. I didn’t want to tip him off, I was hoping to somehow catch him—but you beat me to it.”

  “Well, thank you for rescuing me.” She bit her lip for a moment. “Again.”

  “Am I too late?” His brows snapped together.

  His question had her taking a step back. In what direction had their conversation just turned? The pain his absence had inflicted upon her tugged at her heart. “Too late for what?” Before he could answer, she added, “I appreciate you saving me.” A hot thread of anger coursed through her all of a sudden. “You kept your promise to find my mother’s killer, and for that I’m grateful. But I’m not naïve enough to believe that means that you wa—” He silenced her with a finger to her lips, closing the gap between them.

  Oh God, Michael, I can’t handle any more heartbreak. She widened her eyes and stared into his killer blues.

  “Kate, I wanted you ever since the day you walked into my office—hell, the day you spilled your drink on me.” He removed his finger from her lips.

  Startled, she moved backward a little, needing space from his overwhelming presence. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “For more than just your body.” He wrinkled his brow. “Kate, can we talk inside? Please.” He moved forward, but she held up her hand, warning him back. “It’s cold. You’re shaking.”

  She averted her attention to the soft, powdery coating of snow that must have fallen while she was being held at the police station. But she wasn’t shaking from the cold. “Michael, I gave up on the idea of you.” She wanted to cry as her gaze drifted upward over his creased tux.

  He rubbed his hand against his own cheek. “I didn’t want to do this out here, but okay. I am not giving up without a fight.” He took a deep breath, choking a little on the bitt
er, November air.

  She crossed her arms, feeling the chill despite her thick coat—or maybe she just felt cold from the loss of his touch. The simple grace of his finger to her lips had warmed her body.

  “I told the military I’m not coming back.”

  She remained silent, her thoughts a frenzied mess.

  “I want to buy a home in Boston—if this is where you plan to live.”

  She dropped her purse to the ground, feeling too weak to hold its weight. Her knees trembled, despite the renewed spike in her body temperature.

  “I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

  Her lips twitched.

  “I wanted to try and get better before I saw you again. For the first time in my life, I realized I needed help. I wanted to work through my shit. And I wanted the nightmares gone.”

  She looked down at her purse, which was lying on the thin cushion of snow. “Two months isn’t a lot of time to work through what you dealt with in the Middle East. To get over your anti-relationship feelings.” She had to be realistic. She needed to think rationally.

  “I don’t have the nightmares anymore.” He took a step toward her. “I don’t think of myself as a murderer—even though I wanted to kill Erick.”

  And she’d almost wanted him to. She focused her attention on his mouth as he spoke, trying to fight her insatiable hunger for him.

  “I know I’ll need to keep seeing someone for a while—I know I’m not a hundred percent out of the woods. But I can’t wait any longer to be with you. I know it’s unfair of me to ask you this, when I am still so broken, but I promise I will get better for you—for us.”

  Oh God. His mouth was dangerously close to hers, and she could still smell his cologne, despite the fact that he’d been at the police station.

  “I need you, Kate. I want you.”

  She wasn’t sure if she was still breathing.

  “I’ve never said those words before. Ever. But I mean them—I need you.” His voice was deep and strained by emotion.

  She wanted to believe him, but she was scared. She had been hurt by him too many times. “What about the military, though?” Her voice broke as she spoke. “Are you serious about not going back? I don’t want you to think you have to choose.”