Kitabı oku: «A Season To Believe», sayfa 4

Until yesterday—when he’d walked into Maxwell’s security office and gone to Jane’s defense.

And now, the idea that Jane had begun to remember, that there was a chance he might solve a crime that had its origins back in the days before Manny died, before he had given up the career he loved, seemed to promise that he could reawaken the passion he’d brought to his old job.

Slowly, as Matt continued to hold Jane, he became aware of the awakening of a different sort of passion, the kind that heated his body, tempted him to tighten his arms around the woman he was holding, to lower his mouth to kiss lips that were still softly parted with surprise.

He just as quickly became aware of how inappropriate it was to feel this way toward the subject of an investigation.

After checking to see that Jane had gained her footing, he released her and stepped back in one quick motion. Instantly, her eyes flew open, surprised and tinged with hurt.

A second later she shut her eyes and muttered, “Sorry,” in a voice more husky than usual.

Damn. Matt’s jaw tightened. Keeping his distance from Jane Ashbury was going to be a challenge, and today it might even prove to be a conflict of interest.

Yesterday he had watched Zoe carefully. Today he’d planned to copy the therapist’s methods, get Jane to relax in the hope that this would release those trapped memories of hers. Something told him that brusquely stepping away from her wasn’t the best way to go about this.

Or keep himself sane.

Chapter Five

“I didn’t see anything,” Jane said. Not sure her tone was light enough, she smiled wryly and said, “Well, other than you.”

A moment of silence followed Jane’s words. Then she heard Matt chuckle before he replied, “Good. But if you had seen the beach, it would have been my fault for not thinking to guide you out of the seat. I’ll do better now.” His hands tightened on her shoulders as he went on. “I need you to step to the left—I’m sorry, that would be your right—so I can close the door.”

Jane responded to his directions, sidestepping, then standing still when he requested. She heard the slam of the door, then the click of the key in the lock, all the while silently cursing herself for feeling so damn vulnerable.

She had to admit, it had felt wonderful, standing within Matt’s strong arms for those few moments, feeling his warmth envelop her, his strength support her. Sometimes she got so blasted tired of taking care of herself, pushing to become a woman of independent means who needed to rely on no one.

Of course, when he’d pushed her away it had become clear that she couldn’t afford to grow accustomed to that sort of feeling.

“Here—” Matt’s deep voice broke into her thoughts. “Take my hand.”

Matt’s fingers had barely brushed hers when she pulled her arm away and said, “I can manage myself.”

“No, you can’t.” Again he chuckled. “You remind me of my two-year-old cousin who’s always insisting, ‘Me do it.’ The path down the beach is uneven. If you don’t want to trip and fall, you’ll let me hold your hand and guide you.”

Jane hesitated. When she nodded, Matt’s large hand closed over hers, gave it a tug, and she began to walk. It took a few moments to focus on the sound of his feet on the sand so she could walk beside him instead of being towed down the path. With each step she grew even more aware of the strength and warmth radiating from the man at her side.

“Do we have far to walk?” she wondered out loud.

“Not really,” he replied. “You all right? Warm enough?”

His question brought Jane’s attention to the brisk breeze ruffling her hair and cooling her cheeks. “Yes, thanks to your suggestion.”

She touched the lapel of her dark blue fleece jacket to indicate her meaning. Matt didn’t reply, and for several minutes the only sound was the crunch of the sand beneath their feet and the occasional crash of a wave some distance in front of her. The silence seemed to beg to be filled, and Jane asked the first question that came to mind.

“Why did Detective Wilcox call you the Lone Ranger yesterday?”

More silence. Then Matt replied, “It was my nickname on the force. Until I was partnered with Manny, I preferred to work on my own whenever possible.”

“Why?”

“Just a quirk of my nature, I guess.”

Jane took a few steps before she said softly, “You miss him a lot, don’t you.”

For several seconds she heard only the sibilant whisper of waves breaking gently on the shore.

“Yeah, I do,” he said quietly, then his voice drew stronger. “Fortunately, my cousin Jack understands how I work. And I understand him. He’s always been drawn to the mystery aspect of law enforcement—tracking down the clues, hence his nickname—Sherlock Holmes—while I like the chase. We make a good team.”

“Do you charge a lot?”

“We try to keep our fees reasonable.”

“How much, exactly? Say, to find a murderer?”

Matt was quiet for a moment. “If you’re thinking of paying me, forget it. I want to find out who tried to kill you for myself as much as for you. Now—” he stopped walking “—we’re here. I want you to turn, like so. Take a deep breath, relax and take a look when you’re ready.”

Jane did as Matt ordered. When she opened her eyes, she was staring at a pale green sea beneath a watery blue sky.

“What do you think?” Matt asked. “Is this the place?”

Jane studied the seascape before her. “Well, the cliff over on the right does match the image I remember. But the colors of the sky and water are more washed out. And the waves were bigger, more aggressive than these.”

“Yeah, well, the waves here tend to be pretty anemic, from a surfer’s point of view,” Matt said slowly. “The beach faces southwest, so they come in at an angle, instead of bowling right into the shore. But try just staring at the water for a while, relax and see if anything comes.”

Jane gave him what she hoped was a cheerful smile. Yeah, right, she thought. Watching the curling surf was one thing. Relaxing? Now, that was another matter altogether. How was she supposed to relax when she knew the man standing next to her was waiting anxiously for something to happen—something, moreover, that she wasn’t sure she even wanted to come about.

However, Matt deserved her help in his quest for justice. Drawing a salt-laden breath, she released it, then repeated the action as she gazed straight ahead. She managed to breathe some softness into muscles tingling with awareness of Matt—but no memories came.

Finally she shook her head and turned to Matt. She caught his expression of disappointment before he had a chance to smile and shrug. Jane wasn’t fooled. She knew she’d let him down. This man, who had cheered all her efforts to walk again, to recover knowledge she’d forgotten; who had held her as she sobbed when that last disappointment had made her vow to stop searching for her past, stop trying to figure out who people wanted her to be.

The idea that she had failed Matt made Jane want to cry, something she hadn’t done since that day nearly sixteen months ago—something she wasn’t going to do now. As she had so many times since, Jane hardened the ache in her heart to anger.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she stepped away from him. “This isn’t working. I really don’t want to remember my past. For all I know, I was a thief, or a drug dealer, or something worse. After all, what does it say about the person I was that someone hated me enough to attempt to kill me?”

Matt was no longer smiling. In fact, as Jane glared up at him, his features twisted into an angry scowl. His hand reached out to close over hers with almost painful strength as he pulled her to him and bent his head toward hers.

“It doesn’t say a damn thing about you,” Matt said, his voice low, tight. “The fact that someone is driven to kill, only tells me about the perpetrator, not the victim. No matter what the crime, the victim is not at fault. And hey, we know you’ve never been arrested—or fingerprinted.”

Jane’s heart raced as his dark green eyes looked unwaveringly into hers. She watched as the deep vertical line between his eyebrows relaxed and his intent gaze softened to one of speculation.

“However,” he said, “I’m not sure if I’ve ever met an injured party less deserving of the term victim than you. You, my friend, are the epitome of the title Survivor.”

Matt’s words surprised sudden tears to her eyes, tears that she was not about to shed. She blinked them away, to find that Matt was now grinning.

“So,” he said, “your worries about what kind of person you were before you were injured? Forget ’em. It doesn’t matter who you were. What matters is who you are now, the person you have made yourself into.”

Jane thought her heart was going to pound itself right out of her chest. She could hardly believe this was happening. She’d dreamed so many times of a moment like this one. Even after Kyle Rogers had taught her, so very painfully, that her heart was not to be trusted, she’d held on to the belief that the one man in whose hands she could place the love she felt was Matt Sullivan.

She’d read all about her condition, knew that people who survived brain trauma often experienced bouts of hero worship, until their emotional states stabilized and matured. She believed that this explained how she’d fallen under Kyle’s spell, but she knew her feelings for Matt were different.

And now he stood looking down at her, his gaze holding hers with all the tenderness she could wish for.

“You’re wondering,” Matt said, “if it’s true that who you were isn’t important, then why am I pushing you to recall your past.”

Well, not really, Jane thought, but she wasn’t about to reveal her true thoughts, so she let him continue.

“It’s because the person you were is the key to the entire investigation.”

Jane’s heartbeat slowed. “Investigation?”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “The investigation into who tried to kill you. Once I learn who you were, I’ll be able to find out who knew you. Then, with any luck, I can determine which of these people had a motive to put an end to your life.”

Turning, Jane stared out over the sea. Great. She had the starring role in Matt Sullivan’s detective novel. Just what she wanted.

“You don’t have to force your memory.” Obviously misunderstanding her intent, Matt placed his hands on Jane’s shoulders and swiveled her toward him. “It was a crazy idea to bring you down here and think that making you stare at the ocean would result in some sort of epiphany. Besides, I’m getting hungry. Are you ready to go?”

Jane shrugged. “Sure.”

Matt took her hand, then turned and started back up the beach. Far ahead Jane could see a path leading to the parking lot above and to their left. She was surprised to realize how far she had come earlier with her eyes closed, conversing with Matt. The walk back now, in silence, seemed much longer. The wind was blowing harder, too, bringing bone-chilling moisture from the ocean. And beneath her feet, the uneven sand seemed to fight her desire to hurry away from this place of disappointment.

About thirty yards from the path, Matt stopped, bent forward and rubbed his right knee, then straightened and turned to her. “How about we take a little break before we head up to the car?”

It was on the tip of Jane’s tongue to say she wasn’t tired, when she connected his action to the injury he’d suffered. Uncertain just how sensitive he might be about the subject, she simply replied, “Sure,” then followed him to the dune on their left. When he sat down and leaned against the hill, she followed suit.

The wind seemed less biting at this level. Between the warmth of the sand against her back and the rays of the weak winter sun, Jane felt almost toasty within her soft fleece jacket. Gazing forward, she noticed that the surf had grown rougher. Each wave created a large head of foam as it rolled and crashed. The hypnotic motion and rhythmic whisper slowly teased the tension from her muscles, calmed her mind and coaxed her to shut her eyes.

Matt glanced over, saw that Jane had closed her eyes, and released a quiet sigh. He rarely used his knee as an excuse, even if it truly was hurting. The tiny ache now pulsing in that joint made the discomfort he’d implied a few moments earlier a half truth. But even if it had been an out-and-out lie, it would have been a worthwhile one, if it gave Jane the opportunity to stare at the sea without feeling she was expected to perform.

It appeared his ploy had worked.

Matt recalled now the question she’d posed earlier. Just how would he feel if she regained her memory, only to learn something horrible about her past? It wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility that the person she had been before the accident had been involved in some sort of illegal activity. Or, at least, involved with someone who worked on the other side of the law, someone who knew just how to set up a murder in a way that would leave no clue to their identity.

On the other hand, Jane might have been some rich heiress who stood between a fortune and some greedy miscreant. Either way, someone tried to kill her. And, if the strength she’d shown in the past year was any indication, he had no doubt that Jane would find a way to deal with whatever she learned about her former self.

So, yes, he was being relentless. And since his attempts to get her to relax enough had failed to produce any new memories, he was just going to have to try his other option—prodding.

“Jane,” he said softly.

She opened her eyes with a start, blinked once or twice, then turned to him and said, “I think I remembered something.”

Matt didn’t move a muscle. He held her gaze and forced himself to take several shallow breaths. “You want to tell me about it?”

Jane nodded, then frowned as if trying to bring some image to mind. “I didn’t recall seeing anything new,” she said slowly. “I dozed off, then I dreamed of the waves and the cliff off to the right. But this time I became aware of how I felt.”

She paused.

Every muscle in Matt’s body urged him to scream, You felt what? But he maintained silence.

“First there was anger—no, it was more like fury. Then I felt shame, or maybe embarrassment. That disappeared, almost like a door had been shut on it, and suddenly I was filled with this sense of determination, and a feeling of…of freedom.” She sounded surprised as she said this last word.

Matt held his breath, waiting for her to speak again. When she did, it was with a wry twist of her lips.

“Not exactly hard evidence, is it.”

“Nope. But it is another piece of the puzzle. And who knows? It might turn out to be important. However, for the moment, my leg is rested and now I’m truly famished.” He pushed himself off the dune, stood and extended his hand to Jane. “Let’s go find some food.”

Once they were back in the car, Matt was so busy formulating a plan to prod Jane’s memory further, he found it difficult to keep his attention on the road. It was after two o’clock by the time he found a parking space in Sausalito, almost three before he and Jane were sitting on a bench at the edge of the bay, unwrapping freshly made sandwiches from the deli on the opposite side of the street.

When his stomach was full and no longer emitting what had been an embarrassing set of growls, Matt sipped coffee from a plastic-domed paper cup and watched Jane follow the progress of the ferryboat gliding in the direction of Angel Island.

This respite suited his plans perfectly. Normally he’d be checking his watch, making sure to start for the city before the bridge became congested with cars full of folks on their way in to San Francisco for an evening of dining and entertainment. Today, however, there was no need to hurry, for the scheme he had in mind required two things—one, that Jane be unaware that there was a plan, and two, darkness.

So, when Jane turned to him, after tossing bits of bread to the circling seagulls, he suggested they stroll along the town’s main street and check out the shops and art galleries. Along the way, Jane found a shop that sold various hand-crafted items, and spoke to the manager about the possibility of placing some of her figures.

An hour and a half later, as they made their way slowly south over the crowded Golden Gate Bridge, Matt found himself wondering if the artistic abilities that had enabled Jane to find such success might be a clue to her past. He filed those musings away as they left the tollbooth. It was almost five-thirty. Dusk had fallen and the streetlights were coming on. The timing was right.

He glanced toward Jane. “Have you had a chance to see downtown San Francisco at night, all lit up for Christmas?”

“No. Yesterday, I had planned to stick around till dark to do just that, but…”

“I remember,” he said. “Would you like to go down now? See the lights, look at the decorations in the windows?”

Jane gazed at him for several seconds. He held his breath, wondering if she would ruin his plan by saying she was too tired.

A moment later, when she said, “Sure. It sounds like fun,” Matt relaxed. Step one was accomplished. The rest should be easy.

Chapter Six

The evening wasn’t going at all as Matt had planned.

If this had been a date, things would be proceeding swimmingly. The night was black and clear, perfect to show off San Francisco in her holiday finery. And Jane was obviously having a good time, exclaiming with childlike enthusiasm at the wreaths that decorated every utility pole, was delighted with the strolling bands of carolers garbed in Victorian costumes, and positively enchanted with the blaze of green, red and white lights that twinkled, blinked and glittered everywhere.

However, as the strains of “O, Christmas Tree” battled with the jangle of “Jingle Bell Rock,” Matt was beginning to get a headache.

He had counted on crowds. Knowing that large groups of people made Jane extremely uncomfortable, he’d figured that congested sidewalks, combined with the lights and the noise, would conspire to bring her to the panic state she’d been swept into yesterday at Maxwell’s Department Store, and perhaps prompt another memory. But, although there were quite a few people milling about, checking out the decorated windows or hurrying along burdened with shopping bags, it wasn’t nearly the mass of humanity he’d envisioned.

Matt released a frustrated sigh. Most likely the majority of the Thanksgiving weekend shopping fiends had already made off with their sale booty. The more sensible shoppers and the perennial procrastinators, like himself, probably figured that the big day was still weeks away, and were home enjoying turkey sandwiches.

He heard Jane echo his sigh. She stood next to him on the brick pathway in the center of the newly renovated Union Square, gazing at the blaze of light and color glimmering against the backdrop of the inky sky. Then her eyes met his and she smiled.

“I’m so glad you brought me down here. I was afraid I might get all Grinchy like I did yesterday. All the anger that boiled up must just have been a claustrophobic reaction of some sort, because I love all this. Even without snow, everything about Christmas is wonderful.”

Matt gave her weary smile. “Even eggnog?”

Her lips took on a sour twist and she gave a shudder. “Hey, maybe I’m allergic. But everything else is truly magical.”

Magical. Matt perked up. The work reminded him of something he hadn’t shown Jane yet, something that usually attracted the crowds he’d been hoping for.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve saved the best for last.”

Her dark eyes lit up like a five-year-old. “What?”

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “I’ll show you.”

As they made their way to the end of the square, then waited for the light to turn green, Matt became aware of just how many times that day he had held Jane’s hand in his. It felt surprisingly natural—not to mention pleasant and a little more than that….

The light turned green, and he led Jane across the street, then down one block and around the corner. And there, twenty feet away, some thirty people stood four- and five-feet deep in front of a huge plate-glass window.

“Isn’t that Bertrand’s Department Store?” Jane asked.

Matt nodded.

“What’s going on?”

“The store’s annual automated Christmas window. Bringing the kiddies to see it is the longest-running Christmas tradition in the city. Actually, of course, it draws people of all ages, even if they’ve seen it every year of their lives.”

Jane stared at the throng. Light flooded out of the window to cast a glow on the shoppers’ enthralled expressions. Her insides quivered at the size of the crowd, but something urged her to step forward and take her place in the back. Matt stood on her right, holding her hand, stepping forward each time a space opened up. In front of her stood a six-foot tall man with a small child perched on his shoulders. At frequent intervals the little fellow breathed an “ooh” or an “ahh,” piquing Jane’s curiosity and building her anticipation.

“Phillip. Ashley. Behave yourselves,” a woman admonished directly behind Jane. “You have to wait your turn.”

A shiver raced down Jane’s spine as she realized how hemmed in she was, with Matt on her right, the man with the child on his shoulders in front of her, and a tall woman on her left. The not-so-gentle bumps against her fanny warned that Phillip and Ashley were directly behind her. Obviously, they were small, but still she felt as if she were stuck in some narrow, airless hole.

A moment later, Jane realized that the man in front of her had started to move to one side. She heard him mutter “excuse me,” as he shuffled to his left. She immediately stepped into the space he’d vacated in front of the glass. There wasn’t yet room for Matt to stand next to her, but he still held her hand, pulling her arm back at an awkward angle. She slipped her fingers from his as she began to study the glass-enclosed display area.

The first thing she noticed was the rug on the floor. Old-fashioned in a pattern of stylized flowers and vines of gold, green and red on a black background, it looked like something one might see in a Victorian parlor. Except…the images all seemed much larger than on any rug she’d ever seen.

Out of the corner of her left eye she caught some motion. She glanced over to see a gray mouse sitting just outside a hole in the pale green wall. Or perhaps, judging by the fact that the furry creature was the size of a small cat, it was a rat. It now sat motionless, its large liquid brown eyes gazing at something above. Jane had just decided this animal must not have been the source of the movement that had caught her attention, when suddenly its slender whiskers quivered, its tail twitched and its gaze lowered.

It appeared to be staring at something on the opposite side of the enclosure. Jane looked to the right. At the far end of the display, a huge leather chair stood at least six feet tall. The area beneath the seat was high enough for a small child to sit straight up, and within those shadows crouched a marmalade tabby cat the size of a Rottweiler. Its green eyes narrowed as it glared across the room, its tail snaked back and fourth as it obviously considered the mouse.

The cat edged forward as if preparing to pounce, only to blink and look up toward the back of the room. Jane did likewise. A breathless “ahh” escaped her throat as the meaning of the oversize animals and furniture became clear.

She was looking at a small child’s view of Christmas morning. A mountain of toys, balls, dolls and stuffed animals, all at least three times larger than normal, nestled beneath the enormous evergreen branches that filled the back wall and upper portion of the display, rising a full three stories. Ornaments the size of beach balls hung from the lower limbs. As Jane watched, a slender oval of gold glass began to turn slowly, then to glow, finally becoming transparent to reveal a gossamer-winged fairy dancing within.

As more of the toys moved, Jane felt something brush her right shoulder. Glancing over, she saw Matt standing at her side, gave him a quick smile, then turned her attention to the magical sight beyond the glass.

She hardly knew where to look next. From the corner on her left, a black locomotive emerged from the tunnel formed by a large pile of wrapped packages. Murmurs of delight came from the crowd as a little train chugged around the perimeter of the assembled toys and colorful presents.

For some reason Jane felt compelled to look upward, into the dark green branches above. There, her attention was caught and held by a star-shaped ornament hanging from the uppermost branch. A combination of crystal and silver formed the star’s eight arms, catching and reflecting the light as it rotated slowly. Jane gasped and started to point it out to Matt, but as she lifted her hand, she had the strangest feeling she’d preformed this action before.

That thought had barely crossed her mind, when the scene before her eyes changed. As if in a dream, the ornament seemed to dangle just above her. Two slender arms clad in red velvet sleeves rose in front of her, as if they were her own. A small hand extended from lace cuffs, reaching for the crystal star. The crystal star was held by perfectly manicured but gnarled fingers. Above and behind the aged hands, she saw a woman with deeply wrinkled features framed by a mound of snowy white hair. The woman smiled widely and more wrinkles appeared, especially at the outer corners of her crinkling blue eyes, and suddenly the uplifted arms were reaching for the woman, not the glittering star. A glorious warmth filled Jane’s heart as the old woman—

Disappeared, along with the star, as Jane fell forward and struck her cheek against the cold plate-glass window.

She felt the pressure on her lower back only seconds before it was removed. She heard “Phillip! I told you to wait your turn,” as she placed her hands against the glass and tried to straighten. Behind her, the woman hissed, “Stop that, Phillip. Don’t you dare kick me. I’m going to have to—”

Jane lost interest in whatever punishment was in store for the little brat. She only knew that he had started kicking. One of his shoes had connected with the back of her left knee. Now, as she fell, she pressed her palms against the window. They squealed across the cold surface.

Time seemed to slow. Jane found herself wondering why no one was standing on her left, thinking it would be preferable to collide with the relative softness of a stranger’s shoulder than the granite sidewalk. Then her heart began to race as she thought about the people surrounding her, the shoes that might trample her, the—

Something—someone—grabbed her right arm. Fingers bit into her flesh, tugging her upright. She’d barely regained her footing, when a strong arm encircled her waist and another slipped beneath her knees. A second later she was lifted into the air, cradled against someone’s broad chest.

Jane knew the “someone” was Matt even before she looked into his worried face. She saw his lips move, heard him mutter “excuse me,” as she was carried through the smothering crowd. Once free, he strode on, stopping at the corner of the building beneath a streetlight. His eyes met hers, narrowed with anger.

“Are you all right?”

Jane nodded. “Yes. Thanks to you.”

“Blasted kid.” Matt lifted his head to glare over her head, in the direction of the crowd. “I should go back and—”

“No,” Jane broke in. His eyes met hers. “It wasn’t his fault, not entirely. It’s late. He’s probably tired, and got impatient waiting while I stood there…”

As her words trailed off, Jane again envisioned the star ornament and the wrinkled, kindly face of the old woman. It faded just as swiftly. A bittersweet ache filled her chest, and Matt’s features began to blur. By the time she realized that warm tears had filled her eyes, one of them had spilled onto her right cheek, then another onto her left. She blinked and two more followed.

“You are hurt. Is it your leg, or did I pull your shoulder when I grabbed—”

Jane shook her head. She drew a deep breath and forced words past the odd lump in her throat. “I’m not hurt.”

Matt paused, then said, “I’m going to put you down.”

Only half of Jane’s mind registered Matt’s words. The other half was reaching for that image of the old woman, wondering who she was and why the thought of her should have made Jane cry. Then she became aware of Matt again, felt the arm around her waist tighten as the one beneath her knees slipped away. She was lowered slowly until her feet reached the ground, was held in his arms, breathing in his musky scent several seconds, before Matt released his hold on her waist. She slowly raised her head. He looked into her eyes for a long time, his full of concern and some other emotion she couldn’t quite decipher.

“Everything okay?” he asked at last.

Other than the fact that you’re no longer holding me, came her silent reply.

Jane forced away the sudden feeling of abandonment and made herself smile. “I’m fine. Really.”

Matt continued to look into her eyes. She felt something warm brush gently across her cheek. Matt’s thumb, she realized as his hand reached across to wipe the tears from the other side of her face.

“Then, why were you crying?”

Matt’s features were tight, his eyes warm and caring. Jane felt a rush of emotion—happiness, hope, longing. A nervous giggle escaped her chest. Then she shook her head and replied, “I had another memory.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. Jane hurried on. “It wasn’t much. Just the image of an old woman handing me an ornament.”

“But it made you cry.”