FIFTY-FOUR

MIKE

SHE’S still Clare.

Lying awake in the dark, Mike smiled, marveling at that outstanding discovery. He hadn’t known her all those years ago, raw from the pain of her broken marriage, but the circumstances didn’t matter. She was still the woman he loved. When she had quickly flipped the tables on Allegro, then flashed him that secret wink, he wanted to grab her and kiss her.

Her memories might be blocked, but her quick, curious mind and dry sense of humor were still there. Her lively green eyes were as beautiful as ever, and still noticing the littlest things.

Sitting next to her downstairs, he’d used every ounce of control not to touch her or scare her with his racing thoughts and emotions.

Earlier in the evening, when she’d passed out on him, and he’d taken care of her, making sure her vitals were strong, he imagined her waking up and remembering him, inviting him to join her in bed. He fantasized pulling her to him, enjoying a deep, long kiss, tugging off her clothes, and—

Punching the pillows, Mike propped himself up, clasped his hands behind his head, and exhaled hard. He’d never get to sleep if he didn’t stop thinking of her, right there in the next room.

With the house so quiet, he held his breath, listening for any sign of her stirring or calling out. All he heard was Allegro snoring.

At least someone is getting some shut-eye.

For the third time, Mike checked his mobile. There was nothing new from anyone, including Franco or the Fish Squad. This weekend would be a challenge—on many fronts—but he was grateful for one thing. Tonight, Clare had stood up for him. She was back on his side. That was progress, though not enough.

Outside the window, tree branches swayed in the moonlight, casting odd reflections on the walls and ceiling. That was what he was to Clare now, a vague impression, a mental shadow. It was devastating the way she looked at him, a real gut punch to be treated as a stranger.

Mike had years of experience responding to human traumas—from tragic to absurd. He was familiar with the effects of dementia and brain damage. But this bizarre form of amnesia was something he’d never encountered.

Lorca said he’d tried hypnosis, with no result. If more therapies failed, Mike knew what task was ahead of him, but—

How do you make a woman who once loved you fall in love again?

Thinking back on his years getting to know Clare, he could remember things they’d said and done, but he couldn’t say exactly when or why her feelings for him went from platonic “like” to something more.

He needed to discover that place again. He had to, because he couldn’t take losing her. Life would go on, but not the way he wanted, not the way it could have been.

“Don’t be discouraged.”

Hearing her voice in his head, Mike closed his eyes.

Back when he was a young cop, he had played the field a bit, but he’d been far from a playboy. When a gorgeous young model became enamored with him after he’d arrested her stalker, he thought he was the luckiest guy in the world. But she’d glamorized his job, and he’d romanticized their relationship. His buddies on the force had, too, slapping his back with envy.

Once he married Leila, reality set in. Mike went from being her knight in blue to a “square-jawed bore.” There were too many long hours and sad stories for her liking, too many tough guys from hard walks in his world.

Eventually, Leila left him for a new husband, after a series of affairs with the class of men who had less baggage and more bank. The whole marriage had scorched his soul, left him feeling less of a man, dead and buried.

It was Clare who’d resurrected him. From the beginning, she admired his vocation instead of shunning it. She was always happy to lend an ear or a piece of advice. She genuinely loved the city and her job serving its people, the ones he also served—and swore to protect.

There were bad days. Lots of them. New York had a sunny side, but most of what Mike saw was an ocean of urban despair. These past few years, whenever cynicism sank his spirit, Clare’s faith showed him a way back to the surface. How could he lose that light?

“Don’t be discouraged.”

Were Clare’s words a sign that her memories of him were still intact? Still reachable? He hoped so. As sleep finally overtook him, he let that hope become his dream.