Chapter Fifteen

AT THE HOSPITAL, Jake gripped the arms of his chair, feeling like a man on a wild, out-of-control roller coaster as he waited for Emily’s test results. He hadn’t been allowed to stay with her, and her confusion pushed against his heart even as hope pushed it from the other direction. Could she be better? Could the bullet have moved to a place in her brain that no longer affected her? Or was her sudden lucidity, combined with the increased zone-out times she’d been experiencing, merely a nearing of the end?

He swallowed and his throat was painfully dry. He should call Markus Black and see what was going on with the case. He should also call Michael and Tess and make sure they were still safe. He should make both calls, but he didn’t reach for his phone. The edges of the chair arms bit into his fingers. He forced in a breath. His lungs burned. His throat burned. The tiles on the floor blurred together for a moment.

Then, without warning, Loafers moved into his line of vision. “Mr. Williams?”

Jake let his gaze move slowly up, past the gray trousers, white shirt, white lab coat and dark tie, to meet Dr. Sharp’s gaze. It was an ironic, almost funny, name for one of the greatest neurosurgeons in the coun­try, Jake thought. He didn’t speak to the doctor because he wasn’t cer­tain what might come out—a scream, a cry, begging? Or worse, he might start crying. So he just looked up as he continued to force in breath after breath.

Dr. Sharp didn’t speak either as he sat down beside him.

“This is the end, isn’t it?” Jake finally said. “It’s like rabies, right? She’ll be lucid and coherent for a day or two before her heart stops.” Jake squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment in hopes that when he opened them again, he’d find this was all a terrible nightmare.

Dr. Sharp cleared his throat, and Jake sucked in another deep breath as he tried to prepare for the worst. The breath didn’t help. Maybe he should ask for some oxygen. He was, after all, in a hospital. Oxygen was readily available.

“I don’t think so,” Dr. Sharp said softly.

“What?” He turned toward the doctor so quickly, he heard his neck pop.

“I don’t want to raise false hopes,” the doctor said, but it appears from the scan and the X-ray that the bullet is moving away from the center of the brain. If it continues moving, it will go to her temple, above her right ear, where we’ll be able to remove it.”

Jake let out his breath, feeling as if he’d been holding it for the last five minutes. “What does this mean?”

Dr. Sharp’s hand gripped his arm. “I don’t know for certain, Jake. Right now, she’s back to normal. She remembers her job, her life and you—everything her life was before she was shot. She remembers very little of the past two years, however. Other than this sudden reversal, has anything else unusual happened with her?”

Jake shrugged. “Other than the zone-outs, no.” Then he frowned. “That’s not exactly true. She knew Tess and Michael, two people who were at our house, even though she hadn’t met them before the shoot­ing. And she really did know them, even though there was no way she could. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

Dr. Sharp shook his head. “When it comes to the brain, there are a lot of ‘odd’ things, particularly when there’s been brain trauma, that can’t always be explained. The brain is a very complex machine. I can say, however, that at this point, it’s possible that Emily will have a nearly complete recovery.”

“When can I take her home? Her family will want to see her.” Jake said, although he wasn’t sure he was ready to share her with anyone else just yet. He wanted to just take her home and hold her in his arms until next week. Even then, that might not be long enough. He gripped the chair again to keep from jumping to his feet and kissing Dr. Sharp on both cheeks and then running down the hall, jumping up and down and whooping at the top of his lungs.

“You can take her home right now. I’ll go tell the staff to release her.”

With his heart so overjoyed that it felt as if it might pop out the front of his chest, Jake couldn’t remember if he’d even said thank you to the wonderful Dr. Sharp as he watched the man disappear through a nearby pair of swinging doors.

A moment later, Emily suddenly stood before him, but she seemed more bewildered than ever as she looked around the waiting room and then back at Jake. “It really has been two years, hasn’t it? The hospital looks different somehow, and yet it doesn’t. Does that make any sense? I mean I don’t know anybody here, and my head doesn’t even hurt. So why can’t I remember?”

Jake pulled himself to his feet and took her in his arms. “Don’t worry, my love. Please, don’t worry. Just let me hold you. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

She pulled away from him slightly. “But we do have to worry. About Tess. We should never have left Tess.”

Jake looked down at her, his heart pounding again, but this time in worry. “What about Tess?”

“She’s in danger, Jake. Really bad danger.”

MICHAEL CARRIED the drive-thru sacks that held some much-needed breakfast and followed Tess through her front door. “You’re hesitant.”

“This doesn’t feel like my house anymore, not like it did. I feel like he managed to worm his way in and make it dirty, even though all he really did was put flowers on the front porch. And then the guys in black suits came in here and finished the job for him,” she said, as they stepped into the living room.

“Well, I put off bringing you here for you as long as I could,” Michael said. “I kept you at the morgue until I thought you’d fall asleep on your feet. Then I took the long way back so you could watch the sun rise over the lake. Then I drove through a drive-thru and picked you up a ninety-nine cent heart attack in a bag—well, it was more like a dollar and ninety-nine cents.”

Tess smiled at his joke.

He smiled back. “I see what you’re really trying to do, you know.”

“What’s that?” she asked innocently.

“You’re putting off eating so this wonderful breakfast can get cold. Then you’ll tell me you can’t eat it at all.”

“Oh, you read me so well. The truth is, after experiencing your fantas­tic breakfast, no other can live up to it, certainly not this.” She took the bag from him, held it up and then deposited it on the coffee table. Then Tess sniffed, detecting an odd odor, as if something had died, but she couldn’t locate where the smell came from. “I guess it’s not really so bad in here. Maybe.”

“Well, if you’re not completely comfortable, you can pack another bag, open all the windows and stay with me while the place airs out,” Michael offered. “Or if you don’t want to stay here long enough to pack, I can take you to my place and just make you breakfast.”

“That sounds so nice, but I can’t believe how tired I am. I’m not sure I can walk another step. And I have a headache that just won’t go away.” She dropped onto the couch and closed her eyes.

“You didn’t get much rest last night. And do you have anything for your headache? I’ll get it for you.”

“It was packed in my bag.”

“Oh, your bag is still out in my trunk.” He stepped closer and gently fingered her hair before brushing his fingertips across her cheeks. She didn’t open her eyes. “Just rest. I’ll go get it, and I’ll be right back. You can take something for your headache, and we can eat this great take-out. Or if you don’t want it, I can see what I can find in your kitchen to make for you. You can rest. Then I can make you my world-famous lunch.”

“That sounds like a plan. Maybe I’ll feel better after I eat some­thing.”

Michael’s fingers lingered for another long moment as he wondered if he could coax her to shower with him and then they could sleep to­gether, locked in one another’s arms. But first things first. He’d get her bag so she could get rid of her headache and then he’d feed her. Gently, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers before he headed for the door.

Outside, the air was warmer than that of the previous rainy day. He looked up and thought that perhaps the sun might win the battle with the clouds today. He and Tess might get to finally enjoy a picnic. He’d sure like to kiss her in the sunshine.

He smiled at the thought and stepped off the porch, walking to his car at the curb. A neighbor drove past and waved as Michael opened the trunk. Nice neighborhood, he thought. And it hurt to know that a ma­niac had made Tess feel uncomfortable in her home, the one place where she should feel safe. He hoped it wasn’t a permanent problem. He knew very well how ghosts could haunt a person’s home.

After he pulled her bag from the trunk, he looked around again and took note of the breaking day.

He took the four steps to her porch in two of his own. But when he reached the front door, he noticed it was closed. He frowned at it. He didn’t remember closing it. Then he reached out and turned the handle.

The door was locked.

TESS LIKED WHAT she saw from the inside of her eyelids. Fatigue had hit her like a Mack truck—sudden and hard and equally unforgiving. True, the visions and her jump to the campground had left her ex­hausted, but her energy had been easily restored with a drink of tea and a bit of sugar. This fatigue was overwhelming, probably from days of little sleep and few meals to provide fuel. And Michael had been right. She no longer wanted her breakfast from a bag.

Without opening her eyes, she kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up onto the sofa. The only things missing were Michael’s warm, hard body and a cozy afghan. But the former would soon be remedied, she thought, as she heard the dull thud as he closed the trunk of his car. It would be only a matter of seconds before he was close again.

She felt herself begin to drift in that netherworld between wakeful­ness and sleep, when Michael touched her. It was sooner than she’d e­xpected. She hadn’t even heard the front door open or close.

The warmth of his hand on her cheek was subtle and hesitant. Know­ing he was being careful not to startle her, she smiled and reached up to place her hand over his.

His fingers were warm and sticky with wetness.

“What the . . .?” she began as she opened her eyes—and looked up into Raymond Bradford’s face.

His blood-covered hand still rested lightly on her cheek. And in his other hand, he held his knife.

The same knife he’d used to kill so many others.