Twelve more days. Where before Colette couldn’t wait for the days to count down, she now found herself wishing each day would last forever.
No longer able to fool herself, she knew she had fallen in love with Hank. And she couldn’t help but believe that Hank had feelings for her, as well. Although he didn’t say anything, continued to hold on to his silly rules of no commitment, no promises, Colette saw promises in his eyes each time they made love. She’d tasted unspoken promises on his lips as they kissed. She didn’t know exactly what the future held, but she wanted Hank to be a part of hers.
She stretched languidly against the cotton sheets, knowing she should get up, but reluctant to leave the cocoon of the sheets that still held the residual scent of Hank’s cologne.
She knew Hank was probably already up. Although he’d remained in her room making love to her into the night, he’d slept alone in the second bedroom. She’d discovered he was a man who required little sleep, but had voracious appetites in all other areas. She smiled, her body still tingling with remembered sensations of his caresses.
They’d spent the day yesterday playing cards to pass the time. Unsurprisingly, she’d found him to be fiercely competitive. During the card games, he’d relaxed enough to talk, telling her stories of his youth that only deepened her feelings for him. He’d spoken of growing up a wild child who communed with horses and hunted pretend criminals with a wooden gun. He spoke lovingly of his mother, his eyes dark with pain when he talked of her death.
Colette got out of bed, suddenly eager to spend every minute of the day with him. She showered and dressed quickly, then seeing that Brook was still sleeping, she went into the kitchen.
Hank sat at the table, a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked up as she entered. “I spoke to the boss a little while ago. They’re sending out a doctor to talk to you this morning.”
“A doctor?” She poured herself a cup of coffee and joined him at the table. “To try to get my memory back?”
He nodded and eyed her intently. “Scared?”
“A little.” She smiled gratefully as he reached out and touched her hand reassuringly. “I keep thinking there’s something bad in my memory…something besides the murder.”
He pulled his hand back and looked down into his coffee. “Whatever it is, it’s possible you’ll know soon.” He reared back in his chair, his eyes dark and enigmatic. “Before long this will all be behind you, nothing but a distant memory. You’ll go back to your life and find some nice man to marry.”
“Don’t, Colette.” The front legs of his chair hit the floor and he held up a hand, as if he knew the words of love she wanted to blurt, those that burned to be said. “You know my rules. We’ve managed to make it through a lot together, and found an enjoyable way to pass the time.”
“An enjoyable way to pass the time?” Colette’s heart ached. She’d thought…she’d hoped…had she been so mistaken? No, she hadn’t imagined the tenderness in his gaze, the love that had flowed from him in unguarded moments.
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe that’s all it was for you. There’s more between us than that. I’m in your heart, Hank.”
He smiled, not a pleasant one, his eyes as cold as death. “That’s impossible, my sweet little coquette. It’s impossible because I don’t have a heart.” He stood. “I’m going to watch the news.” He disappeared into the living room and a moment later the sound of the portable television filled the house.
Colette remained at the table, her heart aching with his words. Funny, even this particular heart pain seemed familiar. Was it possible she’d experienced this same kind of thing with Brook’s father? Had she mistaken lust for love and he’d rejected her? Had she been a naive little fool not only with Hank, but with another man, as well?
She drew in a weary breath. Hopefully she’d have all the answers soon. Hopefully the doctor would be able to retrieve not only the memories the prosecution needed to put away Collier, but also the personal memories she needed to know.
She was working on her second cup of coffee when Hank stuck his head through the doorway. “The doctor is here,” he said.
Fear mingled with anticipation. She stood and smoothed her hands down the side of her sweatpants, nervous, scared…anxious of the answers she might receive, not only about the crime, but about the kind of woman she was. Taking a deep breath, she left the kitchen.
The doctor was a burly man with glasses that couldn’t hide his piercing, cold blue eyes. He shook Colette’s hand, introducing himself as Dr. Wallace, then turned and looked at Hank. “Perhaps you could get a breath of fresh air or take a walk. A patient generally relaxes more easily if it’s only the two of us working together.” Hank hesitated and Dr. Wallace smiled. “I’m a cop first, a therapist second.” He patted a bulge beneath his coat jacket. “She’ll be fine with me.”
Hank hesitated a long moment, then nodded and disappeared out the front door. Dr. Wallace turned to Colette and smiled, a gesture that did nothing to alleviate the cold harshness of his eyes. “Now, my dear, if you’ll have a seat right there on the sofa, we’ll get started.”
Colette sank down onto the sofa, her heart thudding with anxiety. “Are you going to hypnotize me?”
“No, my dear.” Dr. Wallace eased down into the chair across from where she sat. “At least not right now. For the moment we’re just going to talk.” He crossed his legs and pulled a small notebook and pen from his breast pocket. “Now, tell me any memories you have about working at Cameron Collier’s law firm.”
“I don’t have any.”
Dr. Wallace frowned at her. “Close your eyes and think for a moment…the memories are there in your head, all you have to do is retrieve them.”
Dutifully Colette closed her eyes, wanting desperately to remember something, anything. She frowned, searching, digging, trying to pierce the black shroud that fogged her mind. Nothing. She opened her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything. But I’ve had some dreams,” she offered.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
It didn’t take long for her to relay what little information her recurring dream contained. “I know it’s not much,” she finished.
“You wouldn’t be faking this bout of amnesia in an effort not to testify, would you?”
“No.” Colette laughed uneasily. “If only I were everything would be much easier. I want to testify, I want to do whatever I can to get Collier behind bars, but I can’t tell what I don’t remember.”
“And beyond your dream, you don’t remember hearing a conversation between Collier and another man?”
“No.”
“And you don’t remember being chased down the hallways of the law offices?”
“No.”
“Ask the lady if she remembers cutting me.”
The voice came from the kitchen doorway. Colette whirled around to see Bob Sanderson standing there. And in the instant of seeing him here, where he didn’t belong, Colette’s memories whirled, her brain tilted and all her memories locked into place.
It had been Bob’s voice she’d heard in Collier’s office. It had been Bob who’d chased her down the hallway. Bob was Collier’s hit man.
Colette jerked back around to face the doctor, seeking help. To her horror, the doctor tucked his notebook and pen back in his pocket and stood. “I’ll just leave you two old friends to get reacquainted,” he said, then without a backward glance, he left the house.
* * *
HANK WALKED down the sidewalk, the sun warm on his back, his thoughts filled with Colette. All along he’d known he was playing with fire, loving her in bed, attempting to distance himself from her when out of bed.
It had been the same before she’d run, before she’d lost her memories. He’d found himself getting too deeply involved with her. Damn her for crawling beneath his defenses, for making him forget his own rules, for making him remember the promise of hope, the joy of love.
In any case, it didn’t matter. Once the doctor helped her get back her memory, she’d remember everything. Not only would she remember the murder, the identity of the hit man, but also the fact that he’d turned his back on her when she’d needed him most. She’d remember she hated him.
It was better that way. He kicked at a stone and watched it skitter across the sidewalk and into the street. Better she hate him than know the truth; that he loved her and was too afraid to do anything about it.
As he came to the intersection that would carry him into the next block, he turned and started back the way he’d come. He wondered how long the doctor would be. Funny, he thought, over the years he’d talked to every psychiatrist the department had on staff, but he couldn’t remember ever hearing anyone mention a Dr. Wallace.
A bad feeling rose in his stomach, an instinctive knot of knowledge that screamed something was wrong. He should have never left the house, should never have left her alone with the doctor. Dammit. He’d been in such a hurry to leave because of the personal tension between him and Colette, he’d made a stupid, rookie mistake.
He quickened his pace back to the house, each step causing an increase of tension. When he was two houses away, he broke into a run, all his instincts shouting danger.
It’s probably nothing, he tried to assure himself. Just because he’d never personally heard of Dr. Wallace wasn’t cause for undue alarm. Still, his instincts refused to quiet beneath the calm rationale.
His bad feeling increased when he reached the house and discovered all the draperies tightly drawn, making it impossible for him to see what transpired inside.
Maybe they closed them to allow Colette no distractions. Maybe a dark room was necessary for whatever methods Dr. Wallace was using as therapy. All the maybes his mind could conjure didn’t still his frantic-beating heart, the bad taste in his mouth that told him something was horribly wrong.
He crept around to the back of the house. Peeking into the window, he saw nothing in the kitchen to arouse any suspicion. He tested the back door and found it locked, just as it had been when he’d left the house. Moving farther down the back of the house, he came to the window of the bedroom where Colette had been sleeping. Peering inside, he saw Brook, asleep in the crib. Again intellect fought with instinct. Nothing looked wrong, but Hank felt wrong.
He leaned against the side of the house and pulled his gun from the top of his boot. Now what? He could burst through the front door, gun drawn and hopefully if something was amiss, he’d get a jump on the situation. The worse that could happen would be that he’d disrupt the doctor’s work and scare Colette with his unnecessary heroics.
Or, he could play stupid, get back inside and assess the situation coolly and calmly. He replaced the gun in his boot top, then walked up to the front door and turned the knob, surprised to find it locked.
“Colette? Open the door.”
There was a moment of silence. “Hank, we aren’t finished yet.” Colette’s voice drifted through the wooden door.
“That’s all right. I’ll go into one of the bedrooms. Just let me in, it’s hot out here.”
Again his words were met with pregnant silence, then the soft click of the door being unlocked. Colette opened the door, her eyes wide with some emotion Hank couldn’t decipher. “Hank…” She was jerked aside and Hank found himself facing the barrel of a gun.
“Well, well. Looks like old home week. Hank, come on in and join us. Colette and I have been reminiscing about our past.” He motioned Hank inside and to the sofa, then shoved Colette down next to Hank.
“It was him,” Colette said to Hank. “He’s the one I heard in Collier’s office. I remember. I remember it all.” Her eyes were wide with terror. “I heard their conversation, talking about the death of the councilman. When I turned to leave, I knocked a book off the desk. He…he chased me, but I got away.”
“But I found you again.” Bob eased himself down in the chair facing them, the gun never wavering. “I found you in Las Vegas.”
She nodded, seemingly dazed with the memory. “You chased me through a casino.”
“And when I caught you, you did this to me.” He stroked the length of the scar on his cheek.
“I had a key in my hand…my room key. The blood. There was so much blood. That’s when I lost it. That’s what stole my memories…all that blood.” She closed her eyes, her face paper white.
Hank’s fingers itched to pull his gun, but he stifled the impulse, knowing if he wasn’t quick enough Bob would manage to get a shot at Colette. Patience, he told himself, hoping the right opportunity would present itself to get both himself and Colette out of this mess.
“So, you’re the one who pushed Colette down that root cellar at the ranch,” Hank said.
Bob nodded. “She wasn’t supposed to be found.”
“And you pushed me off the butte,” Colette added.
The gunman frowned. “That wasn’t me. Maybe you’ve got more enemies than you know about at the ranch. All I know is you’ve been one pain in Mr. Collier’s behind.”
“And you’re going to do Collier’s dirty work,” Hank returned. “Collier never gets his hands dirty. He always hires big, stupid bozos like you.”
Bob laughed. “You think you can rile me by calling me stupid? Get me angry so I make a mistake?” He laughed again. “I’m not doing this for Collier.” He pointed the gun at Colette’s forehead as his other hand crept up to touch his scar. “This one is just for me. Bang!”
Colette jumped, Hank swore and Bob laughed harder. His laughter died and his gaze grew hard. “Well, this little walk down memory lane has been nice, but it’s time to finish this.” He stood. “What I have in mind is a murder/suicide scene. Hank here kills Colette, then overwhelmed with grief, kills himself.”
“Nobody will believe that,” Hank scoffed. His heart pounded frantically as he tried to figure how to get to Bob before Bob got to Colette. As long as Bob held the gun firmly trained on Colette, Hank couldn’t take any chances.
“Ultimately I don’t care what anyone believes. As long as both of you are dead, nobody can point a finger at me or Mr. Collier. Now, let’s go slowly into the bedroom. If you cooperate, I’ll even let you kiss each other goodbye.”
Knowing no perfect opportunity was going to present itself, as Hank stood he grabbed the gun from his boot. As he shot, he threw himself in front of Colette.
He had the satisfaction of watching Bob sprawl to the floor before Hank became aware of a searing, burning pain in his chest. He heard Colette scream as he crumpled to the floor.
“Hank, oh, God…Hank.” Colette fell to her knees by his side.
“Call 9-1-1,” he whispered, fighting the blackness of unconsciousness, knowing if he gave in to it, he’d never wake up.
Colette scrambled to the phone and dialed the emergency number. As she screamed into the receiver, Hank raised his head to see how badly he’d been hit. Bad. Blood seeped far too quickly from the wound in his upper chest. If medical attention didn’t happen quickly, he feared he would bleed to death.
Colette hung up the receiver and crawled back over to him. “Hang on, Hank. Help is on the way.”
Again darkness danced at the edges of his vision, beckoning him into the dark void where he wouldn’t feel the pain. He fought it, breathing shallow, fiery breaths as his lifeblood continued to drain. “Colette, you have to help me.” He closed his eyes, finding the act of speech exhausting.
“What should I do? Tell me what to do.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her, saw the tears that sparkled on her lashes, the fear that trembled her lips. “Get a towel or something. You need to stanch the bleeding.”
She left him and was back in a moment, a bath towel in hand. As she leaned over him to position the towel on the wound, he saw that her face was void of all color. “So much blood…” she murmured faintly. She swayed as if fighting a faint.
“I’ll do it,” he said, knowing how the sight of blood affected her. He tried to raise his hand to place it on the towel.
“No.” She inhaled a tremulous breath. “I’ll do it.” She seemed to draw from a source of strength he didn’t know she possessed. Placing her hands on the towel, she gazed into his eyes. “You saved my life.”
He forced a smile. “That’s my job.”
“You’re Brook’s father.” Tears splashed on her cheeks. It wasn’t a question and he didn’t answer. “You lied when you told me I was pregnant before overhearing Collier. You’re Brook’s father and you didn’t want her. You didn’t want me. That’s why I ran from you.”
Sirens wailed in the distance, signaling their approach. Hank closed his eyes once again, not wanting to see the pain reflected in her eyes. “I never made any promises. You said you expected nothing from me. You promised you understood the rules.”
“It’s a promise I can’t keep.” Her voice was thick with tears. “Damn you, Hank. I love you.”
“I’m sorry,” he breathed softly, then gave in to the darkness that beckoned.