Desperate Strangers

Chapter Two

If there was prison time for lies told, throughout the long night Nick had earned a life sentence. Julie’s amnesia had been both a blessing and a curse.

He now sat in the hospital cafeteria with a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper in front of him. He turned the pages slowly, a knot inside his chest as he searched for a story about a specific murder.

Had anyone seen him on the street before the accident? Had some late-night soul peeked out the window in time to see him running by? Would all of his lies come to light?

He couldn’t get the vision of Brian out of his head. Who had murdered him? And what about the strange carving in his forehead? Did it mean anything or was it just a coincidence that it looked like a V?

He checked every single page, but there was no story in the paper about that particular murder. It was possible Brian’s body hadn’t even been found yet. He lived alone and Nick couldn’t imagine the creep had too many friends.

But Nick couldn’t be sure he was out of hot water yet. He thought of the 1970’s Son of Sam killer. David Berkowitz had terrorized New York by shooting eight people before a traffic ticket had led to his arrest.

And at the moment Nick’s car was parked on a residential street where it didn’t belong. No, Nick wouldn’t breathe easier until Brian McDowell’s killer was caught. Only then would he believe he was truly safe.

He shoved the paper aside and wrapped his hands around the foam cup of coffee. The murder wasn’t his only problem. Julie Peterson. He’d intentionally taken advantage of her amnesia to save his own butt, but somehow he now felt responsible for her.

She’d made it clear when she’d awakened that morning that she was depending on him to get her through this difficult period. She’d almost begged him to promise to stay close to her until her memories returned.

He’d thought to get her home from the hospital and then disappear from her life. But how could he do that to her? How could he take away the one thing she believed was true when she was obviously struggling with her missing memories?

It didn’t help that she had beautiful blue eyes that held more than a touch of vulnerability. It didn’t help that her heart-shaped face and spill of dark hair fired up a heat inside him he found both unexpected and unwanted. What a damn mess he’d made of things.

Right now the doctor was supposed to be writing out her release orders. They would be taking a taxi home because his car was still parked on a street where it didn’t belong. He had to figure out how in the hell he was going to get it and he needed to get it as soon as possible.

Julie had complained of a headache in the wee hours of the morning and they had given her something for pain. Nick wished somebody would give him something for the festering fear that tightened his chest to the point he could scarcely breathe.

He was terrified Julie would regain her memories and yet knew the only way to exit her life was for her to regain her memories. There was nothing worse than being an attempted murderer and having a conscience. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility that she already had a boyfriend. That would be a complication he definitely didn’t need.

It was a damned quagmire and right now he couldn’t see his way out of it. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Julie, who had only been an innocent victim in all this.

He hadn’t slept at all through the night. If it wasn’t a nurse coming in to check Julie’s vitals that kept sleep at bay, it was Julie softly calling his name to make sure he was still with her.

Checking his watch, he quickly downed the last of his coffee. He needed to get back to her room. She’d be anxiously waiting for him.

And she was waiting for him. Perched on the edge of the bed and dressed in the jeans and sleeveless blue blouse she’d been in when she’d crashed her car, she held papers in her hand and her IV had been removed.

She stood at the sight of him, her smile filled with relief. “I’m free to go. I just have to wait for a nurse to bring in a wheelchair.”

Once again he was struck by her beauty. Even with her beautiful blue eyes telegraphing a simmering panic, she was stunning. Her long, dark hair was slightly tousled. Her nose was straight and her lips were just full enough to tempt a man. If she didn’t have a man in her life, he’d wonder why.

“Nick?”

She pulled him from his wayward thoughts.

“I need to use your cell phone to call for a taxi,” he said.

“Of course.” She dug in the purse next to her on the bed and withdrew the phone. “Want me to grab your hoodie?”

“No!” The word snapped out of him. He smiled quickly. “I’ll get it. You just sit right there on the bed until your ride appears.”

That was all he needed...for her to grab his sweatshirt and the gun and other items to fall out into the open.

He made the call for a taxi, his nerves once again tightening his gut.

“Here we are,” a nurse named Nancy said as she pushed a wheelchair into the room. “First-class transportation for the patient.”

“This really isn’t necessary,” Julie said.

“Hospital protocol,” Nancy replied cheerfully. “No matter how you come in, you always go out in a wheelchair.”

Within twenty minutes they were getting into a taxi that would take them to her house. “I hope you can be patient with me,” she said once they were under way. “I’m going to have a million questions for you.” She grabbed his hand and held tight.

He tried not to remember the last time a woman had held his hand, but the memory exploded in his mind. Debbie...broken and stabbed on the marble entry floor of a vacant mansion...the odor of her blood rife in the air. Her eyes glazed as she fought to maintain consciousness. He’d fallen to her side despite the police officers attempting to keep him away.

That moment was etched deeply in his brain...the grief and the outrage, the disbelief and the overwhelming rage. He’d knelt beside her and had grasped her hand. “Debbie, who did this? Who did this to you, baby?” he’d cried.

“Winthrop.” The name whispered from her just before she coughed up a mouthful of blood. Her fingers suddenly tightened around his. “Be happy,” she’d said and then she was gone, forever stolen from him by an act of despicable inhumanity.

“...happy to be home.” Julie’s voice yanked him out of the nightmare of his past as the cab pulled to a halt in front of an attractive two-story house at the back end of a cul-de-sac.

She released his hand to get into her purse and pay the driver.

They both got out and the taxi pulled away.

Nick followed her to the front door, his chest tight with tension. Once they were inside, his lies would continue because he didn’t know what else to do.

He couldn’t very well confess to her the truth: that he’d used her and her accident because he’d been in the neighborhood to commit a murder and needed a fast alibi. His biggest concern now was getting his car off the residential street where it didn’t belong.

She opened the front door and he followed her into an entry hall with a black-and-gray-tiled floor. She dropped her keys in a basket on a small table and then took a step into what he assumed was the living area. And gasped.

A white-brick fireplace graced one wall. A black-leather sofa sat between two glass-topped end tables. The glass coffee table held a centerpiece that showcased red and bright yellow flowers. The furnishings were modern and tasteful, but the reason for her gasp was instantly evident.

The remnants of a floor lamp lay on the floor, the white-glass globe nothing more than glittering shards against the tiled floor. A large red candle also lay on the floor in front of the shattered glass of a painting on the wall.

She turned to look at Nick, her expression one of stunned surprise. “You said we fought...” Her voice trailed off.

He improvised. “We were both very angry. I broke the lamp and you threw the candle at the painting.”

Somebody had fought in this room. Of course, he had no idea what had happened in her living room the night before. She was so vulnerable without her memories. Now he wondered if somehow Julie was in danger.

What or who had she been running from last night?

* * *

THE BROKEN LAMP and the shattered glass from the painting horrified her. She’d never been a fighter and rarely lost her temper. At least she remembered that about herself from a year ago. What had happened in the past ten months that had turned her into a woman who would throw a candle at a beautiful painting? Who apparently didn’t have any control over her emotions?

Nick looked at the mess, grimaced and then gazed at her. “Let’s get all this cleaned up.” He set his hoodie down on one of the living room chairs.

She got a broom and dustpan from the utility room just off the kitchen and then returned to the living room where Nick had righted the floor lamp.

“This isn’t who we are,” he said as they worked on the cleanup. “We’ve both been under some stress and this was the first time something like this has ever happened between us.”

His words made her feel somewhat better, but they did nothing to staunch a faint, simmering fear that had been inside her since she’d regained consciousness in the ambulance.

She knew instinctively the fear didn’t come from being around Nick. Rather, strangely, he was a comfort, a solid anchor in a sea that had become alien.

They worked silently until all of the glass had been cleaned up. “I think I need to check out the whole house to orient myself,” she said as she dumped the last of the glass into the trash bin.

“That sounds like a good idea,” he replied. “I’ll come with you.”

She smiled gratefully. “I appreciate it.”

Thankfully the downstairs was exactly as she remembered it to be. Her hand slid up the oak banister and with each step she wished Nick would just hold her for a moment and tell her everything was going to be all right.

She groaned faintly as she climbed upward.

“Are you okay?” he asked from behind her.

“I’m fine, just sore. I have to admit I feel like I was run over by a truck.” Muscles she hadn’t known she possessed now protested her movements.

“The doctor warned us that you would probably be sore for the next couple of days,” he replied.

“I just hope everything up here is the same as I remember it,” she said when they reached the landing. “I’d feel more centered if there aren’t any more surprises.”

“I hope so, too,” he replied.

She breathed a quick sigh of relief as she walked straight down the hall and entered her bedroom. The coral-colored bedspread with turquoise throw pillows was achingly familiar. The knickknacks, the artwork on the wall, and the nightstands and dresser were just as she remembered them.

“You good?” he asked.

She turned and flashed him another smile. “So far, so good.”

A quick glance in the other two bedrooms further assured her that at least here, in her house, nothing had changed. The room she used as her home office still had paperwork strewed across the top of the desk and the other bedroom was an attractive and clean guest room.

Even as relief winged through her, an overwhelming exhaustion struck her. Her body was sore and her brain was working too hard to remember something—anything—from the past year.

She stepped closer to Nick and wrapped her arms around his waist. She leaned into him. “Just hold me a minute, please.” There was a moment of hesitation and then his arms surrounded her. Was the faint scent of his spicy cologne familiar? She wasn’t sure, but it was definitely appealing.

“I’m scared, Nick,” she whispered into the hollow of his throat. “I feel so lost right now. Could you stay here with me for a couple of days?”

Again, there was a small hesitation. “Of course,” he replied. “But I’ll need to go home and get some things.” He dropped his arms to his sides and reluctantly she stepped away from him.

“I’m sorry to be a pain.” She released a deep sigh. “I’m hoping my memories will return in the next day or so and then I won’t be so anxious.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just head to my house and pack up some clothes.”

They walked back downstairs and it wasn’t until they reached the living room again that she realized Nick didn’t have his car.

“I’ll need to drive you home,” she said.

“No,” he said sharply. He smiled then, as if aware his tone had been curt. “In case you forgot, your car is now in the shop, and besides, what you need to do is rest. It won’t take me long to get to my place and get back here.” He reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. “I don’t want you to worry about anything. Maybe you should try to nap while I’m gone. I know you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I am exhausted,” she admitted. She was definitely feeling the past night of too little sleep.

“Then get upstairs in that nice, comfortable bed and get some rest.”

“You’ll wake me when you get back?” she asked.

“I promise. I’ll have to wake you because I don’t have a key.”

She looked at him in surprise. “I’ve never given you a key?”

“You told me you’d give me a key on the day we got married.”

“Do I have a key to your house?” she asked.

“You did. I gave you one, but you lost it a couple of weeks ago. We hadn’t gotten around to having another one made for you.” He inched toward the front door. “Stop overthinking things and get some rest, Julie.” With those words, he walked out the front door.

Immediately she felt bereft and vulnerable. For the next few minutes she wandered around the living room, touching familiar items in an effort to calm the anxiety and the crazy simmer of fear that coursed through her.

Surely these emotions were normal for somebody suffering from amnesia. Her mind wasn’t her own right now. She was just grateful Nick had agreed to stay with her for the next few days. There had been comfort in his arms. That must speak to the strength of their relationship...of their love for each other.

How she wished she could remember the excitement of dating him and the joy of falling in love with him. She did remember being ready for love, wanting to get married and start a family of her own. It didn’t seem fair that she remembered wanting these things but had no memory of actually finding love with the very hot physical education teacher.

She’d sensed his hesitation to touch her, to hold her, and she understood it. He was in as awkward a position as she was. He knew she didn’t remember him, that he was basically a stranger to her. She was certain he didn’t know exactly how to treat her.

What he didn’t understand was that she took it on complete faith that he was her soul mate, otherwise she wouldn’t have been working on wedding plans with him. She wouldn’t be his fiancée without first knowing with utter certainty that he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Before her accident, she’d obviously decided he was that man.

A clenched hand of anxiety continued to grip both her heart and her brain. It had been there when she’d realized she had no memories of so much time and it hadn’t eased up since.

If she thought it might help to beat her fists against her skull, she’d do it. Hopefully, the doctor was right and now that she was home her memory would return quickly.

Sleep. She definitely needed to get some sleep and to stop thinking so much. Deciding to stretch out on the sofa instead of going all the way upstairs to her room, she was detoured by a flashing red light on the answering machine on one of the end tables.

Three new messages awaited her. She punched the play button.

“Hey, girly, where are you? You were supposed to open up shop this morning. Call me.” It was as if she’d just heard her father’s voice yesterday. Thank goodness he sounded strong and healthy.

“Where the hell are you?” The next voice spoke. “It’s bad enough I usually have to cover Casey’s shifts, but now you’re going to be a flake, too?” The message had been left by her older brother, Max. Some things never changed and the irritation in his voice was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat.

She needed to call her family and tell them about her accident. Max should know her well enough to know she’d never shirk her responsibility at the pawn shop for no reason. She wasn’t like their younger sister who often called in to get out of working. Or was she? She had no idea who she’d become over the past year.

“Don’t tell.”

She reeled back at the gravelly, unrecognizable voice that hissed over the machine. An icy chill instantly gripped her soul.

“You’d better not tell a soul or I promise I’ll kill you.”

The answering machine clicked off. Still, she remained unmoving, staring at the phone that had suddenly become an instrument of evil malevolence.

Was the call a joke? She instantly dismissed the idea. She knew instinctively that nobody she knew would think that kind of thing funny.

Oh, God, what did she know? What had she forgotten that was so important somebody would threaten to kill her to keep it a secret? Who had made that call? The Caller ID read “Anonymous.”

There was no way she was going to nap, not with that horrendous voice and threat ringing in her ears. Her legs trembled beneath her as she hurried to the front door and made sure it was locked. She then returned to the family room and sank down onto the sofa.

She needed Nick. Maybe he knew what this was all about. She hoped he hurried back because she’d never been so scared in her entire life.

Chapter Three

Nick ran out of the cul-de-sac, his brain on overload. All he wanted to do at the moment was move his car off the neighborhood street where he’d parked it last night. Had it only been last night? It felt like a lifetime ago.

His nerves were totally shot. It wasn’t just a lack of sleep that had him on edge. It was a combination of murder and lies that ricocheted around in his brain, leaving him with a nauseating anxiety.

First things first, he told himself. Get the car. He slowed his pace to a brisk walk as he reached the street where he’d parked the night before.

Relief washed over him as he saw in the distance that the car was still where he’d left it. The relief was short-lived as he drew closer and saw a man in the front yard next to where he’d parked.

His stomach knotted and his mouth dried. He’d hoped to get his car and get out of there without anyone seeing him. Hopefully, when the body was found, the police wouldn’t question people this far away from the scene. Would they?

The man was an older gentleman and he held a garden hose that spewed a small stream of water on a bed of red and purple petunias. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully as Nick approached the car.

“It’s a fine one,” Nick replied, grateful his voice held nothing of his apprehension.

“It’s going to be a hot one. Stay cool and have a good day,” the old man said.

“You, too,” Nick replied and quickly got into the car. He set the gun with the ski mask and the gloves all wrapped in his hoodie on the passenger seat, started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

Thank God there was no parking ticket under his wiper. And thank God none of the neighbors had gotten suspicious of a strange car parked on their street and had called the cops.

He headed for home, his heart thundering as he glanced at the hoodie. He wouldn’t feel better until he got rid of the gun. Even though it couldn’t be traced to Brian McDowell’s murder, Nick had no idea what other crime it might be traced to.

He had been instructed to throw it into the bushes at the crime scene, but when he’d seen Brian’s body, rational thought had fled his brain. Also the very last thing he wanted to do now was to toss it in a place where a kid might find it.