Читать книгу Fade To Black - Amanda Stevens - Страница 8

A little while later, Jessica sat on the window seat in the dining room and watched the street for her brother’s car. How long had it been since she’d cried? she wondered. Not since Max had been born. Not since she’d decided that never again would she depend on anyone but herself. Not since she’d vowed that she would never love again because everyone she’d ever loved had left her.

Except Max.

She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, hugging them close. It was an instinctive response to her pain and confusion. For the first few days in every foster home she’d ever been assigned to, Jessica had similarly retreated into herself, had hugged herself tightly as though recalling the feel of her mother’s arms around her. Finally, though, after so many homes she’d lost count, she could no longer remember her mother’s face, much less the warmth of her arms.

The orphanage had been better because at least there she’d had Jay. The two of them had clung to each other those first few months after their older sister, Janet, had left them there. Their mother had died, their father had disappeared, and eighteen-year-old Janet hadn’t wanted to be saddled with two kids, so one cold December morning, she’d dropped Jessica and Jay at the state-run orphanage in Richmond.

After a year, twelve-year-old Jay had gotten lucky. He’d been adopted by an aging couple in Washington, D.C., who had always wanted a son and realized they were too old to begin raising an infant.

Jessica hadn’t been so fortunate. She’d been plain and skinny with unruly hair and eyes far too big and too sad for her ten-year-old face. She’d been shy and sickly and had never developed much of a personality. No one had wanted such an unattractive child.

After Jay left, Jessica had been sent to one foster home after another. She’d bonded fairly well with the first couple, but when the man’s job had forced them to move out of state, Jessica had been emotionally ripped apart again. After that, she kept herself aloof, sustaining herself on sparse letters from her brother and on the even sparser memories of her mother.

And then, years later, she’d met Pierce. It was the summer she’d graduated business school and moved to Edgewood, a suburb of D.C., to be close to Jay. Jessica had always sworn it was fate that caused her to answer the ad Jay showed her in a neighborhood newspaper about a bookkeeping position at an antique store not far from her new address. Fate, and perhaps a touch of desperation. She didn’t expect the job to pay much, but she’d been making the rounds at employment agencies for weeks with no luck.

Pierce Kincaid, the proprietor of The Lost Attic, had taken one look at her frail body, her faded blue dress, her scuffed shoes, and hired her on the spot.

Pity, she’d accused him later.

Love at first sight, he’d countered.

Jessica still remembered the exact moment when she first laid eyes on him. His assistant was about to turn her away when Pierce walked out of his office and changed her life with one heart-stealing smile.

“I’m Pierce Kincaid,” he said, dismissing the assistant with a curt nod of his head. “Welcome to The Lost Attic. What can I do for you?”

Jessica’s first thought was that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He had longish dark hair that curled at the nape, and dark, penetrating eyes fringed with thick lashes. He was casually dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and a gray sport coat, and as he leaned against the counter, he gave her another smile, one that managed to look both mysterious and openly inviting.

“I—I’ve come about the job,” Jessica stammered, her poise completely shattered by his attention.

“Wonderful. How soon would you be able to start?”

His enthusiasm caught her off guard. “Now. Immediately.”

“As in today?”

“Today? But I—”

“You said immediately,” he reminded her, a subtle gleam in his eyes. “I’m rarely here, you see, and I need someone I can depend on to handle things while I’m away. My previous bookkeeper up and quit without notice. Financial statements are due, tax payments are late, the bank is screaming about overdrafts, and I’m due in Copenhagen tomorrow morning. Frankly, I’m desperate. So can you start today, Ms….?”

“Greene. Jessica Greene. And yes I can,” she added quickly, before he could change his mind.

He grinned. “Great. Let me show you your office then.”

“But don’t you even want to see my résumé?” She’d worked so hard on it, had even splurged on a rental typewriter.

He shook his head. “I know a good thing when I see it.”

Nonplussed, Jessica gazed around the shop, admiring the treasures. “You have a wonderful store,” she murmured.

“Do you know anything about antiques?”

“No. But I know a lot about bookkeeping.”

He smiled, and Jessica felt a tingle all the way to her toes. “That’s fine. I tell you what, Jessica. You teach me enough bookkeeping so that I know my way around a ledger, and I’ll teach you everything I know about antiques. And then some. How does that sound?”

It sounded wonderful. Too good to be true, in fact. Within days, Jessica had settled into the routine of her new job. When she’d been working for Pierce for three months, true to his word, he began teaching her about antiques.

“This is a Lowell,” he’d say as he showed her an exquisite glass sculpture. “See the marking on the bottom? Lowells aren’t as famous as Steubens, of course, but the designs are original and highly detailed. Andrew Lowell died so young, there aren’t many of his pieces around and most of the ones that are documented are in private collections. But I found this in a little shop on the outskirts of Paris. The owner didn’t realize what he had.”

Jessica was like a sponge. She drank in every word Pierce uttered, exclaimed over the beauty of each and every piece he brought back from his treasure hunts. She loved being surrounded by beautiful things with fascinating histories, possibly because her own past was so dismal. She adored having Pierce spend hours talking to her, devoting his time solely to her. She’d never had so much attention before.

When she’d been working for him for six months, he gave her a raise and added responsibilities. He began leaving her in charge when he went on his regular jaunts overseas. When he returned, he’d tell her intriguing stories about the places he’d been to and the people he’d met as they pored over his findings.

“Pop quiz today, Jessica. Tell me how we can be certain this is an authentic Allenburg watercolor?” he would ask, a teasing glint in his dark eyes as he and Jessica unwrapped the paintings.

With a magnifying glass, Jessica would locate the tiny hidden water lily which identified the artist’s work, and Pierce would smile his approval. “Excellent. Perhaps you deserve a reward,” he would say, with that mysterious, sexy smile that always sent her heart racing. And then he’d take her out to lunch at some little out-of-the-way place, which would have both excellent service and scrumptious food. And for the rest of the day, Jessica would feel special and pampered.

When she’d been with Pierce a year, he began taking her on buying trips with him occasionally. Slowly but surely, under Pierce’s expert tutelage, Jessica began to blossom, to come out of her self-imposed exile. And slowly but surely she was falling madly, passionately, desperately in love with her boss.

When she’d been with Pierce fifteen months, he asked her to marry him. They were in Paris, and at first Jessica convinced herself that the romantic ambiance of the city of light, the effusive flow of champagne at the Cochon d’or had made Pierce impulsive.

“If I were impulsive,” he explained, staring at her over the flickering candle on their discreetly located table, “I would have proposed to you the first time I laid eyes on you. Because I knew even then that you and I were meant to be, Jesse. You knew it, too, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I knew it.”

“Then say you’ll marry me,” he demanded, his eyes glowing with triumph.

“I’ll marry you,” she said, and then he lifted her hand and slipped a beautiful antique diamond and garnet ring onto her finger.

“You won’t regret it. I’ll make you so happy you’ll forget all about the past.”

“I already have,” she vowed.

Weeks later, they were married and settled into their home in a lovely neighborhood only a few miles from the shop. Edgewood, located a few miles from Langley, Virginia, and across the river from Washington, D.C., was home to a lot of government and military employees. Though not as pricey as Georgetown or Alexandria, it still boasted many of the same attractions: tree-shaded sidewalks, cobblestone streets, elegant old Federal and Georgian homes, as well as a close proximity to the nation’s capital.

Jessica loved her job at the shop, but she gladly gave it up to concentrate on remodeling and redecorating their home. She had no higher aspiration than to be the perfect wife and mother. She loved Pierce dearly, needed him desperately.

How could she have known back then that the one person she held most dear, loved more than life itself, would eventually leave her just like all the others had?

Jessica rested her forehead against her knees as she closed her eyes, trying to push away the memories. Why? she asked herself over and over.

Why had Pierce left her?

And why had he come back?

How could he not remember five years of his life? And yet that was exactly what he’d told her. What had been five years of grief and loneliness, struggle and frustration for Jessica had only been a mere thirty minutes in time to him. What could have happened to him?

He’d been hurt. She could tell that by the scars on his face and arm. It made her shudder to think what he might have gone through. There was only a shadow remaining of the man she’d known, loved, adored. But was that shadow merely a mirage? Was there anything left of the man from her past?

At that moment, Jessica wasn’t sure she could handle the truth—whatever it turned out to be.

* * *

Pierce walked the streets. By force of sheer will, his tired legs carried him farther and farther away from that house. From his home. From his wife. From his son.

The image of those huge dark eyes in that solemn little face brought stinging tears to his own eyes. He rubbed the back of his hand across them, trying to erase the vision as he wiped away the moisture. He had a son. Dear god, a five-year-old boy he didn’t even know.

And Jesse. Sweet, lovely, fragile Jesse. She seemed so cold, so hard, so suspicious. But five years had elapsed, she’d said. Five years! How could that be? How the hell could that be? Pierce asked himself desperately.

Just a moment in time for him had been five years of limbo for her. One glance in the mirror had told him she wasn’t lying—not that Jesse ever would. Not his Jesse, he thought as his fingers moved to touch the scar on his face.

But the woman back there, the cold-eyed, beautiful stranger was not his wife. He felt something of the loss and betrayal now that she must have felt so long ago when he hadn’t come back, and he despaired for them both.

A car horn blasted in his ear, and Pierce jumped back from the curb, startled to alertness. The driver shook his fist at him as the car zoomed through the intersection.

Pierce paid him scant attention. Automatically he waited for the traffic light to change, then walked aimlessly across the street. A bright red Coca-Cola sign flashed in the morning sun over a corner café, reminding him rather urgently that he was hungry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He couldn’t remember anything, in fact, beyond two hours ago.

That wasn’t exactly true, he realized. Ever since he’d seen Jesse’s shocked face, he’d been experiencing certain…impressions. Impressions of darkness and pain, of wandering around hopelessly lost but knowing all the while there was some place he should be, had to be. That certainty had driven him relentlessly through the mists until, almost as if he’d awakened from a long, deep sleep, he’d found himself at the grocery store and everything had clicked back into place.

For Pierce, the world had stopped for five years, then started back up again in exactly the same place. But why? And how?

He gazed at the scar on his left arm. What the hell had happened to him?

Checking his pockets, he pulled out the bills and change he’d gotten back from the twenty he’d used at the grocery store earlier. He had no idea where the money had come from. Someone must have given it to him….

Suddenly the street noises faded. His surroundings disappeared. For just a flash of time, Pierce was back on an island, standing on the beach, staring at the sky. A bird soared high overhead, silhouetted in the brilliant sunlight. It was an image that instantly brought back feelings of anger and betrayal. A nagging premonition of danger. And then a man’s voice at his shoulder. “You’ll need money. Here’s all I can spare. Go home now. Find your family and protect them.”

The vision vanished, leaving Pierce with a pounding headache in the warm morning sunshine.

Find your family and protect them.

Against what? Against whom?

For a moment, Pierce fought an almost overpowering urge to turn around, to go back home and make sure Jesse and his son were okay. But they’d managed just fine for five years without him. How could he help them now? How could he protect them from something he couldn’t even remember?

Wearily he put his hands to his temples, massaging away the pain as the memories and the feelings began to evaporate in the sunshine.

His stomach rumbled again—a demand for fuel—and Pierce knew that whatever had to be faced would best be done by getting back his strength. Besides, Jesse needed some space, and he needed time to figure out what to do.

He opened the glass door of the café and stepped inside. As disreputable as the place seemed to be, his appearance still garnered a few curious looks. He chose a table in the back and carefully studied the one-page menu. The meager selections tempted his appetite beyond reason, making him wonder again just how long it had been since he’d eaten. He chose a club sandwich, then checked his money again after the waitress had taken his order.

The bells over the door chimed, and Pierce’s head swung around, his gaze immediately scrutinizing the man who had just walked in. He was tall and thin with light brown hair and a thick mustache. He took a seat at the counter, and Pierce studied the man’s back for a full thirty seconds, not understanding his own wariness.

Did he know that man?

Caution. It was a deeply ingrained command, an almost instinctive behavior. Pierce’s gaze scoured the room, then came back to his own hands resting on the chipped Formica tabletop. They were trembling—from fatigue and hunger as well as emotion—but what caught his attention now was the raw, broken skin across his knuckles. He studied his hands as though they belonged to a stranger. They were scarred and dirty, the nails broken. Disgusted, he rose from his seat and located the men’s room nearby.

Trying to avoid his reflection in the mirror, Pierce scrubbed his hands with hot water and soap. The raw places on his knuckles stung, but he ignored the pain, automatically blacking it out. When his hands were as clean as he could get them, he filled the basin with cold water and plunged his face into it, hoping the icy shock would restore his memory.

Why was it he could remember Jesse and their life together so clearly, so vividly, and not anything about the immediate past? He could remember his childhood, his parents and the sterile, loveless home he’d grown up in. He remembered college at Georgetown and even friends he hadn’t seen or heard from in years. He could remember traveling in Europe and Asia before he’d met Jesse, and the secret he’d deliberately kept from her, the side of himself he’d never told her about.

Guilt welled inside him as he thought about the evasions and half truths he’d told her for years. She’d innocently accepted each and every one without question.

Except for the past five years, the memories were all coming back to him now, pouring through his mind so fast he felt a little dizzy.

For years, before he’d met Jesse, Pierce had been a specialized agent for a very elite agency that operated within the CIA. Very few operatives even had knowledge of the group whose specialty was deep cover. Pierce had been recruited out of college because he had a certain reputation for living on the edge and because of the antique business he’d inherited from his parents. It gave him the perfect excuse to travel around the world without arousing questions. His real identity had become a deep cover for him, the very best kind because no one ever suspected.

Not even Jesse.

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He’d never told her even after they’d married—not just because of the oath he’d sworn to uphold—but because he’d always thought the less she knew the safer she’d be. It had been his duty to protect her.

It still was.

The washroom door swung open, and Pierce whipped his head around, his hand reaching for a weapon he knew instinctively he hadn’t had in years. The man who’d been sitting at the bar now stepped inside the room. He gave Pierce barely a glance as he headed for a basin and began washing his hands. Quickly Pierce drained the sink, then combed his fingers through his damp hair, trying without much success to look a little more presentable.

The man was studying him in the mirror. Pierce turned and their gazes met. He searched the man’s face for some sign of recognition. Something other than the niggle of suspicion was worrying him.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” the man asked pleasantly as he dried his hands on a paper towel.

“It’ll probably rain this afternoon,” Pierce replied automatically, not exactly sure where the response had come from.

Somehow the answer seemed expected. Something flashed in the man’s blue eyes, and then he smiled slightly, his mustache tilting at one corner. “One thing’s for sure. You can never predict the weather this time of year. Be a fool to try.” Then he turned, tossed the paper towel in the trash bin and exited the washroom.

Shaken by the encounter and having no idea why, Pierce waited a few seconds, then followed the man out. The stranger was seated at the counter again and didn’t look around. But Pierce’s appetite was gone. He tossed some bills onto the table and hurried through the café door.

Outside, the sun blinded him. Pierce leaned against the building’s redbrick facade as the full realization of his plight hit him square in the face. He’d just spent the last of his money, he was still hungry, and he had absolutely nowhere to go.

Wiping a streak of sweat from his temple, he pushed himself away from the building and started walking down the street.

* * *

“Now, let me get this straight,” Jay Greene said as he sat across the kitchen table from Jessica. “You’re telling me that Pierce Kincaid—a man who disappeared five years ago—strolled through your back door this morning as if he’d only been gone half an hour?”

Jessica nodded weakly. “He even brought me the ice cream I’d sent him out to get that day, right down to the correct flavor.”

“And you have no idea where he is now?”

“I took Max next door, and when I came back, he was gone. That was this morning, Jay. He looked so tired, so…ill. I can’t help but think of him out there wandering the streets. It’ll be dark soon—” The look on Jay’s face stopped her.

“I wouldn’t get carried away with the pity just yet, Jesse. This whole memory thing seems a little too convenient for me.”

“You think he’s lying?” Her voice sounded anxious, shaky.

“Wouldn’t be the first time a husband just up and took off. Think about it.”

She had thought about it. Endlessly. “But…we were so happy,” Jessica protested. “We were both excited about the baby. The shop was doing great, we’d just bought this house—”

“And maybe he woke up one morning and decided he couldn’t handle the responsibilities anymore. It happens, and Pierce Kincaid was always a bit footloose, if you ask me. You said yourself he ran the business in a haphazard fashion, and frankly he never struck me as the family-man type.

“Now, out of the blue, he appears on your doorstep, just when you’ve gotten your own life in order. Look at this place, Jesse. It’s worth a small fortune, and so is the shop. When he tired of whatever the hell he was doing, why wouldn’t he want to come back here?”

Jessica stared absently out the window. Jay wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t thought of herself, but it still wasn’t easy to hear. It wasn’t easy to think that Pierce might have walked out on her. That he had lied about his feelings for her.

She had been so sure. So sure their love had been real.

A breeze lifted the hem of the pale blue curtains as it carried in the evening scents—honeysuckle, clover and roses. Years ago, after long days at the shop, she and Pierce would sit on the back porch and sip wine while they watched the first stars twinkle out. Twilight had always been a special time of day for them, a time when the cares of the day melted away into the coming darkness.

Had none of that meant as much to him as it had to her?

As if echoing her thoughts, Jay covered her hand with his and asked softly, “How do you feel about him now, Jesse? What was it like seeing him again?”

She sighed. “I’m not sure. I know you’re right. I do have to be careful, but you didn’t see him. I think he must have been in some sort of accident. He has all these scars. Do you think—could he have been kidnapped five years ago? Held all this time?”

“With no ransom note?” Her brother looked skeptical. “It’s possible. Hell, anything’s possible. But victims who’re kidnapped either in a robbery or for sport usually turn up dead. Five years is a long time to hold someone captive.”

“I know,” Jessica agreed, her tone bleak. “I just keep asking myself where he could have been all this time. What could have happened to him?”

“Did he have any identification on him?”

Jessica shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask to see it. I didn’t need to.”

“You’re that sure it was him?” Jay’s icy gray eyes scrutinized her face.

“It was him. It was Pierce.”

Jay swept his hand through his brown hair, setting it on end. He shook his head. “Damn, what a mess. You know I’ll do what I can, but I couldn’t find out anything about him five years ago. It was as if he disappeared off the face of the earth. We may not have any better luck now.”

“I just want you to find him,” she whispered desperately. “Whatever he’s done, wherever he’s been—he needs help.”

“Your help?”

Jessica hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. “He’s still my husband.”

“Technically,” her brother agreed grimly. “All right, I’ll see what I can do.” He took out a pen and pad and began jotting down notes. “Give me a general physical description of how he looked, what he was wearing and all that. And how about a cup of coffee? This looks to be a long night,” he said with a sigh.

Jessica rose from the table and reached for a cup, but the barking of a neighbor’s dog stilled her movements. A shadow swept across the open window, so swiftly she thought at first she’d imagined it. Then came a scraping noise on the back porch, as if someone had bumped into a chair.

Jessica’s gaze flew to Jay’s, her heart hammering in her chest. He lifted a finger to his lips, silencing her. Slowly he reached for the light switch just as the sound of the back-door buzzer ripped through the quiet. Jessica gasped and Jay cursed softly as both their gazes fastened on the dark silhouette outside her kitchen door.