Читать книгу You Must Remember This - Marilyn Pappano - Страница 8

The Courthouse Deli was located across the street and down a block from the police department. It was busy from noon to one, but after that a diner looking for privacy couldn’t find a better place. Bringing along official-looking reading and choosing a table in the distant corner helped keep most people away…but Martin wasn’t most people.

He walked past two dozen empty tables to the back, stopping beside the empty chair. “Mind if I join you?”

Juliet looked surprised but didn’t say a word as he slid into the chair and folded his hands together on the table. “They told me over at the department that you usually eat lunch here.” A simple statement that wasn’t entirely true. One of the dispatchers had told him that—a week ago—and she’d said “always.” She always eats at the deli and sits in the back facing the wall to discourage anyone from noticing her. The only problem with that was that he wasn’t so easily discouraged and she was far from unnoticeable.

“That doesn’t look like light reading.”

She glanced down at the newsletter. “It’s about the new computer system. Once it’s up and running, it’ll offer better versions of everything—image processing, automated single fingerprint matching, new databases, linkage fields and automated statistical collection. With the equipment that will be available in the patrol cars, an officer in the field is able to take photographs and scan a single fingerprint, then send them to the bureau and have a response back so much faster. It will be—” She broke off abruptly and shrugged. “A big improvement. Grand Springs will finally catch up with the big cities.”

For a moment there she had been supremely confident, as she should be. The instant the thought had occurred to her, though, that she might be talking too much, the confidence had faded away with the words. Too bad.

“So part of your job is getting the Grand Springs PD up to speed for this new system.”

She nodded.

“It can’t be easy. Some of those guys hate change.”

“Once they realize how much easier the system makes their job, they’ll love it.” She fell silent while the waitress came to take his order, then said, “I sent out another missing persons broadcast this morning. Maybe we’ll get somewhere this time.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know. I’m still pretty new at this.”

Stone had told him the last time that a positive response was difficult to predict. It could take a few hours or, if a department was really swamped, a few months. If there was no missing persons report out there that matched his description, there would be no response at all. That had been hard enough to face ten months ago. It would be even harder now, finding out that he’d been the kind of person who could simply disappear from the face of the earth and no one cared.

The suspicion that he’d been exactly that kind of person made him uneasy. Deliberately he changed the subject. “Did you work in law enforcement in Dallas?”

“No. I worked for a large corporation that had its fingers in a little bit of everything. I set up their systems, wrote programs specific to their needs and kept everything running. When this position came up, I applied and was hired. The library job seemed okay, but the police department job sounded ex—interesting.”

Exciting. To a computer genius who spent more time with machines than people, even the fringes of police work probably did sound exciting. “Is it interesting?”

“It beats cataloguing library books.” She said it with a smile, too light and sweet for the likes of him. He stared at her until it faded, until her blue gaze dropped away from his and familiar discomfort came into her manner.

The waitress served their meal. After scraping the lettuce from her sandwich, Juliet asked, “Did you get some sleep this morning?”

Such an innocent question to spark such intimate images linked one to another: sleep, bed, Juliet, naked, hot, needy, desperate. Fumbling for his glass, he took a drink, swallowed hard and blinked to clear his vision. “Yes.” He had spent half the night pacing his apartment and the other half roaming the streets. He’d had a glass of milk at the all-night diner—the cook’s remedy for insomnia—and walked until he was exhausted. He’d needed the ride she’d given him—had been half asleep before it was over—and had slept the sleep of the dead the rest of the morning.

All because last night he had dreamed the dreams of the dead.

“Have you had insomnia since the accident?”

His throat was still tight, his voice still husky. “I don’t have insomnia.”

“But this morning you said you couldn’t sleep.”

And she had assumed, as everyone else did, that by couldn’t, he meant physically unable to. That was what he wanted them to think, wasn’t it? “I wouldn’t let myself fall asleep last night.” His tone was halting, his gaze fixed on his hands. They were familiar, yet strange. Long fingers, callused skin, strong grip, capable of all the things hands were designed for and maybe more. Capable, maybe, of inflicting great pain, of stealing someone else’s very life. “Sometimes I have dreams….”

She leaned forward, and her voice brightened, as if the subject had suddenly become ex—interesting. “About your past?”

“I think so. I don’t know. Maybe not.” Please, God, no.

“What kind of dreams?”

“Just dreams.”

“You don’t remember them?”

His silence let her believe one answer, but the truth was completely different. He remembered too much. Not enough.

“Are you in these dreams?”

“Look, I’d rather not—”

“But they may be important. Maybe the key to your memory is in these dreams, Martin.”

It was the first time she’d said his name. Such a plain, simple name, serviceable but nothing special. But it sounded special in her voice. “Look, they’re just dreams, nothing more. They don’t mean anything. They’re not important.”

“But they disturb you.”

He scowled, wishing he’d let her believe, like everyone else, that he was an insomniac. Since it was too late for that, he chose instead to turn the conversation in a direction that was sure to make her forget his sleep problems. “Not as much as you do.”

She stared at him, her face turning as red as the cloth on the table. “I didn’t…” She fidgeted, then straightened and sat primly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No, Juliet, I’m sure you don’t,” he agreed quietly, then lightened up. “When you were in school, did the kids tease you about your name?”

Her look was wary, her tone cautious. “Of course. How could they resist?”

“‘What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!’”

“My mother was a fan of Shakespeare. What can I say?”

“There are worse things in the world to be named after.”

“Like a soap opera hunk?”

He nodded.

“I did some reading about amnesia last night.”

“You keep medical books around the house?”

“On the Internet.”

He’d left last night so she could go to bed. If he’d known she was going to stay up late, he would have hung around until she’d shoved him out the door. He would have delayed going home and to bed himself, would have delayed the nightmares. “Learn anything interesting?”

“Lots, but nothing that might help.”

“I don’t think I was computer-friendly. All this online stuff seems like a whole new world to me.”

“It’s the way everything is done now. It can offer some pretty vast possibilities.”

“It can also isolate you. It offers so many possibilities that you lose the need for real people in your life.”

“But if you don’t have real people in your life, it’s a decent substitute.”

He wondered about that. Maybe standing on the sidelines watching life go by via a computer monitor was okay for her, but he suspected it would make him just that much hungrier for human contact.

He was already pretty damn hungry for contact with her.

Finishing with her meal, she tucked the computer newsletter in her bag, picked up her tab and got to her feet. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“I’m heading that way. Mind if I walk with you?”

Her only response was a shake of her head.

The weather was springtime warm, which didn’t mean they were safe from a cold snap or even snow. After all, it was only late April. They could easily wake up any time in the next month and find themselves snowed in.

He knew where he hoped he would be in the event of such luck.

The block-long walk passed quickly. Too soon they were inside the police department, and Juliet was looking eager to gain the privacy of her office. He tried to think of something to say—some excuse to see her again, some courage to ask for another evening of her time—but the words didn’t come. With a faint smile and a murmured “See you around,” she went down the hall to her office. A moment later he saw her through the window, taking a seat at her desk, turning her attention immediately to the computer there.

“Look, Jack, a Peeping Tom right here in the department.”

He glanced over his shoulder to find Stone Richardson and Jack Stryker, another detective who was working the Olivia Stuart homicide, standing behind him.

“What’s so interesting?” Stryker looked, then shrugged. “Oh. The new records supervisor.” He said it as if Juliet were of no more interest than the grandmotherly administrative assistant sitting outside the chief’s office, as if she weren’t the prettiest woman to set foot in Grand Springs in a long time.

Come to think of it, Stone didn’t seem particularly impressed, either. Granted, both men had gotten married in the last year—Jack to Josie Reynolds, the town treasurer, and Stone to Jessica Hanson, the bookkeeper at the ski lodge—but did that mean they’d lost their ability to recognize beauty when they saw it?

To each his own, so the saying went, and apparently it was true. After all, while Martin liked what he knew of Josie and Jessica, he personally didn’t find either particularly attractive. It was clear, though, that their husbands thought differently.

“You looking for us?”

The two detectives were so far from the reason for Martin’s presence in the department that, for a moment, Stone’s question didn’t register. Finally, though, he offered a noncommittal shrug. “Any news?”

“On Olivia’s case?” The cop shook his head. “Still no sign of Springer.”

Dean Springer had lived in Grand Springs without attracting anyone’s attention for years. He’d been a nobody, a loner who kept a low profile and minded his own business. Somehow his business had come to include the mayor’s death. The woman who had actually carried out the murder had identified Springer as the man who’d hired her, but there was no question that he’d merely been the go-between. He was neither smart enough nor prosperous enough to arrange a murder-for-hire, and there was the little matter of lack of motive. No, he’d been working for someone else. If the police ever located him, maybe they would find out who.

What if it was Martin?

“Juliet sent out another broadcast on you today.”

Still troubled by his doubts, he gave Stone little attention. “Yeah, she told me. I’d better get going.” He had a job this afternoon, and for the next few days, over at Grace Tabernacle on Aspen Street. Reverend Murphy had hired him to help with a renovation project too small to hire out to professionals. Considering his luck with construction in the past, he hoped the preacher was more experienced with such work.

He wasn’t, he announced when Martin met him on the front steps of the church. “But I’m a great believer in miracles.”

“As long as you’re praying for one, ask for one for me,” Martin said dryly. He didn’t think he’d been a church-going man before the accident, and he hadn’t converted to one after, but he was sure he believed in God, both before and after. Sometimes in his dreams, he prayed—frantic, panicked pleas—and sometimes he could manage no more than the deity’s name—Oh God, oh God, oh God.

“I’ve been praying for you from the beginning,” the reverend said as he opened the door and led the way inside.

The glass doors led into a short, broad hallway. Straight ahead, up three steps and through another set of doors, was the sanctuary with pews on either side and a burgundy carpeted aisle down the center. The door on the left led to a kitchen, and a hallway at the back of the sanctuary led to Sunday school rooms and bathrooms. Martin knew all that even though he’d taken no more than five steps through the front door.

Reverend Murphy stopped at the second double doors and looked back. “Although the Lord would like to see you in one of his houses on Sundays, he’s not going to smite you for coming Wednesday afternoon instead.”

“I’ve been here before.”

“When? I don’t recall—” The reverend turned back from the doors and approached him. “You mean before the accident. What do you remember?”

The harder he tried, the less there was to remember. The déjà vu faded, taking with it the faint images of the rooms behind the closed doors. “Nothing,” he said flatly, disappointment almost too strong to bear. “I don’t remember anything.”

* * *

When she left the police department after putting in an extra hour, Juliet had nothing more on her mind than going home, putting on her nightgown and vegging out in front of the computer. When she saw Martin leaning against the fender of her little silver car, everything fled her mind, including all words more intelligent or complicated than “Hi.”

“Hey.” He straightened and shoved his hands in his hip pockets. “Working late?”

She nodded. “Too much to do, too little time. Are you waiting on someone?”

“You.”

Her gaze automatically shifted away, her smile trembled and disappeared, and a rush of nerves gave her a shiver. She waited until she was sure—or, at least, hopeful—her voice wouldn’t quiver, then asked, “Why?”

“I thought maybe we could get some dinner.”

She wanted to ask why again, but she already knew his answer. He hadn’t yet accepted that there was no help she could give him. He wanted to talk, wanted her to find some answers for him. It wasn’t the same as being wanted for herself, but, hey, it wasn’t as if she had any better offers to consider. “All right. Where would you like to go?”

“The Saloon is just down the street. The music’s kind of loud, but they have good greasy burgers.”

Greasy burgers did sound good. So did loud music to fill in the silence when conversation failed her, as it always did. “We can take my car—”

“I’d rather walk, if you don’t mind. It’s a nice night.”

She agreed. They walked a block or more in silence, giving her an opportunity to window-shop. Grand Springs had a lovely downtown with a hundred percent occupancy. Everything was closed now, but as summer drew nearer and tourists began using the town as a base for their mountain excursions, the shops would keep later hours.

“Busy day?”

She caught a glimpse of Martin’s reflection in the plate glass, staring straight ahead, presenting a handsome if less than perfect profile. His nose was crooked, and so was his jaw. In fact, there was a little asymmetry to his whole face, one side not quite matching the other, but it didn’t detract from his appearance. She’d been lusting after him for more than two weeks now, and she’d never noticed the flaws until the evening sun had highlighted them.

“Busy enough. The department’s network was outdated when they bought it—precisely why they got such a good deal on it—so I’m trying to get it upgraded, and I’ve got to get certified to use NCIC, so I’m working on that, and my clerk is years behind in entering data on the computer, so I’m helping her with that. I could use another clerk—”

“Or maybe just one who actually does her job.”

She smiled. “You know Mariellen.”

“She dots the i in her name with a little heart.”

“It’s a star now. How do you know her?”

“She asked me out.”

Juliet gave him a surprised look that made him laugh.

“I know. I don’t need to know how old I am to know that she’s way too young for me.”

“Some women prefer older men.” And all women liked some combination of sexy, handsome, tough, endearing, vulnerable, mysterious and lost. Martin scored on all counts.

“Mariellen got that job when she was dating a cop,” he said. “She thought working at the same place meant spending a lot of time together. Then they broke up and he moved off to take a job in Denver, and she kept the job. She’s not particularly good at it, but—”

“She’s young, pretty and sweet. You can’t help but like her and overlook her shortcomings.” Juliet had once been that young, and underneath all her shyness, she’d been sweet, too, but no one had ever been willing to overlook her failings—maybe because she hadn’t been pretty, too? Instead, she had worked extra hard at having no failings. She’d knocked herself out to be the best employee her boss could ever ask for. In the department, everyone was satisfied—herself included—if Mariellen showed up for work less than thirty minutes late.

“So you didn’t go out with Mariellen. Do you see anyone in particular?”

The look he gave her was long and chiding. “Would I be here with you if I did?”

She was saved from answering because they’d arrived at the Saloon. She puzzled over his response, though, as they made their way to the booth farthest from the door. What did a girlfriend have to do with his presence with her this evening? If this were a date, sure, she could see the conflict, but it wasn’t. They were here to discuss the problem of his missing identity and the possibility, however remote, that her computer skills could be of use to him.

Weren’t they?

She slid onto one bench, laid her purse aside and folded her hands together. She felt prim and stuffy, out of place in the dim lights, loud music and smoky atmosphere of the bar. Of course, her work clothes didn’t help any. At least with his jeans, boots and T-shirt, Martin fit right in. All he needed was a cowboy hat over that nice blond hair.

“Do you like country music?”

“I can take it or leave it.” Truthfully, she never listened to it—not always an easy feat to accomplish living in Dallas.

“What do you like?”

“A little rock, a little classical. The blues.”

“B. B. King, John Lee Hooker, Buddy Guy? ‘Stormy Monday’?”

“I love that song.” He grinned, and she found herself smiling back. “Maybe you’re from the South.”

“Because I like the blues?”

“Because when I came out of the office, you said ‘hey’ instead of ‘hi.’ Isn’t that a Southern thing?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have a Southern accent.”

“As far as I can tell, you don’t have any accent at all. Maybe you just lived there.”

Another shrug. “You have an accent. You sound Texan—lazy and sultry and—”

The waitress, dressed in a short little flirty denim skirt, a snug red cowboy shirt and red cowboy boots, interrupted with “What’ll you have?”

More of what he was saying, Juliet thought, both dreamy over his comment and disappointed that it’d been cut short. Sultry. No one had ever called her anything even remotely close.

She ordered pop, and so did Martin, and she followed his lead in ordering dinner: burger with cheese and spicy fries. When the waitress brought their drinks a moment later, Juliet scanned the room. Martin seemed to be the only man in the place without a long-necked beer clutched in one hand. Not that he needed beer to prove his masculinity. He could walk to the bar and order a glass of warm milk, and no one would have the nerve to say a word about it. “Do you drink?”

“Occasionally, but I have to be careful not to overdo. It’s too big a risk for me.”

“Do you think that, or do you know it?”

“I know it.” He didn’t offer an explanation of how he knew, just a grim, almost bleak look and the slow, unconscious stroking of his fingers over the scar on his left arm. Souvenir of a drunken barroom brawl? Maybe he’d been an alcoholic in his previous life, or someone else important in that life had had a drinking problem.

“What did you do this afternoon?” she asked, seeking any mundane topic of conversation that could chase away the sorrow in his eyes.

“I’m doing a little work at one of the churches—some stripping, painting, minor remodeling.”

“I thought you weren’t a carpenter.”

“I’m not, but I’m cheap, and the church doesn’t have much money. I just follow the pastor’s directions, and he prays for the best.”

“Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

The music went quiet as, across the room, a young man bent over a guitar and tuned the instrument. There were others on the bandstand with him, kids who looked too young to drink where they played. After a few minutes fiddling with the instruments, the band was ready. Without ado, the young man stepped up to the microphone and eased into the first song.

“The bands around here are usually kids from the college,” Martin said. “Some of them are pretty good.”

Grand Springs College was a small school that co-owned the library with the city. They provided Juliet with Internet access both on and off the job and had tempted her with the possibility of earning a graduate degree someday. At least it would be something to fill her evenings.

Even if she preferred filling them this way.

“Do you like to dance?”

There were only a few couples on the dance floor, couples much better acquainted with each other than she and Martin. They must be, to get so close, to move so intimately. Her cheeks turning pink, she looked back at him. “Actually, I don’t know how.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how? Didn’t you go to your high school dances?”

“I was on the decorating committee for both the homecoming dance and the prom, but no, I didn’t go.”

“Why not?”

The pink in her face turned red. “No one asked me, and frankly, if anyone had, I would have turned him down.”

“Were you too shy to date?”

She nodded, though “too shy to get anyone’s attention” was more like it.

“I think I probably liked shy girls.”

Although she was convinced he was wrong—he’d probably been the captain of the football team, and he’d probably dated the pretty, perky, every-boy’s-dream head cheerleader—she humored him. “Why do you think that?”

“Because there’s something damned appealing about the women they become.”

Her flush turned to heat—lazy, indolent, seeping into every pore, warming her blood, threatening to steam. If she could swallow, she would. If she could pick up her pop for a cooling drink without making the glass sizzle, she would. If she could come up with something smart or provocative or witty to offer in response… Smart she knew-provocative and witty she didn’t—and smart said don’t make assumptions. Don’t fall for a line. Keep it business.

She was seeking something perfectly businesslike to say when he spoke again. “I can teach you to dance.”

Her gaze shot to the couples on the floor, each holding the other so close that there wasn’t room for a breath between them. She’d never been that close to a man in her life unless they were both naked and doing something wild. To get that close—even fully dressed and in public—to Martin required more courage and grace than she’d ever possessed. “I couldn’t.”

“Of course you could.” He rose from the table, took her hand and pulled her to the edge of the dance floor. “Put your arms around my neck and come closer…closer…. Relax…just let me move and you follow. It’s as easy as sex—”

God was in heaven, and he took pity on her. The song ended, and the band moved without pause into the next, a rousing tune that required more dexterity than her feet were capable of. Gratefully, she pulled free of Martin and returned to the booth. His expression as he sat down opposite was part regret, part teasing. “You do indulge in sex from time to time, don’t you?”

Wide-eyed, she stared at him. Not in a long time, too long, and never with a man like him.

“Oh, well, next time,” he said as the waitress set plates in front of them.

Next time. She’d waited all her life for this time. With her luck, next time would never come.

The food was good, the music by turns loud or low and mournful. She ate, watched everyone but Martin and tried to think of something to say. When the silence was finally broken, though, it was by Martin. “What would you rather be doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You look like you’re a million miles away. Doing what? And with whom?”

He sounded defensive, which made her answer with more honesty than she normally would have offered. “Looking for something to talk about. With you. I never really developed a talent for small talk. I learned to speak when I had something to say and not to chatter the rest of the time.”

“So let’s talk computers. You can tell me all about them.”

“Except that you don’t want to learn all about them. Your interests are more physical. Active. Outdoors.”

He grinned. “I don’t know about the outdoors part, but I do like physical and active.” His sexy grin spelled out for her exactly what he was referring to, then he controlled it. “That’s the thing about amnesia. You never know what your interests are or how they stack up against what they used to be. I like spicy food. Did I always, or is this something new? I have a weakness for blue-eyed blondes. Has that always been true, or before the accident did I prefer green-eyed redheads? Did I like country music and wear suits and work nine to five, or would I have chosen smashing a steel guitar over listening to one?”

“You may never know.”

He shook his head adamantly. “No. I can’t live with that.”

“You may have no choice, Martin.”

“No. I at least have to know if I’m—” Breaking off, he shook his head again.

If he was married? If he was a criminal? If he was someone he could bear to be? She regretted that she had no answers for him.

“Are you ready?”

“Let me stop by the ladies’ room.” She had to cross the dance floor and circle the opposite end of the bar to reach the narrow hall that led to the bathrooms. On her return trip, she didn’t make it to the end of the hall before a cowboy with the requisite beer blocked her path.

“Whoa there, darlin’. The evenin’ is young. No one’s in a hurry.”

“Excuse me.” She stepped to one side, but he blocked her again.

“I haven’t seen you in here before. Jimmy Ray knows everybody in the Saloon. I ought to, considering I spend my every evening here.”

“You’re right, Jimmy Ray, you haven’t seen me here before. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” When she tried to slip past, he caught her wrist in his free hand.

“What’s your rush, little girl? You come and have a drink with Jimmy Ray and maybe a two-step or two. I can show you a real good time.”

She bet he could, if she weren’t too smart and he weren’t too drunk. He was young and cute, and, like most women, she had a fondness for cute cowboys. Drunk, pushy and manhandling ones, though, weren’t her style.

She tried to twist free, but he held her tighter, his fingers biting into her skin. “I’m not interested in a good time. I’m going home now, so let go or—”

“Or what, sugar? What’re you gonna do?” He pulled until she was against his chest and barely able to breathe. “I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do, darlin’, you’re gonna have a dance and a beer or two with me, and then you’re gonna—”

“Let her go.”

Relief swept through Juliet at the sight of Martin standing behind the cowboy. In the cramped hallway, he looked taller, broader-shouldered and tougher than he ever had before, and his voice was cold enough to freeze fire.

“Go away, man. Find your own woman. This one’s already taken.”

She wriggled, but the cowboy’s arm was around her waist now, and all she accomplished was rubbing suggestively against him. “Let me go, Jimmy Ray,” she pleaded. “Don’t cause any trouble.”

Martin clamped his fingers around the cowboy’s arm and bent it up behind his back, freeing Juliet in the process. As she scrambled away, he shoved Jimmy Ray face first into the wall, then leaned close. “You’re right. She is taken. She’s mine. Now, apologize to the lady.”

“Listen, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was with you—”

“To her, not me.”

“It’s okay, Martin. Let’s just go—”

“Tell her you’re sorry and it’ll never happen again.”

He squirmed, but when Martin twisted his arm higher, a spasm of pain crossed his face and he became still. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean no harm.”

“And it’ll never happen again.”

“It won’t, I swear it.”

“It’s all right. Please, Martin, let him go.”

After a moment, Martin shoved him away. Jimmy Ray stumbled, hit the opposite wall, then staggered off into the men’s room, complaining as he went about the pain in his shoulder. After another moment, Martin faced her. His eyes were grim enough, his expression savage enough, to frighten her far more than the drunken cowboy ever could. She swallowed hard, then touched his hand. “Thank you.”

Slowly, the worst of the threat seeped away, and he gestured toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

Darkness had fallen, but the street was brightly lit. Martin wished for shadows as they made their silent way back to the police department and Juliet’s car. This wasn’t the first time since the accident that he’d gotten into a situation that could have easily turned violent, but this was the first time that he’d wanted it to. He’d wanted to smash his fist into the cowboy’s face, to break a few bones and loosen a few teeth so that the next time the bastard wanted to harass some woman, he’d think twice.

But Martin could well imagine Juliet’s reaction if he’d taken it any further than he had. Hell, he didn’t have to imagine. He’d seen the fear in her eyes for a split second before she’d swallowed over that lump in her throat and thanked him. Fear. Of him.

They were only a few yards from her car when he finally spoke. “I would never hurt you.” But the promise didn’t come out as absolute and unwavering as he’d intended, because the awful truth was, he didn’t know whether he would. He knew he could have killed that cowboy. He knew, suspected—feared—that he’d killed in the past. When he remembered that past, when he again became the man he’d once been, who knew what he would be capable of?