Conard County Marine Page 14

Anger thrummed in him, tamped down because he didn’t want her to sense it, but he felt growing inside himself more than a need to protect this woman. He wanted to avenge her.

  That wasn’t good. He’d always felt vengeance was wrong, the worst of all possible motivations, but he couldn’t escape the fact that he wanted vengeance right now.

  Gradually Kylie’s sobs eased, and she sagged into his embrace, exhausted by the storm that had just ripped through her. Holding her close, he stroked her back and hair and wished he could do something more. But this was it, to just be here. It didn’t feel like anywhere near enough.

  “I soaked you,” she said eventually, her voice hoarse.

  “I’ve been wet before.” He gave her a squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”

  It was almost painful to let go of her, but he made himself do it. First he went to the bathroom and got a warm, damp washcloth. Perching beside her, he gently wiped the tears from her face. Her eyes remained puffy and red, but at least he could get rid of the salty tears.

  Her gown was damp, too. “Got a fresh nightie or something?”

  “Yeah. Top drawer.”

  He rose, headed for the bathroom to dump the washcloth, then returned to the dimly lighted bedroom. She was off the bed, already pulling her damp nightshirt over her head.

  He froze. In the lamplight she looked almost bronze, perfect in every line as she stretched her arms over her head. He’d seen plenty of naked women, but this one appeared more perfect to him than all the rest. High, small breasts, a tiny waist, long willowy legs.

  And scars. Even in the dim light he could see where the attacker’s knife had slashed her as if he wanted to ruin her beauty. Amazing he hadn’t gone for her face, but he’d sure tried to ruin all the rest.

  Catching himself, realizing Kylie might be upset if she caught him gawking, he stepped back quickly and went to his own room to change into a blue sweatshirt. The night held a spring chill now.

  When he got back to her room, she was covered by a flannel nightshirt and rubbing her arms. “When did it get so cold?” she asked.

  Probably about the time she remembered the knife, he thought, but avoided saying. “It’s still spring,” he said as cheerfully as he could. “Now get under those blankets.”

  He wished he could get under them with her. The memory of her sexy body was seared into his brain and still flaming. Bad timing. He knew all about bad timing and how catastrophic it could become.

  She slid under the covers and wiped her arm over her face. “Sorry about all the tears.”

  “I told you, no need.” He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her.

  “So you get angry?”

  “I think it’s a guy thing. Tears might be more productive.”

  “Do you smash things?”

  “I try very hard not to do that. I usually succeed.”

  One corner of her mouth tugged down. “What do you get mad about? Your cemetery?”

  That slammed him. It shouldn’t have because he’d told her about it. But then he added a piece of the truth he rarely shared, because somehow it seemed important that she know this before she decided what kind of man he was. “My cemetery,” he agreed. “And the people who must be standing weeping beside all those graves.”

  She sat up quickly and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Coop, I’m so sorry.”

  Hesitantly he put his arms around her. “War has a price, Kylie. We all pay it—everyone who gets involved, civilian or military. Different people pay different prices because none of us are the same, but we all pay in some way. It’s inescapable.”

  “How do you deal?”

  “The same way you’re dealing. One foot in front of another, day by day. We can’t change the past. What matters is what we do with the next moment, and the next. I’m no pacifist. I believe in what I do. I’m trying to do the right thing. Sometimes I wonder if I am, but I have to keep moving forward and do the best I can.”

  She rested against him gently, almost as comforting as a blanket. “That’s what I need to do, too. Keep moving, even though this creep is out there still.”

  “Well,” Coop admitted, “he’s a hell of a wrinkle. But everyone’s on the lookout for you, especially me and Glenda. So maybe instead of worrying about him every minute, you should be thinking about all the tomorrows still to come. Like maybe medical school?”

  She sighed, and he felt her soften even more. Apparently her moments of terror had receded into the background, and he was thankful for that.

  “Medical school is a pipe dream,” she said finally. “I know it. First of all, I have this amnesia problem, but even without that, I figured I couldn’t afford it. Not even with loans. I mean, any way I looked at it, I’d need a job at the same time, it would take four years and then I’d need to intern and...well, I could maybe be looking for a job in my midthirties. That’s a big commitment, and I am kind of worried I might not be able to do it alone. I started hearing about medical students who get married just to have a spouse to pay the living expenses. I wouldn’t want to use someone that way. It turned me off.”

  “I can see why.” He certainly could. But if it was really her dream... Well, not his place. Apparently she’d been happily working toward being a physician’s assistant. “So do you think you’ll resume your degree program?”

  “My master’s? I don’t know. Every time I think about my amnesia I get queasy. How much have I forgotten? I don’t even know if I’d be fit to go back to regular nursing now. Maybe I’ll feel differently later, but right now I’m uncertain about everything.”

  “Time will help with that, I think.” He sure hoped so. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to be going through life with such a huge hole in your memory, unable to trust almost everything about yourself.

  Most people went through life thinking of themselves as a seamless flow into the distant past. This woman’s life had been interrupted. No seamless flow for her. Yeah, that would make her uncertain about most things. And even if her memory came back, like she said, would she entirely trust it? Probably not.

  She spoke again. “Thank you for being so patient with me.”

  “Patient?” The word surprised him. “I’m not being patient.”

  “Sure you are. I’ve wrecked your entire vacation and you didn’t even know me until my sister dragged you into this. You could be off having a good time instead of babysitting me.”

  The word shook him. He took her by the shoulders and held her a few inches away so he could look into her face. “I don’t feel like a babysitter. I’m not being patient. In fact, I should probably thank you for giving me a chance to try to protect you. It feels good, damn it.”

  “Really?” She searched his face, then the corners of her mouth tipped up. “You’re an awfully good man, Evan Cooper. Thank you for watching over me.”

  He couldn’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t want to. Well, except for one sicko, anyway. “My pleasure and my honor,” he answered. “Now...do you think you can sleep?”

  He wasn’t surprised by her answer.

  “I’m afraid to close my eyes again.”

  Well, he could hardly blame her for that now. “Wanna try for the couch again?”

  She hesitated. “Maybe so. I haven’t had any trouble sleeping with my head on your lap.”

  Small comforts. He was glad to offer his lap, but he wished he could really help this woman, help her escape her terror.

  But he’d wished for a lot of things in his life, and few enough of them had come his way.

  *

  A short while later, Kylie lay on her side on the sofa, her head cradled on Coop’s thigh. It was a powerful thigh, hard, too hard to be called a pillow, but somehow more comfortable and reassuring than a real, soft pillow. She felt that strength, that power beneath her cheek and she felt secure. Even his masculine scents, stronger when she was this close, reached out and enveloped her in a more pleasant reality. The possibility of an exciting one.

  She wondered
if he made everyone feel that way. His effect on her was undeniable. She wanted him sexually. The burning need of it never quieted anymore. It strengthened at times, then settled, then resurged. Only a couple of times had it completely vanished: when the rose had been delivered and she learned there had been one in Denver, and then tonight when she remembered that flashing blade. It had caught light from somewhere, but that had only allowed her to see her own blood on it.

  She didn’t want to close her eyes again. She stared at the curtains they’d hung, glanced around the softly lit room, but barely dared to blink.

  She didn’t want to see that image again as vividly as she had seen it earlier. Now it had entered the realm of memory, but then it had been very real and very much in the now when it had popped into her head. As if she’d been thrown back in time.

  She felt Coop rest his hand on her shoulder. Heavy, strong, comforting. Amazing man. Not once had he told her to stiffen her spine or quit wallowing. No, she was the one who told herself that from time to time.

  Life happened. Once it did there was no choice but to keep going. One foot in front of the other, as Coop said. Memory or no memory, she still had to do that. Life wouldn’t let her opt out.

  But the idea that her attacker was stalking her made the future seem awfully hazy. Even with Coop and the entire Conard County Sheriff’s Department on alert for strangers, she couldn’t quite believe the guy wouldn’t find a way to get her.

  Because he had gotten her before.

  She didn’t even realize she had sighed until Coop spoke quietly.

  “Heavy sigh,” he said. “Penny?”

  “Nothing really. Part of me is mad at myself for letting this guy get to me this way, and part of me is scared to death. I’m kinda tired of being frightened.”

  “I know. But this is one roller coaster you’re just going to have to ride, Kylie. The bumps will start to level out eventually.”

  “Not if we don’t catch this guy. Shouldn’t it be possible to find out where someone bought a black rose? And who bought it?”

  “I don’t know how many places sell them. And if he bought one with cash... I don’t know, Kylie. I’d be very surprised if the police haven’t looked into it, though. They sure didn’t overlook it.”

  “You’re right. How else could Connie have gotten that information?”

  “Exactly.” He rubbed her shoulder. “I can’t imagine sending anyone black roses, but given the world I suppose it’s probably easy enough to do. People do all kinds of things I’d never think of if I didn’t run into them.”

  “They could make an interesting gag gift.”

  He laughed quietly. “Yeah. Or they might be the way to the heart of a woman who adores black. Not my cup of tea, but I’m sure there are lots of people who feel differently.”

  “Probably. That’s one thing nursing taught me. The limits of my imagination aren’t necessarily the limits of someone else’s.”

  “Hah. Don’t tell me. I’ve already seen enough that I couldn’t have imagined.”

  She bet he had. She rubbed her cheek against his thigh and felt him squeeze her shoulder. Beyond these walls, the night held a threat, a huge threat, for her, but within, close to Coop, she felt as if she were protected by a magic bubble.

  She wished she knew some way to express that without embarrassing him. He seemed to consider what he was doing as perfectly normal, and the few times that she had said he was special, he’d dismissed it.

  Maybe because of his personal cemetery. Maybe bodies buried there haunted him in ways she could scarcely imagine. Maybe because he said he honored them by remembering them. That was an awful burden to carry in his heart, but to her that merely spoke of what a truly good man he was. He said he believed in what he did, yet apparently he also felt the weight of it, for good or ill.

  And she thought she’d had a rough time of it? She probably had no idea how rough life could really get. None at all.

  At least she didn’t remember. Maybe she should stop thinking of that as a loss and start thinking of it as a mercy, even if it had changed her entire life in ways she was just beginning to understand.

  He spoke. “Maybe you ought to give medical school another look.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ve had this great big interruption. Instead of trying to pick up things where you left off, maybe you should go for what you really want. Start at the beginning of the big adventure. And don’t use money as an excuse. People go to medical school somehow, and when they get done they manage to pay their loans back. Maybe you need to take a fresh look at it.”

  “Maybe,” she said slowly. A little kernel of excitement awoke in her, and she realized that she still wanted to be a physician. A doctor. Nothing had cut that out of her. And nothing had blocked her except herself.

  As the idea turned in her mind, she thought of all the obstacles. She’d have to bone up for the MCAT so she could get admitted. She’d have to make sure the finances would work. But why not take another look at it? Her entire life had been run through a shredder. Maybe it was time to go for it.

  Maybe she was being given a second chance.

  For the first time it occurred to her that something positive could come out of all of this.

  “You’re special, Coop.” She blurted the words. “And don’t argue with me, okay? I’m not asking for your opinion—I’m giving you mine. You’re special.”

  His hand paused as it stroked her shoulder, then resumed. “Thank you,” he said finally. As if it hurt to accept the compliment.

  What in the world did this man believe about himself? she wondered. That he just did his job and no more? That he could have been replaced by any of a billion men? She wondered if she’d ever met a man with so little ego. He was clearly capable and competent in many ways. He accepted that, but as if it were just average. Maybe for a marine it was, but somehow she doubted it. Maybe the standard he measured himself against was impossibly high.

  Whatever, it was not something she could bring up. As much time as they had spent together, they hadn’t reached that kind of intimacy.

  Thinking about Coop took her out of herself. So much so that she finally fell asleep without realizing it.

  Never knowing that the man who held her watched her sleep and smiled.

  *

  Todd’s father had never gotten rid of an old car when he replaced it. The man had quit farming when his father had died and instead had become a financial planner. A trade he taught to Todd.

  But the cars remained in the unused barn, an excuse for working on engines on a Saturday or Sunday. Todd had always hated it, but his dad had loved it, so he’d put up with it. Which meant that there were three old cars in the barn, rusting and aging, but as tuned up as race cars. Most of the time they sat on blocks. Once in a while Todd picked up some retread tires for one or another of them. And when he needed anonymity he had it.

  None of the cars were registered any longer, so every year he stole useful license plates from other states, just in case he needed to drive one. Cops weren’t interested in stolen plates at all, not unless they stopped you and one was on your car. Since he only drove his own vehicle on road trips, he had nothing to fear.

  Lately he’d been using the old Biscayne, but maybe it was time to switch to the Olds. He didn’t want to become recognizable around town, not at all.

  So tomorrow he’d move the tires from the Biscayne to the Olds, and the Illinois license plate, as well. Or maybe he should switch to the Missouri plate, in case someone had noted the Illinois plate.

  He’d think about that tomorrow.

  At least he’d gotten away from Cooper. Thank goodness he hadn’t driven close to the Brewer house. No trail. He had to keep that in mind, because now he was dealing with a marine, and he hadn’t the faintest doubt that Cooper could track well.

  Stay off the grass; use a car no one would identify—not the one he’d been using to talk to the kids. Not when he went for Kylie.

  In fact
, he told himself to stop sending her warnings. The black rose had been irresistible, but that was enough. Any more and he might make a mistake he couldn’t afford.

  But as soon as he lectured himself, he started dreaming about other ways to scare her. He was discovering that he enjoyed playing with his prey.

  Maybe when he was done with Kylie, he’d look for someone else to taunt and torment. It was just too delicious.

  He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done this before.

  *

  Coop allowed himself to doze on the couch with Kylie’s head safely in his lap. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was as good as a cat at waking up. Years in extreme danger had turned him into the ultimate light sleeper. He could doze off at the drop of a hat at any moment when he felt safe, and wake even more quickly at any unusual sound, however quiet.

  But Kylie’s sudden gasp was hardly quiet. Instantly awake, instantly alert, he looked down at her and saw that her eyes were wide open, staring. She felt as rigid as steel.

  “Kylie?” He waited, hoping she might just go back to sleep. She might not really be awake. But then her voice reached him.

  “I...remembered more.”

  Aw, hell. Without a word, he scooped her stiff body onto his lap and wrapped her in whatever security his arms could provide. “So it’s coming back.”

  “I’m afraid so.” She whispered the words, and her hand clutched the front of his sweatshirt in a death grip.

  “His face?” Coop asked.

  “No. Just more of...the knife. It’s almost like a fixation.”

  “Hardly surprising.” He meant it. The horror of what had happened to her had probably focused on the instrument that had struck at her more than her attacker. Her eyes would have fixated on it, as well as her mind.

  “Useless,” she muttered.

  He hesitated, then said, “Hardly. You’re getting your memory back. That’s probably a good thing.”

  She didn’t dissolve into terrified sobs this time. In fact, the tension eased out of her remarkably quickly. As if she were making some internal adjustment to her memory. Progress? He hoped so.

  When at last she seemed comfortable against him he said, “Why don’t you try to see if you’ve recovered any other memories? Ordinary ones, like school, and your job. Maybe more is returning—it’s just not grabbing your attention.”