Desperate Strangers. Carla Cassidy

looked around, the very room where he sat evoking agonizing memories. He and Debbie had bought this house just before her murder. They had painted the master bedroom her favorite shade of light blue and had updated the kitchen. They had also planted a small redbud tree in the backyard. She hadn’t lived long enough to see its first buds.

      They had planned for children to fill the spare bedrooms. Dammit, they had planned a life together and some man—some animal—had taken her away from him.

      He swallowed the familiar rage and got up from the sofa. He grabbed the hoodie with the gun, ski mask and gloves wrapped inside. He then went into his bedroom and opened the closet door.

      On the top shelf were several folded blankets. He shoved the hoodie between them, knowing sooner or later he needed to get rid of that damned gun.

      He picked up a duffel bag and placed it on his bed. He’d stay with Julie for a couple of days to help her navigate. Maybe during that time he could manipulate a fight and a breakup. That would be the best way for him to exit her life with no questions.

      Still, when her memories returned, he’d have some explaining to do, but he’d face that when it happened. What concerned him more than a little bit was the scene in her living room. What had happened there in the minutes before she’d gotten into her car and hit that tree? It looked like she’d fought with somebody.

      He had no idea if she was in danger or not, but that was another reason why, in good conscience, he couldn’t walk away from her yet.

      It took him only minutes to pack enough clothing and toiletries for a few days away. He then left his house and got back into his car.

      He turned on the radio in an effort to clear his mind from all thoughts. He didn’t want to think about how screwed up everything had become.

      He was exhausted. He’d gotten little sleep in the nights leading up to Brian McDowell’s murder. Now he feared that any sleep he did manage to get would be haunted by the vision of the bloodbath he’d seen.

      Who had committed the crime? The question thundered in his head. If it hadn’t been one of the other men in their murder pact, then who else knew about their plan to get justice that had been denied?

      Tightening his hands on the steering wheel, he turned into the cul-de-sac and steeled himself to tell even more lies. He parked and grabbed the duffel, then walked up to the front door and knocked.

      The lock clicked, the door opened and Julie launched herself into his arms as deep sobs exploded from her.

      “Hey...what’s happened?” It was obvious she hadn’t regained her memory, otherwise she wouldn’t be in his arms right now.

      She shook her head, apparently unable to speak around her tears. He dropped his duffel and hesitantly put his arms around her. “Julie, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

      What he really needed her to do was to step away from him despite the fact he’d pulled her closer into his arms. Her trembling body against his felt far too warm as he became aware of the faint, attractive floral scent that emanated from her.

      As if she read his mind, she took a step backward and instead grabbed his hand and held tight as he picked up his bag once again. She then led him into the living room. She dropped his hand and pointed to the telephone answering machine on the end table.

      “What is it?” he asked. A new tension tightened his stomach. What now? As if this whole situation wasn’t complicated enough.

      Julie stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “The last message. You need to listen to it.” She made no move to approach the phone, but instead stared at it as unmistakable fear leaped into her eyes.

      With a sense of dread, Nick walked over to the machine and punched the appropriate button so he could hear the message. As the rasping voice filled the room, Julie sank down on the sofa and began to quietly cry again.

      Fear replaced his sense of dread. The venom-filled voice hadn’t issued just a warning...it sounded like a promise. What in the hell was going on? He’d escaped one murder scene only to walk into another potentially deadly mystery.

      “You don’t recognize the voice?” he asked. He hadn’t even been able to tell if it was a man or a woman. It had obviously been computer distorted.

      Once again she shook her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. “I don’t know the voice and I don’t remember what I’m not supposed to tell. I was hoping you could tell me. Did I share with you anything that might explain the call?”

      He sank down next to her, wondering what in the hell he’d gotten himself into. “No, I don’t have a clue. You never mentioned anything to me about any kind of a dangerous secret.”

      “I’m in a nightmare,” she said softly. “I’m in a damned nightmare and I can’t wake up. I can’t tell what I don’t remember and how will the caller know I have amnesia?”

      “We should call the police.” As much as Nick didn’t want any authorities involved with him, this sounded serious and he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—choose his own safety over hers. She didn’t deserve that.

      “No, I don’t want to talk to the police,” she surprised him by saying. She rubbed two fingers in the center of her forehead. “I’m not sure why, but my gut is telling me I don’t want the police involved in this. Besides, what could they do? It was an anonymous call. It would be easy to write it off as some kind of a terrible prank. They aren’t going to put manpower and effort into figuring it out and, without my memories, I can’t help them at all.”

      She reached for his hand and her fingers clung around his tightly. Her blue eyes gazed at him with love...and need. “I’m just so grateful I have you, Nick. I don’t know what I’d do right now without you.”

      He squeezed her hand. “I’m here and nobody is going to hurt you as long as I’m around.”

      An overwhelming sense of resignation swept through him. Damned. He had a feeling he was damned if he stayed with her and damned if he left.

      * * *

      JULIE BOLTED UP with a scream on her lips. Instead of releasing it, she gasped, her racing heart making it difficult for her to draw in a full breath. Her bedsheets were twisted around her thighs, as if attempting to keep her in the nightmare she now couldn’t remember.

      Morning light drifted through her thin, lacy bedroom curtains as her heartbeat slowly returned to normal. She drew in several deep breaths.

      What had she dreamed? It had obviously been a nightmare. Otherwise she wouldn’t have awakened with the taste of fear lingering in her mouth and a scream begging to be released.

      Disappointment washed over her as no memories of the past ten months had come to her with sleep. But what she remembered vividly was the frightening phone call promising her death if she told what she knew.

      What did she know? What secret was trapped in the darkness of her mind that was worth her death? Was she safe because she couldn’t tell anyone? Would the caller leave her alone if she didn’t spill whatever secret the caller thought she knew? Was that what she had dreamed about?

      Nick. Just thinking his name caused a calming effect even though the night before had been a bit awkward. She’d just assumed he would stay in her room and sleep in her bed with her. Despite having no memories of him, she was fine with that. But he’d insisted he stay in her guest room.

      She knew he was only thinking about her and she appreciated that, but it would have been nice to go to sleep last night with his big, strong arms around her. Maybe then she wouldn’t have suffered from a nightmare.

      She glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. It was a few minutes after seven. She’d called her father last night to tell him about her accident and her stolen memories. He’d immediately declared a family meeting at her place at eight thirty this morning.

      It would be the first time her family met her fiancé.