DEFENGING THE EYEWITNESS (11 page)

He couldn’t have begun to explain why her carefully cultivated indifference bothered him so much. It wasn’t just that she was living a half life, it was that she was treating him as if he had no reality. Polite, superficially friendly, willing to share a bit of laughter and a meal, but almost never to actually share herself.

A smart man would have looked at Sleeping Beauty here and moved on, but he couldn’t move on. Those letters kept him nailed firmly here because he wasn’t the type of man who could ignore the fact that she might be facing real trouble.

Or maybe he wasn’t the type of man who could walk away when defied by a nearly blank wall. Which probably made him some kind of creep, but he was past caring. He’d fought to sweep away that facade tonight, and he wasn’t ready to quit.

He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said hate would be better than nothing. Her hate would at least be real.

He didn’t examine his need to get a real response from her, a real feeling about him. He’d seen the cracks earlier when she’d called him a battering ram, but then she’d pulled back. Back into her safe dark place.

Back into superficiality, where they both pretended everything was just fine.

Nothing was fine. Not her, not him, not those notes. He’d been somebody else for so long now, maybe his entire problem was that he needed somebody to really see
him.
He certainly felt a strong need to see
her.
The real Corey, not the icon of friendly tranquillity she pretended to be.

Because he could feel in her that there was no real tranquillity. There sure as hell wasn’t any in him.

Even as he seized her and kissed her, he knew this was all wrong. She’d have every right to throw him out. To have him arrested. And he just plain didn’t give a damn.

He needed
something
from her, something real.

At first she was stiff. He could sense the fight building in her, but shortly after he clamped his mouth over hers, he felt the change. She softened as if something hard had been yanked out of her. She melted as if feeling a new kind of warmth.

And then slowly, astonishingly, he felt her arm slip upward to wrap around his neck. Her head tipped back a little to rest against his arm.

Here came that reality he wanted.

Her mouth had been open when he started kissing her, but only now did he take advantage of that fact. He plunged his tongue into her, the way he’d have liked to plunge his staff into her. Taunting, teasing, showing her things he was absolutely certain she’d never experienced before. Like how many sensitive nerve endings there were in a mouth and the delicious shivers that a carefully wielded tongue could send racing through her body. He sought gentleness, sought to take his time, but in truth need was beginning to pound in him like the beat of his blood.

His tongue moved in and out of her as he tasted her. He snaked his tongue along hers, then traced her teeth and the insides of her cheeks until she shivered. Only then did he pull out and ever so lightly lick her lips. Her breathing had speeded up, her arm around his neck tightened as if she didn’t want to let go.

He should have felt triumphant, but he knew there was going to be hell to pay for this. He’d crossed into territory where she had never let anyone go before. Just this simple kiss. She was going to be mad at him, and mad at herself because this was one wall she’d never be able to erect again.

Her curves felt luscious pressed to him, and she turned into him, granting him even more sensation, the fullness of her breast against his chest, the roundness of her hip against his swelling erection. When she squirmed on his lap, he groaned deep in his throat and knew she must feel his hunger for her. Too late to hide it, too late to take anything back. He shifted a little, too, cupping her hip with one hand as he raised the other to stroke her hair and her cheek.

No further, a smidgen of sense warned him. Too soon. But he could steal just another little kiss and he did exactly that, tasting her anew. His head spun with delight as he felt her respond this time, trying to mimic his movements. When her tongue entered his mouth, everything inside him exploded with pleasure. He sucked on it, as he wanted to suck on other parts of her, and heard a soft sound escape her.

Time to stop. Now. Before he forgot himself and her inexperience. It felt like tearing away a piece of his own body, when every cell demanded he continue, but he wasn’t so far gone he didn’t remember who and what he was dealing with here.

Slowly he lifted his head, breaking the kiss, trying to make his reluctance obvious. Then he wrapped his other arm around her, waiting for his body to quiet, his heart to slow.

Waiting for whatever vengeance she wanted to take.

Because he was sure to the core of his being that he’d given her enough cause just this one night to hate him forever.

But she didn’t seem to be in the mood for vengeance. She stayed where she was. Minutes ticked by and he didn’t mind. Frankly, he hadn’t let anyone come this close to him either in a long time. Flings with easy women, well, they’d been part of his persona, though one he hadn’t been fond of practicing often. When you’d known the real thing, the pretense wasn’t very satisfying, unless you were built differently than he was.

But just hugging a woman like this? More than six years. At least. He didn’t want to give this up quickly.

But finally she stirred and dropped her arm from around his neck. He tensed a little, waiting for the fire to rain on his head.

Then she amazed him. “I liked that,” she murmured. “Grab me again sometime.”

All the apologies that had been bubbling up inside him, starting with how hard he had been on her earlier, burst like an overfilled balloon. Um, wow? “You’re okay?” he asked, almost unable to believe it.

“Very okay,” she said shyly.

“Not mad at me?”

“I suppose I should be, but I’m not.”

Caveman tactics win the day, he thought, shocked. Who would have thought? “Really? You’re really not mad? After the way I’ve carried on tonight I couldn’t blame you if you told me you never wanted to see me again.”

An eternity seemed to pass while he waited for her to speak.

“You hurt me,” she said finally.

He tensed. Here it came. Nor could he deny that he deserved it.

“I’ve never had anyone talk to me that way before,” she continued. “Never. I felt gutted.”

Part of him wanted to apologize, but part of him held back. Rightly or wrongly, someone needed to kick her out of the safe little cocoon she lived in. Especially now with these notes. There was a chance that denial could be deadly. Besides, after accepting her on her terms the past few weeks, he could no longer stand it. It actually hurt to see her locked up inside herself. Nobody should live like that.

“Other people,” she said quietly, “just leave me alone. Take me as I am. Assume that what they see is me. Why can’t you do that, Austin?”

“Because it’s painful to watch.”

The thought seemed to appall her. But she was still sitting across his lap and making no attempt to escape. “I wonder if anyone else sees me the way you do.”

“Some do, probably. I don’t have a corner on seeing behind the obvious.”

“I don’t know.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “Certainly no one else has your gall.”

“I’ve got plenty of that.” True enough, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. “Maybe I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.”

At that, the oddest smile came to her mouth and her eyes opened. “I’m glad you didn’t. It hurt like hell. I still need to evaluate what you said, but at least now I’m going to evaluate it. I probably should have taken a hard look at myself a long time ago.”

“Maybe you were hurting too much.”

“Maybe I was hiding too much.”

She stirred and he let her go, aching as she pushed herself from his lap to sit beside him. Was this the distance returning? But no, she kept talking.

“Some of what you said...well, I know it’s true. And like you said, the truth hurts. I told you, for days after they pulled me out of the...the murder scene, I hid in a closet. My grandmother and aunt got me out of the physical closet, but I guess part of me is still there.”

He didn’t speak. He’d talked enough for one night. Maybe more than enough. Instead, he held out his hand and waited.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she reached out and laid her hand in his. At once, he clasped her fingers and squeezed gently.

“Maybe,” she said quietly, “it’s time for me to grow up.”

“I think you’re grown up. I also think you’ve been traumatized. There’s a difference.”

“I guess.” She sighed and let her head fall back against the sofa, revealing a slender neck he would have liked to cover with kisses. But this was definitely not the time. He looked at their clasped hands, and realized he was looking at a minor miracle. Maybe even a major one.

“You were right, though,” she said. “I never let anyone help me very much. I didn’t trust them. Or maybe I was afraid.”

“Losing a mother can do that, I imagine. Especially losing one the way you did. But you saw a therapist.”

“For a while. I don’t remember it very clearly, except that it seemed very important to become normal.”

“Normal? Why?”

“I was afraid of the therapy. Maybe I was afraid I’d remember things. I don’t know, I was just a kid.”

“So you fooled everybody?”

“I learned to act like most everyone else. That seemed to make everyone happy.”

That hit him like a hammer blow. So everyone was happy when she started acting as if nothing was wrong? What a great message to send, yet he could understand how it came about. People wanted her to be better. When she started acting as if she was, they heaved a huge sigh of relief.

Leaving Corey broken in a new way. Man, it was hard to keep his mouth shut. But he didn’t need to, because Corey spoke again.

“I guess I learned some of the wrong lessons.”

“You were a kid.”

“Yeah. Amazing how kids think, huh? Not remembering the murder was a good thing. I heard that because it frightened me not to remember. The psychologist insisted that it was a kind of protection, that if I ever needed to remember I would, but it was okay to forget. But then she’d ask questions like she didn’t really believe I’d forgotten. Those were the questions that scared me most. I didn’t—and still don’t—want to remember what I saw. When I was in high school, I went to Gage and asked him what had happened, and he gave me as sanitized a description as he probably could. It seemed like enough.”

“It probably is.”

“I don’t know. I just knew that the only way I was going to stop going to therapy was if I acted like I was okay in every way. So I became okay. But, not really.”

“Look, about what I said...”

She turned, hushing him. “You were right. People tried to help me and I didn’t really let them. Then it kind of faded away. Everything seemed all right until my aunt got sick. Folks tried to help but I’d put on a smile and say I was doing fine. I was always doing fine. I guess I even persuaded my grandmother that I was doing fine. But that was the whole game, you see. To be fine.”

She surprised him then by looking down at their linked hands. “Funny, but right now I feel better than I have in eighteen years.” Her fingers tightened, holding his hand as if she feared he might pull it away. “Do you realize that no man has ever held my hand? I like it.”

“I’ll gladly hold your hand anytime you want.”

She smiled at him. It wasn’t a bright smile, but it was genuine. “I may take you up on that.”

“Feel free.” He was amazed that an evening that had been headed for catastrophe had turned out so well, but he didn’t entirely trust it. Eighteen years of learned habits wouldn’t be easy for her to overcome.

Nor would the desire he felt for her make any of this easier. He still couldn’t believe he had grabbed her and kissed her that way. Nor could he argue that he had done it for her sake. No, he’d done it for his own. An utterly selfish need to penetrate her walls had driven him to it, and now he was going to pay for it. Now he didn’t have to wonder what it would be like to hold her and kiss her. Now he knew. This whole situation was apt to drive him nuts.

She was fragile. Rapunzel had peeked outside her tower. So far she liked what she had seen, but it might take only a small thing to drive her back into the safety of her fortress. She’d been trying to go there right before he grabbed her.

She could do it again, and how he was supposed to prevent that, he had no idea.

“Corey?”

“Yes?”

“Just don’t lock me out. Hate me if you need to, but don’t lock me out. I’m here for you, and I don’t want to have to batter at your walls again.”

“I’ve been shutting people out for a long time,” she admitted. “Keeping everyone at a safe, friendly distance. I don’t know how good I’m going to be at this whole trusting thing. But I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

“But if you see me slipping, bring out the battering ram.” A crooked smile accompanied the words. “I have a feeling that I’m going to be very grateful to you.”

He didn’t want her gratitude, but he didn’t say so. He’d done enough for one evening. Whether anything good would grow out of this, only time would tell.

Then she squeezed his fingers and withdrew her hand. He searched her face to see how far she was withdrawing, but she looked calm. Back into her shell? He couldn’t tell.

“I’m really tired and I have a lot to think about. So tomorrow we beat each other up?”

“I was thinking we could beat up some punching bags.”

She surprised him with an almost impish grin. “That, too. See you in the morning.”

Then she was gone, leaving in her wake only her faint scents, scents that he somehow knew he would never forget.

Chapter 8

C
orey was feeling pretty wiped by the time she left the gym in the morning. Austin had wanted to jog home, but she didn’t have time. She needed to shower and get her store open for the afternoon.

It turned out to be kind of funny, though. Given the number of stop signs and turns, he nearly kept up with her, and once even passed her, waving as he went. It brought a giggle to her lips, a sound she was relieved to hear.

Last night had been hell. Well, except for the kissing and hand-holding part. His method of just grabbing her and doing it was clearly wrong, but she couldn’t hold it against him. She never would have let him do it any other way, but she savored the all-too-brief experience he had given her. He had shown her something that hitherto she had only been able to imagine. Her fingertips touched her lips briefly and she couldn’t smother a smile.

Was it wrong to hope he’d do it again?

But the moment of delight faded as she recalled the rest of the evening. He’d been ruthless in calling her attention to her shortcomings. She had been so angry with him at first, she had wanted to hate him, but unfortunately, her self-delusion didn’t extend to denying a truth that was as plain as the nose on her face. The brief time she had spent in her bedroom, trying to stay angry before Gage had arrived...well, the anger had started fizzling rapidly. Truth had pummeled her and it hurt.

Part of her was still that child who had hidden in a closet after her rescue. She didn’t know much about what had happened before that, except that she had been described as nearly catatonic. When they’d taken her to a temporary home, she’d found an isolated closet, climbed in and refused to come out. Even her grandmother and aunt had had trouble getting her out of there, until finally Aunt Lucy had just reached in, pulled her out and said, “You’re coming home with us, Corey. You’ll be safe at home.”

Maybe a bad choice of words, she thought now. Home. Where was home? With the mother who was gone? It certainly hadn’t felt like coming home with her grandmother and Lucy.

Her memory of that time was blurry and broken, little pieces that didn’t string together, like snapshots out of order. She remembered the closet. She remembered being torn from its safety. She remembered snatches of the drive up here and of the weeks following. It was as if her memory stuttered. Or perhaps a seven-year-old’s memory just wasn’t that good to begin with.

Regardless, she needed to face up to the fact that part of her had never come out of that dark closet. She had felt ripped from safety by her aunt, and so she’d built her own little closet inside. A place nothing could touch. Where nothing could get at her.

Then she had realized they wouldn’t leave her alone until she seemed normal again. She had hated going to the psychologist. It had threatened her in some way she supposed she ought to think about. Had she thought the psychologist would tear away her closet? Expose her to all the things that terrified her? Or bring back her memory?

She didn’t know, but she remembered very clearly the moment she had realized what they all wanted: for her to act as if nothing was wrong, to be like the other girls in second grade. They wanted her to appear to be okay, even if she still had the dark closet inside her, a closet she wasn’t going to give up.

Pretending had been a whole lot easier than letting anyone get inside her. Thus, the psychologist’s conclusion that amnesia had benefited her, and that she was better off not remembering. Everyone had seemed happy with that.

Maybe she’d been happy with that herself. The therapy visits had tapered off and she’d thrown herself with a vengeance into being just like the other girls.

Except she wasn’t and never would be.

But appearances were everything, right? Wrong, evidently. Austin had pierced right through them last night, leaving her feeling exposed, raw and full of demons she’d never dealt with.

Maybe it was time she considered a return to therapy. There was a new psychologist in town, a woman who seemed nice enough.

But no, she wasn’t ready for that yet. She wanted to think some things through first, decide whether she really wanted to change.

Because any way she sliced it, she hadn’t been doing that badly all these years. She spent an awful lot of her time with women, listening to them talk about everything under the sun, and if there was one thing she had figured out, it was that every single one of them had problems. Sometimes they were quite open and talkative about it. Other times, she just got hints that things weren’t quite right in someone’s world.

Nobody had a perfect life. Nobody was pain-free. The important thing was coping with it somehow.

She already did that fairly well. At least until Austin.

No, she needed to be fair. Until the notes. She doubted anything would have happened last night at all except for her reaction to that note. She’d finally reached out to someone and had gotten more than she had bargained for.

He’d held up a mirror, showing her that she apparently didn’t seem as “okay” as she’d been pretending. Or maybe he was just unusually perceptive. Either way, she’d looked at herself in a fun-house mirror and now had to decide how much of the reflection was true. And once she decided that, she needed to figure out whether she wanted to do something about it.

Goading her, though, was the memory of his kiss. The memory of having her hand welcomed by his much larger one. If she ever wanted that kind of stuff to be part of her life, then she would
have
to change.

For the first time in her life, she truly sensed what she had been giving up. Just a taste of all that she was passing by in her determination to avoid men and remain “okay.”

Damn. By the time she pulled into her driveway, she was mad again. She couldn’t remember the face of a single man, so she didn’t trust any man. Well, except for a very small handful, like Gage Dalton. She doubted she would have allowed him within her protective circle except for the hours she had spent at the local library with his wife, Miss Emma. Getting to know Emma inevitably meant getting to know Gage. Even after all this time, the two were a classic pair of lovebirds. Sitting in the library on any given Saturday afternoon often meant Gage would be hanging around, sometimes with their two adopted sons, sometimes by himself. Emma sparkled when he was around, and he smiled a lot.

So she’d gotten to know him well enough, and a few other guys. Just a few. Nor would she ever forget the time Gage had stood as a bulwark with her when those detectives had come up from Denver trying to discover if she remembered anything at all. They’d been careful, but even at her young age she had remembered that Gage had hovered protectively and kept them not only careful but kind.

She glanced at her watch and realized she still had some time. She had started backing out of the driveway again when Austin startled her by rapping on the side of the car.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “I thought you wanted a shower.”

“Cemetery,” she said shortly.

He frowned. “Can I ride along?”

She shook her head. “I need to be alone.”

“I’ll follow you, then.”

Damn. She cussed under her breath and pulled out. Let him follow. She couldn’t prevent that.

The cemetery lay on the eastern side of town in one of the flattest areas around. Though the mountains rose abruptly from the high plains, as one approached them the ground began to roll gently. The farther east one went, the flatter the land became.

From the cemetery, though, you could see for miles. The caretaker kept it in fairly decent shape, keeping the grass trimmed if not manicured. She vaguely remembered when someone had suggested they plant trees out here, but the idea hadn’t flown well. The area was drier than most and besides, everyone claimed to like the unobstructed view.

Without trees, however, the prairie wind keened ceaselessly, pulling her hair loose from its ponytail, whispering in her ears as if to share long-forgotten messages. She heard Austin’s car pull up as she walked down the rows, knowing exactly where she was going.

Three canted granite stones lay side by side, one for her mother, and identical ones for her aunt and grandmother. Nearby was a bigger stone, for her grandfather. He’d left a place for his wife, but before she had died she had told Corey to bury her beside the girls in the same way.

She dropped to her knees and sat on her heels, studying the headstones. She hadn’t known her grandfather at all. He had died before she was born. That left three she had known, all she had known of her family, and she couldn’t remember one of them. Not really.

Oh, she had photos of her mother to remind her, but it wasn’t the same. She had only the merest snatches of memory, the slightest fragments of speech or lullaby, and after all these years she couldn’t know if she remembered that correctly.

What she
did
know was that not having a mother had left a gaping hole in her life. Memories shared by Cora and Lucy hadn’t been enough to fill the emptiness Olivia had left behind her. Reaching out, she brushed some dried grass from her mother’s tombstone. It was an old hollow inside her and the years had made it familiar. It didn’t eat her alive anymore. Lots of kids lost their mothers.

But this was the last of her family, lying here in a row beneath the ground of the place her grandparents had come to settle so long ago.

Looking at the row of tombstones, she faced the fact that all life ended here. All around her stood markers to lives that were gone, some of which were probably forgotten. All those experiences, all those years, and it came down to a gray slab that marked nothing except that a person had once lived.

Olivia’s life had been dreadfully short. As far as Corey knew, the only mark her mother had left on this world was a daughter.

Look at that daughter now. Somehow Corey didn’t think her mother would be especially pleased with her. After all, Olivia had taken life by the horns as a single mom who had moved to Denver with big dreams. She had dared to have a child in this little town without revealing who the father was, or marrying. All she had ever said about the man was that he was someone she had met on a trip to the West Coast. Clearly he hadn’t been black Irish.

It was all very odd, but Corey could also see how very brave it had been. No one would have blamed Olivia if she had left her daughter behind with her mother and sister while she struck out on her own. In fact, Cora had often assured Corey that she would have been glad to raise her from birth. Maybe she had even wanted to.

Questions would never be answered now. Sighing, Corey kissed her fingers and pressed them to each headstone in turn. Life always ended here.

Maybe it was time to take more advantage of the years she had been given.

* * *

Austin watched from afar. He sat in his car and kept an eye out, but apparently no one else had any desire to visit the cemetery this morning. Nor to even drive by, although it didn’t seem to be on the way to anywhere. It was set off by itself in a place that appeared desolate, the town disappearing from view behind a bit of rolling land.

He wished he knew what Corey was thinking. She’d had a rough time last night, thanks to him, yet she hadn’t shared a single thought this morning. If he’d hoped to break down her walls, he was now wondering if all he’d done was to raise them higher.

The workout this morning had been good. She apparently remembered a lot of her self-defense training and merely needed a tune-up. She’d certainly pummeled the punching bags in a way that suggested she was dealing with something unpleasant. But not a word. A few smiles, an occasional laugh, but otherwise she talked about nothing except the moves they made and how to do them better.

Then a trip to the cemetery? This didn’t strike him as a good thing, but how would he know? Maybe she came out here frequently. Some people did. All she had now was memories, after all. Maybe this was Sunday dinner with the family.

Damn, that sounded awful. He shouldn’t have even thought that. But looking at her over there kneeling by some headstones made her loneliness stand out as if it were limned with neon.

He had a big family. Huge by some estimations, he supposed. Growing up, his best friends had been his cousins and brothers. He’d straddled two worlds while all the time being swaddled in family. He couldn’t imagine what life must be like for Corey, surrounded by people but none of them family. Not anymore.

Of course, he’d also seen cases where family wasn’t such a great thing, either. What was that saying? Family aren’t necessarily people you would choose for friends. Probably true. Maybe he’d just been blessed.

Still, she looked awfully alone, and he had to batter down an impulse to go to her. She had said she wanted to be alone out here, so maybe he should respect that. He’d respected little enough last night.

At last she rose, brushed off her knees and returned to her car. At once he turned and headed back to town, giving her the space she wanted.

Had he made things worse for her last night? The glum question followed him all the way back.

* * *

The store was quieter than usual, even for a Sunday afternoon. Corey felt disappointed, then realized she’d been hoping for an unlikely flow of customers so she wouldn’t have to think about anything.

“Coward,” she said aloud. And maybe that was the definition of everything she’d become since her mother’s death. Hiding, always hiding inside herself. Afraid of things she had no reason to fear.

Really, to be afraid of almost all men because of one she couldn’t remember? Maybe Austin had been right when he said she might be better off if she could remember the man who attacked her mother.

But how could she do that? The entire episode had been firmly walled off by her brain. Protection, maybe, but useful? Maybe not. Probably not.

For heaven’s sake, she was twenty-five, nearly twenty-six, and she hadn’t even dated. Until last night, she’d never held hands with a man or kissed one. She’d blocked out a huge chunk of her life because of fear.

Didn’t that make her feel proud?