DEFENGING THE EYEWITNESS (4 page)

“Maybe.”

“No wonder,” was all he said.

But those two simple words seemed to free up something inside her. “I was thinking, after the way I reacted when you offered to walk me home, if I wouldn’t be better in the long run if I
could
remember.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I honestly don’t know. Overall it’s probably best that you don’t remember.”

“I had therapy for a few years after, and the psychologist would agree with you. But I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Why?”

“I know it was a terribly brutal murder. I’m glad I don’t remember that part. But if I could remember the guy’s face...” She trailed off. This seemed like a remarkably intimate discussion to be having with someone she didn’t know. Yet something about him invited confidences. Probably part of what had made him good at his job.

She sighed. “I may not remember, but it’s left me with an indelible suspicion of men. Apparently that much didn’t vanish into amnesia.”

He nodded and sipped some coffee. “That’s why you didn’t really want to rent to me, and why you reacted the way you did when I offered to walk you home. It makes perfect sense. Would you like me to move out? I don’t like the idea that I’m making you uneasy by staying here.”

“I don’t want you to move out.” The words came with surprising ease. “It’s getting easier for me, and I need that, if you can put up with my quirks.”

At that he smiled. “I know quirks. Yours aren’t that bad.” Then his smile faded. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

“I was actually lucky. My grandmother and aunt took me in. In fact, the scariest part I can remember was the three days I spent in foster care.”

“Why three days?”

“Because they had to prove they were related to me and go through background checks. There was other stuff, too, I guess. The sheriff here even had to attest to their ability to care for me. I don’t remember that part, obviously, but my grandmother and aunt told me about it. They wanted me to understand why I had to stay with strangers for so long.”

“You must have been terrified.”

“I was.” She shook her head a little, as if she could shake off the memory. It wouldn’t entirely shake away, though. “They must have wondered what they were getting into. I was placed with a family and I was terrified of the father. I hid a lot. When my grandmother came for me, they had to pry me out of the back of a closet.”

He swore quietly. “Is your aunt still around?”

“No. She died of leukemia seven years ago. Grandma passed five years ago.”

“Your father?”

“I never knew who he was.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “I have more family than I know what to do with. I can’t imagine not having any.”

“I can’t imagine having a huge family.”

“Maybe you’ve created one here. As I was out and about today, people wanted to know a little about me. When I explained I was rooming with you, I heard all about your sewing circles. You seem to be quite a social center in your shop. So you’ve got a family. Not blood family, but still.”

She felt herself smiling at last. “That’s how I think of them.”

“And look at it this way,” he said, leaning forward a little bit, “you aren’t stuck with the ones who drive you crazy.”

“Are you?”

“Of course. I can’t be rude to Tío Reynaldo just because he’s obnoxious. Not allowed.”

She laughed. “Do you really think I could be rude to anyone in this little town?”

His smile widened and she almost caught her breath. My word, this man was attractive. Extremely so. His smile seemed to draw her in and make her heart skip a few beats.

“Well, you probably could,” he said. “Just like I could be rude to Reynaldo. But there’d be hell to pay.”

“It sure wouldn’t help my business.”

He laughed. “There’s a downside to family. I could share some of mine with you.”

“Starting with Reynaldo?” she asked archly. Amazement filled her as she realized how easily he had changed the subject and her mood. Relaxation replaced nervousness, and while she hadn’t quite made up her mind, she rather thought that having Austin around for a while might not be bad at all.

“Of course starting with Reynaldo,” he agreed. He glanced at his watch, a battered and inexpensive brand. “I need to get to the grocery. I picked up some clothes earlier, but I didn’t shop for food. They close at six today, right?”

“Right.” She glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. “You’re running out of time. Why don’t I drive you over there. I can show you where everything is.” She surprised herself by making the offer, then realized she felt good about it. A major step forward.

“Will you be all right with that?”

She nodded. “Let’s go. I need a few things, too.”

Chapter 3

T
he man sat at the old computer. It didn’t always work right anymore, but he had little use for it. He had begun to while away his evenings by composing messages in green letters on a black screen. He had known the first one he had decided to send would probably not bother the woman at all, but he was in no rush. These things needed careful planning.

Besides, he was going to have fun watching as the messages became increasingly troubling for her. He knew she didn’t remember. She didn’t need to remember until he reminded her. He liked knowing that he was in on a secret and she wasn’t.

He’d been watching her for a few years now. At first, he hadn’t thought much about it because she was so young, but now she was old enough that she should have dated someone, and if that had happened, he would have heard about it. Those things weren’t secret in Conard County.

So she spent all her time with women. All of it. Her preference was unmistakable. The more he watched her, the more convinced he became that she was just like her mother. What was more, she’d quit going to church right after her grandmother had died. There could be no other reason for that change.

He’d had a brief moment of doubt when that man moved in with her, but then he’d watched through the window of the shop and had seen that woman hug her and kiss her.

There was no longer any question. She was what she was, and eliminating her revolting presence from this world had become imperative.

Cleansing was imperative, and this was his mission. He had no delusion that he could get rid of them all, but he could get rid of some of them.

Her mother had been a start. He had come back here thinking that was all he needed to do. But then her daughter had grown up and he’d begun to feel the irritation again. That woman shouldn’t be walking the same streets with decent folk. It wasn’t right.

But he wanted her to know what was coming. He wanted her to fear it. He wanted her to feel the trap closing in on her.

Because as he’d already discovered, the killing was too swift and too kind for someone so evil.

* * *

Empathy.
It always struck Austin as a crazy descriptor for someone who could go successfully undercover, but at the start of this journey the psychologists had assured him it was essential. Part of being undercover meant being able to identify with the reasoning and motivations of the people you were investigating. Walking in their shoes, as it were.

Well, he’d walked in their shoes for six years, and the results had left him with an internal mess. Yeah, he’d identified, all right. He’d understood. Clinging to his own values had sometimes become extremely difficult.

Had those psychologists even considered that part? Probably not. He’d not only walked the walk and talked the talk but he’d become one of them, all the while trying not to break the law or kill anyone. In that business, it was a dicey proposition.

He sure wouldn’t be the first person to get so messed up by undercover work that he had to walk away. Austin still hadn’t made up his mind about that. He’d never go covert again, but he wondered if he’d fit any other capacity.

He still often felt that he was on a spaceship, having departed one place, awaiting his arrival at his destination. Almost like being in suspended animation. Sooner or later, he was sure he would land. He just wondered where it would be.

He was troubled by Corey, though. It seemed to him her healing may have been truncated by her inability to remember, but he sure wouldn’t wish those memories on anyone.

He understood her problem with men, though. Completely. It wasn’t just empathy, either. After all, he’d been shot at on two occasions by fellow agents who had no idea he was on their side, and then he’d been left in that rat-infested cell being beaten by the Federales until they managed to identify him and yank him out. He wasn’t feeling too fond of his fellow agents these days.

He could have gone home to San Antonio, but that was too close to the border, too close to the culture he was trying to shake away. Right now he needed to get his feet firmly planted in Anglo soil, his head firmly planted in this world.

As for his family...he didn’t know exactly what the agency had been telling them all these years, except that he was alive and okay—okay being a relative term. They did know he was doing something highly secret, but after six years they must be wondering where the hell he had gone.

He supposed he ought to write or call, but something in him held him back. Maybe it was knowing they’d inevitably pressure him to come home, and he just wasn’t ready to do that yet.

So he focused his attention on Corey. He doubted he could help her, and he wasn’t a good bet for much these days. He’d discovered a streak of paranoia in himself that wouldn’t quit. It had made sense during the operation, but now? He couldn’t trust. He hadn’t even really trusted the sheriff who had brought him over here, in spite of the fact that the man was his best buddy’s friend. But then, he wasn’t sure he trusted the old friend anymore, either.

Devil of a conundrum, he thought as he walked around town. He couldn’t trust anyone except himself, Corey couldn’t trust men, and he supposed he ought to find it amazing that they’d managed to get through a whole week now without any problems.

He tried to stay out of her way, which hadn’t been too difficult considering that she worked long hours. Occasionally he drifted past her shop and was amazed by how busy she often was, especially in the evenings. At night and on Saturdays, the place filled to the rafters with women. The local churches would probably be happy with such high attendance.

The women came in all shapes, sizes and ages, they arrived with smiles and left with smiles. All of them carried big totes full of their projects and materials. When they left, the totes were fuller than before. Corey ran around looking happy, a tape measure draped around her neck, a big pair of scissors sticking out of her work apron.

He tried not to hang out in the vicinity too often. He didn’t want to make Corey, or anyone else, nervous. He’d found Mahoney’s Bar where he could get a shot of tequila and lime and one night had even gotten into a drinking contest with a couple of guys. He had a great head for tequila. He’d had to.

But that episode had had an amazing effect. Men nodded to him on the street now. Friendly town. But he didn’t trust it one bit. He’d been in a lot of friendly towns the past six years. It was what went on underneath that mattered.

He realized he was scoping Conard City just the way he’d done with other towns across the border. Looking for a way in, looking to get clued in, looking to be taken as an insider. Damn. Would he ever get rid of the old habits?

Should he?

He almost laughed at himself. He hadn’t landed yet, obviously. So he turned his thoughts back to Corey. Maybe not wise, given her distrust of men. Every time he thought about her, his brain ran to sensual and sexual activities.

She wasn’t even his type, not that that seemed to be helping. Fair, blonde, blue-eyed... But while she didn’t exactly flaunt it, she had a great shape, too. His eyes had a tendency to want to roam over her in a way that invariably left him hot and bothered. He thought he had pretty good control over his impulses because control had been essential to survival for a long time now. He couldn’t afford distractions.

But Corey was proving to be one hell of a distraction. He had plenty of stuff to deal with, but his mind kept rambling right back to her. Like it or not, regardless of the number of times he tried to cross her off his mental list of possibilities, she kept bobbing right up in his thoughts.

When he watched her talk, he wondered how her lips would taste. When she laughed, something inside him sparked with pleasure. When she grew pensive, he had the worst urge to reach out.

She couldn’t have been more off-limits if she’d been surrounded by barbed wire, but he kept wanting to jump that fence and bed her. He hoped she didn’t suspect.

How could she? he reassured himself. He’d been staying out of her way, keeping their meetings as light as he could manage. If he’d been doing it right, he’d become the nearly invisible roomer in the background.

But he knew he wasn’t entirely invisible. A time or two he’d seen an answering spark in her. A flicker of interest that she quickly buried. So he wondered just what it would take to get past that woman’s fence. As near as he could tell, no one ever had. She’d come back to this town as a child, and nothing she said led him to believe she had ever left it again.

That struck him as sad. There was a whole world out there, good and bad, but mostly good, and she’d nailed herself to this tiny town because she was afraid of the dragons outside the gates.

He wished for her sake that they’d been able to catch the perp who had killed her mother. Maybe then, not being able to remember wouldn’t be so crippling.

And what the hell did it matter, anyway, he asked himself irritably. He needed to find his own forgotten self, and he’d be moving on once he settled his own mental and emotional tab. Right now he was useless to everyone, himself included.

So leave Rapunzel safely in her tower, and get his head out of his groin.

Rapunzel? Really? He was losing it.

The thought made him laugh out loud, which drew a few looks his way as he strode down the street. He didn’t care. A few of the people even smiled.

As long as he didn’t run around town giggling like a lunatic, it would probably be okay.

Autumn just tinged the air and he noticed how much shorter the days had grown in the week he’d been here. Oh, they were still long, but the change was more noticeable here than down south. Maybe he was dealing with more than culture shock. Maybe he was dealing with climate shock, too. Desert nights at high altitude could get surprisingly cold, but he was used to hot days. No such thing up here, at least not now. People walked around looking perfectly comfortable in shirtsleeves when he was wishing for sweaters and a jacket.

Well, he’d been raised in places that rarely saw snow or ice. San Antonio had a kind of winter, but he suspected that if he stayed here for long, he might be in for some new experiences. After all, when he’d shopped for clothes, he’d seen some jackets that he had hitherto seen only in movies. He hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to buy one yet, but inside the denim jacket he had chosen, he realized he had some adapting to do. What would have worked most places he’d lived was already failing him.

Amused by his own thoughts, he started whistling as he walked, cheered by the prospect of a totally different experience. Maybe that would help jar him out of the past.

He unlocked the front door of Corey’s house and stepped into aromas that immediately snapped him back in time. He froze, working on centering himself, even as the scents called to mind another time and place.

“Austin?”

He closed his eyes, gathering himself.

“Austin?”

The voice came closer. He opened his eyes and drank in Corey, in all her Nordic beauty. She definitely didn’t remind him of the past. Today she was wearing her golden mane in braids that wreathed her head. With a wrench that felt almost physical, he felt himself land in the present once again.

“Hi,” he said.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” She was smiling with delight.

“I can smell it.”

“Tortillas,” she said, looking as pleased as if she were giving him a huge gift. “My friend made them. Some with white flour and some with cornmeal because I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer. Come tell me if I’m cooking them right.”

“Sure.” He followed her, trying to shake off a sudden woodenness in his legs. Ridiculous reaction. Stupid reaction. Just some tortillas, for crying out loud.

Apparently she had taken him at his word about stacks, because there were large ones sitting on two plates. Another plate held the ones she had cooked.

“I don’t have a grill,” she chattered. “So I’m making do with a skillet. Will that work? And you said they were cooked fast, so I assume the fire was hot?”

“Just enough to heat them and maybe give them a touch of brown.”

“Try one and let me know what you think.”

He wondered if he would even be able to swallow. What had possessed her to do such a thing for him? What had possessed her friend? They didn’t know him, and Corey had this thing about men, so what the hell? Suspicions began to arise in him. Strings were always attached.

But her face looked so open and pleased. Maybe she was just trying to be nice, although he couldn’t imagine why.

Just as her smile began to shrink, he made himself go to the table and pick up one of the tortillas. White flour. He’d loved them as a kid, but in Mexico he’d more often eaten corn. He bit into it, aware that she was watching, and in an instant was slammed back into his youth in San Antonio.

“Damn, this is good,” he said truthfully. He looked at her again, and saw her smile had returned full force. She spoke. “Melinda says she’ll be happy to make them whenever you want. And despite your doubts, there
is
a market here. She sold a bunch of them this morning. So, did I cook it right?”

“Perfectly.” He forgot his manners and just shoved the rest of his tortilla into his mouth.

“Do you have a favorite thing to put on it? I didn’t know about that for sure.”

“I’ll put almost anything on a tortilla.” He pulled out the chair and sat, reaching for one made of corn. Another flash of the past as the flavor hit his mouth. “Wow. Just wow.”

“Should I make more?”

“Lady, you can keep on cooking. But you might want to eat, yourself.”

She laughed. “I’ll get to it. They’re really great this fresh, but I keep wanting to add something. Beans? Meat? Peppers? I mean, I guess people around here cook with tortillas, but I’ve never had any Mexican food. We don’t have a restaurant here that serves any.”

He gobbled down the corn tortilla, then rose and headed for the pantry. “I went shopping, remember?”

“How could I have failed to notice? My pantry is bursting.”

“Well, here we go.” He pulled out a can of green chilies, remarking that he wished they were fresh, a can of pinto beans and some seasonings. “Allow me to introduce you to refried beans. The best kind.”