Forgotten (Shattered Sisters Book 2) (19 page)

"You really like this, don't you?"

She handed him a can of worms and settled back down in her spot beside him. "What's not to like?" She extended her wounded leg carefully and drew the other knee up to her chest, wrapping her arms around it and gazing out over the calm blue. Crickets chirped madly, and once in a while the deep croak of a bullfrog floated like a foghorn on the breeze. The night wind stirred her hair.

Ash baited his hook and, with a less-than-expert cast, sent his line sailing out over the small lake. "So how did you know about this place?"

He balanced his pole in his own forked branch and sat down, closer to her than before. But when he glanced at her face, it was troubled. "Joey?"

She swallowed, sighed softly. "My dad used to bring us here when I was a kid. Back when I thought he
was
my dad. I didn’t know he was my stepfather until two years ago."

"Did you like it this much then?"

She didn't look at him, just kept staring out at the water. "Mom would pack more food than an army could eat. We'd build a fire, toast marshmallows." She laughed, just a little. "Caroline would never bait her own hook. She hated touching worms, and she never caught a thing because she'd insist on holding her pole. She wiggled it so much a fish would have to be nuts to try and bite. But Dad would hook one on his, and he'd let Caro reel it in."

Ash felt a twinge inside. Jealousy, maybe, for the childhood he'd never had. And then he felt something else, something sad, when her smile slowly died. "That was before I knew what he was really like. I thought he was Superman back then."

"Tough image to live up to."

She said nothing, just looked away, up toward the starry sky. Her eyes shone a little too much, and she blinked quickly.

"Joey, have you ever sat down and talked to him, heard his side of things?"

"There's no excuse for what he put my mother through, so why bother asking him to explain?'' She shook her head. "No, Ash, I don't want to talk to my stepfather."

"But maybe if you—"

"Or
about
him." She shook her head. "It hurts too much."

"If you didn't still care, it wouldn't hurt at all."

She looked him square in the eye. "Sounds like the voice of experience."

He clamped his jaw. He was certain what he'd said was true, in her case. But not in his. He didn't care at all. Never had. It was different

"Were you close to your father, Ash?"

"I never knew my father."

“Neither did I. Not my birth father, I mean. He died before I ever knew he existed. Turns out he was a skunk, too. Although….”

“Although…?” he prompted.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Toni adored him. Even after she knew he’d cheated on her mom and fathered kids by other women, she still adored him.”

Ash got to his feet. "You know, that campfire idea isn't bad." He looked around, spotted some twigs and dried leaves and began gathering them.

"What about your mother?" Joey asked.

Ash deposited the kindling atop the charred remains of other fires, old ones. "You didn't happen to bring any marshmallows, did you?"

He felt her gaze on him for a long moment. Then she released her breath all at once. "Afraid not."

He looked at her and saw the knowledge in her eyes. He knew she was feeling his emotions just then, experiencing his private hell right along with him. And for some reason, it didn't feel like an invasion. More like a mental hug. When their eyes met, those fingers of horror from his past released their brief grip on his mind. Warmth and light took their place.

She got up and limped toward him, stopping right in front of him, and he straightened from his task of arranging kindling. Her hands slid up his chest, around his neck, and she stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her closer, and then he opened his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply, slowly, savoring her taste and her scent and her sweetness.

God, what was this thing that filled him when he was with her? Not lust, though he wanted her more every time he looked at her. No, it was more than that, deeper, fuller, bigger than that. It seemed to ooze from his every pore and press in around him from without at the same time. It enveloped them both, he thought, trying to fuse them into one being.

He felt her fingers threading into his hair, and her body pressing to his. He felt the cool, damp breeze bathing them both with its marshy scent. He lifted his head, staring down at those glittering green gems.

She blinked at him, her eyes wide and wonder filled. "I'm so afraid of this," she whispered.

"Of wanting me?" He slipped his hands beneath her shirt and ran his palms over the warm, smooth curve of her back.

“Of...of
needing
you.''

He closed his eyes at the impact of her words. "I know."

"It's overpowering. It's getting worse all the time, and I—"

"And I can't do anything to stop it," he finished for her. "I'm not sure I
want
to stop it." He took her hat off and tossed it aside. Then he kissed her cheek, her jaw.

She let her head fall back and he trailed his mouth over her neck. "It's out of my hands," she said softly, her voice wavering like the breeze skipping over the water's surface.

"Then just let it go." His lips moved over her throat as he spoke. "Let it go, Joey."

He brought his hands around between them and pushed the soft flannel from her shoulders. As it fell to the ground, he pushed the tank top up, wrestled it over her head and tossed it aside. They fell to the ground wrapped in each other’s arms, melding into one, just like before. It was intense, supernatural, he thought, the way he felt when they made love. It felt as if she was the part of his soul he’d been missing, and when they joined, he was perfect, and whole.

He made love to her, and she to him, as the isolated lake’s water lapped softly against the shore, and the stars twinkled overhead, and the crickets sang like a holy choir as he savored their sweet oneness. And afterward, he closed his eyes and relaxed on top of her, supporting most of his weight on his knees so he wouldn't crush her. Her small hands stroked his back, and her lips moved over his face and neck. He smiled, smoothing her hair and lifting his head enough to look into her eyes. They sparkled, searching his.

"No one's ever made me feel the way you do, Ash."

His ego launched skyward. She had that effect on him a lot. "I was thinking the same thing about you."

"Faint praise from a man with no memory." She laughed softly, but her smile died seconds later. "But that won't be the case much longer, will it?"

Ash frowned, immediately alert. Was she onto him? "What does that mean?"

"Your memory. It's starting to come back." She averted her eyes.

"What makes you think so?"

"You wouldn’t be having that nightmare if you didn’t remember something about your childhood. And you said you never knew your father.”

She was too perceptive. He hadn't even considered the possibility that she would...read him so well. "The doctors said that my oldest memories would most likely come back first. To tell you the truth, I’d just as soon forget those for good.”

She ran one hand over his hair. "It was pretty terrible, wasn't it?"

He nodded, not wanting to talk about the hell of his past. She must have read that, too, because she went on. "And then there's the apartment. You seemed to know where everything was. Didn't seem disoriented or anything."

"Oh, that." He said nothing for a moment, kicking himself mentally for slipping. "It felt sort of automatic."

She smiled, but her eyes seemed so sad it tugged at him.

"You're getting better and you don't even realize it. Soon you'll remember everything."

"You don't sound happy about that."

"I
want
you to get better, Ash. Don't doubt that."

"But?"

She closed her eyes, shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"I think it does."

"Let's not talk about it, Ash."

He sighed hard, rolling off her and reaching for his clothes. For just a second there, he'd thought she might come clean, tell him everything, explain her lies. She had disappointed him.

When they got back, Detective Beverly Issacs was pacing the hallway in front of Ash’s apartment door, looking fit to bite nails in half. She looked at Joey briefly, then focused her attention on Ash.

"I've been trying to get in touch with you for hours." It had the ring of an accusation.

Ash's arm fell slowly from Joey's shoulders, and she wished he'd left it there. She disliked this woman instinctively, felt the hairs on her nape stand upright in warning.

"Why?" Ash stepped forward, frowning hard.

Bev's face hardened. "We found another one."

Joey's blood ran cold. Her fingertips felt like ice and tingled. Another one. Another of the Slasher's victims. She closed her eyes. God would the killing ever end?

"When?" Ash hurried past Bev to unlock his door. He shoved it wide and stood aside while the tall woman preceded him through.

"Three hours ago, in a run-down house up in Central Square." She spoke as she walked.

Joey saw Ash glance back at her. She stiffened her spine and made herself move forward. She didn't want to hear this, but she supposed she had to. At least this time no one could suspect her. She'd been with Ash all day, all night. Never once out of his sight.

"Victim number five," Ash quoted as Joey passed him. He closed the door, and they walked into the living room.

"Two," Beverly Issacs corrected. Ash only frowned at her. "Number two, near as we can tell. This one had been dead a while. Older man, lived alone, no close neighbors. Probably still wouldn't have been found if some kid hawking magazine subscriptions hadn't noticed the smell."

Joey turned away from them, her hand going over her mouth.

"Dammit, Bev, can you get any more graphic?" Ash stood behind Joey, his hands closing on her shoulders, squeezing.

"Sorry. Didn't know she was squeamish."

Joey stiffened, and slowly she turned to face the woman. She was
not
squeamish. She'd just cleaned and skinned a half-dozen bullhead. Her hand tightened on the paper-wrapped fish. She'd forgotten she still held them. She didn't say a word, just walked into the kitchen, dumped the package into the sink and turned on the water. As she washed the filets, she could still hear Ash and Beverly talking.

"So why were you so frantic to reach me?"

"I wasn't, until I couldn't find you. Then I got to thinking our friend might've decided to make you his evening's entertainment"

"That's a leap of logic, even for you, Bev."

"Yeah, well it's damn near two a.m. Who's out at this time of night? And then there's your new wife, who hangs out at murder scenes for fun. Add in all the information you have about the case—you know, the stuff you aren't telling me—and it isn't so farfetched."

"You know everything I do," he said, but even Joey could tell by the slight smugness in his tone that he was lying. Joey sprinkled the fish with salt, wrapped them in clean, white paper and set them in the fridge. Then she washed her hands, letting the warm wet flow and soapsuds sooth her.

"Oh, yeah? Well I don't know why a guy named Harris, from the paper, would come to see me about a routine burglary investigation, snatch a few butts from my ashtray and slip 'em into his pocket. Can you explain that to me?"

Joey could picture the way Ash would shrug, his face all innocence. "Beats me. Nicotine fit, maybe?"

"So you're not talking?"

"Bev, will you relax? If I find anything solid, you'll be the first to know. You think I want this creep to go on killing?"

"If I find out you're withholding evidence—"

"You know me better than that."

"Stubborn son of a—" Beverly broke off, eyeing Joey suspiciously as she reentered the living room, then shook her head hard and started for the door. "God, I hate men!" The door slammed behind her when she left.

Ash gave Joey a careful look. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Is Bev a suspect, too?"

Ash shrugged and slipped an arm around her. "What, just because she hates men?"

He was being evasive. "What does the
Chronicle
plan to do with her cigarette butts?"

"Rad's having them DNA tested at an independent lab...just to be on the safe side. Turns out Bev was working in Vegas when those other murders went down. I don't really believe she was involved, but—"

"Did you give him something of mine to have tested, as well?" He didn't answer. Joey stared up at his face, and he didn't have to. She closed her eyes. "God, you really do think it was me."

"Joey, that's not true and you know it. I expect the test to clear you."

"But you're not sure, are you?" She looked away, speaking before he could answer. "No, don't say anything. There are already too many lies between us, Ash."

"Maybe if there weren't, I could give you the answer you want to hear." He held her shoulders, staring down at her, searching her eyes. "Talk to me, Joey."