Memories of Us (22 page)

Instead her gaze trailed over Rhett High, seated in Tom’s armchair. He flipped through a handful of papers from the piles stacked on the coffee table. An instinctive roll of tension tightened her body and she compelled herself to relax. This was simply Rhett, the ADA and Tom’s friend.

Pushing sleep-tangled hair from her face, she shifted to a sitting position. Rhett straightened and looked up from his reading, inscrutable gaze flicking over her. “Hey.”

“Hello.” She rubbed burning eyes and glanced around once more. Her pulse still wanted to flutter under her skin with aftershocks of adrenaline. “Where’s Tom?”

Rhett cleared his throat. “He left a few minutes ago.”

She nodded but he offered no additional information. A taut silence stretched between them while questions tumbled through her mind. Why was he here and not in Atlanta? And where had Tom gone?

He made an uncomfortable sound that rumbled from his chest. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

She laced her fingers, pressing until the bones ached. “So am I.”

The hush fell once more, each silent moment further straining her nerves. She jumped to her feet and paced to the tall windows facing the lake. Darkness lurked outside, a shadowy fog obscuring the houses across the water. She tapped on the glass, jitters skittering through her. Jesus above, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this edgy, this ready to come out of her skin.

She sucked in a calming breath, using one of Cicely’s yoga techniques, and pain sheared through her with the memory of the two of them stretched out on the floor in those wild poses, finally dissolving in laughter.

How was she supposed to manage without her sister, the one person who’d been the other half of herself?

This was too hard. On a torn swallow, she turned to find Rhett still watching her. “Where did you say Tom went?”

A key scraped in the lock. Rhett’s gaze flashed in the direction of the door moments before it swung open.

“Celia?” Intensity vibrated Tom’s voice. He skidded on the slick tile, a wild expression in his blue eyes as he scanned the room. He paused at the edge of the living area, lids falling, chest heaving with a deep breath. “Thank God.”

What
was going on?

Rhett stared at him. “Man, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Opening his eyes, Tom ignored him. Shaking himself free of whatever gripped him, he strode forward, attention focused solely on Celia. Still wearing that fierce look, he cupped her face with shaking hands. “You’re all right.”

“I’m fine.” She frowned. His hands were all over her, touching, checking, desperate, almost as if he needed to convince himself she was real. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, his eyes intent on her face, and the line of his throat convulsed. “I had to come back.”

She shook her head, tears threatening. Come back? What was he talking about?

“I was supposed to meet Calvert at the hospital. Rhett was here and I left because he said he’d watch over you. Except it didn’t feel right and the farther away I got, the worse it was. Then there was that damn voice…”

“Voice?”

“In my head.” His hands gripped her arms, almost bruising in his intensity. Fine tremors traveled through him, transferring into her body through his forceful touch. “Telling me to come back. I had to.”

He wasn’t making any sense, but nothing today did. Cicely dead. Tom coming back to her because of a voice? The unreality of it all crawled under her skin.

His face closed on a flare of chagrin. After one more pass over her arms and shoulders, he dropped his hands. “Fuck.”

“Tom.” She reached for him, laid gentle fingers on his arm. “It’s all right.”

“Yeah.” He passed a hand over already disheveled hair. “A Gift, Cee? Fucking useless is what it is.”

The need to comfort swamped her and she took a half-step toward him. Remembering Rhett’s silent presence, she halted.

“You’re wiped out, man.” Curiosity lingered in Rhett’s tone, overlaid by a heavy dose of sympathy. “Why don’t I go meet Calvert? You need to crash.”

“Why were you meeting him?” Celia cut across what she suspected was a denial forming on Tom’s thin mouth.

Tom gave a quick jerk of his head, some of the remaining fear draining from his features, although the self-derision hung on. “Alton Baker’s daughter is in the ER.”

Avenues of opportunity opened before her. Celia drew herself up and prepared for battle. “I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying here. I want you safe.”

“You can’t make me—”

“I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” He took her chin in a firm grip and leaned down, eyes locked on hers. “Do you understand me, Cee? Whatever it takes.”

She shrugged free of his hold, the memory of Cicely’s body pulsing in her brain. “There’s nothing to keep me safe from. They’ve accomplished the one thing that could hurt me most by taking Cis. What more can they possibly do?”

“What more…?” He caught her chin once more. “Celia—”

“I’m going.”

His cell phone rang, forestalling his reply. He jerked it from his waist and lifted it to his ear. “McMillian. I was delayed.” He listened, features tightening into a thunderous expression. “Shit. How did that…all right.” He darted a look at Celia. “Yes, she wants to come with me. In a few minutes.”

He snapped the cell shut and returned it to his belt. Frustration twisted his mouth into a tight line.

“What’s going on?” Rhett asked.

A harsh sigh shook Tom’s shoulders. “A reporter from WALB called the crime lab to verify Celia’s death and a lab clerk ‘corrected’ the misidentification. They broadcast the correction during the midevening news, just a few minutes ago.”

“So whoever killed Cicely knows I’m alive.” Celia wrapped her arms over her midriff. Just saying the words hurt. “I’m going with you.”

He gazed down at her a long moment, then gave a brief nod. “Come on.”

“I’ll follow.” Rhett pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’m here so I might as well see if there’s any way I can help.”

Tom gave him a quick glance. “Thanks, but you really should head back up to Emory. Celia, let’s go.”

A hand at the small of her back, Tom ushered Celia into the ER. The antiseptic smell invaded his senses, making his screaming tension even worse. For once the area was devoid of patients and family members, although Mark Cook cooled his heels against one wall, his gray eyes fixed on the doors marked “No Admittance”. He straightened at their approach. Heavy with concern, his gaze flicked over Celia’s face.

“St. John.”

A glimmer of a tremulous smile curved her mouth and disappeared. “Cook.”

The doors swished open, admitting Tick Calvert to the waiting area. Tom straightened, aware of Cook coming to attention as well, inquiry all over his face.

“Is she talking?” Cook asked.

“Holy hell, is she.” Excitement glittering in his dark eyes, Tick pulled them to the side. “Tori’s with her now. Get this—she said she had a baby and her daddy took it away.”

Cook’s gaze sharpened. “When?”

Tick grinned, a cat-got-the-canary smile. “Tuesday. And it was a girl.”

With a triumphant smile, Cook smacked his hands together. “That’s our dead baby.”

“Did she say why Baker took the baby?” Tom rubbed a hand along his nape, aware of Celia’s quiet withdrawal next to him. Damn it all, he should have gone with his first instincts and made her stay at his place. She was hurting and didn’t need to be involved in this.

Tick shook his head. “Just that she’d basically been a prisoner in that house since she got pregnant. Seems she wasn’t off at school like he told everyone she was. She broke her window to get out tonight, slipped down the rose trellis. Tore her hands all to hell, even before the car knocked her over.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “Bring Baker in. Charge him with unlawful imprisonment. We’ll come up with the rest later.”

Cook lifted his chin in Tom’s direction. “You want in on that questioning?”

He folded his arm around Celia’s hunched shoulders. “Hell yes.”

“Want some company?”

Her hands wrapped around a cup of squad-room coffee long gone cold, Celia glanced up at Cook. She shrugged.

His holster creaking, he dropped into his desk chair. Sipping his coffee, he eyed her own cold cup and the greasy film atop the dark liquid. Finally, he lifted his gaze to hers. “So, you okay?”

Okay? She smothered an inappropriate laugh. At this point, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay again. “I’m alive.”

A half-grin tugged at his mouth. “That counts.”

The laugh emerged as a rusty, disbelieving chuckle. “Yeah.”

He rubbed a finger around the bottom of his cup. “I’m sorry about your sister, St. John. Sorry you had to go through this.”

She smiled, the roughness of his genuine sympathy easing the knot in her chest somewhat. “Thanks, Cook.”

“Baker won’t talk, unless screaming obscenities counts. Tick and McMillian are throwing him in lockup.”

She nodded, but none of the excitement of chasing a case emerged. What did it matter who did what? Baker’s daughter’s statement, her implication of her father, being closer to the truth…none of it would bring Cicely back.

She’d still be alone.

Cook lifted his coffee. “So what are you going to do?”

“Going to do?” she echoed, frowning.

He waved a hand at the deserted room. “You gonna sit here all night?”

She glanced at her watch. After midnight. “Maybe.”

“I didn’t know if you needed a place to crash.” He coughed uncomfortably. “Figured you didn’t want to go back to your place.”

A place to crash? Hell, she hadn’t even thought that far ahead. She was simply putting one foot before the other, trying to get through the remains of this awful day. Waking in Tom’s bed, close to his side and warmed by him, seemed a lifetime ago.

“You should have seen the look on McMillian’s face the whole time we were in with Baker.”

Cook’s words finally penetrated the fog of her brain. “What look on McMillian’s face?”

“Like he wanted to take Baker apart. Slowly, with his bare hands.” One corner of Cook’s mouth quirked. “I think he could too.”

“No doubt.” She set the foam cup aside. She was tired, a soul-deep weariness that hurt all the way through her bones. “He’s a tough son of a bitch.”

“Yeah.”

Familiar male voices wafted from the stairwell, Tom’s cool tone blending with Calvert’s deep drawl.

“…subpoena Baker’s financial records, see if there’s any way to link him to Jessie or Blanton.” Tom zeroed in on her, concern darkening his eyes.

“I’ll call the lab in the morning, see if I can get them to put a rush on our DNA results.” Calvert rubbed a hand over his shadow of stubble. “If he fathered that baby, you’ll have a hell of a motive argument.”

Cook leaned back in his chair. “You want to finish going through Grady’s financial records tonight?”

“Yeah. No reason for me to go home with Cait down in Florida so—” Music cut him off and he glanced at his cell-phone display. “Excuse me a second.”

He disappeared into the hallway, his murmured conversation mixing with the hum of radio transmissions from dispatch. Celia rested her head against the chair back and let her lids slide closed. Immediately, regret gripped her as the freeze-frame images of Cicely’s body flashed against the backs of her eyelids. She jerked upright, lashes flying up, to find both Cook and Tom watching her with anxious expressions.

“Celia, you need to rest.” Tom tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s go.”

He extended a hand. For a split second, she thought of refusing, of insisting on going through records and reports, but all she really wanted was to be away from here, somewhere dark and quiet where she could face the agony.

All she wanted now was to be alone, with him, losing the pain and grief in the steadiness of him.

She laid her palm in his and warm fingers closed about hers.

“That was Cait.” Calvert strode back into the room. Fuzzily, Celia realized he wasn’t talking to her, but Cook. “Get this—they found the body, right where the psychic told them to look.”

Cook’s eyes widened in surprise. “For real?”

“Yeah. The guy drew them a map; the local cops recognized some of the landmarks on it and that led the team straight to the area where the remains were recovered.” Calvert chuckled. “I told her to make sure she got his number, in case we ever need it.”

A tiny frown furrowed Tom’s brow. “You believe in psychics?”

“All of them? No.” Calvert shrugged. “But I’ve worked with a couple who were invaluable. If someone’s intuition can turn up a solid lead, I’m not going to ignore it.”

“Interesting.” Tom tightened his hold on her hand. “Celia?”

She let him draw her nearer to his side. “I’m ready.”

Outside, the air hung cool and damp in the still night. Tom wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she tucked her face into the curve of his neck. As they walked to his car, he dropped a kiss atop her head. Her eyes burned with a renewed wave of tears, a shaky sob pushing up from her chest.

Beside the passenger door, he turned, pulling her fully into his embrace. Arms folded about her, he rocked her side to side in a slow, soothing rhythm and brushed periodic kisses over her temple, cheek, hair.

“I can’t do this.” The whispered words hurt, tearing at her throat. “Not without her.”

“Yes, you can.” He murmured the assurance into her hair. His arms tightened. “I’ll help you.”

“Tom.” She wrapped her arms about his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, tears scalding her eyes. “God, it
hurts
.”

“I know. I know, baby.” He swayed with her once more, one hand smoothing up and down her spine. “I’m so sorry.” He pulled back enough to look down at her, one thumb brushing wetness from her cheek. “Let me take you home with me.”

She nodded, more tears slipping free. He kissed one away and moved to open the door. She sank into the passenger seat and stared across the empty parking lot. He came around the hood to the driver’s side. Behind the wheel, he lifted her palm to his mouth for a moment before firing the engine.

Town faded as he drove into the suburban area around the lake. Celia rested her forehead against the cool glass, willing her mind to wander anywhere but over and over the actuality of Cicely’s death, what agonies and indignities she’d suffered.

In her place.

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to draw up the memory of her dream, the peacefulness of the meadow Cicely shared with their mother. Her sister had been beautiful and content there, none of the pain of her death evident in her face or eyes.

Jesus above, how Celia wanted to believe that had been more than a dream, to believe it was a message…

Remembrance of the dream’s shift into something dark and ominous slithered over her. She shuddered, seeking anything to take her mind in a different direction.

She traced a random pattern on the window. “What is Rhett doing down here, anyway? Why isn’t he in Atlanta with Mariah and Amarie?”

Tom cleared his throat and she sensed rather than saw the glance he cast her. “He thought he would have to step in for me, if I were under suspicion in your…he thought it was you.”

Because it should have been.

Things could have been so different, if she’d been there. She’d been trained to protect herself physically, she could have—

“Cee, don’t.” Warm fingers covered her wrist. “You can’t change it. What you’re doing…it only makes the pain worse.”

Memories tinted his voice. She turned to look at his profile as he swung onto the lakefront road. She swallowed against the ever-present lump in her throat. “Was it this hard for you?”

He slowed for his drive but didn’t speak until he drew the car to a stop before the garage. He killed the engine, rubbing his palm over the steering wheel, gaze trained on the house. His audible inhale shook his frame.

“Losing him was the hardest thing I ever had to face.”

She reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his. “I’m sorry.”

Wrapping his fingers around hers, he drew her to him and whispered his lips over hers. Their mouths clung, separated, and he released a low breath. In the dimness, his eyes gleamed down at her. He traced the back of one knuckle along her jaw.

“You need to rest.”

A shuddery sigh escaped her. “I’m afraid to close my eyes. Every time I do, I see—”

“Sshh.” He feathered his lips over hers once more. “Come upstairs and let me hold you. Let me comfort you.”

Her lashes fell and she nodded.

Sleep eluded Tom.

Celia had wept in his arms again and now dozed behind him. Standing at the window, he could see her reflected in the glass. She clutched the comforter like a frightened child in the throes of a nightmare, silvery blonde hair spread across the golden pillowcase, a small frown wrinkling her face.

Something wasn’t right.

He couldn’t get his mind centered on what exactly niggled beneath the surface of his thoughts, but
something
was off. He passed a hand over eyes burning with weariness. He was missing a fact, a nuance…an item of utmost importance.

It fucking pissed him off. He needed to be at the top of his game, needed to fit all the pieces together, to give Cicely the justice she deserved.

To give Celia that justice.

She shifted, murmuring. He spun. Her lashes fluttered, giving him a glimpse of pain-filled blue eyes. “Tom?”

“I’m right here, baby.” He crossed to the bed and sat beside her. He stroked tangled hair away from her cheek.

Her eyes closed, a tear trickling across the bridge of her nose. “Please don’t leave me.”

He caught the tear on his thumb and pressed his mouth to her temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She sucked in a tremulous breath. He shifted, sliding beneath the comforter, pulling her into his arms. She rested against his chest, fingers clutching at him with a desperation that tore at his heart.

“I keep dreaming of her.” Her ragged whisper seemed pulled from deep in her throat. “She’s with my mother, in this meadow, and I’m happy there with them, but…but there’s this darkness and she’s gone and I’m alone.”

He pressed her closer, willing her pain into him, wanting nothing more than to take it away. It washed over him in smothering waves, a grief as thick and choking as his own for Everett. Memories of how lost he’d been, of being adrift and separate, needing to connect with Kathleen over the loss of their son, being refused that comfort, deluged him.

He’d be damned before he’d leave Celia lost and alone like that.

He rubbed his fingertips down the side of her neck in an easy caress. Her hold tightened at his shoulder. Turning his head, he rested his mouth against her brow.

“I love you, Celia.”

She stilled in his embrace, even her uneven breathing seeming to stop. A tsunami of fear slammed over him and he waited for her to withdraw from his touch, his comfort, his loving her.