Run to Me (33 page)

Her mind reeling with memories, furious emotions pounding, Shea entered a code to the lock of the storage facility. One of the small but important pieces of information she’d been able to recall.

She’d arrived late last night, exhausted. Jagged and raw inside, as though someone had taken all of her emotions and ground them in a blender. All she’d wanted was to walk into her home and feel as though she belonged.

The way to her house had come to her as she drove the rental car out of the parking lot of the airport. Forty-five minutes later, she arrived at a pretty one-story, redbrick house with a neatly manicured yard and white shutters. A sense of well-being hit her, as if this place held some good memories. She opened the car door, put one foot on the paved driveway, and stopped as that new sense of peace was replaced with shock. She no longer lived here. She didn’t remember why or how, but she knew she’d sold her home and most of the furnishings. The remainder of her things were in a storage facility about ten miles down the road.

She backed out of the drive quickly, unwilling to face the home owners and try to explain how she’d forgotten that she’d sold them the house. Past the point of being embarrassed about her memory loss, she just didn’t have the energy to come up with a believable excuse.

Since it was so late, she located the nearest motel and fell into bed. Unfortunately, she spent a restless night with memories. Some sweet and some horrendous, they bombarded her like a hailstorm. When she woke this morning with the beginnings of a violent headache, a large part of her just wanted to roll over in bed and try to forget again. She refused to give herself that out. She’d come to here to find Shea Monroe. If all that was left of her was in a tiny storage facility, then she’d damned well find it and deal with the pain.

Three cups of coffee and a piece of toast at the attached restaurant revived her. Now she told herself she was ready, one way or the other, to face her past.

Regaining her memory was supposed to take time, maybe weeks or months. Dr. Norton had said her mind would remember each item when it felt it was ready. At the clinic, memories had returned like snow flurries. First, a single thought or remembrance; then another and another. The pace had been slow enough that she’d been able to relish each one, savoring the knowledge. Though not all of them were happy, they were real, and that, more than anything, was what she craved. The truth. No matter how painful, no matter how vile.

She’d left the clinic against Dr. Norton’s wishes. Once she’d delivered all the information she could on Donald Rosemount, she’d had the intense desire to be on her own. Cautioning her on not overdoing it, he’d provided her with a handful of small vials of the drug and had shown her how to inject it. He hadn’t liked the thought of her having memories with no one around to help her if they became too painful, but she’d been adamant.

She was well aware that Rosemount still searched for her and had taken care to make sure she wasn’t followed. At least not by any of Rosemount’s people.

The storage door slid open with a clang. Shea took a look around the perimeter of the facility. It was early morning, so the place was deserted. A familiar car sat a few yards down one of the aisleways, but the sight didn’t alarm her. Why should it, when she knew the driver? She’d spotted him last night when she’d pulled into her former driveway.
Gabe.
On orders not only from Noah but, no doubt, Ethan, too.

His presence didn’t bother her. As long as he stayed out of her way, she had no problem with a tail. She wasn’t stupid. If Rosemount somehow found her, she would need all the help she could get.

Seeing no one other than Gabe, Shea entered the dark interior of the small storage room and flicked on the single lightbulb overhead. Boxes were stacked against the wall. Not so many, really, when one considered a life. Evidently, she had saved only those things she felt she couldn’t live without.

She turned and slid the door closed. The last thing she wanted was for a passerby to glimpse inside and see an emotionally distraught woman weeping over a box. This was hers to endure and experience alone. Shea Monroe unveiled.

Willing herself courage, Shea strode to a large box on the floor, ripped it open, and plunged into her past.

Gabe switched off the car engine and settled in for a long wait. Shea knew he was here. She’d spotted him last night at her house. He didn’t know why she hadn’t gone inside. She’d just sat there for a few minutes before driving to a small motel a few miles away.

He’d spent the night in his car, his eyes on the room she’d trudged into after checking in at the front desk. His penance. Sure, he was here on Noah’s orders and Ethan would skin him alive if anything happened to her, but there was another reason. Guilt. From the time Shea had returned from Mexico, he’d made it clear to everyone that he didn’t trust her. The drugs in her system couldn’t be doubted, but he’d had grave doubts about her memory loss and her motivation. Those doubts had disappeared.

After seeing her reaction to his comments about Cole, he knew she hadn’t remembered him. No one could make themselves look that ill or devastated. And he’d been the one responsible for the way she’d found out. Ethan should have told her, but that didn’t mitigate Gabe’s part. His past prejudice against Shea had colored his opinion.

Ethan had once mentioned that Gabe had issues with women because of his ex-wife. No:
wife.
He had to stop thinking of her as his ex. She wasn’t his ex-anything … yet. Maybe Ethan was right. The experiences he’d had could definitely skew a man’s judgment. He wasn’t proud of his bias, but at least he knew it for what it was. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

He still didn’t know what had gone on between Shea and Ethan. Had only determined that it had been Shea’s fault, since she’d up and married Cole only a few weeks after their breakup. It hadn’t been any of his business, but he’d always sided with Ethan. Seeing his friend’s pain, he’d been sure Shea was to blame. Now, he just didn’t know.

What had happened still wasn’t any of his business, but he owed Shea for his treatment of her. So until she agreed to go back to the clinic for protection or Rosemount was caught, he would be her shadow.

The cellphone beside him buzzed. He looked at the readout.
Noah.

“She okay?”

“Yeah, all’s quiet. She’s inside a storage bin right now. No sign of anyone following her.”

“Good. With what she’s given us, we’re going to be able to find the bastard. Still, there’s more that she knows. If he finds her, I don’t have to tell you what would happen.”

“He won’t find her. So she was able to give us some good leads?”

“The best we’ve had. We know his past. Where he came from, his real name. How he got started. He even explained to her how he set up an accident to kill his parents. That’s where his initial wealth came from. We’ve got people digging into that. She also confirmed what we suspected about how he gets his victims. He advertises on the Internet on various lists, screens the responses, and goes from there.”

Gabe grunted. “Guess our Web watchers are working that angle.”

“Yeah. And she gave us some names and good descriptions of some of the people who work with him. Sounds like he’s got scientists and doctors working round the clock on all sorts of drugs. He’s marketing them, too.”

“The man’s nothing if not diversified.”

“I’m hoping we can undiversify him real soon.”

“Me, too.” Shifting in his seat to make his long legs more comfortable, Gabe asked, “Did she say how she found him in the first place?”

Noah snorted. “He apparently found her.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

“She still can’t recall a lot of details yet. I’m hoping there’s more to it than what she’s remembered so far. Says she put out a couple of ads on a few sites, hawking her services as a freelance personal-protection guard, hoping he’d take the bait. Within a week, two of his men followed her home from the grocery store. Invited themselves in and offered her a job. Said she immediately knew who they were and went with them. Within a couple of days, she found herself trapped—he’d somehow figured out she wasn’t legit.”

“You’re right. There’s got to be more than that. The man had to have been tipped.”

“Agreed. We just don’t know how.”

“Maybe the time with her boxed mementos will clear some stuff up.”

“Hope so. Check in from time to time and let me know her status.”

“Will do.”

Flipping his phone closed, Gabe settled deeper into his seat. If, as he’d surmised, the storage room held Shea’s possessions and memories, he figured he was in for a long wait. He grimaced in sympathy at what she must be going through, even if it was by choice. God knew, he’d just as soon eat coal dust as delve back into his own past. Revisiting past events was not an activity he’d willingly choose.

He’d escaped from hell, so why the hell would he ever want to go back to it?

Tears rolled down her face. Sniffling, she wiped her eyes against her sleeve as she closed yet another photo album. So many questions answered. Still so many unanswered. She and Ethan had shared an extraordinary life. Unbelievable adventures, incredible fun. The photographs also revealed a unique closeness. Despite Ethan’s denial, there was no doubt in her mind that the couple in those pictures had loved each other deeply. What had happened?

She still had only minute remembrances of their relationship. The pictures had sparked a few vague memories, but nothing that gave her an idea of what had torn them apart. Ethan had insisted it was his fault because of his inability to make a commitment. That couldn’t be the whole story. What would make her leave Ethan and, only days later, marry Cole? Nothing in her profile or in discussion with others gave an indication that she was flighty or shallow. Something had to have pushed her into the arms of Ethan’s best friend. What?

She pulled another box toward her, this one filled with clothes and shoes. As her hands touched bright, jeweled colors and soft, silky fabric, Shea felt a small comfort of familiarity. These were definitely her clothes. She delved deeper, finding all styles of purses and a multitude of shoes. She picked up a clunky wedge-heeled shoe. Startled to see that the heel twisted, she peered inside the hollow space of an empty sole. Something she’d used on an op to smuggle a weapon?

Shaking her head at the odd idea, Shea pulled another box from the stack. It was smaller, older-looking than the others. As she turned it sideways to open it, her heart leaped at the word scribbled on the outside.
Cole.

Heart thudding in anticipation, she ripped it open, feeling a desperate need to learn more about the man to whom she’d been married. A stack of cards, bound by a rubber band, caught her attention. She picked it up and slid off the rubber band. Confusion had her shaking her head again. Homemade cards for all different occasions filled her hands. All obviously made by a child. As she shuffled through them, her heart pounded with an unnamed dread. Every one of the cards had “Daddy” scribbled in childlike writing. Cole had a child? Where? Why hadn’t anyone mentioned that to her?

She opened a Father’s Day card and read,
I love you, Daddy. Your forever pumpkin, Cassidy.
She flipped through a few more—they were all signed in the same way.

The cards put to the side, she delved into the box once more and pulled out a small photo album. She opened the cover and found a family she’d never seen before. They were seated in a sleigh, with a large Christmas tree behind them. The caption at the bottom read, “Happy Holidays! Love, Matthew, Jill, and Cassidy Coulter.”

She recognized Cole from the sketches she’d drawn of him. The woman, an attractive redhead with green eyes and a beautiful smile, had her arm wrapped around Cole’s waist. A precious little girl, with reddish ringlets the color of her mother’s hair and her father’s vivid smoke-blue eyes, sat in front of them. Cole’s wife and daughter? What had happened to them?

Each photograph was a depiction of a close and loving family. Vacations, holidays, sporting events. At one time, Cole Mathison had lived under a different name and had possessed an adoring wife and daughter. Something had happened to them.

Shea peeked into the box again and found another stack of cards. The top one said, “To my darling husband.” Feeling too much like a voyeur, Shea put them aside.

She dug deeper into the box and found more photos, these of a younger-looking Matthew and Jill, most likely taken before the birth of their daughter. As she stared at the photos of Jill Coulter, she began to understand her own appeal for Cole. She and Jill could have been sisters.

Her eye caught sight of a newspaper clipping at the bottom of the box. Snagging the paper, she pulled it out. Her heart turned over in horror at the headline.

SCHOOLTEACHER’S FAMILY KILLED IN REVENGE FOR BAD GRADES
.

As she read the article, her heart broke for the once beautiful family. Matthew Coulter had been a history teacher who had apparently given failing grades to some football players, who were then kicked off the team. In revenge, they’d broken into his home. The authorities didn’t believe that they originally intended to kill anyone, but one of the kids, high on drugs, went crazy and shot both his wife and daughter.

Matthew had come from work to find that his life had been destroyed.

Shea picked up the items she’d removed from the box and closed it up. It wasn’t until the small sob echoed in the room that she realized she was crying. She might not remember Cole, but the horror of what he’d experienced would affect anyone.

Pulling in a ragged breath, she turned to another box, this one even smaller than the others. The words on the outside of it caused her heart to leap again.
Cole and Shea.

She now had a good idea why Cole had married her. Now, hopefully, she would get some answers as to why she would marry one man when she obviously loved another.

The box was pitifully light. She opened it and found a few old movie stubs, a couple of photos showing her and Cole. Neither of them looked particularly happy. Her hand reached in for anything else. The tip of one finger brushed against something velvet. She picked it up.