Shifting Shadows (15 page)

She
’d feared that he might find the envelope, had felt it necessary to hide it better.

When she
’d heard a noise in the night, she’d immediately taken a lamp from her bedside to defend herself. Yet she didn’t think she’d known her life was in danger—at least, not from him. But there were others.

She shoved the drawer hastily back into the desk, splayed a hand across her chest and tried to calm her breathing.

Who was
he
? And who were
the others
? How did Dylan fit in? Was he the man she’d hidden the papers from? Was he one of the others? Had someone sent him to spy on her, to hurt her?

Could this have something to do with her divorce
? But Phillip wouldn’t hurt her. He loved her, wanted her back. He was trying to make right whatever had gone wrong.

Her mind whirled like a Kansas tornado, spinning though
ts round and round, mixing them chaotically. Dylan, Phillip, Shawn, Blake, the others.

Damn it!
Why wouldn’t her memory release the answers, let her know the truth, so she could protect herself?

On the other hand, maybe she had a good reason for keeping the knowledge from herself. Maybe she didn
’t want to know. How could she stand it if she knew for certain that Dylan wanted to harm her?

She remembered the pain, the way her heart had shrunk inside her when she
’d seen him coming up her staircase in the dark, looking for her. The bond was already strong between them, and she knew he felt it too, no matter how hard he tried not to. If he was guilty, he could kill her soul as well as her body.

She rose from the chair and, like a wild woman, dove into her search, desperate to find the documents that would
tell her what was going on, who wanted to harm her. Yet at the same time a part of her wanted to hold back, dreaded what she might find.

She snatched the books from the
case, flipped through the pages, then turned the case upside down.

Yanking open one of the file drawers, she stared in dismay at her carefully labeled folders. What should she look under?
H for He? M for Murderer
? The only one that seemed even a possibility was Miscellaneous, but a careful search revealed nothing enlightening.

In the small closet, she found summer clothes hanging from the rack and a large stuffed dog on the shelf.

Terence.

She reached for the animal, took it down and stroked its dusty fur. The white around the black spots had become dingy. She squeezed one floppy ear and found that it still squeaked.

Phillip had won it for her at the Missouri State Fair the year before they got married. She remembered how thrilled she’d been, how impressed with his prowess. After they’d married, Terence had occupied a chair at the table and had, according to Phillip, frequently eaten his first helping of dessert so he’d had to have another.

She and Phillip had once shared a life together. How sad that things
—that people—could change so drastically. As she thought of Phillip, she suddenly remembered her dinner date with him. She checked her watch, surprised to find how much time had passed.

Replacing the stuffed dog on the closet shelf with a deje
cted sigh, she surveyed the mess in her office. She’d clean it up later. Right now she needed to change and get ready to keep her promise...to meet with one more piece in the puzzle of her life and try to determine where he fit.

She closed her office door behind her with a sense of regret that curiosity was the only emotion she could find for the man she
’d once loved enough to marry.

*~*~*

Analise sat across from Phillip in her favorite restaurant. Located in the Italian section of Kansas City, the place had originally been an old house and had many nooks and crannies. She and Phillip occupied a table on a second floor loft overlooking the first floor.

“
You look beautiful.” Phillip raised his wineglass to her. “That’s always been one of my favorite dresses.”

“
Thank you.” Had she known that when she selected the royal blue silk with its soft neckline and swirling skirt? Had she unconsciously been trying to please Phillip, as he was so obviously trying to please her?

Much as she
’d like to think that, she somehow doubted it.

The waiter set a large salad with artichoke hearts, olives, Parmesan cheese and other tempting ingredients in front of her, and her attention turned to it. She hadn
’t eaten all day, had been so tense she really hadn’t had an appetite. But now her body’s demands overrode her emotions. She was starving.

“
So what have you been doing?” Phillip asked. “I called the shop, and Lottie said you’d taken the day off to run some errands.”

Analise
speared an olive, chewed and swallowed as she thought about how to answer him.

“
I went to the library and looked through some old newspapers. I thought it might help me remember things.”
Old
was a relative term. He’d likely think she meant last week, not last century.

Phillip froze with his glass of wine halfway to his mouth.
“And did it?” He smiled, but his eyes were frosty.

What had she said? Could he somehow know she
’d been scouring through the past, that she once again believed she was Elizabeth, that she’d left him for Dylan in another life?

Of course not, she reassured herself. How could he know those things? Yet there was no denying that he was regarding her intently, waiting for an answer.

She tried to return his smile, hoped hers didn’t look as phony as it felt. “Nothing significant. For the most part, the last few years of my life are still blank pages. I was hoping you might help me fill in some of them.”

He relaxed, raised his wine to his lips and drank. From the time of her accident, Phillip had seemed determined to help her remember, but he appeared relieved that she hadn
’t. What in heaven’s name was hiding in the depths of her brain that no one wanted her to remember?

“
Maybe we ought to get you to a psychiatrist, try hypnotherapy or something,” he suggested.

She blinked, studied his cool countenance as he adroitly divided his attention between his food and her.
“I don’t need to see a psychiatrist.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand.
“I’m just trying to help.”

“
I know. And you have. The things you told me last night certainly helped fill up some empty spaces.”

“
I’m glad,” he said, smiling.

Lottie was right, she thought. With his silver hair, pal
e eyes and tanned, even features, he was devastatingly handsome. More handsome, really, than Dylan. Dylan had a rugged, powerful look. A dangerous look. A sensual look.

She concentrated on her salad, berated herself for the improper, traitorous thought.

“Did you go to the library alone?” Phillip asked, as though he could read her mind.

“
No. My neighbor volunteered to go along and help me find the place, not to mention operate the equipment.”

My neighbor
. It sounded so much more innocent than
Dylan
. Just thinking his name called up his image, the feel of his lips on hers, his arms around her, his heart pounding wildly against her breast.

“
Dylan Forrest,” he said. “How neighborly of him.”

She lowered her gaze
and stuffed a bite of artichoke heart into her mouth, but it had turned dry and tasteless. Her appetite had disappeared again.

“
Did you spend the entire day at the library?”

“
No. We drove around the city.”
Looking for the house I once lived in with you when we were other people, trying to find the place in the river where I drowned running away with Dylan who was then Shawn
. If she told him that, he’d have her committed. “I wanted to go down to the river.”

“
You hate the river.”

“
Yes. I do.” She cast about for a change of topic. “I was going through my office today and found Terence, the dog you won for me at the fair. Remember?”

His forehead wrinkled in a scowl.
“The fair?”

“
The year before we got married. The state fair in Sedalia. Now who has amnesia?” she teased.

“
It seems yours is going away rapidly.” She heard no happiness in his voice. But Phillip wasn’t given to effusiveness.

“
I wouldn’t call it rapid.”
I still know more about a woman who died a hundred years ago than I do about my own life.

He lifted his wineglass.
“Shall we drink to your complete recovery?”

The words and gesture, the expression of caring concern, were all exactly right. Yet his tone was
off, cool, totally lacking in warmth.

Analise
raised her glass in response, mentally rebuking herself for being so paranoid. Was she so desperately searching for proof her memory harbored a dangerous secret that she found evidence of it where none existed?

The waiter arrived a few minutes later with their entrees.

He replaced Analise’s barely touched salad with a heaping plate of pasta covered in a white seafood sauce.

She twirled a large portion around her fork, determined to eat
...if for no other reason than to escape the dizzying effect of the wine on her empty stomach. Her faculties were already severely limited. She didn’t need further clouding. What she needed was illumination, information. What she needed was to know why someone would want to harm her.

“
Who were our friends?” she asked. The question sounded saner than asking about her enemies.

He peered at her keenly.
“Mostly people from my office. Other lawyers, clients. In fact, one of them asked about you today. My client, Gordon Robison. Remember him?”

“
Yes. No.” She winced as an arrow of pain shot through from the back of her neck to her forehead, and a memory teased her but fled before she could examine it. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

“
I’ve done a lot of limited partnerships for him and Michael Stevens. They’re trying to buy a strip center now. I spent most of the day with them.”

The pain had turned into a throbbing ache, so intense it was making her nauseous.

She stumbled to her feet, pushing her chair back clumsily. “Excuse me,” she mumbled.

“
Analise, are you all right?” Phillip’s words came to her through a haze.

“
I need to go to the ladies’ room. I don’t feel so good.” He came around the table, wrapped a steadying arm about her and helped her down the stairs. As they passed under the loft, something indefinable drew her gaze to the table directly beneath where they’d been sitting.

The sole occupant sat with his back to them, face to the wall. But she couldn
’t mistake the black, unruly hair, the width of his shoulders or, more importantly, the magnetic field that seemed to emanate from him, drawing her to him.

What was Dylan doing
there?

Phillip urged her forward, and she realized she
’d been lagging. She stumbled along, trying to peer surreptitiously behind her, but Phillip blocked her view.

By the time she got to the ladies
’ room, her headache and nausea had almost disappeared. Nevertheless, she went inside and splashed her face with cold water, stared at herself in the mirror and tried to read her own mind, just as Dylan always seemed to be trying to do. She could only hope she was as opaque to him as she was to herself.

Ha
d he now taken to following her, to eavesdropping on her conversations in order to discover whatever it was he needed from her? Well, this was going too far. She’d march up to him, make sure that he knew she’d caught him, see how he handled that.

She blotted her face with a rough paper towel and went out to meet Phillip.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Your color’s coming back. You were awfully pale. What happened?”

“
I haven’t eaten all day. I guess the wine just got to me.”

But that wasn
’t it. She wasn’t sure what the problem had been, but it was nothing as simple as wine on an empty stomach.

He put his arm protectively about her waist.
“Do you want to go home?”

“
No. I’m all right. Really. Let’s finish dinner. I’ll feel better after I eat.”

As they walked past the table where she
’d spotted Dylan, she saw only a white tablecloth with a candle in the middle.

Had she imagined him
? Was she so consumed with the man that she was starting to see him when he wasn’t there?