Delaney's Shadow (10 page)

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Authors: Ingrid Weaver

Tags: #mobi, #Romantic Suspense, #Paranormal Romance, #Fiction, #Shadow, #epub

BOOK: Delaney's Shadow
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Annalee had been in her freshman year at college, younger than Phoebe, when she’d become pregnant. Neither she nor Delaney’s father had been in a financial position to support a child, and neither had planned on getting married at such an early age. They’d had a one-night stand, which wasn’t enough to base a lifetime commitment on, so Annalee had continued to live at home. She arranged to leave the child-care duties to her parents while she went back to school to finish her degree, dreaming of eventually becoming a teacher. She’d planned to build an independent life for herself and her daughter, but she never got the chance. Less than a year after Delaney was born, Annalee was diagnosed with leukemia.
Delaney’s grandparents had done a good job sheltering her from the situation. Rather than remembering her mother’s illness, she remembered her love. It had been unconditional, always there, as much a part of her as her blonde hair or her laughter or her delicate hands. Even now, when Helen spoke of her daughter it was usually with a smile. Loss hadn’t turned her bitter. It had made her cherish the living even more.
Delaney sighed. She and Elizabeth had both lost their mothers when they’d been children, and as a result they had both drawn closer to their fathers. She hadn’t been entirely honest with Leo. It wasn’t only her loyalty to Stanford that caused her to go easy on his daughter. She understood where Elizabeth was coming from. Delaney might not have behaved any better than her stepdaughter if she’d had to share her father’s love with a stepmother, particularly if she’d believed the match was wrong for him.
The issue had never come up, though. Charles Cowan, Delaney’s father, had never married. That hadn’t stopped him from gaining custody of his natural daughter. At first Delaney had hated being wrenched from her grandparents and the only home she’d known, but once she got older she understood what an exceptional man her father had been. Many men in his position would have turned their back on an unplanned child. Not Charles. He’d tailored his life to make room for her. Though he hadn’t been as emotionally demonstrative as Delaney’s mother or grandparents, she’d been just as sure of his love.
That was important to a child, regardless of age. No matter how annoyed Stanford had been with Elizabeth, he shouldn’t have changed his will to cut her out. She would have interpreted that as a rejection. Perhaps if Stanford had lived longer, Elizabeth would have come around. She was only a few years younger than Delaney, a fact that had strengthened her objections to the marriage, yet Delaney had hoped their close ages could have at least allowed them to be friends. From what she’d seen, Elizabeth was too immersed in her career to have many of those. That was another trait Stanford had shared with his daughter. Business had always been his first priority, too.
Most of the time, anyway. Except for their final night. He’d cut short a meeting so that he wouldn’t be late for their dinner. At the restaurant, he’d turned off his phone completely instead of setting it to vibrate silently, which had been another exception. When her phone had rung on the way home, he’d insisted that she not answer it.
Delaney froze, not daring to move or even to breathe. The memory fragment hovered in front of her, tantalizingly close and so clear she could feel the hum of the engine through the soles of her boots as she leaned over to reach for her purse. Stanford took one hand from the wheel and caught her wrist, saying he wanted her all to himself . . .
The memory wavered, then slipped from her mind like mist through her fingers.
She exhaled carefully, her heart thudding. It hadn’t been much, but it was something. Another moment of life with Stanford. A glimpse of truth to build on. This proved she was right; her memories weren’t gone. All she had to do was unlock them. She leaned closer to the window and focused on the darkness, opening her mind to the past.
Moonlight spilled across the yard like snow. There had been a light dusting of it the night of the accident and snowbanks along the sides of the road from an earlier storm. She tried to picture the ride home. Had there been snow in the headlights? The road in her nightmare had been wet. It had turned to water and seaweed that had curled around her ankles to hold her down . . .
Delaney shuddered, then tried to take control of her memories the way she’d controlled her nightmare. The water was only dew. The fire was sunshine. There was nothing to be afraid of because Max would keep her safe.
A shadow moved in the center of the yard. It was in the same place where Max had appeared yesterday morning. The shape was shot full of moonlight, as if it weren’t entirely there. As she watched, it darkened into the silhouette of a man. A tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair. A sensation of warmth and welcome settled over her. She knew who it was. “Max,” she whispered.
It had happened again. She’d been seeking a memory and had found Max instead. Why? Was she crazy? Was she dreaming?
Did it matter?
She’d already decided it didn’t. As long as he helped her cope, she would use anything, even a figment of her imagination. “Hey, Max,” she murmured. “Up here.”
The hazy shape disappeared.
She peered at the spot where he’d been until her eyes watered and she had to blink, but the lawn remained empty. A cool breeze stole through the screen. She crossed her arms, rubbing her palms over her sleeves.
“You don’t sleep much, do you?”
She jerked. That was Max’s voice. He’d sounded annoyed, just as he had yesterday, as if she’d disturbed him and he didn’t want to talk to her.
But the voice hadn’t come exclusively from her head. It seemed to have come from the room behind her.
SIX
 
 
DELANEY TURNED.
A man was standing beside her bed. He was part shadow and part moonlight, just as he’d been in the yard. She could see one of the bedposts and the pattern of the wallpaper behind him.
Through
him.
Yet the more she stared, the more the image solidified. Details emerged. There were loose folds in the pale shirt that draped his shoulders. It fell untucked over his hips. Faded, washed-soft denim molded to his long legs. His feet were braced apart. They were bare. His shirt wasn’t only untucked, it was half-buttoned, as if he hadn’t finished dressing. Or more likely, as if he’d been taking his clothes off.
She thought of the naked skin she’d glimpsed the night before. Awareness tickled down her spine like the brush of an electric current. She raised her gaze to his face.
A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, partly obscuring his left eye. His lips were pressed in a firm line, deepening the shadows beneath his cheekbones. The features that had once been boyish had become too sharp to be handsome, as if a sculptor had chiseled them down to the quintessential masculine basics. To someone who didn’t know him, he might appear harsh. To anyone else, he wouldn’t even be here.
Yet he looked real to Delaney, as real as the boy who had been her playmate and best friend.
She deliberately dug her fingers into her arms. She felt the prick of her nails through the silk of her robe. She felt the floorboards beneath her feet and heard the insects and frogs outside the window. She couldn’t explain the vision away this time. She was actually seeing . . . “Max,” she breathed.
“Why do you sound surprised every time? You’re the one who did this, not me.”
“Did what?”
“Brought me here.”
“I . . . didn’t plan to. It just happened.”
“And you figure we can just pick up where we left off, is that it?”
She bit her lip. She was still giving her imaginary friend an attitude. “Be nice, Max. You used to be happy to see me.”
“I used to be a lot of things that I’m not anymore.” He turned his head, as if he were looking around him. “Is this your old room?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s changed. I didn’t recognize it last night.”
“Last . . .”
“When you brought me into your nightmare.” He finished his survey and focused on her. “Do you get a lot of those, Deedee?”
“Nearly every night. Uh, thanks for helping me handle it.”
He dismissed her thanks with a shrug. “You didn’t give me much choice. I’d been asleep and didn’t see you coming. Why did you call me this time? Did it come back again?”
“No. I didn’t mean to call you. I was only trying to remember.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that. Why?”
“It’s important.”
“Take it from me, there are a lot of things that are better off left buried.”
“Like you, Max?”
“Exactly like me.”
She shook her head. “Why are you acting this way? You used to be my best friend.”
“That was more than twenty years ago, Deedee. You’ve been gone for a long time.”
“Is that why you’re acting so hostile? Because I left you? Max, I couldn’t help it. I . . . grew up.”
“I noticed.”
His voice had roughened. The deep tones licked across her nerves, as cool as the breeze that wafted over the tops of her breasts. She drew the sides of her robe together and tightened the belt.
He arched one eyebrow.
She dropped her hands. It was ridiculous to feel modesty in front of a figment of her imagination. She’d thought him up. She’d given him the attitude. It must mean she wanted him to be that way.
What way? Brooding? Tough? Self-confident and sexy?
Sexy?
That was ridiculous, too. Of all the issues she needed to deal with, sex wasn’t even on the radar. “You might as well stop being difficult and help me. It’s the reason you’re here.”
He walked toward her soundlessly. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m here to satisfy my curiosity, that’s all. You disappeared last night before you answered my question.” He cupped her right shoulder. As gently as a whisper, his thumb skimmed over the silk that hid one of the burns.
The sensation that followed his touch stunned her. The damaged skin tingled with life, as if the pleasure came from the inside. Even through her robe, the contact felt wonderful. No one had touched her injuries except for doctors. No one, besides Max, had even seen them. “Question?”
“Tell me how you got these.”
It was odd that she needed to explain them to herself.
Odd? Could it be any odder than seeing him in the first place? Imagining him here?
Touching
her? “It was an accident,” she replied rather than analyzing the apparition any further. “At least that’s what the police said.”
“A car accident?”
“That’s right. Apparently, I drove a Jaguar XK into a utility pole.”
“Then the nightmare was real.”
“The crashing part was.”
He slid the backs of his knuckles down the front of her robe, following the scar to her breast. “And the fire.”
“Yes. All of it was real, except the water.”
“That was real. The seaweed, the mud. You almost died then, too.”
She swallowed. Imagining his touch was making it more difficult for her to think. She stepped back to break the contact and bumped into the window frame. “No, my subconscious probably put that in because I don’t like water. That’s what Dr. Bernhardt believes.”
“Who’s that, your shrink?”
“Yes.” And he’d probably lock her up if he saw her now.
“So it’s your shrink’s idea for you to remember your childhood.”
“No, you’ve got it wrong. I don’t need help remembering that. It’s the more recent past. I have a . . . mental block of the accident.”
“From what I saw last night, that’s something else that’s better left buried.”
“I’m not trying to remember the accident itself. It’s the four hours before it that matter.”
“Why?”
“I want to know the truth. I need to know what happened during my final evening with my husband.”
“Your husband,” he repeated. He held her gaze as he touched her jaw. “That’s where the pain came from, isn’t it?”
Somehow she knew he wasn’t speaking only of the physical pain. She nodded, brushing her cheek across his fingertips. It felt so good. Right. As if he fit there, like a missing part of herself.

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