Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 4) (3 page)

I knew exactly what she
was thinking. She might be Houston’s most fashionably-dressed
example of nepotism, but I was worse. My dick alone could bring
Cougan Enterprises down.

Fortunately, Scott just
wanted to craft our response to the media and stakeholders in the
company, and move on as fast as possible. He’d had other companies
go through scandals, and all had survived with the help of a good
publicist. I could have told him over the phone this was just a bump,
instead of wasting precious time away from Jane.

I called her name
again. No answer.

She had to be asleep.
It had been a long, harrowing day for both of us. Too much had
happened, and now she was getting the escape she deserved.

I wouldn’t wake her.
I’d get undressed without making a sound, and get into bed beside
her. I’d watch her sleep until morning came, and when she opened
her eyes, I’d tell her she was mine. She didn’t need a memory to
know that she belonged with me.

I’d take care of
everything. It would be the biggest gamble I’d ever made, and I
wouldn’t lose.

Jane, Karina –
whatever her name was, she belonged to me heart and soul. She sure as
hell didn’t belong to a man who’d spent almost three weeks
eating, sleeping, and breathing oxygen without even looking for her.
Man
was the wrong way
to describe him. Cowardly son-of-a-bitch was more like it.

My phone vibrated. I
looked at the screen and gritted my teeth. It was a text from Pierce,
who was Christ knew where.

Crash
and burn.

Nothing else. Nothing
else needed. Fucking jerk. He couldn’t surpass me, so he’d do
whatever he could to drag me to his loser level.

It was just another
distraction from Jane. I wouldn’t give Pierce one more second of
this night.

I took off my shoes and
walked down the hall.

The bedroom was dark.
She’d be under the covers, either gorgeously naked or dressed in
one of my t-shirts. Sexier than any woman alive, and she didn’t
need lingerie to be that way. It was just who she was.

I unzipped my jeans and
dropped them to the floor.

She was a small curve
in my bed, inviting even in almost total darkness. I imagined sliding
in behind her, the intoxicating feeling of heat rising off her skin.
I was rock-hard for her already. Controlling myself would be
impossible. I wouldn’t even try.

I sat carefully on the
edge of the bed. She didn’t move. So far, so good. I lay down and
stretched out my hand toward her. And touched a stack of folded
clothes.

I leaned over and
switched on the bedside lamp. “What the fuck,” I said, and jumped
up.

What I’d thought was
Jane was nothing but the clothes I’d brought on the camping trip.
The bed was empty. And Jane was gone.

I’d been fooled, just
like the prison guards the night Elijah escaped from lockup using
blankets and a prison jumpsuit.

Not that Jane had tried
to con me. All she’d done was wash and fold my clothes in little
stacks. It was a sweet, feminine gesture, but not even remotely what
I’d hoped for.

I got up and scoured
the apartment for a note, but found only the cell phone and clothes
I’d bought her. Her dresses, jeans, and panties were freshly washed
in a laundry basket in my closet. I touched them and felt a pang in
my chest, more like a shot to the heart than a little sentimental
sting.

I shouted her name, not
because I thought she’d answer but because hope was a hard bastard
to kill.

All I got back was
silence. Silence, and the heavy in-and-out of my breathing. Damn me
for letting her out of my sight. Damn her for leaving.

I called the doorman
and drilled him, firing new questions at him before he’d even
finished answering. “Come on, Danny, think!” I snarled. “Did
you see her or not? Did somebody pick her up? Did she get in a cab?”

But he had only a vague
recollection of someone who could have been Jane slipping through the
lobby while I was a mile away, listening to Scott tell me what I
already knew.

If not for Jane’s
insistence that I go, I’d have been home with her. But she’d
begged me to meet Scott and Brooke tonight. Now it all made sense in
a miserable, fucked-up way.

I had no doubt that
Jane cared about how she affected my company. But tonight, she’d
had more than business in mind.

She knew I was nothing
like her prick of a husband. I wasn’t weak or hands-off. I was
possessive, obsessed, and stubborn as hell. And the truth was, I’d
never have let her leave.

Damn the fallout, I’d
have fought like a wolverine to keep her with me for even one more
day. I was selfish like that – when it came to her.

No wonder she’d
begged me to go to my office. She had me figured out. And I was the
one son-of-a-bitch standing in her way.

She could do what was
necessary, just like I could. Tough as it was to accept, I understood
her. She’d had to escape me to find out who she was.

I got that.

But it didn’t change
who
I
was, or what I
was prepared to do.

Jane might be gone, but
this was not over. Not by a long shot.

When I left Drex, all I
took were the clothes on my back, my purse and makeup, and enough
money for a cab. Everything else belonged to him, and the brief time
we’d shared.

He’d be livid when he
found me gone, but he’d know why I left in such a rush. Because it
was the only gift I could him. A life free of me.

I’d caused enough
damage, and it ended tonight.

He’d rescued me, and
now I was rescuing him. I was taking the disaster I’d created back
to Boston, so Drex’s company could be spared.

And so I could meet my
husband and family for the first time. I should have been thrilled.
But all I felt was a heavy dread.

Steeling myself with a
deep breath, I walked out of Drex’s apartment and firmly shut the
door. It locked behind me. I loitered by the first floor elevators
until the front desk got busy, then slipped through the lobby and got
into a taxi. I gave the driver the address of a police station
outside Houston, too far for Drex to track me down.

Walking inside with
determined steps, I hoped this experience would be better than the
last, when the Souter and Hughes detective team all but accused me of
being a hooker, a liar, or a criminal on the run. Or all three.

But I’d barely opened
my mouth to explain who I was before I was whisked into a tiny room
with concrete block walls and metal chairs. I’d been kidding myself
if I’d thought this time would be better. It was worse. This time,
the police knew exactly what I’d done.

For an hour, three
officers questioned me about the truck driver. It wasn’t enough
that he’d attacked me once in a cheap motel room. He had to do it
all over again using the press and a police report filed just before
his call to a television station. What interesting timing.

“Shouldn’t you be
asking him what he did to
me
?”
I snapped, arms locked across my stomach. “He’s the one who
bought me greasy chicken wings and backed me against a wall. And
believe me, that was
not
the deal.”

“Deal or not, you’re
a lucky girl,” one of the officers said, glancing at his phone. “He
isn’t pressing charges. I’ve just gotten word.”

“Great,” I
grumbled. “I won’t be prosecuted for defending myself.”

“Are you saying you
want to press charges against him?”

I snorted. “I will
unless he shuts up and stops talking to reporters. Otherwise, tell
him I’ll make his life hell.”

“We’re not
messengers,” the officer said with a smooth smile. “But you can
call his attorney.”

“Great. I’ll do it
right now if you’ll let me use a phone. Which reminds me, someone
was supposed to contact my husband.” The word was so foreign it
rang like an expletive in my ears.

“And that’s been
done. He’ll pick you up in the morning.”

A strange numbness
descended over me. Everything was about to change. It was only hours
away now. “The morning?” I whispered.

“Yes. He asked us to
tell you that he’s taking a red eye to Houston. He’ll be here as
soon as he can.”

“So…someone talked
to him?”

The officer nodded.
“It’s all taken care of.”

All
taken care of.
If only he knew how far that was from the
truth.

It was after midnight
when a young policewoman brought me to a windowless room with a cot
against the wall. After turning off the wall switch, I took off my
high-heeled sandals and climbed onto the cot in my clothes.

I lay awake for hours
on the hard, thin mattress, staring into the dark and hearing the
distant echo of footsteps and doors slamming.

This was the time to
take a deep breath, count my blessings, and plan. I had my whole life
ahead of me and a family waiting in Boston.

I would not pine for
Drex. I would not feel sorry for myself, or miss what I couldn’t
have. I’d recover my life and move on. That’s what a strong woman
did. She didn’t ache, and she didn’t cry.

Burying my face into
the pillow, I breathed in its faint smell of bleach and squeezed my
eyes shut. Tears leaked out from between my lashes, flowing silently
until the pillowcase was soaked. The more I tried to hold them back,
the more my heart shattered. And the less I believed my own lies.

Maybe the first part of
recovering my life was being brutally honest.

Like hell I didn’t
miss Drex. He was all I could think about. He was the only person I
knew, and the only one who knew me. I’d miss him forever.

But at least if I did,
I’d still have a connection to him. It might be invisible, but it
would always be there. No one could take it away from me. I wouldn’t
let them. I’d guard my feelings for Drex with my life.

I closed my eyes just
for a moment, and when I opened them again, it was seven a.m. A
police officer knocked on the door, peeked in, and held out a
Styrofoam cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” he
said. “Your husband is here. I’ll send him down whenever you’re
ready.”

I took the coffee.
“Thanks,” I said. “Ten minutes.”

I’d slept in my jeans
and shirt, and hadn’t thought to bring a toothbrush. Glancing into
a compact mirror, I grimaced. What an impression I was about to make.
Wrinkled clothes, sleep line across my cheek, smeared eye makeup.

Pushing down a rising
anger, I slicked lipstick over my lips and brushed my hair with
impatient strokes. Why was I trying to look good for a man who’d
abandoned me? He should be grateful he wasn’t about to see my body
on a slab in some border town morgue.

The coffee seemed to go
straight to my nerves. I sat on the edge of the cot, jiggling one leg
and trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. The wall clock
ticked over to ten minutes, then twelve. I held my breath when I
heard distant footsteps in the hall.

I heard two light
knocks.

“Yes?” I said,
barely able to force out the word.

The knob turned.
Sitting up straight, I forced myself to look directly at the door.
When I saw him, all of my memories would come back and I’d remember
him. I had to. I couldn’t imagine anything else.

He walked in. My heart
raced wildly. He looked exactly as he did on television, tall and
thin with bony shoulders, but his hair seemed darker.

I didn’t remember
him. Not even close.

“Karina,” he said.

I winced inwardly at
the sound of my name. He sat beside me on the slatted bench and put a
long, awkward arm around my shoulders.

“Hi,” was all I
could manage.

He hugged me. His beard
scraped against my forehead. He smelled like a stranger, like
deodorant soap. Still holding my coffee, I put my free arm clumsily
around him and turned my face to the side against his plaid
button-down. This wasn’t my husband. It couldn’t be.

He pulled back and
looked at me. His hard brown eyes made me want to look away, but I
wouldn’t. I was too strong for that.

“You’ve seen a
doctor?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And you’re okay?”

“Except for the part
about not remembering anything,” I said with a laugh. I hoped he
would smile, but he didn’t.

“You’ll see a
specialist in Boston,” he said. “We’ll figure it out. You’ll
be okay.”

“Will I?” Any
second now, he would seem less like a stranger. We couldn’t
possibly continue this way for more than five minutes.

But we did.

We left the station,
walking side by side but not touching. It was as if there was a force
field keeping us apart. A woman with a blonde bob rushed up to me and
shoved a microphone in my face. A clamoring throng of reporters
followed, shouting out questions and jostling me against David. I
grabbed his arm to keep from tripping down the stairs.

“I’m glad we found
her,” he said, opening the door to a waiting limo and ushering me
inside. “That’s all I have to say right now.”

He got in beside me,
shut the door, and leaned his head back against the seat with a long
sigh. The limo pulled slowly into traffic. As the reporters’ shouts
died away, the air became thick and heavy. David looked down at his
lap, and then out the window. I waited for him to say something,
anything
, but he
didn’t.

He remembered me, he
knew every minute of our time together, and he couldn’t even talk
to me.

“So…tell me about
my life,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “What kind of person am
I?”

“You seem the same,”
he said. “You haven’t changed.”

“How do you know?”

“We’ve been
together six years, Karina. I can tell.”

I’d heard “six
years” on the news, but it hit me now for the first time. I’d
spent that much of my life with a man I could hardly bear to sit next
to. There was no chemistry, no connection, just the rings on our
fingers and a history I couldn’t remember.