Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel (15 page)

“Never crossed my mind.”

He had the grace to blush. “Sorry. The mind protects itself, but it doesn’t heal whatever it’s shielding us from. Maybe the nightmares are a sign you need to deal with what your dad did.”

“And you know this, how?”

“Common sense.”

She folded her arms across her chest and waited.

“Okay . . . I had a character that blocked certain memories from her past, and I did a lot of research on the subject.”

“That’s what I thought. You might want to try six years of psychology courses.” She tented her fingers. “Of course I know it’s all related, and after the nightmares started again, I decided to try and find my dad. Made my uncle furious.”

“Why wouldn’t your uncle want to find his brother?”

“He said it would cause another scandal if I rehashed all that ancient history.”

“But you don’t believe that.”

“Jonathan wants to sell some of the farm, something I’m sure my dad would never allow. Besides, my uncle is somewhat of a control freak. I don’t think he’d relish giving up the top-dog spot.”

“Can he sell without your dad’s signature?”

That hadn’t occurred to her. “I’m sure Jonathan can figure out a way.”

“So you dropped your search?”

“No. Just going about it a little differently. I have a friend in the Memphis Police Department helping me.”

“Olivia Reynolds.”

Heat crawled up her neck. “About that . . .”

He held up his hand. “After we finish eating. Remember—nothing unpleasant until then.”

Taylor ducked her head and concentrated on her sandwich.

“This fiancé, was he nuts?”

“I thought no talking about bad stuff.”

“Come on,” Nick said. “That’s just getting to know more about you.”

Taylor crossed her eyes at him, but he only laughed. She picked up the glass of tea and leaned back. “Okay. Michael would tell you he was being practical. Said I didn’t love him. That I never had.” Then she took a long draw of tea, savoring the nectar of the South. She’d forgotten how good it was.

“Was he right?”

Boy, Nick wasn’t letting this go. “Michael knew I wasn’t madly in love with him when he proposed.”

Nick’s eyebrows came together in a frown. “So, why did you say yes when you knew something was missing?”

She wanted to look away, but his gaze held hers. “He said his love was enough for both of us, that he could wait for me to love him the way he loved me. Evidently, he got tired of waiting.” She lifted her chin. “Passion’s not everything.”

“You have to be kidding.” Nick paused with his fork in midair. “It’s one of the three components of love. You know . . .” He held his thumb, then first two fingers up. “Intimacy, commitment, and passion.”

“You’re quoting Sternberg to me now?” She’d studied the famed psychologist’s triangular theory of love her first year in college. Taylor squirmed a little under Nick’s intense scrutiny. “Okay, looking back, I probably just wanted to check another item off my to-do list . . . finish school, get the MRS degree, then start a family. I could have done worse than Michael.”

Nick groaned. “You don’t really believe that. Life’s too short to settle for a marriage that’s not everything it can be.”

Heat infused her cheeks. She didn’t want him to be right. Knew he was.

“I think marriage is important to you, and not just as an item to check off a list. What was the real reason you were willing to marry this Michael?”

“That was the real—” His lifted eyebrows stopped her. “Okay, maybe the part about starting a family was more important than that MRS degree. I happen to believe marriage comes before
sleeping together, and a baby should have both a mother and a father.”

“Good for you. But shouldn’t love be even more important?”

“Like my daddy’s love?” She lifted her chin. “I don’t believe the kind of love you’re talking about exists. Marriage is nothing more than a union between two people who have a common need and are attracted to each other, and I
was
attracted to Michael.”

From his look she must have sprouted horns.

“I can’t believe an intelligent woman could buy into that baloney. If you don’t have love, what’s going to sustain you when you hit a rough patch?” He shook his head. “You should be glad Michael realized it wasn’t there.”

A snappy retort came to her lips. And died. She drummed the table with her fingers and willed herself not to cry.

“Taylor, all men aren’t like your father.” Nick placed his hand over hers, stilling it. His touch was warm and rough at the same time. “You’re an incredible woman, confident, smart, beautiful . . .”

Her heart fluttered against her ribs as Nick’s hazel eyes held hers. She could almost believe his words. Even more, she could almost believe Nick cared.

“In fact,” Nick said, “I would—”

“Sir, can I get you anything else?” The waiter plopped the bill beside Nick’s plate.

“We’re fine.” Nick waved the young man away.

Taylor pulled away and leaned back against her chair. She knew he was about to ask her out again, and not just to talk about Scott. But once he got to know the real Taylor, he’d be gone, just like all the others.

“Taylor—”

“Let’s talk about that lead you promised me.”

Nick steadied himself, and that look crossed his face again. Fleeting, but something was definitely going on. Taylor tensed. “Okay, what are you not telling me?”

“I, ah . . .” Nick gripped the table edge. “I found Scott last night.”

“What? Why haven’t you already told me? Have you called Livy?”

“He’s not going anywhere. When I found him, he was so drunk he couldn’t stand. I wanted him sober before anyone talked to him.”

“Okay,” she said, stretching the word out. “Where is he?”

“My house.”

“Your house? And you’re here? Aren’t you afraid he’ll take off again?”

“No. He was so drunk last night, believe me, all he wants is to sleep for at least twelve hours without being disturbed.”

“Are you speaking from the voice of experience?”

“I might know something about it from my younger days. Come on, we’ll go wake him, and you’ll see he’s not this monster you think he is.”

She held up her hand. “First of all, I don’t think he’s a monster. I’m not even sure he’s my stalker. And I’m taking a report to Livy with my professional opinion that Scott isn’t involved in the Ross murder.”

“I never believed he was involved in either one. What changed
your
mind?”

“He didn’t fit the profile. I didn’t say I’ve completely ruled him out as my stalker, or at least being involved in some way. Just rethinking it a little . . . well, a lot. The thing is, about the time I come up with a reason it’s not Scott—like a stalker wouldn’t use his own credit card to purchase a gift for the person he was stalking—something else pops up. But did you know Scott was involved in another stalking case? One that his attorney, Ethan Trask, resolved?”

“How do you know Ethan? And how did you know he’s Scott’s lawyer?”

“Ethan is a longtime friend of my uncle’s. He said last night Scott is one of his clients, that he administered a trust for him.”

“I can’t believe he discussed one of Scott’s cases with you. He wouldn’t even give me his phone number.”

Even though that had bothered Taylor, she’d excused it because Ethan was close with her family and he’d seemed concerned. She felt the need to defend Ethan’s actions. “He only mentioned it to me because of the photos that came yesterday and what Sheriff Atkins told me when I called him.”

She explained about the message the killer had whispered in Beth Coleman’s ear before he shot her. “The photo I received yesterday was taken at the crime scene.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to when I first got here, but you were so insistent on eating first. I’m telling you now. I’ve been thinking about it, and the whole thing is too sophisticated for a typical nineteen-year-old, and just like the Ross murder, it doesn’t fit Scott’s profile. That’s the upside.”

“What’s the downside?”

“Scott’s not your typical nineteen-year-old. And every time I reach the point of completely scratching him off my lists of suspects, something holds me back.” She leaned forward. “Maybe you can help me. Tell me who would frame Scott. And since victims almost always have a link with their perpetrator, we probably share that link. Who could it be?”

“I don’t know.” Nick scooted his chair back. “But why don’t we go talk to Scott and see if we can find out?”

N
ick kept Taylor in his rearview mirror as she followed him. The more he got to know her, the more he wanted to know, even though part of him wanted to run the other way. Especially since his heart did crazy things when he was around her, like beat so hard sometimes he almost couldn’t hear what she said.

Her tough exterior hid a vulnerable core. He’d seen it when he played his harmonica. The music touched her. He saw it again when she talked about the children she wanted. But she was most vulnerable when she talked about her father. He ached to help her find him.

Nick turned onto his street, and a light flashing in the middle of the block caught his eye. He looked closer. Two fire trucks and an ambulance sat like harbingers of doom in front of his house.

He parked on the other side of the ambulance and raced toward his house as firemen emerged from the backyard. Taylor pulled in behind him. A fireman stopped him in the driveway. “Sorry, can’t go any farther.”

He tried to push past him. “This is my house. What’s going on? Where’s my brother?”

“You the owner? Been trying to find you.” The fireman turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Inspector, the owner’s here.”

Nick didn’t wait. He sprinted for the door. The acrid scent of smoke and burnt electrical wire stung his nostrils.

“Hey, wait! You can’t go in there!”

He reached the door as paramedics shoved Scott through on a stretcher. Nick’s heart plummeted. His brother lay corpse-like on the gurney as oxygen hissed through the mask covering his nose and mouth. Tinges of soot stood out against the grayness of his face. “Scott!”

No response. Nick grabbed a paramedic by the arm. “What happened? Is he going to be okay?”

The paramedics pushed the stretcher past him. “We need to get him to the hospital.”

“Which hospital?”

“Baptist. It’s the closest.”

Had he found Scott only to lose him? The thought constricted his chest. He had to go with him. Nick turned to follow the gurney, but a Memphis fire investigator blocked his way. “Hold up.”

“I need to be with my brother.”

“You’ll just be in their way in the ambulance, and you won’t see him at the hospital until he’s stabilized. Give me a minute.”

“Now?” Nick scrubbed his face.

The investigator flipped open a badge: Mike Hurley. “Give me two minutes so I can finish my report.” His face softened. “Your brother’s in good hands.”

Nick glanced toward the ambulance. Hurley might be right, but that didn’t make staying behind any easier.

“I promise this won’t take long.”

Nick clenched and unclenched his hands. “Okay, two minutes, then I’m out of here.”

He followed the investigator to the spreading elm tree in his yard.

“First of all, you can’t go into your house.”

Nick glanced toward the house. He didn’t see any damage. “Why not?”

“Damage is on the back side,” Hurley explained. “Fire got your
breaker box. No power. Should be able to get in later this afternoon to get personal effects, but you’ll have to rewire before you can stay here again.”

Nick glanced back at the ambulance. Taylor said something to one of the paramedics, then turned and walked toward them. Before she reached him, the ambulance pulled away from the curb, siren blaring.

“What’d he say?” Nick asked.

“His vitals are better.” She turned to the investigator. “How did the fire start?”

“Let me ask my questions first.” He took out a notebook. “Your name is Nicholas Sinclair, and you live alone. That right?”

Nick nodded. “My brother spent the night with me.”

“Do you have insurance?”

“Of course.” Nick took a deep breath. “Call my insurance agent.” He scrolled through his phone for the number. “Anything else?”

Hurley glanced up from his writing. “I need you to sign a consent-to-search form for the fire marshal.”

“Fire marshal? Why?”

“To make a determination that the fire wasn’t deliberately set.”

“You think—”

“I don’t know. That’s why I want an expert to look at it.” He asked a few more questions, then looked over his report. “That’ll do for now. When the investigation is finished, you’ll be contacted, and a report will go to your insurance company.”

“Can’t you tell me something now?”

The investigator tapped his pen against the pad several times. “Appears the fire started in the kitchen. Found your brother near the stove, a pint whiskey bottle beside him.”

Nick rubbed his hand across his eyes. He didn’t keep alcohol in the house, but there was a liquor store at the end of the street.

“When the fire marshal finishes, we’ll know for sure.” He held his notebook out for Nick to sign the form.

Nick hesitated briefly, then signed.

Hurley closed his notebook. “That about does it for me. There’ll be someone posted here until a determination is made. Don’t go into the house before you get the okay.” He touched his cap brim. “Hope your brother makes it.”

“Thanks.” He turned to Taylor. The care in her blue eyes made his heart skip a beat.

“He’ll make it, Nick.”

“I hope so.” He stared in the direction the ambulance had gone.

“Would you like me to follow you to the hospital?”

“You don’t have to.”

“Someone should be with you.”

The last time he’d sat in a hospital waiting room was the night Angie died. The paramedics had gotten her heart beating long enough to get her to the ER. “Thanks.”

Changes had been made to the ER waiting room since Angie’s death. New, softer chairs and earth-toned stained floors, but nothing could change the anxiety permeating the air. After Nick took care of the admission papers, he paced the floor, waiting for an update.

Taylor disappeared briefly. When she returned, she handed him a Coke. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.” She nodded toward two empty chairs in a corner of the room. “Let’s sit over there—the doctor will find you when he comes out.”

Nick followed her to the chairs. “I’ve never liked hospitals. They make me feel so . . .”

“Inadequate?”

That was the perfect word. He popped the top on the soda. “Especially since Angie.”

“Tell me about Scott when he was growing up, before the alcohol and drugs.”

Nick was quiet a minute. Memories flowed through his mind—
the first time his dad brought Cecelia and Scott to the house, years later, Scott with his two front teeth missing, the home run he’d hit when he was twelve . . . Sometimes, he felt more like Scott’s father than his brother. “Once when he was in the second grade, Mom—that’s what I called Cecelia—tried to teach him the value of money. She expected him to save half of his allowance. He went along with her, amassed a nice savings, then one day he wanted fifty dollars from his account.”

“Fifty dollars? Whatever for?”

“He wanted to buy his girlfriend a present.”

“In the second grade?”

“Mom responded the same way. Boy, did she preach to him, but he wouldn’t give up. Finally, she asked what he wanted to buy for this girl.” Nick paused. “Guess what it was.”

“A bicycle, maybe?”

“Nope. A pair of New Balance tennis shoes. This girl had three sisters, and her divorced mother struggled to keep food on the table. Her only pair of shoes came from a yard sale, and they weren’t name brand. The other kids made fun of her, and he wanted to do something about it. New Balance was the ‘in’ shoe that year.”

“What did your mother do?”

“They bought the shoes, wrapped them, and left them on the girl’s doorstep with her name on the package.” He caught her gaze and held it. “Drunk, sober, or anything in between, I don’t think that tenderhearted little boy could grow up and be involved in something that could hurt someone else.”

A voice blared Nick’s name from the intercom, and he jerked his head toward the front as the intercom repeated it. A man too young to be a doctor stood at the front desk, scanning the room. Nick rose and waved, and the man hurried to their corner.

“I’m Dr. Anderson. Your brother is going to make it.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” He eyed the young doctor in his white lab coat with stethoscope draped around his neck. He looked more like a fuzzy-faced teenager playing grown-up than a physician.

“We’ll admit him to ICU and wean him from the oxygen later tonight, but he’ll stay in the unit until I’m certain there’s no pneumonia.” In spite of his youthful looks, the doctor’s voice was strong, confident.

“Has he said what happened?”

“No, but from the size of that knot on the side of his head, it appears as though he fell and hit his head.” Dr. Anderson scanned the chart. “When they brought him in, he had a blood alcohol level of point-three-seven.”

Point-zero-eight was the legal limit for driving. Nick whistled.

“Yeah.” The doctor nodded his agreement. “Your brother is extremely fortunate. That level very often is fatal. The next few days will be difficult as he goes through detox. Has he ever been in rehab?”

“Earlier this year, I think. I don’t know where, though.” Nick liked this doctor and his straightforward manner. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Get him back into rehab.”

After the doctor left, Nick let out a deep sigh of relief. At least Scott would survive this time.

Taylor glanced at her watch. “Wow. It’s after five.”

“You need to go home.”

“Will you be okay?”

“I will now.” He stretched his arms back and flexed his shoulders.

“You’re going to need a place to stay.”

He gave her a blank stare, then tapped his forehead. “I haven’t even thought about that. I’ll stay here tonight. After that . . .” He slumped in the chair. Fatigue swept over his body. “I’ll cross that bridge tomorrow.”

Taylor hesitated. “There’s a bed and breakfast next door to me in Logan Point, and the owner, Kate Adams, didn’t have any guests yesterday. It’s twenty miles away . . . but if it were me, I’d rather stay there than in a motel.”

Stay in Logan Point? He’d only been there once before, and
the memory of a lake and trees came to mind. Peaceful. The idea sounded good. “Do you have the number?”

“It’s in my phone. Let me check and see if she’s booked.” Taylor found the number and called, but there was no answer. She frowned. “I’ll call her later tonight or first thing in the morning and let you know if she has a room.”

“Thanks for staying with me.” He took her hand, noticing how long and tapered her fingers were. He lifted his gaze and connected with her luminous blue eyes. Nick’s heart thudded against his chest. He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that.

Their footsteps echoed in the dimly lit hospital parking garage. She was glad Nick had insisted on escorting her to her car. After unlocking the Rav4, she turned to him, her hand still tingling from his touch when he’d held her hand. Exhaustion lined his face. “Sure you’ll be okay on your own? I can stay longer.”

His gaze held hers, and the tingling spread to her heart.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “You need to get back to your family.”

It was time to leave, but she hesitated, wishing she could tell him everything would be all right. “Nick, I’m truly sorry about what happened to Scott. I never wished him any harm.”

“I know.” He kicked at a pebble on the garage floor.

Silence charged the air between them as their gazes locked. Her whole body pounded with each heartbeat. Imperceptibly, he drew toward her. Taylor waited, her lips parted.

Abruptly, Nick jerked a half step back. A slow flush crept over his face. “I . . . thanks again for being here.”

In her wildest imagination, she hadn’t dreamed Nick might want to kiss her. So why did she feel so let down? Even if she had been waiting for someone like Nick her whole life.

“Just glad to be of help,” she said, forcing a stiff smile to her lips. Nick opened the car door, and she slid behind the steering wheel.

He tapped on the window. “Taylor—”

She tensed. He had that look on his face, the one that said he was going to apologize for almost kissing her. Taylor lowered the window halfway. She wasn’t giving him a chance. “No need to thank me again.”

He started to speak, then simply nodded. “Be careful.”

She worked to keep the smile in place. “Sure.”