The Way Home (5 page)

She recoiled, her eyes dark and haunted. “That’s not what you want.”

He could lie to her, but she’d know. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Because you mean more.”

“But—”

He pressed his fingers over her lips and shook his head. “No buts, honey. This is killing you, and if I lose you, I lose everything.”

Her eyes flooded with tears. “James, I’m so sorry. I don’t understand why I can’t—”

He hushed her with a kiss. “Neither do I, love, but I won’t let you torture yourself over it anymore.” For a moment, he embraced her, inhaling the scents that clung to her, rosemary and sunshine, honeysuckle and the tang of tomatoes…aromas of earth and sky and this bounteous woman who deserved so much better than he could ever provide her.

She clung to him just as fiercely. “What would I do without you?” she whispered.

“You’ll never have to find out.” He gripped her, then forced himself to let go. He leaned away and tipped her face to his. “The world is full of children who would bloom under the hands of the best gardener I know. Where shall we start looking?”

The hope that flared was all the answer he needed to be certain he was doing the right thing.

Her fingers stroked the afghan. The sorrow hadn’t completely fled her gaze, but her face began to light with the excitement that was, always and ever, the essence of Bella.

Beneath it was a trace of fear. “The agencies will see that we’d make some child happy, won’t they, James?”

He defied anyone to do otherwise. He’d fight to his last breath to make certain. “How could they not? No one—” His voice was rough and fierce as he embraced her again. “No one who meets you could possibly doubt that you have enough love in you for the whole world.”

“You, too,” she murmured into his ear. “You’ve loved me so well and been so patient with me, even through—”

He shook his head and silenced her with a kiss. “I’ve done nothing but try to deserve you.” His eyes grew moist. “You are everything, Bella. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I love you so much, James. Oceans deep. Wide as the sky.”

“We’ll be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

S
O YOUNG AND SO BRASH
, to believe that he could make the vow, that merely speaking it was enough.

To hold such riches in his hand and manage to lose them and never even notice they were gone—

Until the love of his life walked out the door.

The phone rang, and he leaped for it. His shoulders sagged as he saw his son’s number displayed. Bella was so real in his mind that he’d expected it to be her.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad. I got my instrument rating today.”

Cameron’s excitement zipped through the lines. “That’s great, son. That’s absolutely terrific. Your mother—” He pinched the bridge of his nose and forced himself to continue. “She’ll be proud, Cam. Really proud.”

“Does that mean…”

James realized his mistake. “No.” He let out his breath in a sigh. “I don’t know anything.” Damn it.

“Why can’t the police do something?” For an instant, Cam was a boy, frightened and angry.

“Because she left on her own. For all they know, she’s sitting on a beach somewhere.”

“What about you, Dad? Where do you think she is?” A pause. “Why did she go, Dad? This isn’t like her.”

He didn’t want to have this conversation. “Cam—”

Just then, the doorbell rang. “Hang on a second, son.” He descended the stairs and saw a man in a suit and a uniformed officer waiting. “Cam, I’ll have to call you back. Someone’s at the door.”

“Who?”

His heart sped as he registered the grim expressions on the two men’s faces. Whatever this was, he would spare his children as long as possible. “Just a neighbor. I’ll talk to you in a little while, okay?” He gripped the knob, reluctant to open the door until Cam was safely away.

“All right, Dad. Bye.”

“Goodbye, son.” But he didn’t click off until after Cameron was gone, feeling an odd need for the connection.

Then he opened the door.

“James Parker?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Gordon, and this is Officer Hunt. May we come inside?”

His chest filled with a sense of doom. “Is this about my wife? Is she all right?” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, steeling himself for the response.

“Let’s sit down, Mr. Parker.”

“No.” He met the man’s gaze. “Tell me now. Don’t string it out. Is she—” He could not say the words.

“We don’t know where your wife is, Mr. Parker.”

“Then why—”

“Her car was discovered in Idaho during a raid on a chop shop.”

“Chop shop?” He shook his head. “Idaho?”

“A chop shop is where stolen cars, especially luxury cars like your wife’s BMW, are transported to be disassembled for parts.”

“But where’s Bella? And how did her car get to Idaho?” He confronted the detective. “Now will someone take me seriously when I say that something has happened to her?”

“We have to, after what else was found.”

“What?” His throat was tight with fear.

“Bloodstains on the upholstery.”

“Blood,” he repeated dully. “Oh, God.” He grabbed the man’s arm. “I’m going to Idaho.” He glanced around frantically. “I’ll book a flight and—”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr. Parker.”

“Why not? I have to go to her. I have to help—”

“We need you to hang around and answer some questions, sir.”

Something in the man’s tone wrenched James from his feverish planning. “Hang around?”

“If the bloodstains match your wife’s type, the FBI will be called in, and we’re working with the authorities in Idaho right now. There is no point in you going up there.”

“Are you saying I can’t go? Will you keep me from leaving?”

“I don’t think it will come to that, sir.”

“Are you—” He couldn’t wrap his mind around the notion slowly stirring. “I love my wife. She’s everything to me. Are you implying that I’m somehow involved in this? Am I a—” He could barely voice the word. “A suspect?”

The man’s eyes remained carefully blank. “If you could just answer some questions, Mr. Parker, that would be very helpful.”

“You answer me first. You cannot seriously imagine—”

“I try to avoid imagination. In my job, the facts are all that matter. Now, do you know your wife’s blood type? And would you happen to have a hairbrush of hers, for DNA matching?”

“On cop shows, they say those closest are always prime suspects when there’s foul play.” Foul play. Oh, God. Bella…bleeding. Hurt. “This can’t be happening.” No matter how worried he’d been before, nothing compared with how terrified he was now. Abruptly, he had to sit down. “Bella…” His head sagged into his hands.

“That’s television, Mr. Parker. Take a minute to clear your mind.”

James raised haunted eyes to the man who sat across from him. “I’d hoped that she was just still mad at me. I never truly believed—” He couldn’t finish.

“You had a fight?” Detective Gordon’s gaze sharpened. “What about?”

“I should be calling a lawyer, shouldn’t I?”

Gordon shrugged. “Your decision. No one’s charging you with anything yet.”

“Yet.” James uttered a rusty chuckle. He sank into the cushions. “Unbelievable.”

Then the image hit him again, of Bella hurt. Bleeding. “I’m not going to waste any time with a lawyer. My wife is out there, possibly injured or—” He shook his head violently. “No. She has to be all right. She has to be.” He stared at the man before him. “To hell with what the implications are for me. She’s been gone for two and a half weeks, and you people are finally paying attention.” He stood. “Her blood type is B positive. Her hairbrush is gone, but I’ll look around. The housekeeper is here twice a week, so I don’t know—what else could serve the same purpose?”

He whirled to race up the stairs, but Gordon’s hand on his arm halted him.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Parker, we can do the search.”

“But—” Once again, comprehension arose. “Right. You haven’t charged me, but that doesn’t mean you trust me.”

“Can’t afford to just yet, sir. So, are you giving us permission to search your house?”

This was a nightmare. But what did he know about criminal lawyers? He was innocent, and meanwhile, the clock was ticking. If there was a chance in the world that Bella could be found…

He swallowed hard. She had to be. He could not live with the knowledge that their last words had been spoken in anger and despair.

“Yes,” he said. “You have my permission.” Then a thought occurred. “She hasn’t been in my car lately, but we always joked about how she left hairs everywhere—long, black curly—”

Fear robbed him of voice. He hardly registered Gordon’s instructions to the officer, words about bringing in a forensics team. After a moment, he regained possession of himself and faced the detective. “My car is in the garage, unlocked.”

“Thank you.” Gordon paused. “If you have a photograph of your wife, that would be helpful.”

“Of course.” James crossed the room, retrieved a photo album from the shelves. Halted as fear jolted through him.
Please. Let her be safe. Even if she doesn’t want me, her children need her.

I need her, too.
For a second, he was overcome by a longing for her, for the life with her he’d loved so much—a yearning so visceral and sharp it flayed him to the bone.

“Mr. Parker?”

James squeezed his eyes to shut out the vision of the wasteland he would inhabit if Bella were taken from him. Then with painful slowness, he opened the book.

The very first page nearly undid him. Bella, soaking wet, dancing in the mud with a young Cele and toddler Cameron.

He held out the album with shaking hands. “Study this and tell me I could ever have any desire to kill my wife.” He shoved it at the detective. “I was stupid, all right? I lost sight of what was important. Bella and I—God, we were everything to each other, and then somehow…I don’t know what the hell happened, but I screwed up, big-time, and Bella went away to think. That’s all—she just wanted some time to decide if—” His voice cracked, and he stopped, but he didn’t care anymore if he was embarrassing himself. “You’ve got to find her. I have to tell her I remember everything. That I’m a jerk, and I deserve to be punished, but not by—” He was afraid to say the words, in case doing so gave them power to make his fears come true.

Then he faced the impassive cop before him, forcing eye contact. “I love my wife, Detective. She is everything to me.”

The policeman turned away. Pulled out his cell phone.

“Detective—”

Gordon halted.

“What do I tell my children? My son is expecting me to call back.”

“How old are they?”

“Twenty-three and nineteen.”

“For my money, the truth is always the best place to start, sir.”

“So, what is the truth? Is their father a suspect in their mother’s disappearance? Is their mother still—” He faltered on the word. “Alive?” He held up a hand. “She has to be. I’d know it if she wasn’t. I’d—” He tapped his heart. “I’d feel it, in here.”

Gordon’s smile was all pity. “People often think that.”

“I’m certain of it.”

“I hope you’re right, Mr. Parker. Honestly, I do.”

“So what about the first question? Am I under suspicion?”

“Everyone’s under suspicion in the beginning, sir. It’s my job to weed that number down.”

“Are you good at your job, Detective?”

“I am.”

“I damn sure hope so. That woman is my world.”

“Understood.” Grim-faced, Gordon flipped open his phone and left the room.

A
FTER A SLEEPLESS
night, James was in the kitchen, eyes pinned on the coffeepot, wondering how he would make it through the day. Cele was upstairs asleep in her old room, while he’d barely convinced Cameron not to cut classes today.

Not that he didn’t understand the instinct to circle the wagons, to huddle together in a vigil after last night’s shocking news from Detective Gordon. But there was no telling when the police would find out anything more.

Bella. Dear God, Bella. Every time he’d closed his eyes, terrifying images of her possible fate seared his eyeballs.

He’d focused, instead, on putting the house in order as best he could after the police had left. To their credit, the search had been less invasive than he supposed it could have been.

But he felt violated. The nest Bella had created, the house that had been their sanctuary, had been breached by strangers. He didn’t know how to make things feel safe again.

Suddenly, footsteps pounded on the stairs. “Daddy, did you catch the news this morning?” Cele burst into the kitchen. “Quick, turn on the TV.” She switched on the little set Bella had sometimes tuned in while she was cooking.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Is there something—”

Cele frantically punched buttons on the remote. “Look—they’re showing Mama’s picture. Someone sent it to CNN.”

James moved toward the television set as if in a dream. “Bella,” he murmured, and held out his hand as if he could touch her. “Oh, baby, what happened to you?”

Just then, the telephone rang. James kept his eyes on the screen as he answered it. “Hello?”

“Mr. Parker, it’s Detective Gordon. Your wife’s been found.”

“I’m watching her picture on the screen. I’ve never seen this photo before. Where is she?” he asked Gordon.

“Colorado.”

“Colorado?” he echoed. “Where?”

The detective’s voice was grim. “No one knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re checking on it now. The situation is…unusual.”

“But she’s alive, right? Is she okay?”

“At this point, Mr. Parker, you know as much as I do. I’ll get back to you when I have more.” Then the man was gone, leaving James with an empty phone.

And too many questions.

But one course of action he could definitely pursue. “I’m calling your brother,” he said as he gathered a trembling Cele into his arms.

T
HREE HOURS AFTER
Bella’s picture had appeared on CNN, James stood in the kitchen that once was the heart of their home, willing the telephone to ring. Palms spread on the tile counter Bella had insisted on learning to lay herself, he curled his fingers, one by one.

“Dad?” His son, Cameron, appeared in the doorway, lanky and as tall as James himself. His mixed-race heritage, African-American and Vietnamese, proclaimed itself in the slant of his near-black eyes, the caramel skin. “Have you talked to Mom yet? Is she okay?”

How could he have for one moment believed that you could love an adopted child less than one of your flesh? Cam was attempting to be cool and grown-up, but vulnerability shadowed every line of his frame. His mother, no matter that they shared no genes—his mother was gone, and he needed her here, every bit as much as his diminutive sister, jiggling an impatient foot, did.

Just as James himself. “I’m waiting for a call back.”

Cele leaped to her feet, all coiled fury. “The man who sent in the photo to CNN won’t tell anyone where she is,” she said to her brother.

Cam went soldier straight. “Has he kidnapped her?” He glanced around. “Where are the cops? Shouldn’t the FBI be here?” His outrage and confusion were palpable.

“Slow down, both of you.” His father-as-commander voice, the one he hadn’t had much use for since Cam graduated from high school. “She’s definitely in Colorado, and Detective Gordon connected me with the local sheriff, who says she’s perfectly safe, that he’s been trying to find out her identity from the beginning, and this is merely a precaution to weed out the kooks. We have to be patient.” The lecture was as much for himself as for them.

“We’re her family. She doesn’t have to be protected from us.”

“Yeah,” Cele said grimly. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” For a second, his eldest was a scared kid.

James swung between his own fury and desperation, between the craving to be alone before he put a fist through a wall and the responsibility he hadn’t been required to wield much lately, to take care of his children.

The father won, if barely. “The sheriff says the man is her doctor and that he needs to talk to me first.”

“Why?” Cele was up and pacing again. “What’s wrong?”

The phone sounded unnaturally loud. Cam leaped for it, clutched it for a second as though he might answer, then handed it to James.

James hit the talk button and only just resisted the urge to move somewhere private. “James Parker,” he answered.

“This is Dr. Sam Lincoln. Jane is safe,” an even baritone voice said.

Jane.
“That’s not her name.”

“I know—sorry. I’m used to calling her that. The sheriff did tell me, though, that her name is Isabella.”

“Why didn’t she tell you herself? What’s wrong? Let me talk to her.”

“Not until I’m satisfied that you’re really her husband. That you won’t harm her.”

“Harm her? Are you serious? You have no authority to keep my wife from me.”

“Calm down, Mr. Parker. You don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Then you start explaining.”

“Mr. Parker, I understand your anxiety, so I’ll overlook your attitude. For now.”

This man was the key to finding her, so however much his proprietary tone grated on him, James had to get a grip on himself. “What can you tell me about her condition?” Cam and Cele both moved closer.

“She was found on the side of a road, bleeding and unconscious. She had no identification with her.”

“But she’s conscious now?”

“Yes. And healing well, for the most part.”

“I need to see her. Our children do, as well.”

“So you have children. Any of them with dark hair?”

“Our son. Why?” He could feel Cam and Cele’s frustration at hearing only one side of the conversation.

“Are they adopted?”

“What does it matter? And why haven’t you asked Bella that? You said she came out of a coma.” He heard Cele’s gasp.

“She did. And I apologize. I’m new at this screener duty.” Dr. Lincoln paused. “Her physical condition is improving every day. She’s pretty much back to normal except for some lingering soreness.”

“But?”

“She has retrograde amnesia.”

“Amnesia.” Beside him erupted questions. He held up one hand for silence as he struggled to absorb the idea. She hadn’t called or returned home because she couldn’t. His shoulders sagged in relief. “Explain that, exactly.”

“Your wife, if she is your wife, emerged from the coma with no memory of her past.”

“She’s mine. I can prove it. Do you have e-mail?”

“No. Tell me something that isn’t in the photo I took.”

James thought hard. She had a birthmark her children didn’t know about. She wasn’t a prude, but he wasn’t sure she would be comfortable with them present as he described it. “She has funny second toes. Longer than the big toe.”

“Lots of people do.”

“She’s five foot nine. Curvy.” Voluptuous, really, but he was uncomfortable talking about her figure with this man. “Her voice is sexy as hell.” Cele’s eyes popped wide, and Cam’s worried expression eased into a grin.

“Any birthmarks?”

You bastard.
“Kids, go in the other room. Just for a minute.” They grudgingly complied. “You know she does, and I hate like hell that you’ve looked.”

“I’m her doctor. It’s no big deal.” But something in his tone had James on edge. “Tell me where it is.”

“I would like nothing more than to clean your clock right now.”

Lincoln chuckled. “She’s a hell of a woman. I don’t blame you.”

James tried to relax, but the Twenty Questions was killing him. “On the inside of her right thigh.” And he’d kissed it a million times.

“Thank you. The sheriff says he’s gotten confirmation, but I just want to be very careful. Would you answer me one question? Where do you live?”

“In Parker’s Ridge, Alabama.”

“The Southern drawl.” Lincoln paused. “Here’s the deal. We don’t know what happened to her because she has no memory of anything before she woke up in the hospital.”

“She doesn’t even recall her family?”

“Nothing at all until night before last, when she had a sudden image of a baby with dark hair in her arms and a man’s hand stroking them both.”

The kids peered around the door, and he waved them in, glancing at Cameron, whom they’d adopted as an infant. Cele had been nearly two when they’d found her. “Our son.” But James was more impatient than ever. “Why can’t I talk to her?”

“Mr. Parker, you have to be patient. I’m her doctor, and her welfare is my only concern.”

“She ought to have her family with her.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not always the case.”

“What?” James was outraged. “You are out of your mind. I’ll track down this number and be there before—”

“Whoa, there.” Another chuckle. “It’s been said I have a great bedside manner, but you and I might want to start over. Hear me out, please.”

“This better be good.”

A long sigh. “The thing with retrograde amnesia is that pressure doesn’t help. Expectations can do more harm than good. So if you and your children showed up and she didn’t recognize you, it would be traumatic for her and you both, plus it could set back her recovery.”

“But it could trigger her memory.”

“Maybe. You can’t be too careful, however. Especially with someone who wants to remember as badly as she does.”

This was killing him. How did he know the guy was even competent? “Explain your credentials.”

“I was on the staff of Johns Hopkins for six years, board certified in cardiology. Much of what I’m telling you I’ve researched with friends—neurologists and psychiatrists—who are still there.”

“Your hospital doesn’t have them?”

“I wish. Someday, I will.”

“But she’s in your facility?”

“No. We took her to Denver for an MRI, and there’s no permanent brain damage except for the amnesia. Once she regained consciousness, the specialist released her back into my care.”

“So where is she staying?”

“I’ll tell you, but first we have to figure out the best way to handle this for her sake. You can’t just barge in on her.”

Everything in him quivered to do exactly that. “Hand her the phone.”

“She’s not here. She has no idea you called.”

James’s fingers clenched. “You are making me crazy. I want to be with my wife. Our children need her.”

“I can understand how she would inspire such passion,” Lincoln said quietly. “But if you love her that much, you want to do what’s best for her.” He exhaled strongly. “Look, all I’m asking is that you approach this situation with caution. Come, but don’t tell her who you are at first. Find out if she recognizes you. It’s possible that all the pieces will come together right then, but—”

“But?”

“But if they don’t, it will be hard on all of you. You’ll expect her to react to you the way you’re used to, and she’ll sense that. She’s a sensitive and giving person. To fail you will cause her pain, and she’s already been through a lot.” He paused. “The sheriff told me about her car being found. We knew she’d been injured, but we weren’t sure how.”

“Did they hurt her? Hit her?” James heard his voice going low and brutal. If they’d violated her…

“She’s fine now, I promise. She had some lacerations and some bruising, but she was otherwise not injured except for the head trauma.”

James closed his eyes in relief. He’d stand beside her even if she had been raped, but he could hardly bear to think of his Bella suffering through that sort of trauma.

“It’s highly likely,” the doctor continued, “that she will never remember the attack, and we can serve her best by not focusing on it, either.” After a moment, he spoke again. “Just these couple of weeks of knowing her, I completely understand how you’d like to tear those guys apart. I’m supposed to do no harm, but I’d gladly help you. She’s a remarkable woman.”

“My woman.”

“I got that. Can’t say that I like it, but such is life.”

James felt about seventeen and trying to stake out his territory. But he couldn’t help himself. Every nerve ending was on fire with his need to get to Bella, to shield her. To make everything all right. “What are the chances—” he forced himself to confront the unbearable “—that she’ll ever remember us?”

“Pretty good. If you allow her time and don’t force the issue.”

So that was the nub of it—if he truly wished the best for Bella, he had to fight his natural urges. “I want to be there, however this must be done.”

“If the kids can handle the situation and back off if needed, I think you all should make the trip. There’s a little café in town, nothing much, but the food’s good and filling. When I know you’ve arrived, I’ll bring her over for a meal. If the sight of you jogs her memory, all to the good.”

“And if not?”

“Then we go to plan B. I don’t know what that is yet. I’ll call my sources and have some suggestions for you by the time you get here.”

“Where exactly are you?” Mentally, he was already on a plane.

“Lucky Draw, Colorado. Nearly to Utah.”

“Never heard of it.” What on earth was she doing that far away? Had she really been planning to leave him?

“Few have. We’re not a ski resort. This is hard country. Old mining towns. Folks who have to fight to survive.”

“I’ll find it.”

They spent a few moments discussing logistics in a calmer fashion, then the doctor chuckled. “You call her Bella?”

“I do,” James said. “It’s my name for her.”
Only mine.
“Why?”

“I was just thinking that my housekeeper will get a kick out of knowing that. She’s Italian, and she kept calling her
bella,
which is Italian for beautiful. It seemed apt, and for a while I wondered if that might be a solution when Jane was auditioning names.”