A Hard Man to Forget (11 page)

He seemed less bothered by the idea than she would have thought. He
shrugged, dark humor shimmering in his eyes. “It’s the
first time I’ve ever kidnapped anyone.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” she said dryly.

“I’m glad you think so. If you’re going to stay, I
have more boxes I can bring down from the attic.”

“How much of her things did you save?”

She sensed his hesitation before he admitted, “All of it.”

Her eyebrows shot upward. “Really?”

“All but some of her toiletries and the stuff from the bathroom
that seemed like they should be thrown away. Everything else I threw
in boxes and put in the attic.”

“But if you thought she left, why—"

“I didn’t want to go through it all and it didn’t
seem right to throw it all away.” He shot her a pointed look.
“It’s a good thing I didn’t though, isn’t
it?”

“I guess so.” She tried to keep the frown off her face.
She suspected there was more to it than he was willing to admit, even
to himself.

He took a few steps over to a box sitting next to the couch and
pulled out three hardbound books. “You might find these
particularly useful.”

“What are they?”

“Your diaries. Well, most of them. The last one is missing.”

She accepted the books with near-reverence, cradling them gently in
her hands. He might as well have handed her the world. “What
happened to the last one?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t find it. The rest were
all together. There just wasn’t one for that last year.”

“Are you sure she kept one?”

“I used to see her scribbling in it everyday. I used to wish
she would tell me whatever she was writing down in that book.”

“It’s strange that you couldn’t find it.”

“I thought so too. It seems much more likely that someone would
take their diary with them to write in if they were leaving than to a
watery grave, doesn’t it?”

The challenge in his words was clear. So was the hard glint in his
eyes. She couldn’t deny his logic, but she didn’t like
being accused of something she wasn’t even sure she’d
done.

“I take it the police didn’t agree.”

“On that or anything else.”

She waved the diaries in her hand at him. “Did you read these?”

He looked away then. She couldn’t read his expression. It
wasn’t embarrassment at having invaded her privacy. The emotion
that briefly passed over his face was something else entirely,
something that made her inexplicably sad. “I was trying to
understand why you left.”

“Did they help?”

He gave a tight shake of his head. “No.” He took a few
steps back without looking at her again. “I’ll go get
some more of the boxes.”

She watched him stride out of the room until his broad back
disappeared around the corner. It wasn’t until then that Laura
realized he’d started referring to her as Meredith again.
Your
diaries
.
I was trying to understand why
you
left
.
And she hadn’t even noticed.

She didn’t even want to begin to contemplate the meaning behind
that, but the idea disturbed her more than it should.

LAURA WENT TO BED early that night, or to chair as the case was. Her
brain felt sluggish from sensory overload. She’d pored over the
albums for the rest of the day, listened to Simon tell stories that
remained just that, stories that might as well have happened to
someone else. Nothing seemed familiar, nothing had struck a chord.
Nothing but the casual touches he bestowed upon her now and them.
Those induced a reaction, all right, though nothing she was
comfortable contemplating. The memory of his kisses was still
weighing heavily enough on her mind.

She saved the diaries for when she was alone. They seemed like
something she should read in private. After all, they were Meredith’s
most intimate thoughts and feelings, maybe her own thoughts and
feelings. She wanted to read them on her own, without Simon looking
on, watching her with that keen stare of his. Finally she curled up
in the chair by the bathroom door to do that.

She was a little nervous to begin, not knowing what she would find.
It seemed intrusive to be reading someone’s thoughts, even if
they did ultimately turn out to be her own. She didn’t know if
she would recognize what she read in the diaries, and if she didn’t,
what that might mean.

It only took a few pages for her to get past her nerves and become
absorbed in the journals. Meredith had a chatty style that made it
easy to get a sense of who she was and become involved in the stories
she told. Laura relived her teenage traumas and triumphs with her.
She deeply felt the agony of Meredith’s mother’s death.
She learned about her closest friends and what was happening in their
lives, the concerns and joys Meredith shared with them as though they
were her own.

But it was when Meredith met Simon that Laura became more deeply
engrossed in her words.

November 7

I went out to meet the new owner of Howard Callahan’s old
cabin out in the woods by MacIntosh Lake today. I think he’s
planning on building a new house closer to the lake. I hope so. It
seems like such a shame for all that beautiful land to go to waste.
Anyway, his name’s Simon Randall. I don’t think I could
describe him if I tried. He’s really good-looking in this
intense kind of way. He has these incredibly dark eyes. I know it’s
silly, but when he looked at me, it almost felt like he was seeing
things he couldn’t possible see. I think he says he works in
computers, but I’m not really sure. He’s not much of a
talker, not that that’s ever stopped me. Dad says I should
leave the poor guy alone. If he wanted company he wouldn’t have
bought the land so far outside of town. Dad’s probably right,
although I’m not about to admit that to him. I got the feeling
that Simon Randall does want to be left alone, just as I don’t
think he should be. There’s just something about him. We didn’t
talk all that long (I can only carry on a one-sided conversation so
long), but he seems lonely. I hate the thought of him out there all
by himself.

Laura smiled. If she was Meredith, then her impressions of Simon
hadn’t changed any more than he had over the years.

July 23

Simon asked me to marry him today.

March 2

We got back from our honeymoon and moved into the house today. I’m
so glad it was finished by the time we got back. It’s even more
beautiful than I thought it would be.

I know we’re going to be so happy here. Me and Simon and
hopefully, someday soon, babies!

But that was nothing compared to the final entry on the last page.

December 8

It’s official. I’m going to have a baby! It looks like
I got my Christmas present early this year. I went to the doctor
today just to make sure and she confirmed it. In eight months or so
I’m going to be a mom. I’m so excited! I know it’s
silly, but it’s almost like I can feel him or her growing
inside me already. I told Simon today and he seemed happy. I could
tell he’s a little nervous too. He doesn’t know if he’ll
be a good dad. That’s okay, because I do. I know he’ll
love our baby just as much as I already do. When he holds the baby
that we made together, him and me, he won’t be able to help it.
I can’t wait until the baby comes. I wonder what it will be
like. The three of us. It seems strange to think it won’t be
just me and Simon anymore, but also really right. That day can’t
come soon enough.

It was long after midnight when Laura closed the final diary and
flipped off the bathroom light, plunging the room into darkness. She
needed to pull herself together and gather her thoughts. The dark
seemed more conducive to that.

Simon was right. These volumes didn’t help to explain anything
that had happened to Meredith or what she might have been thinking on
the fateful day she disappeared. The diary ended on such a happy note
that was so much sadder knowing everything that had come afterward.
How had everything gone so terribly wrong?

At least one thing was clear. Meredith really had loved Simon, and
she’d believed with all her heart that he’d loved her.
Laura wondered how it had felt for him to read his wife’s own
words about him, believing that just a few short years later she’d
left him. It couldn’t have been easy for him. If anything it
had to have been harder.

Her own feelings were harder to pin down. None of what she’d
read had revived any memories. Meredith’s writing was so vivid
it felt like she’d lived all those events with her. If she
tried hard enough, she could almost imagine all those things
happening to her. But she couldn’t convince herself those
memories were her own.

Then there was Meredith herself. The woman who’d written these
diaries had been far happier and content with herself than Laura
could ever remember being. It really was like reading about a
completely different person. Dr. Walker had said there could have
been changes in her personality and she may not be the same person
she was before the attack. Obviously Meredith hadn’t been
through what she had. Even if she was Meredith, she wasn’t the
woman who might have left Simon three years ago. She wondered if he
realized that.

A slow movement in the corner of the room caught her eye, pulling her
out of her thoughts. Puzzled, Laura turned her head to trace its
progress. The door to the hallway, the one she hadn’t even
thought to lock tonight, was slowly opening.

Warning signals went off in the back of her brain. There was
something furtive about the motion. The door was being opened with
the absolute care to ensure it made no noise.

Instinct kept Laura from calling out. Not that she could have with
the breath that was lodged in her throat. Was it Simon? For a moment,
she felt a flash of panic that everything she’d thought of him
had been wrong, that he did intend her harm, and she was in terrible
danger.

The door stopped moving.

Laura stopped breathing.

A second later, a dark shadow slid in through the opening. It was a
person, moving in silence. The shape was too indistinct for her to
make out its size or features in the darkness. Laura lifted a hand to
the light switch, ready to unveil her visitor. Right before she did,
she recognized the object the person held in one hand.

A gun.

It was all she could do to keep from crying out. Laura shrank back
into the corner of the chair, moving as slowly as her unexpected
visitor. She watched in terror as the person came to stand beside the
bed, staring at the lump made by the pillows beneath the mattress. It
almost looked like someone was sleeping in the bed. Her.

A second later, the visitor lifted the gun, aimed directly at the bed
and fired.

Somehow Laura managed not to scream.

The gun went off again and again and again. Her hands flew to her
ears. Shaky fingers tried desperately to staunch the sound before it
could deafen her. She cringed with every blast that rocked the room,
one after another, the noise reverberating endlessly.

Even after all the bullets were spent, the shooter continued to pull
the trigger in rapid succession, until the click of the chamber
resounded in the air, accompanied by a low cry of guttural rage.

“Laura!”

Simon’s voice came toward her as if from a great distance.
“Laura!” he shouted again, followed by the sounds of his
footsteps pounding down the hall.

It was all she could do not to call out to him.

The shooter’s head whipped around toward the doorway. The dark
figure spun around. Just as Simon leapt through the doorway, the
shooter lunged at him, grabbing his shirt with a furious growl and
shoving him to the side. Simon stumbled backward, his body slamming
hard against the floor. Even with the fear that rattled her to the
bone, she felt her heart stop at the sound. Moments later the
attacker disappeared into the hallway. Receding footsteps resounded
from the corridor.

Laura burst from the chair, unable to remain in hiding any longer.
“Simon!” She hadn’t seen where he landed, couldn’t
see him now. It didn’t matter. She found him unerringly in the
darkness. She threw her arms around him and felt his shallow sigh of
relief feather her hair. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he murmured. “What about you? Did
he get you? Are you hurt?”

“No. He didn’t see me.”

“Thank God.”

For the longest time, they sat there, clinging to each other. He felt
so warm and solid. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the crisp
hairs on his chest were soft beneath her fingers. Laura closed her
eyes and leaned into him, feeling as though nothing could harm her as
long as she was in his arms.

She felt his heart beating an uneven rhythm beneath her cheek.
Gradually, their heartrates slowed together, the fear of the moment
fading away. As soon as it had and she felt safe again, she began to
notice other things. His heavy palms stroking slow circles on her
back. His earthy masculine scent. The hard, packed lines of his
chest. He inhaled deeply, his face pressed against her hair. And
together, their pulses began to speed up again.

Nervousness suddenly rippling through her, it was Laura who pushed
away. He took his time releasing her, his reluctance obvious.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Laura took a reflexive step back. It didn’t matter that she
couldn’t see him. She could feel him, feel that he was too
close, feel his energy radiating toward her. It was too powerful. She
could have taken a dozen steps back and it wouldn’t have been
enough to keep her from feeling him.

“The door opened. Someone came in, slowly, like he didn’t
want to be noticed. I could barely see him. The next thing I knew, he
was shooting at the bed.”

“Maybe we should see how bad it is.”