Black Jack (4 page)

moved toward the dressing room.

She glanced back at the door. There was a spot just between her shoulder blades that

refused to stop itching. She could feel the eyes on her. His eyes. Somehow, he was still

watching her, still waiting for her. Would he be as surprised by the jeans as her mother seemed

to be?

As Lilly entered the dressing room she breathed a sigh of relief and leaned wearily against

the wall, closing her eyes and taking a hard, deep breath.

She opened her eyes and stared back at the woman in the mirror.

She wasn’t Victoria any longer.

Who the hell was she, really? And why wasn’t she comfortable with the knowledge of her

own identity, her own looks?

The soft cotton material of the short gray dress skimmed over her breasts and hips, ending

at a barely decent length just below her thighs. The soft gray material didn’t seem appropriate

somehow. Just as the green eyes staring back at her didn’t seem right.

She had once had hazel eyes. She had always had hazel eyes.

Her hair was a dark red now. It had once been a rich deep brown. Her doctors were amazed

at the fact that somehow her eye and hair color had been permanently changed.

She was different. Her looks were different. Something inside her was different. There was

something that didn’t seem quite right about the life she was living now, and the woman she

remembered being.

“Darling, are you all right?” Angelica’s voice came through the thin walls of the dressing

room. Lilly could hear the concern, the confusion in her mother’s voice. But she also heard

the forced patience and edge of irritation.

“I’m fine, Mother. I’ll just be a moment,” Lilly told her.

“Desmond is going to be utterly upset if you return to the house in jeans.” There was a note

of amused affection in her mother’s voice when she spoke of her husband that had Lilly

almost cringing in distaste. There was a warning there as well. “He may even fuss at you,

dear.”

Lilly stared at the denim, the boots, and the blouse. She stared back at herself in the mirror,

then turned away. She loved it. She could move in this clothing. She could run, she could fight

. . . who?

Dark flashes surged through her mind, electric images of gunfire, blood and death flashed

like vibrant lies amid a midnight landscape.

Hurriedly stripping the new clothes from her body, Lilly pulled the dress back on, slid her

feet into the heels that she knew she could never run in, then gathered up the articles she had

tried on.

Stepping from the dressing room, she gave her mother a careful, cool smile in response to

the frown on Angelica’s face. She knew better than to upset her mother. At least, she had

known better six years ago. There was a part of her now that balked at giving into another’s

dictates or the threat of the consequences.

“I’ll take these.” She handed the clothing to the saleslady, while trying to ignore the

irritation in her mother’s eyes. Perhaps it was best that she remain the daughter Angelica

thought she was, but another part of her demanded that she be something else, something

more, and that she be prepared.

She had to maintain the illusion, she thought. Survival depended upon blending into this

life she was living now. Even the smartest prey understood the value of playing dumb. And a

killer well understood the hunt.

Lilly almost came to an abrupt halt at the thought. Shock was a bitter taste in her mouth as

she fought not to sink into the shadows and the memories that were just out of reach.

She wasn’t a killer! She was a social butterfly; a scheming little debutante, her father had

once accused affectionately. She knew well how to blend into this life, she had learned at an

early age. She wasn’t a killer. But the blood in her dreams indicated otherwise.

She resisted the urge to stare at her hands, a part of her desperate to ensure no blood stained

them.

Who the hell was she and why did the memories of the past six years seem so elusive while

the nightmares seemed more real?

She was indeed Victoria Harrington. DNA had proven it. Her blood was a perfect match for

the DNA that had been taken from the Harrington children a decade ago to ensure they could

always be identified, no matter the circumstances.

She knew who she was, yet she felt like an imposter. Whatever had happened in the past six

years she had lost had changed her in ways she couldn’t explain. It had ensured she no longer

fit in with her family, her friends, where once before she had blended into this life seamlessly.

She had memories of her life up until the night before the car crash that had killed her

father and left her struggling for life six years ago. The memories of the past six years eluded

her, though.

And why was she searching for a face in the crowd, anticipation surging through her at the

thought of one brief glimpse of a man she didn’t know? A man who felt more familiar to her

than her own face. The man she had caught watching her earlier.

“You’re acting very strange, Victoria.” Angelica sighed as they left the shop and moved

back to the tree-shaded sidewalk and the shops that Angelica insisted on visiting.

Lilly could hear the edge of anger in her mother’s tone and she knew she should be wary of

it. Angelica Harrington had a hard, sharp edge when angry. One that cut with brutal strength.

And she had no problem slicing into one of her children if she felt the need.

“I’m well, Mother.” She watched the crowd intently, careful to keep her mother’s body

shielded as they continued the impromptu shopping spree they had decided on that morning.

She couldn’t understand why she was doing that. Why did she suddenly know how to

protect her mother, and what was she trying to protect her from?

“I didn’t ask if you were well,” her mother said, exasperated. “I said you’re acting strange.”

“So, I look strange and I feel strange, as well.” Lilly snorted. “And could you please just

call me Lilly?”

They both stopped.

Lilly tried to look everywhere but at her mother, before she was finally forced to meet

Angelica’s dark brown gaze. The anger was still there, but also a hint of fearful confusion.

Lilly well understood. Perhaps Angelica truly had lost her daughter.

“Lilly,” Angelica finally said softly then, staring back at her as though she saw more than

even Lilly could guess at. “That’s what your grandmother called you, you know.”

No, she hadn’t known that. Her grandmother had died when Lilly was no more than a child.

As though by silent accord they turned and began moving down the sidewalk again. There

was a silence between them now that wasn’t exactly comfortable.

“I don’t remember her calling me Lilly,” she said, trying to calm her racing heart and to

ease the tension.

“You were very young,” her mother said. “It doesn’t surprise me that when you disappeared

you chose that name to use. Your grandmother always claimed you were more a Lilly than a

Victoria. But your father insisted on Victoria.”

She had been Victoria six years before. She had been the belle of every ball. She had been

powerful in her own right. She had had lunch with the Queen more than once, she’d known

the Prime Minister, she had danced with many members of Parliament. She had conspired—

The memory slammed shut, just that quickly. It was there, then gone as though it had never

been. Frustration ate at her. The memories were there, just out of reach, haunting her, daring

her to do what, she wasn’t certain.

“You know, there’s the nicest little antiques store just ahead.” Her mother changed the

subject with forced brightness as they passed a small café whose tempting scents wafted out

to her. “I thought it would be nice to see what they have. I found several flatware pieces there

the last time I visited. It was quite unique.”

Coffee. She would kill for a cup of hot coffee.

She would kill . . .

For the barest second the sight and scent of blood filled her senses, and it wasn’t the first

time. She didn’t freeze this time. She barely paused at the memory, and, like the first time, it

disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

She didn’t stumble, she continued walking, balancing perfectly on the high heels even as

she thought that if she had to run, it would take precious seconds to shed the impractical

footwear.

“Desmond usually comes on these little forays with me.” Her mother continued chatting.

“It’s too bad he had that meeting this afternoon in D.C. He could have accompanied us.”

Lilly had breathed a sigh of relief when Desmond had announced he couldn’t take the trip

with them. For some reason, she no longer felt as though she could trust the uncle she had

once cherished. That feeling left her off balance as if she couldn’t trust anyone anymore.

It was locked in her memories. All the answers she needed were locked behind the veil of

shadows that had wiped out the past six years of her life.

What had happened the night her father’s car had gone over that cliff with her in it? Had

they argued? Had they been in danger? Why had they left the party that night without telling

anyone or making their excuses?

None of the explanations she had been given when she awoke in the hospital nearly four

months ago made sense. She had lost more than just memories. Lilly felt as though she had

lost herself as well.

She had lost her life, her father. Her mother and uncle felt like strangers, and where was the

brother who had always tried to protect her? When he had come to see her in the hospital, he

had disowned her as a lying, scheming tramp attempting to steal his sister’s identity.

And perhaps that hurt most of all. She had idolized Jared. To have him turn on her had

broken her heart in ways she feared would never heal.

“You’re too quiet, Lilly. How do you hope to ever acclimate if you refuse to try?” Her

mother’s voice was hard now, censorious. “I still think you needed time to heal further. The

clinic in France . . .”

“Mother, really.” Lilly smiled gently, consolingly. “I’m acclimating fine. I’m just getting

my bearings, I promise.”

“And you would tell me if it were otherwise?” her mother questioned, concern softening

the hardness in her tone.

“I promise I will,” Lilly lied.

“The dress becomes you.”

Lilly froze at the sound of the voice at her ear, slightly husky, rich and dark, like the finest

black velvet rubbing against the senses.

She knew that voice. It sank inside her, caressed against memories that chafed beneath the

shadows and eased a sense of fear that had been riding inside her for the past months.

She hadn’t realized how frightened she had been until that clenched, tight part of her soul

seemed to relax marginally.

“I think I prefer the jeans, boots, and thigh holsters you wore in Afghanistan better,

though.”

She felt his cheek against her hair as her heart began to race, to pound erratically with

fierce anticipation. Her body suddenly became too sensitive, too warm, as a distantly

remembered heat began to flare inside her.

“Et.” The halting sound delayed her attempt to turn around. “Stay still, no need to turn

around yet.” There was an edge of darkness in his voice as he gripped her hip with one hand

and held her in place.

There were too many sensations racing through her body now, too much heat and too many

pinpoints of emotion that she couldn’t make sense of.

“Who are you?” she hissed as she gazed around desperately, wondering where her mother

had gone off to, wondering what she would think of the man standing much too close to her

daughter.

“You don’t remember me?” There was an odd note in his tone, one she couldn’t decipher

quickly. “As much trouble as we’ve instigated together? I think I’m offended, Belle.”

A sense of vertigo assaulted her at the chiding tone.

“Evidently I don’t.” She fought to still her racing heart, to ease the harshness of her

breathing.

“I heard you’d been wounded. Evidently the rumors of lost memories is true.” The

comforting tone to his voice did nothing to still the alternating emotions that were suddenly

tearing through her. “Trust me, baby, you know me.”

She believed it. She knew it. She could feel that knowledge heating her body.

“Then I can look at you.” She kept her voice low, as he did, her gaze continually scouring

the interior of the shadowed store for anyone that could be watching or listening.

“Not yet. Turn around and I won’t be able to help myself. Your mother would find you in a

very compromising position. She doesn’t seem the type to look the other way if she caught

her daughter being seduced in a back corner of an antiques store.”

Her mother would be absolutely mortified. Furious.

“Do you remember Friendly’s Sports Bar?” he asked then.

She shook her head slowly, though a ghost of a memory surfaced. A large dim room, a

jukebox playing, the crack of pool balls and spirited laughter.

“The corner of Franklin and Walnut Street,” he told her.

“We’ve met there before?” She heard the uncertainty in her voice, the neediness, the hunger

for information. Finally a prayer had been answered. Someone who knew who she was rather