Selective/Memory: The "Depth of Emotion" Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion) (32 page)

“Talk,” she directed, skepticism written over her face.

“Do you remember my sister-in-law, Lacey?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” she briskly said. “What does she have to do with you and Aria? She loved Aria.”

Declan nodded his head. “You’re right; she did. Listen, Jeannie”—He paused, not quite sure how to explain, so he just spit it out—“Carter and I think Marisol might have been involved in Lacey’s death.”

He saw the air leave Jeannie’s body in unison with the color that drained from her face.

“Oh my God…” she said, dumbstruck.

Barely a moment passed and she lifted her eyes, realization mixed with panic and they both hit her simultaneously. She looked up at Declan, clarity beginning to seep, and he saw fear in her eyes.

“Do you think she’d hurt Aria?” she asked him with panic in her voice.

He reached across the table for her hands. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to take the chance until I know if she was involved in running Lacey down or not. I have to do whatever I need to do to keep Aria safe.”

Overwhelmed with fear that her daughter could be in danger, and indignation that Marisol could disrupt so many lives, Jeannie was at a loss for words and struggled with her emotions.

Never taking his hand from hers, Declan saw her concern going out of control with all sorts of imagined scenarios.

“Jeannie,” he said reassuringly, “I do love her—am in love with her. It might take a little more time, but I’d rather wait to have her back in my life forever, when I’m sure that she’s safe, than take the small chance that Marisol could be capable of murder.”

Jeannie’s eyes shot to his in terror.

“It’s just a chance. The police don’t have any evidence.”

“Then why? What would make you believe—” she asked, but he cut her off.

“I don’t know, but my brother believes it. He has a photograph of a woman who—I have to admit—looks a lot like Marisol. She rented a car on the day that Lacey was killed. A car hit Lacey—left her for dead in the road. This woman in the picture turned in a washed car, with a dented front end, saying that she hit a deer. She paid cash to the rental car company to have the damage repaired. The rental company was small, and the car was fixed before any further investigation could be done. It’s a small town, so no one put the two things together—but it’s possible.”

His explanation sufficed. Jeannie wasn’t happy about his method, but she was content in his desire to have Aria remain safe and protected.

“Are you going to make a public spectacle out of this farce of a relationship with this woman? Just know that, if you do, I won’t have Aria crushed again. I will tell her everything that you’ve just told me. I won’t keep anything from her if it means having her hurt.” She was adamant in her resolve.

“No. There will be no public displays of affection. You won’t see me hanging all over her. It’ll be the way it is now. The same way that the press has always spun stories of the two of us. Aria was used to that, so she wouldn’t think anything was out of the ordinary.”

He tried to console her further, to convince her that he had Aria’s best interest at heart.

“Marisol thinks she has a chance of getting closer to me—she’s always wanted to. She likes the way it looks in the tabloids, and she likes to think that she’s won. She looks at Aria as competition for me, my attention, and my affection. She hasn’t made any secret of her dislike for Aria. I can’t take the chance of putting Aria as closely as I’d like her to be—especially if Marisol is guilty of murder—and have Aria possibly be on the wrong side of her. Right now, Marisol thinks that Aria and I are through. I’d rather keep it that way—at least for a while.” He looked tortured.

“That’s an understatement,” Jeannie said.

Declan laughed at her comment and she shot him an icy look.

“At first, I was letting her into my life, not knowing she was spinning her lies. Then, as my memory returned, I’d been letting her get comfortable to watch and see what her game was. She’s been operating in my ‘inner-circle,’ so to speak, with my friend, Blake and incorporating herself at The Studio with my work. When Carter told me of his suspicions, it all just seemed to fall in naturally with this plan,” he explained.

“We—Carter, Blake, and I—seem to think that if we give her enough rope, she’ll hang herself. Eventually,” he continued, looking at her hopefully, “she’ll slip up and disclose something to incriminate herself. At that point, Carter—and the law—will take over, and I’m presuming, I’ll get my life back—with Aria.”

Jeannie studied his face. He was walking into a dangerous situation, yet she could find no indication of reservation in his features. The maternal instinct within her rose up, and compelled her to insure that he not trivialize the circumstance he was presenting for himself.

“Why, Declan?” she asked. “I need to know why.”

The answer was important. It was imperative for Jeannie to understand his motives. At one time, Aria suspected his priorities were becoming money and publicity. She had to assure herself that her concerns were unfounded.

“Because it could be my fault,” he solemnly said.

Giving Jeannie a tender look, she could see no hint of manipulation or exaggeration as he took her hands into his. She knew from the tone of his voice that Aria, and his brother, were his primary concern.

“Marisol has caused misery to people that
I
love. If it’s true, Jeannie, if she hit Lacey and left her to die, it’s on me. I was the one who brought Marisol into everyone’s lives”—his intentions becoming clearer with his smile—“and I’d like to be the one to take her out…”

“You’re late!” Aimee held out a coffee as she snidely established the obvious.

Taking the cup from her hands, Aria wrinkled up her nose.

“I know…and I don’t have much time. I have a doctor’s appointment,” she said, taking a long sip.

“Oh, for the love of Martha Stewart!” Aimee groaned, rolling her eyes. “It’s a good thing you’re tiny. It won’t take long to find a dress for you.”

Rifling through the racks, they each found a few dresses that looked like their style. Aimee’s were always just a bit edgier than Aria’s selections, and they headed off to the dressing rooms.

Aria shimmied out of her jeans and into a green dress. Talking out loud, she turned left and right in the mirror, holding her hair up, and clipping it to see if it worked with the style.

“I think I like this one. What about you? You having any luck over there?” she called to Aimee.

“I think so,” Aimee said, raising her voice a little. “I like a black one so far.”

Changing the subject, she cautiously approached a new one.

“So…we’re good about Hawaii?” she asked.

Aria dropped her head back, rolling her eyes in exasperation. This subject had been dead and given a burial.

Why, oh why, did Aimee have to bring it up again?

“Yes,” she said, “we’re good. Let it go already.”

It wasn’t a personality trait of Aimee’s to
let things go
. She was determined to discover if Aria’s feelings for Declan had changed.

“I was just wondering how it worked out with you and Dec,” she said, prying. “I mean, it’s obvious you have feelings for him…”

Realizing that Aimee wasn’t going to stop until her goal was met, Aria relinquished.

“Okay,” she said, calling over the dressing room. “You want the scoop, then here’s the scoop. Yes, I have feelings for him. No, we aren’t back together. Yes, I’d like to be. No, he hasn’t called. Yes, I’m open to talking, but the next move is his. Satisfied?” she asked.

Aimee smiled and clapped her hands together silently within the privacy of the room. She knew when she’d found those letters that getting them back together would be the best thing she could do for the both of them.

Feeling victorious, she pushed forward in her quest as a matchmaker.

“Why don’t you let me—”

“NO!” Aria came flying out of the dressing room, looking under the other doors for Aimee’s feet.

She found her two rooms away and flung open the door.

“Don’t you dare interfere,” she said, startling Aimee, who grabbed for something to cover herself. “I mean it, Aimee. If you do, I’ll be really pissed.”

Aria’s no nonsense tone took Aimee by surprise, rendering her silent. Neither one of them said a word. The only sound was the swishing of material as clothing went both on and off in the other dressing rooms.

Aria closed the door and returned to her own dressing room. Aimee leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, and blew it out of her mouth.

A few minutes later, Aria came out of her room in a turquoise dress.

“Come out here and tell me if you like this,” she called to Aimee, with just a hint of barb to her voice.

The latch clicked on the handle of Aimee’s door, and she hung her arm out, waving a white dress on a hanger.

“What are you doing?” Aria laughed.

“Surrendering,” Aimee said. “This is my idea of a flag.”

“Get out here.” Aria giggled. “You’re crazy!”

Aimee slowly came out of her dressing room. It looked like the black dress was made to fit her.

“Ooo, I like the dress Aria,” she complimented, “and so will Declan…”

Aria tightened her lips and gave her a playfully scathing look.

“You just don’t know when to stop, do you?” she scolded.

Aimee shrugged her shoulders and gave her a cheesy smile.

“Okay. I’ll stop,” she promised. “But I can’t help it that I’m a hopeless romantic.”

Aria gave a ladylike snort as her eyebrows unconsciously raised.

“Oh, you’re
hopeless
alright! I’ll agree with that!”

Dr. Sumner looked at her watch for the second time. Knowing that it was out of character for Aria to miss, or be late for, an appointment, she thought to give her a few more minutes and then attempt to contact her.

Just as she was finishing the thought, Aria burst through the door.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. She was flustered and apologetic. “I’ve been running behind all day.”

She placed her things on the floor as she sat across from the frowning woman. As Aria noticed the doctor’s disapproval, she stopped in her tracks.

“I can just leave if you want. We can cancel. I don’t want to throw your schedule off,” she said.

“No,” Dr. Sumner replied. “We can start, but we’ll stop where we normally would have.”

Relieved, Aria sat back. “Oh, that’s fine. I’m the one that’s screwing you up.”

Desiring to set things on tract, Dr. Sumner began.

“So, how’s everything?” she asked.

“Great—Good—I’ve been real good,” Aria said, catching her breath and getting comfortable. “I do have a few things that I wanted to bring up—to get your thoughts…”

Waiting for her to continue, Dr. Sumner sat quietly.

“I went on a trip with my friends, and Declan was there.”

Aria noticed the curiosity pique on the doctor’s face.

“Yeah, I knew that would surprise you”—She paused and tucked her feet under her—“It was good…and a bit awkward.”

“How so?” the doctor asked.

“Well, I know for sure that he still loves me—and I know that I’m still in love with him,” she confessed. Strangely she felt no anxiety along with her confession.

The doctor gave her an inquisitive look.

“Yes,” Aria said emphatically, “I’m sure.”

“So the two of you are back together, then?” the doctor inquired.

“No. Not yet,” Aria said, a grimace replacing her smile. “It may take some time, but I believe we will be. I’m hopeful, but realistic. There’s no reason to worry,” she assured the doctor. “I do have a more serious concern, though…”

“Oh, and what is that?” the doctor questioned.

“I want to share what I know about the accident with Declan. I just don’t know when would be the right time,” she admitted, hoping for some advice.

The weight of the knowledge she possessed hung like emotional armor on her small frame. Her disposition completely changed with the mere discussion of it, and Dr. Sumner noticed.

“I wish I could tell you, Aria, when the right time and place would be to do that,” the doctor said patiently, “but I don’t think either of us can predict that scenario,” she warned. “You’re going to have to trust your instincts. If you know him as well as you think you do, you’ll know when the time is right.”