Shadow of Vengeance (13 page)

Lois smiled again. “So you think I cheated?”

I blinked once. I don’t
think
she cheated, I
know
she did. Still, I don’t care. Without Lois, her endless chatter, the way she’s always making up our conversation and acting as if she actually knows what I’m thinking, I might have gone crazy by now. Before she had come into my life, nightmares and painful memories had been my only company. At night, when Lois and I are separated and I’m alone in my quiet room, those nightmares and memories rush through my mind. Because of them I’m afraid of the dark, afraid to close my eyes. I don’t want to keep reliving the moment that had brought me to this place. The panic, the fear…the betrayal.
 

I shifted my eyes toward the windows. Icicles dangled and frost coated the exterior glass. Dusk had come and gone, leaving a black, starless sky. Glancing at the clock on the wall, relief settled my knotted stomach. The nightmares wouldn’t come for at least another four hours.
   

After Lois put the chess game away, she stood and stretched. Her weight loss worried me. Her tired, grey long-sleeved t-shirt and equally worn black sweatpants hung from her small frame. “We can play again tomorrow. Maybe you’ll redeem yourself,” she said as she pushed her chair closer to mine, gave our table a little shove, then sat so our knees touched. “It’s almost time for dinner anyway. I guess baked chicken is on the menu. Hopefully it’s not too dry.”

Breakfast, lunch and dinner have become a miserable time for me. During meals I’m bombarded with delicious, mouthwatering aromas, yet denied a taste. I can blink, move my eyes and make the occasional grunt, but chewing? God, what I wouldn’t give for a piece of cheesecake.
 

“Today’s Regina’s birthday, so the nurses got a cake for her.”

At the mention of cake, I quickly look at her.
 

“So you’ve got a sweet tooth?” Lois chuckled. “Too bad they can’t shove a piece of cake into your feeding tube.”

Or in my useless mouth.

“Yeah, too bad.” Lois stared at the scars covering my limp hands. Scars that will forevermore serve as a reminder of the day I should have died.
 

“But what do I know about those things,” she said, then her hazel eyes suddenly brightened, and she gave her leg a slap. “Hey, did I tell you what movie the nurses are planning on showing tomorrow night?”

I blinked once.

“No? Well, only one of my favorites…
Beaches.
You know the one with Bette Midler and Barbara Hershey? I always loved that movie. Makes me cry like a baby, but sometimes we all need a good cry. Don’t ya think?”

After I blinked twice, Lois took my hand in hers. Her fingers and palm, calloused from manual labor, covered my scars, and I tried desperately to soak in her strength. From the moment I had woken from my coma, I’ve shed an ocean of tears. They welled in my eyes now and my throat tightened. Except for the time spent with Lois, pain, misery and my blind ignorance has haunted me.
 

Lois brushed one of my stray tears. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just…I know our story isn’t the same as the gals in
Beaches,
but as soon as I heard they were showing the movie, I thought about us.”
 

She squeezed my hand tighter, and I loved the skin-to-skin contact, even if it played as a bitter reminder that I was still among the living, trapped in my body with no means of escape.
 

“Me and you,” she continued. “I think we come from different worlds. I don’t know how I know this, I just do. I sometimes imagine what it would be like if you could talk, how you’d sound, what you’d actually say to me.” She started to laugh. “I’m thinking the first words out of your mouth might be ‘shut the hell up, Lois, don’t you ever stop talking?’”

I would never say that to Lois. She’s right, though. We do come from different worlds. Had hate, a hunting knife and a tire iron not brought me to this place, I would never have known or associated with Lois. In my previous life, I had lived in a beautiful, custom built home in a quiet, safe suburb. Drove a BMW, wore designer clothes, ate at expensive restaurants and took exotic vacations with my family. Before her illness, Lois had worked as a cleaning lady for people like me. She’d lived in a dilapidated apartment building, walked or took the bus, wore Good Will clothes, and barely had enough money to pay her rent, let alone eat.

“Now that I think about it, you wouldn’t say that to me.”

Blinking twice, I inwardly smiled. My friend does know me.

“Anyway, I’m looking forward to watching the movie with you. We’ve been through a lot together. I don’t think I would have lasted this long if it wasn’t for you.”

 
She’s always saying things like that, which amazes me. I can’t speak, and yet I’ve somehow given her the will to live? Her words are humbling. If only she truly understood the impact she’s made on my life. Her humility, her selflessness, her uncanny ability to know what I’m thinking and feeling…she is the only reason I look forward to each day.
 

“This morning, my doc came to see me.”

Heart racing, stomach balling into a knot again, fresh tears blur my vision. Anxious for the results of Lois’ latest MRI, I wish I could squeeze her hand, and give her the same comfort she’s given me day in and day out.
 

She rubbed her bald head with her free hand. “He told me the cancer moved to my brain.”

Anger and overwhelming sadness punched a hole in my soul. Blinking, I fought the tears, fought to be strong for her. But hot trails trickled down my cheeks and I grunted—a real grunt this time—trying desperately to voice my pain and misery over her results. She has become my best friend. Without her in my world, I see no point in living.
 

“But don’t you worry. I’m not going anywhere.” She leaned in, kissed my cheek, then whispered in my ear, “Not until you tell me who tried to kill you.”

Chapter 6

Rachel walked across the small bedroom she’d chosen at The House of Joy and reached into the computer bag for a fresh pencil. At the rate she was going, she’d blow through the twenty-four pack by Wednesday. Better than smoking a pack of cigarettes. A habit she’d given up after her return from the Army, and one she missed, especially now. While the rush of nicotine certainly wouldn’t make their investigation any easier, it might help battle her stress and frustration.
 

Gnawing on the pencil, she stared out the window. Dark now, there wasn’t much to see, but she’d rather stare into the night sky than think about the investigation or…Owen.
 

Not true.

So she couldn’t help herself. Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t stop thinking about the press of his strong, hard body as he’d kissed her under the mistletoe. That night had happened a year ago, but it might as well have been yesterday. Even over a mouthful of pencil, she swore she could still taste his whiskey sweet kiss, the slide of his tongue, the touch of his firm, coaxing lips.
 

Being stuck in Bola with Owen, saddled to each other until they found Josh, might end up being both heaven and hell. For years she’d tried to convince herself that Owen was the kind of guy who used women for sex to feed his ginormous ego. Only he’d never shown an arrogant bone in his sexy body and he’d always treated her with respect.
 

She wanted to dislike him, had tried for years to keep their relationship distant and professional, but she couldn’t shake what he’d awoken the night he’d kissed her. He’d made her…aware. Of her body, her desires, her longings. That brief moment under the mistletoe had also made her realize
something
had been missing in her life. To this day she still didn’t know what that something was, or if she even wanted it. She just knew it was always there, on the fringes. Enticing her to explore her “Owen fantasies” and, ugh, her frickin’ feelings for him.
 

One thing she knew for certain, for the past year, Owen, and whatever emotions he’d evoked, had been making her crazy. Which was stupid. She wasn’t his type and he wasn’t hers. She’d do well to remember that and stay focused on the investigation, not him. Not his smile, his blue eyes, his big, muscular body…his woodsy cologne that made her think of camping and stripping naked, then crawling into a sleeping bag with him.
 

She bit hard on the pencil. Before she chipped a tooth, she tossed it back in the computer bag.
 

Focus, Rachel. Think about Sean and Josh.

Shoving all of her confusing thoughts aside and shifting them on the investigation, she realized Owen had been right. Searching through Sean and Josh’s room had been a waste of time. The only positive thing that had come from visiting Stanley Hall had been the security guard, Bill Baker. She hoped his tox screen came back positive for Rohypnol or some other drug that connected back to Sean. With the little concrete evidence they had, similar toxicology reports could prove a link to the kidnapper.
 

Dr. Collin Stronach had also been a waste of time. The professor had given them nothing useful. The highlight of the interview had been Owen. Other than that nasty look he’d given just before they’d met up with Bill, she’d never seen him so…confrontational and insulting. She had to admit, she’d liked the way Owen had provoked the nutty professor and how he’d come to her defense when he’d thought Stronach had been hitting on her.
 

Stop thinking about him. Think about Sean. Think about the investigation.

She glanced at the file box Jake had given them. After their interview with Stronach, Jake had called and cancelled their dinner, which worked out perfectly. She’d been up since four AM, been stressed about her brother’s health and Josh’s whereabouts, and didn’t have any new, solid leads to share with the sheriff anyway. Plus, not having to meet with Jake had given her the opportunity to visit with Sean again.
 

Her brother had never been a good patient, and had been a crabby mess when she and Owen had stopped by his hospital room. While there, she did ask him about the Mountain Dew, empty fridge, garbage can and cleanliness of his dorm room. Sean had told them that when he and Josh left, the fridge and garbage can had been full, and the empty Mountain Dew bottle had been in the trash. As for the state of their dorm room, Owen had been right about that, too. Apparently the boys had kept their room clean hoping two girls from their anthropology class would come by after the study session.
 

They hadn’t stayed long at Dixon Medical Center. Her brother’s doctor was already gone for the day, and hadn’t left the results for Sean or Bill’s tox screens. Sean, who had been in obvious pain, needed his rest. Besides, she’d wanted to go back to Joy’s, change into her comfy clothes, begin going through the old Wexman Hell Week case files, grab something to eat and pour herself a drink. Not necessarily in that order.
 

Instead of donning her fuzzy, pink and fuchsia polka dot pajamas, though, she’d opted for the lacy, formfitting, pale green camisole she’d accidentally packed and a pair of black yoga pants. She appreciated a warm, cozy room, especially when the temperature outside dipped into the teens. Unfortunately, this room had bypassed warm and cozy and had gone straight to desert hot. If she hadn’t been waiting for Joy to stop by her room and fix the temperature, she would have lost the yoga pants and stripped to her underwear.
 

Too hot to eat the leftovers Joy had stowed away for her and Owen, she ignored the plate setting on the nightstand and drained the glass of water instead. With plenty of ice left in the glass, she poured a shot of vodka from the fifth she’d picked up from the liquor store on their way back from the hospital, then added some Sprite. After taking a sip, she plopped on the bed, then emptied the file box.
 

Before locking herself in her room, she’d given Owen half the files with the intention of discussing the information in the morning over breakfast. While she should have taken the box to his room or downstairs to the community room where they could work together, she’d needed some time alone. Who was she kidding? She needed time away from Owen. The more she was around him, the more she thought about that kiss and all the possibilities it could have led to if he hadn’t walked away that night.
 

Instead of allowing herself the opportunity to consider those possibilities, she took another sip of her drink, then flipped open one of the missing persons’ files. Derrick Rodgers had been the sixth student to disappear. He’d been eighteen, in his second semester at Wexman University, and pledging the Psi Upsilon fraternity. Ten years ago, on the night of January sixteenth, Derrick had disappeared after leaving a meeting at the fraternity house. The Hell Week note had been left on the pillow in his dorm room. All of his things had been accounted for, he’d been well liked, had a girlfriend, came from a good family.

She studied his photo. He’d been a good-looking guy, tall, blonde, athletic. According to his parents, he’d never been into trouble, didn’t do drugs or drink, and had been a straight A student. The guys at the fraternity had concurred. According to the sheriff at the time, Tom Miller, he and his deputies had led a search party, consisting of a dozen men, through the woods surrounding the university. After one day, they’d given up and listed Derrick a missing person.