While She Was Sleeping Page 4
She continued to stare at him, her eyes huge and tawny, her mouth agape, but gradually, her trembling diminished.
He let another few moments pass in silence before adding, “And I’m pretty sure you enjoyed it, too. But if talking about last night makes you uncomfortable...”
He let the sentence trail off. Carly seemed to realize how she looked then, and she closed her mouth with a snap. Then she started to work on that lower lip again, but now her features took on a determined aspect.
“No. It happened.” He could see her throat constrict as she swallowed. “And I’m glad you said it out loud.”
Ana girl, he thought. It was pretty obvious Carly was not basically assertive by nature, but she was trying to face facts as bravely as possible.
“I’m not a child,” she went on, her chin jutting forward slightly. “I mean, I’m not, well, a prude or some sort of, you know, totally inexperienced person.” Her eyes opened wide with a sudden thought. “Did I seem like an inexperienced person?” A pained expression crossed her face. “I can’t believe I asked you that.”
Even though she looked thoroughly miserable, he couldn’t help grinning. “No, ma’am, I’m here to tell you that after a bit, it was like...something wild had been let out of a cage and needed to celebrate its freedom.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Uh-uh. That good.”
Her color rose, but a tentative little upswing of her mouth told him she was okay. “You’re trying to embarrass me, aren’t you?”
“Just a little. How’m I doing?”
“Great.”
“I figure it’s better than watching you fall apart from shaking.”
“Well, it’s working.”
They smiled at each other, hers sheepish but more relaxed. Nick felt his own body unclench. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been; it was as if he’d picked up on her distress and made it his.
He took a long swig of hot coffee. “So, how long did you say you’ve been divorced?”
His change of subject seemed to startle her but didn’t keep her from answering. “Over a year. Twelve months and fourteen, no, sixteen days.”
“But who’s counting?” he said sardonically.
“I am.”
“Not a shining example of marital bliss, huh.”
“It wasn’t the best time of my life, no,” she agreed, then heaved a sigh and drank from her cup. Her hands, her whole body, had stopped trembling. Dr. Nick to the rescue, he thought wryly.
“Yeah, I had one of those,” he said. “Hell while it lasted and nothing but relief when it was over. Was that your only marriage?”
“Absolutely.”
“Same here. One marriage, one divorce. Enough to last a lifetime.”
Leaning an elbow on the table, Carly rubbed her forehead distractedly, then seemed to notice that the movement had made a gap in the robe. She quickly drew the lapels together and smoothed down the fabric. Not much of a temptress this morning, Nick observed silently. More like a well brought-up young woman of good quality. He could picture her with white gloves, her legs crossed at the ankles.
What a change from last night to today, he thought, not for the first time. But...which one was she? Temptress or good girl? He would just have to find out.
Interrogation was one of his strong suits; the guys at the station always said he had “the feel.” When to come on strong, when to wait. When to play good cop, when to play the bad guy. He’d always been adept at sizing people up and, even though Carly had presented two totally different personalities, he instinctively knew she would respond to patience, that if she felt rushed or threatened she would shut down.
But she was a puzzle, no doubt about it. He had no idea what kind of setup he was dealing with here. And—he reminded himself—even with her girl-next-door looks and his gut reaction to trust her, she could still be the most accomplished actress he’d ever come in contact with.
“Where do you live, Carly? Do you mind me asking you a couple of questions?”
“No, not at all. Hull, Massachusetts. It’s a small town across the bay from Boston.”
“Where do you work? Do you work?”
“Oh, yes, I work. At Aces Insurance Company near Cambridge. As a bookkeeper.” Her face lit up with pleasure. “See? I remember all that. Mr. Caudhill is my immediate boss. My best friend is Margie Gillis. I like movies and books and love to browse in hardware stores and thrift shops.” She frowned again, and he was sorry to see the sunshine leave her face. “How did I lose two days?”
He shrugged. “A blow to the head will do it. Maybe you need to see a doctor.”
“I don’t think so. I mean—” her fingers tentatively explored her head “—there’s no bump or anything. Although I do have a headache.”
“Want some aspirin?”
“I already took some. In your bathroom. I hope that was okay,” she added anxiously, as though asking permission.
“I think I can spare a couple of aspirin. More coffee?”
When she shook her head, he got up and refilled his own cup. “I have four or five cups every morning, to get me going. Tell me, is there any history of mental illness in your family?”
When she didn’t reply, he turned to face her.
“You think I’m off my rocker, don’t you?” Her face registered hurt mixed in with a little indignation.
He raised his shoulders in an easy, no-big-deal shrug. “Hey, it’s an explanation, isn’t it?”
Carly told herself not to feel insulted by Nick’s question. It was perfectly reasonable. But she needed to set the record straight. “Listen, Mr.—I mean, Nick. I know how it looks. But truly, I am considered pleasant, efficient, a nice person. Good old dependable Carly. Thoroughly sane. Never even close to nuts, I swear. I mean I always wished I could be a little less sensible. You know, break loose, live it up.” She emitted a short hiccup of laughter. “Sensible sounds absolutely terrific right now.”
“Then we’re left with drugs.” Nick returned to the table, restored his chair to its normal position and sat down again.
“But I don’t take drugs.”
“Then someone gave them to you. If your last memory is in a restaurant with Richard, it probably happened there.”
“Richard gave me drugs?” It was hard to imagine.
“Or someone else.”
“But why?”
He shrugged. “You can probably answer that better than I can.”
“No, I can’t. I don’t know why he would do that, why anyone would do that, honestly.”
Nick rested an ankle on the opposite knee. He seemed too big for the spindly chair. “Anger? Revenge? A joke? It happens.”
“But not to me—I’m not the kind of person people get angry at, or play jokes on, or even feel that strongly about. Oh, Lord.” She chewed on her bottom lip as a whole new world of terror opened at her feet. “This is awful. To be given drugs, to be...vulnerable. Just now, you could have put something in my coffee and I would never know it.”
“Carly,” he said firmly, “stop. There’s nothing in your cup except what’s supposed to be there. Don’t start falling apart on me again or we’ll never find out what happened to you.”
What he said made sense. With an extreme effort at self control, she reined in her rampaging fantasies. Nick was trying to help her. “You’re right, of course. Thanks. Okay, what do we do now? Do you know anything about this kind of thing? What kind of drugs make you lose your memory?”
“Several. And there are more and more being whipped up in labs all over the world every day. Better living through chemicals.”
“Drugs,” she mused, still trying to come to grips with the concept. “I tried marijuana once and coughed so hard I practically had to be given CPR. One glass of wine and I’m asleep.” It was her turn to shrug. “But you’re right. I must have been given some sort of drug. Even though I don’t take drugs. And I don’t go home with strangers.”
She grabbed a lock of hair. “And my hair
is lighter and yellower than it used to be. And longer.” She pulled and several strands came off in her hand. “Someone put in hair attachments—do you know how much work that is? It takes hours. When did that happen?”
He pushed his chair back so it was balanced on the rear legs only. “Good question. Also, who changed your hair color and why?”
Her heartbeat accelerated again, but she made a major effort to stay in control. “I have no memory of it at all. But how could my hair have been dyed, and done up like this, without me remembering?”
Nick had just about made up his mind. He bought it, her whole story. This was too good to be an act. And why would she act? If, as he’d thought originally, the amnesia story had been invented so she could pretend the night before hadn’t happened, well, she’d already admitted that it had. So that theory was shot.
He clasped his hands behind his head and rocked back and forth on his chair while he gazed at her. Yeah, he believed her. He admired the way she kept control of herself, even though he could sense the effort behind it.
Finally, he sat forward and leaned in, smiling. “Listen. This is your lucky day. If you had to go home with a stranger, you picked the right one.” He nodded reassuringly. “I’m a cop, employed by the Manhattan Beach Police Department. Actually, I’m on medical leave right now—burn knee—but that’s my background and training. And I’m good at my job. So I’m pretty sure I can help you find out just what did happen to those two days. Okay?” Having given her the good news, he smiled, expecting to see her tight facial features relax with relief.
Nick’s revelation hit Carly like a bolt from hell. A policeman? This man sitting across from her was, of all things, a gun-toting, power-hungry, bullying cop?
Just like her father had been?
It made sense, now she could see. He liked to give orders, liked to be in charge. A quick temper seethed under that cool, self-possessed attitude. He’d even just interrogated her, for heaven’s sake.
Nick was a cop.
She shuddered as old, unpleasant memories washed over her. Her family had suffered mightily under the rule of one bullying cop. How much more of this nightmare would she have to endure?
“Carly?”
“I’m all right,” she said, scurrying around someplace inside her mind in search of safety.
“Sure?”
“You just surprised me.”
“Leave it to me, okay? What we need to do now is find out where you were before you came into the bar.”
Nick wasn’t her father, she told herself, but he might be a lot like him. She really didn’t know him, did she? Except...as a lover.
At any rate, she would be on guard now. He’d gotten beneath her defenses pretty easily, but she knew how to act from now on. She would accept his help—heaven knew she needed help from someone!—but would be less forthcoming. And def initely less trusting.
“I barely remember the bar,” she said evenly, “so how can I remember what came before?”
Nick seemed to study her for a moment, then he rose from his chair and offered his hand. “Let’s go out on the terrace. You’re pale. You need some fresh air.”
“Terrace?”
He chuckled. “More of a small balcony. But it does have an ocean view. Maybe your head will clear a little. Coming?”
She stared at his hand, then got up without taking it, fussing with the robe to cover her reluctance to have physical contact with him. If he noticed her hesitation, he didn’t show it. Instead, he walked to the glass-paned door next to the refrigerator, opened it, then stepped aside.
Walking through it, she found herself on a small concrete balcony, about fifteen feet wide, just enough room to hold a small ice-cream table, two wrought-iron chairs and a padded recliner.
The day was warm without being hot and there was a nice, gentle breeze that felt more like spring than autumn. From somewhere nearby came the smell of frying onions. She could hear the deep bass sound of hip-hop from a far-off radio. And, indeed, there did seem to be a view of the ocean. It was all fuzzy, of course, as she didn’t have her glasses. But she was able to see a broad expanse of pale blue sky, with soft clouds scudding by, and white dots in the distance that might have been sails.
“Want to stretch out?” Nick indicated the lounge chair.
“No, thank you.” Carly perched on the edge of one of the ice-cream chairs. “I’ll be more comfortable here.”
She thought he’d sit down too, across the table from her as he had before, interrogation-style. Instead, he leaned his back against the balcony railing, his arms crossed over his chest, and faced her. She was in the shade, but he was in full sunlight. The tanned olive tones of his shirtless upper torso seemed to soak up light, turning him into a bronze-gold god even as shadows outlined the harsh contours of his face.
Power. That’s what he represented. Both professionally and personally. The ability to punish. The physical and mental strength to crush her. She shivered as quick memories of their night together flashed in her mind. Slick, naked bodies thrashing wildly on the bed, his biceps bulging as he supported himself on his hands, his mouth all over her, no part of her body left unmarked by his touch. She shivered again, not quite sure exactly why. With Nick, there seemed to be such a fine line between menace and sensuality, between fear and sexual attraction.
A cop, she thought once again. Of all things. She stiffened her spine, telling herself that she was a grown woman and could get through whatever she needed to get through.
“Let’s do it this way,” Nick said. “We’ll start at the bar. I’ll tell you what I remember, and you tell me if you remember it, too. You came in around midnight. You sat down on a bar stool. A guy hit on you, some creep with a beer belly and a beard—”
“—and sweaty hands.” Carly shivered. “I remember. He was awful. I felt like I was being sized up for white slavery.”
“And that’s when I came to the rescue,” he said mockingly.
Peering up at him, she studied his face as objectively as possible. “Yes. I remember your face, coming out of a blur, getting closer.”
He uncrossed his arms and spread his hands on the balcony rail. “You’re nearsighted, aren’t you?”
“Uh-huh. I can see you, but behind you, everything starts to get blurry.”
“Why don’t you wear glasses?”
“I do. I don’t know where they are.”
“I see. So it’s not because you’re vain. Did you have them on at dinner with Richard?”
“Yes. I always wear my glasses. And,” she protested, “I’m not in the least bit vain.”
His mouth quirked up. “All right then. We talked at the bar. You wanted to go to sleep.”
“Yes, I was so tired.” Carly rubbed her eyelids. “Would you mind moving out of the sunlight? It’s too bright.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He sank onto the edge of the lounge chair, elbows on knees, his hands clasped loosely between his legs. “So then I offered my place for the night.”
“Really? And I went? I mean, that’s a pretty stupid thing to do, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. But you seemed not to be bothered by my offer. Also, I promised to keep my hands off you.”
“And I actually believed you?”
He grinned. “Hey, I meant it.”
“If you say so,” she said doubtfully. “Then what?”
“And then we walked over here.”
Closing her eyes, which seemed to help her concentration, she tried to put herself in the picture Nick was describing. Amazingly enough, some of it did come back to her. “On some sort of boardwalk.” She nodded as more bits of memory took shape. “People rushing by. Someone laughing, a woman. A strong ocean smell-fishy. Sirens, I think.”
“Yes. A patrol car passed us heading north. Probably some ruckus at one of the restaurants. You’re doing great, see?”
“It’s still in bits and pieces. So, we’re walking. What happened next?”
“We got here and you passed out on my bed.”
“That was much later, when you showed up in the living room and said I should make love to you.”
Her eyes snapped open, then she winced at the all-too-vivid memory. “I guess I was...naked?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned.
“And...pretty insistent?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sighing loudly, Carly shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m the furthest thing from sorry you can imagine.”
Nick shifted a little on the lounge chair, bringing his knees closer together to hide what was happening to his body. Damned if Carly wasn’t getting to him again, and he was responding in the usual, age-old manner—again—the way men’s bodies always did. Amazing. After the exhausting workout of the previous night, he wanted her again. Right now, right here on his terrace under the blue California sky. Back off, he told himself. The woman is half out of her mind with her own troubles and doesn’t need any more hassles. Still...what a shame.
Anyhow, he believed her.
Of course, he reminded himself, his gut had let him down before. Especially where women were concerned. They had a habit of running out on him. His mother, when he was six. And Lenore. His ex-wife had had the face of a Girl Scout and the soul of a con; she’d wrapped him around her finger, then taken off with all their savings. No, when it came to his gut instinct about women, Nick had learned to ignore it.
Carly’s hands were steepled in front of her mouth and she seemed to be thinking about something. Finally, she let her hands drop to her lap and smiled shyly at him. “I suppose I should thank you. For rescuing me. I do thank you, really.”
The sweetness of her expression tugged at him, but he waved away her apology with his hand. “Don’t. It had less to do with me being a noble guy than with the way you looked when you walked into the bar.” -
“How did I look?”
“Sexy as hell. The dress was a knockout. It had half the guys in the place drooling.”
“What dress?”