What She Forgot Page 11

  “Quite a lot, actually.” Troy’s expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes. “Your name before you married was Andrea Evans.”

  Andrea tried not to react, but a shudder wracked her. You know about the little Evans girl, don’t you? It was so tragic….

  Her gaze darted away from Troy, as if he somehow might be able to read her thoughts by gazing into her eyes. “What else?”

  For the next several minutes, Troy recounted to Andrea and Madison everything he’d learned at the Malone mansion. At least, he said it was everything, but Andrea suspected he was holding something back from her.

  She listened in horrified fascination as he described Dorian’s animosity and Robert’s cool detachment, how neither of them had reported her missing because they hadn’t missed her. Not only did her family not want her back, but it sounded as though they might actually hate her. Why? What had she done that was so terrible? What kind of person had she been?

  Apparently the kind who made a lot of enemies.

  The kind who married a wealthy, grieving widower six months after his first wife died.

  The kind of woman who could be married to one man and deeply attracted to another.

  “I don’t think I like what I’m hearing,” she murmured. “Could I really have been so bad?”

  Something in her tone must have gotten to Troy, because he reached across the table and took her hand. Andrea did lift her gaze then, and their eyes met. And suddenly she forgot all about Madison, sitting at the table with them, and about Richard, a husband she didn’t even know. She forgot everything except the way Troy was looking at her.

  Something stirred inside her, a longing so deep and so powerful, Andrea felt her breath quicken. She wished they were alone and she was free. She wished she and Troy were the only two people in the world right now.

  But they weren’t.

  And no amount of wishing would change the terrible truth.

  Troy said, “Look. I wouldn’t put too much stock in what Dorian Andropoulos had to say. She’s obviously a very bitter woman. I doubt there are too many people she does like.”

  Madison, who had been sitting quietly until now, cleared her throat, as if to remind them of her presence, and said, “He’s right, Andrea. Don’t judge yourself by what someone else says about you. Especially someone who may have a personal bias. You know what’s in your heart. You know you’re a good person. That’s all that matters.”

  But Andrea didn’t know she was a good person. That was the trouble. If she were a good person, why did this awful feeling of guilt come over her at times? Why would she feel so much remorse if she hadn’t done anything wrong? But what? What had she done? And what did it have to do with Richard Malone?

  Was he really out of town? Andrea didn’t think so, and for a moment, she toyed with the notion of telling Troy what she’d seen in her dreams, what she had remembered. She thought of confessing to him that she was almost certain Richard was dead, murdered, but how could she? How could she tell Troy she thought her husband was dead when she might very well be his murderer?

  She was the logical suspect, wasn’t she? She’d been found with blood on her clothing. According to Dorian Andropoulos, Andrea had married Richard for his money. She was a cold, devious woman capable of anything. What further proof would Troy need?

  Andrea remembered just enough to point the finger at herself, but nothing at all that would help clear her. She couldn’t tell Troy. If he didn’t believe her—and maybe even if he did—he’d have no choice but to arrest her. She would be locked away somewhere with no way to prove her innocence, no way to defend herself against Dorian’s allegations and no way to protect Mayela.

  It all came back to the child, although Andrea still hadn’t figured out why. She just knew. Mayela needed her, and Andrea had to get home to her. Now.

  She lifted her gaze to meet Troy’s. “When can I go home?”

  Something that Andrea wanted to believe was regret flashed in his eyes, but he shrugged, as if her words meant nothing to him. “Whenever you want. I’ll drive you there myself.”

  * * *

  “SHE TOOK IT PRETTY WELL,” Troy said. “Better than I expected.”

  Madison looked at him in disbelief. “What are you talking about? She was terrified. Didn’t you see the way her hands were shaking? She was an emotional wreck.”

  “She seemed calm enough to me.” Too calm and too damn anxious to get back home.

  Well, what had he thought? That she would chuck it all, the mansion in River Oaks, the wealthy husband, the expensive clothes and jewelry and say, I don’t want to go back. I’ll divorce my husband, leave my family, forget I was ever rich. Those things mean nothing to me anyway.

  Obviously they did mean something to her. She couldn’t wait to get back to them.

  Troy didn’t like the bitterness that suddenly rose like a dark cloud inside him, but he couldn’t help it. He got up and walked across the room, staring blindly out the window over the sink.

  “Troy,” Madison said softly. “You knew she had a family. A husband.”

  “Yeah, I knew.”

  “I hate to see you this way.”

  He shrugged. “I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

  She got up and walked over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should talk to her, tell her how you feel.”

  “You know I can’t do that. Besides…” He paused. “She already knows.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.” Troy turned to her, his expression bleak. “If she felt something for me once, it’s obviously gone now. She’s starting to remember her past. Her husband. Did you see her face when she looked at his picture? Maybe she even remembers that she loved him.”

  “But you don’t sound too convinced of that.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “It was a weird setup over there, Madison. Tell me what the hell Malone’s first wife’s mother is doing living with them in the first place? And that leech of a brother…” Troy glanced at Madison. “I’m worried about her going back there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Those people are cold. Cold and greedy.”

  Madison frowned. “You don’t actually think they’d try to hurt Andrea, do you?”

  Troy’s fears had been nameless until now, but he realized that was exactly what he was afraid of. “Remember the way she was found. Wandering down a busy street at night. Blood all over her clothing.”

  “Yes, but that blood wasn’t hers.”

  “I know.” The blood was O-positive, the same as Richard Malone’s. “But what about the guy I saw outside her hospital room the night before you brought her here? I keep thinking about the way he held that needle. I keep thinking about the way he ran away. He meant to harm her, Madison.”

  “You can’t know that for sure. You said he was dressed in hospital scrubs and that his face was covered with a surgical mask. In fact, you said you couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.”

  “That’s true. For all I know, it could have been Dorian Andropoulos.”

  “You don’t really believe that.”

  “I don’t know if I do or not.” He gave Madison a hard look. “You didn’t see her. You didn’t talk to her. There’s not much I’d put past her.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  He shrugged. “What can I do? You heard Andrea. She wants to go home.”

  “But if you told her your suspicions—”

  “I can’t do that. I don’t have anything but a gut feeling that something is wrong in that house, and lately I’m not too sure I can trust my own instincts. But I tell you what I can do.” His features settled into grim lines of determination. “I’m going to keep digging until I get to the bottom of all this. I’m not going to let it rest.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  “The first thing I have to do is find Malone.”

  “And when you do find him, what then?” Madison asked. “What
if he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be? What if there’s never an explanation for the blood on Andrea’s clothing? Will you be able to let it go then? If you find her husband, will you be able to walk away from her?”

  More questions, Troy thought. More questions he couldn’t answer. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I just know that neither of us can go on like this.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Andrea stared up at the mansion, trying to experience some sense of relief, some feeling of coming home, but all she felt was a deep uneasiness. She didn’t belong here. This wasn’t her home. How could she be married to a man she didn’t even remember?

  Not exactly true, she reminded herself. She did have memories of Richard Malone. Memories she wished she could forget.

  She glanced at Troy as he pulled the car in front of the mansion and stopped. His mouth was set in a harsh line, and his eyes looked hard and unreadable. Andrea shivered, feeling his remoteness.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, his tone devoid of any emotion.

  “I guess so.”

  Ever since he’d brought her news of her family earlier, Troy had made an obvious effort to withdraw from her, and Andrea had no choice but to do the same. She was home now, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted. She had to protect Mayela from whatever darkness lurked within that house, and Andrea’s feelings for Troy—and his for her—couldn’t be allowed to matter.

  But as he leaned over and opened her door, his arm brushed against her breasts, and a spasm of desire shot through her. As if he’d felt the shock himself, Troy turned, so that their eyes met. Their lips were only inches apart, and Andrea’s breath caught in her throat.

  She wanted him to kiss her. Wanted it more than she could remember ever wanting anything in her life. Just one kiss. One last expression of the love they didn’t dare admit before she walked into that house and into her past.

  Before she could stop herself, Andrea lifted her hand to caress his face. He closed his eyes, as if her touch were almost unbearable, and then he turned his head, so that his lips skimmed along her palm.

  And still Andrea could not breathe. Still she could not make herself open that door and get out. Still she could not quite admit that Troy Stoner would never be hers. Could never be hers.

  He took her hand and kissed each finger, his mouth warm and urgent against her skin. He gazed down at her, his eyes dark and clear and incredibly sexy as he whispered her name on a hot breath of desire.

  Andrea trembled. If he kissed her, she wouldn’t be able to resist. If he held her, she wouldn’t be able to pull away. If he made love to her, she could easily forget that she had married Richard Malone, and that he might be dead at this very moment.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered.

  “You don’t have to go in there,” Troy said. His eyes grew dark and urgent. “You don’t have to go inside that house, Andrea.” He stopped short of asking her to go away with him, but Andrea knew that’s what he meant, what he wanted.

  She drew a ragged breath, his appeal almost too powerful to resist. But even as the temptation almost overcame her will, the front door of the mansion opened, and Andrea could see a woman in a uniform standing at the top of the stairs. A little girl in a bright red dress appeared at the woman’s side.

  Andrea couldn’t take her eyes off the child. She looked to be about seven, with long black hair and a solemn expression that made her seem older. When the little girl saw Andrea sitting in Troy’s car, she shot past the maid and flew down the stairs toward them.

  Andrea got out of the car. An overwhelming sense of love swept over her. Without thinking, without analyzing her reaction, she opened her arms, and the child rushed into them. Andrea embraced her, lifted her, and the little girl’s arms crept around Andrea’s neck, holding her as if she would never let her go. “I knew you’d come back! I knew it!”

  “Mayela,” Andrea whispered, stroking the child’s thick curls. “My little May.”

  Over the top of Mayela’s head, Andrea saw Troy. He’d gotten out of the car and walked around, so that he was standing not two feet away from them. He had to have seen Andrea’s unbridled response to the child. He had to have heard her call the child by her nickname. Her actions were hardly those of a woman who couldn’t remember her past, but neither were they the actions of a cold-blooded murderer, were they?

  Could she feel this much love for a child whose father she had killed?

  She put the child down, but Mayela clung to her hand. “Dorian said you weren’t coming back, but I knew you would. I just knew it.”

  “Of course I came back,” Andrea said, her response automatic. She was aware of Troy’s gaze on her. “I couldn’t leave you, could I? Aren’t we best friends?”

  “Yes, but—” The child’s expression grew serious again. Her blue eyes, so striking against all that dark hair, looked troubled as she gazed up at Andrea. “Dorian said you don’t remember me.”

  Andrea knelt beside Mayela and gently placed her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “I’ve been…sick, May, and I’m not quite well yet. But I’m getting better, and even if I don’t remember specific things about you, I still remember how special you are and how much I love you. I could never forget that.”

  The child looked appeased, but only for a moment. “Do you remember Daddy?”

  You killed my daddy! You killed my daddy!

  The child’s tortured scream drove through Andrea with the force of a lightning bolt. She gasped, putting her hand to her heart as Mayela’s face blurred before her. Andrea couldn’t distinguish the child’s features anymore. Couldn’t see the dark hair or the troubled blue eyes, but she could still hear her screams. She could still feel the child’s terror.

  Andrea stood and backed away from the child. Dimly she was aware of Troy’s hands on her arms, steadying her. “Easy, now,” he murmured.

  His voice brought her back. For a moment, Andrea leaned against him, drinking in his warmth and strength and comfort. Then she saw Mayela’s face. The child looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” Andrea whispered. She was still too stunned by the force of the memory to do much more than stare down at the child in regret.

  Troy said, “Andrea’s still not well, Mayela. I’ve brought her here so you can take good care of her. Will you do that?”

  Mayela nodded. Hesitantly she approached Andrea and took her hand. “Don’t worry, Andrea. I’ll bring you ice cream and read to you and draw pictures for you, just like you do when I’m sick.”

  Andrea’s throat tightened with emotion. Somehow she knew that Mayela was the first person who had truly cared about her in a long, long time. Ever since Andrea was a little girl and her own daddy had—

  Had what? Died? Why was it she could remember that her father loved her, but she couldn’t remember what he looked like? Couldn’t remember how or when he had died?

  But he was dead. She knew it just as surely as she knew Richard Malone was dead.

  She looked down at Mayela with a sudden rush of despair. The child didn’t know yet. No one knew yet except Andrea. And that could only mean—

  She started to panic again, started to withdraw from Mayela, but Andrea forced herself to remain calm. She didn’t know what had happened to Richard. She didn’t know for sure he was dead. She couldn’t know. Maybe he was out of town. Maybe he would come back and the three of them would be a real family.

  But Andrea knew they’d never been a real family, just as she knew she’d never been in love with him. She couldn’t feel the way she did about Troy if she had ever loved her husband.

  That begged the question, of course, of why she had married him. But as Andrea looked up at the imposing facade of the mansion, she wondered if that answer was all too evident.

  She glanced back at Troy. He had stepped away when Mayela had taken her hand, as if purposefully distancing himself from them. He said now, “Do you want me to go in with you?”

  Andrea shook her he
ad. “That won’t be necessary. I know you have to get back.”

  It wasn’t what she’d wanted to say, but Andrea knew it was time to sever the ties, tenuous as they were, that bound them together. Until and unless she could come to him free of and unencumbered by her past and by her deeds, she had to let Troy go.

  He stared at her for a moment longer, then turned and got in his car. A wave of emotion washed over Andrea as she watched him drive away, and she had to blink back her tears.

  “Who is that man?” Mayela asked. She clung to Andrea’s hand.

  “He’s a policeman, but he’s also a friend.” Andrea’s eyes were still on the spot where Troy’s car had disappeared down the street. She couldn’t look away.

  “He helped you?” the child wanted to know.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Then he’s my friend, too.”

  Andrea tore her gaze away from the street and smiled down at Mayela. Then, with a deep breath, she turned and looked up at the house. “I guess we should go in.”

  Mayela’s small hand squeezed Andrea’s fingers. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll take good care of you.”

  * * *

  DORIAN ANDROPOULOS and Robert Malone proved to be every bit as daunting as Troy had warned her. They were both waiting for her in the large living room that opened up just past the stairs. As Mayela led Andrea inside, she held steadfastly to Andrea’s hand—not because of her own fear, Andrea thought, but because the child was trying to protect her.

  Against what? Andrea wondered with a shiver.

  The question was answered the moment she set eyes on Dorian. The woman’s expression, her whole demeanor exuded hostility, and the chill deepened inside Andrea’s heart.

  The man seated on the sofa, legs crossed, arm draped over the back in an almost studied pose of casualness, bore a striking resemblance to the man in the picture Troy had shown her. But Richard Malone—both in the picture and in her dreams—wore a mantle of strength and character that this man would never be able to achieve. Though he was smiling at her, there was a kind of covert deviousness in his eyes that was almost more chilling than Dorian’s open animosity.