28 Days: a romantic suspense (2 page)

1
2
:30pm

“
S
aige
, this is yours. Table three.”

Saige tried not to scowl at the cook as she grabbed the two plates of food he nearly tossed at her. The diner was crowded with the lunchtime rush as she hurried over to the table, placing down the food and then topped off their water.

“Enjoy your meal.” Doing an about turn, she nearly fell over her roommate, Tamsyn.

They bumped hips and rolled eyes before getting back to work.

Saige hated the job and only stayed there because she knew her stepmother’s feelings on the matter. Her dear old stepmom was embarrassed that her stepdaughter worked in a city diner.

Her father worried about her constantly, but accepted Saige’s independence, albeit reluctantly. He even knew why she stayed at the job, but knew how determined she could be when pushed.

He’d be in town the following day and she looked forward to seeing him for dinner. He said it was business that was bringing him to Tampa, but she knew that his business was her. She was missed at home as much as she missed him, but once she’d reached twenty-six, she’d decided enough was enough. She wanted her life back.

Three years later she had some of it back. Even though she didn’t need to, she worked a job that gave her an income. It wasn’t the best place to work, but she was constantly surrounded by people and very rarely, if ever, found herself alone—safety in numbers.

“You planning on buying the place?” Lou, the owner asked.

“No, why?” Saige smiled down at the petite woman who had asked the question. Lou was tiny but she wasn’t afraid of anything it seemed. Saige had seen her put men twice her size into place—no one dared get on her bad side.

Lou’s lips twitched. “You’re standing there eyeing the place.”

Saige shrugged. “Sorry, lost in thought.”

“I don’t pay you for standing around,” Lou grumbled. “Get back to work.”

Saige laughed and went behind the counter to clear the dirty dishes.

“Hey, honey. Turn that up.”

She turned to face the man who made the request and raised a brow at his rudeness.

“Please,” he added, and grinned.

She shook her head in frustration. Turning, she reached up and twisted the volume knob on the television…and froze. Her head spun at the images flashing on the screen.

A younger version of herself stared back at her—a picture taken from her prom. Her blonde hair was clipped at the nape of her neck, the ruby red dress showing off her youthfulness. Her heart sped up, slamming into her chest as her throat tightened around her breath. She wanted to run…to hide from the prying eyes that would be staring at her now, but then she remembered she wasn’t that Saige any longer. She’d changed. Her hair was no longer blonde, but auburn. Her body wasn’t adorned with a perfectly cut prom dress, but was hidden under the frumpy, grease stained waitress uniform.

She glanced around at the customers who were watching the screen and not her and sighed in relief. Then her gaze returned to the television.

Why was she up there?

The blood that had rushed through her ears finally calmed enough so that she could hear what the reporter was saying…

“Earlier today, Governor Stafford signed an execution warrant for thirty-five year old Quinten James Peterson, who, at the age of twenty-seven, was found guilty of the premeditated murders of five college girls, and the abduction and torture of Saige Lockwood, who became known as victim number six.

“In twenty-eight days, Quinten Peterson will have the lethal injection administered at the death row facility in Harlington, where he’s been incarcerated for close to eight years.

“Harlington’s warden, Jonathan Roscoe, has confirmed that later today Quinten Peterson will be transferred to a death watch cell, pending the execution of the warrant.

“At this time, we’ve been unable to contact Quinten Peterson’s ex-wife, Jocelyn, or Alexander Peterson, his brother, for a statement.

“The governor will be giving a formal statement at three o’clock this afternoon.”

And there he was, Quinten Peterson in his prison uniform, large as life on the screen. Her eyes stayed focused on him, traveling over his narrow shoulders, dark brown hair, and hard chiseled face half covered with a trim beard. His eyes held her gaze, they were so dark that it was like looking into pools of...despair.

Saige’s heart raced as fast as the blood rushed through her ears. She reached up to her forehead and pressed at the pain that threatened to bring her to her knees.

“What’s wrong?” Tamsyn grabbed her arms and pulled her into the hallway that led to the restrooms. “Saige,” she whispered. “I know we’ve never talked about your past, and I’m not asking now, but you’re my friend, so please talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.”

Tears flooded Saige’s eyes and slowly slid down her face as she watched Tamsyn worry at her lip.

“I...I don’t know.” Saige wiped at her eyes, but the tears continued.

She dashed into the restroom and grabbed a handful of tissues from the dispenser. “I have to work.”

Tamsyn stopped her mid swipe as she grabbed her arm and slowly turned her. “Look at me, Saige.”

Saige gulped. “I have everything under control...then something happens and I feel like I’m about to lose it again.”

“I can’t begin to understand what it’s like to suddenly have that slapped in your face...your memories.” Tamsyn stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Saige. “I’m here for you if you ever need to talk, cry on a shoulder…or eat a full tub of ice cream.”

Saige tried to smile but it came out more of a wince. “I don’t have memories.”

Tamsyn stepped away. “What do you mean?” She frowned.

“I don’t remember anything.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Tamsyn wet some paper towels. “Here, you need to sort your face out, even if you’re going to clock out now.”

“I’m not leaving mid-shift.”

She could have said more, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to get into it with anyone…she hadn’t for years. Her family tried to get her to talk about her memories—her lack of memories. They’d filled in details, trying to lodge something loose in her memory. She was so sick of talking about it that she got used to changing the subject, and her family eventually got the hint.

“Are you sure you’re okay to go back to work? You still look pretty shaken.”

She felt shaken and her nerves made her nauseated. Her hands trembled as she raised them to her face. Maybe Tamsyn was right…maybe she needed to clock out early. “I’m going home.”

“Let me see if Lou will let us both leave.”

“She won’t. I’ll be fine, Tamsyn. I just need away from here for now.”

Tamsyn didn’t look convinced.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I just need my own space.”

“Okay.” Her roommate watched her closely for a few minutes and then nodded slightly before finally leaving the room.

Saige sighed in relief when her friend left her alone to collect her thoughts. Her first thought was to call her father because she knew that as soon as he saw the news, he’d be worried about her.

The image on the screen of the man would forever be engrained on her brain. As far as she was aware, she’d gone eight years without knowing what he looked like. She’d been afraid that once she saw him the horror of her time with him would suddenly hit her, so she’d never gone looking. Now though, nothing was there. Her memory was just as blank as it had been for the past eight years...and that scared her.

As Saige had looked closely, there had been something familiar about the man, but as soon as she tried to remember what teased her memory, her head throbbed.

She couldn’t stay at work; she had to get back to her apartment. She needed to be surrounded by her things, feel the comfort that they brought.

3
:00pm

S
aige closed
the door behind her and pressed her back against it as she tried to draw energy into her body. She had none. She was exhausted and had only worked a half-shift. Moving slowly toward the table by the door, she placed her purse down and sighed with relief. She was home.

She took a few steps farther into her living room and dropped into the oversized chair—her comfy chair that everyone else hated. The battered brown leather didn’t match anything in the elegant apartment, but for some reason, she had insisted that it went with her when she moved. The chair had always been in the boathouse, so she guessed it held happy memories that she wished she could remember.

And that was the biggest problem. She didn’t remember
anything
. Not the attack. Not the rescue. Not the years just prior to her attack. Memories erased from her life as easily as her attacker had tried to erase her.

Sometimes she would try to remember, but all it did was leave her with a terrible headache. The doctors had told her not to push it. Months would go by before it started again—wondering what she wanted to remember—so she’d try to regain her memories, only to be left with the usual headache. It was an unhappy cycle.

Her father thought it was a godsend that she couldn’t remember what had happened while she’d been held against her will, but what they couldn’t understand was that she had nearly two and a half years stolen from her mind. Those years were just gone.

The summer before she was taken—gone.

The days of being tortured—gone.

Two years afterwards—gone.

Her father had once said that for the two years after, it had been like she hadn’t existed. She’d been in a private hospital. Withdrawn. Mute. Completely pulled inward with no contact from anyone other than her immediate family and the medical staff.

It sounded like a lonely existence and sometimes she was glad she couldn’t remember any of it. Other times, she felt like she’d go insane because she couldn’t.

One question she constantly asked herself was, what happened to her afterward? Why couldn’t she remember anything after she’d been found? It didn’t make any sense. Why couldn’t she remember the hospital when she’d been there for such a long time? All she did remember was the last two weeks before her father had taken her home. Even now the smell of antiseptic made her physically sick.

Saige kept so much locked away inside her where no one could see. She was tired of being her. Tired of being afraid, and tired of not remembering.

Seeing Quinten Peterson on the television today had really thrown her for a loop. There was something about him that teased at her memory. He’d been familiar, but not in a frightening way. She’d always expected him to be terrifying to her when, or if, she ever saw him, but that reaction hadn’t come.

Instead she felt a hint of affection. Perhaps after all these years she could finally admit to herself that she was crazy, because why the hell else would she have felt affection for someone who’d tortured her for days and then left her for dead?

Her father had kept her locked away from the awful truths. He’d kept her away from the trial and from seeing
him
. She hadn’t testified at the trial, as she was in the hospital recovering from all the injuries she’d suffered. Later, she remained in a private hospital for close to two years. Eventually, she started to speak again, and had relied heavily on her father, who’d been there every step of the way. He’d been the one to take her home from that dreadful place.

Saige shuddered and hoped like hell that she’d never have to step foot inside the walls of that hospital again. Every time she thought about that place, chills of fear raced down her spine. She often asked herself what had happened to her while she’d been a patient—she would probably never know.

Forgoing dinner, Saige struggled to get herself up from the chair and slowly dragged her feet to her bedroom.

She stripped out of her work uniform and climbed under the covers—wanting to hide from the unknown that haunted her. Just for a little while.

3
:15pm

F
or eight years
he’d waited for the execution warrant to be signed by the governor, and now that it had been, Quinten felt nothing but fear...and anger.

He’d constantly asked himself, why him? He’d never gotten an answer. All those years ago, he went after the woman he loved. He didn’t regret finding her. Even knowing how he ended up, he would do it again as long as it meant that Saige lived. Despite the odds against him, he’d managed to save her.

Even now, as they led him in shackles to one of the death watch cells, he could still see the blood covering her—his beautiful girl. Just her smile had been enough to bring him to his knees.

“Steady now,” one of the guards said.

He blinked a few times and realized his body had tensed, and that his fists clenched together in front of him.

Four heavily armed guards flanked him while the warden led the way. The death squad. He didn’t know any of these guards, but he’d certainly get to know them now that he was under twenty-four seven observation. That was, until they transferred him to the execution chamber, adjacent to his new home.

Quinten briefly closed his eyes and tried not to think about the end. He’d prayed since his incarceration that he’d be freed. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and wondered if he was being punished for that last night when he’d seen Saige before she’d returned to college.

“Nearly there,” another guard grunted.

The shackles around his ankles and wrists rattled when he slowly shuffled forward, and then he froze. His legs wouldn’t carry him further.

He couldn’t do this.

How the hell was he supposed to willingly walk inside that cell? He felt sick to his stomach with fear while he told himself to stay strong, not just for him but also for his brother. Quinten just wasn’t sure that he knew how to anymore.

His legs weakened as he stared into the small space in front of him. The metal-framed bed with a thin mattress sat to one side, while the shower, stainless steel toilet, and sink had been placed to the back of the cell with a small window above.