Kiss (17 page)

She couldn’t cross.

She pulled Rudy’s little MG onto the narrow shoulder near the guardrail, hoping traffic would move around her. A set of tire skids crossed the lanes in front of her.

Her skid marks? She looked, then let her head drift slightly left of the mark, into the oncoming lanes.

A dark stain spread like a malignant cancer on the pavement. After all this time.

She felt lightheaded.

Rudy.

She laid her head on the steering wheel, expecting to be pummeled with vivid and horrifying recall and hoping it would not happen. Dr. Harding was surely right. This could not be an event she wanted to remember. The amnesia was a mercy. The unknown was a deserved but endurable pain.

She should practice putting it out of her mind, moving on.

The pulse of a siren and a loudspeaker jolted her out of her daze.

“Remove your vehicle from the bridge.” A gold sheriff ’s sedan was growing larger in her rearview mirror. She was too far out to back up, not legally any-way. She jerked the car into gear and hoped he would not ticket her. She eased out over the water, focusing on the dashed line, staying in the outside lane. He passed her, and she gripped the steering wheel tight in both hands, opting not to look at him.

There was no other route back into town except to pull a U-turn, probably illegal, and cross the bridge one more time.

She focused on breathing.

It was not until she turned north toward Lakeway that she realized the delivery truck had not left any skid marks in his lanes.

Wayne was already seated when Shauna arrived, distracted and distressed, at the Iguana Grill. The hostess took her to a patio table at the rail overlooking Lake Travis. Wayne stood and greeted Shauna by pulling out her chair.

Not sure what this encounter might hold, she avoided his gaze by facing the lake, which was streaked with the rays of the setting sun.

“I hope you don’t mind my sitting down already. The table came open and I jumped on it.”

“Glad you did.”

“You look great.”

“I feel a little frazzled. Maybe I should go freshen up.”

“No, I mean it. Your hair is windblown and your cheeks are pink. It’s a great look for you. The time out did you good. Enjoy the spa?”

She offered him a noncommittal
mm-hm
and picked up the menu, feeling his eyes studying her face. It had not occurred to her to fabricate the content of her imaginary consultation before now.

She set the menu down and leaned in toward Wayne. “Actually, I should tell you what happened.”

He took her hand and kissed her palm.

A knifing pain behind her eyes and a bright light cut through her vision. She saw behind the light a crowd of people running toward her, hundreds of people, a stampede in a swath so wide she expected to be trampled. She turned around—maybe she could outrun them—and realized that she was encircled. They rushed toward her, the center, in an implosion of arms and legs.

Shauna braced herself to be crushed. She tried to focus on faces. Someone who would help her, sweep her up into the crowd so that she didn’t get sucked down under it. But they came too fast. She held up her arms and felt her knuckles hit limbs. Bodies jostled hers. She fell. She closed her eyes, started grabbing for someone stronger than she was.

She seized a muscular forearm and held on tight.

The crowd vanished.

All except for one man. A brown-skinned Latino, handsome, in an attractive blue guayabera shirt. But his dark brown eyes were nearly black and popping with fury. She let go of his arm, and he frowned, distorting his sleek and symmetrical anchor beard.

He was pointing a gun at her.

She gasped, surprised but simultaneously aware that she might not be the target.

Was this Wayne’s memory?

Had this man threatened Wayne?

Then the image vanished.

All in less than a second.

Wayne flinched.

“What happened?” he asked.

She dropped her hand and blinked. Caught her breath. Decided to meet this mess she was in head-on.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

Worry lines creased his brow. “Anything.”

“I don’t think your name is Wayne Spade.”

Relief filled his laugh. “Is that all? You about made my heart stop. My name is Wayne Spade, legally anyway. I changed it a while back. Unfortunate family issue. Used to be Wayne Marshall. What kind of digging have you been doing?” His tone was good-natured.

“I was actually trying to figure out . . .” Something entirely different, for sure.
I was trying to figure out whether my dreams belong to you.
Not an explanation that would roll off her tongue. As it was, he’d just reduced her mountain to a molehill. Maybe he could obliterate it completely.

“Last night at the theater,” she said, “I overheard a part of your phone conversation.”

He dropped his shoulders and leaned back into the chair. He blew out a sigh. “You did? Well, this is awkward.”

A woman approached the table and offered Shauna a drink. She asked for water, and Wayne asked for more time to look at the menu.

When the server was out of earshot, Shauna said, “Can you help me understand?”

Wayne looked out at the lake.

“Are you protecting me from something? Something I can’t remember?”

“When you and Rudy collided with that truck—your uncle Trent went ballistic. He cried foul long before anyone suggested MDMA might be part of the case. Said someone was sabotaging your father’s run for office by harming you both.”

“Patrice suggested something similar. Only she blames me.”

“Trent never thought the accident was . . . an accident.”

“Why didn’t he tell me this? Why haven’t
you
told me?”

“For your dad’s sake. I know you and your father have issues. But I wish you could have seen his reaction to what happened that night. He flew in from New Hampshire on a private jet. I honestly thought that the blow might kill him, both of you at once. If he thought the accident was an attack on his family . . .”

Confusion turned up the heat in Shauna’s face. “So instead of figuring out if it was, you two thought it would be better for Landon if the world blamed me? Let me take the fall so my father can take the White House? Is that what I’m not supposed to figure out?”

Wayne took her hands in his again, and his expression pleaded with her to understand. “We didn’t plan that, Shauna. But we can’t prove any alternative theory. Everybody tells the same story. Everyone’s accounts line up. The sheriff ’s investigation doesn’t contradict anything—not the reports, not the eyewitness testimonies, not the forensics, nothing.”

“But why keep this from me?”

“You would rather go around believing someone tried to kill you? Might try again?”

“I don’t like either option.”

“Trent will be really upset when he finds out I’m telling you all this.”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

“I offered to stay with you. Wanted to. Trent thought—” Wayne ran a hand through his hair.

“He thought what?”

“He thought that if he’s right about the staging, if anyone still has a mind to hurt you, you would need an ally close by.”

A breeze came in off the lake, and Shauna looked around at the other diners on the open-air patio with them. Was anyone here a threat?

“Is Rudy in danger?”

“I doubt it. The McAllister property is a fortress, especially with the elections so close. And we had Pam Riley checked out. She’s square. I’m thinking we’re lucky, that whoever is responsible for this is satisfied with the damage he’s already caused.”

“What about Smith’s film noir behavior?”

“You know what I think of that.”

“The guy with the knife at Barton Springs?”

“Nothing but a nutcase.”

Wayne took a sip of water.

“My freaky visions?”

Wayne paused. “You having more?”

“A couple.”

“Did Dr. Harding help with that at all?”

“Not in a way that makes me feel in control. I feel disembodied. Like—have you ever had anyone pull a gun on you?”

“I’m an ex-Marine, of course I have.”

“Not in a combat situation.”

“Noncombat? Once or twice.”

“Once or twice? Wayne! That’s crazy! What happened?”

“In Thailand . . . look, it’s nothing worth recounting. We’re talking about you. Are you saying the visions make you feel threatened?”

“Not exactly. I’m really fumbling with this.” Was looking down the bar-rel of a pistol so inconsequential to him? Shauna didn’t know what to make of it.

“You sound stressed. Did the spa help at all?”

“I didn’t go to a spa today.”

He winked at her and stroked the back of her hand. “I know.”

He did? “Then why are you asking me leading questions?”

“It’s hard to know what’s best, Shauna. I’m sorry if that was wrong. But I didn’t want you to feel imprisoned, or babysat.”

“I’m sorry for lying.”

He picked up his butter knife and tipped it onto its point, turning the handle under his forefinger. “Well, you’ve exposed a few lies of my own that I should apologize for too.”

For several seconds, they focused on the knife he was playing with. “Well, it’s good to have all that out in the open,” she said.

Wayne sighed. “I do agree. No more secrets?”

“No more.” Relief washed over her. All her suspicions about Wayne had finally been put to rest.

“So what was so urgent at the
Statesman
?” Wayne said.

“The staff writer who’s been following our story. I thought he could con-nect me to Rick Bond.”

“Who’s that?”

“The truck driver who sued Landon after the accident.”

“Right. Why do you want to talk to him?”

“I’m looking for someone who knows what really happened.”

“Still looking for your ghost.”

“I’m looking for someone who remembers.”

“Let’s ask the attorney—”

“Why? He wasn’t there. He knows less than I do about what happened.”

Wayne sighed. “You might be looking in the wrong place. If your accident was planned, a killer wouldn’t have put himself—or herself—in the car with you.”

Shauna nodded. “It was a dead end anyway.”

“How about your venture to the bridge?”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I didn’t, since we’re being honest. I only followed you to Bee Cave. Thought you’d want to see the bridge by yourself.”

“There isn’t much to say about that. Except . . . did you know the delivery truck didn’t leave any skid marks?”

Wayne nodded. “The driver told deputies he didn’t even have time to hit the brakes. Wasn’t that in the report?”

“Maybe. That sort of move is kind of reflexive, isn’t it? Even after the impact?”

“That would be my guess. But I don’t know much about that kind of thing.”

“There’s probably some obvious explanation. So far I’ve been making federal cases out of nothing.”

“Cut yourself some slack. Anyone in your shoes would feel the way you do.”

“Oh—you’ll never guess. I ran into Smith at the
Statesman
.”

Wayne laid down the knife he was playing with.

“The reporter? His name is really Smith?”

“Yes, and he’s a photographer.”

“What did he say?”

“He was very private eye, kind of paranoid. Scott Norris says he has some kind of emotional issues.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t speak to me at the office. But he asked me to meet him tomorrow morning. Early. At my old place.”

“The loft downtown?”

“If I understand his cryptic note correctly.”

“You shouldn’t go alone. In fact, maybe you shouldn’t go at all.”

The waitress returned, and Shauna picked up her menu and scanned it quickly. “I’m hoping you’ll come with me,” she said.

“You couldn’t keep me away.”

15

Shauna made another attempt to get into the house to see her brother. With any luck, she might slip under the radar of some night-shift agent who hadn’t gotten the memo on her lockout. Or some softhearted fellow willing to bend the rules while Landon was gone.

An empty hope. The burly agent on duty didn’t even speak to her, just shook his head when she approached.

Back at the bungalow Shauna dressed for bed with a heavy heart, tossed out another dose of pills, and turned back the sheets when Khai knocked on the door that led into their shared bathroom.

“You weren’t already asleep?” she asked when Shauna called her in. Khai was carrying an oversized manila envelope that was bulky and open at the top.

“Not yet.”

“Wayne says you won’t need breakfast tomorrow.”

“That’s right. We’ve got a meeting early.”

“Did you find what you were looking for today at the newspaper office?”

“Not exactly. But it was informative.”

Khai approached the bed and held out the envelope. “Maybe this will be of help.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t really know.”

Shauna took the package and looked inside. A haphazard collection of newspaper clippings, a CD in a green jewel case, and white sheets of copy paper tested the seams.

“It’s from your loft.”