The Way You Make Me Feel (10 page)

She drew a sharp breath of longing. “We're going to have to cool it. I don't want to be burned to a cinder when you take me.”

He smiled roguishly. “I'll behave if you stop drawing me. And no,
you
can't stop. It's what we are, you and I. Let's go out on the sleeping porch and watch the sun come up.”

“Good idea. I'm still not sleepy.”

“Neither am I. My blood is singing. And speaking of singing, did you finish ‘The Way You Make Me Feel'?”

“Almost, but I'm refining it. Who's best to produce it?”

“Wally Tapp's the only one I'll consider. I spoke to him about releasing that as a single and producing an album for you. I'd suggest you take that title.”

“I agree with you on both counts, but will Wally have time? He's so busy.”

“I'll make him an offer he can't refuse.” He bent then and kissed her thigh through the fabric of her pantyhose. “Did I tell you you look good enough to eat?”

“No, but you've said so many kind things. You're a kind man. And a one-of-a-kind man.”

“Some people would tell you I'm a player.”

“Are you?”

“I was.”

“For a few months.”

“No, for longer than that. Before I linked up with Honi I played the field. I wanted to know what life was all about. I've always admired the South Seas way of life. They sleep around until they get married, then their playing days are over. I liked that. But AIDS and STDs came along and I grew cautious as hell. I value my life and my health more than my libido, so I cut it short. But I was on that carousel.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“At first. Maybe I'm monogamous by nature, but I look forward to having it all with you. I want us to have everything we can have in the way of sexuality and sensuality, in the way of life itself. I find I like this better, but it was good while it lasted. I was young, hot-blooded.”

“You're still hot-blooded.”

He laughed lazily. “Now, I wonder why you'd say that. Haven't I been completely decorous with you?”

“Tell me some more fairy tales,” she scoffed. “You could write a book.”

“Solomon's Song?”

“That and more. Ovid's
Metamorphoses.
”

“Whoa!”

The sleeping porch had deep queen-sized sofas. There were many hanging plants and the room sprang into bold relief when he put the light on. They sat on one sofa with her in his arms.

“Did you really ask me to marry you or did I dream it? I'm afraid to ask.”

“Don't be. I'm not asking, I'm
demanding
that you marry me. Put me out of my misery.”

“And I said
yes?
”

“I won't let you take it back. You called me your caveman when we first got here tonight and I'll drag you to the altar by your hair if you change your mind.”

“Ouch. You can be rough.”

“Only when things don't go my way.”

“I'll try to remember that.”

“How many crumb crushers should we have?”

“Don't you kind of have the cart before the horse?”

“You play it your way, I'll play it mine.”

Music was piped from the living room to all the smaller rooms and they listened again to more classical music.

“I want to take you to Diamond Point to be married. Ever been there?”

She shook her head. “No, but I have a friend, Francesca Worth, who goes there with her husband, Jon, every year or so. The powers that be wanted him to head their police force. He's a captain in the Minden, Maryland, police department. You probably know him.”

“I stopped with my mouth open when you began. It's a tiny world. Sure I know Jon and Francesca. Good old Minden. I wouldn't mind raising our kids there.”

“Let's get married first.”

“Today if you want.”

“Oh, you impatient man. On the other hand, I wouldn't want you to start roaming again and get away.”

“My roaming days were over when you took me in. I wanted to call you when you came back, but I was afraid to get involved. You stayed out of sight closing the deal on your house, settling in, and working on your music. Then you stumbled in here that night and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Thank God for history. I asked about you and folks said you were fine. I stayed very, very close to home and Jake was crowding me. I tried to keep out of his way…” She broke off then, sounding wistful. “Damien, I'd give anything to have Bretta back, to have her happy and with me. She was very fond of you.”

“And I was fond of her. We'll get the bastard who did this.” He took her in his arms and held her, stroking her back. “Let's look at the dawn.”

Stevie thought the sunrise that morning would be spectacular even if it wasn't much of a sunrise. Damien opened the vertical blinds to the early morning light. May, and birds twittering in the early morning dew. Moss-hung huge oak trees stood a little in the distance and the coral rays of dawn fanned across the horizon. They stood in front of the bay windows.

“You won't feel up to moving today,” he told her.

“Yes, I will. I'm anxious. I just know this is going to work. You've made my day and my life by asking me to marry you.”

“You've done the same for me by saying yes.”

She reached up and stroked the stubble on his chin and he rubbed his face gently against hers.

“You scratch,” she said, laughing.

“And you feel like silk and satin. You turn me on.”

“I want to turn you on even higher.”

“I can be dangerous.”

“Go ahead. I can take you.”

Damien stiffened as his glance focused on a long white envelope on the vast expanse of lawn just inside the wrought-iron fence. He shook his head. “Looks like someone's throwing trash over the fence the way they do once in a while.” He looked more narrowly. “But that doesn't look like trash.” He walked over and picked up binoculars from the top of a bookcase, adjusted the lenses and looked onto the lawn again.

“I'm going out,” he announced.

She watched him as he crossed the lawn and picked up the envelope, opened it and, frowning, came back into the house. She met him at the door, asking “What is it?”

“Just trash, honey.” He didn't want to show it to her, but he had to because Detective Rollins was going to have to see this.

She took the envelope and removed the single sheet of white paper with huge computer-driven red lettering. “A Dead Woman Is A Silent Woman!”

“T
his looks like Jake's handiwork to me.” Stevie felt raw anger fill her as Damien took her in his arms and held her. He could feel her heart beating hard and he swore silently.

“Detective Rollins will need to see this. We'll call and get right over there as soon as he gets in. Stevie, I think it's best we wait for another day to move you home.”

She shook her head. “I simply feel it's best to go today. Something is pushing me, Damien, and I trust it. I'm not afraid of Jake. I
won't
be afraid of Jake.”

He stroked her back. “It doesn't have to be Jake. There's always Muncy. Although, after last night, Jake's a good bet.”

For a moment, Stevie clenched her teeth. “I've got to remember because I want more than ever to testify against Jake.”

“And I wish it didn't have to happen. You get ready and I'll make you some oatmeal. We'll get an early start.”

“No, pizza. Whenever I'm on edge, I crave spicy food.”

“You've got it.”

 

By nine they sat across from Detective Rollins in his small office. He had the sheet of paper and the envelope spread out before him.

“Common, cheap paper. It's done on a computer so there's no tracing it. It could be either McGowan's or Muncy's work.”

“Is this the beginning of a siege of harassment, do you think?” Damien asked.

“Could be. How're you taking this, Stevie?”

“I'm holding up. It could be worse. Nobody's taking pot-shots at me—yet.”

Detective Rollins drummed a fist into his open palm. “We're already keeping an eye on both your houses. You know what our budget crunch is like. Now, with the terrorist thing, we're further behind than ever. You've got fans on this force, lady, and they're with you. You were really rolling last night.”

“Thank you.” After all this time, Stevie always felt a glow of pride when someone liked her singing and her songs.

“Will this give you second thoughts about performing? Of course, it's just getting started, but it's been my experience that this kind of thing escalates.”

“I don't look forward to that.”

“We're checking Muncy twenty ways to Sunday because he's the prime suspect in Ms. Evans's murder. We're on his tail like white on rice. The prosecutor has asked us to keep an eye on McGowan because there are witnesses he's sure to try to intimidate, given his nature. And you'd be on the top of his list.”

“Yes.”

“You
will
let me know about any little thing that happens? Phone calls. More missives like this. Is this all you've gotten?”

“Yes. I'm still sane.”

Detective Rollins's eyes on her were kind, sympathetic. “You've had too much on your shoulders and I'm sorry. You don't deserve this.”

“Thank you. The people I have helping me, like Damien and you, make it easier.”

Detective Rollins's phone rang and his eyes narrowed as he listened to the caller. When he hung up, he told them, “There's a family altercation a couple of miles away. A man shot his wife and his father-in-law. I've got to ride with the team. Come by anytime, and I'll be over to see you.”

 

On the way back to his house, Damien struck the side of his head with his hand. “I forgot to tell you. The prosecutor called while you were in the shower. He wants to see you this morning anytime. Do you want to go in now or wait until you're more together?”

She thought a moment. “I'm as together as I'll ever be. Let's stop now. Then we'll go and move me.”

“Anxious to leave me?” he teased.

“I won't be leaving you. You're coming with me. And that makes me really happy.”

He spread a hand on her thigh. “Anything that makes you happy makes me happy.”

The prosecutor was in and greeted them cordially. Damien stayed with her.

“I'm checking on your memory,” the prosecutor told her. “I won't be putting you on the stand if it's going to be hazardous to your health. And if you can't remember much, it won't be very useful. How is it coming?”

She glanced around at the big, well-furnished office, then at Damien as she collected her thoughts. “Surprisingly well. I'm remembering far more than any of us had expected me to in this short span of time.”

“That's great. If I put you on, we'll see that jurors have a chance to know how amnesia works. Victims remember many things perfectly, but not others.”

“I'd say that in a little while I'll have everything under control, except…”

The prosecutor waited a minute or so before he prompted her. “Except?”

She sighed. “There's a crucial block of time I can't remember, a vivid scene that fades. It comes in, then fades.”

The prosecutor looked extremely interested. “Can you describe it more fully?”

Stevie described the people she couldn't plainly see and the big orange-red ball that dwindled even as she watched. “Of course Bretta was wearing an orange-red jogging suit when they found her.” A twinge of pain hit her chest.

The prosecutor nodded. He thought a long moment before he said, “It seems to me you must have seen something important—and dangerous. Are you getting professional help?”

“Yes, with Dr. Winslow.”

“Good man. I've heard he's a miracle worker. If anyone can help you, he can. When we've talked before your memory loss, you told me the things you remember and I've got records. Your information is really good. Do you think you still remember some of it?”

“Yes, because I've thought about it. I remember so much of my life with Jake, but not all of it.” Her breath began to come a little faster. “I'm sure I remember a lot, but probably not all of the tax-evasion info.”

“Give yourself time. October isn't here yet. Now, since you
do
remember so much, I'm still going to consider using you, but you'll be a flawed witness. I'll talk to you often. I'd be grateful if you'll give me a weekly report on your progress. It's May now. We've got five months, and at the rate you say you're going, I'm betting even the orange-red ball scene will come clear to you.”

Stevie promised him weekly reports and drew in a deep breath.

“You're going to be one of my most important witnesses if things work well for us. Miss Evans was once Jake's administrative aide. Was she aware of what went on with him?”

“Yes, we talked about it. She quit some time back and told me she couldn't stand what was going on with Murder in Your Face.”

The prosecutor winced. “Terrible name for a record company.”

“Jake pushes the envelope about as far as it can go. He claims it appeals to the audience he's trying to reach. Will that be all, Mr. Mason?”

The prosecutor smiled. “For right now. Thank you so much, and I'll be praying for your complete recovery.”

Stevie felt a shiver of fear then. Her complete recovery meant seeing a scene that could mean her death.

 

By early afternoon, Stevie and Damien were ensconced in Stevie's house with her housekeeper, Mrs. Patton, delighted to be back on the job again. Mrs. Patton was a buxom, middle-aged woman with lovely butterscotch-colored skin. She had four strapping grown sons and no daughters, and in the short time she'd worked for Stevie they'd become close.

Now Mrs. Patton served Damien and Stevie a midafternoon snack of grilled-cheese sandwiches, black olives, a garden salad, oven-fried sweet potato strips and fresh strawberries. “You feeling okay?” she anxiously asked Stevie.

“I am, but thanks for checking. How're you? I'm so glad you could come back on such short notice.”

“No problem. You told me I'd be coming back and that was fine with me. I'm going to make sure you're all right.”

“I know you will.”

Mrs. Patton had quickly dusted and arranged fresh flowers from the garden. Stevie felt a heavy sense of foreboding as she and Damien watched
General Hospital
. She didn't often watch soap operas, but this was her favorite. She thought about the threat written on the sheet of paper. Jake? Keith? Fear was her worst enemy now. It clouded her mind. Was that what someone intended to happen? And nothing frightened her more than the fear of having Damien and losing him. Or of never fully knowing the depths of his love. She wasn't the type of woman he'd always chosen.

She was marrying a man because they both wanted a child or children. Her maternal hunger went to the depths of her soul and she fervently prayed it would work out.

 

Later, Stevie and Damien went for a walk in the woods behind her house. They stopped by a grove of muscadine and wild plum trees. The plums were turning yellow and red and would soon be ready for making into jams and jellies. But it was the muscadine grapes on vines on various trees that made the delicious wine Stevie made and favored.

“Have you ever tasted muscadine wine?” she asked Damien.

“As a child. It's one of my mother's favorites. I remember liking it. But strawberry wine's my favorite.”

“More than the big-time wines?”

“Yeah.”

Being there reminded her of her childhood and she knew then that one of the reasons she'd bought the place was because of these trees. Damien climbed the tree and got her a number of bunches of muscadine grapes which she put into a bucket she'd brought.

“I might as well start tempting you with my good wine.”

“You've got some in the cellar, you told me.”

“I'll open a bottle of the older stuff when we go back in.”

“I'm feeling heady already.”

A cloud cover had come over and it had gotten darker. Suddenly Stevie shivered and felt cold. Damien saw the look that passed over her face.

“What's wrong, babe?”

She hugged herself. “I don't know. But, yes, I
do
know. I saw the edge of that vision again. The orange-red ball. Just the edge. Why d'you think it comes to me now?”

Damien shook his head. “No telling. We're in the woods. You came out of the woods that night, but it was a long way from here. Something about this place reminds you of that woods.”

“Yes, of course. I should have thought of that. Let's go back. I'm really spooked.”

Damien put his arms around her, held her close for a moment, then they started back, with him carrying the bucket of muscadine grapes. As they walked along, she walked too close to a tree and stumbled over its outgrowing roots. A spasm of fear shot through her. Had she stumbled that night? Hadn't she? Had she fallen? Or had someone knocked her down and left her there? There was no denying the half-buried stone or the lump on her head. She could have cried with despair that she would never remember—and with fear that she
would.

At home she felt much better. Damien insisted that she sit down and he massaged her feet as they sat on the sofa. An anxious Mrs. Patton came in.

“Now what's going on with you? You look a mite peaked.”

Stevie shook her head. “It's nothing. I'll be fine.”

“Well, if there's anything I can do…”

“You're sweet,” Stevie told her, “but I really am okay.”

Mrs. Patton eyed Damien massaging Stevie's feet and heartily approved of him. She thought he was just what her girl needed. Her husband had died the year before and she missed the feel of his big body lying next to hers so much that sometimes she cried. She was so fortunate, she thought, to have someone like Stevie to work for. It was so much fun, it wasn't work at all.

“Well, we've got lamb chops for dinner and some of your plum preserves and a whole lot of other good stuff,” Mrs. Patton said.

“Ummm,” Damien teased Stevie. “Plum preserves. Doesn't that mean sugar?”

“It does
not
,” she saucily replied. “I make it like the Germans do and I use Splenda and a double helping of the jelling substance. You can't tell the difference.”

“This I've got to taste.”

Damien's cell phone rang. He answered and talked briefly. Turning to her, a broad smile lit his face. “Well, love, we're off to Diamond Point Sunday.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “We'll be married there. The honeymoon can wait. I've learned to hold back. I want to protect you as well as satisfy you.”

He sounded so earnest and so sweet that tears misted Stevie's eyes. “Do you know how much I want you?” she whispered. “It's a fever in my blood.”

He caught her close. “That makes two of us. We'll get there and we'll have it all. You just concentrate on remembering.”

“What if I never do remember the crucial thing?”