Watch Me (5 page)

“Whatever’s going on is based in the past,” he said when their eyes met. He was speaking over the blustery Ned, but Sheridan didn’t care. She had to tune Ned out, couldn’t tolerate his overbearing manner.

“I wish I could tell you more,” Cain added. “But
that’s all we know. Someone believes you can expose him—or he’s been out to get you from the beginning.”

“But I don’t know anyone who’d want to hurt me. What could I have done to cause it?”

“With some people, you don’t have to do anything.”

Now silent, Ned shot Sheridan a sullen glance for allowing Cain to upstage him. But at the moment, Sheridan didn’t have it in her to worry about, or apologize for, the lack of courtesy. “There was no warning,” she said numbly. “Nothing to alert me to any danger. The last thing I remember is packing my suitcase to come to Whiterock.”

“I’m guessing you weren’t in town very long when this happened,” Cain said. “Where were you staying?”

“My uncle’s house,” she replied at the same time Ned said, “The old Bancroft place.”

Yes, the old Bancroft place. She could picture it. She seemed to be getting her bearings, remembering more and more. “Uncle Perry died a few years ago and left it to my mother,” she told Cain. “My folks have been renting it out, but the man who lived there since Uncle Perry died moved two months ago and my mother doesn’t want the responsibility anymore. When she heard I was coming, she asked me to clean it up and put it on the market.”

“Did you notice anyone watching you? Following you?” Ned asked.

She focused as hard as she could on what she’d done after packing her bags, but the details she’d recalled were already slipping into the shadows. “I—I can’t say.” She didn’t even know where her car was.
Had
she left
it in Sacramento and rented a vehicle once she flew into Nashville? Had she flown into Nashville? That was the most logical place, but most of the practical considerations of the past few days—or was it weeks?—were lost to her.

She’d never realized how much those details mattered, how much they grounded a person, until she couldn’t remember them.

Cain studied her closely. “It’ll come back,” he said as if he understood that losing those memories was nearly as terrifying as the violence that had put her here.

It’ll come back.
She clung to those words as she closed her eyes. She needed to block out the fear and uncertainty growing stronger inside her.

The phone in her room rang, and Ned picked it up. “It’s for you,” he said, holding the receiver out to Cain. “It’s Owen.”

As Cain spoke to Owen—telling him she’d just awakened and was going to be fine—Sheridan let herself drift off. She was almost beyond the fear and discomfort, almost at the dark, quiet place where she’d spent the past week. But then she felt a heavy hand on her arm. “Sheridan?”

She opened her eyes to see Ned’s ruddy, freckled face only inches from her own. “I’m pretty sure Cain’s the one who did this to you,” he whispered while Cain continued to talk on the phone. “Can you tell me why he might want you dead?”

She thought of one very obvious reason. She’d been trying to make him jealous when she encouraged Jason to take her to Rocky Point. She’d only wanted Cain to
see her with his stepbrother, to make Cain regret not calling her. “M-maybe he blames me for…for Jason.”

“Why would he?”

The sedatives were getting the better of her again. It was difficult to make her mouth form the words. “Because…I…was…there.” She sounded like a CD player with the batteries running on low.

“Because you and Cain had some sort of secret relationship, right?”

She heard Cain’s voice in the background.
I’d appreciate it if you’d call Janice Powers and Juan Rodriguez and let them know I won’t be around today. They both have appointments with me for their dogs….

Sheridan wanted to listen instead of struggling to find an answer. “What?”

“He shot Jason out of jealousy, didn’t he?” Ned insisted. “Then he did
this
, because he’s afraid you might reveal his motives.”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

She didn’t like the change in Ned’s voice or manner. But, with effort, she managed two more words. “I’m…sure.”

Was that a frown creasing his forehead? Sheridan squinted to clear the blurriness in her vision. But he was too close—and only leaned closer, his breath smelling of stale coffee as it fanned her cheek. “Do you have any idea who did?”

The dark form with the ski mask emerged in her memory as if suddenly stepping out of a fog.

“What do you want?” she cried. “What have I done?”

He wouldn’t respond. He was afraid she’d recognize his voice. That had to be it. She could tell he wanted to speak. The way he jerked her around, used any excuse to inflict pain, showed his contempt, his derision.

“Why are you doing this? Who are you?” she asked.

Filled with a hatred that was palpable, his eyes gleamed at her through the holes in the mask. But, again, he didn’t answer. His hands closed around her throat for the second time, cutting off her air. She was going to die. She…couldn’t…get…free. He was…too…strong. Again. No…air… NO…AIR!—and then he let go.

Gasping, she stumbled, and he kicked her, knocking her to the ground. That was when she came up fighting. It was her only choice. She used her feet, mostly, and her teeth, when she could. She even used her head as a battering ram—knocking him off balance once.

That was her only victory. Besides getting loose, of course. She’d been pulling and twisting on the rope that bound her hands behind her back ever since she’d regained consciousness. He thought he could do this to her and get away with it? No! She fought for the rights of victims every day; she was determined to fight for her own, to resist each blow.

And then, by some miracle, the ropes came loose and fell away. She dragged in one gulp of air—that was all she had time for—hit him in the face as hard as she could and lunged toward the trees.

But she didn’t escape. He caught her by the hair and dragged her back. And then he spoke, but it was such a low growl she still couldn’t identify the voice. “Stupid bitch! Now you’re going to pay.”

She did pay, but not the way she thought she would. He didn’t try to rape her. He just kept striking and striking—

“Do you?” Ned pulled her back into the present. “Are you going to answer me?”

Sheridan had begun to shake. She didn’t want to face any more. But she had to. If she wanted to catch the man who’d hurt her, she had to give Ned more.

God, she longed to remember some detail about her attacker’s body or movements. But the whole episode became one terrifying blur. He was simply a man of medium height dressed in black. “N-no.”

“Then how do you know it
wasn’t
Cain?” he asked.

The heart monitor revealed how fast her heart was beating.
Beep…beep…beep, beep, beep…

Cain was still on the phone.
I’ll come by tonight and say hello, see what you need on that alternator. Might be late…

“I’ll figure it out,” she promised. She wished the noise would stop. That she could catch her breath. That Ned would leave. Her throat ached as if her attacker’s hands had just been there….

“When?” Ned pressed. “
When
will you figure it out?”

“Soon.”

He tightened his grip on her arm. “Listen to me,” he said, but at that point someone else entered the room. A nurse.

“Is everything okay?”

He released her. “Fine. I was just trying to learn a few things about the incident that put her here.”

“I think it’s too soon for that. She really shouldn’t be bothered right now.”

“She was the one who wanted to talk,” he said as Cain hung up.

Sheridan didn’t bother trying to contradict him. Physically and emotionally spent, she couldn’t even open her eyes.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to step out of the room,” the nurse said.

“I’ll check in with you this afternoon,” Cain muttered.

A moment later Sheridan sensed that both men had withdrawn. The nurse’s shoes squished as she walked around the bed, tucking in the blankets.

Relieved by the woman’s matter-of-fact presence, Sheridan let go of reality and the blinding sunlight pouring through the window, let go of the fear and the confusion. But Ned must’ve poked his head back into the room, because she heard him speak again.

“By the way. What are the chances that she’ll recover?”

Sheridan wasn’t ready for this answer. But she had to listen, had to know the truth.

“I’d say they’re good,” the nurse replied. “I talked to the doctor barely an hour ago. He’s very pleased with her progress.”

Ned cleared his throat and this time his voice fell to a whisper. “And her memory? Do you think she’ll ever be able to recall what really happened to her?”

“That’s hard to say. Many patients with head injuries experience ongoing problems. Dizziness. Depression. Disorientation. Memory loss. Those problems can last for a few weeks or several months, even longer.”

That gave Sheridan a lot to look forward to….

“But there’s a possibility it could come back to her, right?”

“It’ll depend on how well she’s able to cope with the trauma. She could develop acute stress disorder, posttraumatic stress syndrome or a whole host of other things. But the doctor’s optimistic that won’t be the case.”

God, please, no more problems.
It’d taken her a decade to get over the shooting.

A
raging headache woke Sheridan in the middle of the night. She lay perfectly still for several seconds, trying to cope with the pain. Where was she? Something bad had happened….

And then she remembered. She’d nearly died. Someone had beaten her until she couldn’t fight back anymore, then left her for dead in the mountains of Tennessee.

Now she was in the hospital in Knoxville. The same hospital where they’d taken her at sixteen, when she’d been shot.

At least she knew that much. It was more than she could recall the last time she’d awakened.

Encouraged by the improvement in her mental acuity, she decided not to ring for the nurse to request more pain medication. Hurting like this was better than the disorientation caused by the sedatives, mostly because she didn’t know how much of her confusion to blame on the analgesic and how much on her injuries. She needed some time to assess her situation, to get her bearings.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced at the medical equipment surrounding her, feeling more alone and adrift than when she’d been admitted to this hospital
twelve years before. Back then, she’d had her worried parents constantly by her side, could hear the soft rumble of her father’s snoring if she happened to wake at odd hours. Tonight, there was no snoring. She was an adult and her parents didn’t even know she’d been hurt. They were on a cruise ship. Her sister was in Wyoming expecting her first baby. And Sheridan’s friends were several states away. Skye and Jonathan lived in Sacramento and Jasmine in New Orleans.

Sheridan knew her friends and family would come if she called them. But she doubted she could make a long distance call from the phone in her room, and she had no idea what’d happened to her cell. Whenever she tried to remember, panic set in.

Despite the jab of pain, she turned her head toward the window and gazed out at the moonlight filtering through the tall trees. Somehow, she could still smell Cain’s cologne. And it made the hospital seem less sterile, less frightening. All she had to do was get through the next few minutes, she told herself. Those minutes would turn into hours, which would soon bring the dawn. After enough hours and enough days, she’d recover—and she’d do for herself what she did for other victims: make sure the person who’d hurt her was put away.

The fact that Jason’s killer had never been caught threatened to erode her fledgling confidence, but she was older than she’d been back then. She had control of her own life and some experience in criminal justice. This time, she’d fight back—no matter what. She wouldn’t just go on her way, hoping the police would take care of it. That had been her parents’ approach and it hadn’t worked, had it?

Nausea roiled in her stomach. Closing her eyes, she focused on Cain’s cologne because it seemed like the only raft in this undulating sea of uncertainty, fear and pain. “Hang on. Just hang on,” she breathed.

“Sheridan?”

The voice that came out of the dark made her heart jump into her throat—until she realized it was Cain’s. Evidently, she hadn’t imagined the smell of his cologne. He was there, cloaked in shadow, sitting in the chair in the corner. And she got the impression he’d been with her for some time. Judging from his lack of movement and the scratchiness of his voice, she’d awakened him. “Cain?”

She heard a rasp as he dragged a hand over the beard-growth on his chin. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“It’s late, isn’t it?” she asked in confusion.

“Two or three in the morning.”

His presence bolstered her spirits even more than she would’ve expected. He wasn’t part of her family or her circle of friends, but he was company. “I didn’t know I had a visitor.”

“I tried to wake you earlier, but you didn’t stir.”

“It’s the drugs. I’m still groggy.” Careful not to move her throbbing head, she eased herself onto her side. She couldn’t see his face, but now that she knew where to look, she recognized his feet beneath a hospital-issue blanket. “What are you doing here?”

He seemed to weigh each word. “I don’t want to frighten you, but whoever did this to you is still out there.”

“You think he might come after me again?”

“He might not be happy to hear you survived.”

Although it hurt to do so, she couldn’t help lifting her
head to get a better look at him. She hadn’t considered the possibility he suggested; she’d been too busy worrying that she might not fully recover. Until now, she hadn’t been coherent enough to consider much of anything. But what he said was certainly possible, since she had no idea why she’d been singled out in the first place.

“So…are you a cop or a security guard or something?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine him working with Ned, but there had to be some reason Cain was the one still here, protecting her.

“No.”

“Then how’d you get the job of keeping an eye on me?” She wasn’t
his
problem. Until she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her after the attack, she hadn’t been in touch with him since Jason’s death. She’d sent him that note, telling him how sorry she was. He’d never responded, and she’d moved with her family. That was it.

“I guess I’ve appointed myself.”

“Where’s Ned?”

“He said he was too tired to drive. I think he got a motel.”

“And?” She could tell he was holding something back.

“And probably a prostitute. Ned’s not one to waste a hall pass from his wife.”

“It’s nice to know he’s so concerned about my welfare.”

“He doesn’t worry about anything until it happens. And then he looks for someone to blame.”

Ned had told her he thought Cain was the man who’d attacked her. But if he truly believed that, why had he left her alone with him? “He doesn’t like you, either.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I broke his nose a few years back.”

“Were you drunk?”

“I wasn’t, but I’m pretty sure he was.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention until he took a swing at me.”

Considering Cain’s reputation, Ned would’ve had to be blind drunk to start a fight with him. “I hope you weren’t his brother-in-law at the time.”

“I was only his brother-in-law for three months. As far as I’m concerned, that isn’t long enough to count.”

Sheridan couldn’t imagine Cain married to Amy. She wanted to ask him what’d changed after she’d left, what’d brought them together, but she knew it was too personal a question. “Has Amy remarried?”

“Not yet. She’s seeing Tiger Chandler, though.”

Sheridan remembered Tiger. They’d gone steady when they were sophomores and part of the following summer, until she started taking her little sister to swimming lessons at the public pool, where Cain worked as a lifeguard. Pretty soon, Cain was all she could think about, so she broke up with Tiger, after which he refused to talk to her. They hadn’t had a single conversation since. He wouldn’t even say goodbye when she’d moved. “Tiger’s still single, huh?”

“He’s been engaged a few times but never married.”

“What about Ned?”

“He hooked up with Jackie Mendosa right out of high school. Adopted the kid she already had. They have two others.”

There was so much more she wanted to know. After her family relocated, her parents had taken her to a trauma counselor who’d recommended she sever all connections with Whiterock and anyone who’d remind her of the attack. Her parents had agreed and insisted she put the whole thing behind her.

That gave Sheridan time to heal. But she’d never been able to forget the people she’d left behind.

“What’s Owen doing now?”

Cain’s feet moved as he shifted in the chair. “He’s a doctor.”

Picturing the knobby-kneed, geeky boy who was so smart he’d been put two grades ahead made Sheridan smile. “I’m not surprised. He sat in the front row in three of my classes and could answer
any
question—at fourteen.”

“I could admire that if he had any common sense. He’s a good doctor, but—” Cain chuckled “—he can’t scramble eggs. If it wasn’t for Lucy—”

“Lucy?”

“His wife. He met her in college. Now they live in town with their three boys.”

“You like her?”

“She’s perfect for him.”

That sounded happy. Sheridan had always liked Owen. But the pain in her head was growing worse, and with it the fear that she’d never be the same.
Do you think she’ll ever be able to recall what really happened to her?… It’ll depend on how well she’s able to cope with the trauma….

Could
she cope? It’d been difficult enough to regain
her sense of well-being the first time around. But these doubts terrified her, so she struggled to shut them out, to keep talking. “Ned’s disappointed that I can’t tell him more,” she said.

“Like I said, Ned’s lazy. He doesn’t want to have to figure it out for himself.”

“My memory will come back. I know it will….” Realizing that she’d begun to slur her words, she worked harder to enunciate. “I’m going to see…whoever did this…is put…behind bars.”

“Are you okay?” He sounded a little alarmed.

The whole room seemed to be spinning, but she refused to throw up in front of Cain Granger. “I’m…fine. Just…tired.”

She let her eyelids close but when he got up, they flew open almost of their own accord. “Cain?”

He hesitated. “What?”

“Are you leaving?”

“I’m getting a nurse.”

“No, I—I don’t…need…more medicine. I think that’s what’s making me sick.”

He slid his chair up to her bed and sat on the edge of it, this time in the moonlight where she could see him. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. Just stay…with me…for a while, okay?” She had no right to ask him for anything. Jason would never have been at Rocky Point if she hadn’t invited him up there to make Cain jealous. She’d cost Cain his stepbrother. But she couldn’t handle the guilt. Not right now. All that mattered was this moment. She had to keep it simple just to survive.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His response should’ve calmed her. But she heard the deafening blast of that rifle at Rocky Point, the rattle of Jason’s struggles for breath, the burning sensation of the bullet penetrating her stomach. The details somehow mingled with the details of last week’s beating until she could no longer separate one incident from the other.

Stupid bitch, now you’re going to pay!

The man with the club had whispered that to her. But he was also the man who’d shot her, wasn’t he? Ned thought so. Sheridan did, too. Only he’d changed over the years. His thirst for blood had grown stronger, or he would’ve been satisfied with using a rifle, like he had before.

Her friend Jasmine, who was a forensic profiler, would’ve said exactly that. Sheridan had heard her analyze enough violent offenders to know what conclusions she’d draw from such an up close and personal attack. Whoever it was hated her. But why?

With a nervous glance at the door, she reached through the bars of her bed and encountered the soft hair on Cain’s forearm before she found his hand. He was so solid, so warm. “Can you…hang on to me for a…for a few minutes?” she asked. He’d said he wasn’t going anywhere, but he couldn’t stay indefinitely. She wanted to be sure he wouldn’t leave before she could stand to be alone.

He didn’t actually answer the question, but his fingers curled protectively around hers. “Everything will be okay.”

“I know that,” she lied. “I just… Don’t let go. Don’t let go until I fall asleep.”

His fingers tightened, as if to convince her. “I’m right here.”

Then the blackness swelled up, washed over her and dragged her down.

Cain sat in the dark, watching Sheridan sleep. Every time he covered her up, she managed to push the blankets away. They were bunched at her waist now, but she seemed comfortable so he left them there. The purple bruises on her face, neck and arms were turning green and yellow in places. With the addition of the scabs over a multitude of cuts and scratches, the unwashed mess her black hair had become and the gash on her forehead, which had required ten stitches, she could almost pass for the bride of Frankenstein. And yet Owen was right—it wasn’t difficult to tell that without those injuries she’d be as stunning as ever, maybe more so.

Now that the lights were off, the cuts and bruises nearly disappeared in the pale light of the moon, hinting at what she’d look like when she healed. She had the same oval face and widow’s peak she’d had before, but her eyes seemed bigger, maybe because her cheeks had lost their rounded curve. The cute dimples of her younger days were mostly gone, but Cain didn’t mind. He preferred the subtle sculpting of a leaner face. With full lips and a nicely shaped nose, she didn’t need any other assets, but she’d obviously had some orthodontic treatment since she’d left Whiterock. The slightly crooked tooth he remembered from her wide cheerleader smile—the same tooth he’d once touched with his tongue—was now as straight as the others.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering lower as he assessed the changes in her body. Having lost ten or fifteen pounds since high school, she was thinner. As a result, her breasts seemed larger. Beneath her thin hospital gown, they fell naturally to each side.

Looking at her like this brought back memories of another moonlit night, when she’d been lying naked on the bed of a camper in the woods…. That vision gave him such a jolt of testosterone, he stood to cover her yet again so he wouldn’t feel like a lecherous creep.

As he placed her hands beneath the blanket, he noticed the torn and broken fingernails that proved how hard she’d fought to save her own life, the chafing around her wrists from the rope, and experienced a flood of fresh anger—

“Cain?” Her eyelids fluttered open.

“What?”

“I’m still…awake,” she murmured, the words barely coherent. “Don’t go… Don’t leave me…”

“I won’t,” he said, and on impulse kissed her forehead as if she were a little girl. Then she was asleep.

He sat in the chair near her bed. He had a lot of work to do at home. But he didn’t want to leave in case she woke up again.

The memory of her thin, delicate fingers seeking his hand convinced him that she needed him. And as long as he sat there with her, he believed the strength of his will might make a difference to her recovery. When she was back on her feet, he’d turn his attention to finding the man who’d done this. Lord knew Sheridan couldn’t count on Ned. Ned had joined the police force to be able to swagger around town with a badge and a gun.