Forget Me Not: A Novel (Crossroads Crisis Center) (15 page)

When Chessman spotted Paul, he stuffed his club into his bag, then grabbed a bottle of water from his cart. Twisting off its cap, he walked over. “Smile, Paul. You look like the Grim Reaper.”

“Soon enough, sir.” Tonight, the subject would be at The Towers, and so would he. When she was no longer a threat, then Paul would have reason to smile.

Chessman took a long drink of water. “Have you located Edward or Harry?”

“Not yet, sir. Last sighting was at Crossroads. Harry bombed it while Edward drove the subject’s Jag.” The fool had no sense. Totally unprofessional. That alone was reason enough to kill him.

“What about her?”

“Still playing princess in the ivory tower.” He cleared his throat, pausing while two men walked by, heading toward the club. “There is an interesting development on that front. Benjamin Brandt was in the center when it was bombed. Could mean he was hired by our New Orleans recruit, and Edward and Harry were trying to take care of that problem for us.”

“Edward would see the benefit in doing that.”

“Yes, he would.” Paul had. And Harry would do whatever he was told.

“So which is it? Are they working for or against us?”

“The investigation continues.”

“Where’s Brandt?”

“Still at the center, sir.”

Worry dragged at the lines in Chessman’s face, proving he clearly understood the danger of Brandt and the woman being in close proximity. “I thought he never went to the center.”

“This is the first time he’s been there since his wife’s death.” Paul tucked his chin to his chest. “Today.”

“Hmm.” Chessman paused. “I don’t like it. It’s too convenient to be coincidental. Maybe he did hire on with your recruit.”

“The jury is still out on that, sir, and I fear it will be for a time.” Paul resented having to admit that. It was an unfortunate reflection on his competence that he’d pay for in due time.

“Why? What’s the delay with the recruit?” Gregory took another long drink.

It was warm, even for October, and sticky from the high humidity. Paul squinted against the dying sun and looked into his boss’s face. “I faxed over a photo of Brandt, but to no avail.”

“To no avail.” That infuriated Gregory; it showed in the tension in his body, the set of his shoulders, the fire in his eyes. “Exactly what do you mean, Paul?”

His boss was going to hate this, almost as much as Paul hated it. “Our recruit never saw the hireling, so he can’t tell from a photo if he hired Brandt or Edward or someone else.”

A couple set up near them with a bucket of balls. Chessman turned
his back on them, deepened his frown, and dropped his voice so only Paul would hear. “What are you going to do about it?” Before Paul could answer, Chessman added, “I need that information, Paul. And I need it now.”

“Yes sir.” He rushed to reassure his boss. When Gregory Chessman succumbed to rage, bad, bad things happened. Even crazy women died. “I have a plan to get it and settle the question conclusively, sir.”

“Conclusively?”

“Relative to Brandt, yes. A hundred percent conclusive.”

“How?”

“Voiceprint.”

Chessman nodded. “Very well.”

Paul dabbed at his damp brow with a spotless white hanky. “But to get it, I’ll need your help.”

S
usan sat in the front seat of Ben’s SUV, not quite sure what to make of the man. Why had he opened his crisis center and his cottage to her?

It was a question that had plundered her mind while at the center and did now on the ride down Seville Avenue to St. Charles Place, where he hung a left into an affluent neighborhood.

At the end of the broad street on the right stood a gated estate. Beyond it, stretching upward three stories, was a gray stone house with three turrets, a long stretch of welcoming windows, and a gabled roof that managed to look like a home and not a museum or the off-limits property of some rich eccentric.

“This is Three Gables,” Ben said, then drove through the gate with a friendly wave to the security guard who appeared from a small building surrounded with thick evergreen shrubs nestled behind a broad brick fence post.

“It’s beautiful.” Susan looked from the house to the grounds. Swatches of lush green grass dotted with tree-studded islands stretched out to the distant woods. A circular driveway led to the front landing. It branched off and went to the back of the property, where she assumed the guest cottages were. “Did your wife design it too?”

“We designed the house together.” He blinked hard. “How did you know she was involved?”

“I see her touch. Just like at the center. She liked soft edges and natural stone. Lots of greenery, and the islands are a dead giveaway.” She smiled. “Little pockets of refuge scattered everywhere.”

Her insight clearly surprised him. “So that’s why she insisted on benches in every island.” He let out a little moan. “I can’t believe I missed that.”

“She needed peaceful places,” Susan said, focusing on one of the cast-iron benches. “It was important for her to know she always had a protected place to go. A haven, so to speak.”

Ben hit the brakes. The SUV jerked to a halt. “How do you know that?”

Surprised by the venom in his voice, Susan drew back, half-afraid of him. “I-I don’t know. It just seems … well, obvious.”

“Did you know my wife?” His grip on the wheel had his knuckles bulging and white.

“I don’t know, Ben.” Susan deliberately dropped her voice, hoping to calm him down. “Three Gables doesn’t seem at all familiar to me, so I don’t think I’ve been here. But who knows? I wouldn’t want to say I didn’t know her and then when my memory returns, discover that I did.” Susan met his gaze and held it. It was hard, very hard, but she sensed it was critically important too—as important as being patient with him. “I wish I could say one way or the other, but I honestly don’t know.”

The reminder of her memory challenge seemed to work, gauging by his rapidly changing expressions: fury falling to uncertainty, hinting at regret, and then wooden. He diverted his gaze, stared through the
windshield, and drove alongside the house. Behind it, he stopped the SUV outside an oversized garage.

From the edge of the concrete pad, two paths led through natural greenbelts of old oaks and fat bushes that had lost most of their buds. In the distance, two rooftops peeked through the fall foliage. “Is there a specific reason you have two guest cottages?”

He cleared his throat. “No.” He opened his door and got out, walked around, and then opened her door.

She grabbed the scrubs Peggy had given her and scooted out of the SUV, her muscles in knots.
So much for no stress or tension
.

The air was warm but thankfully not stagnant. A stiff breeze crackled through the trees, tugged at her eyelids.

Ben closed the door and it clicked shut. “I talked with Mark.”

“Mark?”

“Mark Taylor, the head of my security staff. He recommends you stay in the cottage on the right.” Ben started down the stone path. “It’s most interior on the property and easier to defend.”

No doubt Ben intended that comment to make her feel safe. Instead, it tightened the knots in her muscles. Yet walking beside Ben, she took in the tranquil sounds of chirping birds. Something scuttled in the undergrowth to her left—a squirrel. It scampered up the trunk of a moss-laden oak and leapt to a distant branch.

Leaves rustled and crunched underfoot, and she felt her tension draining away. Ben might have every reason to resent her and wish her out of his life, but he would defend her, even if it meant putting himself at risk—which he was by having her stay here. She liked that about him. A lot. It spoke volumes about his character, and about his views on being a man. “Ben?”

“Yes, Su—” He stopped cold, swallowed hard, and then started again. “Yes?”

He couldn’t do it, Susan realized. He couldn’t call her by his wife’s name. She understood that, especially considering their physical resemblance. And since she didn’t know that the name actually belonged to her, she could at least make that hurdle easier for him. “I expect I’ve been quite a shock for you.”

Something between a grunt and a moan escaped him.

“No, it’s okay. Of course I would be a shock. Roles reversed, I’d be stunned.” She stared at the ground and walked on down the path. Her throat went thick. “I’m sorry about your wife and son,” she said softly. “Peggy told me what happened—mostly to dissuade me from believing I was Susan—because of our strong physical resemblance.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s been hard for both of us.”

Ah, a truce was in sight—or at least on the horizon. “I’ve accepted that I’m not Susan.”

“I’m glad.”

“But it leaves me in a lurch.” She shrugged. “Since I don’t know who I am, I don’t have any idea what to use for a name.” Letting him see how much that troubled her, she added, “It’s disconcerting, having your identity stripped from you.”

“I’m sure it is.” He dragged out a hand and swept it across his forehead.

“But I know who I am inside, where it matters. A name is just a name.”

He respected that. It shone in his eyes.

“I thought maybe until I remember my own, we could pick a name for me that you can say without … well, without pain.” She looked up and met his gaze. “You’ve been good to me and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Every line in his face tightened. “How can you do this?”

“Do what?”

“How can you stand there and be so reasonable and rational and thoughtful? You should be terrified. Furious. Outraged.
Something
. Instead you seem to take in stride everything that’s happened to you. How can you expect me to believe you?”

She stopped on the walk and squeezed the scrubs to her chest. “I
am
terrified.” Admitting it was easier than she thought it would be. She feared if she said it aloud, she’d crumble. She didn’t. “I’m angry too. No one likes being a victim. Why you wouldn’t get that without me becoming a drama queen to prove it is beyond me. But I made allowances because if a man who looked like my dead husband showed up at my crisis center, I’d be a freaked-out basket case.”

“So it’s an act, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” She glared up at him. “To act, I’d have to know what is normal, now wouldn’t I? I don’t. I’m just doing the best I can. That’s all, Ben. Just the best I can.”

He rolled his gaze heavenward. “But how are you holding it all together?” He lifted a hand. “You don’t even know your name. Why aren’t you frantic and coming apart at the seams?” He frowned. “Don’t tell me that you are, because it’s clear that you’re not.”

“I can explain, but you won’t understand.”

“Try me. Because from where I’m standing, it makes you look disingenuous. Are you—disingenuous, I mean?”

“I don’t believe I am, but I don’t know. When I can have faith in my response, I’ll answer you.” She gave him a frown intended to buckle knees. “I have to say the question offends me at gut level.” She walked on. “I know that beyond any doubt.”

Moments later, he caught up and fell into step at her side without a word.

The moment of indulgence was over. She couldn’t stay wrapped in righteous indignation.
Be patient with him
.

“I feel, Ben. All those things you mentioned and more.” She paused at a low-slung limb and plucked off a leaf. It was dry and crunchy. “But I’m not facing this alone. If I were, well, I doubt I could face it at all.”

A hard glint lit in his eyes. “So you’ve remembered a partner?”

Don’t take offense. Don’t do it. Don’t …
“Actually, I remember a Father,” she said with a gentle smile. “It’s an amazing thing. Through all of this, I’ve never forgotten Him, only me.”

“So your father is involved.” Ben hiked his chin. “Then what is this all about? Is it a scam? And don’t lie to me, okay? You’ve gotten my crisis center bombed. Mel could have been seriously injured. And I have helped you.” He cocked his head. “Did you have plastic surgery to look like Susan?”

Her smile faded. “My Father is God, Ben. And the reason I’m not falling apart is because I’m resting under the shadow of his wing. He’s carrying me right now.” Her eyes burned. She would not cry. She would
not
cry. “You know, this isn’t going to work. Thank you for everything. Seriously. But I can make my way from here.”

She turned and went back down the path toward the driveway, eager to leave Three Gables. Where she’d go, she wasn’t sure. The only option she had was to call Clyde.

“Wait,” Ben called out. “Please.”

She steeled herself, paused, then looked back at him over the slope of her shoulder.

“Are you telling me you don’t remember you but you remember your faith?”

A smile threatened, tugging at the corner of her mouth. It annoyed her, but she couldn’t bite it away. She was insulted. Why did she feel like smiling?
Senseless
. “Yes, that’s what I’m telling you. Amazing, isn’t it?”

“The cottage is open and ready for you. Dinner is in an hour. Tomorrow we’ll get some groceries and you can do what you like at the cottage. For tonight, you’re stuck having dinner with me—provided you’re up to it.”