Redemption (6 page)

So she concentrated on the passing landscape to see if anything rang a bell, prompted a memory or just looked familiar. While she knew they were in Tennessee heading for Maryland, and even knew the name of the highway, she recognized nothing. One good thing was that even though her memory stubbornly refused to reveal itself she was feeling better. Her elbow didn’t hurt as much and her bruises were fading.

John ended his call and threw the phone on the seat between them. “That was Luke,” he said.

“Yeah?” He’d told her he’d contacted his friend and Luke was searching the missing persons for her.

“You want the good news or the bad?”

“The bad.”

“There’re no missing persons out on a woman of your description with the first name of Hope.”

Her hands tightened in her lap. As it always did when her heart rate accelerated, her baby began to move. “Maybe we were wrong about my name.” She didn’t think so. Hope felt right.

“No missing person of your description at all.” He glanced over at her. “You are a true blonde, right?”

Her face heated and she stared out the window. “Yes.”

“Thought so, but had to ask.”

“What else? What about the car?” She didn’t want to think no one was looking for her. That she had no friends or family who missed her. What about a husband? Unless… She closed her eyes in despair. Unless the murdered man had been her husband.

“That’s the good news,” John said. “The car hasn’t been reported as stolen. It belongs to a man named Daniel Webster. Sound familiar?”

Daniel Webster. She searched her mind. Came up blank. “No.” Sudden tears blurred her vision.

“Hey,” he said softly. “We’ll figure this out. Promise.”

She dashed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can’t believe no one’s looking for me.” Was she alone in the world? Just her and her baby? She sniffed, tired of the endless questions without answers. “Can’t I just once get a break?”

“We have. I have an address for this Webster guy. He lives in Kingsbridge. We’ll start there. Maybe you know him and borrowed his car.”

“Or maybe I stole it and he just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Yeah. Maybe that too.”

A few miles passed. Jon Bon Jovi segued into Madonna, then into Bob Seger.

“There’s more,” John said.

She rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes. “Can it get worse than this?”

“I don’t know if this is good or bad.”

“Just tell me.”

“No one’s reported a murder in the past two weeks. Not of a Caucasian male in a home or business in Maryland.”

She flashed back to her vision of the man lying on the carpet telling her to go to John Callahan. Could she have made it up? Her mind playing tricks on her? “It happened. I know it did.”

“I believe you.”

“You do?” She looked over at him, desperate for his reassurance. It was all too much. No name, no family looking for her, a murder that either never happened or hadn’t yet been discovered.

“I believe you,” he repeated, staring straight ahead.

There was a sense of relief for her in his words. Whoever had sent her to John, had known what he was doing. John would help her. “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning her head against the seat and closing her eyes. “Thank you.”

John turned the engine off and they sat in the silence, staring at the house across the street.

“Look familiar?” he asked.

Hope shook her head.

“Let me go first.” He reached under the seat for his gun and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, zipping his coat over it. At the last minute, he’d grabbed the weapon, breaking all kinds of laws by bringing it across state lines concealed. He didn’t care. Not when their lives could possibly be in danger.

“I want to go with you,” Hope said.

“Hell no.”

“Please, John. What if he’s family? What if he’s looking for me?”

“What if he’s not? Hope, we have no idea what we’re walking into here.” For all they knew, Daniel Webster could be an abusive husband or lover. Maybe she’d even killed him in self-defense and that was the reason the car was never reported stolen. All very plausible scenarios. But none of them explained Suzanne Carmichael’s role in this. “Let me get a feel for this guy first.”

Webster lived in a bungalow-style house with icicle Christmas lights hanging from a wide front porch. The place needed superficial work like painting and new windows, but other than that, it was clean and well maintained. Next door, a tricycle sat on its side while one of those blow-up yard Santas waved at him.

As John stepped onto the sidewalk, a man stepped from the house and stood on the front porch staring at John’s truck. He was a bit on the pudgy side, with gold wire-rimmed glasses and short brown hair. The man suddenly bounded down the steps and ran toward the car.

Hope stood next to the car, eyes wide, hand resting on her belly. John pivoted and ran toward her. His steps faltered as pain shot from his knee to his hip and he cursed the old injury. By sheer force of will, he reached Hope first and slipped in front of her. The man came to a stumbling halt, breathing hard.

“You Daniel Webster?”

“Yeah?” Webster’s gaze flicked to Hope then back. “Who the hell are you?”

John felt Hope slide closer, her fingers curling around his.

“What’s going on, Hope?” Webster took a step closer. John shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.

“You’re Daniel Webster?” Hope asked, repeating John’s question for lack of anything else to say.

Daniel’s brows dipped in confusion. “Of course I am. You know that.” He reached for her. She shied from his touch, taking a step closer to the only person she trusted in this mess. John’s solid presence reassured her even though he stood silently, hands crossed in front of him, staring Daniel Webster down from behind dark sunglasses.

“What’s going on, Hope? What happened? Why’d you leave and where’ve you been?”

She glanced at John, needing some sort of guidance, but he didn’t even look at her, so she turned back to Daniel. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you. I had this accident.” She touched the side of her head where the bump was still a little tender. “I guess with your car.”

“My God. Are you okay?” He took another step closer and Hope flinched.

“I’m fine. But I can’t remember much. Just my name.” She indicated John with a wave of her hand. “John saved me and found out the car I was driving belonged to you. That’s how I found you.”

Daniel gaped at her. “You only remember your name? You don’t remember me?”

“I’m sorry. No. Could you tell me how I ended up with your car?”

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well, sure. Come on in the house. It’s too cold to stand out here.”

Hope shot a glance at John but he merely lifted his chin, silently telling her to for follow Daniel. She hated his stoicism, but understood why he was doing it. She’d sensed days ago that he didn’t let anyone close, and now that they were finally going to discover who she was, he was distancing himself for when he would leave.

She experienced a flutter of panic at the thought of being without him. What if Daniel Webster was her husband? How could she live with a man she couldn’t remember?

The inside of Daniel’s house smelled of stale air. The furniture was old, worn, but well loved. Magazines cluttered the table and the floor next to the couch. Books were stacked haphazardly in various locations. A cat darted from under the scarred coffee table to cower beneath the couch.

Daniel cleared a spot on the couch and dumped the mixture of books and magazines on the hearth. He kept shooting worried glances at John who stood by the front door and refused the invitation to come in any farther.

Once they were settled, Hope twisted her hands in her lap and cleared her throat. “Could you, uh, tell me my last name?”

Daniel stared at her for several moments. “You weren’t kidding, were you? You really can’t remember your name.”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t joke about something like this.”

“This is so weird.” He continued to peer at her through his glasses as if she were some specimen under a microscope. “Stewart. Your name’s Hope Stewart.”

She sat back, absorbing that information. Hope Stewart. Yes, it felt right. It fit. Not Hope Webster, but Hope Stewart. However, that didn’t mean they weren’t married. She could have kept her maiden name. She placed a hand under her belly, receiving comfort from her baby, before asking the big question. “Are we married?”

Daniel’s eyes widened. He threw back his head and laughed. Hope shot a confused glance at John but he was looking at Daniel with an inscrutable expression.

“What’s so funny?” she finally asked.

Daniel lifted his glasses and wiped his eyes. “Geez, Hope. You really know how to wound a man, you know?”

She leaned forward. “Please, just tell me.”

Daniel sobered, a pained look crossing his face. “No. We’re not married. Not for lack of trying on my part. We’ve been best friends for fifteen years, went through high school together. I can’t believe you don’t remember me.”

He seemed hurt and Hope touched his knee. From the corner of her eye, she saw John stiffen. “I’m sorry. Please don’t take it personally. I don’t remember anything.”
Except a possible murder
, but she kept that to herself. “Do I live around here?”

“You live in Essex.” At her confused look, he explained. “Just outside Baltimore. You are—were—a school teacher.”

“Were?”

Daniel looked away, a red flush creeping up his face. “You were fired.”

She reared back. John shifted. “Fired?”

Daniel waved his hand in her direction. “The baby. You taught in a Catholic elementary school and when they discovered you were, uh, pregnant, they let you go. Something about not following the morality clause in your contract.”

Her head began to spin and she grabbed onto the couch cushions. She’d been fired because she was pregnant? Nausea crawled up her throat and she had to swallow a few times. Suddenly a hand was on the back of her head and she was thrust forward.

“Breathe,” John commanded.

Her dizziness passed and he let her up, glaring at her as if it were her fault her world was spinning out of control.

Daniel looked alarmed, his gaze jumping between John and her. She swiped some hair out of her eyes and took a deep breath as John stepped back to his post at the door.

“You need water or something?” Daniel asked.

She shook her head. “Tell me about the day I borrowed your car.” She pushed the rest of her questions away to examine later.

“You showed up at my house late at night. Man, you were wild, almost hysterical, you know? You begged me for that Corolla I’d kept in the garage. Told me not to ask. Said it was better I didn’t know.”

“And you gave me the keys? Just like that? No questions?”

His expression softened. “Hope. I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

No, she didn’t, but she could sense it. Poor Daniel. He had a soft spot for her and she didn’t share it. “What day was this?”

“About midnight on Christmas Eve.”

“That’s all I said?”

He held his hands out to the side and shrugged. “That’s it. I’ve been worried sick. Tried calling your dad but he hasn’t been answering.”

“My dad?”

Daniel stared at her again as if trying to decide if she were joking. “Your father, Charles Stewart. Usually you spend Christmas with him.”

“Where does my dad live?”

“Bishop’s Gate. It’s not too far from here. ’Bout twenty minutes or so.”

She had a father who wasn’t looking for her, yet it appeared they were close. She wondered if John was thinking the same thing she was. And if he was, she wondered if his thoughts made him as sick as hers did. “I have one more question, Daniel. Then we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Sure. Anything.”

“Am I, um, married?”

Silence fell between the three of them. Hope could sense John’s tension, his nerves taut as he waited for Daniel’s answer. Hope looked at Daniel who had a tender look in his eyes, couched between sorrow and regret.

“No, Hope. You’re not married.”

***

John and Hope sat in his truck with the engine running, cold air blowing from the vents. Hope folded her arms over her chest and stared through the windshield. Her head was beginning to spin again, not because she was dizzy, but from all the information that had been dumped into her empty brain.

“What do you want to do now?” John asked.

“What do you think we should do?”

“That’s your call.”

She hated the bland tone of his voice, the distance he was trying to maintain. She didn’t want distance. She wanted someone to hold her, someone she could lean on. She was so weary of trying to be strong. “Why are you doing this?” she snapped, turning so she rested her back against the door and could see him better.

“What am I doing?”

She waved her hand in his direction. “This. You’re deliberately being cool. Acting as if you have no feelings.”

“Maybe I don’t have feelings.”

“Bullshit.”

For a moment she thought something close to humor passed across John’s face, but he shrugged and the image disappeared. “Think what you want.”

“
Stop this
.” She was nearly choking on her anger. Or was it fear? Fear that John would leave her to sort this mess out on her own. “Just stop it, okay?” Her tone lost its edge, replaced by weariness. “I hate this distance you’re putting between us. You say we’ll figure it all out but you won’t talk to me.” Tears clogged her throat and she tried hard to swallow them.

John put the car in gear and pulled out into the street. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his attention on the road as if something was going to jump out in front of the car and he needed all his concentration to keep from running it over.

“Yes you do. You’re scared, John Callahan.” She knew it was her fear talking. Stress, frustration, her emerging feelings for him and the fact she didn’t want to think about everything she’d just learned.

He snorted in apparent disagreement.

“Yeah, you go ahead and think you have no feelings. Your problem is you have too many feelings and you don’t know what to do with them, so you shove them behind that granite wall you’ve erected around your heart.”

John stomped on the brakes and she braced her hand on the dashboard to keep from slamming into it.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Because you won’t tell me.” She was nearly pleading now, needing some sort of connection to the only person she knew in this mess.

“It’s none of your business.”

She opened her mouth but he held his hand up to stop her, his tone softening. “No, Hope. It’s none of your business. I promised I’d help you find out what’s going on, but that doesn’t give you access into my mind to pick apart my thoughts.”

She slumped in her seat. He was so right. She was lashing out because it was easier to pick apart John’s problems than her own “I’m sorry.”

He transferred his attention to the road and accelerated down the street. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. You’re right. It’s none of my business.”

“Hope, you’re scared. You learned more about yourself but there’s still so much more you don’t know. I can understand that. I can help you with it. But I can’t be there for you, not the way you want. It’s not… I just don’t have it in me.”

John knew Hope felt abandoned by his withdrawal. He knew she wanted someone to lean on. He also knew he couldn’t be that person. She was asking for things he couldn’t give. Better to get that out in the open now before the little seed of hope he’d seen in her expression blossomed into something neither of them could handle.

Much better this way.

He refused to even consider his relief when Webster had said she wasn’t married. Webster would be better for her. He obviously cared about her, didn’t care who the father of her child was and would cherish her.

Ruthlessly, John stomped down on the sliver of jealousy trying to worm its way into his logical, realistic thoughts.
Practical
thoughts. She wasn’t his. Never would be.

“He likes Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.”

“What?” It took a moment for his brain to switch back to reality.

“Danny. He likes Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.”

“He told you this?”

“It’s something I remembered when we were leaving. And I call him Danny, not Daniel. He asked me out for our senior prom but I had a crush on Brian Alverson, so I said no.”

“Did you remember anything else?”

She shook her head.

“He’s a good friend.” He should have left her at Webster’s house. He would have taken care of her.

But there was Suzanne Carmichael to consider. In the beginning, John had been convinced she had her hand in this. Then, as time passed, he hadn’t been so sure. Now he knew for a fact Suzanne was involved.

When Webster dropped the name Charles Stewart, John’s stomach had clenched. He knew of Charles. They’d never officially met, but he’d been one of Bradley Carmichael’s advisors during Carmichael’s ill-fated attempt at the presidency. From what John could remember, Stewart had been ambitious, yet solid, reining Carmichael in when needed. After Carmichael’s downfall, then sudden death of a massive heart attack, John hadn’t given Stewart a second thought.

This went beyond coincidence. Something was up and Suzanne Carmichael was behind it. That meant Hope’s life could be in danger. And his too. Three days ago, he wouldn’t have cared about himself. Now he needed to stay alive long enough to protect Hope and her baby from whatever was going on.