“Why can’t I remember? I need to.”

Colin kneaded the tensed muscles bunched around her neck. “You will when you can handle it.”

“I can now.”

“You’re already remembering bits and pieces. It’ll fall into place.”

The feel of his gentle hands massaging her tension tempted Emma to lean back against him and draw comfort from his embrace. He had given her so much, and she knew his reason was tied up in guilt. “I don’t blame you for what happened on the highway. You saved my life.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the accident. I thought I killed you.”

Emma twisted around. “You listen to me. I was shot first. If you hadn’t been there, they would have finished me off. I owe you my life. And I just realized I haven’t thanked you, Colin Fitzpatrick. You’re a good man.”

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MARGARET DALEY

feels she has been blessed. She has been married for more than thirty years to her husband, Mike, whom she met in college. He is a terrific support and her best friend. They have one son, Shaun. Margaret has been writing for many years and loves to tell a story. When she was a little girl, she would play with her dolls and make up stories about their lives. Now she writes these stories down. She especially enjoys weaving stories about families and how faith in God can sustain a person when things get tough. When she isn’t writing, she is fortunate to be a teacher for students with special needs. Margaret has taught for over twenty years and loves working with her students. She has also been a Special Olympics coach and has participated in many sports with her students.

So Dark the Night
Margaret Daley

The God of my strength, in whom I will trust;

My shield and the horn of my salvation,

My stronghold and my refuge;

My Savior, You saved me from violence.

—2 Samuel 22:3

To the students I’ve taught—you are the best!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Emma St. James drove down the lane that led to her brother’s cabin on an Illinois lake. The overhanging oak and maple trees shaded the road, heightening the darkness beginning to creep over the landscape with the approach of dusk. When she pulled up to the side of the large log cabin, she parked in the back next to Derek’s black Ford truck and rested her forehead on the steering wheel for a moment. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin.

The past few weeks had been frantic, nonstop work, one photo shoot after another, that had left her little time even to sleep. She’d been thankful when her older brother had insisted she spend a few days with him during a brief pause in her work schedule. Derek could always make her feel better, even if his invitation had seemed strange to her. He needed to talk to her about something important and hadn’t wanted to do it over the phone.

Climbing from her yellow Thunderbird convertible, Emma stretched her aching muscles and rolled her head in a slow circle. The long drive from New York had finally caught up with her, and all she wanted to do was take a hot shower and go to bed. She didn’t think she could put two coherent sentences together. She and her brother would have to catch up in the morning.

She reached behind the driver’s seat and plucked her red leather purse from the back, then headed for the front porch. That was when she spied the white Firebird on the other side of the cabin, partially hidden behind some large honeysuckle bushes, their scent perfuming the cooling spring air. Strains of classical music wafted from the cabin. Company? That was the last thing she wanted at the moment. She moved toward the window near the door to see who was visiting her brother. After the past week of avoiding the press who wanted to verify yet another false story about her, she wanted to make sure it wasn’t a reporter who had somehow found out where she would be for the next few days.

Peering into the cabin, she noticed two men, one vaguely familiar, hovering over her brother, who sat in a straight-backed lattice chair, his wide eyes fixed on the taller of the pair.

I’ve seen that man somewhere. But where?

With fear stamped on his features, Derek was talking and shaking his head. That was when she noticed her brother’s hands were tied behind his back. Emma opened her purse and stuck her hand inside, fumbling in the depths. Lipstick. Compact. Wallet. She looked down. Where was her cell phone? A slapping sound brought her attention back to the men in the cabin. The tall, thin man struck her brother across the mouth a second time, his head jerking back. Blood gushed from between his lips and rolled down his chin. Emma gasped, starting for the door.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flash of metal in the short, bulky man’s hand as he came forward. Paralyzed, she stopped.

What in the world was going on? Was that a gun?

Again she delved into her oversized purse, trying to find her cell phone. She needed help and hoped she could get some before—

The sound of a gunshot rocketed through her. As if hit, she staggered back, dropping her bag.

Through the window she saw her brother slump over. A scream welled up inside her. Her hand over her mouth, she backed away, desperate to keep the scream inside.

No!

She blinked as though that would erase the horror she saw through the window. Taking another step back, her gaze glued to the scene inside the cabin, she bit down on her hand. The ropes about her brother’s chest held him up, but the bright red of his blood filled her vision. Tears sprang to her eyes. She had to get help.

Please let Derek still be alive.

She spun around to flee and bumped into a bench, sending it flying off the porch. The crashing sound reverberated through her mind. She glanced over her shoulder. The tall man looked up, his cold, dark eyes fixed on her. She shuddered.

Run! her mind shouted.

She leaped off the porch and started for her car. Halfway there she realized she had no keys. They were in her purse on the porch! Frantic, she slowed a few paces, scanning the terrain.

No time to get the keys. Where could she hide? The woods? The shed? Behind the cabin?

The banging of the door against the logs of the wall sent her racing toward the woods. The report of a gun pierced the air at the same time a bullet hit a tree trunk a few feet to her left, pieces of bark flying outward. With pounding feet that matched the racing of her heart, she tore into the forest, praying the dark shadows enveloped her and hid her from their view. Gasping for air, she kept running, afraid to stop and find a place to hide for fear they would find her.

Branches ripped at her face and body. She stumbled and fell to her knees. Pain shot up her legs. Pushing herself to her feet, she clawed her way up a small ridge, littered with underbrush and stubby trees. One of her sandals caught on a limb. She tugged, the shoe coming off and tumbling down the incline. Emma stared at the bright red leather that reminded her so much of the blood she’d seen on Derek. She shoved that image away. She couldn’t think about that now. She had to get him help. She had to stay alive.

She started back down the ridge. In the distance she heard the two men tearing through the woods. Not far away. No time to get her shoe. Spinning back around, she looked about her to see which way she should go. Deeper into the woods? Or toward the highway?

The crashing sound of the men tracking her, who obviously didn’t care if she heard them, dominated her thoughts as she tried to decide. The closer the sound came, the more frenzied her heart beat. Panting, she headed for the darkness of the denser trees on the other side of the ridge, away from the highway.

Deeper and deeper she pushed into the forest. Something sharp cut the bottom of her bare foot. She didn’t stop to see what it was. She kept going, an ache in her side intensifying and rivaling the pain from the wound on her heel.

The farther she went, the darker it became until she could barely make out the area ten feet in front of her. Her lungs burned. Her eyes stung from the tears that loomed just beneath the surface. Holding her side, she stopped by a large trunk, leaning into it for support as she drew in large gulps of air. Her legs quivering, she listened.

For a few seconds silence tantalized her with visions of a successful escape. Then the sound of breaking twigs and a muffled voice resonated through the trees. They had followed her into the woods. They weren’t far behind.

Scanning the black curtain around her, she glimpsed the faint outline of some large bushes. She dove toward them, seeking their shelter. Darkness and leaves cocooned her in safety. The scent of earth and vegetation peppered the air. She waited.

An eternity later, she heard plodding footsteps approaching. Every muscle tensed to the point of pain. She waited, not even daring to breathe much.

“Ouch! Watch it, will you?”

The rough voice pierced the quiet and sent Emma’s heart racing even more. Not far away. She squinted and peered out into the gloom. Nothing but faint shapes of trees surrounded by blackness.

“We ain’t gonna find her. Let’s get back and check her out. Probably Derek’s latest girlfriend. Fancy car means she has to have money.”

“Will you shut up? I can’t hear a thing over your constant chattering.”

The man who belonged to the rough voice must be the leader, Emma thought and decided it was the tall man she’d seen at the cabin, the one with the cold, black eyes. She’d never forget those eyes as he’d stared at her through the window, Derek’s limp form next to him. Again she pictured the man with the chilling eyes. The niggling sensation she’d seen him before wouldn’t loosen its grip on her thoughts.

Where have I seen him? Who is he? Why did they shoot my brother?

Oh, Derek. Tears crowded her throat. What if her brother was still alive? She needed to get him help, and time was against her.

“What’s the point? It’s too dark anyway,” the other one said, his voice higher. It riveted Emma back to the problem at hand.

If she was right, that was the man who’d shot her brother. Throat tightening, she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to keep the tears inside. She didn’t have time to think beyond getting to safety. She’d fall apart later.

“We need some flashlights. I have one in the car and I bet there’s one at the cabin.”

The voices were nearby. Emma shrank back deeper into the underbrush. Her heartbeat roared in her ears so loud she couldn’t make out what the short, bulky man replied.

She tried to run through a relaxation technique she used when stressed, but nothing took the edge off. Even taking deeper breaths didn’t calm the loud thumping of her heart. She clamped her hands over her ears, her eyes scrunched closed. Like a child playing peekaboo, she hoped since she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her.

Minutes ticked away. She waited. Slowly, she opened her eyes and dropped her hands to the damp ground. Nothing…but the wind rustling the leaves on the bush, a curtain of black shrouding her.

She crawled forward from the depths of the thick underbrush and scanned the darkness. Still, silence greeted her. No sound other than nature’s. A bird chirped. A frog croaked. Crickets trilled. The normal sounds of a forest.

She inched farther out of her shelter. She needed to get to the highway for help. Thankfully, she knew the woods surrounding the family cabin and realized if she circled around to the right she could reach the highway, flag down a car and escape the two men—and maybe, just maybe, help her brother.

With her eyes adjusted to the dark, she picked her way through the maze of trees toward what she believed would be the highway. The continual hammering of her heart and the shallow gulps of air made each step difficult. The trembling in her legs spread upward to encompass her whole body. Her pace slowed, shock slipping through her defenses.

Again a sharp object pierced the bottom of her foot. It was too dark even to see where she was stepping. Can’t stop. She focused all her concentration on lifting one foot and placing it in front of her. Not far, she was sure. She was now glad of all those times she and—a lump lodged in her throat when she thought of her brother. She and Derek had loved to play hide-and-seek in these very woods as children.

The memory produced a tear. It leaked out of her tight restraints and rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away. No time. Later. Have to keep going. Get help.

In the distance she heard a car zoom by. She wanted to quicken her pace, but her legs felt as though she wore cement blocks for shoes. Through the trees she saw headlights arc across the terrain and disappear. A hundred feet. Safety. The highway was the only way into town. Her best chance to escape.

Then behind her she heard the two men and saw the beams from their flashlights circling the area in front of them. Her gaze was drawn toward their lights. She was amazed at how fast they had returned. She plowed ahead, forcing herself to go faster. Blocking from her mind the searing pain in her legs and lungs, she limped toward the sounds of passing cars. Fifty feet.

The ribbon of asphalt cut through the forest. Slicing lights illuminated the trees on the edge of the highway. She pushed herself harder. Thirty feet.

The noises behind her grew louder. A light touched the area to the side of her. Then it swept over her as though icy fingers scraped across her. A shout slashed through her thundering heartbeat and sent terror straight to her core.

“There! She’s almost to the highway.”

“Get her,” the rough voice commanded off to the right.

Suddenly Emma didn’t see any more headlights on the highway. Darkness surrounded her. Then the beam behind her found her again. She darted to the left, trying to evade the brightness. Ten feet.

In the distance the sound of a car filled the night with hope. She plunged from the cover of the trees and headed toward the headlights barreling down upon her.

A shot rang out from the forest. Panicked, she raced forward.

“Come on, Reverend Fitzpatrick. We’re gonna be late. Five miles over the speed limit isn’t really breaking the law,” Brent Hardwood said over the loud music playing on the radio.

Colin Fitzpatrick threw his passenger in the front seat a grin. “Is that your reasoning? No wonder the sheriff has given you several tickets in the past few months.”

“Yeah, Brent. One more and your license will be suspended.”

Brent twisted around in the seat. “You’re no better, Jamie. You just haven’t been caught. It wasn’t that long ago you were drag racing on Miller Road.”

“Guys, I don’t think I want to hear this. I might be obliged to inform a few parents. And since Neil’s dad is the sheriff, it might prove to be a bit awkward.”

“Isn’t this covered under some confessional rule?” Neil Logan asked from the back seat.

Colin laughed. “No, afraid not.”

“Well, it should be,” Brent mumbled, his arms folded across his chest. He leaned forward and turned up the radio even more. “This is one of my favorite songs.” He began tapping the dashboard to the beat of the music.

Colin settled back, listening to the ribbing among the three teenage boys, each trying to talk over the radio. Best friends. Members of his church. Leaders of the youth group. Today’s conference at Central City had been a success. He was already anticipating the young men working with the rest of the youth group to teach them the conflict resolution techniques they had learned.

Maybe he could use the techniques on some of the conflicts he’d found himself caught up in lately. What he really needed was some evasive tactics or disappearing ones. He thought of Mrs. Reed’s little matchmaking maneuver last weekend with her niece who had come to visit for the month. He’d barely escaped that trap. He’d been married once to a wonderful woman. He didn’t see himself marrying again.

“Reverend, my big sis wants you to come in after you drop me off.”

Brent’s statement caught Colin’s full attention for a few seconds. He glanced at the seventeen-year-old and said, “It’s been a long day and tomorrow is a school day.”

“Mary will be mighty disappointed. I think she baked you a German chocolate cake. She promised me a slice if I could get you to come in.”

“While I appreciate—”

Something darted out of the trees and plunged toward his car. Colin slammed his foot on the brake at the same time the person—a woman—halted in the middle of the road, her shocked expression reflected in the glare of his headlights.

Emma stopped on the pavement, the car careening toward her. Paralyzed for a few precious seconds, she stared at the set of bright lights coming at her. Move! her mind screamed. Now!

Life flooded back into her legs, and she began to lunge toward the opposite side of the road—away from the killers. Pain exploded in her left shoulder, spinning her back into the path of the car.

Colin swerved the wheel of his SUV hard, trying to avoid the woman. Just as he thought he would, she twisted back toward his car. Even though his vehicle was slowing down, he couldn’t stop fast enough. The shouts from his passengers and the loud music drowned out the sound of him striking the person, but he felt the impact as though it vibrated through him to his soul. She reeled off the front end of his bumper while he fought to control his SUV. Fishtailing a few feet farther, his car finally came to a stop.

“Is everyone all right?” Colin checked his passengers, his hands shaking so much they slipped from the wheel.

“Yeah,” Brent answered, straining to see out the window.

“Man! What was that? A deer?” Jamie Zamets asked, his eyes wide as he craned his neck around to see behind them.

“Do you think it’s dead?” Neil asked from the back seat, the shaken tone to his question making it come out as a whisper.

“It was a woman,” Brent said, unbuckling his seat beat.

“Stay put.” Colin forced all the command he had learned in the army into his voice. He was afraid of what he would find when he got out and he didn’t want the teenagers to see.

Colin hurried from the vehicle, slamming the door to emphasize the fact that he wanted the boys to stay in the car. He ran around the back of his vehicle and came to a skidding stop six feet from the rear bumper.

Lying on the pavement was a slim, petite figure, dressed in pants and a shirt, the darkness obscuring the woman’s features, the illumination from the taillights not strong enough for him to assess her injuries. Colin knelt to feel for a pulse. A faint beat beneath his fingertips sent relief through him. The scent of blood assailed his nostrils. She was alive but for how long?

“Rev, I thought you might need—” Brent’s sentence came to an abrupt halt as the flashlight he carried caught the victim in its glare.

“She’s beautiful,” the teen finally murmured.

Colin’s gaze skimmed over the woman’s face, bleeding from scratches that had nothing to do with the wreck. Beneath the cuts, he had to acknowledge, were very pleasing features, framed by a mass of long black curls. “Here, let me have that and you get back in the car.”

The slamming sound of two doors slashed through the silence. Colin knew there was no way he would be able to protect them now.

“Is she dead?” Jamie asked, coming up beside Brent.

“No. Don’t you all know how to follow directions?”

“Thought you might want my cell phone, Reverend.”

Colin heard Neil’s words, but he felt as if he was back in the army, bending over a wounded comrade, because what riveted his attention now was the gaping hole in the young woman’s shoulder, blood oozing out of it and pooling on the pavement. His head came up. He scanned the terrain alongside the highway, trying to peer into the dense woods, but he couldn’t see anyone, only dark shadows cast by the tall pines and oaks.

From the way she had spun, the shot had to have come from the right side of the road, probably from that thick line of trees, not far from his car. Too close. Hairs on the nape of his neck tingled. Danger resounded in his mind.

“Get back into the car,” he said in the toughest voice he could muster.

“But—” Brent started to protest.

“Go. I’ll take care of her. Call for help, Neil.”

At that moment a pair of headlights crested the hill and came toward them, followed by another set. Colin shifted his body to shield the woman as the boys trudged back to the car, muttering their disappointment. The tension in his body relaxed a little when he heard the doors slamming on his SUV.

Dear Lord, please protect us from whoever shot this woman. Let this be help arriving. Keep her and the boys safe.

He used his flashlight to flag down the approaching vehicle, hoping there would be safety in numbers, all the while keeping his body between the line of trees and the woman lying on the pavement.

“I might be able to hit her, Roy,” the stocky man whispered from the dark cover of the woods.

Hunkered down next to him, Roy took in the scene as more and more people stopped to help the man in the car. “Too risky. If she makes it, we’ll take care of her later. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He tugged on Manny’s gun arm.

“I know I can.”

“Listen, you have what, a few bullets left? There’s a time to take a stand. And a time to retreat.”

“But she saw us.”

Roy noticed the large man who’d hit the woman raise his head and look toward where they were hidden. Somehow he got the distinct impression the man had heard them even though they were seventy feet away and talking so low it would take someone with super abilities to hear them. For a few seconds he felt as though it were noon and they were exposed for all to see—at least, for the man who drove the SUV.

A third car stopped at the scene of the wreck. Too many people. Whenever he got an itch that needed scratching, Roy knew it was time to cut his losses. He slipped back into the denser underbrush, keeping his eyes trained on the large man hovering over the woman. There was something menacing about him, Roy thought, remembering when the man discovered the woman had been shot. Alertness had stiffened him, his sharp gaze taking in his surroundings as if guns and shootings were an everyday occurrence for him.

A few yards into the woods Roy pivoted and headed back toward the cabin, pleased to hear his partner following. Their employer wouldn’t be too happy to hear about this, especially when they hadn’t been able to discover the packet they’d been sent to retrieve. Manny might think the woman posed a problem for them, but Roy knew otherwise. Their employer didn’t take too kindly to people who messed up.

The woman’s eyes snapped open and looked right at Colin. The honey-brown of her gaze pinned him. He leaned forward to listen to her whispered words.

“Help…Derek.”

“Where is he?”

She blinked. Terror and pain twisted her features. “I can’t…” She licked her lips. “I can’t…see.” She tried to move, winced and groaned. Her eyelids slid closed. “Derek. Help…him.”

“Where is he?” Colin turned so his ear was only inches from her mouth.

“Plea…” Her voice faded, only a faint wisp of breath touching his ear.

Colin straightened, scanning the faces of the people standing nearby in a semicircle. “Is anyone a doctor?”

A woman, who had just arrived, stepped forward. “I’m a nurse. Let me see what I can do.”

The middle-aged nurse assessed the damage while removing her sweater and pressing it into the woman’s shoulder to stop the flow of blood. “Has anyone called 9–1-1?”

“Yes.”

“This woman was shot. What happened?” The nurse looked up at Colin.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The sound of sirens mingled with the whispers of the people gathered. Another car stopped and two men got out, hanging back from the crowd around the woman.

“Is either one of you a doctor?” Colin asked the new arrivals, hearing the desperate edge to his words. This woman couldn’t die. Please, God, keep her alive. I’ve seen enough people dying to fill five lifetimes. Memories threatened to swamp him with emotions he never wanted to relive.

The taller of the two said, “No, sorry.”

Colin returned his attention to the woman on the pavement, her petite frame silhouetted by the headlights from several cars. Her dark pants were torn in places as well as her short-sleeved shirt.

She wore only one sandal. He glanced around for her lost shoe. He didn’t see it. He examined the bottom of her bare foot. Cuts and dirt greeted his inspection as though she had been running through the woods without one shoe for a long distance. Red-painted toenails taunted him with the mystery that surrounded this woman.

Who was Derek?

Who had shot her?

Where had she come from?

The shriek of the sirens came to a stop as the ambulance pulled up. Colin moved back to allow the paramedics to examine the woman. A sheriff’s deputy, a member of his congregation, climbed from his cruiser and walked toward him.

“Can you tell me what happened here, Reverend?”

The three teenagers clambered out of the SUV and hurried toward the deputy, all talking at once.

Colin waved at them to be silent. “John, I was driving home from the youth conference when this woman ran out in front of my car. I thought I was going to be able to avoid her until she spun around and lunged into my path.”

Brent nodded. “She came right at us. Someone shot her!”

“Shot? Then this isn’t a car accident?” the deputy asked.

“No,” all the teenagers answered.

“Excuse me. I need to call this in. Get more help out here.”

While the deputy walked to his cruiser, Colin’s focus shifted to the woman being wheeled to the ambulance. He wished he could follow the ambulance to the hospital. If he hadn’t been on the highway, would she have made it safely to the other side? That was a question he was afraid would plague him for a long time. She had been shot, but how extensive were the injuries caused by his SUV? He couldn’t stop the questions from coming. Who was she? Who was Derek? Who shot her? Why?

When the deputy came back, he said, “You all will have to go down to the station to make a statement.”

“Even them?” Colin hated the boys being involved.

“I’m afraid so. Neil’s dad will be out here shortly. He’ll take you in and get your statements.”

Brent, Jamie and Neil looked at one another, their eyes wide.

“Can we call our parents to tell them we’ll be late getting home?” Jamie held up his cell phone.

“Sure.” John Edwards pulled Colin over to the side away from the three teenagers. “Did you see anyone chasing her?”

“No, everything happened so fast.” In his mind Colin could see her frozen in his headlights for a few seconds before she started moving again. Then the awful moment when she spun back toward him, her eyes wide with terror. “John, there may be someone else in trouble. Someone named Derek. Before she passed out, she said something about Derek needing help. At least, I think that was it.”

“Derek St. James? He has a cabin not too far from here. I hadn’t heard he was back in town, though.”

“Maybe that’s who she was talking about.” Colin shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll check it out after this scene is secured.”

“Be careful. Someone in the woods has a gun.” Colin realized he was stating the obvious, but he couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching him. Chills encased him in a cold sweat. He threw a last glance toward the area where he thought someone had hidden and shot at the mystery woman. “Look over that way. I think that was where the shot came from.”

“I thought you didn’t see anything?”

“Nothing like a person or a flash when the gun went off. I didn’t even hear anything with the music on in the car and the windows up. I was too busy trying to avoid the woman. But from the way she spun and fell, that has to be the place. Good cover for a shooter.” He knew more than he wished about guns, cover and death.

“I’ll have the crime-scene boys check it out.”

Heading toward the teenagers, Colin took a calming breath, a coldness embedded deep in his bones. Crystal Springs might be near Chicago, but crime rarely occurred in his little corner of the world, one of the reasons he had been so attracted to the town. It had always been a safe place to raise a family. But the shooting of this woman had altered all that. Deep in his gut he felt their peaceful little slice of heaven was about to change. Icy tentacles burrowed deeper. He shook, his hands balled at his side so tightly that pain zipped up his arms.

TWO

Colin paced from one end of the waiting room to the other. The strong antiseptic odor reminded him of what he disliked most about his job—visiting people in the hospital. His wife had died at Bayview County Hospital, and every time he stepped into its corridors, he remembered Mary Ann’s lingering death from cancer. The clean, disinfectant smells, sounds of beeping machines and murmured voices made his stomach clench whenever he came here. He needed to get past his automatic reaction. But even after four years, he hadn’t been able to.

“Reverend, she’s been moved from recovery to her room now,” a nurse at the door said.

Colin nodded, forcing his stomach muscles to relax. Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, he headed for Emma St. James’s private hospital room. Dread leadened his steps. He hadn’t seen her since the ambulance had taken her away from the wreck. First, he had been at the sheriff’s headquarters giving a statement about the accident, then when he had finally arrived at the hospital two hours ago, Emma St. James had already been wheeled into surgery to have her shoulder repaired.

A deputy stood at her door. “Good afternoon, Reverend.”

“Hi, Kirk. How’s your wife doing?”

“Better. She should be at church this Sunday.”

Colin started to enter the hospital room, but Kirk held up his hand. “Sorry, the sheriff is inside questioning the woman.”

Colin leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. The sights and sounds he had come to know so well when Mary Ann had been here surrounded him. Slowly, any relaxation he had achieved dissolved, leaving him tense again. Time crawled by painfully slowly. A doctor was paged. A phone rang at the nurses’ station. An orderly wheeled a patient to the elevator.

The door to Emma’s room swung open, and J. T. Logan left, followed by a tall, slender woman with short brown hair. Colin pushed himself away from the wall, preparing to go into the room.

“Reverend, I hope you can help her.” J.T.’s deep, gruff voice halted Colin’s progress.

“You told her about her brother?”

J.T. gave a curt nod. He gestured toward the woman at his side. “This is Madison Spencer. She’s a detective with the state police. She’ll be assisting me with the investigation. This is Reverend Fitzpatrick.”

“The man who hit her?” Madison angled her head toward the sheriff. “Are you so sure him visiting is a good idea?”

Colin flinched at the bald truth. How was he going to help Emma St. James when his SUV had struck her and he was riddled with guilt?

“If anyone can help her, it’ll be Colin.”

The sheriff’s words fueled Colin’s self-confidence until he saw the woman’s pinched frown and her assessing expression. “Could she give you any information?”

“No. She doesn’t remember much and—” J.T. glanced toward the closed door “—she can’t—” his dark gaze fixed on Colin “—see.”

“She’s blind?”

“Yes.”

“Because of the accident?” Colin’s heartbeat accelerated, his throat dry.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk with the doctor yet.” J.T. started down the hallway. “If she remembers anything, let me know.”

Colin stared at the door, a dull gray color. What had he done? Lord, give me the strength to help this woman.

“You can go in now, Reverend.” Kirk’s voice cut into Colin’s prayer.

He pushed open the door and entered the room. Bright sunlight streamed through the window and a large bouquet of yellow roses, an elaborate arrangement of lilies and a potted ivy plant already graced the window ledge. Colin looked at the small woman in the bed, her eyes closed, the white sheet and a blanket pulled up over her chest as though she was cold. Her arm with the IV in it lay on top of the blue cover across her midsection.

Slowly she opened her eyes. “Who’s there?” she whispered, a raw edge to her voice as though she wasn’t used to talking.

Did I do this to her? The question kept playing over and over in Colin’s mind as he stood frozen a few feet from the bed. She looked so vulnerable with her face bruised and scratched, a bandaged shoulder peeking out from the top of the covers.

“Who’s there?” Panic laced her words. She fumbled for the call button.

Colin stiffened, aware he had caused her undue tension. “I’m Reverend Colin Fitzpatrick.”

Her hand relaxing her search, she turned her head toward him, her brow creasing. “I didn’t ask for a clergyman to visit.”

The defensiveness in her statement firmed his resolve. He would be here for her even if she didn’t think she needed his help. That was the least he could do. “I know.” He moved closer. “I thought you might like to talk to someone about your brother.”

She shrank away from him, her hand clutching the blanket. Her eyes slid closed for a few seconds. “How do I know you’re a reverend? For all I know, you could be a member of the press. I’m sure they’re having a field day over this.”

“If you want, I can get the nurse on duty to vouch for me.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t have anything to talk about.”

But her expression told Colin otherwise. The sheen to her brown eyes and the trembling of her hand as she ran it over the blanket indicated her distress more than her words. She bit her teeth into her lower lip and looked away.

Colin pulled a straight-backed chair close to the bed and sat, wanting to tell her how he came to be in her room.

“You’re wasting your time, Reverend. I’m beyond saving.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Don’t you know who I am?”

“Emma St. James.”

“The daughter of Marlena Howard. For as long as I can remember my mother has been the screen goddess of America. I can’t say that my life has been church bazaars and Sunday school classes.”

“So I shouldn’t waste my time talking to you?”

“I don’t think God even knows I exist.” Her hands knotted the blanket.

“Why do you say that?”

“That man who left told me my—” she swallowed hard “—my brother was murdered. He thinks I know something about it. I don’t remember anything after pulling up to the cabin. I can’t even help—” She squeezed her eyes closed. A tear leaked out the corner and rolled down her cheek. Then another.

The sight of the wet trail robbed him of words. He pushed down his own rising emotions and tried to think of something appropriate to say, some way to offer comfort. But what played across his mind was this woman, paralyzed in the middle of the highway, watching his car coming at her.

“Please leave,” she whispered, swiping at her tears.

“Sometimes it’s good to talk to someone when you’re troubled.”

Her lower lip quivered. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

The vulnerability in her voice tore at his heart. “How about the beginning?”

Another tear coursed down her face. “Too long a story. Not enough time.”

“I’m a good listener. And I have the time.”

She shook her head slightly, then winced as though the movement had caused pain. “I want to be left alone.” She settled back on the pillow and closed her eyes.

He rose, hovering over her, a part of him hoping she would change her mind and use him as a sounding board. But the other part needed to leave. The space in the room seemed to shrink to the size of a coffin. His breathing became shallow gasps. The last time he had been responsible for someone being hurt was during the Gulf War. After piecing his life back together, he’d promised himself he would never harm another human being. And he hadn’t. Until now. He pivoted toward the door.

He pulled himself together enough to present a calm facade to the people in the hallway, but guilt plagued him all the way to the chapel. Inside the small, dimly lit room, a peace washed over him as he sat in the pew before the altar, clasped his hands together and prayed.

She stumbled, her knees hitting the hard-packed earth first. Pain blasted through her as though a gun had gone off inside her. Hands braced in front of her, she scrambled to her feet and kept moving forward. Every part of her hurt, from the frantic beating of her heart to the soles of her bare feet. But she couldn’t stop. The sounds of her pursuers grew closer and closer until she felt talons grip her and swing her around. Two hideous faces loomed in front of her.

Emma bolted up in bed, the sudden motion causing pain. Black. An inky curtain taunted her as she scanned her surroundings. Where am I? Why do I hurt so much?

Why can’t I see?

Then the memories flooded her. The accident. Her brother. The police visiting. The continuous blackness.

She sagged back against the firm mattress, the darkness still there even though her eyes were wide-open. From all the sounds outside her door, it had to be daytime.

Every inch of her hurt. The pounding in her head overshadowed the deep ache in her shoulder, the throbbing in her foot. She touched the bandage, remembering the searing pain that had ripped through her just seconds before…Before what? She couldn’t remember. Everything after she had climbed from her T-bird at the cabin was a blank except the pain piercing through her shoulder like a red-hot poker.

The swishing sound of the door opening alerted her to someone entering her room. She automatically looked toward where she believed the door was even though her world was dark, no face materializing before her.

“Who is it?” She hated the need to ask, but she hated even more knowing someone else was in the room seeing her like this. She felt so vulnerable, so alone.

“Your dad, Emma.”

The deep baritone of her father’s voice sliced through her fragile control, causing every muscle to tense, a different kind of hurt, buried for years, surfacing. She tried to visualize on the black screen in her mind what her father looked like. All she could recall was the last picture she’d seen of him in the newspaper a year before. Grainy, his features vague. The photo of him was at a distance. Like their relationship.

“I’ve come to take you home.”

Her hands curled around the covers. “Where’s that? Your home? Mine? Mother’s?”

“Mine.”

He said it with such force and confidence that Emma blinked. “No.”

“What do you mean, no? Your life may be in danger. You’re—” He paused as though he couldn’t think of a word to describe the condition her life was in. “You’re injured. I won’t accept your answer.”

His powerful voice bombarded her at close range. If she reached out, she could probably touch him. She balled her hands into tighter fists even though the action caused her more pain. She concentrated on the pain streaking up her arm to take her mind off her reeling emotions. “You have no choice. I am not leaving with you.”

“You need special care. You need to be protected.”

Where were you when I was growing up? She wanted to shout the question at him. Instead, she pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything because she knew it was useless to argue with the man. He was a force to be reckoned with, and right now she had no strength to fight anyone.

“You aren’t thinking clearly, Emma. Someone murdered Derek. Someone shot you.”

That much she knew. It was all the space between those two events that was blank—like her view of the world through her eyes. Dark. Nothing.

He touched her arm. She winced and tried to pull away, but his fingers clasped around her. She thought of her dream, of the talons gripping her.

Frustration, mixed with hopelessness, swamped her. Tears welled up, but she choked them back. Not in front of this man who didn’t have a heart. Never again. Those years long ago crying herself to sleep had taught her the uselessness of tears.

He removed his hand from her arm. “That woman has filled your mind with lies for years.”

“It wasn’t your choice to divide the family down the middle?”

“The past has nothing to do with the here and now. I have hired a bodyguard for you.”

“No. I don’t want anything from you. Don’t you get it? I can’t see. I don’t even remember what happened. I’m certainly no help to the sheriff. I’m not a threat to anyone.” She searched the covers for the call button. She couldn’t take another moment with the man who had given her up and never had anything to do with her after her mother divorced him, except an occasional call on her birthday or during the holidays.

“I’m not walking away this time, Emma.”

He must have moved from the bed toward the door. There was an odd sound to his voice, a thickness, but she didn’t want to dwell on what it could be—probably frustration at not being able to control her. Control was paramount to her father. Wasn’t that one of the reasons her mother had left him?

A bone-weary exhaustion compelled her to close her eyes, to relax the taut set of her body. It took too much energy to remain on guard. “I don’t want you here. Please leave,” she murmured through dry lips. She needed water, but she didn’t want him to see her try to find the pitcher and plastic cup the nurse had left on the beside table. She couldn’t appear helpless in front of him. Strength was the only thing he related to.

“For the moment. But I’ll be back, Emma.”

The sound of the door closing drew a breath of relief from her. She waited a few minutes, gathering her energy before attempting to get a glass of water. She tried lifting her uninjured arm, but her confrontation with her father had sapped more of her strength than she had thought. Parched, she lay helpless in her bed.

Why is this happening to me?

She wanted to scream and hide at the same time. She wanted to sleep but was afraid the nightmare would return. She wanted to be in control of her life. She wanted her big brother to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. Over the years she had wanted a lot of things, but that didn’t—

“Miss St. James?”

She gasped, totally taken by surprise. That thought sent panic through her. So exposed. Alone.

“Colin Fitzpatrick.”

“The reverend? Why are you back?” Please leave me alone. Can’t you see I don’t want visitors? Can’t you see I’m barely holding myself together?

“I couldn’t leave without telling you why I visited in the first place.”

There was a long moment of silence that heightened Emma’s feeling of vulnerability. She had no idea what was really going on around her.

“I was driving the car that hit you.”

“Hit me?” Emma murmured, her forehead wrinkling.

“Last night my SUV struck you on the highway.” As that sentence tumbled from his mouth, Colin’s guilt prodded him forward toward the woman who looked lost in the hospital bed, as though she was unraveling before his eyes.

“You were there?” Her frown deepened.

“I tried to avoid you. I thought I had. But—” His words died on his lips.

She touched her shoulder where the bandage was. “I thought I was shot.” Closing her eyes, she buried her face in her hands.

“You were.”

With a shake of her head she looked in his direction. “I’m confused. I wish I remembered what happened. I was shot but you hit me, too?”

Colin nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him and said, “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? What kind of game are you playing? Who are you, really?”

The questions lashed out at him, and he took a step back. “I’m exactly who I said I was. I’m a minister. I was driving home from a conference with some members of the youth group at my church when the accident occurred.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

The confused look on her face spoke volumes to him. He wondered about the cynical expression as he said, “I want to help you. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love. I told you earlier that I was a good listener. If I—”

“Please,” she interrupted, turning her head away from him. “I just want to be left—”

The door opened. Emma stopped in mid-sentence, the sound prompting her to glance toward the person entering. Colin didn’t need any introductions to the older woman making her entrance. Her honey-colored hair fell to her shoulders in thick, lustrous waves, not a hint of gray. Her beautiful, flawless face held no wrinkles, as though time had stopped for her at thirty or she’d had the use of a good plastic surgeon. Her wide, cobalt-blue eyes were full of concern as Marlena Howard walked toward the bed where her daughter lay.

“Emma, I got here as fast as I could, darling.”

“Marlena?” Emma blinked. “I thought you were on location.”

“Yes, but for you I left. I told the director I would be back when my baby was better.” Marlena leaned over and kissed Emma on the cheek. “Just as soon as you can leave, I’ll take you home where I can pamper you.”

“You know about Derek?”

Tears sprang into Marlena’s eyes, slipping down her well-preserved face. “Yes, baby. What you must have gone through.” She took her daughter’s hand and clasped it between hers. “I don’t understand any of this. Who would want to hurt him—or you?”

Emma’s lower lip quivered.

“We talked right before I left to shoot the movie. Everything was great.”

Colin felt as though he was watching a performance by an accomplished actress and he didn’t like that thought. The dutiful sorrow was in the woman’s voice, the tears in her eyes, but something was missing. He stepped forward. “I’m Reverend Colin Fitzpatrick.”

Marlena focused on him for a few seconds, then shifted to her daughter. “Emma, is there something you aren’t telling me? I was assured by your doctor that you would be all right in time.”

“I can’t see!” A hysterical ring entered Emma’s voice. Her teeth bit into her lower lip to still its trembling.

“I know, baby. But the doctor told me there wasn’t any physical reason, that with time you’ll be as good as new.” Marlena glanced around the room. “I can’t believe you got the flowers I sent you already. I know lilies are your favorite. I told the florist to fill your room with them.”

Colin watched Emma cringe when her mother talked about her blindness. She withdrew further as the older woman chatted as though what had happened to her daughter wasn’t that big a deal.

“Those aren’t from you, Marlena.”

“They aren’t? Then who sent them?” A rare wrinkle creased the older woman’s brow.

The nurse said the card read “Brandon McDonel.”

“Derek’s friend?”

“We’ve dated in the past.”

“Who sent you a potted plant?”

“My assistant.”

“And the yellow roses?”

“I did.”

The deep, booming voice drew everyone’s attention toward the door. A tall, commanding figure stood in the entrance, filling it with his powerful presence.

“I’m glad you could pull yourself away from the set to visit our daughter.” William St. James entered, making sure the door closed behind him.

Marlena straightened, leveling a narrowed look at the large man making his way to the hospital bed. “Our daughter? You gave up that right twenty years ago.”

Colin’s attention remained on Emma, who pulled the covers up until she was almost hidden beneath them.

“And now that Derek is gone, you want to reclaim what is mine.” Marlena’s voice vibrated with possession.

Emma averted her face, staring away from her parents. Colin advanced closer, wanting to protect Emma from the two people who should love her the most. They squared off, confronting each other at the end of their daughter’s bed. Marlena, not much over five feet, should have been intimidated by William’s sheer size of over six and a half feet. She wasn’t. She matched him glare for glare.

“Contrary to when she was a little girl, our daughter is a grown woman now and can make her own choices.” William inched closer to Marlena, his arms rigid at his sides.

“Not while she’s sick and vulnerable. I won’t let you take advantage of her like that.”

A sheen shimmered in Emma’s eyes. She squeezed them closed. Colin’s heart bled for the woman in the hospital bed, listening to her parents battle over her as though she were a prize in a dogfight.

Colin laid a hand on Emma’s shoulder, wanting to convey support. She didn’t shrink from his touch. That in itself told him how distraught she was over the scene being played out in her hospital room.

“I can protect her. She’s in danger.” William’s hands bunched into fists.

“I can care for her until she’s well. I’m just as capable of hiring a small army to protect my daughter as you are.”

Finally, as though she realized he was touching her, Emma shifted away. “Stop it, you two!” Even though the words she uttered were forceful, her hoarse voice came out on a weak thread.

“For how long, Marlena? Until some man catches your fancy? Or a movie you have to star in sends you halfway around the world? What about the one you’re working on right now?” Oblivious to his daughter’s plea, William uncurled his hands, then knotted them again.

“Jealous I have an exciting life while yours is only filled with boring—”

“Stop it!”

Emma’s words swung both her parents around to face her. Side by side, at the end of the bed, they stared at her. Her mother’s expressive eyes were huge while her father’s veiled his expression.

“I need you all to leave. I won’t be in the middle of you two fighting. I’m tired,” Emma murmured, her voice growing weaker with each word said. As though to emphasize how exhausted she was, her eyes slid closed and some of her tension siphoned from her.

Marlena frowned, glared at her ex-husband, then nodded toward the door. Colin suspected Emma’s mother wanted to resume the argument in the corridor. As she headed toward the door, her jaw set in a determined look while Emma’s father finally exhibited some emotion—hatred.

The intense feelings that churned the air in the small hospital room rocked Colin. He wasn’t even a member of the family, and he felt weary from the brief skirmish waged in front of him, a stranger. What kind of life had Emma St. James been exposed to while growing up, the daughter of two bitter parents each of whom used her to get to the other one? He’d seen it before, and it often left deep scars in the child caught between two warring parents.

He peered down at Emma, her face finally relaxed as the silence flowed, chasing away the echoes of her parents’ exchange. She was petite like Marlena Howard, but that was where the similar physical attributes ended. Beneath the scratches and bruises on her face, he noted a beautiful woman with long black curly hair and soft brown eyes that spoke of emotions she wished she could control. How similar were they beyond the physical?

He’d accomplished what he had set out to do when he’d come into the room. She knew he had hit her with his car. But there was so much more he wanted—needed—to do. And yet, the closed eyes and motionless body told him she wanted him to leave, too. He moved toward the door, his guilt still bearing down on him. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to talk to him.

He had reached out to grasp the door handle when he heard her say, “Stay, please.”

THREE

Emma shifted on the bed, trying to stifle a moan from escaping when pain lanced through her. Her head and shoulder ached and every square inch of her body was sore, as though a herd of elephants had trampled over her. “I’m sorry you had to be a witness to that.”

“I’m sorry you had to be.”

The reverend’s voice was a deep baritone, smooth sounding with just a hint of a Southern drawl. What did he look like? She tried to imagine him from the way his voice sounded, but it was useless. He could be twenty-five, forty or sixty. She couldn’t tell by the mere sound of his voice. Frustration churned her stomach. As a photographer, her profession centered around the visual, and she had no idea what the man talking to her looked like.

He cleared his throat. “Is there a reason you wanted me to stay?”

Emma heard her mother’s voice from the hallway. Heat scored her cheeks as she thought of all the people in the corridor listening to her mother and father fight. Their marriage and breakup—in fact, all her mother’s three other ones—had played out in the tabloids, making her promise to herself never to have her life plastered before the public like her mother’s. She preferred being behind the camera, not in front.

Emma licked her dry lips and said, “No particular reason. I just—” She couldn’t admit to this stranger that she’d had a sudden fear of being left alone with only darkness around her. She’d always been afraid of the dark and now she lived in it. A tremor of alarm quaked through her.

His footsteps approaching the bed made her tense, her fingernails digging into her palms. The scraping of a chair nearby echoed through her mind, ridiculing her with how helpless she was, lying in this bed.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

Kindness coated his words, causing a spurt of anger to well inside her. “To appease your guilty conscience?”

“Yes and no,” he replied slowly as though considering his answer carefully. “I tried to avoid you on the highway, but you spun into my path. That’s something I’ll have to live with.”

“No, that’s something I’ll have to live with.” She wasn’t quite ready to let go of her anger—not necessarily directed at the man beside her bed.

He released a long sigh. “I’m here because I sense you need someone to talk to.”

Regretting her words, she closed her eyes and searched her mind for any hint of what had happened the night before. Nothing. All she could recall about yesterday was driving from New York, the wind blowing through her hair, the sun beating down on her. She’d felt free, escaping the hectic pace of her life as a photographer to the stars, thrust into the limelight almost as much as the people she took pictures of. She’d spent the whole day enjoying being by herself for once. That was why she had chosen to drive instead of fly. Now all she sought was not to be by herself—alone with her thoughts, her fears, her grief.

“When I was shot—” She touched her bandaged shoulder, still shocked at the turn of events.

“Yes?”

His gentle voice, sprinkled with the Southern drawl, urged her to talk. “The sheriff told me they don’t have any leads. You didn’t see anyone?”

“No. I understand from the sheriff that you don’t remember what happened.”

“Nothing.” Tears that were so close to the surface sprang into her eyes. “The police think I might have seen something, but what good is it? I don’t remember.” The throbbing in her head intensified with each effort to recall what had happened. She massaged her temples, rubbed her sightless eyes.

“Sometimes it’s best not to push it. Your memory will come back when you’re ready.”

“If I saw something to help—” Her tears strangled the flow of words, her mouth as arid as Death Valley.

She swallowed several times, and still she couldn’t finish what she’d wanted to say. Wet tracks coursed down her face. She swiped at them, turning away from the stranger sitting next to her. The tight lump in her throat made it impossible to get a decent breath.

He placed his hand over hers. “Your mind’s blocking the memories for a reason. Concentrate on getting well instead of remembering. It’ll come when you’re ready to handle it.”

The feel of his touch centered her. She inhaled deeply until her lungs were full of rich oxygen and her heart returned to a normal beat.

For a long moment silence reigned. Emma noticed that her parents’ voices couldn’t be heard anymore. Relief flowed through her like a river swollen with rainwater. She couldn’t deal with them right now. In the past it had taken so much of her emotional strength to handle the conflicting feelings surrounding her parents. She loved her mother, but the great Marlena Howard drained her emotionally.

And your father? an inner voice asked. She didn’t know what she felt for her father. He’d left when she was eight. Memories of loud fighting and slamming doors inundated her. She shoved those away before they overpowered her.

The reverend’s hand over hers squeezed gently. “You need time to heal.”

Emma drew in a deep breath. The broken pieces of her life lay scattered about her. Heal? Where did she start? She expelled her breath slowly between pursed lips. “There’s so much that’s happened.” She faltered at the vulnerability that sounded in her voice. She didn’t know this man. Always before she’d held herself apart from others. So much was shifting, altering what was her life. How was she going to proceed without her dear brother, without her sight, her work? That was what defined her.

“When life seems overwhelming, I find it’s best to think only of the immediate present.”

“Take it one day at a time?”

“I know it’s a cliché, but it’s good advice.”

His hand slipped away and for a brief moment she wanted to snatch it back, to clasp it and never let it go. A lifeline? Panic began to nibble at her brittle composure. She didn’t depend on anyone—hadn’t since—

“When are you leaving the hospital?”

She grasped on to the reverend’s question, turning her thoughts away from that past best forgotten, from that looming future. “The doctor said I can go home tomorrow.” Home? Where was that? Her apartment in New York? Her mother’s? She shook. She clenched her hands to keep them from trembling.

“Then you’ll be leaving Crystal Springs tomorrow?”

“No,” she said without thinking, the word wrenched from the depth of her being. The pounding in her head magnified tenfold. “I don’t know what I’m going to be doing.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“That’s what my father and mother say, but I can’t go with either one of them. They’ll make me feel like a rope in a tug-of-war game.”

“Where do you live?”

“I have an apartment in Manhattan.”

“Is there anyone who can stay with you?”

Emma thought of her so-called friends and couldn’t think of a single person she would want to ask. She’d always been a private person who traveled a lot for her work. It had been difficult to maintain friendships, especially when she found so many people only wanted to get to know her because of her parents. She worked and lived with many people around her, but they were really only acquaintances or employees. Suddenly, the lonely existence of her life taunted her.

“No, there isn’t anyone I could ask.” She didn’t want to go to New York and be subjected to her acquaintances’ pitying looks, which she wouldn’t be able to see. The idea of holing herself up in her apartment didn’t appeal to her, either. “I don’t know what I’m going to do after I leave the hospital.”

“And your parents aren’t an option.”

“You’ve got that right.” It hadn’t really been a question, but she answered anyway, needing to emphasize to herself how impossible it would be to live with either of her parents while recovering. “You saw them. Neither one’s thinking about Derek, about—” Emotions she didn’t want to feel swelled into her throat, knotting her words into a huge ball. Her older brother had been the one person she could turn to when she needed advice, a friendly ear who hadn’t wanted something from her. She couldn’t imagine life without him. Didn’t want to think about it.

Tears returned. She rolled onto her side away from the Reverend Colin Fitzpatrick. One tear then another slipped from her eyes. It was so much easier not to think, not to feel.

“Emma?”

“I’m tired, Reverend. I’m sure there are others who need you more than I do.” It’s too late to help me, she thought, pressing her lips together to keep the words inside.

Her tough words did nothing to disguise the sob in her voice. Wanting to comfort, Colin started to reach for her, but hesitated. If her stiff back and averted face were any indication, she didn’t want it. And he wouldn’t add to her pain. He’d done enough already.

“I’ll be back,” he murmured as he walked toward the door, determined somehow to help the woman he’d hit.

He paused outside her room, taking a moment to get his bearings and decide what to do next. The sound of her cries could be heard through the door. His chest tightened with sorrow. There was a part of him that needed to go back into her room and hold her, give her what solace he could, but he also knew she needed time to grieve by herself. She was a loner who he was sure had shown more emotion today to him than she usually did to people she knew.

He understood all too well what she was going through. He’d lost his wife several years before and the pain was gut-wrenching. It had taken time for him to turn to others for help. He had to respect that, but he wanted to be there when Emma needed it. He owed her.

Dear Heavenly Father, watch over Emma St. James. Soothe her pain and help her to accept Your grace and love. She will need them in the days to come.

With reluctance Colin headed for the bank of elevators. He needed to talk with J.T. and find out what the sheriff knew so far with this case.

Fifteen minutes later Colin stood in the middle of J.T.’s office, facing the sheriff. “Any leads?”

J.T.’s dark, assessing gaze zeroed in on Colin. “Not much to go on. The cabin was obviously searched. We got a tire print at the cabin and footprints from the side of the road where they shot her. That’s all at the moment.”

“They? There was more than one killer?”

“From the footprints that’s a strong possibility. Did she remember anything after I left?”

Colin shook his head. “Did you talk with her doctor?”

“Yes, with her permission.”

His heartbeat sped up, his palms sweaty. He had to ask and yet he didn’t want to know. “Why can’t she see?” Did I do that to her when I hit her?

“There isn’t a physical reason. It’s all psychological, according to the doctor. She’ll see when she’s ready.”

“What in the world did she witness that she refuses to remember? Her brother’s murder?”

“Probably.”

“Do you think she’s in danger?”

“Could be. Then again, whoever killed Derek could be long gone, especially if they were hired to do the job or if they were just looking for something of value to steal. It doesn’t look like anything was stolen, but then we really don’t know for sure what Derek St. James had with him. We may never know.”

“She’s leaving the hospital tomorrow.”

J.T. straightened in his chair. “Where’s she going?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“I’d rather her not leave town, but there’s really nothing I can do to stop her.”

“I don’t want her going back to Manhattan and being alone in her apartment.”

“Especially if someone thinks she witnessed what happened to her brother and wants to eliminate her. Do you have any suggestions for her?”

Colin kneaded the back of his neck, an idea taking form. “Maybe. But first I need to talk to someone. I’ll let you know what my aunt says.”

“Grace.” J.T. laughed. “That tough old cookie.”

“Don’t let my aunt hear you call her old.”

J.T. scratched his jaw. “And if she finds out, I’ll know who told her.”

“Your secret is safe with me as long as you keep me informed of any progress with the case.”

“So you’ve taken a personal interest in this murder.”

“It’s definitely personal. A woman’s lying in a hospital bed because of me.”

“No, not because of you.”

“I didn’t help the situation by hitting her with my car. She’s going to be sore a long time because of me.”

“But she’s alive. Did you ever think that if you hadn’t happened along at the time you did, she would be dead right now?”

Colin frowned. “That should comfort me, but it doesn’t. It was hard watching her try to remember and deal with not being able to.”

J.T. rose. “She’ll be mighty lucky to have you and Grace watching over her.”

“She may not think so. You know how my aunt can be.”

“Yup. She doesn’t take no for an answer and has the strength and will to back it up.”

“But she’ll be a good bodyguard when I’m not around.”

“So that’s what this is all about?”

“Someone needs to watch over Emma St. James and I believe the Lord picked me when my SUV hit her. I may be a bit rusty, but I know how.” His Special Forces training might help someone after all these years.

Colin left the sheriff’s office and headed toward home, eager to see his aunt now that he had a plan to keep Emma safe until her memory returned—until he had repaid his debt to her. When he pulled into his driveway, he saw Grace’s Jeep Cherokee parked at the side of her house, which was next door to his. Glad to see she was home, he hopped from his vehicle and hurried across his lawn.

Even though he had a key to his aunt’s house, he didn’t use it. Instead, he pressed the bell and waited for her to open the door.

Dressed in army fatigues with her short red hair spiked on top, Grace blocked his entrance into her foyer. “I wondered when you’d come visit me. I heard about your little trouble last night.” Finally she stepped aside to allow him into her house.

“Been busy with the sheriff and visiting the woman at the hospital.”

“Emma St. James?”

He nodded and started toward his aunt’s kitchen. He needed a large cup of coffee if he was going to keep himself going.

“I also heard her mother is in town. Staying at the inn near the lake.”

“Is there anything you don’t hear, Grace?” His aunt was only ten years older than he and when she’d come to live in Crystal Springs after her retirement from the military she had insisted he call her only Grace. He’d learned early on never to disobey her, so Grace it was.

“Not much. You’ve got to know what’s going on. That way no one can take you by surprise.”

In the kitchen Colin poured himself some of the coffee that was always on the stove in his aunt’s house. She lived on the stuff and yet slept like a baby at night. “Well, Ms. St. James took me by surprise last night. She came out of the woods and straight at my car.”

“Sugar, I’ve got to teach you some defensive driving.”

Colin gripped his mug. “I swerved, but so did she.”

Grace eased her slender body into a chair at the oak table and pulled her coffee cup closer. “Sometimes there’s nothing a person can do to avoid an accident. Don’t beat yourself up over it. That’s wasted energy, and you know how I am about wasted energy.”

Sitting across from his aunt, Colin took a large swallow of the warm brew, relishing its strong taste. He and his aunt had similar tastes when it came to coffee. “I have a favor to ask.” He fastened his attention on his aunt. “Emma needs a place to stay for a while.”

“She can stay here.”

“First, Grace, you should know that she may have seen the killers and they may be after her.”

“No problem. I spent years teaching recruits how to protect themselves. I think I can protect one woman.”

“Are you sure?” He had to ask. He didn’t want his aunt not to know she could be in danger even though he knew she could take care of herself, better than most men.

“Never been a bodyguard. Maybe I should take up a second profession. Yes, sugar, I’m sure. Emma St. James is in trouble and the good Lord taught us to help our neighbors in need. That’s all I’m doing.”

The tension inside him melted some with his aunt’s words. All his life he had looked up to her and had even followed in her footsteps by going into the army. And her strong faith in God had been the guiding force behind him becoming a Christian and turning his life’s work over to the Lord.

“So what’s this Emma St. James look like? Anything like her mother? I’m a big fan of Marlena Howard.”

“No, I’d say she looks more like her father—long, curly dark hair and big chocolate-colored eyes.”

“Chocolate-colored? Sugar, what kind of description is that?”

Colin chuckled. “The kind a man who’s hungry would say.”

Grace scooted the chair back and stood. “What do you want for lunch?” She started for the refrigerator, adding, “When’s she coming to stay here?”

“That, Grace, hasn’t been decided, since I still have to ask her if she wants to stay in Crystal Springs to recuperate.”

Sweat poured off Roy as he reached for the phone to put in the call he had dreaded making for the past twenty-four hours. Punching the number into the pay phone, he tugged at the blue cotton material of the shirt that stuck to his skin.

Ring.

Roy’s heart hammered a fast tempo inside his head. His mouth went dry.

Ring.

Sweat rolled in his eyes, stinging them.

Ring.

Roy had started to hang up when a frosty voice said, “Hello.”

The slick, wet feel of the receiver turned ice-cold in his hand. “Roy here, reporting in.”

“All I want to know is how are you going to fix this little problem.”

It wasn’t the words that bothered Roy, but the way his employer on the other end said them—with such coldness that Roy felt the menacing threat even though they weren’t in the same room. “I’m on it, boss.”

“You are?”

Sarcasm with a hint of amusement encased him in fear. “She doesn’t remember anything, and on top of that, she can’t see a thing.”

“That could change.”

“Do you want me to take care of her?”

There was a long pause on the other end. Roy envisioned his employer frowning, icy eyes narrowed on a point across the room while his employer was deep in thought.

“No, not yet. Another murder could have everything blowing up in our faces. Bring me the packet and you two disappear.”

Roy’s heart stopped beating for a painful few seconds, his breath trapped in his lungs.

“Roy, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Manny and me didn’t get the papers. We didn’t have time to search the cabin thoroughly.”

“So they’re still at the cabin?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“Derek never said where they was. He wasn’t gonna talk. But I believe he brought them with him when he came to Crystal Springs. They’re at that cabin somewhere, hidden so well the sheriff hasn’t found them.”

“But you don’t know for sure?”

The lethal edge to his employer’s words cut through Roy, leaving him shaking in his boots. “As soon as the sheriff is through with the cabin, we’ll search it until we find what you need.”

“You better. And keep me posted on Emma St. James.”

“Will do.” Roy quickly hung up, his hand trembling so badly he dropped the receiver into its cradle, its loud sound snaking down his spine.

Emma felt the warmth of the sunshine as it flooded the room and slanted across her bed. Earlier she’d heard the nurse opening the curtain and had wondered why the woman even bothered, because it didn’t make any difference whether there was light in the room or not. But she hadn’t voiced her thought aloud.

As with the day before, darkness greeted her. To keep her panic at bay she kept her eyes closed, pretending the darkness was due to that rather than the fact she couldn’t see anymore. She didn’t like pity parties and had never allowed herself one. But then she had never been blind before, either. She’d never lost the one person who had understood her, accepted her for who she was.

Clasping the sides of her head, she shuddered. “Don’t go there, Emma. Not a good place.” Another shudder trembled through her body, leaving a coldness in its wake.

The door swishing open intruded into her thoughts, bringing her straight up in bed to turn her face toward the noise. “Who is it?” She couldn’t shake the idea she could be a target. Even though she had bravely told her father the day before that she could take care of herself, she had her doubts.

“Colin Fitzpatrick.”

The tension siphoned from her at the velvet smoothness of his voice as though he could mesmerize a person with its mere sound. “Nothing’s changed. I’m past saving.”

“No one’s past saving if she wants to be saved.”

“I don’t know if I agree with you, but come on in since you’re here.” The idea that she didn’t have to spend the next few minutes alone lifted her spirits. But she wasn’t ready to admit it to anyone, especially Reverend Colin Fitzpatrick. “What brings you by?”

“You.”

His answer made her spirits rise even more, and she didn’t understand why. She leaned toward the sound of his voice. “I’m getting out of here later this afternoon. I get to escape all the poking and prodding.”

“Where are you going when you escape?”

“Haven’t the faintest idea. Any suggestions?”

“Actually, I do.”

His words took her by surprise and that didn’t happen very often. “Where?” she asked, a breathless quality to her voice, her mouth and throat still so parched she felt she’d eaten a bowl of cotton for lunch.

“My aunt’s. She has extended an invitation for you to stay with her.”

“Why? She doesn’t know me.”

“I asked her to.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

“Do you think I’m helpless?”

“No.”

“Do you think I’m in danger?”

“It’s a possibility and my aunt can certainly take care of you.”

“Is she with the police?”

“She’s retired from the army, but her last job was teaching people how to defend themselves.”

When he had said retired, a vision of a woman in her sixties or seventies, white haired, bent over, popped into Emma’s mind. Even if his aunt had taught self-defense and had been in the army, she was hardly someone who could take care of her. “How old is she?”

“Forty-six.”

“And she’s retired?”

“Only from the army. She writes children’s books now.”

Conflicting images flowed through her mind—none of them of someone who she thought could protect her. “If your aunt’s forty-six, how old are you? Twenty?”

“Thirty-six, so she’s more like a big sister than an aunt, and she won’t let me call her Aunt Grace. Just Grace.”

His answer sent relief through her and she wasn’t sure why. “I still don’t understand how a stranger would want to help me.”

“You’ll understand when you meet Grace. My daughters practically live over at her house. They think she’s cool.”

“Daughters? You’re married?” Of course, he would be. Why would she think otherwise and why had she bothered to ask?

“My wife died four years ago. I have fifteen-year-old twins who have tested this father’s patience on more than one occasion.”

Exasperation roughened his voice, masking his Southern drawl. Emma laughed. “That’s what teenage girls are put on this earth for.”

“To test fathers’ patience?”

“To be exasperating.” Memories of her own father, absent from her teenage years, flooded her mind and all laughter faded.

“Then they have fulfilled their calling. So what do you say? Want to spend some time in Crystal Springs recovering?”

Thinking about the blank pages of her mind chilled her to the marrow of her bones. Whom should she trust?

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