Saving Grace (Serve and Protect Series) (15 page)

That was one helluva transformation she’d pulled off!

Or maybe not such a big one. For all he knew, maybe she was a tigress in lover-boy’s bed.

Grimly, he moved to her side of the car, opening the door.

“Ray, you’re going to have to stop doing that stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Opening doors. Guys who look like you don’t open doors for women who look like me.”

“This one does.” He closed her door, walked around the Toyota and climbed in.

Five minutes later, they were on the highway. He could feel Grace’s confusion before she spoke.

“Saint John? That’s where we’re going?”

“Yup.” He felt her gaze on him, but didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Wouldn’t we be boxing ourselves in?”

He shot her a look this time, an appreciative one. She was right, of course. If the manhunt was on, it’d be hard to slip across the border into Maine. There’d be heavy scrutiny if they tried to board a ferry or bus, and a plane was out of question. They’d be hard up against the ocean with precious few options.

“What’d you have in mind?” she continued. “Stow away on a container ship bound for Cuba?”

“They’ll expect us to go west to keep our options open.”

“So we do what they’d least expect?”

“Right.” He cast her a sideways look. “Besides, I don’t want to get so far away that I can’t monitor what’s happening in Fredericton. Saint John’s just an hour away. Plus it’s urban enough that we’ll blend in without raising any eyebrows. Can you imagine the looks we’d get in rural New Brunswick, decked out like this?”

He took his eyes off the road to glance at her again. Instead of the amusement he expected to see, her profile was set in stark lines.

“I came this way the night of my accident, didn’t I?”

A green Subaru chose that moment to overtake them. Ray swore and clapped his gaze back on the road. He should have noticed the other car preparing to pass. He’d better pay attention or there’d be another accident on this highway.

“Ray? I was going to Saint John, wasn’t I?

“You were on this highway, yes, so you must have had Saint John in mind. Or maybe St. Andrews.”

“No. Saint John.”

The speedometer needle jumped. Ray eased up on the accelerator. “You said that like you remembered.”

“Kind of.” She chewed at her lip. “I think I planned to go to the airport there, catch a flight.”

She’d been going to board a plane, fly away from him.

His speed dipped. She’d planned to put miles‌—‌maybe oceans‌—‌between them. “Do you remember buying a ticket?”

“No.”

She might have disappeared forever.
His stomach clutched. “Any idea where you were planning to go?”

She dipped her head. “I don’t remember. And why would I fly out of Saint John when there’s an airport in Fredericton?”

The misery of her tone penetrated his own reaction to the news. “It’s okay,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on her knee. “You did good. That gives us something to check out, at least. We can call the airlines, see if you’d booked anything.”

She looked pitifully grateful for his words. Suddenly she seemed like the old Grace despite the sassy hairdo and youthful get-up. Ray wasn’t prepared for the wave of fierce ambivalence that swept over him at the thought.

A glint of something in his rearview mirror caught his attention. Cripes! A transport truck, hard on his tail. He glanced at his speedometer.
Damn
. He’d let his speed drop. If they weren’t on an upgrade, the big rig would have passed him.

Okay, no more conversation. And no more picking at the tangled knot of emotions his mind had become. He tramped the accelerator, then reached over to flick the radio on. He should be listening for news bulletins anyway.

I
T WAS TOO EARLY
to check into a motel when they hit Saint John, which was fine with Grace. A motel room meant close quarters and nowhere to retreat to but into her head. Right now, her head was the last place she wanted to spend any time. After that tantalizing fragment from the night of her accident, she’d spent the rest of the trip trying to coax more memories out of the shadows. Her brain had refused to release its secrets, however.

Needing diversion, she roped Ray into going shopping. He grumbled that one pair of baggy-assed pants was one pair too many, but he went along. Two hours later, laden with bags, they made their way to the motel. This one wasn’t as seedy as the one they’d picked in Fredericton, but it was no Holiday Inn either. It did, however, have two double beds.

As soon as they dragged their bags in, Ray picked up the telephone and called Air Canada. She listened to the one-sided conversation as she unpacked their purchases. By the time he’d struck out with the last of the airlines, she’d finished settling them in by installing their toiletries in the bathroom. Ray was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, his shoulders slumped, when she came back into the room.

“No luck?”

He straightened, putting the phone back on the night table. “Nothing.”

She swallowed to ease her dry throat. “Maybe I planned to buy a ticket on the spot.”

“Maybe.”

Except she wasn’t the impulsive type. She planned everything, down to the last detail. At least she used to.

She sank down on the other bed, toeing off the heavy athletic shoes without unlacing them. Frustration rose in her chest. She had to clamp down on the desire to kick the damned shoes across the room. “If I could just remember....”

“You will. You just have to give it time. The memories are already starting to come,” he reminded her.

She glanced quickly at him, then back at the floor. After a moment’s silence, she gave voice to the fear that had been growing all afternoon. “What if it’s not real?”

“What if what’s not real?”

“Maybe I imagined it, that I was going to the airport.” She contemplated her stockinged feet. “It’s all fuzzy now.”

Ray stood and walked to the window. Grace’s gaze rested on him as he flipped the curtain back and scanned the lot outside. Then he turned back to face her. “You think you were wrong?”

She dropped her gaze again. “I don’t know. It felt like the truth, when I said it. But now ... I just don’t know.”

He came to stand beside her, close enough that she could feel his body warmth. Then he slid a finger under her chin and tipped her face up to his. “You’re tired now. You’ll feel different when you’re rested.”

“Will I?” She desperately wanted to believe him.

“Absolutely. We’re safe now. We’ve got cash enough to lie around here for weeks, if we need to. Just concentrate on getting rested and don’t press too hard. The memories will come.”

“That’s what Dr. Greenwood said.”

“See? It’s good advice.”

She wanted to grasp his hand, to turn her cheek into his open palm. To prevent herself from succumbing to that weakness, she pulled back. She’d put him through enough.

His hand fell away immediately and he stepped back.

“Why don’t you have a hot shower?” he suggested. “I can go out and rustle us up some food.”

Her stomach rumbled at the mention of food. “I’ve got a better idea. You grab a shower first, then I’ll have a soak in that sparkling tub while you forage for supper.”

He nodded, heading for the bathroom. A moment later, she heard the shower running. Grace picked up the remote control and turned the television on, cranking the volume to compensate for the sound of running water. Flipping through the channels, she found a local news station. With the anchor’s familiar voice in the background, she turned to unpack her purchases.

Not a bad day’s shopping. Most of it was done at the city’s hippest shops, but a lot of the stuff she’d found at the Salvation Army thrift store. Too bad she hadn’t thought to start there. She wouldn’t have thought of it at all but for Ray’s incredulous reaction to the prices. She grinned at the memory of his words: “Grace, there are
holes
in these pants. I could get better at the Sally Ann, for chrissakes.”

“In local news, here’s a story that has police in Fredericton scrambling.”

Grace glanced at the TV automatically at the mention of Fredericton. There on the screen was her house, but the front door was blown off. She stood there, feet rooted to the floor.

“Ray!” she called, but the water kept running. Obviously he couldn’t hear her.

“A would-be burglar got a rude surprise when he tried to break into this Fredericton home,”
intoned the announcer.
“This and other stories after the break.”

As the program went to commercial, Grace raced to the bathroom. The door was unlocked and she threw it open. She would have yanked the shower curtain back, too, but Ray did that himself, almost colliding with her as he stepped naked from the shower.

“What is it?”

Grace just stared. His hair, sudsy with shampoo, stood straight up and water streamed off his body. But what riveted her attention was the gun he gripped in his fist. How had he gotten to it so quickly? Then she spied the towel on the floor of the tub, growing wetter by the second. He must have perched his gun on the edge of the tub, she realized, probably inside the towel.

“Grace!” He gave her shoulder a shake. “What’s wrong?”

She blinked, her gaze lifting to his face. “On the TV. The news. Our house....”

“What about it?”

“There’s been an explosion. I don’t know ... something about a burglar.”

Gun now dangling at his side, he pushed past her and strode dripping into the bedroom. She trailed behind him. An ad-man’s pitch for disposable diapers was running.

He shot her a look. “It’s over?”

“No. I just saw the teaser. The story’s coming up.”

He returned his gaze to the television, seemingly oblivious of his nakedness. She went back to the bathroom and retrieved a dry towel, which she handed to him. He used it to wipe dripping trails of shampoo from his forehead and the back of his neck before finally wrapping it around his narrow hips.

Then the news anchor was back again. “A twenty-seven-year-old man is in serious condition tonight as a result of injuries sustained in what looks like a housebreaking gone bizarrely wrong.”

The anchor’s serious face was replaced by a shot of their house. She heard Ray’s intake of breath as he took in the image of the smoke-blackened door of their home hanging ajar from one hinge. A black smudge of fire damage ran up to the roof, and debris from the explosion lay strewn on the lawn. Seeing the degree of damage shocked her, but it wasn’t until the camera panned the front lawn and she saw that her favorite Hosta had been crushed that it really sank in.

“The home belongs to Fredericton Police detective Raymond Morgan and his wife, Grace Morgan.” The camera cut to the newscaster again. “From what we’ve pieced together, it appears the injured man triggered an explosion when he tried to break into the house. The Morgans are said to be on vacation and unavailable for comment. Beyond that, police in Fredericton are being very tight-lipped. We will keep you informed of developments in this case, and of course will update you on the blast victim’s condition.”

The camera backed off to encompass the female co-anchor. “Wow, wouldn’t that be some kind of welcome home present for the absentee owners if it hadn’t been triggered by the attempted break-in?” Her partner agreed, and she segued into the next story about bed closures at the local hospital. Ray reached out and hit the power button on the TV, killing the picture.

“Damnation.” His soft oath broke the silence.

Shaken, Grace looked from the black television screen to her husband’s expressionless face. “Someone tried to kill us,” she said numbly.

“Again.”

That’s right. Two attempts so far. And the thing with his truck! That was three. The choking fear she’d felt after the sniper attack came rushing back.

Slow breaths, Grace. It’ll pass.

“Guess we did the right thing getting out of town,” Ray said.

“Are you sure? Maybe we should turn ourselves in.” Panic drove her voice higher. “They’ll listen to you this time. Someone tried to kill you! They’ll believe you now when you tell them the sniper was trying to kill
you
, not Tommy.”

“They’ll have figured that out already.”

He was clothed only in a towel and his face bore no expression, but he somehow looked more menacing than he had earlier today with his fierce scowls and the hood’s clothing.

“Then why don’t we go in?”

“We talked about this before. I think we’re better off right where we are, at least for the moment.”

She looked away. “What are we going to do now?”

“Stick with our plan.”

“Which is?”

“Lay low, wait it out.”

“Wait it out?” She laughed, a harsh, breathless sound. She turned away, finding herself in front of the room’s only window. “Wait for my memory to come back, you mean.”

He didn’t sigh, but he might as well have. She could hear it in his voice. “Grace, nothing’s changed. Our situation is just the same as it was before you saw that broadcast. Yes, we’ve got to figure out where that money came from. And yes, it looks like the only way that’s going to happen is if you remember.” He came to stand behind her. “You’ve just got to put it out of your mind, relax. The memories will come.”