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“Do you want to do some exploring before the sun goes down?” Devon pushed up from the rock and extended her hand to Michael.
He nodded but brushed her hand aside as he jumped from the rock, immediately scooping up smaller pebbles from the sand.
Devon shoved her hands into the front pocket of her sweatshirt, twisting her fingers together. Michael’s small show of independence had to be a good sign.
Scuffing along the dry sand, Devon kept an eye on her son as he took a zigzag route toward the sea cave at the end of the beach, his ubiquitous blue backpack bouncing against his back. Surely time would heal his shock over what had happened to Mrs. Del Vecchio.
The SFPD had ruled Mrs. Del Vecchio’s death a murder. The autopsy had confirmed death by drowning. The welts on her neck had been where her killer had grabbed her, forcing her head into the kitchen sink filled with water.
Devon crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders. Why would someone murder an eighty-year-old woman like that? As far as the cops could tell, the killer hadn’t stolen anything from the apartment even though it had been ransacked. The murder had spooked enough of the residents that several of them had taken extended vacations—including Devon. She’d taken a leave of absence from the hospital.
Now she just wanted her son back.
Michael hesitated at the mouth of the cave, twisting his head over his shoulder.
“It’s okay. I’ll come with you.” Devon jogged across the sand and grabbed Michael’s hand. This time he returned the pressure and they ducked into the cave together.
The waves crashing against the walls of the cave created an echoing bass sound that made Devon’s chest tingle. The moist walls dripped salt water on their heads and Devon inhaled the briny scent.
Michael squatted next to a tide pool, almost dipping his nose in the water.
“It’s hard to see in here this time of day, but we’ll come back one morning.” She jerked her thumb toward a small opening at the top of a pile of rocks. “Do you want to climb up there and peek through the little window?”
Like a mountain goat, Michael scampered up the rocks and shoved his head into the opening in the side of the cave, which seemed bigger than Devon had remembered it. Time, wind and sea water had done their part to erode the rock.
Michael thrust his entire head and shoulders through the hole and Devon sucked in a sharp breath. “Come out of there, Michael.”
By the time Devon placed one foot on the first level of rock, Michael’s upper torso, backpack and all, had disappeared. “Michael!” Her voice bounced off the walls of the cave, merging with the deep booming.
The opening became a living entity sucking Michael’s body farther into its depths. Devon knew only more rocks and a sheer drop into a rough sea awaited Michael on the other side of that hole.
As Michael’s legs wriggled through the opening, Devon screamed, flinging her hands in front of her in a desperate but empty move to grab him. She couldn’t fit through that hole. Her only hope of saving her son was to exit the cave and circle around on top of it…and valuable seconds were ticking away.
She jumped from the rocks, her feet landing in a pool of water. She sloshed her way out of the cave, her chest heaving with sobs, incoherent prayers tumbling from her lips.
Stumbling from the cave, she blinked in the light and lurched toward the boulders scattered up the incline toward the road. She banged her knee as she clambered on top of the first rock.
“Michael!” She crawled onto the next rock and craned her neck to get a clear view of the top of the cave. Her teeth chattered and her hands shook as she gazed at the empty expanse of rock.
Oh, God, he must’ve fallen into the water.
Devon staggered to her feet, flinging her arms out for balance. Adrenaline pumped through her body. She’d make it to the edge of the rock and then she’d jump in to save him.
“He’s here. He’s safe.”
Clasping her hands to her chest where her thundering heart threatened to burst through, Devon spun around toward the male voice. A tall man with windswept black hair had one hand clamped on Michael’s shoulder.
Devon ran her tongue around her dry lips and swallowed. The relief weakened her knees and she sank to the ground.
Michael struggled against the man’s hold, and Devon realized he was keeping her son off the dangerous rocks. But Michael didn’t like strangers…not anymore.
Devon scooped the salty air into her lungs and rose to her feet. “It’s okay, Michael. Stay with the man. I’m coming.”
She straightened her spine and on trembling legs, she strode toward her son and the stranger who had saved him. The man’s long hair blew back from his face, a black patch covering one eye.
Great. Before Mrs. Del Vecchio’s murder, Michael would’ve pegged the man as a pirate and would’ve been as excited as all get-out. Now he’d view him as another scary stranger.
Devon jumped from the rocks to the sand and her step faltered. The way the man held his head. His lean muscular frame. She drew closer. The set of his jaw. Her steps quickened. The black, black hair like a velvet midnight sky.
She choked and tripped. She extended her arms like a blind woman, no, like a woman staggering through the desert toward an oasis.
When she fully focused on the man’s face, Devon fell to her knees, crying out in indescribable shock and joy.
Her fiancé, Kieran Roarke, had come back from the dead.
Chapter Two
Kieran dug his long fingers into the boy’s bony shoulder. Was his mother injured? Relieved to see her son?
Or had she just seen a ghost?
The squirming boy broke away from his grasp and flew to the woman still kneeling on the ground. Holding the boy against his will had pained Kieran. He had frightened the boy when he’d plucked him from those rocks and carried him down to the sand, but he’d probably saved him from a tumble over the edge and into the sea.
Maybe he should’ve allowed the other man making his way toward the boy a chance to save him. He turned, but the man had disappeared.
Kieran had been watching them—the boy and his mother. He’d been watching them for a few days and knew the woman would come to Columbella House. Just as Kieran, through the foggy memories of his messed-up mind, had been drawn to this small town and the house looming over the sea, the woman had been lured here as well. He’d recognized the woman as soon as he’d seen her on the street—recognized her from his dreams.
When the ethereal blonde had dropped to the ground, Kieran’s first response had been to rush to her rescue. But when she looked up at him, she was laughing…crying…laughing and crying at the same time.
Now she stumbled to her feet, gripping the little boy’s hand, a smile of pure joy lighting her beautiful face. She reached her other hand out to him and breathed his name. “Kieran.”
Pain sliced through his head, pooling in his damaged eye. Gritting his teeth, he rode it out, allowing the memories to crisscross his brain. He’d heard his name on her lips many times before—in laughter, in anger, in desire. He tried to focus, but as usual, the strands of his life floated away out of reach.
“Are you okay?” He took a step forward.
Her eyes widened and a haze of confusion shifted across her face. “A-am I okay? I thought you were dead.”
Did she expect him to sweep her into his arms? Assure her he’d never leave her again? Shoving his hands in his pockets, he dug his heels into the grains of sand littering the rock. He couldn’t do that—not now, not ever.
After he’d escaped from that hellhole in Afghanistan and made it to safety, the army had sent him to a hospital in Germany. They’d told him his name and a few other basics, but then the military sent him to Walter Reed. They wanted to debrief him in the States and scheduled him to see an army psychiatrist to help him regain his memory.
But he’d had enough of people telling him what to do.
Kieran squared his shoulders and took a deep breath of moist, salty air. “I don’t know who you are.”
Her face crumpled and she looked ready to pitch forward.
He had to do better than that. He dragged his hands out of his pockets and held them out in supplication.
“I have some memory, but some things…I have jolts or flashes. I know you,” he clenched his fist and pounded it against his chest, “here, but I don’t know who you are. I don’t know your name.”
She covered her mouth with one hand as silent tears dripped from her eyes and streamed across her fingers. Wiping her hand across her nose, she drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m Devon. Devon Reese. I’m your… We were engaged.”
Kieran squeezed his good eye closed and whispered her name. “Devon. Devon.”
Yes, the name filled him with warmth and longing, those feelings belonged to his hazy past. They were engaged. A woman like Devon, filled with golden light and promise, would never want a damaged man like him.
Maybe she’d already moved on. The boy had to have a father somewhere. And if she hadn’t already moved on, Kieran would make sure she did.
Soft fingers traced the edge of his eye patch, and he jerked back. She’d moved across the sand silently, tugging the quiet boy in her wake. He looked into her tear-streaked face and had to drag his gaze away from the luminous depths of her blue eyes before he drowned. He didn’t have time for weakness, the kind of weakness that had drawn him to this place and this woman. For four long years he’d expunged every kind of weakness from his soul…or his captors had beaten it out of him.
“What happened to your eye?”
He scanned her voice for an ounce of pity. Finding none, he shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
The ocean breeze tousled Devon’s blond mane, and she grabbed it with one hand, pulling it back from her face. “Can we continue this conversation up top? The tide’s going to be moving in soon.”
Kieran wanted to continue talking to Devon. He wanted to continue basking in her glow. He wanted to get answers. He knew the conversation would end in heartache for her, but his years imprisoned in that filthy hovel had taught him selfishness. It had given him a brittle heart.
“Sure.” He pointed to the boy who had been clinging to Devon’s leg throughout their exchange. “Is your son okay?”
Devon’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Michael’s fine.”
Touchy subject? He didn’t know much about kids, but the boy didn’t seem fine to him.
Kieran climbed over the first set of boulders and turned to give Devon and her son a hand, but they had navigated the rocks with ease. Even the boy, who had seemed tentative and withdrawn, was scampering across the rocks like his feet knew every step.
“This is the easiest path back up to the road.” Devon jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Or do you remember that?”
Kieran knew it but not because he remembered it from years ago. He knew it because he’d been hiding out at Columbella House…waiting for Devon.
He said, “I know,” and swept his arm in front of him. “Why don’t you two go ahead?”
Hoisting herself up onto his rock, Devon squeezed past him. Her silky hair brushed his shoulder and he inhaled her intoxicating scent—all sweetness and purity. Who needed food and water? That smell alone could sustain him for years.
Kieran clenched his jaw. Stop dreaming, Roarke. You’re on a fact-finding mission. And that’s it.
As Devon climbed ahead of him, Kieran’s gaze traced the outline of her body beneath her baggy sweatshirt and cargo shorts. His fingertips tingled with the remembrance of her smooth skin. Since he’d lost his memory, his senses had taken up where his mind had left off. Smells, sounds and touches could trigger responses from him even if he couldn’t remember the occasions that elicited those responses.
Maybe he should’ve continued with his debriefing and psychiatric help, but he didn’t want the army implanting any memories that didn’t belong there or messing with the ones that did. He knew how the black-ops division of the military conducted business. Hadn’t they told his brother he was dead? Hadn’t they refused to contact his brother or parents when he’d been found alive? Military security. National security. Top secret information. He’d heard it all before.
Of course, nothing stopped him from contacting his family now. But what would they want with him? Apparently, his younger brother, Colin, had escaped from the same captors that had held Kieran against his will for four long years. His brother had probably moved on with his life. He wouldn’t want to be reminded of what he’d endured, especially by a man who had no memories, a man whose very soul had turned black with rage.
Devon slipped and skidded toward him. Kieran caught her around the waist, steadying her. “Careful.”
She looked down at him, her moist lips slightly parted, her blue eyes bright with tears. His hand tightened as his breath came out in short spurts. He shouldn’t have come here. Why subject Devon to his presence when he’d spared his brother and parents?
Her golden lashes fluttered, and his heart skittered in his chest. Weakness. That’s what led him here in the first place. He couldn’t succumb to it. Ever. If he had shown any weakness to his captors, they would’ve killed him.
He dropped his hands from Devon’s waist as if he’d been scorched. She blinked twice, turned and continued to hike up the path to the road.
When they reached the top, Devon faced him with her hands on her hips. “Have you contacted anyone else in Coral Cove? Do you know you have a brother…Colin? There are people, other people who have been devastated by your—” she glanced at her son “—disappearance.”
“Let’s get off the side of the road.” He jerked his head toward Columbella House. “I’ve been bunking there. We can talk on the deck.”
Devon’s brows shot up. “You’ve been staying at Columbella House? Do you know that you have a house down the road? Or rather the house belongs to your parents. You grew up there.”
“I didn’t know that.” He shrugged. He’d figured he’d grown up in Coral Cove, but no other house or location in this town had drawn him like this one. “Is Colin still here?”
“No. Coincidentally, he was in town last month, investigating…investigating.” Devon waved her hands in the air.
Kieran unlatched the gate leading to the back of the house and a wooden deck that perched over the rocks. Nobody from the street could see this deck and Kieran had brushed off the Adirondack chairs and enjoyed several sunsets from this vantage point.
“Have a seat.” He nudged one chair with his foot. Grabbing a wicker basket from the corner, he said, “Michael, do you want to look at some cool shells?”
The boy ignored him, but slid a gaze toward his mother. “Can I find a Columbella?”
“Maybe.” She flicked her fingers toward the basket. “Have a look.”
Michael slipped his backpack from his shoulders and placed it next to the basket. As he sat cross-legged in front of the basket and pulled out the first shell, Devon seemed to melt into the chair.
Something about the boy was off. Of course, Kieran didn’t know Michael at all and he might have judged him a little shy or clingy except for the tension that stiffened Devon’s body whenever she looked at her son.
“So I grew up in Coral Cove and we were engaged.”
Devon’s attention snapped back to him as she sucked in a quick breath.
He’d have to work on his social skills if he hoped to have a life in the free world. His tormenters hadn’t valued the attributes of subtlety or nuance.
“Yes, but not in high school.” She drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs. “We reconnected when we both returned home after graduating from college. I was planning on going to nursing school, and you were going into the military. You had a thing for languages. Do you…?”
“Do I still speak several languages?” Kieran gripped the flat arms of the chair. “Yeah. I didn’t forget the languages, just the rest of my life.”
Devon balanced her chin on her knees, watching Michael. “What happened, Kieran? Can you at least tell me that?”
“A military operation that went south.”
“Colin was with you, but he was with the FBI.”
Kieran’s eye twitched beneath his patch. “It was a multi–task force raid on a terrorist group, but someone snitched us off. I don’t remember much about it. The army briefed me after I escaped.”
“H-how long?” She rolled her head to the side, resting her cheek on her knee as her blond hair swept across her legs.
He knew just how the strands would feel slipping through his fingers. He raked his hair back from his face and said, “Four years.”
She gasped and choked. “You were in some kind of prison for four years?”
“Some kind of prison. Not nearly as nice as what we have going on here.” His lips twisted in a bitter smile. A filthy cot. An earthenware pot for a toilet. Stale bread for dinner. And the beatings, always the beatings.
