Defending the Eyewitness

She was still shaking her head at her own hang-ups when she heard the bell again. Leaving her office, she went out front and was surprised to see Austin.

“Hi,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to see your shop. It’s bigger than I envisioned.”

“Well, being in an old house has some advantages,” she said. “We’ve got rooms in the back and upstairs for the sewing classes, and plenty of space up here for stock.”

He nodded, hovering just inside the door as if he wasn’t certain she wanted him there. Well, she wasn’t, but this was a shop, for crying out loud, and he wasn’t the first man to walk in here. “Look around if you like,” she said when he didn’t move. “I was just getting ready to close up.”

“I don’t want to keep you. I was curious. Now when you talk about it, I’ll have a mental image.”

She paused as she turned her key in the register, locking it. “Do you need mental images?”

“Don’t you?”

“I never really thought about it.”

“It’s not only images. I keep a mental map. I like to know where everything is and what it’s like, insofar as I can.”

That made sense to her, given the job Gage had mentioned. “I guess I haven’t thought about it because I’ve always been here. Seriously, feel free to look around. I need to take the trash out.”

“I can do that for you. Where do I go?”

She pointed to the big wastebasket at the end of her counter. “Down the hall. Just outside the back door is a big bin. Be sure to use the doorstop or you’ll be locked out automatically.”

“Got it.” He hefted the large can easily, with one hand and disappeared down the hallway. She returned her attention to tidying the last bits on the counter, but as she finished she found herself looking at the front window again. The day was still bright, the hour early, but that wasn’t what she was thinking about. For some reason she remembered that man who had been looking in earlier, and tried to place him. She was sure she knew him. Well, sort of. She didn’t claim to know everyone in the county or even the town, and she spent most of her time here in the store and with the women.

She sighed and shook herself. What did it matter who he was? Just a guy from around here who had probably noticed some item in the window.

Curiosity pushed her and she went to look at exactly what she had displayed there. It wasn’t as if she’d forgotten, but she wondered what might have captured his interest.

Then she saw the beaded and embroidered purse Mary Jo Suskind had made. Golden threads, tiny silver beads, it was a work of art.

That was probably it. The guy might have seen it and been wondering if his wife would like it. She was sure he hadn’t been attracted to the baby booties, kids’ sweaters or even the brightly colored block quilt. No, it had to have been the purse. She hoped he came back and bought it. Mary Jo would be thrilled.

“All done,” Austin announced from behind her. “I locked the dead bolt. Is that enough?”

“Around here it is,” she said, turning toward him with a smile. He replaced the empty can, then came toward her.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m finished.” She flipped the light switches by the door, casting the shop into shadows except for one security light. Stepping outside with him, she locked the front door.

“Walk you home?” he asked.

Something inside her froze. Too friendly too fast. She tried to push past the feeling but it was too late.

“I know,” he said. “I’m just the roomer you didn’t want.” His face shut as if a gate slammed down and he walked away, heading in the opposite direction of her house.

Damn it, she thought, suddenly furious at herself. Just how long was she going to let the past shadow her present? When was she going to become whole again?

Never, she thought grimly. Never. She ought to know that by now. Her mother had been murdered eighteen years ago, she couldn’t even remember what she had seen, but to this day she was always on edge around men she didn’t know well. And since she avoided men as much as possible, that wasn’t a terribly large group.

She began to walk home, wondering how she should handle the matter with Austin. He’d made a casual friendly offer. She wondered what her face must have looked like to cause him to shutter that way and head in the other direction.

It did not at all make her feel good to think she had offended him. She might be paranoid about men, and with good reason, but she didn’t want to hurt anyone needlessly. Not even a strange man.

Who wasn’t quite a stranger any longer. He’d been forthcoming with her this morning. But that couldn’t change her instinctive reaction.

Damn, she thought privately as she walked. She passed people she recognized, a few of the women who frequented her store, giving smiles and nods but not pausing. She had to get home. She wondered if she would arrive to find that Austin was moving out.

She decided she was catastrophizing what was surely a minor incident. If he left because of an expression on her face, then she was better off without any roomer at all. Its not as if she needed the money. She just didn’t like living alone in a big, empty house.

Probably another thing she could trace back to her mother’s murder. She sighed, feeling a whole bunch of self-disgust. She was grown-up now, and surely she should have conquered at least some of her childhood fears. It didn’t matter that they were grounded in real events. What mattered was that they still ruled her.

She picked up her pace, trying to infuse herself with determination, although for what she didn’t know.

She let herself into her house after waving to old Mrs. Bushnell across the street. The woman couldn’t get around much anymore, but she did enjoy rocking on her porch on a sunny, pleasant afternoon.

Corey needed to get over there again soon, she decided. Mrs. Bushnell’s children dropped by often to look in on her, but the woman had been one of her grandmother’s dear friends, and from time to time Corey liked to drop by with some baked goods and a little conversation. It had been a few weeks now. Too long.

Inside, she almost froze as she closed the door. The house was silent, but she could smell someone else. A man. Austin, she realized, putting the scents together. Leather, man and a faint scent of bar soap.

Her heart had accelerated at her initial awareness, but she drew a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm herself down. This was stupid, she told herself. Absolutely stupid. After eighteen years?

In the kitchen, she started a pot of coffee, and after looking around, she realized there was no house key on the counter or table. Apparently Austin hadn’t decided to move out. Yet. Considering her reluctance to have him here, her own relief surprised her. She didn’t want him but she did want him?

Now, that was royally confusing. Maybe it was time to try some therapy again. Maybe it was time to pry that awful memory out of the place where she had buried it. Sometimes she wondered if having a face to put on the killer would make it easier to be around other men. Maybe she felt this way only because she didn’t know what he looked like and he was still out there somewhere. Maybe she would have been better off if she had remembered the murder, gruesome though it had been.

She heard the key in the front lock. Austin. The coffee had just started brewing, so she moved quickly to the table and sat, hoping she looked casual.

He headed straight for the stairs. She hesitated, then called out, “I’m making fresh coffee if you’d like some.” She had to smooth this over somehow.

She heard him pause, as if thinking her offer over, then his footsteps drew closer and he appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Do you want company?” he asked bluntly. “Because really, I’m trying not to get in your way.”

She felt her cheeks heat. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

“Being looked at as if I’m about to hurt you isn’t very enjoyable.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, and started to lower her head.

“I mean,” he continued, “you don’t have to like me, don’t have to spend time with me. I get that I’m renting from you for a few months and we don’t need to have a social relationship. Unfortunately, I’m cross-cultural. A gentleman offers to walk a lady home.”

She winced, beginning to get a clear picture of her reaction to his offer. And understanding why he had responded as he had. Clearly, he was not one to pretend that nothing had happened. Maybe he was utterly through with pretense after his undercover work.

“Corey?”

She looked up. His face was still all hard angles.

“I just want to know what the hell you want from me. Leave? Stay? Stay out of your way?”

She motioned to the seat across from her and tried to find her voice. “Coffee. Then I’ll try to explain a little.”

He hesitated a moment, then went and filled mugs for each of them. He settled across from her and waited, his dark gaze firmly fixed on her. It was almost unnerving, that intensity, but she supposed he’d gotten very good at reading people, especially faces.

She cleared her throat, feeling as if her accelerating heart were trying to climb up into it. “When I... When I was seven, my mother was murdered.”

At once he stiffened a bit, but at least he didn’t try to say anything.

“Evidently I was there. I witnessed it. But I don’t remember any part of it. Traumatic amnesia. It’s been eighteen years, but I still have a problem with men I don’t know well. It has nothing to do with you. It’s just me.”

“They didn’t catch the guy?”

She shook her head. “Not a clue.”

“So, he’s still out there.”

“Maybe.”

“No wonder,” was all he said.

But those two simple words seemed to free up something inside her. “I was thinking, after the way I reacted when you offered to walk me home, if I wouldn’t be better in the long run if I could remember.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I honestly don’t know. Overall it’s probably best that you don’t remember.”

“I had therapy for a few years after, and the psychologist would agree with you. But I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Why?”

“I know it was a terribly brutal murder. I’m glad I don’t remember that part. But if I could remember the guy’s face...” She trailed off. This seemed like a remarkably intimate discussion to be having with someone she didn’t know. Yet something about him invited confidences. Probably part of what had made him good at his job.

She sighed. “I may not remember, but it’s left me with an indelible suspicion of men. Apparently that much didn’t vanish into amnesia.”

He nodded and sipped some coffee. “That’s why you didn’t really want to rent to me, and why you reacted the way you did when I offered to walk you home. It makes perfect sense. Would you like me to move out? I don’t like the idea that I’m making you uneasy by staying here.”

“I don’t want you to move out.” The words came with surprising ease. “It’s getting easier for me, and I need that, if you can put up with my quirks.”

At that he smiled. “I know quirks. Yours aren’t that bad.” Then his smile faded. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

“I was actually lucky. My grandmother and aunt took me in. In fact, the scariest part I can remember was the three days I spent in foster care.”

“Why three days?”

“Because they had to prove they were related to me and go through background checks. There was other stuff, too, I guess. The sheriff here even had to attest to their ability to care for me. I don’t remember that part, obviously, but my grandmother and aunt told me about it. They wanted me to understand why I had to stay with strangers for so long.”

“You must have been terrified.”

“I was.” She shook her head a little, as if she could shake off the memory. It wouldn’t entirely shake away, though. “They must have wondered what they were getting into. I was placed with a family and I was terrified of the father. I hid a lot. When my grandmother came for me, they had to pry me out of the back of a closet.”

He swore quietly. “Is your aunt still around?”

“No. She died of leukemia seven years ago. Grandma passed five years ago.”

“Your father?”

“I never knew who he was.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “I have more family than I know what to do with. I can’t imagine not having any.”

“I can’t imagine having a huge family.”

“Maybe you’ve created one here. As I was out and about today, people wanted to know a little about me. When I explained I was rooming with you, I heard all about your sewing circles. You seem to be quite a social center in your shop. So you’ve got a family. Not blood family, but still.”

She felt herself smiling at last. “That’s how I think of them.”

“And look at it this way,” he said, leaning forward a little bit, “you aren’t stuck with the ones who drive you crazy.”

“Are you?”

“Of course. I can’t be rude to Tío Reynaldo just because he’s obnoxious. Not allowed.”

She laughed. “Do you really think I could be rude to anyone in this little town?”

His smile widened and she almost caught her breath. My word, this man was attractive. Extremely so. His smile seemed to draw her in and make her heart skip a few beats.

“Well, you probably could,” he said. “Just like I could be rude to Reynaldo. But there’d be hell to pay.”

“It sure wouldn’t help my business.”

He laughed. “There’s a downside to family. I could share some of mine with you.”

“Starting with Reynaldo?” she asked archly. Amazement filled her as she realized how easily he had changed the subject and her mood. Relaxation replaced nervousness, and while she hadn’t quite made up her mind, she rather thought that having Austin around for a while might not be bad at all.

“Of course starting with Reynaldo,” he agreed. He glanced at his watch, a battered and inexpensive brand. “I need to get to the grocery. I picked up some clothes earlier, but I didn’t shop for food. They close at six today, right?”

“Right.” She glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. “You’re running out of time. Why don’t I drive you over there. I can show you where everything is.” She surprised herself by making the offer, then realized she felt good about it. A major step forward.

“Will you be all right with that?”

She nodded. “Let’s go. I need a few things, too.”

Chapter 3

The man sat at the old computer. It didn’t always work right anymore, but he had little use for it. He had begun to while away his evenings by composing messages in green letters on a black screen. He had known the first one he had decided to send would probably not bother the woman at all, but he was in no rush. These things needed careful planning.

Besides, he was going to have fun watching as the messages became increasingly troubling for her. He knew she didn’t remember. She didn’t need to remember until he reminded her. He liked knowing that he was in on a secret and she wasn’t.

He’d been watching her for a few years now. At first, he hadn’t thought much about it because she was so young, but now she was old enough that she should have dated someone, and if that had happened, he would have heard about it. Those things weren’t secret in Conard County.

So she spent all her time with women. All of it. Her preference was unmistakable. The more he watched her, the more convinced he became that she was just like her mother. What was more, she’d quit going to church right after her grandmother had died. There could be no other reason for that change.

He’d had a brief moment of doubt when that man moved in with her, but then he’d watched through the window of the shop and had seen that woman hug her and kiss her.

There was no longer any question. She was what she was, and eliminating her revolting presence from this world had become imperative.

Cleansing was imperative, and this was his mission. He had no delusion that he could get rid of them all, but he could get rid of some of them.

Her mother had been a start. He had come back here thinking that was all he needed to do. But then her daughter had grown up and he’d begun to feel the irritation again. That woman shouldn’t be walking the same streets with decent folk. It wasn’t right.

But he wanted her to know what was coming. He wanted her to fear it. He wanted her to feel the trap closing in on her.

Because as he’d already discovered, the killing was too swift and too kind for someone so evil.

* * *

Empathy. It always struck Austin as a crazy descriptor for someone who could go successfully undercover, but at the start of this journey the psychologists had assured him it was essential. Part of being undercover meant being able to identify with the reasoning and motivations of the people you were investigating. Walking in their shoes, as it were.

Well, he’d walked in their shoes for six years, and the results had left him with an internal mess. Yeah, he’d identified, all right. He’d understood. Clinging to his own values had sometimes become extremely difficult.

Had those psychologists even considered that part? Probably not. He’d not only walked the walk and talked the talk but he’d become one of them, all the while trying not to break the law or kill anyone. In that business, it was a dicey proposition.

He sure wouldn’t be the first person to get so messed up by undercover work that he had to walk away. Austin still hadn’t made up his mind about that. He’d never go covert again, but he wondered if he’d fit any other capacity.

He still often felt that he was on a spaceship, having departed one place, awaiting his arrival at his destination. Almost like being in suspended animation. Sooner or later, he was sure he would land. He just wondered where it would be.

He was troubled by Corey, though. It seemed to him her healing may have been truncated by her inability to remember, but he sure wouldn’t wish those memories on anyone.

He understood her problem with men, though. Completely. It wasn’t just empathy, either. After all, he’d been shot at on two occasions by fellow agents who had no idea he was on their side, and then he’d been left in that rat-infested cell being beaten by the Federales until they managed to identify him and yank him out. He wasn’t feeling too fond of his fellow agents these days.

He could have gone home to San Antonio, but that was too close to the border, too close to the culture he was trying to shake away. Right now he needed to get his feet firmly planted in Anglo soil, his head firmly planted in this world.

As for his family...he didn’t know exactly what the agency had been telling them all these years, except that he was alive and okay—okay being a relative term. They did know he was doing something highly secret, but after six years they must be wondering where the hell he had gone.

He supposed he ought to write or call, but something in him held him back. Maybe it was knowing they’d inevitably pressure him to come home, and he just wasn’t ready to do that yet.

So he focused his attention on Corey. He doubted he could help her, and he wasn’t a good bet for much these days. He’d discovered a streak of paranoia in himself that wouldn’t quit. It had made sense during the operation, but now? He couldn’t trust. He hadn’t even really trusted the sheriff who had brought him over here, in spite of the fact that the man was his best buddy’s friend. But then, he wasn’t sure he trusted the old friend anymore, either.

Devil of a conundrum, he thought as he walked around town. He couldn’t trust anyone except himself, Corey couldn’t trust men, and he supposed he ought to find it amazing that they’d managed to get through a whole week now without any problems.

He tried to stay out of her way, which hadn’t been too difficult considering that she worked long hours. Occasionally he drifted past her shop and was amazed by how busy she often was, especially in the evenings. At night and on Saturdays, the place filled to the rafters with women. The local churches would probably be happy with such high attendance.

The women came in all shapes, sizes and ages, they arrived with smiles and left with smiles. All of them carried big totes full of their projects and materials. When they left, the totes were fuller than before. Corey ran around looking happy, a tape measure draped around her neck, a big pair of scissors sticking out of her work apron.

He tried not to hang out in the vicinity too often. He didn’t want to make Corey, or anyone else, nervous. He’d found Mahoney’s Bar where he could get a shot of tequila and lime and one night had even gotten into a drinking contest with a couple of guys. He had a great head for tequila. He’d had to.

But that episode had had an amazing effect. Men nodded to him on the street now. Friendly town. But he didn’t trust it one bit. He’d been in a lot of friendly towns the past six years. It was what went on underneath that mattered.

He realized he was scoping Conard City just the way he’d done with other towns across the border. Looking for a way in, looking to get clued in, looking to be taken as an insider. Damn. Would he ever get rid of the old habits?

Should he?

He almost laughed at himself. He hadn’t landed yet, obviously. So he turned his thoughts back to Corey. Maybe not wise, given her distrust of men. Every time he thought about her, his brain ran to sensual and sexual activities.

She wasn’t even his type, not that that seemed to be helping. Fair, blonde, blue-eyed... But while she didn’t exactly flaunt it, she had a great shape, too. His eyes had a tendency to want to roam over her in a way that invariably left him hot and bothered. He thought he had pretty good control over his impulses because control had been essential to survival for a long time now. He couldn’t afford distractions.

But Corey was proving to be one hell of a distraction. He had plenty of stuff to deal with, but his mind kept rambling right back to her. Like it or not, regardless of the number of times he tried to cross her off his mental list of possibilities, she kept bobbing right up in his thoughts.

When he watched her talk, he wondered how her lips would taste. When she laughed, something inside him sparked with pleasure. When she grew pensive, he had the worst urge to reach out.

She couldn’t have been more off-limits if she’d been surrounded by barbed wire, but he kept wanting to jump that fence and bed her. He hoped she didn’t suspect.

How could she? he reassured himself. He’d been staying out of her way, keeping their meetings as light as he could manage. If he’d been doing it right, he’d become the nearly invisible roomer in the background.

But he knew he wasn’t entirely invisible. A time or two he’d seen an answering spark in her. A flicker of interest that she quickly buried. So he wondered just what it would take to get past that woman’s fence. As near as he could tell, no one ever had. She’d come back to this town as a child, and nothing she said led him to believe she had ever left it again.

That struck him as sad. There was a whole world out there, good and bad, but mostly good, and she’d nailed herself to this tiny town because she was afraid of the dragons outside the gates.

He wished for her sake that they’d been able to catch the perp who had killed her mother. Maybe then, not being able to remember wouldn’t be so crippling.

And what the hell did it matter, anyway, he asked himself irritably. He needed to find his own forgotten self, and he’d be moving on once he settled his own mental and emotional tab. Right now he was useless to everyone, himself included.

So leave Rapunzel safely in her tower, and get his head out of his groin.

Rapunzel? Really? He was losing it.

The thought made him laugh out loud, which drew a few looks his way as he strode down the street. He didn’t care. A few of the people even smiled.

As long as he didn’t run around town giggling like a lunatic, it would probably be okay.