A Season To Believe

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Yesterday he had watched Zoe carefully. Today he’d planned to copy the therapist’s methods, get Jane to relax in the hope that this would release those trapped memories of hers. Something told him that brusquely stepping away from her wasn’t the best way to go about this.

Or keep himself sane.

Chapter Five

“I didn’t see anything,” Jane said. Not sure her tone was light enough, she smiled wryly and said, “Well, other than you.”

A moment of silence followed Jane’s words. Then she heard Matt chuckle before he replied, “Good. But if you had seen the beach, it would have been my fault for not thinking to guide you out of the seat. I’ll do better now.” His hands tightened on her shoulders as he went on. “I need you to step to the left—I’m sorry, that would be your right—so I can close the door.”

Jane responded to his directions, sidestepping, then standing still when he requested. She heard the slam of the door, then the click of the key in the lock, all the while silently cursing herself for feeling so damn vulnerable.

She had to admit, it had felt wonderful, standing within Matt’s strong arms for those few moments, feeling his warmth envelop her, his strength support her. Sometimes she got so blasted tired of taking care of herself, pushing to become a woman of independent means who needed to rely on no one.

Of course, when he’d pushed her away it had become clear that she couldn’t afford to grow accustomed to that sort of feeling.

“Here—” Matt’s deep voice broke into her thoughts. “Take my hand.”

Matt’s fingers had barely brushed hers when she pulled her arm away and said, “I can manage myself.”

“No, you can’t.” Again he chuckled. “You remind me of my two-year-old cousin who’s always insisting, ‘Me do it.’ The path down the beach is uneven. If you don’t want to trip and fall, you’ll let me hold your hand and guide you.”

Jane hesitated. When she nodded, Matt’s large hand closed over hers, gave it a tug, and she began to walk. It took a few moments to focus on the sound of his feet on the sand so she could walk beside him instead of being towed down the path. With each step she grew even more aware of the strength and warmth radiating from the man at her side.

“Do we have far to walk?” she wondered out loud.

“Not really,” he replied. “You all right? Warm enough?”

His question brought Jane’s attention to the brisk breeze ruffling her hair and cooling her cheeks. “Yes, thanks to your suggestion.”

She touched the lapel of her dark blue fleece jacket to indicate her meaning. Matt didn’t reply, and for several minutes the only sound was the crunch of the sand beneath their feet and the occasional crash of a wave some distance in front of her. The silence seemed to beg to be filled, and Jane asked the first question that came to mind.

“Why did Detective Wilcox call you the Lone Ranger yesterday?”

More silence. Then Matt replied, “It was my nickname on the force. Until I was partnered with Manny, I preferred to work on my own whenever possible.”

“Why?”

“Just a quirk of my nature, I guess.”

Jane took a few steps before she said softly, “You miss him a lot, don’t you.”

For several seconds she heard only the sibilant whisper of waves breaking gently on the shore.

“Yeah, I do,” he said quietly, then his voice drew stronger. “Fortunately, my cousin Jack understands how I work. And I understand him. He’s always been drawn to the mystery aspect of law enforcement—tracking down the clues, hence his nickname—Sherlock Holmes—while I like the chase. We make a good team.”

“Do you charge a lot?”

“We try to keep our fees reasonable.”

“How much, exactly? Say, to find a murderer?”

Matt was quiet for a moment. “If you’re thinking of paying me, forget it. I want to find out who tried to kill you for myself as much as for you. Now—” he stopped walking “—we’re here. I want you to turn, like so. Take a deep breath, relax and take a look when you’re ready.”

Jane did as Matt ordered. When she opened her eyes, she was staring at a pale green sea beneath a watery blue sky.

“What do you think?” Matt asked. “Is this the place?”

Jane studied the seascape before her. “Well, the cliff over on the right does match the image I remember. But the colors of the sky and water are more washed out. And the waves were bigger, more aggressive than these.”

“Yeah, well, the waves here tend to be pretty anemic, from a surfer’s point of view,” Matt said slowly. “The beach faces southwest, so they come in at an angle, instead of bowling right into the shore. But try just staring at the water for a while, relax and see if anything comes.”

Jane gave him what she hoped was a cheerful smile. Yeah, right, she thought. Watching the curling surf was one thing. Relaxing? Now, that was another matter altogether. How was she supposed to relax when she knew the man standing next to her was waiting anxiously for something to happen—something, moreover, that she wasn’t sure she even wanted to come about.

However, Matt deserved her help in his quest for justice. Drawing a salt-laden breath, she released it, then repeated the action as she gazed straight ahead. She managed to breathe some softness into muscles tingling with awareness of Matt—but no memories came.

Finally she shook her head and turned to Matt. She caught his expression of disappointment before he had a chance to smile and shrug. Jane wasn’t fooled. She knew she’d let him down. This man, who had cheered all her efforts to walk again, to recover knowledge she’d forgotten; who had held her as she sobbed when that last disappointment had made her vow to stop searching for her past, stop trying to figure out who people wanted her to be.

The idea that she had failed Matt made Jane want to cry, something she hadn’t done since that day nearly sixteen months ago—something she wasn’t going to do now. As she had so many times since, Jane hardened the ache in her heart to anger.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she stepped away from him. “This isn’t working. I really don’t want to remember my past. For all I know, I was a thief, or a drug dealer, or something worse. After all, what does it say about the person I was that someone hated me enough to attempt to kill me?”

Matt was no longer smiling. In fact, as Jane glared up at him, his features twisted into an angry scowl. His hand reached out to close over hers with almost painful strength as he pulled her to him and bent his head toward hers.

“It doesn’t say a damn thing about you,” Matt said, his voice low, tight. “The fact that someone is driven to kill, only tells me about the perpetrator, not the victim. No matter what the crime, the victim is not at fault. And hey, we know you’ve never been arrested—or fingerprinted.”

Jane’s heart raced as his dark green eyes looked unwaveringly into hers. She watched as the deep vertical line between his eyebrows relaxed and his intent gaze softened to one of speculation.

“However,” he said, “I’m not sure if I’ve ever met an injured party less deserving of the term victim than you. You, my friend, are the epitome of the title Survivor.”

Matt’s words surprised sudden tears to her eyes, tears that she was not about to shed. She blinked them away, to find that Matt was now grinning.

“So,” he said, “your worries about what kind of person you were before you were injured? Forget ’em. It doesn’t matter who you were. What matters is who you are now, the person you have made yourself into.”

Jane thought her heart was going to pound itself right out of her chest. She could hardly believe this was happening. She’d dreamed so many times of a moment like this one. Even after Kyle Rogers had taught her, so very painfully, that her heart was not to be trusted, she’d held on to the belief that the one man in whose hands she could place the love she felt was Matt Sullivan.

She’d read all about her condition, knew that people who survived brain trauma often experienced bouts of hero worship, until their emotional states stabilized and matured. She believed that this explained how she’d fallen under Kyle’s spell, but she knew her feelings for Matt were different.

And now he stood looking down at her, his gaze holding hers with all the tenderness she could wish for.

“You’re wondering,” Matt said, “if it’s true that who you were isn’t important, then why am I pushing you to recall your past.”

Well, not really, Jane thought, but she wasn’t about to reveal her true thoughts, so she let him continue.

“It’s because the person you were is the key to the entire investigation.”

Jane’s heartbeat slowed. “Investigation?”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “The investigation into who tried to kill you. Once I learn who you were, I’ll be able to find out who knew you. Then, with any luck, I can determine which of these people had a motive to put an end to your life.”

Turning, Jane stared out over the sea. Great. She had the starring role in Matt Sullivan’s detective novel. Just what she wanted.

“You don’t have to force your memory.” Obviously misunderstanding her intent, Matt placed his hands on Jane’s shoulders and swiveled her toward him. “It was a crazy idea to bring you down here and think that making you stare at the ocean would result in some sort of epiphany. Besides, I’m getting hungry. Are you ready to go?”

Jane shrugged. “Sure.”

Matt took her hand, then turned and started back up the beach. Far ahead Jane could see a path leading to the parking lot above and to their left. She was surprised to realize how far she had come earlier with her eyes closed, conversing with Matt. The walk back now, in silence, seemed much longer. The wind was blowing harder, too, bringing bone-chilling moisture from the ocean. And beneath her feet, the uneven sand seemed to fight her desire to hurry away from this place of disappointment.

About thirty yards from the path, Matt stopped, bent forward and rubbed his right knee, then straightened and turned to her. “How about we take a little break before we head up to the car?”

It was on the tip of Jane’s tongue to say she wasn’t tired, when she connected his action to the injury he’d suffered. Uncertain just how sensitive he might be about the subject, she simply replied, “Sure,” then followed him to the dune on their left. When he sat down and leaned against the hill, she followed suit.

The wind seemed less biting at this level. Between the warmth of the sand against her back and the rays of the weak winter sun, Jane felt almost toasty within her soft fleece jacket. Gazing forward, she noticed that the surf had grown rougher. Each wave created a large head of foam as it rolled and crashed. The hypnotic motion and rhythmic whisper slowly teased the tension from her muscles, calmed her mind and coaxed her to shut her eyes.