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“You’ll be fine,” he repeated, whipping off his sport coat to spread over her. “Just hang in there.”
“I didn’t fall,” she whispered, shaking uncontrollably.
“What?”
Her gaze locked onto his. Fear deepened in her gray eyes. “I didn’t fall,” she said. “I was pushed.”
VALERIE SAT ON THE BED in the emergency room at Mercy General Hospital and tried to corral her racing thoughts.
No way could he have been the same man.
No way could he have remained unchanged after thirty-one years.
And yet she’d seen him with her own eyes!
Her heart had almost stopped when she’d looked up into those black eyes. Eyes just as cold and dark as the ones she remembered.
“Devil eyes,” she’d always called them.
She shivered, just thinking about him. “I have to get out of here.”
“What’s your hurry?” Dr. Allen asked her. He was a young, good-looking resident who wore faded jeans and scuffed Nikes and made Valerie feel about a hundred and two. “You just got here.”
“I don’t like hospitals,” she muttered.
He looked down at her with a wounded look. “I’m hurt. Truly hurt by that remark.”
“Nothing personal.” She’d been trying to ignore his flirting ever since she’d been brought in, but it wasn’t easy. Dr. Allen was nothing if not charming.
“So what’s the verdict?” she asked wearily.
“A few cuts and bruises. You’re going to be pretty sore for a few days. I’m still waiting to have a look at your X rays, but I don’t expect to find any broken bones. You’re one lucky young lady, from everything I’ve heard.”
Valerie supposed it wasn’t every day one got pushed in front of a city bus and survived. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel herself pitching forward into the street, could still feel that moment of terror when she’d looked up to see the bus racing toward her like some huge steel monster. She could actually feel the heat from its engine, like the hot breath of death.
She put a quivering hand to her forehead. She had to get out of here. Find out what was going on.
Find out who wanted to kill her.
“Look, I’m perfectly fine,” she insisted. “Good as new. And I really do have to be going. There’s a press conference I have to get to.” She tried to hop down from the bed, but every bone in her body screamed in protest. She groaned and offered only a token struggle when the doctor eased her back down. “I can’t stay here,” she whispered, as a wave of dizziness swept over her.
Dr. Allen said sternly, “I’m afraid the press conference will just have to wait. At least until I get those X rays.”
“How long?”
“We’re a little short-staffed this afternoon. Could take a while.”
Valerie suppressed another groan. The antiseptic smell of the hospital made her nauseous, and for a moment, she thought she might actually pass out. Not just from the scent, but from the memories. She hadn’t been in a hospital since those long, lonely nights six weeks ago, when she’d kept vigil over her mother, waiting for her to die.
Dr. Allen patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you sprung as soon as I can. In the meantime, try to enjoy our hospitality. I’ve given you a mild painkiller to make you a little more comfortable. Relax and let the medication take effect. Doctor’s orders. You look as if you could use a little downtime.”
Downtime? Valerie wasn’t even sure she remembered what that was. She’d been operating on nervous energy and caffeine for so long, she was afraid to stop, afraid that if she did, she might never get going again.
But in spite of her determination to get out of there as quickly as possible, the medication made her feel a bit woozy, and she knew there was no way she could get herself home, let alone to Austin Colter’s press conference.
Maybe I should call Julian, she thought, but even that task seemed too great.
Besides, she didn’t feel like dealing with her boss at the moment. He would be more interested in getting a good story than in her welfare, and Valerie wasn’t up to any questions. She first wanted to sort out what had happened for herself, but she couldn’t seem to stay focused. Her mind began to drift as the drug took effect, and suddenly she was back in the little house in a Chicago suburb where she’d grown up, going through her mother’s personal belongings the day after the funeral.
Valerie had wanted to get the painful job over with as quickly as possible. But that afternoon, she’d found more than just possessions in her mother’s house. More than just memories. She’d found a truth so devastating, her life had been changed forever.
For over thirty years, Valerie had believed her father guilty of the heinous crime for which he had been convicted. Why else had she and her mother been called such vile and vicious names after her father’s arrest? Why else had their home been targeted for terrorism? And more important, why else had she and her mother fled town in the middle of the night? Why had her mother changed their names, hidden their true identities, if not to escape the stigma of being the wife and daughter of a child-killer?
For over thirty years, Valerie had tried to hide from her past; from the shame and self-doubt that were almost consuming at times. She was the daughter of an infamous kidnapper who had taken the life of a child. What did that make her? Cletus Brown’s blood ran in her veins. Was she like him in any way? Was she, herself, capable of violence?
For over thirty years, Valerie had never allowed herself to become close to anyone. She’d never had any friends to speak of, had never gotten involved in a serious relationship. She’d told herself it was because she was too busy building a career, but deep down, she’d always known it was because she was afraid that the terrible names people had called her in the past—the awful things they’d screamed at her when her father had been arrested—were true. That she was tainted, the offspring of a monster.
Only in her dreams had her father remained an innocent man. Only in her dreams was the real villain the man with the cold, black eyes. A man Valerie had never been able to forget.
For over thirty years, Sergeant Colter had haunted her sleep.
But it wasn’t until after her mother’s death, when Valerie had found her mother’s diary hidden away among a cache of newspaper clippings and books about the Kingsley kidnapping, along with mementos from their former life, that Valerie had finally understood why she’d never been able to forget Sergeant Colter.
Her instincts about him had been right. He was an evil man who had set her father up. He’d made her father take the fall for a crime he hadn’t committed. Cletus Brown was an innocent man.
Valerie’s mother had gone to her grave still believing in him. They hadn’t left Memphis because Grace Brown thought her husband guilty, but because she was afraid for her daughter’s safety. There were men in Memphis, powerful men, who were willing to kill to keep Cletus Brown behind bars. To keep the truth from coming out.
And so Violet and Grace Brown had disappeared, and Cletus had gone silently to prison where he had remained for the past thirty-one years.
As Valerie had read her mother’s diary that afternoon, it had become crystal clear to her what she must do. She would prove to the world that her father was innocent. She would free him from prison, and in so doing, free herself from the awful burden of guilt she had carried with her for almost her entire life.
The very next day, Valerie had quit her job at the Chicago Sun-Times, sent her résumé to the Memphis Journal, packed up a few of her belongings, along with her mother’s diary and the box of mementos, and headed for Memphis, her birthplace, searching for truth, justice, and maybe, if she were honest with herself, a little revenge.
And now it’s come to this, she thought, still trying to fight the hold the drug had on her.
She’d known from the first that the series of articles she’d planned about the Kingsley kidnapping wouldn’t go over well with a lot of powerful people in this city. The reputations of three well-respected men were all at stake, and she’d known they wouldn’t take her accusations lying down.
The Kingsley kidnapping had affected a lot of people, and when the truth finally came out, lives would be ruined.
But one life would be saved.
And that was the only one that could be allowed to matter, Valerie thought, as she closed her eyes and finally succumbed to the medication.
THE DREAM WAS ALWAYS the same. Her name was Violet again, and she was back in that tiny house in southeast Memphis, watching through the crack in her bedroom door. She heard her mother scream, saw her father collapse to the floor, and then the big man turned and looked at Violet. Looked at her with those cold, black eyes.
The devil’s eyes.
Violet tried to scream, but no sound came out. She tried to shrink away, but couldn’t move. She was trapped, mesmerized by a gaze so dark and evil, she felt herself sinking into those bottomless depths from which she knew there would be no escape.
But she had to try. She had to try and save herself. She had to try and save her father.
Because if she didn’t, no one else would.
Violet fought her way up from the black pit. She struggled to free herself from the terror that claimed her, night after night.
As she finally reached the surface, the terror gave way to confusion, and Violet slowly became Valerie. But then she opened her eyes to find the devil himself staring down at her.
CHAPTER TWO
VALERIE GASPED and sprang up in bed.
“Take it easy. I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice was deep and rich, not in the least threatening, but shivers scurried up Valerie’s spine. He reached out to ease her back against the pillows, but Valerie shrank away from him. “I’m Sergeant Colter,” he said.
What did one say to one’s nightmare?
“Valerie Snow,” she managed, clutching the sheet to her breast.
After her initial shock began to subside, Valerie realized who he must be. Why hadn’t she thought of it earlier? He had to be Judd Colter’s son because he was the spitting image of his father as he had looked thirty-one years ago when he’d stormed into a tiny home in southeast Memphis and changed three lives forever.
The resemblance almost took Valerie’s breath away.
She found herself staring up at him, studying his face longer than she should have, trying to analyze him with a reporter’s eye for detail.
There were subtle differences, she decided. He wasn’t exactly like his father. At least, not physically.
He was just as tall, but leaner than Judd Colter had been. His hair was just as dark, but he didn’t wear it in a military style like his father had. The thick strands brushed against his shirt collar, gleaming blue-black in the harsh fluorescent lighting.
His features were more even than his father’s. And more handsome, Valerie thought, startled to feel the quiver of butterflies in her stomach.
Oh, yes, there were definitely differences, but one thing remained the same: his eyes were just as dark and just as cold as his father’s.
Valerie shivered and tried to look away. “What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Reluctantly she met his gaze. “What about?”
One dark brow rose in surprise. Or was it condescension? “You’ve made a pretty serious accusation, Ms. Snow. Or have you forgotten?”
At first, she thought he was talking about her article, then she realized he meant the incident with the bus. “You mean when I said someone tried to kill me?”
Something flashed in his dark eyes. Something Valerie couldn’t quite define. “You didn’t say that exactly. You said you were pushed.”
She forced a harsh laugh. “Semantics, Sergeant Colter.”
“Hardly. Even if you were pushed, it could have been an accident.”
“Even if?” Valerie glared up at him. “I said I was pushed, and I was. And I think it was very deliberate.”
He took out a pen and notebook and pulled up a chair. “Why don’t we get the paperwork out of the way first, and then you can tell me what you think happened. What’s your full name?” When she hesitated, he glanced up. “Is that question too difficult for you?”
There was enough arrogance in his voice to stir her temper. Yes, and you have no idea why, she thought bitterly. “Is this going to take long?” Maybe if she stalled him, he would give up and go away. What was he going to do, anyway? Go looking for someone who had a reason to push her in front of a bus?
Well, he didn’t have far to look, did he?
“That depends on you,” he said.
She shrugged. “Guess I’m not going anywhere for a while.” That’s it, she thought. Tough it out. Don’t let him get to you.
After all, she was good at pretending, wasn’t she? She’d learned a long time ago not to let anyone see the real person, the real emotions, behind her hardened veneer.
“Your name,” he repeated, his pen poised over his notebook. His hands were large and well shaped, Valerie noticed. And ringless. He wasn’t married. She wondered why.
“Valerie Anne Snow.”
He started scribbling. “Address?”
She rattled off her street address and he wrote it down.
“All right,” he said, glancing up at her. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“Just the facts, ma’am. Right?” When he didn’t respond to her sarcasm, Valerie shrugged and said, “Angie and I had just left work—”
“Angie?”
“Angela Casey. She writes an advice column for the Journal. That’s where I work,” she added, trying to gauge his reaction.
There was none. He appeared to be made of ice. “Go on.”
“She was meeting someone for an early dinner, and so I left her on Front Street and headed for city hall, for Austin Colter’s press conference. I wanted to get there early, before anyone else showed up—” She stopped short, wondering if that was why Sergeant Colter had arrived on the scene so quickly. Had he been headed for his cousin’s press conference, as well?
Or had his reasons been more sinister than that?
She suppressed another shiver. “I stopped at the intersection, waiting for a light. There was some kind of commotion in the crowd. Someone dropped something, I think, and while everyone was looking down, someone pushed me into the street. Pushed me hard,” she added. “Hard enough to make me fall down. It wasn’t an accident.”
“You didn’t see who it was?”
She shook her head.
“You didn’t recognize anyone in the crowd?”
“No.”
His dark, probing gaze took her measure. “How long have you been in town, Ms. Snow?”
“How do you know I wasn’t born here?” she challenged, flirting with danger.
“You may have been born here, but you haven’t lived here in several years. Your accent is, what? Midwestern? Chicago?”
