LITMIR.BIZ

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all this. Pull together the pieces that were left of his life. As he backed his vehicle out of the garage, Colin made a promise to himself. He was going to make a list and get busy.

      Soon. Very soon.

      Not tonight, but tomorrow for sure. First he had to find out why Sally Stowe was calling a woman who had been dead for six months.

      SALLY WASN’T SURE how long she’d lain on the floor—fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty?—when she heard knocking at the front door.

      Not Neil, was her first coherent thought. He would have just barged in.

      So then, who? She wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe a canvasser or something.

      She tried to sit up, then moaned. Her head hurt so much, she must have a concussion. But her injuries couldn’t be too serious. She was conscious and her mind was working all right. Wasn’t it? Let’s see, she was Sally Stowe and today was April the twenty-third and the capital of Alberta was… Edmonton.

      Yes, she was fine, she was absolutely fine. If only she could pick herself up from the floor.

      There was another knock, this one at the kitchen door. For a second she panicked. Maybe it was Neil, checking if she was alive.

      Or making sure she wasn’t…

      Armani whined, and she put a reassuring hand on his back. She wished someone could do the same for her. Neil had never been physically violent before. She didn’t know what to make of it.

      The door opened. A voice called out, “Sally? Are you home?”

      Not Neil. Relief was quickly replaced by a different kind of alarm. What was Colin Foster doing here? The island blocked him from her view and it worked vice versa, as well. If she kept quiet, maybe he would leave. She certainly didn’t want him to see her this way.

      On the hand, she could use some help.

      In the end, the decision wasn’t Sally’s to make. Colin entered the kitchen. He must have seen the blue flame on the stove, because he came rushing around the island and almost tripped over her.

      “Oh my God, Sally! What happened to you?”

      He crouched beside her, as Neil had done, only this time she felt no fear. Armani seemed to sense his presence was benign, as well. He stopped whining and lay down at Sally’s side.

      “My head,” she said, barely finding the strength to speak. “My hand.” She lifted it slightly.

      “You burned yourself.” Colin reached to the stove and switched off the burner. “Badly. And you’ve hit your head. It’s still bleeding.”

      He opened drawers until he found the clean tea towels. Taking several, he made a compress and applied it to her wound. He tied one of the towels completely around her head to hold the others in place.

      Then he found a bowl, filled it with cold water and immersed her burned hand. The relief from pain was instantaneous.

      “Talk to me, Sally. Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine. My name is Sally Elizabeth Stowe and it’s Friday the twenty-third.”

      He looked taken aback at first, and then he smiled. “Well, your mind is working all right. But then it always has.”

      This, coming from a man who had spent the past decade and a half debating almost everything she said, was a compliment, Sally knew.

      “What a lot of blood.”

      His face was awfully white, Sally noticed. He’d aged since Beth’s death, but not unattractively. A little gray sprinkled in with the chestnut-brown. A few more lines spreading out from the corners of his alert, probing eyes.

      “Head injuries always bleed profusely, Colin.” She remembered Lara, when she was two, splitting her head open on the stone hearth of their first rental home, and the amazing amount of blood she’d lost in a relatively short time. Sally had hit the panic button then, but at Emergency Lara had received three stitches and been pronounced fine.

      On the drive home, Neil had bitterly castigated Sally for her carelessness, conveniently forgetting that she had asked him to keep an eye on Lara while she folded the laundry.

      That had been the last in a series of arguments that had convinced her she could not spend a lifetime with the man she’d married so rashly. She’d moved out the next week. Drawn up a separation agreement that Neil had never signed…

      “Must have been a hell of a fall, Sally. Did you burn your hand, then lose your balance?”

      She closed her eyes, remembering the vile sneer on Neil’s face just before he’d given her that second shove. The ice-man smile.

      She doubted if any of Neil’s colleagues would believe that the polished, urbane man who was one of the city’s most accomplished criminal lawyers had this darker side.

      Besides, even if Colin did believe her, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know.

      “That must be what happened. It’s all kind of blurry right now.”

      Blurry was the right word. Her vision still wasn’t quite right. And her understanding of the situation was equally out of focus. Neil had lost his temper hundreds of times before, but he’d never laid a hand on her before. What was so different this time? Did he resent her possible judicial appointment that much?

      “You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

      “I’m actually starting to feel a little better.”

      “You’ll need stitches for that cut, I’m guessing.”

      He was probably right.

      “Should I call an ambulance?”

      “I’m not that badly off. But maybe you could drop me at the Rockyview Emergency? Unless you have plans?”

      Colin’s laugh was bitter. “I never have plans these days. Not that it would matter if I did. Come on, sweetheart, we’ve got to get you up off that floor.”

      He started to put his arms under her then paused.

      “You smell good,” she murmured.

      “What?”

      She couldn’t believe she’d said that. It was just the contrast from Neil, she supposed. “Don’t mind me. I’m delirious.”

      “Before I move you I’d better make sure you don’t have any other injuries. Back? Neck?”

      “Fine. Nothing hurts but my head and my hand.” And those were enough. “You know, a few painkillers would go down real nice about now.”

      “Let’s get you up, first. Here goes.” Colin put his arms under her back, helping her to a sitting position. “Okay?”

      “A little dizzy,” she admitted.

      “Think you can make it to the car?”

      “But all this blood will stain your seats.” There was a pool of the stuff in the kitchen. It was on her shirt and Colin’s socks. He must have removed his shoes at the door.

      “I’ll take care of it,” Colin promised. “What about the dog?”

      “Could you put him in the laundry room, please?”

      Colin pulled off his socks so he wouldn’t track blood all over her house, then settled the dog. Next he grabbed a throw blanket from the family room and wrapped it around her shoulders. As gently as possible, he helped her up. Slowly they crossed to the back door where he slipped his shoes back onto his feet, then swung her up into his arms and carried her out to his car.

      The round trip to the emergency room took under four hours, which wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Colin stuck with her the whole time, except when she was in the examining room.

      “How many stitches?” he asked on the drive home.

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