LITMIR.BIZ

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a specific murder.

      Had anyone seen him on the street before the accident? Had some late-night soul peeked out the window in time to see him running by? Would all of his lies come to light?

      He couldn’t get the vision of Brian out of his head. Who had murdered him? And what about the strange carving in his forehead? Did it mean anything or was it just a coincidence that it looked like a V?

      He checked every single page, but there was no story in the paper about that particular murder. It was possible Brian’s body hadn’t even been found yet. He lived alone and Nick couldn’t imagine the creep had too many friends.

      But Nick couldn’t be sure he was out of hot water yet. He thought of the 1970’s Son of Sam killer. David Berkowitz had terrorized New York by shooting eight people before a traffic ticket had led to his arrest.

      And at the moment Nick’s car was parked on a residential street where it didn’t belong. No, Nick wouldn’t breathe easier until Brian McDowell’s killer was caught. Only then would he believe he was truly safe.

      He shoved the paper aside and wrapped his hands around the foam cup of coffee. The murder wasn’t his only problem. Julie Peterson. He’d intentionally taken advantage of her amnesia to save his own butt, but somehow he now felt responsible for her.

      She’d made it clear when she’d awakened that morning that she was depending on him to get her through this difficult period. She’d almost begged him to promise to stay close to her until her memories returned.

      He’d thought to get her home from the hospital and then disappear from her life. But how could he do that to her? How could he take away the one thing she believed was true when she was obviously struggling with her missing memories?

      It didn’t help that she had beautiful blue eyes that held more than a touch of vulnerability. It didn’t help that her heart-shaped face and spill of dark hair fired up a heat inside him he found both unexpected and unwanted. What a damn mess he’d made of things.

      Right now the doctor was supposed to be writing out her release orders. They would be taking a taxi home because his car was still parked on a street where it didn’t belong. He had to figure out how in the hell he was going to get it and he needed to get it as soon as possible.

      Julie had complained of a headache in the wee hours of the morning and they had given her something for pain. Nick wished somebody would give him something for the festering fear that tightened his chest to the point he could scarcely breathe.

      He was terrified Julie would regain her memories and yet knew the only way to exit her life was for her to regain her memories. There was nothing worse than being an attempted murderer and having a conscience. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility that she already had a boyfriend. That would be a complication he definitely didn’t need.

      It was a damned quagmire and right now he couldn’t see his way out of it. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Julie, who had only been an innocent victim in all this.

      He hadn’t slept at all through the night. If it wasn’t a nurse coming in to check Julie’s vitals that kept sleep at bay, it was Julie softly calling his name to make sure he was still with her.

      Checking his watch, he quickly downed the last of his coffee. He needed to get back to her room. She’d be anxiously waiting for him.

      And she was waiting for him. Perched on the edge of the bed and dressed in the jeans and sleeveless blue blouse she’d been in when she’d crashed her car, she held papers in her hand and her IV had been removed.

      She stood at the sight of him, her smile filled with relief. “I’m free to go. I just have to wait for a nurse to bring in a wheelchair.”

      Once again he was struck by her beauty. Even with her beautiful blue eyes telegraphing a simmering panic, she was stunning. Her long, dark hair was slightly tousled. Her nose was straight and her lips were just full enough to tempt a man. If she didn’t have a man in her life, he’d wonder why.

      “Nick?”

      She pulled him from his wayward thoughts.

      “I need to use your cell phone to call for a taxi,” he said.

      “Of course.” She dug in the purse next to her on the bed and withdrew the phone. “Want me to grab your hoodie?”

      “No!” The word snapped out of him. He smiled quickly. “I’ll get it. You just sit right there on the bed until your ride appears.”

      That was all he needed...for her to grab his sweatshirt and the gun and other items to fall out into the open.

      He made the call for a taxi, his nerves once again tightening his gut.

      “Here we are,” a nurse named Nancy said as she pushed a wheelchair into the room. “First-class transportation for the patient.”

      “This really isn’t necessary,” Julie said.

      “Hospital protocol,” Nancy replied cheerfully. “No matter how you come in, you always go out in a wheelchair.”

      Within twenty minutes they were getting into a taxi that would take them to her house. “I hope you can be patient with me,” she said once they were under way. “I’m going to have a million questions for you.” She grabbed his hand and held tight.

      He tried not to remember the last time a woman had held his hand, but the memory exploded in his mind. Debbie...broken and stabbed on the marble entry floor of a vacant mansion...the odor of her blood rife in the air. Her eyes glazed as she fought to maintain consciousness. He’d fallen to her side despite the police officers attempting to keep him away.

      That moment was etched deeply in his brain...the grief and the outrage, the disbelief and the overwhelming rage. He’d knelt beside her and had grasped her hand. “Debbie, who did this? Who did this to you, baby?” he’d cried.

      “Winthrop.” The name whispered from her just before she coughed up a mouthful of blood. Her fingers suddenly tightened around his. “Be happy,” she’d said and then she was gone, forever stolen from him by an act of despicable inhumanity.

      “...happy to be home.” Julie’s voice yanked him out of the nightmare of his past as the cab pulled to a halt in front of an attractive two-story house at the back end of a cul-de-sac.

      She released his hand to get into her purse and pay the driver.

      They both got out and the taxi pulled away.

      Nick followed her to the front door, his chest tight with tension. Once they were inside, his lies would continue because he didn’t know what else to do.

      He couldn’t very well confess to her the truth: that he’d used her and her accident because he’d been in the neighborhood to commit a murder and needed a fast alibi. His biggest concern now was getting his car off the residential street where it didn’t belong.

      She opened the front door and he followed her into an entry hall with a black-and-gray-tiled floor. She dropped her keys in a basket on a small table and then took a step into what he assumed was the living area. And gasped.

      A white-brick fireplace graced one wall. A black-leather sofa sat between two glass-topped end tables. The glass coffee table held a centerpiece that showcased red and bright yellow flowers. The furnishings were modern and tasteful, but the reason for her gasp was instantly evident.

      The remnants of a floor lamp lay on the floor, the white-glass globe nothing more than glittering shards against the tiled floor. A large red candle also lay on the floor in front of the shattered glass of a painting on the wall.

      She turned to look at Nick, her expression one of stunned surprise. “You said we fought...” Her voice trailed off.

      He improvised. “We were both very angry. I broke the lamp and you threw the candle at the painting.”

      Somebody had fought in this room. Of course, he had no idea what had happened in her

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