One Forgotten Night Page 6

Nina pounded her fist against the cool, hard tiles of the shower wall. This has got to stop! She gave the tap a savage jerk, and the warm water turned cold. Shivering in the sudden chill, Nina spelled out the details of her predicament as she quickly rinsed. Even if she were innocent of any wrongdoing—and I’ve got to believe I’m innocent!—someone had still taken a shot at her and searched her apartment. And even if the shooting was purely random and the break-in a wild coincidence, she still had amnesia.

  All of which, Nina pointed out to herself as she stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel, added up to the fact that she had no business being attracted to the detective who might end up arresting her. Or to anyone. I don’t even know what kind of person Nina Dennison really is. And until I know who I am, how can I even think about being with someone else? She dressed quickly, combed her wet hair straight back and resolutely refused to put on any makeup. It doesn’t matter how I look to him. He’s the detective, I’m the suspect—remember? Recalling the fire that had raced through her veins when Mike held her, Nina squared her shoulders and braced herself. She would act as though it hadn’t happened. And she would make certain that it didn’t happen again.

  * * *

  Mike listened to the water running in the bathroom and tried not to think about Nina in the shower. He was still hard and aching from the feel of her in his arms, and now he couldn’t stop picturing the water streaming over her smooth, wet body. He imagined himself in the shower with her. He would soap her back, and then she’d turn to him, glistening like a mermaid, and he knew just how she would feel against him when she drew him close—

  Belatedly Mike noticed that he’d been putting Nina’s books onto her shelves upside down. “Better let her finish this,” he muttered. He needed a distraction, and there was one desk drawer he hadn’t yet been through.

  A few moments later Mike was deep in thought, but he wasn’t thinking about sharing a shower with Nina. He was staring down at the passport in his hand, remembering his department’s first and only briefing on the Zakroff and Duchesne case.

  Morris Hecht hadn’t been in a good mood that day. He wasn’t exactly cheerful to begin with, and having to start the day with a 7:30 meeting hadn’t helped. That meeting had been with the senior FBI official in charge of the Zakroff and Duchesne investigation, and Hecht was now ready to pass on to his staff the few morsels of information that the FBI had deigned to share with him.

  Hecht had stomped into the detectives’ squad room and snagged a doughnut from the box by the coffeemaker. After one bite he looked at it in disgust, put it down on someone’s desk and lit a cigar, ignoring the pained expressions of his detectives.

  “Once again we have the honor of hosting an FBI investigation,” he said dourly. “I’m authorized to tell you just enough to keep you from screwing up the feds’ case. There’s a Philadelphia company involved. Gem dealers called Zakroff and Duchesne. There’s an international angle. The firm does a lot of importing. From Colombia. It seems that country is a major source of emeralds—as well as another expensive luxury item. Somebody thinks the Médellin cocaine cartel could be branching out into gem smuggling, maybe using emeralds as a way to get their funds out of Colombia. The FBI is checking out this firm.”

  “They need any help from us, Chief?” Detective Sarris’s mocking question provoked derisive laughter from her fellow officers.

  “Hell, no.” Hecht puffed on his cigar. “As far as the guy in charge of this case is concerned, we’re just glorified traffic cops. But you’re on notice. If any of you turn up anything involving this Zakroff and Duchesne outfit, or any new Colombian connections, or if you hear anything on the street about emeralds, report to me and I’ll pass it on to the feds. Got it?”

  “If we get a tip, do we win a prize?” Sarris called out.

  “Yeah.” Hecht stood and ground out his cigar in a plate that held a half-eaten bagel. “You win a free vacation in sunny Colombia.”

  * * *

  Mike caught his breath when Nina came out of the bathroom. Her hair was slicked back, wet from her shower, and for an instant he remembered the seductive image of her that had filled his thoughts as he listened to the drumming of the water. Then he caught sight of the small Band-Aid on her temple and felt a surge of anger. If the bastard who did that tries again...

  Nina’s fresh-scrubbed face, bare of makeup, was anything but deliberately seductive, and yet its effect on him was powerful. She looked touchingly pure. Innocent. Hold on, he cautioned himself. Let’s see how she explains this.

  “Come here.” He motioned to her to sit next to him on the sofa, and she perched warily, as if ready for instant flight. He couldn’t blame her, after the way he’d practically jumped her. Keeping his tone carefully neutral, he said, “I’ve found your passport.”

  “Oh. Have I been anywhere wonderful?”

  “Take a look.” Mike handed her the dark blue folder and watched her brow crease in bewilderment as she leafed through it.

  “I don’t remember any of these trips,” she said.

  “One to Switzerland,” he remarked. “And five to Colombia. All in the past eighteen months. You must like it there.”

  Nina felt him watching her again, studying her as though she were under a microscope. He’s waiting for me to give myself away, she realized. Only I don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to be hiding! She looked doubtfully at the passport. “Maybe they were business trips.”

  “That’s a possibility. A lot of business comes out of Colombia these days.”

  Then it hit her. Colombia—cocaine. “You think I’m mixed up with drugs!”

  “Nina, I told you before, I don’t think anything yet. I’m just trying to pick up enough pieces to form a picture. And you’ve got to admit, one thing does come to mind at the mention of Colombia. You thought of it yourself.”

  She looked into Mike’s eyes. The warmth, the connection, between them was gone. Those blue eyes were not exactly hostile now, but they were guarded and cool, all business. Yet blue fire still glinted in their sapphire depths.

  “Wait a minute!” she exclaimed. “I think I’ve got it. Didn’t you say that this company I work for imports emeralds?” He nodded, and she continued, “Well, I’m a gemologist, right? So I probably went to Colombia on buying trips. Buying stones, not drugs.”

  It was amazing, Mike mused, the way her eyes picked up glints of golden light and her expression came alive when she was excited. He forced himself to focus on what she was saying; it made sense so far.

  “Most of the top-quality emeralds mined today come from Colombia,” Nina went on. “There are huge open-pit mines in the interior. People come from all over to work in them, desperate for the chance to make a fortune. The mines are pretty wild and lawless—anyone who finds a stone has to smuggle it out of the mine or else he’ll be robbed or killed by someone with a bigger gun.”

  “You sound as though you’ve been there.”

  “Maybe I have been, or maybe I just read about it, or saw it on television. How many times do I have to tell you—I don’t remember!“

  “Relax, Nina, please. I wasn’t accusing you,” Mike said, and in fairness Nina had to admit that his tone had been conversational rather than confrontational. “I was just interested in what you were describing, and I wondered whether any of it felt familiar.”

  She sighed. “Not really. I mean, it felt like something you just know, not something you’ve actually experienced.”

  “From the sound of it,” he said dryly, “I’d say it’s just as well if you haven’t experienced it firsthand. Sounds like the wild West, only with automatic weapons.”

  She shuddered. “Not necessarily something I’d want to remember, even if I’d been there.”

  “Your idea about business trips makes sense, though. We’ll find out tomorrow.”

  She looked up, startled. Somehow in all the confusion she hadn’t really thought about tomorrow.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock,” Mike informed her.
“We’ll go to your office and talk to the people there, and then maybe we can interview some of the people in your address book. That ought to help you fill in some of the blanks.”

  So she was to spend another day with Mike Novalis. Nina didn’t know whether to be relieved or apprehensive. She wouldn’t be completely on her own in this strangely alien existence. But she would have to deal with Mike’s suspicions of her—and with the fact every time he ran his hand through that messy black hair her fingers ached to do the same thing.

  Nina looked around for a clock. “Hey, you reset my VCR clock,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “All part of the service.” He flashed her that devastating grin—and then tried, with no success, to hide a huge yawn. It was much later than Nina had expected, nearly nine o’clock. Mike’s eyes looked raw and red, and he was pale under his beard shadow. He must be exhausted. Come to think of it, she was exhausted, and she’d had a few restful hours of unconsciousness at the hospital. It had been a long day for both of them.

  Mike rose from the sofa and stretched. Nina watched fascinated, unable to drag her eyes away, as his T-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest and muscular shoulders. He lifted his arms higher, and his shirt came out of the waistband of his jeans, revealing a few inches of flat, hard stomach. An arrow of dark hair ran down the center of it, straight toward the zipper. Mike finished stretching and the shirt came down. Nina swallowed and looked away. She was sure that he’d noticed her ogling him. So what? she told herself defiantly. I was just getting even for his peek inside my hospital gown. Still, she wasn’t quite ready to meet his gaze.

  “Are you sure you want to be alone tonight?”

  Nina gasped at the boldness of his question. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Mike stepped back from her so sharply that it was almost a jump. He raised both hands, palms out, and said sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just meant that if you don’t want to be alone, I can get a policewoman or a nurse to stay with you.”

  Nina shook her head. His question had been innocent, after all. But it’s a darned good thing you don’t know that the idea of spending the night with you was the first thing that came into my mind. “No, thanks, I don’t need anyone to stay with me. I’d really like to be alone for a while. I’ll be ready when you come by in the morning.”

  He picked up his jacket and went to the door. “There’s a couple of things I have to tell you,” he said, looking her squarely in the eyes. “First of all, I put a tap on your phone line. And before you blow up at me about your rights, it’s legal, and it’s standard procedure in a case where your life may be in danger.”

  “It’s also a nice way for you to check up on me,” Nina said bitterly, torn between anger and fear. “It’s because you think I’m a suspect, not because you think I’m a victim.”

  He turned away. “Have it your own way,” he said tiredly. “But I’m going to protect you whether you want me to or not. The other thing you need to know is that there’s going to be an officer watching the house all night. For your protection. Whether you want it or not. If you leave, he’ll follow you.” He paused, expecting an indignant outburst, but she was silent. “His name is Simms.”

  “Is he your partner?”

  Mike whirled. “What did you say?” His gaze was piercing and glacier cold.

  “You know—your partner. I thought police and detectives always worked in pairs.”

  “You watch too much TV,” Mike said, and he opened the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then he was gone, leaving Nina to wonder what she had said to earn that icy glare.

  * * *

  Mike cursed his hair-trigger temper as he descended the stairs of Nina’s building. He shouldn’t have lashed out at Nina like that. It was natural for her to resent being spied on. And she had no way of knowing that partner was one word that nobody used in his presence.

  The truth was, Mike admitted, that Nina Dennison unsettled him in every possible way, threw him off his stride. Half the time he suspected that she was making a fool of him, and the rest of the time he could barely keep his hands off her. He stepped outside and took a deep breath of the cool night air. All he needed was a good night’s sleep, and then he’d do his best to help her—or to bring her in.

  As ordered, there was Simms on sentry duty in a police car parked behind Mike’s. Mike crossed the street, and the young cop rolled down his window.

  “Got plenty of coffee, Simms?”

  “I’m not a coffee drinker. Don’t worry, I’ll stay awake.” Simms held up a six-pack of diet colas. Mike shuddered.

  “Whatever turns you on. Get someone to relieve you if you have to—I’ll be back at eight in the morning. She’s in apartment 4, top left, and she knows you’re out here.”

  Simms nodded. “Just one thing, Lieutenant. Am I doing surveillance on a suspect, or am I a bodyguard on protective duty?”

  “Both, Simms. Both.” Mike nodded good-night and made for his own car. He looked up at Nina’s windows before driving off, but all the blinds were down.

  * * *

  As soon as Mike was gone, Nina took out the diary. At last, she thought, I’ll get some insight into who I really am.

  But as she paged through the diary, looking for clues to her past, she found only disappointment. Day after day, week after week, went by with nothing more than brief, businesslike notes in her tidy handwriting: “Meeting with Armand and Julien D.,” “Called Mom,” “Meet Danielle at gym.” There were plenty of references to people she couldn’t place, but none of them jogged a memory. “Movie Carl 7:00 p.m.” Who was Carl? What movie had they seen on June 28? She riffled through the pages, but Carl’s name didn’t appear again.

  Comparing the diary with her passport, Nina checked the dates of her trips to Colombia. The diary contained flight numbers and hotel reservations in Bogotá, along with notes of times and addresses that apparently referred to a series of appointments, but no hint of what Nina had been doing in South America. Nina pored over the pages leading up to yesterday’s date—the date of her shooting—but found only more short entries about tasks she had performed or meetings she had scheduled. “Pick up dry cleaning.” “Call Louis M. at ASPG.”

  As Nina closed the diary, something further ahead in the book caught her eye. On the page devoted to next Tuesday she had written “Talk to Julien D.?” The writing was larger than the rest of the entries and, uncharacteristically, she had drawn a big circle around the words. That was all. Nina flipped through the rest of the book, but the pages were blank.

  “Not much of a diary,” she said aloud. She’d been hoping for a journal that would reveal the inner life of Nina Dennison—her life, her passions and secrets and dreams. Instead she’d found a singularly uninformative appointment book. Might as well have given this to Mike, she thought with a wry smile. No secrets here.

  She almost wished Mike were still there. At least he’d be someone to talk to. On impulse she picked up a pen and wrote “Mike Novalis 8:00 a.m.” under tomorrow’s date. Then she turned back to today’s page and scrawled, “Not much of a diary!” She looked at it for a moment, and then she started writing:

  [u93]Today is the first day of the rest of your life. How often have I heard that silly phrase, I wonder? Well, today really is the first day. Today is the day I woke up in the hospital with amnesia. They say I’ll get my memory back. When? And what do I do in the meantime?[ql

  Nina wrote for nearly an hour, filling up pages and pages without regard for the fact that the diary allotted her one page per day. She scribbled the things she wished she’d been able to say to her mother. She wrote about the fears that had lurked just beneath the surface of her thoughts all day—the fear that the shooting had been not random but a deliberate attempt on her life, and the fear that she was mixed up in something criminal. She wrote a prayer. And last of all she wrote, “There’s a cop outside right now, watching my house. I guess I’m glad he’s there. But I wish it were Mike.”
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br />   Finally, stretching her cramped fingers, Nina set her pen down. I can’t show this diary to Mike now. She took a last look at the book as she put it in the nightstand drawer. Up to the middle of September, the diary contained sparse, concise notes. But from there almost to mid-October was a single turbulent, passionate entry, full of underlinings and exclamation marks. It was hard to believe that both parts of the diary had been written by the same person. Has the amnesia changed me? Nina wondered. Or was I this emotional all along, and just didn’t show it?

  Late that night, as she tossed and turned restlessly in bed, Nina had another of those sharp, clear mental flashes. It was a lot like the vision she’d had of the two men in the tiny room, and the one of the blond woman wearing the mink coat. Except, she realized afterward, this one couldn’t be a memory. For what she had seen in this brief moment of vision was Mike Novalis coming toward her, laughing and gloriously bare chested. She couldn’t quite make out where he was; the background looked like trees. Too tired to figure out how she could possibly have a memory of someone she’d met for the first time that morning, Nina finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 4

  When Mike picked Nina up in the morning, he was determined to remain cool, professional and detached. But his detachment almost deserted him when she answered the door in a cream-colored silk blouse and a navy blue skirt. The outfit was far from provocative; some would even have called it demure. The V neck of the blouse revealed only the faintest hint of cleavage, and the skirt came modestly to the middle of her knee. But somehow, on Nina, it all looked damned sexy. The dark circles had vanished from under her eyes, and her gaze was clear. Looks like she slept a lot better than I did, Mike thought sourly. His own slumbers had been disturbed by frequent thoughts of Nina, many of them blatantly carnal.

  “Have you thought about how you want to handle this?” he asked her on the way to the Zakroff and Duchesne offices.

  “I think I’m just going to tell them the truth—that I got wounded by a gunshot and lost my memory.”