Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(147)

He held open the car door for her like a perfect gentleman. Not sweeping her into his arms or covering her with kisses or anything great and reassuring like that. No, he politely opened the door for her as if she were his eighty-year-old maiden aunt.

She slid into the car with a murmur of thanks.

Connor drove the car, and she searched through the database of her mind for one of the zillion prepared speeches she had made. They were nowhere to be found. She could only stare at his chiseled profile, at the beautiful line of his jaw. Scratches and bruises were still fading on his face. She wanted to kiss every last one of them.

"Looks like you were moving," he said.

His voice was so neutral. She could deduce nothing from it. "Yes," she said. "I'm putting most of my stuff in Mom's attic. Just taking a couple of suitcases with me."

"Where are you headed?"

She echoed his casual tone. "Portland, to start with. A friend of mine lives in a group house there. I figured I'd temp while I send my resume around, see who bites. Just for a change of air. It'll be fun to live with girlfriends again."

"A change of air," he repeated.

"Yeah, it's time," she faltered. "I have to get going on my career. Cindy and Mom are going to be fine now, so I'm free to… to—"

"Free to go," he finished. "Good thing I came by when I did. I might have missed you completely."

"Oh, no," she said hastily. "I meant to call you before I left."

"Just to say good-bye." His voice was hard.

He parked the car in front of a white two-story house with a deep, wraparound porch surrounded by rosebushes and hydrangeas.

"Where are we?" she asked.

He looked at her silently for a long moment. "This is my house."

Her gaze skittered away from his. "Oh. It's, ah, very nice."

"Come on up," he said.

She followed him up the walk through a green, lush lawn and peeked around herself as she followed him in.

The place was simple and tidy. Starkly furnished, but with warm colors. Parquet floors, a rust-colored rag in front of a navy blue couch. A fireplace. State-of-the-art speakers and sound system. A few carefully placed pictures on the walls, mostly charcoal landscapes.

"Come on into the kitchen," he invited her. "Your mom said you hadn't eaten. Can I fix you some lunch?"

"No, thank you," she said.

"A drink, then? I've got cold beer in the fridge. Or iced tea."

"A beer would be fine," she said.

Connor pulled two long-necked bottles out of the refrigerator. He popped them open with his key chain, grabbed her a glass from the drain board. He pulled out a chair for her. For the first time, she saw past her own anxiety and noticed that his face looked strained.

He sat down across from her. "Why didn't you call me, Erin?"

The question lay between them, heavy and important. She poured out a glassful of beer, stared into it, and told him the simple truth. "I felt too awful," she said. "About not believing you."

"Don't feel bad about that," he said. "I wouldn't have believed me either. No one would have. It was so bizarre, I barely believed myself."

She shook her head. "All that violence and malice and hatred. It made me feel… small. Squished out of existence."

"Your mom said you're not sleeping. Nightmares?"

She nodded.

"They'll pass," he said. "You're very strong."

Tears prickled her eyes at his quiet comprehension. She tried to reply, but the words tangled into a burning knot in her throat.

"You know how I figured it out, in the end?" he asked.

She dug for her Kleenex and gestured for him to go on.

"I went to the clinic," he said. "Sean saw Tonia there when I was in the coma. I checked it out. The only Tonia Vasquez who had ever worked there was in her sixties, and retired years before."

"Oh," she said. "I see."

"And that wasn't all. They showed me the guest register."

Erin covered her face and braced herself.

"I found your name there, Erin. Every single day that I was in that coma, you came in to see me."

She peeked through her fingers at him, and tried to smile. "Whoops," she whispered. "Busted."

He did not smile back. He just waited.

Erin let her hands drop. "I heard somewhere that it can help people in a coma, if you sing to them or talk to them or read to them," she said. "I can't sing, and I had never been able to think of anything to say to you even when you were conscious, let alone in a coma. But I can read. I remembered once you said you liked thrillers. I bought a Dean Koontz novel, Fear Nothing. I picked it out for the title. Then I got Seize the Night, since it was the sequel."

She paused. He just waited, eyes averted. His face was as still as if it were carved out of granite.

"At the end of Seize the Night, the hero, Chris, proposes to his girlfriend," she said. "It made me cry. I closed the book, and I started to talk to you. For the first time, I just held your hand and talked."

He let out a jerky sigh, and rubbed his face. "What did you say?"

Tears were running down her face. She dug a Kleenex out of her pocket and mopped them up. "I told you how I felt about you. How much I wanted you to wake up. How badly I hoped that someday we could be together. That was the last time I came."