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“Someone ran you off the road that night,” she grouses into the phone as my skin starts to crawl. Pure shock claws at my chest, scratching it wide-open. “And they still walk free and unpunished.” She disconnects the call as I get a glimpse of forgotten memory rousing from the dark corners of my mind.
The air so dense with dread chokes me as someone collides with us, knocking me forward. The pressure settles over my chest as I try to grasp what is happening. But when I do . . .
The cry of terror locks in my throat, readying for the inevitable impact. Just before the end, Logan’s green eyes lock with mine like two hopeless pits, reaching into me.
A helpless wail rips through me, as I try to get hold of the memory, but it fades like smoke.
“Hey, hey, Cassandra, look at me. It’s me, Mark. You’re safe, you’re here, with me, Lovebird. Breathe deep and exhale with me.” Mark’s reassuring guidance grounds me, and I clutch onto his jacket until my vision clears, and I regain a semblance of control.
“You had an episode,” he clarifies, and I nod, still reeling from the experience that felt way too real to be just a conjured image of my tattered psyche.
It was a real memory, I realize. After I spoke with Helen, it slipped through the cracks and revealed itself. A shiver runs through me as I recall the undiluted horror gripping me in its clutches.
Not believing that I will regain all my lost memories since my body suffered so many injuries and traumas, I moved on. But sometimes they tend to resurface like little distorted pieces, leaving particular sensations as aftereffects of that traumatic experience.
Mark unbuttons his jacket, draping it over my shoulders, and helps me up on my shaky feet.
“Let’s go inside. Paparazzi might be hovering nearby.”
I nod at him, not trusting my voice to speak. He drapes his hand around me as if shielding me from the world and leads me inside with worry etched on his handsome features.
Once we get inside his office, he settles me on the sofa next to the window. Kissing my forehead, he stands and walks to his desk. He unfastens his tie as if it’s suffocating him and calls Denise to bring us some tea and biscuits. I watch him detached.
He grabs the tray from Denise and brings the goodies to the coffee table as soon as it's ready. Stirring some sugar into my tea, he passes it to me.
“What happened,” he pleads as I sip a syrupy beverage he made for me.
“I spoke with Helen.”
He sits straight in his armchair opposite me. Clasping his hands together, he gives me his full attention.
“I think she was drunk and she told me things . . .” I watch the golden tea in my teacup vibrate as my hands shake, unable to stay still.
“Cassandra, what did she tell you?” Mark seizes the cup from my hands as my tears start to pour in salty rivulets down my face. He walks around and sits next to me, drawing my shuddering frame under his armpit.
“She said that someone ran us off the road on purpose and . . . I think she is right, Mark, someone hit us,” I admit the last part, whispering as if I could make it less real this way.
His frame stiffens next to me and I crane my neck to look at his pale face. His chin is set in a stubborn line as he stares at the wall with a bookcase full of folders opposite us.
“Mark, what is it?”
He stands and starts to pace, like a war machine full of power camouflaged under the suit, getting ready for a battle.
I stand, affected by his restlessness, and inch closer, feeling uneasy about his reaction. But he seizes me before I can touch him and kisses me like he’s desperate to save me. He slips his tongue past my lips, and I gasp in his mouth like a starved woman. My chest explodes as he hikes my skirt up and hooks my legs around his waist.
“We have to stop,” I breathe out a
s he settles me down on his desk, coiling his fingers into my hair until he has me in a firm grip.
The shadows in his glowing eyes like whirlpools of caramel, worry me, as does his behavior. “Promise me you won’t tell this to anyone else.” He enforces his words, digging his fingers hard into my scalp as if he wants to carve that warning into my flesh.
“Why?” I blow out a shaky breath, trying to control my racing heart, but when I see fear flicker through his gaze, all hair rises on my arms. “Mark.” I push words out. “Tell me the truth. What do you know?”
He hesitates for a moment but then goes to the shelve and retrieves a folder. When he takes a seat in front of me, his apologetic gaze locks on me, and I freeze like a deer in headlights.
“A few days ago, I asked Higgins to investigate your car accident. And he dug up some condemning evidence that was obviously hidden by your in-laws. They aren’t the only ones who would be interested in keeping it secret.”
I hold my breath as a massive headache tries to split my skull in two.
