Vows of Vengeance. Rita Herron
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He waited, bracing himself, tamping down his anger.
She looked up, and he stared into her light green eyes, was caught anew by the sensuality and sweetness he’d once seen there. A bruise darkened her cheek, though, and a cold look of horror filled those crystalline eyes, as well as a dead emptiness that shook him to the core.
Yes, it was Stella.
But not the Stella he remembered.
She didn’t speak, jump up and greet him, or offer an explanation. Didn’t acknowledge that she was his wife. Didn’t move to touch him, to hold him or beg him for forgiveness.
He had to clear his throat twice to make it work. “Stella?”
He waited, his lungs tight.
“Yes.” An odd, almost distant look glazed her expression, then her voice came out in a low whisper. “Who are you?”
STELLA’S HEAD was swimming. First from waking up to find the dead man beside her, her hands coated in blood. Then the security guard and police with their questions and accusing eyes.
And now this stranger…was staring at her, calling her name, looking at her as if he’d seen a ghost.
As if she should know him.
“Come on, Stella,” he said in a harsh voice. “It may have been over a year since we were together, but don’t pretend you don’t recognize me.”
“I…” She gripped her hands in her lap, shuddering at the blood on her fingers. The sticky dark substance had seeped beneath her fingernails, soaked into her skin, settled in the fine lines on her palms. The smell suffocated her, the feel of the dried blood caking her hands nauseating her.
She desperately wanted to shower and rid her body of the stench of the dead man, but the detective beside her had already informed her bathing was impossible. They had to collect evidence. Fingerprints, DNA. Protect the crime scene.
So they could nail her for the murder.
Even though confusion muddled her mind, she knew what they were thinking. Realized she looked guilty. For God’s sake, she’d been holding the gun when the cop had arrived.
And what had this man said—that it had been a year since she’d seen him? Denial swept through her. If she’d ever met him, she wouldn’t have forgotten him. He was too powerful. Virile. Sexy. Intimidating.
Then again, she couldn’t remember anything except her name.
“Stella?”
She studied his features, searching for familiarity, for any dot of a memory to return. His tight jeans accentuated the massive power of his body. He was tall, over six feet, broad-shouldered and muscular. His eyes were dark, too, like two hot coals on fire, probing, unnerving as if he never smiled. A broad jaw brushed with dark stubble gave him a sexy appearance, but the tight set to that jaw indicated he was angry.
Why would this man be angry with her?
“I…don’t know who you are or why you think you know me.” She met his gaze, determined to prove her point, but somewhere deep inside, in the far recesses of her mind, something intangible registered.
A wild and primitive awareness flickered in his eyes, something predatory, an almost hungry look, as if she’d not only met him, but he’d known her intimately.
As quickly as the moment came, it fled, and she was thrust back into the depths of lost time.
“This isn’t funny, Stella.” The man stalked toward her, stopped and gritted his teeth. “I’ve been searching for you ever since you ran out on our wedding night.”
Stella gasped, perspiration beading her lip. Wedding night? What was he talking about? She’d never been married….
Had she?
LUKE STUDIED his wife’s reaction, his temper battling with other emotions he didn’t want to admit. He was glad to see her. Relieved she was alive. Furious that she’d left him.
And he ached to hold her. To grab her, drag her into his arms and tell her how terrified he’d been that she was hurt, in trouble, needing him. How he’d nearly been out of his mind the last twelve months. That he’d imagined horrid scenarios, seen her face in death a thousand times in his mind, her neck twisted or broken, her body covered in blood with glazed eyes.
That he’d made love to her a thousand times in his mind.
Stella stretched her left hand in front of her. “You must have me confused with someone else, mister. I’ve never been married.”
His dark eyebrow shot up. “Stop lying,” he said in an icy tone. “I’m not in the mood to play games and neither are these other officers.” His cold gaze slid across her, sideways to the bed where the dead man lay in a pool of blood, then back to her hands. “Who was he? Your lover?”
Detective Black cleared his throat. “Devlin, maybe you’d better let me handle this.”
Luke glared at him. “What has she told you so far?”
Stella knotted her hands and glanced at the detective as if he were her friend. As if she thought she needed protection from him.
“I don’t know who this man is,” Stella said to Black. “Or what he’s talking about. Do I have family to call?”
“You told me you had no family.” Luke swallowed, grappling for control. After all Stella had put him through, how could she pretend she didn’t recognize him?
Detective Black gestured for Luke to step aside. Reluctantly he did so, well aware Stella tracked his movements.
“I think she may have amnesia or be suffering from shock,” Detective Black said. “I want the paramedics to evaluate her.”
Luke nodded. “All right, but just to cover our asses. She’s lying through her pretty, white teeth.”
Black shrugged. “Then see what you can get out of her. So far, I’ve hit a dead end. She insists she doesn’t remember anything except her name, that she doesn’t know the victim.”
Luke grunted. Hell, maybe she hadn’t known him, maybe she’d picked up a stranger for a one-night stand. “She was in bed with the damn man.”
Not how he’d expected to find her. He’d be a laughingstock all over the bureau. Disgust rode through him in waves. He’d made a fool of himself the last year. Begging the feds to keep looking for her and trying to clear himself at the same time.
Dammit, he’d chased down lead after lead. Tortured himself over what might have happened to her. Blamed himself for not protecting her. Nearly lost his damn career.
And now here she sat, denying their marriage ever existed, pretending not to know his name…
Fury raged through him as he turned back to her. She was trembling and had shrunken back into the chair as if the cheap flimsy plastic might save her. Hating the sympathy that struck him, he stifled the urge to grab a blanket and wrap it around her arms, to calm her.
Instead he steeled his voice. “All right, Stella. Tell me what’s going on.”
Her eyes smoldered with unease. “Like I told the police, I don’t remember what happened. I woke up around midnight and found this man in my bed. B-blood was everywhere.” Her face paled as she picked at the dark stain between her fingers.
“Go on.”
She bit down on her lower lip. “I…had blood on me, then I scrambled off the bed and saw the gun.”
“You were holding it when the security guard arrived.”
“I…I picked it up off the floor. I…” She gestured toward the bed. “I …don’t know this dead man, though…or what’s going on. I…swear it. I don’t even remember checking into the motel.”
“What