Eyewitness. Carol Ericson
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rage that he hadn’t escaped his captors sooner. “I’m sorry, Devon.”
He gazed at Michael, who had gone back to his game with the shells when his mother had stopped laughing. Devon had gone on. Had met someone else. Reclaimed her life. That little boy was evidence of that.
“Don’t be sorry.” Devon gathered her blond hair and twisted it around her hand like a golden rope. “It was fate, just like running into you in Coral Cove on my escape from the city.”
Escape? What was she running from? Unease crawled across his flesh. He slid a look at Michael. Where was his father?
Kieran inhaled the sea air and expelled it between his clenched teeth. “Was that Michael’s father on the cliff? Is that why you were so worried?”
“What?” Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head. “Was who Michael’s father?”
“The man in the white van on the cliff. The man watching Michael.”
* * *
THE WHITE VAN.
Kieran’s words sliced through the fog swirling around her brain. Too many discoveries had pummeled her in such a short period of time, her mind was still reeling. For a minute, she’d thought Kieran had asked about Michael’s father.
She remembered the white van in the lookout area. “There was someone watching Michael when he came up on the rocks?”
Kieran’s shoulders relaxed. “I—I saw you and Michael climb down to the beach. A man had gotten out of the van and was standing at the edge of the lookout. I thought he was making a move toward Michael when he clambered out of the cave, but I got to the boy first.”
Devon shrugged, but a finger of fear had touched the back of her neck. Why had she even noticed that van? She’d been on edge ever since Mrs. Del Vecchio’s murder.
But now she had bigger issues on her plate. Kieran didn’t even remember her. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him about her pregnancy before he’d left for Afghanistan on that top secret mission.
Should she give him some time to piece together the fragments of his life before springing paternity on him? She glanced at the dark stranger coiled in the deck chair, the black patch hiding one eye and a guarded secrecy hiding the other.
Hugging herself, she rubbed her arms. “The guy in the van was a stranger. I’m not running from Michael’s father if that’s what you’re thinking.”
At least not yet.
“That’s good.” He tilted his chin toward her. “Are you cold? Should we continue this conversation inside?”
He couldn’t even bring himself to touch her. What had those monsters done to him?
“Inside Columbella?” She glanced at Michael, whose hands had stalled above the shells.
“It’s shelter from the breeze, anyway.”
“Have you actually been staying in the house?”
“It’s the only place I remembered.”
“H-have you been to the burned-out room?” Did he remember that room? It had been their secret place.
“I saw a room off the library that was scorched.” He threw a sidelong glance at Michael. “It seemed…”
“There was a fire there last month.” She scooted up to the edge of her chair. “I have a better idea.”
His frame stiffened and he clutched the arms of the chair as if ready for takeoff. “What?”
“Your parents have a perfectly good house across the street.” She waved her arm in the general direction of the street on the other side of Columbella House. “It has electricity and everything.”
“Is it occupied?”
Kieran didn’t want to see his family? Yes, he was a different man.
“No. Your parents live in Hawaii now, and Colin just left. He’d been staying there while he was in town.” She crooked her finger at a sleepy Michael, rubbing his eyes, and patted her lap.
“Where’s Colin now?”
Devon scooped Michael into her lap, and he tucked his head into the hollow of her neck. His dark lashes fluttered on his cheeks and Devon’s heart skipped a beat. Couldn’t Kieran see his mirror image in Michael?
“I don’t know. I asked, but apparently Colin took off with Michelle Girard. Do you remember her? She lived…” She trailed off as Kieran shook his head. “Anyway, they took off for parts unknown.”
Kieran rubbed his knuckles against the black stubble of his beard. “People are going to know me here, aren’t they?”
Devon allowed her mouth to hang open for a few seconds. “Of course. I don’t understand how you’ve avoided detection up until this point.”
“I haven’t been here long and I haven’t been out much. The town’s already clogged with tourists. What’s one more with a baseball cap pulled over his face?”
“You’re one of Coral Cove’s favorite sons, Kieran. High school football star, football scholarship to college, prestigious language institute before joining the Green Berets.” She brushed a hand across Michael’s smooth cheek, taking note of his measured breathing, and whispered, “People think you’re dead.”
His one dark eye glittered, unfathomable beneath a half-mast lid. “I suppose I’d cause a stir if I hit the streets.”
“If you hit the streets? You’re not staying?” Her hands bunched Michael’s T-shirt as she hugged his sleeping form closer to her body. “Y-you need medical treatment. Psychiatric treatment.”
“I can get that at Walter Reed.”
“I thought you didn’t trust the government.”
“Is that what you’re doing here?”
“What?” She wasn’t sure she liked this abrupt-talking stranger with the piercing eyes…eye. Was he blind beneath that patch?
He leveled a finger at Michael. “What’s wrong with your boy?”
Devon hunched over Michael’s body in a protective gesture. Was it so clear that Michael had issues? Or was Kieran extra perceptive because of his half blindness…or because he was Michael’s father?
“What do you mean?”
“He’s what? Five? Six? He’s not very vocal. He’s jumpy. Uneasy. Watchful.”
Like his father.
“He’s four.” Devon held her breath, waiting for Kieran to start calculating the years in his head. Did he even remember the last time they were together? Probably not if he thought Michael could be six years old.
Devon slumped in her chair. “Our downstairs neighbor was murdered last month. Michael hasn’t been the same since.”
“Murder can be tough for a kid to handle. Did he know her well?”
“They were…close. But I never told Michael Mrs. Del Vecchio was murdered, just that she had died.”
“Maybe he found out.”
“I don’t know. He won’t talk about it.” Her nose tingled with tears and she buried her face in Michael’s soft hair.
“Is he in treatment?”
“He was seeing a therapist in the city, but I wanted to get away from our apartment house. The therapist thought it was a good idea, too.”
“And now?”
“This is my hometown, a refuge.” Or at least it was before her dead fiancé showed up with no memory. “There also happens to be a great therapist here, who works with hypnosis. She’s a family friend,