STOLEN MEMORY Page 8

  Simon had no dependents listed on his tax records. Anyway, this Mrs. Ford was definitely not the type to waive alimony. She was too young to be his mother, too old to be Dylan's wife. Which left…

  "Which stepmother are you?" Laura asked.

  "Mia."

  Ha. So she was right.

  "Number four," Mia added. "Since Simon apparently hasn't brought you up to speed yet."

  "What do you want?" Simon asked.

  "Quinn told me you were having a party. Which I know you hate and can't imagine you're prepared for. So I stopped by to offer my services."

  "Considerate of you," Simon said coolly.

  Laura stuck out her chin. "Exactly what services are you offering?"

  Mia smiled. Her teeth were very white. Caps, Laura thought.

  "Oh, help in creating the party environment—the decor and lighting, linen and china. Menu, of course. Music. Transportation. Media coverage." Her manicured hand conjured visions in the air. "Whatever Simon needs."

  "We were thinking beer and brats in the backyard," Laura said.

  The hand fluttered and came to rest on Mia's throat. "Simon?"

  Simon's eyes gleamed. "She's pulling your leg, Mia. Everything's taken care of. Quinn's arranging transportation. Carolyn's contacted an event planner to handle the rest."

  "You still need a hostess."

  "I have a hostess." He put an arm around Laura's waist and drew her smoothly to his side. "And I can't wait for everyone to meet her."

  Mia's gaze flicked over Laura, taking in her worn jeans and scarred jacket, her hair escaping its unfashionable braid. "Forgive me, but are you really used to managing an event of this kind?"

  Laura opened her mouth to say that after corralling the drunks in the parking lot during the annual football rivalry between Eden High School and neighboring Fox Hole, she was pretty sure she could handle a room full of Scotch-sipping corporate types. But Simon cut her off.

  "It's time for her to get used to it," he said, his arm tightening around her in warning. To his stepmother, they must look like a pair of regular lovebirds. Laura wasn't sure if she felt championed or annoyed. "But we appreciate the offer."

  "I'd be happy to help," Mia said.

  "Thanks," Simon said. "But all you have to do this time is show up and enjoy yourself."

  Laura watched him smile at his stepmama, watched Mia's smile bloom in return. For a science geek, he was pretty smooth. Who'd have thought?

  "Was there anything else?" Simon asked.

  "I suppose not."

  "Then we'll let you go. Nice of you to stop by." Taking Mia by the elbow, he finessed her to the door and turned her over to Carolyn. The lock clicked shut behind her.

  Laura blew out a breath. "Damn, you're good." She would have to watch that.

  "I've had a lot of practice," Simon said.

  "Oh, really?"

  "Yeah, I…" He met her gaze, an arrested expression in his eyes. "I remember that. I remember her."

  She stomped on a nasty and completely inappropriate squiggle of jealousy. "What do you remember?"

  "She had light hair," he said slowly. "And she was laughing. Except…" He shook his head. "Never mind. That wasn't Mia. That one had a baby, and Mia didn't want children."

  "Your stepmother didn't want children," Laura repeated.

  "Not someone else's," Simon said reasonably. "None of them did."

  Anger curled in Laura's stomach. "Then why did they marry a man with a child?"

  Simon looked surprised. "Our lives didn't really intersect, my father's and mine. He traveled a great deal. And I…" Memories deepened his eyes. "It doesn't matter now."

  "It might," Laura argued. "If you remember something that could impact the investigation."

  He arched his eyebrows. "You think I was hit on the head by the ghosts of my past?"

  "Don't be clever. Talk. How old were you when your mother died?"

  "I don't remember."

  "So you were probably young."

  "Or I don't remember."

  Laura tried to find another opening. "You had four stepmothers. Do you remember them?"

  "I… Dylan's mother," he said. "She was the blonde with the baby."

  Excitement skittered along Laura's nerves. She did her best to ignore it. The quickest way to screw up an interview was to lose impartiality. "Was she the first?"

  Simon nodded, his expression curiously smooth and young. "Kathy had Dylan. Amber had little dogs. Poodles, I think. Sharyn had Julie."

  Laura hid her distaste for these women who had babies and puppies and no time for a bright, solitary little boy. Feeling sorry for the child Simon had been made no difference to him then and wouldn't help him now. At least he remembered something. "Tell me about Julie."

  "Julie is my… My God," he breathed.

  "Julie is your what?"

  Simon lifted his head, realization dawning in his eyes. "Julie is my sister. Half sister. My younger half sister."

  Bingo. "The girl in the photograph."

  "Maybe."

  "You're not sure?"

  "I remember a baby. I didn't have anything to do with her. I wasn't supposed to have anything to do with her. But…"

  Laura bit her tongue.

  "She was crying," Simon said slowly. "I was home from school—it must have been spring break—and I heard her screaming for the longest time. I don't know why the nanny didn't come. So I went in to make sure she wasn't going to choke to death or something, and when she saw me…"

  "When she saw you," Laura prompted.

  "She was standing in her crib. And she put up her arms. You know, so I would pick her up."

  She could almost picture them, the dark-haired, awkward boy, the red-faced, crying toddler. The image wrenched her heart. "And did you?"

  "Yeah." He hunched his shoulders, a boy's gesture. "I guess she followed me around after that. For a couple of weeks. Until I went back to school."

  It was a poignant picture. "You remember that."

  "I remember," Simon said quietly.

  "You don't sound very excited about it."

  "It's not a particular useful memory."

  "Or a happy one," she guessed.

  His face matured. Sharpened. "So when is a fifteen-year-old happy about anything?"

  Laura frowned. "You were fifteen when you went away to school?"

  "Nine, I think. It was easier for everyone if I was at school."

  She'd heard worse. Seen worse. Abandoned babies, neglected or abused children and runaway teens were all part of her job. But Simon's matter-of-fact tone pressed against her breastbone like a knife.

  "What about vacations? Holidays?"

  "I told you, my father traveled."

  She understood his defensive dismissal. Understood it and saw through the door. She'd made excuses for her father, too. "So you were alone a lot, huh?"

  "I enjoy being alone," he said, looking down his long, straight nose at her. "I wanted them to leave me alone."

  Maybe, Laura thought. But she'd done enough juvie work to know it was the kids who said they didn't want anyone who needed someone the most.

  "What else do you remember?"

  His mouth tightened. "Nothing."

  "Anything about the night you were attacked?"

  "No."

  That figured. Everything he said was consistent with what Laura had read about retrograde amnesia. Older memories were usually the first to return, and the victims of trauma sometimes never remembered the time of their accidents.

  But she had to keep an open mind. Just because she felt sorry for him, for the little boy he had been, was no reason to take everything he said at face value. Anything a detective learned in an interview had to be evaluated in the light of the available facts.

  And at the moment Laura had damn few facts and way too many feelings. She wanted to trust Simon, and that alone made her suspect him and her own instincts.

  He could be telling the truth.

  Or he could have r
ead the same sources she had.

  She owed it to herself and to the investigation to stay impartial. But she was more moved than she wanted to admit by the images of his childhood.

  "So, when can you get out of here?" she asked.

  Simon looked surprised. She didn't blame him. She'd surprised herself. "Why?"

  "You said you'd come with me when I went back to talk to my father's neighbors. What time can you leave?"

  He smiled suddenly, and her heart did a slow roll in her chest and then soared. Jeez.

  "I'm my own boss," he said. "I can leave right now."

  Laura moistened her lips. This was an investigation. Not a date. There was no reason to feel that little flutter in her stomach. "Don't you have stuff to take care of first?"

  "Since I don't know what I'm doing, it probably won't hurt to put off doing it for another day. Give me a minute with Carolyn, and we can go."

  Carolyn required more than a minute.

  Laura sauntered to the window and stood looking out as Simon's assistant presented him with letters to sign, appointments to approve, decisions to make. She listened, impressed, as he questioned, juggled and deflected, wondering if she'd made another big mistake. Simon Ford didn't need her pity. He didn't seem to need much of anything.

  "Move the meeting with Macon to next week," he instructed Carolyn. "And tell Dylan I'd like another copy of that marketing report."

  At last he pocketed his PDA and opened the office door. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

  Laura strolled out. "No problem. It was interesting."

  Simon caught up with her in two long strides and slipped an arm around her waist. She stiffened.

  "Interesting, how?" he asked.

  He was acting, Laura reminded herself. Playing a role for Carolyn and the earnest young man behind the front desk. Her foolish fault if it felt like more. She forced herself not to pull away.

  "You're quite an operator," she said.

  Simon's mouth twitched. "Is that a compliment on my job performance?"

  His hand was warm on her back as he steered her to the elevator. Laura cleared her throat. "It's a comment on your performance, yes."

  The elevator car seemed smaller going down, cramped, filled with the scent of Simon's aftershave and the warmth of his body. As soon as they reached the lobby, Laura bolted from under his arm, her boots echoing on the marble floor.

  He tugged her back gently. "Are those the guards who harassed you?"

  She glanced at Tweedledee and Tweedledum, ranked like bowling pins at their post. "What does it matter? Let's go."

  Simon looped his arm across her shoulders. "This will only take a minute," he promised, and dragged her to the guard station.

  Damn it.

  Laura had no intention of providing the lobby staff with a repeat performance of the afternoon floor show. But unless she dropped him, she had no choice but to go along.

  One guard nudged the other as they approached, and both straightened hastily.

  "Is there a problem, Mr. Ford?"

  "That's what I'm trying to figure out, Officer…" Simon's gaze flicked to the guard's badge. "Williams. And Cooper. I believe you've already met Ms. Baker."

  "Yes, sir," Tweedledee—Williams—said.

  The younger guard, Dwayne Cooper, shifted his weight, his gaze going to Laura. "What does she say?"

  Laura stared him down. "I told him you apprehended me as I attempted to bring a concealed weapon onto the premises."

  "Yeah." The guard nodded. "Uh, yes, sir."

  "Ms. Baker is a friend of mine." Simon lowered his voice. "A close, personal friend of mine. Her safety and comfort are very important to me. I'm sure you understand."

  Laura gritted her teeth.

  Dwayne Cooper smirked. "Yes, sir."

  Simon stepped closer. Into his space. Into his face.

  "You touch her again," he said quietly, "you say anything to give her a hard time, you fail to cooperate or even look at her funny, and the next time that alarm goes off it will be because I've thrown you through the door. Is that clear?"

  The guard stared straight ahead, his face sullen and red. "Yes, sir."

  "Good." Simon stepped back. "Then there's no problem."

  Laura was livid as she stalked through the tall steel-and-glass doors. "What do you think you were doing back there?" she hissed as they hit the sidewalk.

  "Looking after you."

  She ignored the flush of pleasure his words gave her. She couldn't remember the last time somebody had tried to look after her. Had dared to stand up for her. "I can look after myself."

  "Indisputably."

  She scowled. "Don't use big words in that snotty tone of voice. You acted like I'm some little woman in need of your protection. That's not who I am."

  "It's who you're supposed to be. I'm giving credibility to your cover as my girlfriend."

  He was right. That didn't make his protective act any easier to take. As Eden's only female officer, she wouldn't last two weeks on the job if she couldn't handle herself. She couldn't afford to let Simon fight her battles. It was bad for her image. And dangerous to her heart.

  She turned on him. "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy that macho crap."

  Simon smiled. "No, I can't tell you that. Is this your car?"

  She looked down at her ticket-me-red Grand Prix GT, her one vanity and indulgence. "Yeah. Where are you parked? You can follow me in your car."

  "I could if I wanted to leave Quinn stranded at the office. He drove me into work this morning," he explained blandly.

  Laura narrowed her eyes. Was he manipulating her? Surely Simon Ford had the means and money to arrange alternate transportation for his driver. But the last thing she wanted was to get involved in more explanations and delays. Besides, he didn't know where they were going.

  She unlocked the doors. "Fine. Get in."

  Simon reached for the door handle.

  "I'll drive," she snapped.

  He swung the door open and held it for her. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  "You can't get in," the building super repeated, shifting his considerable bulk in the doorway. A Chicago Bears T-shirt strained over his gut. From the stains on the shirt and the beer in his hand, Laura guessed they'd interrupted his dinner. "I can't hand out keys to anybody who asks for them, you know."

  The scent of greasy french fries mingled with the tinny roar of the Cubs game drifting from inside the apartment. Laura hadn't eaten all day, and her hunger added another edge to her discomfort. Her stomach rumbled. She wondered if Simon heard.

  "I'm not anybody," she said tightly. "I'm Pete's daughter."

  "He never mentioned you."

  Funny, how that still had the power to hurt after all these years. "He didn't mention you, either. That doesn't mean you aren't who you say you are."

  The super snorted. "You got ID?"

  She pulled out her driver's license and offered it to him. He squinted at it.

  "How come you don't have the same last name?"

  She was uncomfortably conscious of Simon listening behind her. "I married," she said shortly. "Swirsky's my maiden name."

  "Huh." The super peered again at the license. "You sure don't look like him."

  "Thank God for that," Simon said.

  The man cracked a laugh. "Good one. Can't let you in, though." He handed back her license. "Not unless you got a badge and a warrant."

  The way he said it made Laura think he'd been through the drill before. Her stomach sank. Of course Palmer had been here. In his shoes, she would have done the same. Looking for the rubies. Or the security tapes.

  "You've spoken to the police?" she asked.

  The super's face shuttered. He started to close the door. But Laura's foot was already over the sill.

  "I don't want any trouble," he said.

  "Good," said Laura. The edge of the door pressed against her boot. "Did the police alrea
dy search the apartment?"

  "He had a warrant," the super said.

  Simon flattened his hand against the door, relieving the pressure on her foot. "I have something for you, too."

  The man fell back. "I don't want any trouble," he repeated.

  "No trouble," Simon assured him. He reached past Laura with his other hand, and she caught the flash of folded bills. What did he think he was doing?

  Greed sparked in the super's face. He took the money; counted it. "What do you want?" he asked Simon.

  "An hour inside," Simon said.

  The man rubbed the bills between his fingers. There were at least three of them, and the outside one was a twenty. "Half an hour," he said. "And I keep the keys."

  Simon looked at Laura. She nodded, her blood beating thick in her ears. She resented feeling like an imposter: not quite a daughter, not really a girlfriend, not officially a cop. She hated giving up control. But she was grateful to Simon for getting them inside, and relieved she wouldn't have to compromise her principles by flashing her shield.

  Who was she kidding?

  She was compromising her principles just by being here. "Half an hour," Simon agreed. "And you leave us alone inside."

  The man smirked. "Just don't get the sheets dirty." He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket.

  "You paid him too much," Laura said as soon as the door closed behind the super.

  Simon waited until the man's footsteps faded away in the hall outside. Laura stood in the middle of her father's living room, her shoulders hunched and her chin at a dangerous angle.

  He raised his eyebrows. "You want to go after him? Ask for our money back?"

  She didn't smile. "It's not our money. It was your money. And you shouldn't have given it to him."

  "I can afford it."

  "That's not the point."

  He knew that, just as he'd known any bending of the rules would bother her. Which was why he hadn't told her about it beforehand.

  "You're not on the clock now, Detective. And I'm not on the payroll. Let's not make too big a deal out of a simple business transaction."

  She flushed. "I'm not objecting to your methods. I've paid for information before. And I'm telling you he would have let us in for fifty."

  Simon couldn't keep the amusement from his voice. "You wanted me to haggle with him?"