So Little Time Read online

  So Little Time

  Doreen Roberts

  To Bill, who makes me smile when I’m down, cracks the whip when I feel lazy and knows more about American history than anyone I know. Thank you for your expertise on the research, your unwavering support and encouragement, the hundred and one jobs you do for me and for fulfilling my every dream. I love you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 1

  He awoke with a start, bathed in sweat. The lights above his head had been turned off, and only the sunlight filtered through the blinds. How long had he been asleep this time? A few hours? All day? It was hard to remember. So many days had passed. Four, maybe five. He wasn’t sure.

  He waited until his mind had cleared enough for him to sit up. He still couldn’t remember anything, though now and again he’d had brief flashes of smoky green fields, and hot sun on tall grass. He didn’t know what to call the pictures that formed unbidden in his mind.

  He only knew that when they happened, he blocked out everything else around him, to the point where he couldn’t function at all. It was just as well he was lying down when the visions attacked him, he told himself, because he would have certainly fallen down on the ground, maybe never to get up.

  He climbed carefully out of the bed and moved to the window. From there he could see a corner of a paved yard, where several odd-looking conveyances stood side by side. Every now and again, one would move, making a dreadful noise as it did so.

  In fact, he couldn’t get used to the noises he heard, both inside and outside the building. He had no idea what caused them, and no one would take the time to explain it to him. All the doctors would tell him was that he would understand everything once he had his memory back.

  There was one thing he knew for certain. He could not trust anyone. For some reason, they didn’t want him to leave that room. He had overheard them talking outside his door.

  Imperative to keep him under lock and key. He cannot be allowed to escape.

  Well, he had news for them. He was going to damn well escape. He would do whatever it took, but he was not going to spend one more day locked up in that damn room.

  He hadn’t thought about the medication they’d given him, until he’d realized that every time they’d used that needle on him, he had become sleepy and disoriented.

  Damn it, his name was the only thing he could remember. To lose it again was to lose his identity, and he fought like crazy to hold on to the elusive syllables. Granger Deene.

  He had no idea why these doctors were keeping him prisoner. When he asked them, they shook their heads and pretended he was imagining things. It was his mind, they said, playing tricks on him.

  Granger was already weak from lying in bed for so long. In order to get his strength back he had to escape from this damn prison. Maybe then, he could remember more about who he was, and what had happened to him.

  He awoke the next evening to find that his meal had already been brought to him while he lay sleeping. Soon someone would come and stick the needle in his arm, then leave him alone until morning.

  While he was doing his best to stay awake, he heard a key turn in the lock, and his door cautiously opened.

  A man’s face he didn’t recognize peered at him from the doorway. “Sorry to disturb you,” the doctor said, looking nervously about him as if he expected someone to spring at him from the shadows, “I have your medication. It won’t take a moment.”

  The man fidgeted with his coat lapel, where a badge had been pinned to it. His neck looked too thin for his collar, and his glasses wouldn’t stay on his nose. He kept pushing them up again with his fingers.

  Granger studied him from under lowered lashes. The frail-looking doctor presented his best opportunity to escape so far. His own strength would barely hold him up, let alone overpower some of the bruisers who had held him down so effortlessly.

  This weak, indecisive little man looked as if he would scare easily, giving Granger the advantage.

  He waited until the doctor leaned over him to take his arm. Then, with a swift movement, Granger lifted both his hands and fastened them around the scrawny neck.

  Staring into the man’s frightened eyes, he said fiercely, “I don’t want to break your neck, but I will do it if you don’t keep quiet and stay out of my way. Understand?”

  The man’s eyes were round balls of glass in his red face. He nodded and made a gurgling sound deep in his throat.

  Carefully, Granger maneuvered into a sitting position, still gripping the terrified man’s throat. From there it was easy to slide off the bed and stand on his feet.

  Granger waited for the dizziness to pass, praying it wasn’t an onset of the fantasies. After a moment his vision cleared, and he concentrated once more on his victim.

  “I’ll have to cover up your mouth,” he said, beginning to feel sorry for the squirming doctor. “I can’t chance you yelling for someone the minute I’m out of here.”

  The doctor just stared at him with the same glassy expression. Granger let go of the man’s throat and shoved him onto the bed. Taking the linen napkin that had been left with his dinner, he folded it cornerwise, placed it across the doctor’s mouth and tied it securely at the back of his head.

  After trading his nightshirt for the doctor’s clothes, Granger tied the man’s hands and feet with the sheets to the bars on the bed.

  It took Granger a matter of moments to change into the black trousers, white shirt and long, white coat. The sleeves barely reached his wrists, and the pants cut him around the belly, with the hems ending above his ankles. The shoes, happily, fitted him. The doctor had surprisingly large feet for such a small frame.

  Taking the key from the coat pocket, Granger faced the little man once more. “Tell them not to come looking for me. I’ll kill before I come back to this place.”

  The doctor frantically nodded his head, obviously relieved that he wasn’t the one being killed.

  Granger touched his forehead with his fingertips, then closed and locked the door behind him.

  * * *

  Spring was the time Corie Trenton enjoyed her Cape May home the most, when the days were warm enough to appreciate the Jersey shore and all it had to offer, without the hustle and bustle of the crowds that would soon stream there from New York and Philadelphia.

  Now she was glad she’d taken the chance on the transfer that no one else had wanted. Not only had the position offered her the escape she’d been seeking, it had provided her with a whole new outlook on life.

  Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, she set out on the brisk walk along the shore to the tumbledown, sprawling Victorian house into which she’d invested her life savings.

  She had not only bought a home, she’d told herself, she had bought something far more precious—peace and a wonderful sense of independence. And that was worth far more than any palace.

  The light had begun to fade, and the beach was practically deserted. The steady swish of the ocean washing the sand relaxed her, and she felt her tension easing as she marched past the hotels that lined the boardwalk.

  A fresh sea breeze ruffled her smooth, blond hair, and she lifted her face to it, enjoying the cool, salty air on her skin. She was really looking forward to the weekend, even though it meant more hard work on the countless chores that awaited her.

  As she turned into the quiet tree-lined street, the fragrance of woodsmoke from the chimneys of the elegant, century-old houses greeted her.

/>   The sight always gave her a wonderful sense of coming home, something she had never felt in all the years of her marriage. Now she had two whole days to herself. No one was going to interrupt her well-earned break from the office. No one at all.

  Once inside the house with the door securely closed, Corie felt completely at peace. She decided to pour herself a glass of wine and listen to her favorite John Denver album before she tackled the chicken stir-fry she’d planned for dinner.

  By now the sun had deserted the sky and left it glittering with a thousand stars. Fascinated as always with the spectacle, Corie took the remains of her wine out onto the porch to view the endless wonder of space that never failed to stir her soul.

  It was then that she saw him.

  She stared at the figure crumpled at the bottom of the steps for several seconds, trying to find the nerve to take a closer look at the man. She didn’t want to get close to him. Darn drunks should stay at home if they couldn’t handle their liquor.

  Of course, if he was dead she would have to call the cops. That’s all she needed...lights flashing, car doors slamming. That would really please the neighbors. They were so darned fussy about keeping the street quiet for their paying guests. Still, she couldn’t just leave him there. She had to at least find out if he was still alive.

  Creeping down the steps one by one, she held her breath, ready to spring back to safety should the guy make a sudden move. She reached his side without seeing the faintest flicker of life from the hunched body.

  He lay on his side in a pool of light from the porch lamps, his face hidden from her. One wide shoulder hunched under his ear, pushing the collar of his white shirt over his cheek.

  His legs were drawn up almost to his chin, and one arm seemed to reach out in mute appeal. He looked vulnerable, and Corie felt a brief stab of sympathy. However, she hardened her feelings immediately. She knew better than to feel sorry for a drunk. Tentatively she reached out and touched the shoulder nearest to her. “Hey, mister! You breathing?”

  The feel of his solid frame unnerved her, and she snatched her hand back. Maybe she should call the cops after all. Even if the guy was just sleeping, she didn’t need a drunk lying in her driveway all night. Besides, if she left him there he could very well be dead by the morning and that would lie on her conscience. She wouldn’t leave a dog alone to die.

  Frowning, Corie sat back on her heels and gave the man a hard look-over. He didn’t have a jacket on this cool, spring evening, and his clothes were definitely too small. The only piece of clothing that appeared to fit him was his shoes.

  Either he’d put on weight recently, or the poor guy was homeless, she thought, then hardened her heart. That was no excuse to spend what money he had on booze. Besides, he looked strong enough to get some kind of job.

  The sudden urge to see his face took her by surprise. Cautiously she took hold of his shoulder and dragged him onto his back, assuring herself that she should know for certain if he was dead or not before she called the cops.

  The light fell across his features, highlighting a slightly hooked nose. He looked to be in his mid-forties, a few years older than her. His square jaw was clean shaven, and thick dark lashes fluttered above his strong cheekbones. He wore his dark hair a little long, and it curled slightly at the edges, she noticed.

  His mouth held her attention for longer than it should have. It was a hard mouth, as if it were used to delivering harsh statements, or even commands. A mouth that belonged to a strong-willed man used to being obeyed. Somehow his face didn’t fit his appearance at all.

  Startled by her illogical assessment of a complete stranger, Corie forgot her apprehension. Taking hold of his shoulder again, she shook it hard. “Mister, either you wake up and get out of here, or I’m calling the cops.”

  His eyelids remained closed, his face as still as if it were carved from stone. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. She hesitated for a moment longer, then leaned closer to his face hoping to hear a whisper of breath.

  Instead, his eyes opened without warning and stared directly at her. For a long moment he seemed to look right through her, then slowly he focused.

  The moment his gaze locked with hers shock waves shivered down her spine. She felt as if invisible arms had enclosed her in a paralyzing grip, squeezing the air out of her lungs. Her hands and feet tingled as if they’d been frostbitten.

  He stared at her for what seemed an eternity, then said clearly, “There is a God, after all.”

  She didn’t understand the words. Mainly because she’d listened to the voice rather than what was said. He had a deep voice, rich and husky. She’d felt a strange quiver when she’d heard him, almost an erotic response. Which was ridiculous. This man could be dangerous.

  It might have been a trick of the light, she couldn’t be sure, but his eyes seemed to be a strange silver color. Not gray, not pale blue, but silver, and glittering like the Lurex threads on her best black sweater. She’d never seen eyes like that in her life.

  For several seconds Corie seemed imprisoned by that strange gaze, then she made a determined effort to shake free. “All right, now get out of here. I don’t want any drunks cluttering up my driveway.”

  “I need some help,” he said, in a tone he might have used when ordering a meal.

  For some reason, Corie lost her fear of him. Scrambling to her feet, she said firmly, “The only help I’m going to give you is to get you back on the street. Then you’re on your own.” She grabbed hold of his arm and tugged. “Come on, dig your heels in the dirt and shove. You’re too darn heavy for me to lift on my own.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  Risking another glance at those strange eyes, Corie was inclined to believe him. Besides the fact that he’d spoken without a hint of a slur, she didn’t smell liquor on him. And the stink of booze was one of the things she knew well and despised the most.

  “Are you sick?” Letting go of his arm, she squinted down at him. He didn’t look sick. But then it was hard to tell in the pale yellow light from the porch.

  “I don’t know.” He patted his chest as if looking for something. “I don’t seem to have any pain. I think I’m all right.”

  He seemed to be concentrating on his words, pronouncing each syllable carefully, as if he were learning the language. She wondered if he was a foreigner. Perhaps he had a hard time understanding her. Besides, she always talked fast when she was nervous.

  Corie watched him climb slowly to his feet. He was at least eight inches taller than her, which would put him at about six foot. Now that he stood towering over her, he again seemed intimidating.

  It occurred to her that she might have done better to call the police before she checked on him. There was something odd about this man, maybe he was dangerous after all.

  Determined not to let the stranger see her apprehension, Corie said in her firmest voice, “If you would like me to call an ambulance—”

  “I don’t need an ambulance.” He brushed his slacks with his large square hands.

  Long fingers, Corie thought, feeling the same little tremors that his voice had generated. She had no idea why the sight of his fingers should excite her. Or even interest her. True, he was an attractive man. Impressive, if she wanted to be precise.

  He had a certain air about him, a suggestion of hidden strength. She could almost feel the power radiating from him. Which was odd, considering the way she’d found him...

  Irritated by her straying thoughts, she reminded herself that he was a man. And men were definitely and absolutely off her agenda forever.

  “I should thank you for your concern,” the man said, giving her one of those electric looks again. “Mrs...?”

  “It’s Ms.,” she said shortly. “Trenton. I lost the Mrs. some time ago.”

  Once more she felt the paralyzing effect of his gaze. It was beginning to aggravate her. She was thirty-eight years old for pity’s sake. Old enough and certainly experienced enough to know better.

  “Y
ou are widowed?” he asked, just when the pause was becoming uncomfortable.

  She sent him a look warning him it was none of his business.

  He ignored it. “My sincere sympathy, if that is so.”

  She couldn’t let that go by, even if it was none of his business. “That is so, as a matter of fact. But don’t waste your sympathy.”

  “I see,” he said quietly.

  She had the distinct impression he saw more than she wanted him to. “Will you be all right, then?” she asked, hoping he would leave.

  To her dismay he held out his hand. “My name is Granger Deene. I do appreciate your concern.”

  Deciding it would be rude to ignore his gesture, she placed her palm against his. His fingers closed around hers, locking them in a firm grasp that caused chills up and down her spine. Darn the man. He really did have the most peculiar effect on her.

  Sliding her hand out of his was like brushing her palm against a live wire. Her voice cracked slightly as she said, “Forget it. I didn’t do anything.”

  He studied her for several nerve-racking moments. “You are a very unusual woman,” he said at last.

  Taken by surprise, she squinted up at him. “Thank you...I think. You’re quite a bit different yourself.”

  Corie watched an odd expression cross the man’s face, and couldn’t decide if it was confusion or fear. It had to be confusion, she told herself. She couldn’t imagine this man ever being afraid of anything.

  “I need to sit down,” Granger Deene said, taking an unsteady step forward.

  Afraid he was going to fall, she grabbed his arm. She realized something was really wrong with this man. Perhaps he’d had a heart attack. She was no doctor, but whatever it was, it had to be serious to put a rugged man like this on the ground.

  “You should come inside and sit down for a while,” she said, then wondered what on earth had possessed her to say that.

  He gave her an odd look, as if he were going to refuse.

  Still unsure why she was being so insistent, Corie said, “I don’t want to be responsible for sending you out on the street if you’re not fit to walk. I’ll call a cab and have the driver take you home.” She peered closer at him. “Or perhaps you should go to the hospital. They might want to do a thorough exam on you.”