Chapter Seventeen

 

Sherman Groto looked around his office. The once expensive and pristine decorations destroyed in an effort to ward off the Feds from finding anything incriminating. One of his damn sellers had been caught trying to rape a woman and now was singing like a canary in hopes of reducing his sentence. Groto wasn’t sure what the Feds would believe or what they could prove, but in his opinion it was always prudent to be safe, rather than sorry. Besides, it wasn’t the first time he had to start over. And this time, he wouldn’t let a damn woman topple his throne.

Just thinking the name Evelyn Duncan was enough to send his blood pressure raging. The little ungrateful bitch. If he ever got his hands on her throat he’d have great pleasure squeezing it until she breathed no more. His dick hardened just thinking about it.

“We should go, sir,” Salvatore said from the door.

Groto nodded. As he passed by the bookcase, one spine caught his eye, and he reached for it. Salvatore escorted him out of the office, past the pictures of all the old gold mines that had haunted him for years, and into the elevator that whisked him up to the roof. His helicopter waited, ready to fly him to Mexico, and as he settled into the machine, he opened the book. He flipped through the pictures until one riveted his attention, a sepia-toned photo taken in front of the Recovery mine located in the long-forgotten Byron City.

It wasn’t so much the setting that chilled him, it was the woman standing with a group of miners that punched him in his solar plexus. It was Evelyn Duncan staring at him, although that was impossible. The damn picture was over a hundred years old. The woman was long dead.

But there was no mistaking that face, or that hair, or that body.

He’d always felt like he’d seen her before.

“Change of plans,” he said into his mic. “We’re making a detour to an old ghost mine.”

****

“Eva-Ann!”

John tried to rush to her fallen body, but Monty grabbed his arm and spun him around. A fist landed against the side of his face, causing him to stumble back. He turned to attack and Monty jumped him, sending them both to the ground. The sheer madness in the man’s eyes told John there would be only one person walking away, and he damn sure knew it had to be him.

They wrestled for a moment, each trying to get the upper hand. John had to admit that Monty had power. Swinging a hammer in a mine tended to build muscle. Monty hit his gut, winding him, and he rolled to get away from the blows. As he scrambled to stand, Clyde Dunclyne plowed into Monty, taking him down.

John stood staring at them for a second, gulping in air, until a cry rent the air.

“She’s not breathing!”

****

Bishop opened his eyes, the heartache real and deep. He had to gulp in air to slow his heart down as he reminded himself that the dream was in the past. It was done. That life wasn’t real anymore. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t know why Evie had wanted to keep dreaming, because in his experience the past was nothing but a devastating pain that sliced him in two.

Shaking off the dream, he rose and headed into the bathroom where he took a leak, then washed his hands and face, trying to wake up. It had been two weeks since he’d dropped Evie off at The Cove and today was the one day during the week he could visit her. As he dressed, he placed a call to her brother, Chris, but no one answered. It worried him a little. He had expected her brother to have joined them two weeks ago, but all he’d received were a few cryptic texts saying he was fine and that something had come up. Bishop could only hope that something wasn’t Groto.

He left the hotel room he’d purchased for the past two weeks and locked the door behind him with a DO NOT DISTURB sign handing on the door knob. Not that he had anything to hide, but he simply didn’t like strangers poking around his stuff. He settled into Chris’s car and headed down the Pacific Coast Highway.

The Cove was nothing more than a huge house that sat nestled overlooking the ocean. Glass walls did a poor job keeping people in or out of the rehab center, in his opinion, then again The Cove was a volunteer-only sort of place. The patients could come and go as they pleased, or whenever they thought they were healed. He parked at the visitor lot and trekked his way up the winding sidewalk path that led to the top of the plateau where the house sat. Pushing open the front door, he came to the receptionist area where a young woman smiled at him with teeth so white they almost blinded him.

“Hello!” she greeted enthusiastically. Her high ponytail bopped around her head. “You’re here to visit Ms. Duncan, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “Good memory.”

“Oh, no worries!” she gushed. “I try to remember everyone’s family. If you proceed to the outside lounge, Ms. Duncan will join you shortly.”

Bishop nodded his thanks and left the perky receptionist behind as he made his way to the outside lounge where several people already sat around in several private alcoves, visiting with loved ones. He made his way over to a bench under a large tree, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The crashing waves before him soothed the fears he still had lingering over Chris’s whereabouts.

A delicate hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to see Evie smiling down at him. Already he could see the benefits of the rehab center. The lines that had bracketed her mouth and around her eyes had eased, causing her to look years younger. She had put on a little much-needed weight, lifting the gaunt palate that had drained her of vitality.

“You don’t have to stay,” she said as she sat next to him. “It must be costing you a fortune to stay at that hotel.”

“I can afford it,” he assured. “I’m using an account that Groto doesn’t know about so there’s no chance he can trace it.”

She took a deep breath. “It seems surreal we even have to worry about that.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to worry about anything except getting over this hump.”

“Hump.” She snorted. “My days consist of sitting around in a circle of strangers where each of us talk about why we chose to take the pills we took.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Followed by yoga, painting classes, and meditation each night.”

“I think my mind just went numb.”

“I suggested we start drinking wine with the paint-by-numbers, but I was informed that might not be a great idea to the recovering alcoholics.”

“Spoilsports.”

Her smile captivated him because it was the first one not strained with worry or pressure. Or addiction.

“Hey, you can join me for dinner,” she said. “I think tonight is Tofurkey.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Tofu turkey. Supposedly this place is all about healing the body from the inside out.”

“That doesn’t even sound remotely appealing,” he said with a shudder of disgust. “You need me to break you out of this joint?”

She giggled. He liked the sound.

“It’s not so bad,” she said. “The dessert is usually out of this world. Last night we had chocolate cheesecake.”

“Okay, this place might be redeemable.”

She sighed and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Peace radiated outward from her relaxed body. He fought the urge to lean over and kiss her lips.

“Have you been sleeping?” he asked.

“A little,” she replied. “Last night I was able to sleep three hours straight. The therapist says it might take me a long time to get back to a normal eight-hour schedule.”

“And Eva-Ann?”

She opened her eyes and stared out over the ocean. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“All right,” he said. “Then I’ll talk about Chris. He texted me three days ago with the same cryptic remark that he can’t make it, that something’s come up. The same bullshit he gave me the night I picked you up at the hospital.”

“You think he’s in danger?”

“No,” he replied. “I think your brother is smart enough to duck and cover when he needs to. I just wish I know what the something is that came up.”

“Chris can be maddening. Once, when we were little kids, he decided all my Barbie dolls had to have haircuts, so he shaved them bald. I know all about wanting to strangle my brother.”

He chuckled. Then, for a long while, they simply sat in a companionable silence. At one point, he picked up her hand and linked their fingers together. She squeezed his hand and it was the first time in his life that he felt not only relaxed but completely at ease with a woman. Or anyone, for that matter. Not even with Groto, who had been his savior. The man might be ruthless and a sociopath, but he had also given him a chance to make something of himself. For that, Bishop regretted the unexpected bitter break he had with the man.

“What’ve you’ve been doing with your free time? Exploring Malibu?”

“Some, but mostly I’ve been doing some research. Spent a few days in Sacramento.”

She glanced at him, one eyebrow raised inquiringly. “Sacramento? What for?”

When he hesitated and she punched him lightly on the arm.

“Ouch,” he joked.

“What’s going on? Why did you go to Sacramento?”

“Like I said. Research.” He ran a hand over his flattop. “I had a dream the night after we were together. A few more since that night. Dreams of the desert. Of horses and other things I know nothing about. Dreams with surprisingly vivid details.”

Blood drained from her face.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am here because I had to give her up,” she said. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her lashes. “I spend hours and hours in a circle, listening to people talk about nonsense and feelings and all the woe-is-me bullshit because I needed to get past the craving for a sleeping pill. It was the one bridge I had to Eva-Ann, the one crutch that led to me almost getting raped, so I had to shut her out.”

“You’re forgetting the one difference between then and now.”

“What’s that?”

“Me.”

She blinked, looking a little confused. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I believe you.” He tapped his temple. “John. Eva-Ann. Byron City. It’s been playing out in my head night after night and I want you to know that I get it, Evelyn. Sure, the pills led you down a slippery slope, but you weren’t crazy. You are not crazy.”

Her chin quivered a little and he wanted so much to pull her into his arms and promise everything was going to be fine, but only she could take the first step.

Then the tears seemed to dry up right before his eyes, her resolve solidified. She took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Yes, okay. The first dream was about the men at the Recovery. Clyde had boarded up the mine, talking about something called the Tommyknockers. It was probably the drink, or the pressure of being a mine owner, but the men were pissed.”

Her eyes widened. “Clyde was Eva-Ann’s father.”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re telling me the truth? You know what happened to her?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God.” She placed a hand over her heart. “When Chris couldn’t find any information I thought … I thought I had begun to get a split personality. I felt like I was on this island by myself and no one believed me.”

“Oh, baby.” He picked up their linked hands and kissed the back of hers. “I believe you. Are you sure you want to know the end of her story?”

“I did.” She cleared her throat. “I do.”

“Once your stint in rehab is over—”

“You can’t tell me now?”

“I don’t think this is the right place to have that talk.”

“This place … as in The Cove?”

“I was thinking more of your mindset.”

She took a deep breath and glanced behind them, toward the large mansion rehab center. “I came here to forget Eva-Ann and John, but I don’t want to do that anymore. Let’s go to the Recovery.”

“We can go when you’re feeling better—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s go today.”

“Evelyn, you need to focus on your recovery first. That mine isn’t going anywhere.”

“Do you honestly think I could focus on yoga or painting or talking about my feelings when I know you know about Eva-Ann? After you told me you believe me?”

She stood up. “Let’s go check me out.” Her chin lifted up a notch as determination outshone any previous hesitation. He stood up slowly, staring down at her.

“All right,” he said. He held up a finger. “But I will not let you fall back into the freedom of sleeping pills, all right? You don’t find Eva-Ann that way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You said you had a dream right after sex?”

He nodded.

“Perhaps we should have more sex, just in case it works for me as well.”

He smirked. “Sounds like a good experimental plan.”