Rodie stopped and looked over. His eyes shifted to the window, then back to Tank. "What?"

Tank leaned back in the chair, stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. "What does it mean to you, the explosion blowing everything into the house?"

Rodie scratched his head as he pondered the question. "I guess it means the charges were light, laid maybe at the base of the windows. I've seen photos. Damage was not that bad once all the smoke cleared. It looked a lot worse than it actually was."

Tank ran a hand over his chin. He needed a shave. "I agree. It had to be someone in the area who knew when we'd be there."

He'd shoved the memories of that night down deep and hadn't allowed them any air to breath, but now he brought them out, recalling all the details with heart sickening precision. There hadn't been any suspicious vehicles or any strangers on the street. Shelby's corner of the world had been a nice quiet area with neighbors who'd lived there for years. Everybody knew everybody. Regis was the only person around Shelby's house the night before the explosion. Tank recalled Shelby's aversion to him, and without realizing it, said his name aloud.

"Did you say Regis?" Rodie perked up. "That's interesting."

Tank waved his hand dismissively. "I'm just thinking out loud. He's Shelby's neighbor and he was there the night before the explosion, but he's a mama's boy. He couldn't find his way down a straight tunnel, even with GPS and directions."

"Hold on a minute. That name came up a few times when we were talking to Harrison. We brushed it off because Harrison seems to think he's just a peripheral player. Maybe he was trying to impress the boss by taking you out, but got the girl instead. He'd blend in, no one would notice him if he 'scoped out the place."

Tank remembered seeing Regis come from around the side of Shelby's house when she'd returned from L.A., not from the sidewalk. He'd noticed him as he parked his bike on the street. At the time he thought the weasel only wanted to ask her out again, but now he sensed something deeper, more sinister.

Then he recalled the offhand comment Regis made, I thought you were in L.A.

He'd been so stupid. Or blind. How could he have missed the signs? Tank's voice was deadly cold when he said to Rodie. "Call Neil. I want a surveillance team on Regis."

Feet kicked out over the porch railing, Tank sipped a beer and watched agency vehicles and swarms of forensic teams arrive, only to disappear into Regis' house. Tank appeared calm, almost nonchalant, but he raged on the inside.

Surveillance confirmed Regis was involved with Big Boss and had set the charges at Shelby's house. Tank's first impulse had been to drag the simpering worm out of his house and take him to a secluded, quiet place where he would do things. Things that took time.

He daydreamed about it, relishing in the pain and fear Regis would experience, but the burning anger dissipated and Tank decided revenge was best served by letting Regis sweat it out in prison. Tank would let it slip, when they interviewed Regis that a few of the bigger men behind the cold silent walls were looking for dates. Regis had a vivid imagination. Let him figure it out.

His cell phone vibrated. Reaching into his back pocket he pulled the phone out and checked caller I.D. His tight voice betrayed the tension coiling in the back of his neck. "Steele."

"The little ferret's been under our noses the whole time." Rodie's excited voice shot through the phone. "It appears he was more involved with Big Boss than we thought. Regis did a lot of business for him, using gadgets on the phone to disguise his voice-"

"Have you got him in custody?" Tank asked.

"Yeah and you should see his bas.e.m.e.nt, man. Freaking s.p.a.ce age."

"I'll be there in two." Tank turned off his phone, set the empty beer bottle on the porch, and walked down the street. How convenient Regis lived only three houses away. The irony was not lost on him.

The interior of the house bustled with activity and Tank, pushing by some agents searching a closet, made his way to the bas.e.m.e.nt. With one sweeping glance he saw Regis had set up an intricate computer lab on the right and the left side of the bas.e.m.e.nt housed bankers boxes stacked five high and he couldn't tell how many deep. The room felt cold, almost sterile, smelling of bleach and chlorine.

Regis had been meticulous with his record keeping and surveillance of Big Boss's 'troops.' Tank looked over the shoulder of the computer forensic a.n.a.lyst, watching column after column of numbers scroll down one of three screens, set up on a steel tube desk.

"What do you have?" Tank thought his eyes would cross. There were a lot of dates, names and numbers.

"What don't we have would be a better question. Regis tried to clean his computer before we got here, but I've been able to reconstruct most of it." The a.n.a.lyst took off his gla.s.ses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He indicated the screen on the left. "This file is drug deals. Who bought, who sold. See the ones in red?"

Tank leaned in and saw a few names highlighted in red.

"We think these are ones who didn't pay."

"What makes you say that?"

"Red is dead." The a.n.a.lyst scrolled the page back up a few screens and the cursor hovered over a name, Dino PasQuale. "See Dino here?"

"Yeah, wasn't he found floating a few years ago?'

"Yup, that's him and right about the time Dino was killed, you'll see Angelo's name in the payment column."

Tank nodded. That made sense. It was a well-known fact that Dino's brother Angelo had continued the business. "What else have you got?"

"Lots. This egg head kept everything. This one..." A few clicks and another file popped up on the second screen. "...itemizes robberies in the area and a few out of state. He lists who Big Boss hired, who got what percentage of the take. He even rated them on a sliding scale. It's like hitting a gold mine. We've been able to get some warrants out on a few people, all because our little buddy is an a.n.a.l idiot. Too bad a lot of the trails are dead ends with closed numbered accounts, but we're working every angle we've got to find the ident.i.ty of Big Boss."

"Agent Steele?" Tank turned to see another agent, hesitating at the foot of the stairs. "I think you should see this."

Tank followed him to the second floor, toward the master bedroom. He stopped cold in the doorway and took a deep breath, forcing himself to enter and take a closer look. His hands clenched and he shook with an almost uncontrollable anger.

The illegal business Regis was involved in, Tank could understand, but what he saw in this room kicked him in the gut. The far wall was covered in a collage of photos taken of Shelby, proving Regis had stalked her for years.

There were photos of her at work, talking on the phone in her kitchen even sunbathing in her back yard. But the one that almost had Tank drop to his knees was of him and Shelby, taken through a window. He recognized the dress she was wearing. He'd just proposed, and she'd said yes. Closing his eyes, he still smelled her perfume.

The picture forever encapsulated them in a pa.s.sionate embrace, his one hand cupping her face, the other pulling her close to his body. Her arms were wound around his neck with her fingers tangled in his hair. He'd been kissing her pa.s.sionately, deeply and so in love, and he hated Regis for taking her away before he could explain that he never stopped loving her.

The agent finished snapping photos of the scene and removed that same picture off the wall, and began to place it into an evidence pouch. Tank s.n.a.t.c.hed the photo out of his hand. The agent, taken by surprise, reached for the picture. "Sir, that's evidence."

"This one stays with me. She's more than a manila folder full of photos." Tank's voice brooked no argument and the agent, after a slight pause nodded, moving over to other pictures on the wall. Tank carefully tucked the photo into his wallet and turned his back on the abhorrent shrine.

Chapter Fifteen.

Everything hurt.

I tried turning my head side to side. My stomach rolled with nausea, but not enough to throw up. Nothing seemed familiar as I looked around a s.p.a.cious room with pale yellow walls. Bright blue curtains framed a large, oversized window and I could tell dusk approached. The double bed I lay in was comfortable enough and a quick check under the patterned quilt showed I wore a lacy, white cotton nightgown. Did I even own a nightgown and where was I?

I raised myself to a sitting position and my stomach lurched again, but quickly settled. On the far side of the room opposite the bed, I saw an adjoining bathroom. Relief rolled over me. Nature called and the last thing I wanted was to try and stumble down some hallway.

With cautious movements I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Kneecaps shaking, I began to cross the room when dizziness. .h.i.t me full force. Edges of black crept in around my vision and I had to prop my weight on the bed with one arm.

Head lowered, to staunch the feeling of nausea that had returned with a vengeance, I heard the door creak open. Feeling like a naughty child caught out of bed I froze, my gaze raised to a tall, lean stranger standing in the doorway.

He rushed to my side and wrapped a strong arm around my waist, giving me the support I needed. "Wait a minute. I'll help you," he said, "Where were you going?"

"Bathroom. NOW!" Urgent need crowded out time for niceties and small talk. I didn't even mind that a complete stranger was going to help me.

"Then we better hustle. I'll get you there and give you some privacy."

He helped me to the bathroom and then eased back out, closing the door. I waited until I knew for certain he'd moved away before I sat to attend my needs.

The smallest of tasks almost proved too much for me. I stood to wash my hands and the room dipped and swayed. Only by hanging onto the counter did I stop myself from falling.

In the mirror, a stranger's bright blue eyes stared back at me. A sterile gauze strip at my temple blended in with the pasty white of my forehead. There was also gauze on the side of my neck and a few bruises on my shoulder peeked out from under the collar of the nightgown. No shadow of recognition hit me.

I must have made a noise because after a light tap, the door opened and he popped his head in again.

"You okay? Do you need a hand getting back to bed?"

Weakly, I nodded.

"Don't mind me." He scooped me up, easily carrying me back into the bedroom. With gentle care I was laid onto the bed and then the stranger pulled the duvet to cover me again.

He dragged a chair from under the window to the side of the bed, sat on it and leaned forward until his forearms rested on his thighs. He had thick, wavy, chestnut hair, chocolate brown eyes and a rugged face.

I wished he had hair the color of burnished oak, tipped with golden highlights and green eyes, or did I like blue? He looked at me with a concerned expression. My eyelids drooped and I struggled to keep them open.

"Who are you?" I finally asked.

"I'm...a friend." The pause made my brow furrow. That was not an honest answer. How did I know that?

My last coherent thought, before I fell back asleep was, "Who am I?"

Before I knew it a week had pa.s.sed. Caleb, that was the stranger's name, helped me with most things and brought me meals. Conversation never strayed into personal areas. In fact, Caleb didn't talk much at all. Although he told me my name was Dixie.

As my strength returned I began sitting on the window seat in my bedroom, looking outside. The mountains in the distance created a slate blue border for the valley spread below the house, which rested on a remote ridge.

Sunsets were my favorite time of day. When the sun began to disappear behind the line of mountains, tinges of red and orange were flung into the sky, changing to a purple so deep it seemed almost blue. Darkness would settle, gather in the hollow of the valley and then climb, overtaking our ridge. Something that beautiful should have been memorable, but it wasn't.

After another week the bandages came off my neck and arms. A gentle, country doctor visited to remove st.i.tches and checked the burns on the back of my hands and neck. Fortunately they were minor and healed with very little scarring. Well, not any physical scarring that is. Frustration became my best friend as I struggled to kick-start my memory bank.

I hounded Caleb to bring me books and told myself fairy tales, thinking I could trick my mind into letting something slip. But it stayed tighter than a snare drum.

After the doctor's visit, I was brushing my teeth and looked at my reflection. Some of my hair had been shaved in a little patch at my temple, the rest of it bounced around my shoulders in springy curls. A thought popped into my head, like a picture. I saw myself with curls tumbling down my back. This happened a lot. Bits of my memory would flash in and then go. If I tried to capture them, to make them stay so I could study them, I'd get a terrible headache.

Caleb came upstairs and stopped at the open door to my room. A warm smile moved across his face. He was always smiling and it irritated the heck out of me. One thing I knew for sure. I disliked morning people. They were perky.

"Good morning. Would you like a bath? The doctor said you could now that the bandages have been removed."

I almost groaned aloud.

"Yes, thank you. I could use a long soak with lots of bubbles. I love bubbles. Oh, and I love scented candles."

I felt a giddy excitement and jumped up and down.

"Caleb!" I grabbed his arm and he gave a start.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

I dropped my hand and stood there, grinning like a fool. "No, nothing's wrong. I just remembered I like scented candles and long, hot baths."

He returned my grin. "Well, hot water and bubbles I can do, but I don't have any scented candles. Maybe on my next run into town I'll get you some."

I'd like to go to town. Someone might recognize me. "Can I go into town with you?"

He went into the bathroom and turned on the taps for my bath. His voice drifted out, "Sure. I'm not going for a couple of days. Maybe you'll be strong enough to come along for a change of scenery." He turned off the taps and came back into the bedroom. "Give me a shout when you're ready to come downstairs for breakfast."

Stretched out in the tub, the water lapped against my neck and shoulders, the bubbles creating a shimmering quilt upon the water. I let the soothing warmth remove any tension I felt. When I slid my hands over my body, I imagined that big hands were caressing me. The memory of tangy cologne tickled my senses.

An ache lodged itself in my heart. There was no ring on my finger, or even a tan line indicating I'd worn one, so I wasn't married. But I knew I'd had a lover. The question was, who? Caleb? I tried to picture him being intimate with me. It was possible. He had a great body. Hard and muscular, hidden beneath b.u.t.ton down shirts.

What would he look like in a black tee shirt and faded Levis? In my distant memory I heard a whispered, I've got you darlin'. I leaned my head against the back of the tub and tried to follow that voice, but couldn't. There was nothing but darkness and a sense of great loss.

Caleb's voice came through the closed door. "Dixie, are you alright? I thought I heard you cry out."

With a start, I realized I'd been crying. My voice husky, I called out. "I'm okay. I'll be a few more minutes." I quickly finished bathing and as I toweled off, I realized I didn't have any decent clothes to change into. "Caleb?"

He must have been waiting right outside the door because he answered immediately, "Yes, are you alright?"

"That's getting old. You don't have to ask me every three seconds if I'm all right."

His voice let me know he was smiling when he answered, "Okay, what do you want?"

"Do I have any clothes? I mean, all I have is two nightgowns and a housecoat. Where are my clothes?" I tugged the freshly laundered nightgown over my head and brushed out my tangled curls.

"Give me a few minutes. I'll find something for you to wear."

Caleb returned with a pair of jeans and a cotton shirt, his face tingeing dull red when a lacy bra dangled out from under the shirt. He shifted his position at the door and said, "These are your jeans and underwear. The shirt's my sister's. It should fit; she was about your height. I'll be downstairs if you need anything. We'll have breakfast when you're ready."

Fortunately, everything fit fairly well, even if the jeans were a little loose. I guess being in a coma was also a great weight loss program. Soft moccasins were the only footwear available, so I slipped them on and headed downstairs for the first time since I'd awakened two weeks ago.

I was anxious to see what the rest of the house looked like. I couldn't put my finger on it, but nothing in the bedroom felt like it was mine. Maybe another room in the house would trigger a latent memory. The doctor, on his last visit, told me I'd suffered a major blow to the head which was why I couldn't remember who I was, or where I was from. He said my memory might return and it might not. The brain was a tricky thing. It marched to its own little drummer.

The old phrase, Today is the first day of the rest of your life, spun through my head. How true. The journey to discover who I was had started. My stomach protested with a loud rumble.

Okay, the journey would start after breakfast.

I followed the smell of bacon to the kitchen where I found Caleb making breakfast.

"Mmmm, I think I love the smell of bacon and eggs." I stared at the scarred, wooden table, located smack dab in the middle of a typical country kitchen filled with lots of cupboards and counter s.p.a.ce. It was the perfect spot for large family gatherings and baking scores of pies. I wondered if I baked pies.