Anne Stuart - Winter's Edge.pdf

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Winter's Edge
by
Anne Stuart
Prologue
She was coming back. The cunning little tart had managed to fool them
all. She'd survived the blow on the head, the coma. So far she hadn't
said a word, but there was no counting on that happy state of affairs
to continue.
She had a reason for her silence, there was little doubt of that.
She would have to die. Sooner or later. Before she decided to start
talking. Before she decided to turn the tables, and try her delicate
hands at a little extortion. She would have to die.
The only problem was how to arrange it. Make it look like an accident?
Or make it look like someone else had murdered her. That would be the
most delicious of all. Kill two birds with one stone. She would die.
And he would he blamed.
Ah, life could be very sweet indeed.
SHE WAS COMING BACK. He had no choice in the matter, Patrick Winters
thought as he slammed around the
 
empty kitchen. She'd been hurt, she needed time to recover. She'd
been implicated in a suspicious death, and she'd refused to answer
questions. The police wanted her readily available, and he was the
logical person to provide her a place to live.
He leaned back against the kitchen counter. It was just past dawn, and
if he was a decent, caring man he'd be preparing to drive across the
river to New Jersey, to the hospital, and fetch her back to Winter's
Edge, the only home she'd ever known. She'd lived there for seven
years, and she had no place else to go.
If she had, he'd gladly send her there. He never wanted to see her
again, not if he could help it. She'd caused too much harm, destroyed
too much, with her willful anger and childish spite. He wanted her
away from here, out of his life.
Before he made the mistake of thinking there might be something else,
some faint glimmer of hope.
He'd been a fool in the past. He wasn't about to let her make a fool
of him again. She'd come back, spin her persecution fantasies, and
then, once the police or someone was able to force the truth out of
her, he'd send her away.
He had no responsibility for her. She had more than enough money, more
than enough self-absorption to handle life. She could go, and he'd
never think of her again.
Until he signed the divorce papers.
He wasn't going to waste his time, his day, going after her. There
were plenty of other ways to get her safely transported back to the
sprawling estate in Bucks County.
Someone else could do it.
In the meantime, he was getting the hell out of there. And he wasn't
sure when he'd bother to come back.
Not until he could look at her, at her pale, innocent face with the
green-blue cat's eyes, at her soft mouth, and not think about the
past.
And how much he'd wanted her, once, long ago. And damn it, how much he
still wanted her.
SHE WAS GOING BACK. She knew it; the thought danced through her
befogged mind as she drifted in and out of sleep. She felt both
frightened and excited, reluctant and eager. Yet she wasn't sure where
she was going, or why.
She didn't know what she'd find when she got there. She only knew she
was returning to where she belonged.
Whether they wanted her or not.
 
Chapter One
It was very still in the room, still and warm. Maybe that should have
reassured her, but it had the opposite effect. She fought her way out
of the cocooning sleep, the too familiar feelings of panic beating
about her like the dark wings of a thousand bats. She opened her eyes
to face the sterile whiteness of a hospital room, and she remembered
nothing. Except that she was afraid.
Without moving a muscle she slowly began taking in her surroundings.
Her head pounded like a sledgehammer, and she reached a tentative hand
out to touch it, finding a tender scalp beneath a surprisingly heavy
mane of hair. Drawing back her shaking hand, she looked at it closely.
It appeared neither foreign nor familiar, a tanned, capable hand with
long fingers, short nails and no rings. And her panic grew.
"You're finally awake then." A voice broke through her tangled
thoughts, and her eyes met the warm, friendly ones of a young nurse.
"I thought you'd sleep forever after that last shot we gave you. You
were pretty upset." She moved closer, her eyes cheerfully curious
behind the wire-rimmed glasses.
"How are you feeling, hon?"
She hated being called hon. That little she could remember.
"Where am I?" she demanded finally in a faintly husky voice that was
equally startling. She didn't dare ask the more important
question--who am
I?
"Riverview Medical Center," the nurse answered, watching her closely.
"Is something wrong?"
"How long have I been here?"
"Two weeks," the nurse answered.
"Don't you remember?"
She shook her head numbly, and the wicked pounding increased.
"Not a thing."
The nurse clucked with professional sympathy, her brown eyes
troubled.
"Take a deep breath and try to relax. You've had several of these
blank spells be- fore--with any luck this one won't last too long. They
often follow a bad concussion like you've had. Do you remember
anything at all this time?" she asked curiously, making a small
notation on the chart in her capable looking hands.
"Nothing. How long have these blank periods usually lasted?" She
clasped her unfamiliar hands together in an effort to hide the
tremor.
 
The nurse shrugged.
"They come and go. A few hours, at the most. Once it went on for
several days.
You just lie back and rest and I'll get the doctor to answer any more
questions you might have. This is such a shame--they were planning to
discharge you today if it was all right with Lieutenant Ryker. "
 
"Lieutenant Ryker?" she echoed.
"Is he in the army?" It was a stupid question and she knew it. She
might not have any concrete memories, but she knew she was in trouble.
Deep trouble.
"He's with the police. You've forgotten how you got in here, haven't
you?" She leaned over, taking her pulse.
The woman in the bed nodded miserably. The nurse hesitated, glancing
toward the door as if expecting help.
"You were in a serious car accident, Mrs. Winters."
The name meant nothing to her. She glanced down at her hands, but
there was no ting. No telltale mark of one recently discarded.
"How serious?" She managed to keep her voice mason ably calm.
Once more the nurse hesitated.
"The passenger in your car was dead, and you had sustained a severe
concussion and some unpleasant bruising. You were unconscious for
several days, but since then you've been healing very rapidly. Except
for your occasional bouts of amnesia."
"And what does this Lieutenant Ryker have to do with all this? Did I
commit a crime? Is there some question of negligence?"
The nurse busied herself with the pillows.
"You've refused to give us the name of the man who was with you. That,
combined with the $350 thousand in cash that they found in the trunk of
the car has raised a lot of questions. Questions you won't answer."
She dropped her wrist lightly on the starched white sheet.
"If you'd just cooperate and answer the police's questions, I'm sure
they would let you go home and recover at your own pace. Sometimes it
just takes time." She stared at the nurse blankly.
"I wish I could. I only wish I could."
She clucked sympathetically, patting her hand with a reassuring
gesture.
"Try not to worry. I'll go find Dr.
Hobson. In the meantime you just rest and think about your husband.
"
"My husband?"
"You mean to say you don't remember him either?" she demanded,
astonished.
"I would have said he was almost impossible to forget."
"Is he... nice?"
"Nice?" She considered the notion.
 

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