Five years before, he’d vanished from New Orleans, his business, and Liza’s life. For several months the police had continued to search for him, but he’d vanished without a trace.
The articles were filled with speculation about his “possible murder.” And the docks were thoroughly searched for his body. Which was never found.
The pieces of the past had begun to slip into place. Mike wasn’t sure what had happened to him—all he really knew was that he’d been severely beaten. His nearly dead body had been found in a boxcar at a train depot in North Dakota, and he’d been taken to the hospital as a John Doe. There, Gabe and Rachel Welch had seen him and given him the name Mike Davis.
For a man who had no memory of working cattle, he took to it like a natural. His hands toughened, and the rest of his body became strong and lean, thriving on hard work. And for five long years he’d spent many an endless night wondering who and what he’d been before he woke up in North Dakota.
He slowed his sprint once he was close enough to Liza to keep her in his sights. He’d decided to trail after her until she was tired. That way, he might have a better chance to explain himself. He had an inkling of what she must be feeling—fear and fury. Unless the newspaper and local magazines had doctored their stories, he and Liza had been deeply in love. For five years she’d lived with his seeming abandonment.
She was only thirty yards ahead of him, running along the levee—running away from the bustling French Market and the tourist area. He knew she was reacting blindly, and that when she realized that she was running into a trap, she’d be only that much more afraid of him. Somehow he had to think of a way to calm her.
She was tiring and beginning to slow. And she’d begun to realize her miscalculation—he could see the panic in the quick way she turned left and right, hunting for a way back. He knew that in the last fading light of the day, he blocked her path.
“Liza,” he called out. “Liza, I only want to talk to you.”
She finally stopped. With what had to be great courage, she swung around to face him, half her face and body silhouetted against the beauty of the spring sunset. She stood on the levee, the west side still awash in the dying light and the east side, where land met river, only a black shadow.
“Who are you?” she called back. “What do you want?”
“I only want to talk.” She was so incredibly beautiful that it almost took his breath away. Her fear was his pain. “I don’t have a weapon.” He held open both sides of his coat to show his chest. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
“Leave me alone.” Her voice broke and he could hear the tears in her voice. “Please, please, just leave me alone. I’m begging you. Quit scaring me. Please…”
Something in her voice struck a familiar chord and he hesitated. He’d loved her once with all his heart. He knew it. He could feel the memory of it. And he was terrifying her. It was wrong. He had to back off and give her a chance to talk to him willingly. He couldn’t just herd her down the levee and corral her as he would a stray cow.
“Liza, I’m going—”
The gunshot rang out and Mike felt the bullet whiz only a millimeter from his head. He ducked instinctively and rolled down the side of the levee toward the black current of the river. It was a steep incline, and he lost control, his body tumbling against the hard rocks that marked the edge of the Mississippi River.
Liza’s scream was a piercing wail of horror and fear.
“Stop!” she cried out. “Stop!”
Another shot blasted the night and fragments of rock exploded only a few inches from Mike’s leg. He forced his body to remain perfectly still. He was hidden in the darkness. As long as he didn’t panic, he was safe. Or relatively so. He listened intently, hoping for that telltale noise that would alert him to his attacker’s whereabouts.
Working on the ranch, Mike had often faced the dangers of nature. To his knowledge, he’d never been attacked by another human being—except that he’d once been almost beaten to death and nearly died in a boxcar. Not exactly something a mountain lion or grizzly would do. The problem was, he didn’t remember any of that. He didn’t remember why someone had wanted to kill him.
But someone did. Someone remembered very well and seemed to have come to finish the job.
Mike wasn’t certain he could swim, but he couldn’t just hunker down and wait for someone to kill him. He slipped into the water and was startled by its depth. With the darkness for cover, his best chance to escape injury or possible death was to swim back downriver. As he let the swift current of the big river take him, he discovered that he could, at least, swim.
LIZA RECOGNIZED Trent Maxwell after the first shot. She’d been relieved to see him until the second shot. It registered on her then that he was firing on a man who was possibly already injured and might be unarmed.
She rushed toward Trent and grabbed his arm, pulling the gun down. “Trent, stop it. Have you lost your mind?” She stared into the darkness where she could only hear the river lapping hungrily at the rocks. “My God, did you kill him?” Her emotions were ricocheting in all directions. She’d been terrified of the man who was chasing her, but she also felt a rushing need to protect him.
“I missed him. Are you okay?” Trent grasped both of her shoulders though he kept his grip on the gun and a wary eye on the side of the levee. “Who was that man? What did he want?”
Liza found that she couldn’t answer. She shook her head and was comforted by Trent’s strong hands as he rubbed her arms. She was suddenly extremely cold. Despite the warm spring night, she shivered violently.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.” Trent held her tightly.
Closing her eyes, Liza leaned her forehead against his chest and let the horror of the past few moments wash over and through her.
“It was Duke,” she finally said. “He wanted to talk to me. Are you sure you didn’t hit him?”
There was a long pause while she waited for Trent to respond.
“Duke Masonne?”
Though he made a sincere effort to hide it, Liza heard the skepticism in his voice.
“I told you I’d seen him. Now I’ve spoken to him.” She couldn’t see Trent’s features in the darkness, but she could feel his body tense.
“Let’s head back to the lights,” Trent suggested, his arm around her shoulders and his hand on her arm. He pulled her hard against his side.
“Maybe we should…call someone,” Liza said, uneasily conscious of the fact that in protecting her, Trent had fired his weapon and very likely put himself in line for disciplinary action.
“Who should we call?”
She wasn’t certain. Not the police. Who? “An ambulance?” she offered.
“I didn’t hit him. I’m positive. If I’d wanted to, I would have. By now, he’s downriver. And judging from your last experience with Duke Masonne, it’ll be another five years before you see him again.”
Liza felt as if she’d been slapped. “Trent—”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That came out wrong. I was trying to put a humorous light on what just happened. Let me tell you what I saw—a man chasing after you with his hand not clearly visible. When I got closer, you’d both stopped and you were begging him to leave you alone. He was doing something with his jacket. I couldn’t see from behind, but I was afraid he was pulling out a gun, so I fired. Close enough to let him know I meant business but with room to spare.”
“You missed him deliberately?”
“I didn’t have a reason to shoot him. I just wanted to make your Duke Masonne look-alike hit the road. Did he say anything else? Some clue as to who he was?”
“Like