As if they had never existed, hadn’t been even a hiccup in time.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, cradling her injured wrist. What if she never remembered? Besides feeling that she would be letting M.B. down, Shelby didn’t know how she would accept such a blank space in her life. In the scheme of things, maybe five or ten minutes wasn’t much, but a murder had been committed in front of her. Maybe she hadn’t seen anything, but if she had, she wanted to know what.
Shelby had tried not to think about the danger Clay felt she might be in, but for the first time since being rescued, a frozen, slow-moving fear climbed over her, suffocating her. What if she had died, too?
Clay stood in the wide archway that led from Shelby’s kitchen into her living room, frowning as he saw her looking out into the backyard. He said her name, but got no response.
Surrounded by the warm light of the midday sun, she stood motionless in front of the large picture window. She wore a baggy red T-shirt, with Presley Fire Department written in thick white letters across the back, and khaki shorts that drew attention to her sleekly muscled legs. She was barefoot.
She didn’t move. Didn’t appear to know he was there at all.
He walked around the edge of her sofa and stopped behind her. “Shelby?”
Still she didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Clay stepped up so he could see her face. And was startled at the tears streaming down her cheeks. She stared outside, unblinking, her breathing shallow.
His heart lurched. He had only seen her cry like this at the hospital when the doctors had given them the devastating news that Jason was gone.
Clay pushed away a zing of guilt as something close to panic unfurled inside his chest. He teasingly bumped her shoulder with his. “This means you wanted popcorn instead of that grass stuff your mom made, right?”
Her face crumpled and she looked away.
“Hey.” He slid an arm around her shoulders.
His touch seemed to break the lock on her emotions. She turned into his chest, choking out a sob, her good arm going around his waist and holding tight. Her palm rested on the small of his back.
Careful of the bruises on her back and shoulder, he curled his left arm loosely around her waist. His right hand went to the back of her neck, slipping under the short ends of her hair. He brushed his thumb soothingly back and forth across her nape.
They stood like that for a long moment, her sobs quiet but deep enough to rattle her body. Nearly thirty-six hours after the incident that had caused her injuries, Clay figured everything was hitting her at once. Grief over her friend. Frustration and uncertainty over the loss of her memory. The realization that she could’ve been killed.
That one certainly scared the hell out of him. He snugged her face into his neck and rested his cheek against her hair. He stroked her nape, murmuring to her over and over until finally she stood quietly against him, drawing in ragged breaths.
Her vise-like grip on him eased, but she stayed where she was, her breath fluttering against his skin. He rubbed her back. He realized then that she wasn’t wearing a bra and the feel of her breasts flattened against his chest had his body going tight. Jolted by his reaction, Clay’s mind froze for an instant.
He inhaled the light floral scent of her shampoo. “It scared me when I heard you were hurt.”
She looked up at him with glistening blue eyes, her dark lashes wet and spiked. A wobbly smile lifted the corner of her lips. “You? A big bad cop scared?”
“Yeah.” He suddenly wanted to hug her close again, calm the brutal fear that reared up inside him just as it had at the hospital. “You’re my best pal. It would be hard to replace you.”
Tears welled in her eyes and she smoothed his navy tie, rubbed at the spot on his light blue shirt that she had wet with her tears. “You could go on one of those reality shows. Surely they have one about finding friends.”
“Think I’d be able to find somebody who would drag me out of a bar and keep me captive until I swore on my badge that I was sober and never going back?”
“That was special, wasn’t it?” she said wryly, wiping the tears from her face.
“You saved my life,” he said quietly. He’d told her before. With everything they’d shared through the years, they had both agreed not to keep count anymore, but he knew he wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for Shelby.
“You’ve done the same for me. I wouldn’t want another best friend. It would be hard to find someone who knows everything about me and would still put up with me.”
He grinned. “I don’t know everything. I don’t know where that tattoo is.”
She smiled, which was what he wanted. The small fox tattoo on his left shoulder matched the one she’d gotten at the same time. It had been Shelby’s idea to get a physical symbol of Jason, and she had wanted Clay to take her to the tattoo parlor on the first anniversary of her brother’s death. To this day, she’d refused to tell him where she’d gotten tattooed.
“I have to say, Jessup, you’re good with hysterical females.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “Must come from having two sisters.”
“You were hardly hysterical.” Unsettled at how the feel of her lean curves had affected him, Clay released her as she stepped away. “Wanna talk about it?”
“I guess I had a meltdown.” She held her injured arm against her stomach, folding the other one underneath it.
“You’re entitled. You’ve been dealing with a lot.”
“I can’t stop thinking that I might know what happened to M.B. And that it could’ve been me instead of her.”
“I know,” he said fiercely, clenching his fists tight. He had been responsible for Jason’s walking into danger, but he wouldn’t make that mistake with Shelby.
Her gaze, knowing and sad, searched his. “The hospital made me think about him.”
“Me, too.” Most of the time he lived with the memory just fine, but sometimes pain raked through him and nearly ripped a fresh wound. Like when he’d seen Shelby in that hospital bed.
“Why couldn’t I have lost those memories?”
The agony in her voice clutched at his chest. Their gazes met and he knew the memories in her eyes were the ones that hit him now. Jason hadn’t wanted to go climbing that day, but Clay had pushed until his friend gave in. They had scaled the ragged mountain face just fine, but coming down, Jason’s harness had broken and he had lost both his handholds and footholds.
Clay, secure in his harness, had scrabbled and grabbed, but Jason had fallen. Sometimes even now, four years later, Clay would dream about it, hearing over and over the sickening thud of his friend hitting the ground. Reliving the horror, the guilt.
Pain flashed across Shelby’s features, then was gone. “If only I could remember something. Anything. There are only…shadows in my mind. No definition.”
“Shelby.” Clay didn’t like the guilt that flashed across her face. “Don’t torture yourself. You know it doesn’t help. And the doctor said not to force anything.”
“I know.” She shoved an unsteady hand through her short brown hair.
“You hungry for some real food?”
“Yes.” She fell into step with him as they walked around the edge of her sofa. She squeezed his arm and gave him a small smile, telling him she was all right.
A pair of ceramic dalmatians flanked either side of the wide entry that led from the living area into the kitchen. She fixed drinks while he made turkey sandwiches. He glanced at her as she slid into the seat next to him, putting diet colas on the table at both their places.
“I