Don't Look Back Read online

  He just shook his head again. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  After he left, I went to my desk and picked up the card the detective had left me. It had his personal cell on it, and he’d left instructions for me to call at any hour if I remembered anything. I picked up my phone, debating. What if it wasn’t real? I’d just look stupid.

  And crazy.

  Sitting down on my bed, I stared at his number. Stupid and crazy were worth the risk if it helped them find Cassie. I dialed his number.

  Detective Ramirez answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  I cleared my throat, clenching the business card. “Hi. This is…this is Samantha Franco.”

  There was a pause, and it sounded like he muted a television or something. “Yes? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine.” It was now or never. Closing my eyes, I prayed I wasn’t making a mistake. “I remembered something, but I’m not sure if it will help.”

  “Anything at this point will help,” he said gruffly.

  I told him what I remembered—the darkness, falling, and the water rushing. At first he didn’t respond, and then he did. And I suddenly felt so heavy, so weighted down by his words.

  “Up at the state park, there’s a lake that feeds into a waterfall. I’m assuming you don’t remember either of those things, but we’re dragging the lake on Sunday.”

  Cops didn’t drag lakes looking for survivors. They dragged them looking for bodies.

  chapter nine

  I felt nauseated most of Saturday morning, having not slept much after the phone call with the detective. The rescue endeavors had turned to recovery. It was unspoken, but I knew it in my bones.

  They didn’t expect to find Cassie alive.

  A little before one, I snuck out. Not hard to do when Mom was still in bed and Dad was off on a golf course somewhere. Shoving my hands into the pockets of this really cute military-style jacket I’d found in my closet, I headed down the winding road. Chances were this trip would be pointless. Cassie’s parents might not even be home, but I couldn’t bring myself to call them, especially because they hadn’t contacted me once since I’d been back.

  This could be bad.

  Crossing the small yard, I stepped onto the tiny porch of the brick house and knocked on the front door. A crash sounded from inside, followed by a deep, husky laugh—Carson’s laugh.

  The door opened, and he was looking over his shoulder. “I got it, Dad! I’ll be back in a little while.” Turning, he gave me a lopsided grin and stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I repeated, stepping back.

  Carson eased around me and then motioned me to follow him when I didn’t move. Red and blond highlights appeared in his shaggy hair under the sun. “Since you didn’t arrive in a car, I’m hoping you don’t mind my method of transportation.”

  I’d figured he’d borrow his dad’s truck or something, but he stopped in front of the motorcycle, pulling the blue tarp off it. My stomach dropped. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever been on a motorcycle.”

  “Not with me. And I seriously doubt pretty boy would risk his face to ride one.”

  I glanced at him. Del was a pretty boy, and while Carson was hotness incarnate, his features were rougher around the edges. Pulling out a hair tie, I wrangled my hair into a low ponytail. Shorter strands slipped free, curving around my cheeks.

  Carson handed me a sleek black helmet. “It’s really easy. Just hold on tight.”

  My gaze dropped to his narrow waist, and my insides turned to goo. I turned the helmet over slowly. “How…how do you know where Cassie lives? I never asked.”

  He squinted. “She used to throw a lot of parties.”

  I shifted from one foot to another, thinking about what Candy had said. “Did you guys…date or something?”

  His eyebrows knitted. “Why are you asking?”

  “One of the girls mentioned it. Said you two hooked up.”

  Unexpectedly, he laughed. “I’m kind of curious as to why I’d even come up in conversation, but whatever.”

  I couldn’t let it go. “So did you?”

  He looked away, squaring his shoulders. “Yeah, we did.”

  A red-hot feeling unfurled low in my belly, sliding through my veins like a snake. “Did we ever hook up?”

  His head snapped back to me, and his brows shot up his forehead in astonishment. He choked out a “No.”

  “Why not?”

  A heartbeat later he gave me a close-lipped smile, and his eyes lowered. “Good question. I’d have to go with the fact that we didn’t get along.”

  Made sense, and I really needed to stop asking questions, but curiosity had its claws in me. “Then why did you hook up with Cassie?”

  Carson moved closer, and I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “Honestly? I really can’t tell you why. I was at a party she was throwing. We both were drinking. You two had just gotten into an argument about something—I don’t know what about—and she came on to me. End of story.”

  There was a name for what I was feeling. Jealousy. Something I had no ownership to, but it was there, boiling my blood. “So she came on to you, and you were all about it? Just like that?”

  His eyes narrowed into lively, thin crescents. “That’s how it happens. If it makes you feel better, I don’t remember much of it. And she wasn’t with Trey then.”

  I forced a laugh. “It doesn’t make me feel anything. I was just curious.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “What about Lauren?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  Some of the amusement faded from his expression. “Lauren and I didn’t hook up. We went out on one date, much to all of her friends’ shock—including yours. She didn’t want a second one.” He grabbed the helmet out from under my hands. “Are you done with the personal Q-and-A?”

  “Yeah,” I said, embarrassed. Along with amnesia, I must’ve lost any and all filters. Worried that he’d changed his mind, I went for the helmet, but he stepped back. “What are you doing?”

  He flipped it. “Helping you out.”

  I stood still and waited. Carson moved forward again, and with one hand, he tucked back the shorter strands of my hair. Tingles shot across my skin as his knuckles brushed my cheek. My lips parted as he did the same to the other side. His hands were large but incredibly gentle. I wondered if he’d touched Cassie like that, but I pushed that thought away.

  Carson slid the helmet on, buckling the straps under my chin. Each time his fingers touched my skin, I shivered.

  “There,” he said, his gaze lingering below my eyes. “You’re ready.”

  Before he could slip the shield down, I grasped his hand and had the worst case of verbal diarrhea known to man. “I had you listed as my security question.”

  Carson blinked and let out a tight laugh. “What?”

  “On my e-mail account, it asked who my childhood friend was,” I explained, nervous and wishing my mouth had a stop button. “It was you.”

  “Interesting,” he said, pulling his hand free. Without further explanation, he moved the shield down. “Let’s go.”

  Not the reaction I’d been hoping for, but then again, I had no idea what I’d wanted him to say. Confused, I watched as he climbed onto the bike and patted the seat. Swallowing, I swung a leg over and sat. When the motor roared to life, I tentatively placed my hands on his waist. Under the sweater, his muscles were hard and toned.

  My mouth went dry.

  Shoulders shaking with silent laughter, Carson reached down, grasped my hands, and pulled them so that they were clasped across his navel. The motion brought my breasts flat against his back and left very little room in other places. The scent of him—citrus and soap—seeped in under the helmet.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Not because of the jerk of the bike moving into gear or the fear of flying off when his tires moved onto asphalt, but because every cell in my body was responding to how close we were. It was wr
ong, the way I snuggled against his back as the wind beat upon us, especially when I hadn’t even felt a smidgen of this with Del.

  Cassie lived about five miles past the old battlefield, down a road obscured by large maples. As we passed the numerous monuments and old, wooden fences surrounding them, interest stirred inside me, and I almost wanted to ask Carson to stop. When we rode up to Cassie’s house, it was like seeing another version of my own—sprawling and beautiful.

  Carson came to a stop, and I slowly took off the helmet. So many questions went through my head. What would I say when I saw her parents? Would they be welcoming or turn me away? Most of all, was I making a mistake by coming here?

  Carson placed his hand on my back intuitively. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I nodded slowly as I climbed off the bike, my eyes taking in the white exterior and red shutters. Nothing stirred inside me.

  “We can knock on the door whenever you’re ready,” Carson said.

  As much as I appreciated that, I knew I needed to do this now. Smiling at him, I headed up the front steps and knocked on the door. Carson’s warmth pressed against my back, and I wondered if he’d ever know how much that meant to me.

  A few seconds later, the red door swung open. An older man appeared, wearing dress pants and a wrinkled shirt. Heavy creases spread out from faded blue eyes that darted from me to Carson.

  I drew in a shallow breath. “I’m Sa—”

  “I know who you are,” he said. “I was wondering when you’d come by.”

  A chill snaked down my back.

  “Mr. Winchester,” Carson said, inching forward so he was in front of me. “Samantha doesn’t—”

  “Remember anything?” he interrupted, his eyes never leaving my face. “That’s what the detective has told us.” A deep, unforgiving line appeared between his brows. “If you’re here to see Cassie’s mother, she’s in bed and not taking visitors.”

  I had no idea who this man was, but he seemed too old to be Cassie’s father. “I’m not here to see her mother. I was hoping that…I could see Cassie’s room.”

  “And why would you want to do that?” He glanced at Carson, his nose twitching.

  “I was hoping that it would help me remember her—what happened.” I think I knew what was up with the look. “We aren’t here to steal any of her stuff.”

  “I can stay outside,” Carson suggested, voice flat. “It’s no problem.”

  The old man huffed but stepped aside. “Not that I expected that either of you would steal her stuff. I don’t imagine you remember which room is hers?”

  Relieved, I stepped inside. “No. Sorry.”

  Carson sighed. “I do.”

  If that surprised Mr. Winchester, he didn’t show it. “You have ten minutes, and then I must ask you to leave. Please be quiet.”

  Not wasting time, Carson wrapped his hand around mine and led me around the old man. We went up three flights of stairs and down a hall.

  “Who was he?” I asked in a hushed voice.

  “Cassie’s grandfather. Not a very friendly man.” He flashed a quick grin. “So don’t take that welcome personally.”

  I glanced down at his hand around mine. “Where’s her dad?”

  “As far as I know, he wasn’t in her life and never had been.” Letting go of my hand, he stopped in front of a door that had three large daisies with pink petals drawn on it. “This is Cassie’s grandfather’s house. Her mom is pretty young, a good ten years younger than your parents. Between that and there being no daddy…”

  “I bet that caused a scandal.”

  “Knowing you rich people? Probably,” he said, and his jaw tensed. “You ready?”

  I nodded.

  Carson opened the door, letting me step inside first. A rush of cool air brought a peachy scent that tugged at me. I inhaled deeply, waiting for more but finding only a distant sensation.

  Her room wasn’t much different than mine, but as I walked over to her desk, running my fingers over her notebooks, I felt like I was walking inside a tomb. Shivers ran up and down my spine.

  Carson remained by the door, silent and watching. I stopped in front of a stack of photos. Going through them, I kept waiting for a memory to spark. There were pictures of us together on a beach, at school, and at a ski resort. We wore matching outfits—pale pink. Some of the pictures were with our other friends. One I recognized from New Year’s Eve because of the dress she wore.

  She was in Del’s lap. Both had huge, sloppy smiles on their faces.

  Making a face, I showed it to Carson. “I have no idea who took this picture. Me? Trey?”

  Carson’s brows rose. “I don’t know.”

  Her arm was around Del’s neck, her check pressed against his. Del’s hand was on her hip. “Awful comfy, these two,” I murmured.

  “Jealous?” he asked.

  “No, not really.” I sighed, putting the photos back on her desk. Beside her bed was a table painted bloodred. Interesting choice in color, but it was the music box that caught my attention. Walking over to it, I picked it up and turned to Carson. “I have one of these in my bedroom. It plays the same song.”

  “A lot of girls have music boxes, right?”

  “Yeah, but it’s identical.” I set it down, weirded out by that. “Was I friends with Cassie when I was little?”

  “No.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “I mean, everyone grew up in the same circle, but you really didn’t get close to her until you were, like, eleven or so.”

  Did we get matching music boxes then? Seemed like we’d be a little old for that. I picked up a stuffed unicorn that carried the scent of honeysuckle and then checked out her closet.

  With each passing minute, my frustration mounted. I’d probably been in this bedroom a million times, and nothing about it was familiar. My hands curled into fists as I moved to the center of the room, staring at the red comforter that belonged to the best friend I also couldn’t remember.

  I threw the unicorn on the bed. Tears pricked my eyes. The swamping hole inside my head remained the same. Empty. Vast. All my memories were gone, stolen. It was like being violated, but there was no one to pin the crime on. My mind spun in circles.

  “I don’t remember a damn thing.” My voice came out a dry, hoarse whisper.

  “It’s okay.” He placed his hand on the small of my back. “It might take a little time.”

  A tremble ran through my body, and I hated it. Weak. Helpless. Lost. I spun around, pushing the loose strands of hair out of my face. “What if I never remember? Do I live the rest of my life like this? One foot in a past I can’t remember?”

  His eyes widened slightly as he tilted his head forward. “I know this is hard for you to swallow right now, but if you never remember, you get to do something that most people never get to do.”

  “Like what?” I folded my arms. “Have a bunch of second firsts?”

  “Yeah, that.” Carson placed his hands on my upper arms, his eyes searching mine intently. “You get to start over. Experience all those things again. While everyone else is wishing for a do-over, you get to have one.”

  I wasn’t ready to look at this as a glass half full. “And what about Cassie? I don’t think she’ll get to have any do-overs.”

  He dropped his hands, eyes downcast. “That’s the hardest part to swallow.”

  We left before Cassie’s grandfather could throw us out. I didn’t want to go home yet, so Carson suggested a late lunch. He parked the bike across from a cemetery that was about the same size as the town. Tourists were everywhere, taking pictures of the old orphanage and the back of the Jennie Wade House, the home of the only civilian killed during the Battle of Gettysburg. As I followed Carson into a pub next to the orphanage, I almost wanted to join the tourists.

  I felt like them, except I just happened to be sightseeing my own life.

  Carson picked a booth in the back and handed me a menu. There was a curious look on his face as he watched me.

  “
What?” I asked.

  He gave a slight shake of his head. “If someone had said a