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Her missing memories could expose a killer
After a gunshot wound to the head, Ella Camden turns to the only man she knows will believe she’s being targeted, ex-love and security expert Roman DeHart. Trouble is, amnesia keeps her from remembering why someone might be after her. Roman let her go once. This time he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she stays alive—and his—forever.
SARA K. PARKER has been a writer ever since she was gifted a 4” x 6” pin-striped journal for her tenth birthday. Her writing hobby has since grown into her dream career—writing for Love Inspired, freelancing for magazines and teaching English at a community college. She and her husband live in Northwest Houston with their four children, two (soon-to-be three!) mischievous dogs and an extremely vocal senior cat.
Also By Sara K. Parker
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Undercurrent
Dying to Remember
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
Dying to Remember
Sara K. Parker
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-08451-2
DYING TO REMEMBER
© 2018 Sara K. Parker
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Version: 2020-03-02
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Ella whipped around as the car gunned straight for them.
A dark shadow of a face loomed behind the tinted windshield. The killer was coming for her.
“It’s him!” she yelled, reeling.
“Get back!” Roman barked, his arms coming around her and yanking her to the icy ground. And then she was rolling, cold earth seeping through thin clothes, blades of frozen grass scraping her cheeks.
Tires crunched, too close, the vehicle blasting forward and barely missing them. Roman pushed her behind him, slid his gun from its holster. Aimed.
The first shot hit a back tire. Rubber burst, debris flew. Ella scrambled backward, expecting the car to reverse, its tires to swerve toward them. Another shot split the air, the back windshield crashing in.
“Move, move, move!” Roman yelled, grabbing onto Ella’s arm and pulling her farther away from the lot, ready for the driver to try to strike again...
It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.
—Lamentations 3:22–23
Dear Reader,
On a breezy, sunny November day, I took my feverish nine-year-old daughter to the doctor to rule out strep or the flu. Turned out, she had cancer. For weeks, I cried every time I surfaced from sleep, repeatedly whispering one tiny prayer. Please, let her live.
And He did! As I write this letter, Aaliyah is one week away from completing ten months of treatment for Ewing’s Sarcoma, her tumor has been one hundred percent eradicated, and she and her twin sister can’t wait to start fifth grade.
As I watch our daughter overcome terrible odds and start to reclaim her childhood, my heart bursts with gratefulness, but also grieves for other cancer families I’ve met along the way. Cancer’s indiscriminate nature stirs up questions with no tidy answers—questions about faith, prayer, suffering and surrender.
In Dying to Remember, Ella Camden wrestles with her faith and the purpose of prayer after a personal tragedy evokes questions she can’t find satisfying answers to. But when a deadly threat reunites her with childhood sweetheart Roman DeHart, Ella begins to discover a sense of peace in the steady, unfailing presence of God.
In a world that sometimes blindsides us with heartbreak, my prayer is that you experience that peace, too, clinging to God as your anchor—no matter what the future holds. Drop me a line through my website at www.sarakparker.com. I’d love to hear from you.
With love,
Sara K. Parker
To Kai, Noah, Rayne and Aaliyah—You are my fiercest encouragers and my very own live-in comedians. You are also kind, compassionate and stronger than you know. Your smiles and laughter remind me daily to lay every burden at the feet of Jesus and seek joy. May the years ahead be full of happiness, love, growth and opportunities to bless others.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction
Bible Verse
Dear Reader
Dedication
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
Extract
About the Publisher
ONE
The car was gone. Ella Camden was sure of it.
She’d spent the better part of twenty minutes peering through the taxi’s back window just to be certain.
Somewhere amid Friday rush hour traffic between Route 97 and the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, the silver sedan that had been following her had disappeared.
“I don’t see it anymore,” she said into her cell phone, finally facing forward again and slumping against the seat.
“Don’t you dare have that driver turn around,” Autumn Simmons responded, her tone unusually serious.
That was exactly what Ella wanted to do, though: tell the cabdriver to forget it. Turn the car around and take her back to her mom’s house. She sank down lower in her seat, her grip tight on the phone. “I’m probably just being paranoid,” she said, echoing the words of her sisters, several coworkers, her doctors...everyone except Autumn. “My injury—”
“Don’t even go there.” Autumn cut her off. “No way you’ve imagined a silver car following you home three days in a row.”
Her friend’s words brought on an unsettling mixture of reassurance and fear. On the one hand, it was a relief to know that she had an ally who didn’t think she was losing her marbles. On the other hand, Autumn’s support meant that Ella could truly be in danger. If she was in danger, she needed help. There was only one place she could go for that, one person who might be able to figure things out—which was why she’d had the driver change course in the first place. But now she was having second thoughts.
“The office is probably closed,” she hedged, knowing full well she could simply make a phone call to find out.
“Look,” Autumn said, her voice urgent. “If you turn around, I’ll take myself up there right now and tell Roman DeHart you’re too chicken to face him, but you need his help.”
Autumn’s pushy nature was as much an annoyance as it was a confirmation that this was no time to take risks. Ella hadn’t realized how much she’d missed their friendship. She’d let distance and time do what they did best—water down old memories and fill the empty spaces with new ones.
“I’m not chicken.” Well, maybe a little. Though she’d never admit to it. “But what if this is all what the doctor’s been warning me about? Memory lapses. Confusion. Paranoia.” She touched the hat that covered her healing wound.
“Paranoia doesn’t explain what happened to Marilynn. Or your mom,” Autumn said.
“The police—”
Autumn cut in. “You know something’s going on.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know... What if I’m wrong?”
“What if you’re right?”
If Ella was right, then someone had tried to kill her last month and that same someone was looking for another opportunity. If she was right, her mother’s accident and Marilynn Rice’s death were somehow connected. After all, the two had been close friends and had worked together at Graceway, her mother’s nonprofit, for years.
No question about it. If Ella was right, she needed Roman’s help.
“Exactly,” Autumn said as if she’d read Ella’s thoughts in the empty silence. “Now, are you going to pay Roman a visit or am I?”
Ella wasn’t sure if she was ready to see Roman again after all these years and she didn’t like ultimatums. But she knew Autumn was right. She needed help, and Roman’s security company was the best place to turn.
She sighed into the phone. “I’ll do it.” Ending the call, she scanned the traffic outside her cab for the sedan once more.
Her stomach churned and she pressed a hand to her abdomen. The meds made her nauseous, but she’d keep taking them for now. Intermittent nausea was better than the explosive migraines that had been plaguing her for weeks. And at least her mood had stabilized. Her doctor had pushed an increase in the dosage of her Prozac, reminding her that her memory lapses may subside when her emotions were more regulated. But while the meds had helped with her anxiety, Ella knew she wasn’t depressed, and she certainly didn’t need more medicine.
She needed the truth. And she needed help.
Fear crawled along the back of her neck as she peered out the back window. Still no silver sedan. She was pretty certain it was a Toyota Camry, but the car had never been close enough for her to make out the driver. Ella faced forward again, watching as Baltimore’s Inner Harbor came into view, city lights glimmering against dark waters.
After-work traffic and icing roads didn’t seem to faze the taxi driver as he weaved through the city. Ella wanted to tell him to slow down. Maybe just turn around all together. It was after six on a Friday evening, after all. Roman had probably left the office by now.
She half hoped he had.
More than six years had passed since they’d parted ways. Six years since his sister’s murder had devastated them both and torn their relationship apart. She wondered if time had been kind to him. If he’d learned to smile again. To laugh.
If he’d gotten married, had kids.
She’d wondered for a long time, but it had been years since she’d tried to find out.
The car pulled over and slowed to a stop. She should have called, set up an appointment.
No turning back now.
Ella’s gaze traveled across the sidewalk and up the grand entrance where the Shield Protection logo was boldly printed above a set of mammoth mahogany doors.
A knot of regret tightened in her stomach. Roman and his dad had purchased the historic building together, Roman’s brothers joining in on the renovation in memory of their sister. Roman had sent Ella a personal invitation to the grand opening four years ago, which she had initially declined. She had started a new life for herself in Colorado, and she knew that seeing Roman again would threaten the progress she had made toward putting the past behind her.
Only, at the last minute, she’d hopped on a plane, telling herself she owed the DeHart family her support—and convincing herself that the trip would bring closure. She had never been so wrong in her life. No sooner had she stepped out of her rental car that afternoon than she’d spotted Roman hand in hand with a striking redhead. Maybe Ella shouldn’t have been surprised or hurt that he had moved on, but she simply hadn’t been able to face him, so she’d left the event before anyone had even realized she was there.
“You all set?” the driver asked, watching her in the rearview mirror.
“Yes, could you wait here?” she asked as she pushed the door open. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be...”
He shrugged. “Meter’s running.”
She didn’t care. It was freezing outside—unseasonably so for Maryland in November—and she didn’t relish the idea of standing at the curb trying to flag down another taxi when she was ready to head back to her childhood home in Annapolis. Especially when the stranger in the silver car could reappear at any moment.
She opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, taking a quick look up and down the street. She still didn’t see any sign of that car. Pushing aside self-doubt, she lowered her head against the bitter wind and carefully navigated the salted but still ice-slick steps of Shield.
She grabbed hold of the wrought-iron railing with a gloved hand. Six steps up and she was standing at the doors reading the posted sign that they closed at 5:30 p.m. Disappointment warred with relief. The silver car was gone for now and at least she could truthfully tell Autumn she’d attempted to see Roman.
She pressed the doorbell anyway, just to be sure. Waited a couple of seconds and turned toward the cab. She would call in the morning to make an appointment.
She’d only taken two steps when she heard a voice as familiar as her own heartbeat.
“May I help you?”
Her heart jolted and she turned to the doors, peering up at the security camera.
“Sorry,” she said. “I know you’re closed...”
“Ella? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m buzzing you in. Take the elevator up to the fifth floor. I’ll wait for you there.”
A clicking noise sounded and Ella reached for the door, pulling it open and stepping inside.
She removed her gloves and tucked them into her purse, then tugged at the edges of her cap to make sure it was secure.
A reception desk sat empty, its black granite shiny and clean. Ella’s boots squeaked along the hardwood floors as she made her way to the elevator.
Inside, she pressed the number five and clenched her hands together as she ascended. Five floors were all that stood between Ella and the man she’d spent the last several years learning to live without.
Five floors and five million heartbeats.
The doors slid open and there he stood, wearing a sharp suit and a warm smile—a devastating combination that stole her breath. Ella exited the elevator, stopping just short of stepping into his arms. She shoved her hands into her coat pockets.
“Ella,” he said, his voice all low and smooth like it had always been, his eyes searching hers. “It’s been a long time.”
She nodded. “Six years.” And five months and a handful of days. He looked every bit the man she’d known—only since she’d last caught a glimpse of him he’d shaved off his goatee and bulked up at the gym.
Her gaze darted around him and down a hallway with glass doors and gleaming wood.
He touched her arm and warmth seeped through the wool of her coat.
“Are you okay?”
Ella drew a shaky breath and looked into eyes that had always been able to read her heart.
“I don’t think so, Roman. I need your help.”
His eyes narrowed and he gestured down the hall. “Let’s go to my office.”
* * *
Ella Camden was the last person Roman had expected to see when he’d heard the doorbell moments ago. A new client in need of help, maybe. Someone looking for work, likely. Ella, the woman he’d never stopped loving? Not even on his radar.
Her boots tread quietly along the hallway behind him and he opened the door to his office, letting her pass through first. She’d cut her hair. Coppery brown barely peeked out below the light gray knit cap she wore. She kept her hands in the pockets of a black winter coat and didn’t meet his eyes as she entered.
“What a view,” she said, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office.
The dismal gray evening had grown darker, but the harbor beyond Roman’s office was lit up and bustling with Friday nightlife.
“What you’ve built here is amazing, Roman,” Ella said, turning back toward the office and absently plucking a business card from the holder on his desk. She traced a thumb over the print, her gaze unreadable.
She seemed genuinely impressed and Roman almost asked why she’d waited so long to come see it for herself. But this meeting wasn’t about them. “I had a lot of help,” he said instead, waiting for her to explain why she’d come.
She was too skinny. Even with the bulky winter coat he could see that. Her eyes hadn’t changed, though, their soft green-gray pulling him into memories long tucked away. And better kept there, he reminded himself. He’d spent years burying those memories under a relentless workload that didn’t leave room for regret. But coming face-to-face with Ella brought it all screaming back.
“Want to have a seat?” He moved to his chair, pushing aside his closed laptop. He’d just been packing up to head home when Ella had arrived. But he wasn’t in a rush. The only thing waiting for him at home was a fridge full of leftover takeout and his niece’s lop-eared bunny he’d gotten stuck babysitting.
“Thanks.” She took the seat opposite his, tucking his business card into her purse. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Her eyes brimmed tears that she didn’t let fall.
Roman’s heart constricted. Years ago, he would have pulled her into his arms, but they didn’t know each other anymore.
“Here.” He stood and reached over to the bookcase for a box of tissues, passing them to her. “Why don’t I put on a pot of coffee? We’ll get you warmed up. Take your time.”
She shook her head, accepting the box of tissues but not pulling one out. “No, I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary.”
“We can take as long as you need.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but we both know it’s late on a Friday and you’re probably ready to get home,” Ella started. “It’s been all these years, and the first time I see you, I’m asking for help.”
“How about you tell me what’s going on and we can decide that together?”
She nodded, weariness in her expression. “I don’t really know where to start, but I think I’m being followed.”
“By who?”
“I wish I knew.” She tugged her cap more snugly over her ears. Why didn’t she take it off? She couldn’t still be cold. It was a thousand degrees in the office.
Or maybe it was just him. Roman loosened his tie.
“So, you’re here because you want me to find out?” he asked.
She smiled half-heartedly. “It’s complicated.”
Nervous. He’d never known her to be nervous.
He waited.
“My mom’s in the hospital,” she said finally. “In a coma.”
“My dad told me,” Roman said. “Terrible accident. I’m so sorry, Ella. Is there any improvement?”
Ella shook her head. “That’s why I came out here. I took a leave of absence from my clinic.”
When she’d left to pursue veterinary school in Colorado, she’d had a singular mission: to finish school and then buy her own practice in the mountains. She’d obviously accomplished her goal. Roman had never doubted she would.
“What about your sisters? Have they been able to help, too?”
“Yes, but Bethany has three kids now, so time away is hard to come by. Holly was able to get leave for a few weeks, but she’s back overseas at least until May. Even if we could all be here more often, Graceway can’t function without my mom.”
Two years after Ella’s dad had left the picture, her mother had single-handedly opened the women’s shelter. Even though she employed a substantial staff, she’d always been the one at the helm, making all the decisions.
“How long have you been out here?”
“About five weeks.” She leaned forward, eyes locked on his. “But I don’t remember all of it because three weeks ago, I wound up in the hospital with a...brain injury.”
Roman straightened, his gaze catching on her knit cap.
“I was shot. And everyone’s telling me I did it,” she said, the words rushing together.
“You did what?”
“Shot myself.”
“Tried to commit suicide?” The words didn’t fit right in his mouth. Ella, suicidal?
She nodded.
“The thing is, I really don’t think I did.”
“But others think you did?” he prodded. “Who?”
“The police. The doctors. Even my family.”
“You don’t remember the incident?”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything about it. I don’t remember much about the weeks before, either. The doctors think my memories will come back over time.”
“What did the police find?”
“From what they could figure out, I was shot—or shot myself—sitting up in bed. The trajectory was off, so the bullet only grazed the side of my head. I fell sideways and cracked my head on the edge of the nightstand before I ended up on the floor.”
“The trajectory was off?” Roman asked. Possible in an attempted suicide, if she’d been waffling on her decision.
Ella shrugged. “That’s what I’ve been told. Holly had just pulled up to the house and gotten out of her car when she heard the gunshot and came running. I was on the floor, blood everywhere.”
“Even your sister thinks you were trying to kill yourself?”
Ella nodded, her lips set in a grim line. “My fingerprints were on the gun. Gunpowder on my hand.”
The evidence definitely suggested a suicide attempt, but Roman didn’t point out the obvious. “Do the police have any other suspects?”
Her gaze dropped to her lap. “No. They’ve closed the case. It happened at my mom’s house. No signs of forced entry. No signs of a struggle.” She looked up at him again. “And I supposedly typed a note and left it open on my laptop before I...” Her voice trailed off.