The Heart Remembers

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Prologue

The day had been hot for April, even in San Antonio. As darkness fell over the city, a gentle breeze brought relief from the heat stored in the concrete and asphalt and took away some of the stink in the alley. Curious glances followed the slight man in the pink stretch pants and heels as he paced outside The Alternative bar. He ignored the gawkers and raised his arm to see his watch. Ten-thirty.

Where was he? He'd said he'd be here at ten.

Maurice Priestly tapped his toe as he lit another cigarette. He'd wait one more minute before he called. Jack hated when he called.

The click of footsteps echoed from the other end of the alley. Maurice stepped into the dark of the alley toward the tall, broad-shouldered silhouette.

His heart beat faster, as it always did at the sight.

Jack? He called his lover by the name they'd agreed to use when not in the safety of Mo's apartment. Is that you, Huggy Bear?

Another step brought the man farther into the alley. Darkness closed around him like a shroud.

It must be both desire and fear that made his heart pound so. The game that had seemed so much fun, he now realized was stupid. Jack was not a man to play with. Unless the game was played by his rules.

Okay, Mo. What did you want to see me about?

Maurice set his fist on his hip, shooting out one knee. The pose always got Jack hot.

No kiss?

Jack's mouth tightened. I don't have time. I have to meet with some important people.

Maurice's gut clenched. And I'm not important.

Mo, please. Don't be a drama queen. You know how it has to be.

Yes, Mo knew. Coming out would ruin all the big plans Jack dreamed for his future. They would always have to hide their love. But to be with Jack, he'd do anything.

I know, Huggy Bear. I told you I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. He reached for Jack's hand.

Jack hesitated, then threaded his long, strong fingers through Mo's. I wish it could be different, sweetheart. But I have too much to lose.

You're in danger of losing everything anyway, Mo said. Your wife has hired a private dick. Did you know? He's been nosing around, asking questions.

Jack's beautiful wide shoulders jerked. What kind of questions?

Mo wrapped his arms around Jack's strong body. They hadn't been together for days and days. It felt so good to touch him that he didn't mind when Jack didn't hug back.

What would a woman ask? She wants to know how you spend your evenings when you're not home. Now that she knows, she'll leave you, sweetie. She'll take you for everything you've got. Your house, your money, your kids.

Jack pulled from Mo's embrace and settled his hands on his shoulders, his intense gaze burning into Mo's eyes. Sometimes, Jack frightened him. He was so strong, and the gun he carried on his hip was a reminder that he was dangerous. Jack's fingers tightened painfully, reminding Mo how dangerous.

What did you tell the investigator? Jack said.

It was cute how he always talked like that. So precise, so authoritative.

Nothing, baby, nothing. Mo stroked the side of Jack's dear face. I'd never betray you.

Jack's fingers relaxed and he lowered his head until his forehead touched Mo's. She knows. What am I going to do?

We could kill her.

The words were intended as a joke. Mo wasn't a violent person, but now that his lover was threatened, he felt like a mama bear protecting her cub.

Jack raised his head and stared into Mo's eyes. The expression on his face shook Mo a bit. It was horror.

I can't do that. My kids...

Mo patted his shoulder. Jack's love for his children was one of the things he loved so much about him, why he couldn't let him go. Suddenly, his joking suggestion didn't seem to be such a joke. It might be the only way to protect his lover.

She's taken the choice away from you.

We'd never get away with it. Then my kids would have a dead mother and a father on death row. Jack pushed away, leaving a stinging void within Mo's arms.

Mo let him go, considering what it meant that Jack hadn't completely rejected the idea. You could figure out a way to get away with it. You know all the tricks and with your position you could make sure the cops never get close.

Jack turned and walked a few paces away. Mo let him have his space. He'd come back. He always came back. Mo waited, all tingly.

No, Mo. It would never work. The husband is always the first suspect.

Mo didn't like the look on Jack's face. His tingles became cold and the little hairs on the back of his neck shot up.

Jack stepped closer. On the other hand, if they never knew a person knew someone else, a murder could be done successfully.

Mo felt his brow crease in confusion. Honey, I was only joking--

I'm sorry.

Lights exploded in his eyes as he crashed to his knees. A ribbon of agony swept around behind them, through his brain. He could feel the air current signaling the next blow. Instinctively, he raised his arms to protect himself as the man he loved rained hatred down on him. Killing him.

Still, he loved his Huggy Bear.

Mo tried to get up, to escape the assault. Jack leaned over him as he had so many times before. Instead of a gentle kiss, though, Jack landed another blow.

Mo forced his eyes open. I love you.

Jack's arm froze in the air above his head. The police flashlight he held reflected the dim light from the street.

I love you, Huggy Bear, Mo said again, praying to hear his feelings returned.

All he heard were Jack's footsteps as he walked away.

Mo lay in the alley, trying to marshal enough strength to call for help. His head pounded in time to the sound of Jack's footsteps getting farther and farther away.

He lay there for a long time, unable to get up for the pain in his head.

Then he heard footsteps coming closer. His heart leapt.

Jack was coming back to apologize, to help him up, to take him to the doctor or to their apartment where he would tenderly clean the wounds, kiss away the hurt, ask for forgiveness.

Which Mo was ready to give with no reservation.

He was coming back. He always came back.

Mo raised his head, trying to focus blurry eyes on the approaching figure. Huggy Bear...

You like to suck on long, hard things, faggot? The voice was evil, cold, the words spoken in a gruff whisper. It wasn't Jack's voice.

Cruel fingers laced through Mo's hair and jerked his head up. Cold metal touched his lips and shoved into his mouth. The tang of steel tickled his tongue. Suck on this.

He heard a snap. He heard a crack.

No! No! No!

Mo heard nothing more.

Chapter One

Lutheran Medical Center

San Antonio, Texas

April

Wake up, Lara. Lara, can you hear me? Open your eyes, honey.

The sea of mist in her head parted and Lara swam toward consciousness.

The surgery's over and you did great.

She couldn't open her eyes. A bright light burned into her retinas, blinding her.

Open your eyes for me, Lara.

I can't, she whispered through cracked lips. It's too bright.

What's too bright? The lights are all off. It's okay, honey. Open your eyes.

She drifted. She felt herself falling. Pain blasted through her head. A moan she only distantly recognized as coming from her own lips broke through her pain.

She tried to raise her hand to her head.

Don't try to move yet, Lara. Just open your eyes for me.

The light disappeared and a face appeared, but not clearly. It was like she was looking through water.

No.

Cold touched her lips. She felt cold metal shove between her lips, into her mouth.

No, please don't!

Don't what, honey?

A snap.

A crack.

Thunder ripped through bone and brain. Blinding pain.

Oh, God! I'm dead.

Lara, honey, you've got to open your eyes.

She struggled toward the concerned voice. She forced her eyes open.

She wasn't dead.

The reassuring beep of the monitoring equipment by her bed confirmed it.

She's waking up. Call Dr. Hanson.

Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth as she struggled to speak.

Wait, sweetie. Gentle hands raised her head. A straw touched her lips. Sip a little water.

Lara greedily sucked.

That's enough for the first drink.

She almost cried when the straw was pulled away.

More, she begged. Her voice was no more than a pitiful croak.

In a minute. Don't rush it.

Lara felt the comforting presence move away, heard the gentle voice calling the doctor.

In a few moments, another face appeared before her eyes. She knew the kind laughing eyes, the snow-white hair worn a little too long to be professional.

Dr. Hanson.

She tried to say his name. Her lips moved, but no sign came out.

Don't try to talk, Lara. We just took you off the ventilator. Your throat will be sore for a couple of days. You're stable and doing really great. He flashed a little light into her eyes.

The reminder of the light and the face made her shiver.

Ursula, can you get a warmed blanket for our girl here? She's cold.

Right away, Dr. Hanson.

He removed the light and when her eyes adjusted to the darkened room, Lara saw him smile.

My star patient. He squeezed her hand. Let those incredible green eyes close now. Get some rest. I'll check up on you later, and Ursula is on tonight. She'll make sure the staff takes real good care of you.

Lara wanted to ask him about the person who'd been here just before she'd been able to open her eyes. Whose face had she seen?

She was so tired.

Did Dr. Hanson really think her eyes were incredible?

The steady beep of the monitor lulled her back to sleep, reassuringly echoing the beat of her new heart.

* * * *

She stood in an alley. It was dark, so dark. She tapped her toe in time to the bass of the music from the bar whenever the door opened. She watched as couples left the bar. Couples of men. Couples of women. The occasional man and woman.

She didn't recognize the place.

But she recognized the blinding pain. The cold concrete beneath her fingers as she caught herself. The chill of metal entering her mouth.

The snap.

The crack.

The face fading from her sightless eyes.

No! No! No!

* * * *

Kurt Andersen sat by Caryn's bed, holding her hand. Her mother sat on the other side, weeping. Their goodbyes had been said, but still the machines clicked and whirred.

Guilt lay thick on his shoulders. He could have saved her. Should have saved her. The pointlessness of her death had been eating at him ever since the day two weeks ago when he'd turned his head for one second. It had been all Armenio Ortiz had needed to mark her and send a high caliber rifle round through her skull.

Mrs. DuPont?

The doctor laid his hand on Caryn's mother's shoulder.

Mrs. DuPont rose, stroked her daughter's curly blonde hair and pressed her lips on Caryn's forehead. Then she nodded.

Death is recorded as 10:45 a.m. The doctor's whispered words echoed through the room like a thunderclap.

The machines continued to whir and click. Caryn's chest continued to move up and down with the sounds.

His foggy mind couldn't take it in. He leapt to his feet.

She's not dead yet.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Caryn had loved that movie. She'd made him watch it with her at least twice a year, parroting all the dialogue and giggling like a kid.

Kurt, dear. It's all right. Mrs. DuPont sat on the other side of the bed, her face serene. She's not here anymore. You know that.

I don't know that! People come out of comas all the time.

The doctor fixed him with a stare. Detective Andersen, please.

"Don't please me."

Kurt! Mrs. DuPont's voice took on the quality of an old-fashioned, take-no-guff schoolteacher. Stop it. That bullet turned her brain to jelly. Her voice softened. She's gone. Mrs. DuPont turned her face up to the doctor. She's an organ donor.

The doctor smiled. God bless you, ma'am. Usually we have to bring it up.

Mrs. DuPont returned her gaze to her daughter's face. She's strong. She'll help a lot of people.

The doctor again laid his hand on Mrs. DuPont's shoulder, and Kurt thought he could see a glaze of tears in the man's eyes. We'll leave you alone for a bit with her if you'd like.

Mrs. DuPont nodded as she sat back down, her eyes never leaving Caryn's face.

Kurt wondered if he should leave her alone with her daughter. He almost asked, but found he couldn't bear to leave her either.

Thank you for being here, Kurt.

He took his eyes off Caryn's peaceful face and reluctantly met the steady gaze of his