Marriage: Classified. Linda Johnston O.

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      Sara sat on the sofa beside Jordan.

      “Tell us again exactly what happened,” Jordan said. He managed to keep from yelling at her, but she saw how much of a strain it was.

      Acting Chief of Police, Carroll Heumann, sat on the love seat, which seemed an incongruous location for the large, gruff man. “Why were you outside in the first place?” He made no effort to coddle her. Sara knew he was just doing his job, but she wanted to kick him in the shins and flee from the room.

      She sat still, though, and willed herself to maintain her patience.

      Also present were June, who sat on a small wooden child’s chair she must have found in a Sunday school classroom, and Ramon, who, with arms folded, leaned against the far window. June was uncharacteristically quiet.

      In a shaky voice Sara said, “I needed to get away from the crowd.” She didn’t pause to wait for the criticisms and recriminations she knew everyone was thinking, but continued, “I thought I was being careful. There were plenty of people outside. But it started to rain, and whoever it was just grabbed me and dragged me behind a tall gravestone.”

      She felt Jordan’s substantial body shift slightly, as though her very words made him fume. She swallowed a sigh of misery. She didn’t blame him; in hindsight, she realized that, though she had thought she had done what she needed to keep her sanity, it had been foolish.

      But now she needed his support and understanding. And she could not be certain he would give it.

      “How tall was he?” Jordan asked. At least his voice was calm.

      She tried to make her shrug seem nonchalant. She didn’t want him to know how she ached inside. “Taller than me, I think. But that impression could just have been because he—or she—took me unawares and overpowered me so easily.”

      “Did you hear or see anything that would allow you to recognize the person again?”

      Something nudged the edges of Sara’s mind. Had there been something identifiable? Maybe…but her sorry excuse for a brain wasn’t latching onto it right then.

      Any more than it was giving her the rest of the answers she needed.

      This time she did sigh out loud. “No.”

      “Go ahead, then,” Jordan said in a kind tone. “Tell us what you do remember.”

      Sara noticed the scowl Heumann shot Jordan. Was it because he thought he should be asking the questions?

      Hurriedly, so as not to foment more animosity between the two men, Sara described her latest ordeal. When she was finished, she said, “I know that doesn’t give you a lot to go on to catch the suspect. The voice was disguised, so I couldn’t even tell for sure if it was male or female. The person was definitely strong, though. I couldn’t turn around to see his identity. And…and he—or she—didn’t believe I’d lost my memory, at least not initially.” She didn’t mention that a smattering of it had come back during the crisis; she wanted to mull that over herself first. Perhaps even discuss it with Jordan. Shouldn’t her husband know that her amnesia might not be complete or permanent? Might it already be obvious? She didn’t recall how it felt to be a police dispatcher, but she was easily slipping back into using law enforcement terminology.

      “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” she finished.

      “So am I,” Carroll Heumann said. “You shouldn’t have gone out alone like that, but since you did, it would have been a perfect opportunity to nab the perpetrator.”

      “She could have been hurt,” reminded June Roehmer, her critical words to her superior tempered by a sympathetic smile toward Sara.

      “Again,” added Ramon, without budging from his position near the window.

      Sara noted that Jordan added nothing to that part of the conversation. Shouldn’t her husband express further concern for her safety?

      He had come looking for her. He had found her. He had treated her tenderly while taking her inside, just as he had after the attack that had killed her father.

      But she yearned for something more from him—a greater show of affection. Something that would make it clearer to her why they had married. That they loved each other.

      “One thing, just for clarification,” Jordan said. “We should each describe where we were while Sara was being attacked.”

      Heumann appeared almost apoplectic. “You surely don’t think that I—”

      “I don’t think anything,” Jordan said mildly. “I just want to rule out as many suspects as possible. I was on my cell phone in an alcove. I doubt anyone saw me there, so I haven’t an alibi. No one appears wet from the rain—though the person I saw wore a hooded coat. Where were you, June?”

      She had been in the ladies’ room—alone. Ramon had gone out behind the church, under an overhang, for a cigarette. Reluctantly, Heumann told them that he had been in one of the church’s Sunday school classrooms checking it out for his grandkids.

      Sara realized that none of them could be ruled out as a suspect. But surely her assailant couldn’t have been one of them—could it?

      Beside her, Jordan stood. “Sara, you stay here with June for a while. I have something I need to do.”

      There was a grim determination on his masculine face. She wouldn’t have wanted to cross him then.

      But what was he going to do? Make sure he hadn’t left any clues that would identify him as her attacker?

      That was a nasty shot, Sara castigated herself. Even if there was something a little off in the way Jordan, her new husband, treated her, she had no reason to think him a suspect in her father’s death or in the attacks on her.

      Except that June had told her that Jordan and her father had been arguing….

      No, whatever Jordan was up to, she could be certain it would be in her best interests.

      She lifted her face up to him for a kiss. Wasn’t that what new brides did?

      He blinked in what appeared to be surprise and uncertainty before he caught himself and bent toward her. His lips were cool, and their contact with hers brief. Unsatisfying.

      “See you later,” he said over his shoulder as he strode out of the room.

      Bewildered and hurt, Sara nevertheless noticed the expressions on the faces of the others as they stared after Jordan. Ramon’s mouth quirked slightly in an amused smile that did not erase the uneasiness in his eyes.

      June appeared perturbed, but her eyes seemed glued to Jordan’s compact butt, hugged by his dress trousers. A pang of something that could have been jealousy caromed through Sara. That was her husband’s behind that June so obviously admired.

      But there was nothing at all appreciative of Jordan Dawes in Carroll Heumann’s snide grimace.

      “I’M SORRY I left you with that cheery crowd,” Jordan said to Sara a while later. He shot an ironic glance toward her from the driver’s seat of his white Mustang. The arch expression went wonderfully СКАЧАТЬ