Nodding, I sipped again. “Mmm.”

His mouth became a flash of straight white teeth, his face, an instantaneous softening of hard features. He poured me another shot. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, why?”

“You were staring.”

The lighthearted moment evaporated, replaced by an awkward hush as thick as the leaden tongue in my mouth. He killed his drink, his movements jerky. I followed suit. This time the liquor didn’t even burn going down.

He examined his empty glass. “Sooooo, you ready to see what I dug up?”

The tension leveled off and I gave an inward sigh of relief. “To be honest, I’ve been on pins and needles.”

Trace grabbed some papers from the end table. “I don’t have internet, so I had to use the library.” He handed me the mini stack. “This is all about memory repression. Check it out.”

I thumbed through the papers. “I did a bit of research a while ago, but I didn’t really find anything substantial.”

“Well, Doc—my shrink—gave me a list of specific references to look up.” He pointed at the page in my hand. “That says memory repression’s linked to trauma. Emotional trauma. The clinical name is dissociative amnesia.” He threaded his fingers behind his head. “Further on you’ll read about a murder case in the nineties. A woman in Redwood City, California testified against her daddy. She’d forgotten all about the child he’d killed until somethin’ triggered the memory.”

I glanced up from the reading material. “What are you saying? That I may have witnessed my mother’s murder?”

“That or somethin’ related to it. Anything’s possible. I mean, this could explain why you don’t remember the whole interrogation Gray gave you. Look on the last page.” He darted a finger. “The child’s name was Eileen. Her daddy raped and murdered her best friend—a little girl named Susan. Both of them were eight-years-old. Eileen saw everything, but get this. She suppressed the memory for twenty years.”

Curiosity and dread gnawed at me. I pointed to a particular paragraph. “It says here that most of her memories had unrelated triggers.”

“Right. Sometimes it was words, or a smell…even a picture. But she wasn’t flooded with facts. Things came in trickles until the pieces fell together.”

“Her father was convicted,” I murmured, still reading.

“Yup. Murder in the first. After a twenty-year lag.”

I lifted my eyes to his in amazement. “They returned a guilty verdict the same day they deliberated.”

“Uh-huh. Her memory was credible enough for the jury.”

My light of hope doused. I tossed the papers aside like they were worthless. “My memories were credible too, remember? A jury believed me and you went to prison.”

“But every case is different. Who knows what you’ve forgotten.” His face sobered. “Ever think about hypnosis?”

I gave my head a decisive shake. “No way.”

“Why? Doc tried it on me once. Didn’t work. But it doesn’t mean it won’t for you.”

“I can’t give that kind of control to a stranger.” I studied him for a long moment. “This is totally off topic, but I’m just curious about something. Are your family and friends the only reason you’re doing this? You know, helping me.”

He took his time responding. “Since we’re veering off the map for a spell, how ‘bout you answer my question first?”

“Which?”

“The one I asked at your office.” His eyes pierced me. “Why’d you freak out when Tori and Dee Dee saw us?”

Not this again. “What the heck does that have to do with—”

“Everything. If we’re gonna dig into Lilith’s murder, I’ve got to know where your head is at.” When I rolled my eyes, he said, “You stand up for me at the hospital with the whole town looking on, but you sneak into the club under cover of darkness. You show up on my doorstep draped in a hood at night—this after avoiding me for four days. And you bust a gasket when folks see us together. Yet you defend me and Cholly in front of your family.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t make sense.”

It made perfect sense to me.

“Of course I stood up for you and Cholly,” I said. “I hate bullies, and as I recall, so do you.”

“I get that, but it still doesn’t add up—especially the Tori and Dee Dee thing. Why’d you lose it when they saw us?”

“I didn’t ‘lose it.’” I licked my lips. “Anyway the situations are completely different. My reaction with them was more discretionary than anything else. Mead, I can handle—”

“Speaking of which, what’s up with that? If I didn’t know better I’d swear you hated each other.”

“I don’t hate anybody. He’s the one with the problem. He hates Mother and I look like her. It’s a simple case of misdirected animosity.” I gestured. “Anyway, back to your original question. My family is very conscientious about public perception, so they’ve got just as much at stake as I do.”

“Uh-huh. Which means your secrets are safe with them.”

I gave a reluctant shrug. “Well, yes. Tori’s the town gossip and Dee Dee is her best friend. So I was concerned.”

“Concerned?”

“Let’s look at the facts.” I scooted forward, ticking them off with my fingers. “(1), you went to prison for my mother’s murder. (2), we’re the talk of the town, (3), we’ve been the subject of two—yes two—sleazy tabloid articles—”

“All that’s true, but—”

“And (4), I publicly humiliated Eddie and his wife. If anyone has a grudge against us, it’s Dee Dee. Who knows what whoppers she’s already embellished? As for the other stuff, I don’t want to give people—strangers—needless ammunition.”

His eyes narrowed. “Newsflash: pulling strings all over town for me and Cholly gives them plenty.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t have a choice. My family forced my hand.”

“So you’ll fight bullies, but being seen with me is out of the question.”

“No. That’s what you’re saying. I’m saying the women caught me off guard. I wasn’t….” I let out a frustrated breath. “I wasn’t prepared to deal with them. I’m human.”

“A fact you keep forgetting. Every day’s not a dress rehearsal,” he told me. “You hit the ground running, and you make mistakes. Everybody does.”

My twenty-six years of conditioning said otherwise. “That’s not me. I’ve never flown by the seat of my pants. I’m a planner. It’s called grace. Control. It’s who I am.”

“Control or bondage?” The words struck a raw nerve. Our eyes met. His were soft and teeming with…pity? “Living on edge 24/7 was enough for me,” he continued. “It’s how I had to operate, but I’ve got dreams, and they don’t include worrying about tongue waggers.”

Now who was the naïve one? “Our past is common knowledge,” I said. “Talk will always lurk somewhere. Why invite it?”

“You said it yourself. It’s not going anywhere.”

“Right, but I’ve built a life here. I’ve got a business to run. Colleagues, family, and friends to deal with.” My gaze fell from his. “And you’ve already said you’re not staying. Why should you care what people think? This is my home and I’ve worked too hard to….”

He inched forward. “To what?”

Heat crept across my face. Anger brimmed. “To get past my mother’s sleazy legacy,” I answered, my mouth tight.

All I’d buried threatened to bubble to the surface. A deep ache hit me with sickening force.

“Shannon?”

My breath caught when he reached for my hand and brushed his thumb across the back of it. Flesh to flesh, my skin burned. The sensation crawled up my arm, to my heart. I snatched my hand away as silence claimed the room.

“If you’re not gonna bring it up, then I will.” He stilled, but a muscle in his jaw trembled. “When we were at the club—”

“Stop it,” I told him. “Nothing happened.”

“Then why’d you disappear for four days?” When I didn’t answer, he lifted a brow. “Well?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do.” His eyes captured mine. “Are you in love with him?”