Eyewitness

A FORMER SOLDIER IS REUNITED WITH THE WOMAN HE LOVED—AND THE SON WHO MAY HAVE WITNESSED FAR TOO MUCH…

Four years in an Afghan prison couldn’t erase beautiful Devon Reese from Kieran O’Roarke’s damaged memory. So when they are reunited on a beach back in Coral Cove and she begs for help, the wounded hero doesn’t hesitate. He just responds. And when he learns Devon’s little boy—a son he hadn’t known existed—may have witnessed a brutal murder, the seasoned warrior refuses to let Devon live in fear. Struggling to recall the intimacies they once shared, Kieran is desperate to keep his new family from becoming a killer’s latest victims. He lost them once—he won’t lose them again. Even if he has to die fighting.

“I don’t know who you are.”

Her face crumpled and she looked ready to pitch forward.

He had to do better than that. He dragged his hands out of his pockets and held them out in supplication.

“I have some memory, but some things... I know you—” he clenched his fist and pounded it against his chest “—here, but I don’t know who you are. I don’t know your name.”

Silent tears dripped from her eyes. Wiping her hand across her nose, she drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m Devon. Devon Reese. I’m your... We were engaged.”

Kieran squeezed his good eye closed and whispered her name. “Devon. Devon.”

Yes, the name filled him with warmth and longing, those feelings belonging to his hazy past. They had been engaged. A woman like Devon, filled with golden light and promise, would never want a damaged man like him.

Eyewitness

Carol Ericson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carol Ericson lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website, www.carolericson.com , “where romance flirts with danger.”

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Kieran Roarke—A former prisoner of war, damaged and alone, he’s compelled to return to Coral Cove and the woman who got him through his imprisonment, even if he can’t remember her name. Once he meets her, and the son he hadn’t known about, he’ll do anything to protect them—even employ the brutal skills that have no place in civilized society.

Devon Reese—She returns to her hometown for peace and quiet when a neighbor is murdered and her son withdraws after the crime. But the killer follows her, suspecting she’s an eyewitness, and she must turn to the man she’d written off as dead, who’s now a stranger, to protect her and their son.

Michael Roarke—The murder of his grandmotherly neighbor sends the little boy into a private world of fear. What he’s not telling his mother might end up getting them both killed.

Mrs. Del Vecchio—This quirky senior citizen had a special relationship with Michael Roarke, but her murder winds up putting the boy in danger.

Johnny Del—Mrs. Del Vecchio’s dead husband was the leader of a gang of bank robbers. Does his criminal past cast a long shadow over the present?

Dr. Elena Estrada—This psychiatrist tries to help Michael come out of his shell...and puts herself in danger for her efforts.

Sam Frost—Dr. Estrada’s new boyfriend is friendly and helpful, but what does she really know about his past?

Bud “The Pelican” Pelicano—One of Johnny Del’s old cohorts, he died in prison, but may have lived long enough to pass off the secrets of his criminal past to his son.

Mayor Tyler Davis—He’s all about projecting a pristine image of Coral Cove to attract tourists, and he doesn’t appreciate the fact that big-city crime has followed Devon to his town. How far will he go to get her to leave?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

Devon Reese stopped dead in her tracks. She balanced the laundry basket on her hip and tilted her head, listening for a second thump from downstairs. Either Mrs. Del Vecchio had just knocked something over or the eighty-year-old widow had taken up aerobics.

Hearing only street noises from her North Beach neighborhood in San Francisco wafting through the open window, Devon hitched up the basket and pushed the bathroom door wide. She plucked her towel from the rack and swept up Michael’s towel from the floor. She tossed a few washcloths into the basket and then gripped the handles.

She tiptoed past the closed door of Michael’s room where he was napping, and padded into the kitchen on bare feet. Crouching down, she grabbed a bottle of detergent from under the sink and then dumped some quarters into her palm. Devon dreaded laundry day, especially since she had to haul down to the ground floor for the laundry room.

She snagged her keys from the hook by the door. Once in the hallway, she turned to lock the deadbolt. Even as a single mom, she felt safe in their building with the security door in the front. But she never left Michael alone in an unlocked apartment, even for the five minutes it took to load the laundry in the washing machine.

Jogging down the stairs, Devon clutched the basket of towels to her chest and peered over the top. She hit the bottom step and crossed the hall in front of Mrs. Del Vecchio’s door. Maybe she should check up on the old gal. That thump could’ve meant a bad fall. She owed her that since Mrs. Del Vecchio had taken a particular interest in Michael, baking him cookies and telling him interesting, if unusual, stories about cops and robbers and pirates.

Devon peeked in at the silent machines in the laundry room and grinned. “It’s my lucky day.”

Sad but true that a couple of empty washing machines ranked up there as one of the highlights of her day off from the hospital. Since she’d lost her fiancé and given birth to their son alone, she’d learned to find joy in the smallest pleasures of life.

As she loaded her towels, the door to the laundry room slammed shut. She jumped and spun around with her heart pounding. Lunging for the door, she swung it open and peered into the hallway just in time to see the security door to the building click shut.

Probably that annoying kid in the corner apartment upstairs. Last week he kept practicing skateboard jumps off the front steps of the apartment house.

Devon kicked down the door stopper and returned to the washing machine. She dumped her detergent into the receptacle and punched the buttons for a warm-water wash.

As she left the laundry room, she nearly bumped into Sharon Mosely, mother of the obnoxious teen. “Oops, excuse me, Sharon. Hey, did your son just come this way?”

Sharon squeezed past Devon with her own basket. “No. He’s at the skate park. Sorry for the incident on the steps last week. Just wait until your little one is a teenager. Enjoy him while he’s young and sweet.”

Devon rolled her eyes. “I plan to.”

She passed Mrs. Del Vecchio’s door and then backtracked. Pressing her ear against the panel, she tapped lightly. “Mrs. Del Vecchio?”

Silence.

Devon knocked louder. “Mrs. Del Vecchio, are you in there? Are you okay?”

Holding her breath, Devon grasped the door handle and knocked again. It was a huge ordeal for Mrs. Del Vecchio to venture outside, so she had to be home. Besides, hadn’t Devon just heard a big thump from her apartment?

She twisted the door handle and let out a breath when it turned in her hand. Bumping the door with her hip, Devon called, “Mrs. Del Vecchio?”

The sound of running water filled the small apartment along with the overpowering scent of lemon. Drawing her brows over her nose, Devon crept farther into the room.

A couple of sofa pillows lay scattered on the floor. A desk drawer gaped open, its contents littering the carpet. Books tilted helter-skelter on a built-in shelf.

Devon folded her arms, her fingers pinching into her biceps. A chill inched its way up her spine with each step into the disordered apartment. “Mrs. Del Vecchio?”

Devon followed the sound of the water coming from the kitchen. She reached the kitchen entryway and grabbed on to the doorjamb for support as she gasped and swayed forward.

Mrs. Del Vecchio’s body lay in a crumpled heap on the tiled floor. Water flowed over the lip of the sink and streamed down the cabinets, creating a pool of bubbles where the lemon-scented dishwashing liquid dripped.

With her heart racing, Devon peeled her hands from the doorjamb and stumbled toward Mrs. Del Vecchio. She must have slipped and fallen, but how did her entire head get wet?

And why was her apartment a mess?

Devon’s training as a nurse kicked in, and she willed her legs to stop trembling. She knelt in the soapy water and brushed away the damp gray strands of hair clinging to Mrs. Del Vecchio’s neck to check her pulse.

“Mrs. Del Vecchio!” She didn’t figure her neighbor was conscious, but she had to make sure.

Mrs. Del Vecchio’s head lolled to the side and Devon gritted her teeth. The old woman’s eyes were wide open and her skin had a bluish tinge. She hadn’t fallen and hit her head.

Devon’s gaze darted to the sink overflowing with water and back to Mrs. Del Vecchio’s neck, where red welts were beginning to turn purple. She slid Mrs. Del Vecchio onto her back, tilted her chin up, and pumped her chest. She paused, pressing her ear against her neighbor’s heart.

A woman screamed behind her, and Devon’s head shot up. Sharon sagged in the doorway to the kitchen, a white-knuckled fist pressed against her mouth.

“Sharon, call 911. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do for her.”

Even though Devon was an obstetrics nurse, she knew death when she saw it. But what kind of death? Strangulation? Drowning? Both?

However Mrs. Del Vecchio died, it was no accident.

* * *

SQUEEZING HER SON’S clammy hand, Devon glanced over her right shoulder at the white van that had rolled into the coastal lookout area and parked next to her car. Her heart lurched painfully as she bent toward Michael’s dark head.

“It’s okay now, sweetie. We’re home. Bad things don’t happen in Coral Cove.”

Devon sealed her lie with a kiss on Michael’s sun-drenched hair. Even though her hometown of Coral Cove had endured its share of tragedies, it had always seemed like a safe refuge—until those murders last month. But the killer had died, the tourists were back for a summer of sun and surf, and it sure beat the heck out of San Francisco in the safety department.

Her son responded by gripping her hand even tighter and nestling his body against her side. Devon sighed and ruffled Michael’s curls. The instant she’d discovered Mrs. Del Vecchio’s dead body two weeks ago, Devon had known it would hit her son hard. Mrs. Del Vecchio had been like a grandmother to Michael, a wacky grandmother, but a grandmother nonetheless.

But Devon didn’t realize the murder would devastate him, altering his personality from outgoing little boy to this nervous, withdrawn stranger.

She swung her silent son’s hand and skipped, hoping to inject a little enthusiasm into his demeanor. “I’m taking you to one of my favorite places in Coral Cove.”

When her statement failed to elicit a question from Michael, she continued, forcing a cheery note into her voice. “It’s the oldest house in Coral Cove and it even has a name. Columbella House.”

Devon pointed to the cliff around the next bend. “The house overlooks the ocean, and there’s a path to the beach just before we reach the house. Do you want to go down to the beach?”

Michael nodded and Devon released a breath. The family therapist they’d seen in San Francisco had told Devon to give Michael time to recover from the shock. Devon figured he’d have a better chance of doing that away from their apartment in San Francisco where he’d woken up from his nap just in time to see Mrs. Del Vecchio’s body wheeled out beneath a white sheet.

Devon led Michael along the familiar curve of the road, their sneakers scuffing against the sand and gravel on the shoulder. She didn’t dare tell Michael that most of the residents of Coral Cove thought Columbella House was haunted. A month ago her son’s eyes would’ve widened at that pronouncement and he would’ve begged to explore. Now—her gaze shifted to Michael’s stiff, little face as she swallowed hard—he’d freak out.

“There’s Columbella House. Nobody lives there now, so I don’t think anyone will mind if we use the private access to the beach.”

She glanced back at the lookout. A silver sedan had joined her car and the van. Maybe they were waiting for the sunset.

The little wooden gate that opened onto the path to the beach squeaked as Devon unhitched it and pulled it toward her, a piece of rotten wood breaking off in her hand. She jerked her head up and narrowed her eyes at the shuttered windows on the second story of the house.

The hair on the back of her neck quivered, but the windows stared back at her blankly. Sweeping her hand across her sweatshirt, she grimaced. Michael’s skittishness had infected her—that and the fact that the police suspected Mrs. Del Vecchio’s killer was the one who slammed shut the laundry room door on his way out of the building.

No need to feel nervous here. Columbella House had never felt menacing to her. She was probably one of the few people left in Coral Cove who cherished fond memories of the house. One of the few people left alive who cherished fond memories.

Rubbing the back of her hand across her tingling nose, she grabbed Michael’s wrist. “The path’s not too steep, but be careful. I think Coral Cove had a lot of rain this past spring. It makes the ground spongy.”

Michael twisted from her hold and clambered down the path ahead of her. Her son may have lost his desire to speak, but the trauma of Mrs. Del Vecchio’s murder hadn’t curtailed his agility and natural athletic ability. He’d gotten those attributes from his dad.

Devon picked her way down the rocky trail. The sound of a car’s engine caused her to twist her head around, but she could no longer see the road. Not many tourists ventured this way since the Private Property sign discouraged interlopers, and the locals generally steered clear of Columbella House. Still, the lookout point attracted some tourists, like the inhabitants of that white van and the sedan, and the summer season had already drawn its share of people to Coral Cove. Already, the small town boasted a good number of tourists…and strangers.

She hoped the cozy atmosphere here would have a healing effect on Michael. She jumped as a rock rolled past her foot. God knows, Coral Cove hadn’t done much to soothe her yet. Too many memories.

Michael had scrambled off the last of the boulders that tumbled to the dry sand. Devon called, “Wait right there.”

Shading her eyes against the sun low on the horizon, Devon squinted at the glassy waves scurrying onto the shore. The tide remained low, but she remembered how the water could rush in suddenly, soaking beach towels and carrying sand toys out to sea.

She tromped down the remainder of the path, and then perched on a rock next to Michael. “Pretty cool, huh? I bet you don’t remember it here.”

After her dad had passed away, Devon and her twin brother, Dylan, had come back to Coral Cove for the funeral. Michael had been two then. Dylan was already working as a cop for the San Jose P.D., following in his dad’s footsteps. Their father had been the police chief of Coral Cove for years, and their mom couldn’t live here anymore without him. Guess Devon had sort of followed in her mom’s footsteps since Coral Cove hadn’t been as welcoming to her since her fiancé had disappeared.

“Do you want to do some exploring before the sun goes down?” Devon pushed up from the rock and extended her hand to Michael.

He nodded but brushed her hand aside as he jumped from the rock, immediately scooping up smaller pebbles from the sand.

Devon shoved her hands into the front pocket of her sweatshirt, twisting her fingers together. Michael’s small show of independence had to be a good sign.

Scuffing along the dry sand, Devon kept an eye on her son as he took a zigzag route toward the sea cave at the end of the beach, his ubiquitous blue backpack bouncing against his back. Surely time would heal his shock over what had happened to Mrs. Del Vecchio.

The SFPD had ruled Mrs. Del Vecchio’s death a murder. The autopsy had confirmed death by drowning. The welts on her neck had been where her killer had grabbed her, forcing her head into the kitchen sink filled with water.

Devon crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders. Why would someone murder an eighty-year-old woman like that? As far as the cops could tell, the killer hadn’t stolen anything from the apartment even though it had been ransacked. The murder had spooked enough of the residents that several of them had taken extended vacations—including Devon. She’d taken a leave of absence from the hospital.

Now she just wanted her son back.

Michael hesitated at the mouth of the cave, twisting his head over his shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’ll come with you.” Devon jogged across the sand and grabbed Michael’s hand. This time he returned the pressure and they ducked into the cave together.

The waves crashing against the walls of the cave created an echoing bass sound that made Devon’s chest tingle. The moist walls dripped salt water on their heads and Devon inhaled the briny scent.

Michael squatted next to a tide pool, almost dipping his nose in the water.

“It’s hard to see in here this time of day, but we’ll come back one morning.” She jerked her thumb toward a small opening at the top of a pile of rocks. “Do you want to climb up there and peek through the little window?”

Like a mountain goat, Michael scampered up the rocks and shoved his head into the opening in the side of the cave, which seemed bigger than Devon had remembered it. Time, wind and sea water had done their part to erode the rock.

Michael thrust his entire head and shoulders through the hole and Devon sucked in a sharp breath. “Come out of there, Michael.”

By the time Devon placed one foot on the first level of rock, Michael’s upper torso, backpack and all, had disappeared. “Michael!” Her voice bounced off the walls of the cave, merging with the deep booming.

The opening became a living entity sucking Michael’s body farther into its depths. Devon knew only more rocks and a sheer drop into a rough sea awaited Michael on the other side of that hole.

As Michael’s legs wriggled through the opening, Devon screamed, flinging her hands in front of her in a desperate but empty move to grab him. She couldn’t fit through that hole. Her only hope of saving her son was to exit the cave and circle around on top of it…and valuable seconds were ticking away.

She jumped from the rocks, her feet landing in a pool of water. She sloshed her way out of the cave, her chest heaving with sobs, incoherent prayers tumbling from her lips.

Stumbling from the cave, she blinked in the light and lurched toward the boulders scattered up the incline toward the road. She banged her knee as she clambered on top of the first rock.

“Michael!” She crawled onto the next rock and craned her neck to get a clear view of the top of the cave. Her teeth chattered and her hands shook as she gazed at the empty expanse of rock.

Oh, God, he must’ve fallen into the water.

Devon staggered to her feet, flinging her arms out for balance. Adrenaline pumped through her body. She’d make it to the edge of the rock and then she’d jump in to save him.

“He’s here. He’s safe.”

Clasping her hands to her chest where her thundering heart threatened to burst through, Devon spun around toward the male voice. A tall man with windswept black hair had one hand clamped on Michael’s shoulder.

Devon ran her tongue around her dry lips and swallowed. The relief weakened her knees and she sank to the ground.

Michael struggled against the man’s hold, and Devon realized he was keeping her son off the dangerous rocks. But Michael didn’t like strangers…not anymore.

Devon scooped the salty air into her lungs and rose to her feet. “It’s okay, Michael. Stay with the man. I’m coming.”

She straightened her spine and on trembling legs, she strode toward her son and the stranger who had saved him. The man’s long hair blew back from his face, a black patch covering one eye.

Great. Before Mrs. Del Vecchio’s murder, Michael would’ve pegged the man as a pirate and would’ve been as excited as all get-out. Now he’d view him as another scary stranger.

Devon jumped from the rocks to the sand and her step faltered. The way the man held his head. His lean muscular frame. She drew closer. The set of his jaw. Her steps quickened. The black, black hair like a velvet midnight sky.

She choked and tripped. She extended her arms like a blind woman, no, like a woman staggering through the desert toward an oasis.

When she fully focused on the man’s face, Devon fell to her knees, crying out in indescribable shock and joy.

Her fiancé, Kieran Roarke, had come back from the dead.

Chapter Two

Kieran dug his long fingers into the boy’s bony shoulder. Was his mother injured? Relieved to see her son?

Or had she just seen a ghost?

The squirming boy broke away from his grasp and flew to the woman still kneeling on the ground. Holding the boy against his will had pained Kieran. He had frightened the boy when he’d plucked him from those rocks and carried him down to the sand, but he’d probably saved him from a tumble over the edge and into the sea.

Maybe he should’ve allowed the other man making his way toward the boy a chance to save him. He turned, but the man had disappeared.

Kieran had been watching them—the boy and his mother. He’d been watching them for a few days and knew the woman would come to Columbella House. Just as Kieran, through the foggy memories of his messed-up mind, had been drawn to this small town and the house looming over the sea, the woman had been lured here as well. He’d recognized the woman as soon as he’d seen her on the street—recognized her from his dreams.

When the ethereal blonde had dropped to the ground, Kieran’s first response had been to rush to her rescue. But when she looked up at him, she was laughing…crying…laughing and crying at the same time.

Now she stumbled to her feet, gripping the little boy’s hand, a smile of pure joy lighting her beautiful face. She reached her other hand out to him and breathed his name. “Kieran.”

Pain sliced through his head, pooling in his damaged eye. Gritting his teeth, he rode it out, allowing the memories to crisscross his brain. He’d heard his name on her lips many times before—in laughter, in anger, in desire. He tried to focus, but as usual, the strands of his life floated away out of reach.

“Are you okay?” He took a step forward.

Her eyes widened and a haze of confusion shifted across her face. “A-am I okay? I thought you were dead.”