Free Delaney's Shadow by Ingrid Weaver Page B

lived longer, Elizabeth would have come around. She was only a few years younger than Delaney, a fact that had strengthened her objections to the marriage, yet Delaney had hoped their close ages could have at least allowed them to be friends. From what she’d seen, Elizabeth was too immersed in her career to have many of those. That was another trait Stanford had shared with his daughter. Business had always been his first priority, too.
    Most of the time, anyway. Except for their final night. He’d cut short a meeting so that he wouldn’t be late for their dinner. At the restaurant, he’d turned off his phone completely instead of setting it to vibrate silently, which had been another exception. When her phone had rung on the way home, he’d insisted that she not answer it.
    Delaney froze, not daring to move or even to breathe. The memory fragment hovered in front of her, tantalizingly close and so clear she could feel the hum of the engine through the soles of her boots as she leaned over to reach for her purse. Stanford took one hand from the wheel and caught her wrist, saying he wanted her all to himself . . .
    The memory wavered, then slipped from her mind like mist through her fingers.
    She exhaled carefully, her heart thudding. It hadn’t been much, but it was something. Another moment of life with Stanford. A glimpse of truth to build on. This proved she was right; her memories weren’t gone. All she had to do was unlock them. She leaned closer to the window and focused on the darkness, opening her mind to the past.
    Moonlight spilled across the yard like snow. There had been a light dusting of it the night of the accident and snowbanks along the sides of the road from an earlier storm. She tried to picture the ride home. Had there been snow in the headlights? The road in her nightmare had been wet. It had turned to water and seaweed that had curled around her ankles to hold her down . . .
    Delaney shuddered, then tried to take control of her memories the way she’d controlled her nightmare. The water was only dew. The fire was sunshine. There was nothing to be afraid of because Max would keep her safe.
    A shadow moved in the center of the yard. It was in the same place where Max had appeared yesterday morning. The shape was shot full of moonlight, as if it weren’t entirely there. As she watched, it darkened into the silhouette of a man. A tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair. A sensation of warmth and welcome settled over her. She knew who it was. “Max,” she whispered.
    It had happened again. She’d been seeking a memory and had found Max instead. Why? Was she crazy? Was she dreaming?
    Did it matter?
    She’d already decided it didn’t. As long as he helped her cope, she would use anything, even a figment of her imagination. “Hey, Max,” she murmured. “Up here.”
    The hazy shape disappeared.
    She peered at the spot where he’d been until her eyes watered and she had to blink, but the lawn remained empty. A cool breeze stole through the screen. She crossed her arms, rubbing her palms over her sleeves.
    “You don’t sleep much, do you?”
    She jerked. That was Max’s voice. He’d sounded annoyed, just as he had yesterday, as if she’d disturbed him and he didn’t want to talk to her.
    But the voice hadn’t come exclusively from her head. It seemed to have come from the room behind her.

SIX
     

     
    DELANEY TURNED.
    A man was standing beside her bed. He was part shadow and part moonlight, just as he’d been in the yard. She could see one of the bedposts and the pattern of the wallpaper behind him. Through him.
    Yet the more she stared, the more the image solidified. Details emerged. There were loose folds in the pale shirt that draped his shoulders. It fell untucked over his hips. Faded, washed-soft denim molded to his long legs. His feet were braced apart. They were bare. His shirt wasn’t only untucked, it was half-buttoned, as if he hadn’t finished dressing. Or more likely,