Debra Webb - Dark Whispers

“So you do remember things.”

She nodded. “Yes. As my brain healed from the injury, it was like starting over. I had to relearn how to communicate, how to function, mentally as well as physically. As my vocabulary returned, I used the wrong words like saying hands when I meant gloves or feet when I meant shoes. Memories came in disorderly fragments. Most often they returned when prompted by some activity or person. It’s difficult to say what I’ve lost when I have no idea what I had. My sister and brother remind me of childhood events and then I recall them vividly. I can look at photographs and recall almost instantly what happened. So, I suppose I’ve temporarily lost many things. But, so far, the memories return when triggered.”

“Then someone may have caused your accident two years ago and you just don’t remember.”

The dark foreboding that always appeared when she spoke of the fall pressed in on her even as she shook her head. “No. I was here with my sister. There was no one else in the house. My sister and I have been over the details of that night numerous times. If you’re suggesting that someone pushed me down the stairs, that isn’t what happened.”

“All right then, we’ll focus our investigation on life since the accident.”

She wanted to nod and say that was the proper course of action and yet some feeling or instinct she couldn’t name urged her to look back for something she had missed. Frustration had her pushing the idea away. The hardest part of her new reality was not being able to trust her own brain to guide her 100 percent of the time. She also wanted to correct his use of accident. She had never been able to see what happened that way. To Natalie it was the fall—a moment in time that changed her life forever. A part of her wondered if her inability to see it as an accident was her mind trying to tell her something she needed to remember.

“Since you only recently returned to work, has there been a particular case that may be the root of this new trouble? Maybe someone believes they can scare you into some sort of cooperation.”

“I somehow doubt that giving my two cents’ worth, so to speak, on the steps that have been missed or that should be taken on other people’s cases would garner that sort of attention. Considering what happened today, I doubt I’ll have a position at the firm much longer.”

Natalie decided that was the part that hurt the most. Losing her friends and even her so-called soul mate hadn’t been the end of the world. It was losing her ability to practice law that devastated her completely. Work was the one thing that had never let her down. Being an attorney had defined her.

What did she have now?

This big old house and...not much else.

Her attention settled on the investigator watching her so closely. She hoped he could find something to explain how the man she shot suddenly disappeared other than the possibility that she really was losing her mind.

Chapter Three

Richard Arrington Boulevard and 6th Avenue

Tuesday, September 20, 10:00 a.m.

Clint’s first client as a private detective had been at work for an hour when he decided to make his appearance at the offices of Brenner, Rosen and Taylor.

He’d stayed with Natalie last night until her sister, April, arrived. He’d gone home afterward and done some research on Natalie’s career and background. He’d discovered that one of the senior associates at Natalie’s firm was Vince Farago, an old school pal of his from Samford. Clint gritted his teeth. He wondered if Natalie was aware that the man could not be trusted in any capacity. Farago was the proverbial snake in the grass.

Clint would stop at Natalie’s office and check in with her after he visited with his old friend. He had a few questions for Farago, and frankly he intended to enjoy watching the guy squirm.

The moment he entered the posh lobby the receptionist looked up. “Good morning, sir, how may I help you?”

Another receptionist manned the ringing phones, ensuring someone was always available to greet arriving clients. The building spanned from 6th to 29th, filling the corner of the busy intersection much like New York’s Flatiron building. The lobby’s glass walls looked out over the hectic pace of downtown Birmingham.

“Clint Hayes,” he said. “I need a moment of Mr. Farago’s time this morning.”

The receptionist made a sad face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hayes, but Mr. Farago is completely booked today. May I set up something for you later in the week?”

Clint gave his head a shake. “Let him know I’m here. I trust he’ll be able to spare a minute or two.” For old time’s sake, he opted not to add.

The receptionist, Kendra, ducked her head in acquiescence. “Of course, sir. Would you like a coffee or a latte while you wait?”

“I’m good.”

While Kendra made the necessary call, Clint moved toward the wall of fame on the far side of the massive lobby. Dozens of photos of the partners attending various fundraisers and city events adorned the sleek beige wall that served as a canvas. Numerous framed accolades of the firm’s accomplishments hung proudly among the photos. Despite his best efforts, bitterness reared its ugly head. Clint rarely allowed that old prick of defeat to needle him anymore. He turned away from the reminders of what he would never have. He was only human; the occasional regression was unavoidable.

He’d done well enough for himself. His law degree had come in handy more than once in his law enforcement career. It gave him an edge in his new venture as a private investigator. If money had been his solitary goal, he would have accepted one of the far more lucrative opportunities he had been offered during his college years.

“Mr. Hayes?”

Clint grinned, then checked the expression as he turned to Kendra. “Yes.”

“Mr. Farago will see you now.” She gestured to the marble-floored corridor that disappeared into the belly of the enormous building. “Take the elevator to the fourth floor and Darrius, his assistant, will be waiting for you.”

With a nod, Clint fastened the top one of the two buttons on his jacket and followed the lady’s directions. When he reached the fourth floor the doors slid open with a soft whoosh and revealed a more intimate, but equally luxurious lobby.

Smiling broadly, a young man, twenty-two or -three, met him in the corridor. His slim-fit charcoal-gray suit had the look and style of an Italian label way above his pay grade, suggesting he either came from money or his boss handed out nice bonuses.

“Good morning, Mr. Hayes. My name is Darrius. May I get you a refreshment?”

“No thanks.” Clearly Farago’s tastes hadn’t changed. The assistant, a paralegal most likely, was young, handsome and no doubt hungry. A man did things when he was hungry he might not otherwise do. Clint knew this better than most.

“Very well. This way, sir.”

A few steps to the right and Darrius rapped on the first door to the left and then opened it. He gifted Clint with a final smile and disappeared, closing the door behind him.

Farago got to his feet and reached across his desk. “Clint, it’s been a while.” They exchanged a quick handshake.

“I hear you’re scheduled to make partner before the year is out.” Clint had nudged a few contacts last night in addition to his internet research. Farago was on his way up at this esteemed firm. Good for him. He’d done his time. Going on eight years now. Still, Clint couldn’t help wondering how far his old friend had gone this time to ensure his next step up the corporate ladder. He seriously doubted this leopard had changed his spots.

Farago gestured to the chair in front of his desk and settled back into his own. “It’s a carrot they dangle when you reach a certain level. Time will tell, I guess.”