A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

That was something Dean figured he’d find out before long, one way or another. At the moment, he didn’t even care.

He needed to see Anna.

AUNT MAE was waiting in the newly remodeled lobby when Dean entered the inn, standing behind the buffed and polished reception desk as though he were an arriving guest. “So you and Mark are back from your mysterious mission,” she commented. “Were you successful?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you all about it this evening,” he promised her, thinking how very patient she’d been with him during the past weeks, despite her obvious worry.

It was typical of her that she didn’t press him for details. “You look tired,” was all she said as she rounded the end of the desk and approached him. “Is your arm hurting?”

It was throbbing dully, but it couldn’t compare with the pain centered in Dean’s chest. “It’s fine.”

“Maybe you should get some rest.”

“You’re probably right,” he agreed, trying not to sound too eager to be alone. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

She nodded, watching him closely. She laid one hand on his good arm before he could move away. “Dean? Are you going to be all right?” she asked, deep concern in her eyes.

He kissed her soft cheek. “Sure I will, Aunt Mae,” he said heartily, knowing he was lying. “Aren’t I always?”

He felt her watching him as he left the lobby, but he didn’t dare risk looking back.

He was concerned that she might read the truth in his eyes, and know that he wasn’t all right. That he might never be all right again.

He stopped by the vacant sitting room on his way to his bedroom. Anna wasn’t there, or at least, she didn’t appear to him if she was.

Running his left hand through his hair, he headed for his room, his steps heavy. He was certain she would come to him there.

Anna would be impatient to hear what he’d learned, he reasoned. She would be delighted that Mark planned to write the article clearing hers and Ian’s reputation.

Dean wished he could be a little happier that he’d done this for her. Happy that justice had been served after all this time, and that he’d played a vital role. But all he could think about was Anna’s certainty that she and her brother would be freed when their names were cleared.

He had to believe she was right. Why else would they have remained here for so long, when the others before and after them had all gone on?

He hoped he’d have a chance to tell her goodbye. To touch her one last time. To feel her cool lips beneath his. To tell her how much he would miss her. How he would never forget her. Never stop loving her.

She wasn’t in his room.

“Anna?” he called cautiously, looking around. Was she there, watching him?

“Anna, I’ve found what you’ve been hoping for. Mark and I have proof that you and Ian were murdered. That you were innocent.”

There was no response.

He looked at the corner where the empty chair sat, his shirt from the night before still draped over it. It was only a chair. Only a shirt.

“Anna?” he said again, turning away from the corner and looking toward the bed where she’d come to him, kissed him, showed her concern for him. “Are you here? I want to tell you what Watson said.”

The room was silent. Dean sensed that he was alone. Anna wasn’t there. Would she ever be again?

He sank to the edge of the bed, his head bent, his right arm drawn tightly against his body, the pain of his injury merging with the aching of his heart.

“Anna,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me like this.”

DEAN HALF EXPECTED Margaret to refuse to see him when he showed up at her door that evening. Though he was prepared to fight his way in, if necessary, it didn’t come to that. He was escorted into her parlor by a coolly courteous housekeeper.

He found Margaret sitting in a fragile-looking antique chair, flanked by her son, the mayor, and her nephew, the chief of police.

Dean looked from Margaret to Charles to Roy. “Well?” he asked dryly. “Where’s the senator?”