Cover Your Eyes (Morgans of Nashville 1)

“Beth or Kate could have forged the letters. But only Kate could have sent them to Rachel.”

“Kate’s pretty ill. My money is on her daughter, Brenda.”

Tumblers clicked, puzzle pieces fell into place. “Brenda Tilden?”

“Yeah.”

“Brenda Tilden has been dating KC since late summer.”

A thick silence filled the line. “This isn’t good.”

“No, it is not.”

“Where you headed?”

“To see Brenda and Kate.”

Squirming memories in Nikki’s head felt like snakes newly hatched under her skin. Crawly and slithery, they nipped at her nerves and her tendons. She put her mop and bucket away and instead of going up to her room to watch television, like Rudy had told her, she walked into the bar and stood in the empty room. They’d not open for hours and the place stood silent as if it dozed before the next shift. She liked this time. Quiet. Simple. Not the buzz, buzz of the people talking or the music blaring so loud it cracked and splintered her head into pieces.

She moved to the bar, skimming her hand over the polished wood. Rudy liked the bar nice and neat. Start clean, end clean. He said it all the time.

She nibbled her lip as her gaze roamed over a stack of morning mail. The mailman left it here a lot. He knew Rudy and Rudy knew him. They’d been friends forever. Chapped, cracked fingers skimmed the stack covered with words and letters that jumbled and danced whenever she tried to read. She’d like to be able to read. Rudy said she’d once been able to. But now the words were locked up as tight as the liquor in the storeroom.

Sometimes she would hold up a paper and stare at it as if she understood. Rudy often watched, saddened, not amused by her display. She pushed the letters around on the bar until a colorful picture drew her gaze. She stared at the face of the smiling man who stood in front of a large cross.

“Cross.” The man’s smiling face drew her, holding her attention tight as if he’d reached out from the page and grabbed her face.

Memories rooted deep and dark in the shadows swirled in her brain, but as much as she coaxed them into the light, they refused. Frustrated, she crumpled the flyer in her hands. Her head pounded. Pictures and sounds pounded in her head making her head throb. She squeezed her eyes shut, and took a deep breath to calm the pain. When her heart slowed, she cracked open an eyelid and peered at the image of the man.

The man.

She knew him. Carefully she opened the second lid and touched the image, gently tracing a fingertip over the full smiling lips and even white teeth. He was a pretty man. Soft. Smooth. Not like Rudy. Gruff. Angry. Smelling of cigarettes and beer.

More images flashed in her head. A man smiling at her. Touching her face. The smell of a sweet scent . . . roses. She studied the man’s face. More images flashed. Did he have the key to her brain?

She moved behind the bar and found the tip jar. Shoving her fingers in, she fisted a thick handful of bills in her hand. Grabbing the picture of the man, she walked outside to Broadway. The bright sun made her wince and cringe and the sound of passing cars revved her heartbeat. She looked back at the doors and fearing a mistake moved toward them. She didn’t go outside often and when she did it was after dark with Rudy.

One step back toward home and more images flashed. A bottle of perfume. A locket. The smiling man. Music.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her pulse racing hard to make her veins explode. For several seconds she rushed to catch her breath. Finally, her breath slowed. The noises around her calmed, allowing her to shove aside fears and turn toward the street. On the corner sat a yellow car. A man got out and handed the driver money.

She glanced at the money clenched in her bony fist. She didn’t know how much she had, but hoped it was enough as she walked to the yellow car and shoved her money and the picture toward the car’s driver.

The driver looked at the picture and the rumpled bills scattered over his lap. “You want to go to the church?”

Words swirled in her head like buzzing flies and it was hard for her to know which ones to grab and use and which ones to let fly away.

She swallowed the rising panic as the sun glared in her face. She nodded.

The driver studied her with squinting, leery eyes. “The church. You want to go to Pastor Gary’s church?”

Pastor Gary. That sounded right. She didn’t know how, but she knew. “Yes.”

The driver eyed her. “How much money you got?” He counted the bills and then after he’d arranged them into a neat stack, he nodded. “Enough to get you there at least.”

She waited, not sure what he meant.

Frustrated, he raised a brow. “Okay. Get in.”

She studied the door handle and for a moment had to think about how it worked. It was simple to work, wasn’t it?

Trembling fingers slid over the metal handle and then slid under it. When she pulled up, the door clicked open and she sighed, relieved. She slid into the backseat and pulled the door closed. The cab smelled like the bar—cigarettes, booze, and bad perfume—and strangely it lulled her against the cracked warm leather seats. When the cab lurched into traffic, she straightened and curled her fingers into tight fists held against her thighs.

Time rarely meant much to Nikki. There were days it passed fast and other times moved at a snail’s crawl. Rudy often yelled at her when she lost time. Daydreaming, he’d say. Crazy as a shit-house rat, he’d say.

She stared out the window and watched the buildings on Broadway pass as they moved over a large bridge and toward green trees. Rudy wasn’t a bad man. He could get mad. Yell. But he’d never hit her. And when he’d come upstairs at night, he always checked in on her and made sure her head wasn’t pounding or she wasn’t thirsty or hungry.

The car stopped, jerking her from her thoughts.

She glanced through the glass at the driver.

“We’re here. The New Community Church like you showed me in the picture. That’s thirty bucks.”

He counted out money and then shoved the balance back at her through the opening in the glass separating them. She took the money, knowing Rudy always talked about getting money. He would be glad she took it.

She glanced at the door, reached for a handle and pulled up. It didn’t budge. Getting frustrated, she tugged harder.

“Wait a minute. You’re going to mess up my door,” the driver said.

He got out, came around and opened her door. Simple. Just like that.

Glancing at the door, she stepped away from the cab, sorry to be away from the smells.

“Do you want me to wait?” the driver asked.

She would have worried over the question if she’d not glanced up and seen the white chapel.

It ate up the land and reached so high, she imagined it touched the sky. Large colorful windows stretched and caught the light. So beautiful. Drawn, she moved to the large doors and into the building.

“Suit yourself,” the driver said. The wheels of his car squealed as he drove away.

Nikki pushed open the doors. Cool air greeted her and the tension banding her chest eased. Rows and rows of seats lined up on either side of a red-carpeted aisle that led to a large stage. Behind it hung the biggest cross she’d ever seen.

Nikki walked down the aisle letting her fingers skim the tops of the polished wood seats. She moved to the stage and stared back at the room. A familiar jolt of nerves tugged at her but it wasn’t a bad feeling. Standing here felt good.

She touched her fingertips to her hair and brushed the gray strands over the indentation in the side of her skull. She smiled and imagined the sound of people clapping.

More images flashed in her head. This time they came in rapid fire making her head pound. Noises popped and exploded in her head, drowning out her thoughts and making it nearly impossible for her to stand. She pressed her hands to her ears and staggered away from the edge of the altar.

Scared now, she crept behind the altar, ready to hide and wait for the sounds to go away. She wasn’t sure how she’d get back to Rudy. She didn’t know how to call and feared asking more strangers. Rudy had said strangers were dangerous and bad.

But as she moved to hide, she saw him. The man with the smiling face. He lay on his back, eyes open and glazed as he stared at the ceilin

g. His shirt was stained red but his face, well, it looked perfect and peaceful.

She knelt beside him and for a long time didn’t dare touch him. She half expected him to reach out and grab her.

When he didn’t touch her, she grew braver. With trembling fingers, she touched his jaw. Cold and smooth. Rudy’s face was warm and rough.

She poked him. He didn’t move; in fact, there was a stillness that frightened her. She backed away and then slowly rose. Terrified, she turned, fearing if she didn’t hide something bad would happen.

A door came into focus and she hurried toward it. With a jerk of the door she found a cool, dark closet. Grateful for the small, safe space she scampered inside and closed the door behind.

When Rachel’s door all but burst open, she glanced up from a court brief she’d been writing. Georgia stood in the doorway, her face pale and worried.

Rachel had seen Georgia several times under stressful situations but never once had she seen her upset. She rose. Her thoughts went to Deke who’d left her bed early this morning. He’d kissed her, made no promises to return, and left. “Everything all right?”

Georgia closed the door behind her and crossed the office. “I received a call from Margaret.”

“Annie’s sister.”

She nodded, rolled her eyes and sounded as if she couldn’t believe her own words. “My aunt called me. Margaret Miller.”

Rachel hesitated. “How did she find you? Your adoption was closed. Did you contact her?”

Georgia ran a trembling hand over her hair. “No. I’ve thought about it but I never really summoned the nerve. I don’t know how she found me.”

“You spoke to her.”

“Yes.”

“What does she want?”

“She wants to meet me. Says we need to talk. About Annie.” Georgia flexed her fingers. “I’m scared.”

Rachel remembered Bill Dawson’s warning about Margaret. “You don’t know her. That’s reasonable.”