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  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Monday, May 15

  Mercy watched her chance to escape sail away. If the ship came twice a month, there would be other opportunities. But the expression on Daniel’s face would always haunt her. For the present, she’d just have to make the best of her captivity.

  She hadn’t met Daniel’s tutor. Before lunchtime, she made her way upstairs to Daniel’s classroom and stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt until he’d finished the lesson.

  Ainsley McCrary, better know as Mac, was a tiny man, shorter than Mercy. It seemed a strong breeze could lift him off the ground and carry him away. Close-cropped red hair and large tortoise-shell eyeglasses completed his nerdy persona. But there was more to Mac than met the eye.

  She’d overheard a few of his English and history lessons as he often took Daniel outside for classes, sitting under a tree, or on the terrace. Mac had held her spellbound. A captivating storyteller, he wove vivid details and historical tidbits into subjects, making it feel more like a fascinating conversation than a school lesson. Strange that someone with so much talent would hide away on an island.

  He must have sensed her presence, as he looked at her and smiled. “Mrs. Wallace, how nice of you to join us.”

  She stepped into the room and held out her hand. “I thought I’d drop by and introduce myself when I picked up Daniel for lunch. You’re doing an excellent job with him. I never have to remind him it’s time for school. He’s always eager to head off to class.”

  He gave her a fingertip hand shake. “That’s nice of you to say, ma’am. He’s a very bright boy.”

  Mercy smiled. “Do you leave soon for summer vacation?”

  He shook his head. “Not this year. I usually teach a history class at Edinburgh University, but I opted to stay here over the summer break to write a book on Scottish history.”

  “How exciting for you. You must come to dinner one evening and tell us all about it.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. That’s kind of you. I’ll look forward to it.”

  Over lunch, Mercy sat quietly listening to the conversation between Nanna and Daniel as she asked about his lesson that morning. Having them close filled a void she’d long ignored. She needed to get back to her life before the attachments became too strong, if it wasn’t already too late.

  That afternoon, she and Nanna sat on the terrace and watched Daniel get to know his new friends. Three children his age lived on the island, two boys, and a little girl. She’d kept the playtime to non-physical activities; painting, playing with clay, and puzzles, for the present.

  Getting the parents’ permission ran into a few bumpy spots. Mothers were less than thrilled to leave their children in the care of a woman with Traci’s reputation, and with just cause. The presence of Fergus and Nanna, both held in high esteem by the islanders, decided the matter in Mercy’s favor. She would never expose Daniel to bad influences, and she couldn’t expect other parents to trust her at the start.

  It would be a challenge to win the inhabitants over. For Daniel’s sake, she had to try. Perhaps when his mother came home, she would respond to a kinder atmosphere from the people. Living with constant disapproval, even if well earned, could dampen anyone’s spirit.

  The maid brought a frosty decanter of tropical punch with bits of strawberries and pineapple, and placed it on the table by Mercy.

  “Thank you, Lily. tI looks refreshing.” Mercy poured a glass for Nanna and one for herself, took a long sip, of the cold, sweetly tart drink, a luxury she’d come to enjoy. Despite her angst at being here against her will, she had to admit the sumptuousness of this place could become addictive. Despite the benefits, however, she would have left, except for Daniel. She didn’t belong here—another woman’s stand-in.

  Nanna observed her over the rim of her glass. “You’re different since your return, Traci. A pleasant change, to be sure. What happened while you were away?”

  Mercy laughed at the old woman’s refreshing honesty. She debated whether to confess her real identity. Thomas wouldn’t approve. He would be furious if the truth got back to Daniel. The boy accepted her as his mother. Knowing she wasn’t would crush him. Worse, he would probably think she was denying him again.

  She wiped away frost from the outside of the glass, searching for the right words. “Have I really changed so much?”

  “Dramatically, I would say. If you don’t wish to discuss it, that’s OK. But you should know you can confide in me. I’ve always kept your confidences.”

  “I’ll remember that, Nanna. Thank you.”

  The head trauma from her accident had left blank spots in her memory. Missing pieces she had yet to find. It would take time, or so the doctor told her. But one constant remained. She’d lived a solitary life, a determined career woman, never considering marriage or children an option. One word described her life to this point. Lonely. If she could return to Houston tomorrow and report to Sabine Oil, would it be enough?

  She’d spent the time in Bermuda trying to gain perspective. To look at her life, try to understand what lay ahead. She didn’t like what she saw. Her life was merely a continuation of the solitary existence it seemed she’d always known.

  Over the past nine days, she’d grown close to Daniel. They were kindred spirits. He had grown up without his mother, she without either parent. In that short time period, he’d wrapped his small fingers around her heart and brought out every maternal instinct she possessed. He gave unconditional love, holding nothing back. His innocence exposed feelings she’d never experienced. Seeing the world through his eyes gave her a new perspective on what life could be like with a family. How could she go away—leave him still recovering from surgery, still so emotionally vulnerable?

  Later that night, she slid under the silky sheets and reached for a novel at her bedside. A timid knock at the door made her lay the book back down.

  “Yes?”

  Daniel’s head appeared around the door. “Mummy, m-may I come in?”

  She smiled and patted the bed. “Only for a moment. You’re supposed to be asleep.”

  He scurried across the room and slid in beside her.

  “Were you frightened?”

  He shook his head. “No-o, just wanted to talk.”

  “What shall we talk about? You choose the subject.”

  His head rested on her shoulder. “Do you like it here, Mummy?”

  She paused, sensing the direction this conversation would go. “Very much. And I like being with you most of all.”

  His blue gaze searched her face. “Do you like it enough you won’t go away again?”

  Tears pooled in her eyes. She pulled him close. She couldn’t make a promise she couldn’t keep. She must leave sometime, at least in the next six weeks. The truth would have to come later. “I don’t want to leave you, Daniel.”

  7

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Friday, May 19

  Two weeks had passed since Mercy came to the island.

  Thomas returned home on Friday and left Sunday, spending his time with Daniel, ignoring her for the most part. He still seemed convinced of her identity as Traci, never saying if he checked out the information she gave him.

  At the end of her second week of imprisonment, she went downstairs to the pool deck to watch Daniel’s morning therapy with Fergus, amazed at the child’s swimming prowess.

  “How’s he doing?”

  The old Scot nodded at her. “He’s coming along right well.” He called to Daniel. “One more lap, but take it easy, lad. Don’t rush. It’s no’ a race.”

  Daniel was either a natural athlete or someone had spent hours training him. “He certainly has no fear of the water.”

  “Never had any,” Fergus said. “Gets it from his father. And he’s getting his color back. He’ll be right as rain in no time.”

  Much as she hated to give Thomas credit, he’d been right. From all appearances, her presence had improved Dani
el’s mental health. His laughter constantly bubbled to the surface, and according to Nanna, his appetite had improved since her arrival.

  The boy’s confidence also seemed to grow daily. He approached her with less trepidation, more sure of his reception. Confidence built on the lie that she was his mother. The thought of what would happen when he discovered the truth frightened her.

  Paddy walked into the pool area. He avoided the water but liked to stay close. He leaped into her lap, circled until he found a comfortable spot, and began to purr.

  Sunlight flashed on the hillside nearest the villa. She scanned the ridge and saw the flash again. Odd. This was something new.

  Binoculars?

  Had Thomas posted someone to watch her every move?

  Fergus’s hovering presence followed whenever she left the villa with Daniel on their frequent trips to explore the island. The old Scot drove in another golf cart behind them.

  The servants also lurked in the background, especially Edda.

  Mercy had grown used to that. The reflection on the mountain wasn’t paranoia. And Fergus stood not ten feet from her. He had no need to spy on her from a distance.

  Daniel joined her in the lounge chair, wet and breathing hard, claiming her attention. “Is Daddy coming home tonight?”

  Paddy jumped down and returned to the villa, unwilling to share Mercy with the wet boy. She took a beach towel and dried Daniel’s hair, and then wrapped it around him. His question caught her off guard. The day of the week had slipped her mind.

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  Hostility from Fergus and the staff drained her energy. She’d never been the most popular person in the room, but open resentment was a new experience. And dealing with Thomas’s censure added another negative balance to her stress scale.

  

  Wallace, Limited, Edinburgh, Scotland

  Friday, May 19

  Thomas Wallace packed his briefcase Friday afternoon and headed out the office door, stopping at his secretary’s desk. “Have a great weekend, Maggie. I’ll see you Monday.”

  She glanced up from her computer, her brown eyes twinkling. “Behave yourself, Thomas. I won’t be there to keep you straight.”

  He laughed. Maggie McNair was the best secretary he’d ever had. Fifty-five and vivacious, not only was she efficient, he didn’t have to worry about her getting a crush on him. She bossed him like his mother had.

  As he reached the exit, she called out, “Thomas, I just printed off one of the reports you’ve been waiting on. Want to take it with you or pick it up Monday?”

  “I’ll take it.” He turned back and stuffed the two pieces of paper into the already packed briefcase, giving her a final wave as he left.

  Rain pelted the windshield on the drive to the airport. Sixty-two degrees and continued precipitation, according to the forecast. No matter, he would soon be in the island’s more agreeable climate. At the Edinburgh airport, he parked the car in the private hanger next to the company jet.

  Frank held the aircraft door open and he dashed up the stairs and into the cabin, glad to see the busy week behind him. He was playing catch-up from the backlog caused by his week of absence. That, coupled with his investigation into Traci’s actions the last six months, had doubled the workload.

  Her accident story checked out. Indeed, a woman named Mercy Lawrence suffered a near-fatal head injury and spent five months in Bermuda recovering. A manila folder lay on the tray in front of him. Flicking it open with one finger, he surveyed the contents. To circumvent American privacy laws, he’d pulled a few rabbits out of a hat to get access to her medical records.

  He grabbed a cup of coffee from the galley, settled into the seat, and scanned the doctor’s report. After the accident, Mercy was in a coma for a week, and woke up with amnesia. The doctor’s diagnosis also mentioned repressed memory. He ordered her to rest for five months before going to work.

  Thomas punched the doctor’s office number into the satellite phone. It took a few minutes to make the connection and a few more for the doctor to take the call.

  “Doctor Moore, this is Thomas Wallace. The patient you treated under the name of Mercy Lawrence is my wife, Traci Wallace.”

  “Yes, Mr. Wallace. I’m aware of who you are. I spoke with a Mr. Redford. He said you’d be calling. What can I do for you?”

  Thomas flipped through the pages of the report. “I’m having a little difficulty with the medical terminology in your diagnosis. Can you break it down in layman’s terms for me?”

  “I’ll try.” He cleared his throat. “The head injury caused her amnesia, which lasted slightly more than a week. I believe she also suffered from repressed memory, as well. She regained some of her past, but not all. That’s what made me believe she has unintentionally repressed memories, things she didn’t want to deal with emotionally.”

  Thomas leaned back in the chair. “What kind of memories?”

  “It could be any number of things,” the doctor said. “Repressed memory is a hypothetical concept used to describe a significant part of memory, usually of a traumatic event or events that has become unavailable to the patient for recall. She blocks out a painful or disturbing period in her life. It’s not the same as amnesia, but in your wife’s case, I believe she suffered from both.”

  Thomas made a few notes on the report. “Could a head injury such as the one you described cause a marked change in her personality?”

  There was a slight pause before the doctor responded. “It’s been known to happen. How severe a change are we talking about?”

  “A complete about face. From party girl to domestic diva. Her speech is different. Ah...how do I say this...her language was more colorful in the past. She dresses differently, and her temperament is calmer, almost serene.”

  He sensed the wheels turning in Dr. Moore’s brain. “A change that big would not be the norm, but it’s possible.”

  “Could the injury erase past memories and replace them with new ones?”

  The doctor laughed. “No, Mr. Wallace. That’s unlikely. I’ve learned over the course of my medical career to never say never, but it’s highly improbable.”

  Thomas thanked the doctor for his time and clicked the phone off. He leaned back in the seat, trying to digest what he’d learned.

  How should he proceed with Traci from this point? If she legitimately didn’t know who she was, he needed to approach her a little less like she was a pariah.

  Traci wasn’t his only dilemma.

  Paul Redford had called in his markers for helping to find her.

  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Friday, May 19

  The plane touched down on the island, and familiar tension knotted his stomach. He never knew what to expect. Traci’s previous residence on the island had family and staff lined up at the front door to greet him with a list of complaints when he returned home.

  Suitcase in one hand and briefcase in the other, he keyed the lock and nudged the door open with his shoulder.

  No disgruntled mob awaited him. Muscles in his neck unknotted. He dropped his luggage in the entryway, stowed the briefcase in his office, and grabbed a bite in the kitchen. When he’d finished, he went to check on Daniel.

  The door to the boy’s room stood ajar, his bed empty, covers turned back and rumpled. “Daniel. Daniel!”

  This time of night, the boy should be in bed. Every dreadful possibility ran through his thoughts. Had he taken a turn for the worse? Surely, someone would have called.

  He stormed into the hall and beat on Traci’s door, his heart pounding like the surf in a tropical storm. Not waiting for an answer, he jerked the door open and stopped.

  Daniel sat beside his mother in bed, surprise written on his face.

  Traci dropped the book she held and placed a hand over her heart. “You almost scared us to death. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m…sorry. I panicked when I found Daniel’s bed empty.”

  “Come i
n, Daddy. I’ll scoot over and you can sit with us while Mummy finishes this funny story. Then you can tuck me in.”

  Thomas crossed to the bed and tousled his hair. He glanced at the book cover. “My mother read it to me when I was your age. I’d forgotten it was still in the library.”

  Daniel’s head nestled next to Traci’s shoulder. They made a cozy family picture, mother and son reading together. This was the new Traci, wearing silk pajamas and no makeup.

  She placed a marker inside the book, closed it with a snap, and then kissed the top of Daniel’s head. “That’s enough for tonight. I didn’t realize how late it was. We’ll finish it, later.”

  Thomas tore his gaze away from her, picked up his son, and carried him back to bed. Daniel’s arms went around his neck. “It’s good to have Mummy home, isn’t it, Daddy?”

  He brushed his son’s hair back and smiled. “If you say so. It’s very good to have her home.” He tucked the boy in, and strode back down the hall, hesitating at Traci’s door, unsure whether to approach her. Thomas muttered a familiar line from Shakespeare under his breath. “Cowards die many times before their death: The valiant never taste death, but once.” He knocked, this time more gently, and opened the door.

  “I apologize for bursting in earlier. I’m irrational where Daniel is concerned.”

  “I’ve noticed that.” She smiled. “No need to apologize.”

  “Would you come downstairs and have coffee with me? I need to speak to you.” Neither one of them would be comfortable having a lengthy conversation in her bedroom.

  Curiosity darkened her gaze, but then she nodded. “Let me grab a robe.”

  As expected, a pot of freshly brewed coffee waited in the kitchen, prepared by the ever-efficient Edda, who knew his habits.

  He poured two cups and set them at a small table the kitchen staff used for breaks. The dining room was too formal for intimate conversation. And he wanted to watch her face when he told her what he’d discovered.