Marriage: Classified

He reached the nearest gate to the graveyard—and saw a figure in a long, black raincoat, raised hood over its head, dash from the cemetery into the rear of the churchyard.

Someone just trying to quickly get out of the rain? Maybe. But Jordan’s instincts told him otherwise. He closed the gate and ran down the path toward where he had last seen the other person.

But when he got to the rear of the quaint stone church, whoever it was had disappeared. Had he—or she—gone inside?

Jordan wanted to find out, but he still hadn’t located Sara, and that was the most important thing. He had no way of knowing whether that person’s dash through the rain had anything to do with his wife.

His wife? Why was he thinking of her that way? They were married in name only. That was the plan. Casper’s death hadn’t changed it.

Still, despite the reasons they had married, she was his to protect.

And she was missing.

He hadn’t kept her father from being killed, but he would protect Sara at all costs.

So where was she?

Swallowing his frustration, he went through the rear gate to the cemetery. “Sara?” he called. “Are you out here?” If she were, the logical place for her to be was at the graveside of her family. He went down the path in that direction.

“Jordan?” He had hardly heard his name before she hurtled herself from behind a tall grave marker into his arms, knocking him slightly off balance. He caught himself—and her.

“Sara? Where the devil have you—”

“Did you see the person who attacked me?”

That stopped him from venting his anger. “Attacked you?” He grabbed her shoulders and stepped back, looking down into her face. She was out of breath, and she clung to him. There was a wildness in her hazel eyes that spoke of fear. Her dark hair was plastered in damp tendrils to her head and her smooth, flushed cheeks.

She had never looked more beautiful—and Jordan wanted to kick himself for even noticing such a thing when she was so obviously scared.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded. “Tell me what happened.”

He could see how much of an effort the small smile she attempted was. “Could we get out of the rain first?”

“Of course,” he rumbled. He put his arm around her shoulders. Her clothes were damp. He removed his own jacket, which was only slightly more dry, and put it around her. Then he led her back into the church.

THE NEXT HOUR was a jumble to Sara. More than once, she wanted to sink to her knees and sob. Mostly, though, she wanted to shout at everyone who asked her questions. Thanks to her ordeal outside and the way her assailant had badgered her, she’d had enough of answering questions to last the rest of her life.

But she knew the people here all wanted to help. To find who had attacked her—for that way, they would also have her father’s killer.

Most of the time, Jordan kept an arm protectively around her as they sat in the pastor’s private office. It was large but cluttered, with a plain, scratched desk that appeared more well-used than antique. The sofa, though, was new and comfortable, and had a matching love seat.

Sara sat on the sofa beside Jordan.

“Tell us again exactly what happened,” Jordan said. He managed to keep from yelling at her, but she saw how much of a strain it was.

Acting Chief of Police, Carroll Heumann, sat on the love seat, which seemed an incongruous location for the large, gruff man. “Why were you outside in the first place?” He made no effort to coddle her. Sara knew he was just doing his job, but she wanted to kick him in the shins and flee from the room.

She sat still, though, and willed herself to maintain her patience.

Also present were June, who sat on a small wooden child’s chair she must have found in a Sunday school classroom, and Ramon, who, with arms folded, leaned against the far window. June was uncharacteristically quiet.

In a shaky voice Sara said, “I needed to get away from the crowd.” She didn’t pause to wait for the criticisms and recriminations she knew everyone was thinking, but continued, “I thought I was being careful. There were plenty of people outside. But it started to rain, and whoever it was just grabbed me and dragged me behind a tall gravestone.”

She felt Jordan’s substantial body shift slightly, as though her very words made him fume. She swallowed a sigh of misery. She didn’t blame him; in hindsight, she realized that, though she had thought she had done what she needed to keep her sanity, it had been foolish.

But now she needed his support and understanding. And she could not be certain he would give it.

“How tall was he?” Jordan asked. At least his voice was calm.

She tried to make her shrug seem nonchalant. She didn’t want him to know how she ached inside. “Taller than me, I think. But that impression could just have been because he—or she—took me unawares and overpowered me so easily.”

“Did you hear or see anything that would allow you to recognize the person again?”

Something nudged the edges of Sara’s mind. Had there been something identifiable? Maybe…but her sorry excuse for a brain wasn’t latching onto it right then.

Any more than it was giving her the rest of the answers she needed.

This time she did sigh out loud. “No.”

“Go ahead, then,” Jordan said in a kind tone. “Tell us what you do remember.”

Sara noticed the scowl Heumann shot Jordan. Was it because he thought he should be asking the questions?

Hurriedly, so as not to foment more animosity between the two men, Sara described her latest ordeal. When she was finished, she said, “I know that doesn’t give you a lot to go on to catch the suspect. The voice was disguised, so I couldn’t even tell for sure if it was male or female. The person was definitely strong, though. I couldn’t turn around to see his identity. And…and he—or she—didn’t believe I’d lost my memory, at least not initially.” She didn’t mention that a smattering of it had come back during the crisis; she wanted to mull that over herself first. Perhaps even discuss it with Jordan. Shouldn’t her husband know that her amnesia might not be complete or permanent? Might it already be obvious? She didn’t recall how it felt to be a police dispatcher, but she was easily slipping back into using law enforcement terminology.

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” she finished.

“So am I,” Carroll Heumann said. “You shouldn’t have gone out alone like that, but since you did, it would have been a perfect opportunity to nab the perpetrator.”

“She could have been hurt,” reminded June Roehmer, her critical words to her superior tempered by a sympathetic smile toward Sara.

“Again,” added Ramon, without budging from his position near the window.

Sara noted that Jordan added nothing to that part of the conversation. Shouldn’t her husband express further concern for her safety?

He had come looking for her. He had found her. He had treated her tenderly while taking her inside, just as he had after the attack that had killed her father.

But she yearned for something more from him—a greater show of affection. Something that would make it clearer to her why they had married. That they loved each other.

“One thing, just for clarification,” Jordan said. “We should each describe where we were while Sara was being attacked.”

Heumann appeared almost apoplectic. “You surely don’t think that I—”

“I don’t think anything,” Jordan said mildly. “I just want to rule out as many suspects as possible. I was on my cell phone in an alcove. I doubt anyone saw me there, so I haven’t an alibi. No one appears wet from the rain—though the person I saw wore a hooded coat. Where were you, June?”

She had been in the ladies’ room—alone. Ramon had gone out behind the church, under an overhang, for a cigarette. Reluctantly, Heumann told them that he had been in one of the church’s Sunday school classrooms checking it out for his grandkids.

Sara realized that none of them could be ruled out as a suspect. But surely her assailant couldn’t have been one of them—could it?