Minneapolis PD, who within minutes were hammering on her apartment door. They had done so with such force it had launched off its hinges. Inside, they found her unconscious in the middle of the living room, still gripping the phone.
“When you experience something traumatic, your brain attempts to shield itself. Therefore you go into shock,” Dr. Rasmussen had explained, once she had regained consciousness days later. Anne had locked herself up in a comatose world for nearly seventy-two hours. Time had been lost in her self-created hell. She had wanted to return once they revealed to her the bleak and devastating news in what they called a “controlled environment.”
Anne pulled herself from the flashback and looked over to her nightstand drawer which contained various medications to make sure that her space stayed light and cheerful. Dr. Lindsey prescribed them to her but she hadn’t touched them in months. As of 9:30 a.m., Carter had been just a faded memory imprinted in her life so many years ago, but the writing on that note told of something different. She bent forward unleashing an agonizing cry. The salty tears dripped down into the box of relics, expanding over the words that Carter wrote to her so long ago.
“Carter.” She whispered.
After regaining her composure, she could still feel her lungs burning from the tormenting trip down memory lane. She placed each item back into the shoebox ever so gently like it was a newly born baby. She walked over to the maple nightstand, taking out one of the translucent orange cylinders. Popping open the child-proof cap, she tapped out a single oblong white pill. Recalling how she felt when taking them caused a tremor through her spine. Anne would feel nothing, absolutely nothing. They desensitized her from all the hurt and agony. Before she could place the little oval of nothingness on her tongue there was a knock at the door.
“Anne?” A male voice asked.
Quickly, she placed the pill back in the bottle closing the nightstand drawer.
“Coming!” She belted out to the man who captured her soul from the dark.
She opened the door, and there he stood, debonair and un-apologetically handsome, her fiancé—Adam Whitney.
CHAPTER 4
Adam’s dashing smile and childlike dimples sent a flutter of heat through her chest. His hazel eyes were glinting with animation. He curved down to find her lips. She reciprocated, running her hands over his taut chest which she could feel through his black tailored vest and white oxford shirt. Adam’s hands twisted behind her, splaying across her lower back, eliminating any space between them.
His urge to ease her anxious mind came through in his deepened kisses. Anne welcomed the much-needed affection. His touch was her kryptonite. Breaking away from their impromptu make-out session in the hallway, Anne ushered him in. They attempted to calm their heated breathing.
“That’s my favorite kind of greeting,” Anne said, biting her swollen lower lip.
“I won my case today so we are going to go out and celebrate.” Gazing at her, he could see her eyes were rimmed with red. “You’ve been crying.”
Anne attempted to shrug off his observation.
“It’s nothing. I was watching this silly movie on Lifetime.” Quickly she changed the subject back to his courtroom victory. “Congratulations babe, I bet Richard was thrilled.”
Richard Morris was Adam’s partner at the law firm. Anne had never taken a liking to him; he had been through half a dozen wives whom he left high and dry. He was overweight, balding; a halo of cigar smoke followed right along with him and he had an ego to match his size. The women only stayed with him simply because he was wealthy and bought them whatever their gold-digging hearts desired. The thought of him turned Anne’s stomach.
“He was indeed, and invited us out for drinks tonight to celebrate. Are you up for it?”
Anne crinkled her nose at the thought of sharing atmospheric space with Richard and his bimbo of the week.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Adam replied.
He strolled over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. He leaned his statuesque frame against the island. Anne could honestly say she rarely ever saw Adam not clad in an expensive tailor-made suit. Even when it was just a casual day at home he wore fit chinos with a buttoned shirt, a sweater or a knit pullover. On occasion, he wore plaid shorts in the summer months. He was a walking Banana Republic ad.
She thought Adam looked gorgeous in everything he wore. That’s what she loved