If Memory Serves (Dr. Tara Ross series) (Volume1) Read online

  Tara tapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Oh, the conference. I can’t go. I’m wiped out, and I just put the house up for sale. The divorce...he... took everything I had.”

  Including her fifteen year- old daughter, Abbie—she prayed that was only temporary.

  Her ex, Theo, had insisted she sign off on Abbie’s passport to Greece to visit his parents. Her own parents deceased, she wanted Abbie to know and love her Greek grandparents. Christened Abigal Katerina Christopoulos, Tara had always wanted her daughter to embrace her Greek background from her father’s side. She had passed down her own Russian ethnicity to Tara. She hoped Theo was doing the same, and not whisking their daughter away in revenge. Her heart squeezed. He wouldn’t keep Abbie from her!

  But truthfully, this was a good time as any for her daughter to go. She’d hit a financial sinkhole. Broke, Tara was finally forced to sell her dream house, and although she was chronically exhausted, sleep offered her no relief from the turmoil in her life.

  She had kissed Abbie goodbye, vowing she’d get a new place for them by the time she returned from Greece. Abbie had written her a note before she left, telling Tara that she couldn’t wait to see her Yiayia and her Papou, but she also couldn’t wait to get back to her mother with hugs, kisses, and photos from her grandparent’s remote island home. Tara wondered how her daughter would live without texting and Facebook, but her stomach churned too, at the thought of not hearing from Abbie over the next three weeks. She was marking the days on her calendar until Abbie’s return, “X” ing out all the ones that had passed since she left.

  Tara rubbed her eyes, yawned, and leaned on Edouard’s shoulder. “I have to deal with the realtor, and I sent my boxes to Marielle’s place in Brooklyn.” That is, what she had left, she thought. “I promised to spend some time with her. She wants me to stay with her a while.”

  “I thought you were moving in with me.”

  “Eventually Edouard. I need some time away. I want to get this right.”

  “It is right.”

  She wasn’t as sure. He was pushing her, and she was starting to resent him. Not a way to start a relationship. He was distant with Abbie, and her daughter wrinkled her nose at him every chance she got. Tara doubted Edouard’s house would be the right place for her.

  He stroked her cheek. “Go home and get some sleep, darling. You’ve barely slept this whole month. All hell seems to break loose when you’re on call. In fact, take the next two weeks off. You haven’t taken a vacation in over two years. Relax. Stay with your friend, Marielle. Nora Grayson, the new OB, comes in on Monday. I’ll arrange for cross coverage so she won’t feel overwhelmed. Quit feeling guilty and enjoy your vacation.”

  He’s right. God, I need the break. Two weeks!

  Between the two of them, their practice couldn’t keep up with the patient load, especially since most of the women demanded to see a woman physician. She found she couldn’t say “no” to many of them, when they came in for their labors. She was delivering their babies, despite Edouard being the physician on call. Although it bruised his ego, he consistently slept better than she did.

  She gave him a quick peck on his lips.

  “Have a terrific time at the conference. We’ll finalize our plans when you get back. I’ll miss you,” he said.

  “I’ll miss you too.”

  Chapter Two

  Monday, January 2, Noon

  Tara squeezed through the New York City subway turnstile, catching the hem of her jacket around one of the bars. Trapped for a few seconds, she grimaced as a fat woman grumbled behind her. Her pulse quickened as she desperately yanked to free her jacket. The bars finally ratcheted closed, sending Tara stumbling out. The woman shoved past her.

  Tara trudged up the cracked concrete stairs, squinting her eyes as she exited the dim subway station. She had exited the 72nd Street and Broadway station on Manhattan’s Upper West Side and now stood in Verdi Square, at least that’s what the green park sign claimed. The whipping winter wind slapped her cheeks as the departing train rumbled beneath her feet. Tara furrowed her forehead.

  This isn’t Brooklyn! What on earth am I doing here?

  The pulse in her neck throbbed beneath her scarf. She drew a deep breath. Glancing around her surroundings, disoriented, Tara finally spied something familiar – the black and white marquis to the dance studio where she took ballet classes Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

  But where was her dance bag? She shook her head.

  What day was it?

  Tara rushed past Fairway Market, the grocery store she’d stopped into so many times before, to grab an apple, some nuts, and a bottle of water after class to snack on during the train ride home.

  Home? Why the hell couldn’t she remember where that was?

  Despite the bone-chilling cold of the afternoon, a bead of sweat trickled down her back. She loosened her jacket, unzipping it away from her neck. Her heart raced and her breathing accelerated, the quick puffs disappearing into the cold, gray sky.

  I don’t understand. Why did I take the train here? And why am I having such an off day?

  Swirls of frigid gusts nearly knocked her to the sidewalk. She huddled in a street corner, barricading herself from the assaulting winds. Tara opened her wallet. She had twenty-five dollars, one credit card, and a stamped Metro North train ticket—Brewster to Grand Central printed at the bottom. Then she looked at the address on her driver’s license.

  Her mouth had gone dry.

  The Brewster address made no sense. How could that be? When had she moved from Manhattan? Her head ached, her fingers tingled beneath her mittens, and her ears began to ring so loud that she couldn’t think.

  Breathe, Tara. Breathe.

  Something strange was happening. Something she couldn’t stop.

  ****

  Detective Lieutenant Jeffrey Corrigan rubbed his temples. He rolled two aspirin tablets between his fingers before popping them into his mouth, gulping the bitter pills down his throat with his stagnant glass of water. Stacks of files littered the top of his desk. The media were clamoring for information about the college kids shot at the Starbright’s Coffee Shop, he had the perp who knifed his girlfriend, waiting for him in interview room three, and drug dealers were killing each other on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. The list went on and on. His head throbbed, his stomach grumbled, and his copper-rimmed glasses slid down the bridge of his nose.

  “Damn it. I’ve to get these fixed,” he muttered and pushed them back up.

  Did you say something, Boss?” Laurie Styles, his young P.A.A, asked as she strode into his office. She inched closer to his desk

  Jeffrey pushed back in his chair. “No. I’m just mumbling to myself.”

  He liked Laurie, but she sometimes hovered— too often and too close for comfort. But, she was efficient and kept him organized. He certainly didn’t want to lose her.

  Just last week, he studiously avoided her for days, after declining her dinner invitation. He gently reminded her that dating within the house was taboo, and that included police administrative assistants. Besides, after a messy divorce like the one he’d just been through, he had sworn off romantic entanglements of any kind.

  “Looks like you’re having a tough day. I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” she said.

  He sighed and stretched his long arms behind his head. While he relished being commander of Manhattan’s Upper West Side homicide squad, today the job just sucked. He raked his fingers through his straight, sandy-blonde hair. Two weeks past due for his haircut, it grazed the collar of his shirt, flirting with regulation.

  She eyed him speculatively. “I’ll check your schedule and make an appointment with your barber.” Before he could protest, she was gone.

  The monthly CompStat meeting was a week away, and he’d need a trim before the brass came down on him for his hair, and the spike of homicides in his precinct. He glanced at the sleeves of his white cotton shirt, amazed at the straight creases. He pressed his shirts
every Saturday night, an iron in one hand and a bottle of Guinness in the other.

  Jeffrey shuffled the piles of paperwork on his desk, hoping the illusion of order would inspire him to tackle his review of open cases before his boss showed up. His day was complicated enough without the captain in his face. He furrowed his brows. The mood of the two seven soured every time Captain Ray Scardino was in the house. And today of all days, the captain was planning to saddle him with a 28 year-old neophyte detective with minimal street smarts.

  Laurie stepped over his big black Oxfords. “Here’s your coffee.”

  His feet stuck out like an obstacle course for her to navigate around. He curled them back under his desk, banging his knees in the process. “Shit,” he whispered rubbing his knees.

  “Let me take your glasses before they hit the floor.” She held out her hand. “I’ll shove some of these files over to make room for your coffee. Do you want me to get your glasses fixed?”

  “No, thank you,” he said and did not relinquish his glasses. “You’re always taking care of me. I appreciate that. I’ll get them fixed, one of these days.”

  “It’s no problem. I’ll gladly do it. I know you won’t get around to it.”

  He relented and handed Laurie his glasses. Then he yanked open the sticky top drawer of his desk. A bottle of aspirin and a roll of antacids nearly ricocheted out.

  Ah, here they are. He plucked out his old readers; wire framed aviators that he also never got around to fixing. The left rim brushed over his eyebrow, the right side sagged below the other, and the bridge totally missed his nose. He tossed them on his desk.

  Laurie giggled. “I’ll get them fixed by the end of the day.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

  Jeffrey smiled, raised his coffee mug, and sipped. The heat slid down his throat and soothed his stomach. He closed his eyes, reveling in the brief relief. He didn’t want to deal with anything else. He didn’t have the time.

  ****

  Tara tugged the braids of her knitted hat, pulling it snug to her head, and walked north on Broadway. Maybe, if she kept walking, she’d snap out of it. A few feet away, a woman in a long grey woolen coat and wearing a pale pink Tammy hat with a matching scarf exited a building pushing a winterized baby tram, a zipped plastic shield protecting the baby inside of it.

  Tara’s heart pounded. She picked up her pace and strode up next the woman.

  She pleaded with the woman. “The baby’s cold. Warm her! Warm her!”

  The woman stopped and scrunched her forehead. “Excuse me?”

  “The baby’s cold. She’s not moving.”

  “Okay, lady. It’s a boy. I don’t know you. Mind your own business, you crazy bitch.”

  The woman opened the door to a bakery and dodged inside, shoving the tram in first. Joined by another woman, they peered out the glass window at Tara, pointing at her.

  Tara jerked her head away and hurried across Broadway to Amsterdam. The driver of a yellow cab beeped his horn.

  “Hey lady, watch where the hell you’re going!”

  She skittered onto the sidewalk and pulled her hat even tighter over her ears.

  Why did she say that to that woman? And she walked right in front of that cab! What’s wrong with me? She took a deep breath and walked on.

  Tara’s stomach growled. She’d searched for a café, one with WiFi. That way she’d get out of the cold, grab some lunch, and perhaps something on her computer would jog her memory, piece this whole misadventure together.

  Just as she approached La Vita Café, a man slammed into her sending all 110 pounds of her airborne. He grabbed her around her waist. Her boots clattered on the icy sidewalk as she struggled to regain her balance.

  “Whoa, I got you,” he said.

  Where did he come from?

  The man pulled her closer preventing her butt from smacking the snowy pavement. She gazed up at him.

  Tall and slender, he looked polished in his charcoal gray coat and tweed cap. She was surprised that he didn’t slip in his black leather boots, hidden beneath his sharply pleated black trousers, and land smack next to her. A gust of wind flipped up his dark brown bangs. Then she noticed his eyes, one blue, and the other one hazel. She tried not to stare, but there was something odd about him. His eyes narrowed when he smiled. She shuddered.

  “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?” He loosened his grip.

  Tara dusted snow from her sleeves. “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for the save.”

  But he was staring at her laptop case, and her pulse spiked in warning. He collided with me on purpose!

  “How about I buy you a cup of coffee? It’s the least I could do since I nearly knocked you over. Come on. A hot cup of coffee on a freezing day would do us both some good.”

  Tara hesitated. The guy was overly ingratiating to her in a weird way, and he bordered on persistent. She had to get away from him.

  “Thank you for offering, but I already have plans for lunch. Have a good day.”

  He nodded. “Oh, I will. You, too.”

  She nodded back to him and tugged up her coat collar. The less conversation there was between them, the better.

  Picking up her pace, she strode to Amsterdam Avenue and 71st, eager to look back to see if he followed her, but decided against it. Lunchtime approached, and despite the bitter weather, people were everywhere, walking swiftly to warm themselves in nearby restaurants. She couldn’t tell whose footsteps crunched on the snowy sidewalk behind her. It could be anyone. Tara gave in. She had to look.

  Making a fast 360, she assessed her surroundings, but the creepy man was nowhere in sight. Her heart slowed. Now for a bite to eat and to boot up her laptop.

  She dodged into La Vita Café and shut the door, pushing the draft away. A line had already formed at the counter. Tara waited, shifting from one foot to the other, the snow from her boots melting around her.

  The line moved.

  She stepped over her puddle only to land in the slush of the person ahead of her. Tara sighed. At least there was safety in numbers. She glanced to her right. Two uniformed New York City policemen sat at a back table, drinking coffee, their backs to the wall. Oh, thank God. She was safe here. She thought about asking them for help, but they’d think her crazy or high. The man hadn’t followed her inside the café, and she had no proof he was stalking her. Perhaps she was overreacting. The guy was weird, but probably harmless. Finally, it was her turn to order.

  Tara bought a cup of coffee and a bowl of chili, choices that would heat her insides down to her frozen toes. Meandering around the lunchtime crowd, she found an empty table and sat. She pulled off her hat and fingered her short brown hair loose. Placing her purse and laptop case on the chair next to her, Tara sipped her coffee.

  She smiled at the two teenage girls about her daughter’s age, sitting at the table next to hers who were giggling and texting between bites of their burgers and fries. Suddenly, a knife fell from their table and clattered to the floor. Tara watched it bounce on the tiles until it stopped.

  Hurry! Pick up the knife. You can save her!

  A waiter scooped it up.

  Tara jerked her head and blinked a few times. She gripped the edges of the table until her pulse slowed. For Pete’s sake, it was only a knife.

  Tara had just stuck her spoon into her chili, when the man she thought she had evaded put his hand on the back of the empty chair across from her.

  “What a pleasant surprise catching up with you like this,” he said.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “May I sit?” Before she could decline his offer yet again, the man sat, holding his cup of coffee. “I apologize if I startled you. By the way, my name is Ted. Ted Larkin.”

  “I’m Tara.”

  “Nice to meet you, Tara...” She looked straight into his face. I’m not falling for that.

  “Just Tara,” she answered
curtly.

  His lips pressed into a smile. “Okay, just Tara.”

  God, he was persistent. She’d gulp her coffee and get a few spoonfuls of chili in her belly, and then she was out of here she decided.

  “May I at least buy you a second cup of coffee? It’s freezing out there.”

  “Yes, it is, but I’m okay here. I’m almost finished. I need to get back home. My husband is waiting for me.”

  Maybe this jerk would get the message and move on.

  The man leaned past her and stared out the café window. Tara turned around to see what he was tracking, but all she saw were people bustling along the snowy Upper West Side sidewalks.

  As she turned back, she caught him purposefully knocking over his cup. Coffee splashed onto the table. It flowed over an edge, and dribbled onto her laptop case.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said.

  Tara grabbed napkins, but before she could pat dry her case, his hand was already there, resting over her bag.

  She clutched it to her side, not wanting him to touch it. “I’m sure they’ll get you another cup.” Tara stood and glanced at her watch. “I’m late. I need to go. I hope you enjoy the rest of your lunch.”

  Tara pushed her way through the lunch crowd, bolted out the door, and headed back to the subway station. She’d get on a downtown train. Maybe she’d recognize the stops. And most importantly, she had to ditch that man. Ted Larkin. Hmmm. I bet that’s not even his real name.

  Tara jogged toward the 72 St. Station. Then she heard his voice. She ran faster. Panting, and her throat had gone dry.

  She was almost to the station’s stairs when he yelled, “Hey, Tara. Wait up!” Larkin grabbed the back of Tara’s jacket. Her body jerked back as he yanked her laptop case.

  “Give it to me,” he hissed.

  “No! What the hell are you doing? Piss off! ”

  The handles of the black case began to slip from her hand. She clasped her fingers around them, squeezing as tight as she could. Surely, if she clung on, someone would come to her assistance.

  He bared his teeth; a wolf primed to attack. His knuckles sped to her face like a torpedo. She turned her head, bracing for the impact. Surprisingly, she felt no pain as the blow struck her left eye.