“Maybe we can find out for sure.” Rob placed his hands on the laptop’s keyboard and typed in Libby James.
If Rob expected her face to pop up next to some biographical entry on her, he was hiding his defeat well.
Rob tapped his thumbs on the edge of the keyboard after his fruitless search. “I guess Libby James keeps a low profile.”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it, Rob? I’m fluent in Spanish because I live in Mexico. For the same reason, you weren’t able to find my prints in your fingerprint database, or whatever it is you checked. I have the name of that gallery tattooed on my back. I feel artistic, and somehow I’ve run into, run across or run afoul of El Gringo Viejo in Rocky Point, which is a big tip for you.”
“A big tip for me?” She followed his gaze as it scanned the screen, searching for her face, searching for some proof beyond her feelings.
“You all.” She swiped her arm through the air. “Maybe El Gringo Viejo is in Rocky Point, too. You said law enforcement doesn’t know where he is or what he looks like. Now you know he’s in Rocky Point.”
“I don’t know, Jane.” Rob rubbed his eyes and pushed the computer from his lap onto the coffee table. “We need some kind of proof.”
“Libby.” She pinned her shoulders against the back cushion of the couch, feeling stronger every time she said the name. “Start calling me Libby.”
“You do look more like a Libby than a Jane.”
“In what way?” She tilted her head, and her hair swung over her shoulder.
“Jane... I don’t know. It reminds me of plain Jane and you’re anything but plain.”
A tingling warmth crept into her cheeks and she pressed her hand against one side as if to stop the color she was sure had accompanied the heat.
She snorted. “Yeah, plain doesn’t cut it for a woman hiding out in the desert with ripped clothing and a gash on the side of her head.”
Rob rolled his eyes.
Did he think she was fishing for more compliments? Was she?
“So.” She laced her fingers and stretched her arms in front of her. “What’s our next step? I don’t think I should go running back to Rocky Point, do you?”
“Absolutely not. If you are Libby James from Rocky Point and in some kind of trouble with El Gringo Viejo, you don’t want to return to the source of your misery—especially with no understanding of what that misery is.”
Rob hadn’t balked at her use of our. Whether or not he believed her about being Libby, he wasn’t going to abandon her.
“You need to get your memory back. You need to find out why those men had instructions to kill you. You need to talk to someone.” He held up a finger as she opened her mouth. “Not the cops.”
“I know, a psychiatrist or psychologist—someone like that. I’ve already been thinking along those same lines. I suppose you don’t have any mental health professionals here in Paradiso.”
“We do. There’s a therapist who works at the hospital, and I know she sees patients outside of her work there.”
She raised her eyebrows at him.
He crossed one finger over the other. “Not me. I told you I had plenty of head shrinking when I was a kid in school. I don’t need any more.”
“Are you sure?”
“What does that mean?”
“You rescued a knife-wielding woman in the desert and took her into your home, didn’t call the cops, didn’t call the hospital, didn’t report the accident—some people would say you’re certifiable.”
“Ah, don’t remind me.” He buried his hands in his hair. “This cannot get out to my coworkers. They have this impression that I’m impulsive and careless.”
“Do you think that’s a reaction to being so very careful when you were growing up?”
His dark brown eyes narrowed. “I’ll say it again. I think you’re a therapist, not an artist. You have this tendency to analyze me when you’re the one who needs analyzing.”
“Maybe I’m just practicing for what’s to come.” She lifted and dropped her shoulders. “I don’t need analysis so much as a swift knock on the head.”
“I don’t think you need that at all.” He stroked his fingers over the hair covering her wound, and she melted just a little.
She sure hoped there wasn’t a Mr. James out there looking for his wife.
He snatched his hand back from her head as if the same thought had just occurred to him. “If the psychiatrist at the hospital can’t see you, she can recommend another therapist, although you might have to go to Tucson to see someone.”
“I’d be willing to go a lot farther than Tucson to get help.”
“I think your brain has done enough work for tonight. All signs point to Libby so far, but knowing your name isn’t enough. You have to remember who you are to get this straightened out.”
“I agree.” She rose to her feet a little unsteadily, and Rob placed a hand on her hip. “Sh-should I go back to my motel tonight?”
“No, although I was ready to kick you out after confronting you about your library searches.” He left his hand on her body as if she needed propping up. Maybe she did.
“After finding out, why did you bring me back here? Why did you feed me?”
“I wanted to trip you up. I wanted to discover your motive, and then I just wanted you to tell me the truth.” He ran his thumb into the pocket of her pants. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
“I was afraid.” She lodged her tongue in the corner of her mouth. “I was afraid of the unknown, of being taken to the police station and revealed as someone who had no memory, no ID, no life. You may have thought I needed to be in the hospital, but the thought terrified me. I didn’t want to be captive somewhere for some stranger to come along and claim me like a stray puppy—tell me who I was and where I needed to be.”
He nodded as he stood up beside her, removing his thumb from her pocket. “I get it. It must be strange not knowing who you are, like staring into an abyss.”
“Take that and multiply it by a hundred, but then you came along and didn’t push even though you didn’t believe me.” She turned from the magnetic hold his eyes exerted on her. “I appreciate that.”
“My colleagues are not completely wrong about me. I can be impulsive. I can be naive about the crime committed out here in the desert, away from the big, bad city.” He stepped over the coffee table to avoid squeezing past her on his way to the kitchen. “I’ll even admit that some part of me did believe your story—a woman on the run from an angry ex. I’ve seen enough of that in my childhood. I could relate. I could sympathize.”
“I had no idea I’d be pressing your buttons with that story. It just came to me as a possibility.” She pointed past him. “We didn’t finish cleaning up.”
“That’s where I was headed.” He made a stop at the table to collect the rest of their dinner. “I hate leaving a mess to clean up in the morning.”
“I do, too.” When Rob’s head swiveled around, she held up her hand and said, “I think I do.”
He tossed a dish towel over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m going to make you anxious about recovering your memories if I jump every time you make a statement about yourself.”
“I don’t mind. Maybe it will all come back that way.” She yanked the dish towel hanging down his back. “I’ll dry.”
He rinsed suds from a plate and handed it to her. “Memory’s a weird thing, isn’t it?”
“If I didn’t think so before, it’s taken on a whole new dimension of weirdness for me.”
“I mean—” he handed her the second plate “—you don’t remember your name or where you’re from or who you are, but you clearly knew where Tucson was. And you remember how to speak Spanish.”
She rubbed a circle on the plate until it glowed. “Maybe the psychiatrist can explain that. I imagine it has something to do with
the parts of the brain injured.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter, as long as someone can help you get on track. Then we can deal with those two men...and the rest of it.”
She slid a glance at his profile as he worked at the sink, his jaw tight. Was he as worried as she was at what discoveries her true identity might bring?
As she dried the last of the dishes, he sprayed some green liquid on his granite countertops and ran a paper towel over the surface until it gleamed. Was he really this particular or just stalling for time?
He didn’t think she’d fall into his arms or request they share a bed for the night, did he? Would she?
She said, “You can have your T-shirt back. April even threw in a couple of nightgowns with the tags still on them.”
“Yeah, she really came through.” He tossed the paper towel in the trash and rubbed his hands together. “I felt kind of crummy lying to her.”
She touched her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry. That’s on me. She’s not the cop, right? Maybe we can tell her the truth.”
“April would help anyway. It doesn’t matter to her. It’s not like the woman hasn’t told a few lies in her time—all for the greater good, of course.”
“And that’s what this is, Rob—the greater good. The fewer people who know my identity, or lack thereof, the better. It’ll help me keep a low profile. Can you imagine the stir an amnesiac woman would cause in this town?”
“Everyone would be talking about you for sure. I agree, the greater good.”
He held out his fist for a bump, and she tapped her knuckles against his awkwardly. Were they buds now?
“Tomorrow we’ll visit Dr. Escalante at the hospital for some advice. Sound good?”
“Great—sounds great.” She wiped her hands on the seat of her pants, even though she’d just hung up a perfectly good towel. She backed out of the kitchen and spun toward the hallway. “Same bedroom? I mean, the same bedroom I had last night?”
Rob coughed and made a job of intricately folding a dry dish towel over the handle of the oven door. “I just have the two bedrooms. The third I use as an office.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what I mean, the room I had last night.” She waved like an idiot and snatched up the pad of paper from the living room. “Okay, good night. Thanks for your help, Rob.”
She rounded the corner of the hallway and stubbed her toe on the edge. She bit her lip to suppress a cry and hopped on one foot to the bedroom.
She fell across the bed on top of April’s generous donation, covering her face with one arm. She hoped Libby wasn’t this lame in real life.
She pushed the pile of clothes onto the floor, knowing full well Rob would have a heart attack if he saw the tangled mess on the floor—but he wouldn’t be in this room. Two rooms. He had two bedrooms and this was hers, for now.
With her ear to the door, she listened to the splashing water and electric toothbrush from the master bathroom buried deep in Rob’s bedroom. In the midst of it all, she slipped into a coral-hued sheath with spaghetti straps and grabbed the little plastic bag containing the toiletries she’d purchased with her first salary.
Clutching the bag to her chest, she tiptoed into the bathroom next to her room and flossed and brushed her teeth. If Libby weren’t a flosser, she’d start some new habits with her new life.
Rob’s cell phone rang from his room and she heard his low voice rumble in answer. Maybe it was some woman wondering why he hadn’t called her back, or maybe someone he’d met on one of those online dating apps setting up a first date.
She couldn’t make out his words and didn’t try. The man deserved some privacy in his own home.
As she spit into the sink, he rapped on the bathroom door.
“Ja...Libby?”
Frantic eyes flew to the mirror, her gaze dropping to the skimpy nightgown clinging to and outlining her braless breasts. What was April thinking?
“Yeah?”
“Can you open the door?”
He seemed to be forcing his words through clenched teeth. Obviously, an invitation to seduction didn’t wait on the other side of that door.
She placed her toothbrush on the edge of the sink and contemplated the locked bathroom door between her and the tight-voiced stranger.
“Of course. It’s your door.” She took a few steps on the cold tile floor and threw open the door, the smile on her lips drooping. “Wh-what’s wrong?”
“The Arizona Highway Patrol found your wreck.”
She placed a hand on her stomach, against the slick material of the nightgown, all thoughts of covering her jiggling breasts lost in a flood of fear. “Why’d they call you?”
“They found something in the car.”
Her heart pounded, causing the silky material covering her chest to quiver. “My ID? My purse? Why would they call you?”
“They didn’t find that stuff.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “They found drugs. You were hauling drugs across the border...Libby.”
Chapter Nine
Her fingers curled into the nightgown at her waist, bunching and twisting it.
Did she think that evidence would be burned beyond recognition, or did she really not remember? Either way, she had drugs in the car, whether or not she remembered.
She swayed on her feet and he had an urge to catch her, pull her into his arms, but he needed to stay objective—something he’d been failing at in a big way.
She shook her head slowly at first and then so vigorously, her hair whipped back and forth like a swirl of caramel. “Nothing survived that inferno. You don’t think I checked it out when the fire burned down?”
“It would’ve still been too hot for you to do anything more than give it a cursory look.” He set his jaw, but she’d planted a seed of doubt in his mind.
She must’ve seen the flicker and pounced. “You looked, too. Did you see any drugs or any packages that looked like drugs or were even intact? Pretty much everything was incinerated.” She thrust out her chest and one strap of the flimsy nightgown slipped from her shoulder. “Where were they? What were they? Who found them?”
His gaze bounced from her bare shoulder to her scowling face. “Packages of meth, thrown from the vehicle. They escaped the fire. The highway patrol spotted the burned-out vehicle and went down to inspect it.”
“Meth? You mean like powder?”
“Crystals. Crystal meth in plastic bags, stuffed inside a paper bag.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “About ten feet from the crash site.”
“How convenient. And you believe that?” Her nostrils quivered, and a red flush stained her cheeks. “You saw that area, and believe me, so did I. I searched around the car for anything that would tell me who I was and what I was doing there, and then I searched again for water, food, crumbs. There was nothing there but trash, debris from the highway.”
Rob pinched the bridge of his nose. The scene of the crash swam before his eyes—desert, sand, dirt, cactus, a few bits of highway trash, a few trees. Had he done a thorough search of the area? It had been dark, and there was no blackness like nighttime in the desert without a full moon.
He huffed out a breath. “It was dark out there.”
“I’m telling you there were no drugs.” She slammed her hand against the porcelain of the sink, and her toothbrush bounced and fell to the floor.
“What are you saying...Libby?” He dug two fingers into his temple and massaged, as if that could get rid of the pounding in his head.
“Someone planted those drugs there, Rob.” She wedged a fist against her hip, the curve of it just visible in the loose-fitting nightgown. “How did the highway patrol know about the accident? You said yourself you couldn’t see it from the highway, but you smelled it and saw the smoke. That would’ve been long gone the next morning and certainly by today. So, how’d they know it was there? Helicopter? Drone?”
He still held the phone that had brought him the bad news in his hand and he tapped the edge against his chin. “Someone reported it.”
“Aha!” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t you see? Somebody threw the drugs out there and then called the highway patrol about the accident so they’d see the drugs.”
Libby would want to explain away the drugs so that he wouldn’t connect them to her, but her claims held more logic than desperation. He hadn’t seen anything out there on the desert floor. If the drugs had been secured in the car or hidden in the trunk, how’d they get thrown in the accident?
Her version might make more sense and clear her, but the implication didn’t bode well for her safety and well-being.
“You know what you’re suggesting?”
Her eye twitched. “I do. The men who caused my accident came back to check their handiwork. Maybe they wondered why there was no report of a dead body found with a crash and discovered it was because there was no body there.”
“And that means not only do they know you survived the crash, they left those drugs there as insurance to implicate you if you went to the authorities.”
“It almost worked, didn’t it?” She stooped to pick up the toothbrush and ran it beneath the faucet. “You charged in here to accuse me of being a drug runner, or whatever.”
“Do you blame me?” He reached back to shove the phone in his pocket and realized he’d rushed in here with just his boxers on. “We still don’t know anything about you.”
She placed her hands on either side of the sink and leaned in to peer at herself in the mirror. “We know my name is Libby, I’m an artist and I own an art gallery in Mexico...and I’m in some kind of trouble with a drug dealer.”
Feeling a sudden chill, Rob rubbed his arms. “I hope those two guys moved on after dropping those drugs...if that’s what happened.”
“Still doubting me? Why’d the highway patrol call you, anyway?”
“They didn’t call me personally. They called the Border Patrol because of the drugs, and my supervisor called me to let me know. We have the drugs in our possession now, and you can bet I’m going to examine them for any identifying features.”
Unraveling Jane Doe (Holding The Line Book 3) Page 8