by Eve Langlais
“No one. She is being watched after by the state.” They wouldn’t take a chance on her care in case she was a tourist. They didn’t need another negative media piece impacting their tourism.
His conscience niggled at him. He should do something. “Francis, one last thing.”
“What is it, boss?”
“Send a fruit basket.”
“At once, sir.”
“Anonymously.”
“Always.”
He hung up and drummed his fingers.
The woman wasn’t his problem. The business venture he was looking into, though, might prove lucrative.
And he’d just replenished the coffers.
He rang for his lawyer. “Where are we on the legalities for the deal?”
“They’ve suddenly decided to change the terms and ask for more.”
“We’re already paying them too much,” he said softly.
“Which is the point I made. But they’re being insistent, so I was drafting a new agreement with the new sum when you called.”
“He’s being a pain in my ass,” Hugo remarked. “I’ll be glad when this is over.”
“Only a few more days for the deals to be done.”
And then he’d really get to work.
Chapter Three
The problem of who she was plagued her. Something so simple as her name shouldn’t cause her such pain and panic. The blank in her mind acted like a black hole that sucked away any answer before she could glimpse it.
What’s my name? That, most of all, eluded her. She wanted to rush away from this hospital bed and scream at people until someone gave her an answer. Surely, she’d be recognized. Missed…
What if she wasn’t? What if she was the kind of person everyone hated? She’d seen herself in the mirror, her skin a fine porcelain with not a freckle to be seen. Her hair cut in layers that, after the shower in the hospital, curled slightly in the humidity. The bathing suit she’d been wearing appeared expensive and was her only clue.
A woman of means, which meant that her disappearance wouldn’t go unnoticed.
As expected, the police got involved, asking her questions to which she had no answers. They even went so far as to fingerprint her.
Could she be a criminal? She had no way of knowing.
She spent the first day in the hospital being tested, questioned, and resting. The pain medication for the throbbing in her head had a somnolent effect. She drifted in and out, being woken by nurses every so often to ensure she’d not slipped into a coma.
On day two, the policeman returned. It was nice to remember a face and a name for someone.
“Mr. Pierrot.” She managed a smile for him from where she sat in a chair by the window overlooking a city both bright and dingy. The air conditioner above the window rattled as it tried to stay ahead of the moist heat. It didn’t do a very good job.
“Mademoiselle.” There was a burr to the French word. “Please, call me Jacques. We don’t believe in being so formal here in the islands. You are looking much better today.”
“I feel better.” The throbbing headache receding into the background meant that she could take regular acetaminophen instead of the stronger stuff that made her fuzzy.
“Does that mean you’ve recovered your memories?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested.
She shook her head. “Not yet.” It frustrated because not only did she lack an identity, but she also remained ignorant of her capabilities. She didn’t even realize that she understood French until a nurse entered her room that morning and began babbling to her in it.
“According to the doctor, these things can take time.”
“I know,” she said on a sigh. She’d heard the spiel. “He is hopeful once the swelling goes down, I might remember more.”
“We’ve sent off your details, including the prints, to American authorities. European, too.”
“Wouldn’t my prints being on file indicate I’m a criminal?” Her nose wrinkled.
“Not always.” He grinned at her. Handsome fellow. Not on the same level as the man who’d rescued her, but in some respects more attractive given he wasn’t a jerk who accused her of lying.
“Did you question the man who found me?” she asked. When Jacques left her the previous day, he’d planned to visit the property where she’d been found.
“Mr. Laurentian wasn’t very helpful, I’m afraid. Claims he found you on the shore. Indications are that you probably washed up there given you were shoeless and without any other items. It is my belief that you were either out for a swim and got into trouble or fell off a boat.”
“If I fell off a boat, wouldn’t someone have noticed?”
Jacques pursed his lips. “Not always. There are many ships that like to party on the ocean at night.”
“So, in other words, we still have no clues.” She slumped.
“We will figure this out, mademoiselle. I am doing everything I can to help you regain your identity. Would it be okay if I took your picture and distributed some flyers to the resorts?”
For some reason, the idea of having her image disseminated discomfited. “Can we wait another day or two before we plaster my face everywhere?”
“But of course. Whatever you prefer. Have you given some thought to my offer?”
Apparently, the hospital would have to discharge her the following day. They would have dumped her today if they could have, given the shortage of beds, but her doctor had intervened.
Jacques had kindly offered her a room at his house. She should jump on the chance to leave the hospital with the antiseptic smells and the cries of people in pain. But she hesitated. Jacques was a little too eager for her company.
“I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll remember who I am before the morning, or someone will come looking for me.”
A hint of disappointment flashed on his face—there one moment, gone the next. The wide smile returned. “One can hope. If you change your mind, here is my number.” He wrote it down and tore it from a notebook before handing it to her.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He left, and the day ticked by slowly. So very, very slowly. The heat of the afternoon combined with everything else put her to sleep.
She didn’t know how long she rested, but she woke when someone entered the room. She kept her eyes closed. Nurses had a tendency to come in and out regularly as they checked on her or swapped out the pitcher of water she kept emptying. She was always so thirsty.
The scuff of a shoe sounded close to the bed. She rolled to her back and opened her eyes as the pillow smashed down on her face.
Chapter Four
Hugo spent part of the morning working out, using the exertion of pumping weights to deal with the restlessness that had gotten even worse over the last few days. Ever since he’d found the woman.
She remained in the hospital, but Francis had discerned that she would be discharged the next day.
“Someone is coming to get her?” he’d asked.
“According to her records, she still hasn’t remembered anything, but they’re short on beds.”
Not his problem. Surely, some kind of charity would provide clothing and a place to stay while things sorted themselves out. It didn’t surprise him that they’d kept the story from the media. They didn’t want a repeat of the Dominican a while back when all those people died, and the island got blamed.
Then again, Hugo wasn’t crazy about tourists. Maybe he should leak the story. He wouldn’t, though, because people needed their jobs, and he technically never had to see any visitors with their loud voices and even less subtle clothing.
Given Hugo had business in the city, he dressed in a suit, the linen a light tan, the shirt open-necked. He drove himself and happened to pass by the hospital. Where she was staying.
Still not his problem.
So why the fuck did he find himself parking and asking at the desk where the woman with no memory was situated?
The nurses found it very excitin
g. He wondered what they’d think once they discovered that the woman lied. To his surprise, he found her in a private room on the third floor.
“Is someone paying for her care?” he asked the matron behind the desk. Francis had said she was a ward of the state.
“The superintendent requested it.”
Pierrot was showing a lot of interest in the woman. Could be the man was shopping for wife number four.
“Has anyone other than the superintendent been by to see her?”
“Non.” The woman lapsed into French.
“Thank you.”
He’d not been to the hospital often but could follow signs easily enough. The wing with the private rooms had less humming noise than the other sections of the establishment. As he turned the corner following the directions, he noticed someone in street clothes with a hood pulled over their head slipping into a room. The most interesting thing though was that they were going into her room.
Aha. Hugo knew she was faking it, and he’d have proof given he was about to catch her with her accomplice.
He entered the room, expecting to hear them conspiring and trying to hide their guilt.
Instead, he caught the person in the hoodie holding a pillow over the woman’s face.
Admittedly unexpected. He barked, “What are you doing?”
The words got a reaction. The person whirled and threw the pillow at Hugo. He rose an arm to deflect the useless missile, only realizing as the person dashed past that it was a delay tactic. He chased the assailant, but not very successfully. It was if he acted in a comedy where nurses kept popping out of rooms, some with trolleys that he narrowly avoided, and patients with IVs tottering into his way. A crowded waiting room meant that he lost sight of the attacker. By the time he reached the door outside, the would-be killer was gone.
This was twice now that he’d saved the mystery redhead. It chilled him to realize that she probably would have suffocated had he not arrived.
Trudging back through the hospital, he discovered Pierrot in the woman’s room with that damnable notebook.
The superintendent turned a stern gaze on him, and his hand dropped to the butt of his weapon. “Mr. Laurentian, I’m surprised to see you return to the scene of the crime.”
“Fuck off.” He didn’t even try to temper his tone or language. “It wasn’t me trying to smother her. Someone else was in here.”
“So you claim. Once again, we are left with your word alone about events. How convenient.”
The woman in the bed was the one to rescue him. “Why would he come here to kill me when he had plenty of opportunities to do so at his home?” Her voice was a husky murmur, stronger and less tremulous than the morning he’d found her.
“Because if you died here, it would look as if you succumbed to your injury. At his home, we’d assume murder.”
“As if you’d ever find the body,” he muttered. Not low enough.
Pierrot opened his mouth to state something that would annoy when the woman smiled. “Exactly my point. Which means, I need to thank you twice for saving me, Mr. Laurentian. Or should I start calling you my hero?”
Two little words that wrenched him and caused him to drawl, “I ain’t a hero, miss.”
She laughed, an even more throaty sound. “I’ve seen myself in a mirror. Hardly a miss.”
Yet she was too attractive for a ma’am.
Hugo turned his attention from her to Pierrot. “Have you had any luck discovering who she is?”
“Not yet. But, sometimes, these things take time. If she is a guest from out of the country, it might be a few days before a hotel notices the mademoiselle’s disappearance.”
“Miss. Mademoiselle. I even had a nurse call me the redheaded lady.” She sighed. “I need a name.”
“In the United States, they often use Jane Doe for those without a proper title,” Hugo suggested.
She grimaced. “That makes me feel even more like an invalid. Can’t we just guess at a name and see what fits?”
Whereupon, Pierrot began naming off women’s names. “Genevieve. Natalie. Patrice.” When he faltered, Hugo jumped in and said, “Ariel.”
“You would name her after a cartoon mermaid in a movie?” Pierrot scoffed.
Rather than deny it, Hugo shrugged. “Well, she does have the same red hair.” Because now that it was dry, he could see the fiery shine of it. It made him wonder if it were natural or bottle-made. His gaze strayed to the sheet covering her lower body. He felt ashamed and returned his attention to her face.
“Named for a princess.” She laughed. “You know what, I like it. For now, at least. The doctors say I could get my memories back at any time.”
“Then Ariel it is,” Hugo declared.
Pierrot frowned at him. “If you weren’t trying to kill her, then why are you here?”
Quickly, his mind filtered the reasons he could use. He couldn’t say because she wouldn’t leave his mind. “Since Ariel was found on my property, I thought I should check and see how she was doing.”
“Still can’t remember anything. Going to accuse me of lying again?” she said with a finely sculpted brow.
“You have to admit, it’s far-fetched. But…” How long would he remain convinced that it was impossible when everything pointed to her having actually lost her identity. “I guess if the doctor says it’s true, then I owe you an apology.” It lacked sincerity.
She knew it and smirked. “Don’t bother. I can see you still have your doubts.”
“I’m cautious.” He shoved his hands into his pants’ pockets. Strangely ill at ease as she accurately read him.
“I for one, believe you,” Pierrot declared.
“Big surprise,” Hugo muttered. The superintendent had a thing for beautiful women.
Turning her gaze on Pierrot, she asked, “In all the excitement, you never did explain why you returned so soon. Did you get a lead?”
“I thought I’d see if you’d decided to accept my offer.”
“What offer?” Hugo volleyed his gaze between them.
“The kind chief of police has offered me a room in his home when the hospital discharges me, but I’m afraid I have to decline. I wouldn’t want to give any semblance of impropriety with regards to an obviously well-considered community leader.”
Hugo almost burst out laughing at the load of dreck, but Pierrot puffed out his chest. “Who better to ensure your safety?”
He bit his tongue lest he question how Pierrot would guard her virtue. Not his problem.
“It is a kind offer, but I must decline.”
“If you change your mind, just call. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to the station.” Pierrot went to leave, but Hugo detained him. “Leave? What about the man who attacked her?”
“So it was a man?” Pierrot asked. “Because the mademoiselle wasn’t sure.”
Hugo frowned. He hadn’t actually seen the person. Just an impression of size that could have been either sex. “Whoever it was might come back.”
“Doubtful.”
“She needs police protection,” he insisted.
“We are stretched much too thin for what was probably a crime of opportunity. You know how we have problems with the gangs robbing our tourists.”
“He wasn’t robbing her,” Hugo declared through gritted teeth.
“Because you interrupted. Now that he’s aware she’s not alone, he’ll probably prey on someone else. Bon jour.” Pierrot saluted Ariel and then left.
Hugo didn’t follow and heard Ariel as she sighed.
“That wasn’t exactly reassuring, was it?”
He turned to see her plucking at the worn hospital sheet. “He’s probably right. The guy who attacked you will most likely go after someone else next time.”
Except it made no sense. Why put a pillow over her face and do nothing else? Hugo prided himself on being a realist. Most attackers would have raped someone as attractive as her, or as Pierrot suggested, robbed. Killing for the hell of it? A knife wou
ld have been a quicker method but would make it obvious as homicide. Whereas smothering…they might be able to explain some kind of system failure due to her injury.
“Thank you for the fruit basket.”
“What makes you think it was me?”
“You seem like the type.” She waved a hand, and he noticed it on a shelf by the window. An impersonal thing with oranges and bananas, some papaya and mango, too. Francis got the one that showed a chocolate bar, still sitting upright, untouched.
Did she not like any of it?
“Are you okay?” The moment he asked, he realized it was a dumb question.
Her wry expression matched the dry tone. “Just peachy, darling.” The exaggerated Southern accent rolled off her tongue.
“Sorry, that was insensitive.”
“But understandable. What does one say in this situation? Even if I had my memory, I bet you I was never taught how to handle someone with amnesia.”
“In the soap operas, they usually go looking for clues to find a trail to the past.”
That brought a husky chuckle. “You want us to pull a Fred and Daphne, we’ll need a van and a dog.”
Hugo couldn’t help but grin. “Scooby-Doo references. I think we just got our first clue.”
Her cheeks pinked. “I think I just dated myself.”
“Not really. After all, the gang’s been around for a few decades now.”
“Nineteen seventy-four to be exact.” Her eyes widened. “How the heck do I know something obscure like that, but not my bra size?”
“Thirty-six C.”
She blinked. “I don’t know if I should be disturbed that you’ve been eyeing my chest or curious about the fact that it sounds right.”
He rolled his shoulders. “It’s a matter of observation and experience.”
“How would I go about looking for clues?” she asked. “I have nothing on me.”
“Which is interesting, because resorts tend to bracelet their guests. At least the all-inclusive ones do—”
“It could have fallen off,” she interrupted. “Soaked and worn off.”
“They’re made to go in the water. They don’t disintegrate or tear. Takes scissors or a knife to remove them.”