by Joanna Wayne
“You must be getting better. I sense a power struggle here.”
“I have a feeling that when I’m not lost in la-la land, I must like being the one in control.”
Durk smiled. “I’d say that’s a fair assessment.”
He looked incredibly handsome when he smiled. It was hard to imagine she could have let him slip from her memory no matter how severe the concussion.
“Tell me about me, Durk. Not what I did for a living. Patricia’s already told me that I’m a private investigator with my own agency. She also filled me in on my parents. My parents are dead. I have a sister named Lucy. She’s married and lives in Connecticut. She wants me to call her as soon as I feel like talking.”
“Where did your nurse get all of that information?”
“Apparently Lucy has called several times today to check on me. She and Patricia have pretty much shared my life history. Patricia can’t understand why I refuse to talk to Lucy when she calls.”
“Why do you?”
“I’m just not ready.”
“Talking to her might help shake the amnesia,” Durk suggested.
“Which makes the prospect sound tempting, but no. Not yet.” This was frustrating enough without bringing a family member into the mix, someone with whom she’d shared a lifetime of vanished memories.
“Tell me some personal things about myself, Durk.”
“I thought you wanted to go for a walk.”
“That can wait a few minutes.”
“What kind of personal things would you like to know? That you like country music and have every recording George Strait ever made on your iPod? That you live with a phone in your hand? That you have a serious crush on Hugh Jackman?”
“Hugh Jackman.” She pictured him in her mind without any trouble. “The Boy from Oz. Wolverine. And who could forget him with Nicole Kidman in Australia?”
Durk’s eyebrows arched. “You remember Hugh Jackman but not your sister?”
“Evidently. Odd, isn’t it?”
“Maybe not so odd,” Durk said. “Your memory may be starting with the impersonal.”
“That makes it even more frustrating. I remember movies and plays, but not my friends and family. I remember songs, but not where I live. I remember that Christmas is on December 25, but I can’t tell you where I spent any Christmas in my life. And I don’t remember you.”
“Perhaps I’m not that memorable.”
She seriously doubted that. “Did I meet you through my business? Were you a philandering husband that I spied on for a jealous wife?”
“I’ve never had a wife.”
“Then how did we meet?”
“I attended a charity fundraiser where you were working a case and pretending to be someone you weren’t.”
“Since when do cowboys attend charity fundraisers?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ll bet.”
Durk raked his fingers through his hair and leaned in closer. “What else do you want to know?”
“What kind of person am I? Sweet and loving or bossy and demanding?”
Durk laughed out loud. “Sweet is definitely not the first word that comes to mind when I think about you.”
“What is?”
“Vivacious. Feisty. Professional. Sexy.”
“Are you sure you don’t have me mixed up with someone else?”
“I’m certain.”
“I don’t feel any of those things today, and I sure don’t look the part.”
“You will again. And it won’t take you long. You’re a take-charge kind of gal.”
“What’s the worst thing you can say about me? Tell me the truth. I promise I won’t get mad.”
“You break promises,” he teased. “And you take too many risks in your work.”
He didn’t sound like he was teasing with the risk accusation, but Meghan didn’t necessarily see that as a negative. “Am I good at what I do?”
“Exceptionally good.”
“Then maybe the risks are worth it.”
“You’re usually convinced that they are.”
From his tone, she’d guess he didn’t agree. “Do you think those risks led to my being attacked?”
“I think it’s highly likely.”
But no one would know for certain until she could remember the man who’d assaulted her. That made regaining her memory all the more critical.
“How old am I, Durk?”
“Thirty-one. Your birthday was in August.”
“Thirty-one and still single.”
“That’s by design. You could have your choice of any number of men.”
She wondered if he was one of them. “Are you married or engaged?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “Also by design.”
“So we’re both single but our relationship is strictly platonic? You must not find me attractive.”
“There’s not a man alive who doesn’t find you attractive. We dated a few times a couple of years ago, but it didn’t work out.”
“Did I break it off or did you?”
He looked down and fidgeted with one of the handles on her bed.
“I’m sorry, Durk. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just trying to get a feel for who I am.”
“I’m not uncomfortable, Meghan. And there’s no reason not to tell you the truth. We were lovers, but we both realized early on that a long-term relationship wouldn’t work. You were actually the one who sent me packing.”
They hadn’t worked out, but he was here with her now and couldn’t be more attentive. She was comfortable with him and found him incredibly attractive.
Would that change when her memory returned? Was there a side of him she wouldn’t like? Or was there a side of her that pushed men away?
“I stopped by your condo this morning and picked up a few snapshots that might stir your memory,” Durk said. “Would you like to look at them?”
“Sure. Do you have one of me without knots and bruises?”
“I do.” He took a five-by-seven photograph from a folder he retrieved from his laptop case and placed it in her hands. “This is you and your sister the day she got married.”
Meghan studied the images and held her breath, waiting for an epiphany. None came. She continued to study the print.
Her sister was several inches shorter than her, especially since Meghan was wearing nosebleed stilettos. Lucy was stunning with beautiful eyes and a killer body.
“My sister is gorgeous.”
“You both are,” Durk corrected.
“But I’m not stunning the way she is.”
“No, you have your own style and assets. You’re a natural beauty. No need for makeup and you don’t usually wear much.”
His words weren’t borne out by the photo. “Tall and skinny are not really assets.”
“No, but tall and willowy, with a tantalizing spray of freckles over the bridge of your perfect nose are. Not to mention your shiny auburn hair that falls around your shoulders in cascades of soft curls. Or the fact that you wear a perfume of self-confidence. That’s extremely seductive, you know.”
“Yes, and now my shiny hair will be accentuated by bald spots.” She dropped the photograph on the top of the lightweight blanket. “Let’s see the next picture.”
Durk handed her another snapshot, this one in black-and-white. “This one is of you and some of your sorority sisters from your days at Baylor. That’s you in the middle.”
There were five young women in all. They looked incredibly young and delightfully carefree. And she was right there in the center of the fun. She couldn’t remember ever having seen a single one of them before.
Her frustration swelled. “This is probably a waste of time.”
“Try one more,” Durk urged. He took the photograph from her and pressed the next one into her hands.
This time it was her and— A sharp flash of pain made her suck in her breath as she studied the second person in the picture. Her mind drew
a blank, but her emotions had reacted. “Is this my mother?”
“It is. It was taken a short time before her death. You winced when you saw it. It must have struck a chord.”
“It struck a chord with my emotions. My mind is still drawing a blank.”
Disappointment dragged her down to a new low. She knew she needed to stay calm and optimistic, but how could she when her world had skidded out of control and she couldn’t get it back?
All because someone had brutally attacked her in her own home. Had it not been for a neighbor she couldn’t even remember, she’d likely be dead.
Had she known the man who did this to her? Was he someone she’d been tracking or spying on as part of her job? Was she so afraid of him that a part of her mind had shut down rather than face him?
And where was he now? For all she knew he could be in this very hospital, watching and waiting to finish what he’d started. Her own brain had become the traitor that could cost her life.
Icy tingles of terror shimmied up her spine.
“Let’s go for that walk, Durk.” Before she succumbed to fear of what she couldn’t remember or even begin to understand.
* * *
BY THE TIME DR. LEVY arrived for his rounds, Meghan was more frustrated than ever. Physically, she felt fine. She’d even made progress in her mental status. She could answer impersonal questions without any trouble. She knew who the president was. She knew who’d penned “The Star-Spangled Banner.” She even knew that Austin was the capital of Texas.
She remembered everything that had happened since Dr. Levy had visited with her and Durk in the wee hours of the morning.
But she had zero memory of anything personal that had happened before this morning.
Dr. Levy examined her chart. “Everything looks good,” he said. “Your vital signs are stable. There’s been no new bleeding from the wounds we stapled. The nurse says you’re getting around on your own without any trouble. And there’s been no dizziness or nausea since this morning.”
Which left the real dilemma unspoken. “So why hasn’t my memory returned?”
“Sometimes that takes a little more time.”
“How long can retrograde amnesia last?”
“That depends on a number of factors. With the type of concussion you had, distant memories are usually recovered in hours or days. The events immediately preceding the concussion can sometimes take months to recover. It can be even longer if there are underlying emotional factors.”
“Can’t you give me something to speed up the recovery process?”
“I’m afraid there are no drugs for that, nor would I prescribe them if there were. Drugs would be far more likely to interfere with regaining your mental status and make your progress more difficult to assess.”
“So all I can do is sit around and wait for the memories to kick in.”
“That’s basically it for now. If we don’t see any progress with the long-term memory within a few days, we can bring in a psychiatrist to evaluate whether the extant emotional factors are playing a part in the amnesia.”
“Or maybe I can just send out an SOS for my attacker to come back again and give me a second chance to identify him.” She stood and paced the small room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m just so bewildered and frustrated with all of this.”
“I understand,” Dr Levy said. “But it’s too early for any kind of SOS yet. You have to give this some time.”
“Maybe getting out of the hospital and back to my normal surroundings would help.”
Dr. Levy nodded. “That’s an option.”
“Not in this case,” Durk said. “Your condo is still decorated with police tape and fingerprint dust. It will need a thorough cleaning before it’s livable again.”
“That eliminates that possibility,” Dr. Levy agreed. “Do you have a friend you can stay with?”
She shrugged. “How would I know?”
“You can stay with me in my condo,” Durk offered.
Sure, if living with temptation and a past lover was the answer to her problems. “That might be a little too cozy.”
“We could stay on the ranch,” he said. “There’s plenty of room and lots of chaperones if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Chaperones?”
“My family. My mother, my aunt, my grandmother, two brothers and their wives and children.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I’m ready to face that many strangers.”
Durk leaned against the end of her bed. “Right now everyone in the world is a stranger to you, Meghan. At the ranch, at least I’d know you were safe.”
“You will need someone around to watch out for you until your memory improves,” Dr. Levy said. “But we don’t have to make that decision tonight. I’d like you to stay in the hospital at least one more night. In the morning, I’ll either release you or move you out of the telemetry unit and into a regular private room.”
“I can go along with that,” she agreed.
“Good. Now we can move to the next issue. Detective Sam Smart from the Dallas Police Department has been waiting since last night to talk to you.”
“Did you tell him I can’t remember the attack?”
“I did, but he still wants to talk to you. I’ve put him off as long as I can.”
“Then send him in. In fact, I’d like to know more about the attack and where he stands in the investigation. If nothing else, he should have fingerprints.”
“Before she sees the detective, I’m going to need a minute alone with her,” Durk said.
The doctor nodded. “I thought you might. I’ll have the detective wait ten minutes before coming in. When he does, he’d like to see Meghan alone.”
That, Meghan didn’t like. “I’d prefer Durk stay with me.”
“The nurse will be right outside. You can ring her if there’s a problem or an emergency,” the doctor said.
“That won’t stop the detective from trying to intimidate her,” Durk protested. “If he starts harassing her, couldn’t that upset her enough to impede her recovery?”
“That’s a possibility. I can’t keep him from seeing you alone forever, but I can medically justify you not being questioned without someone you trust in the room for one more night.” The doctor lowered the chart and stepped closer to the bed. “Your call, Meghan.”
“I prefer Durk be here,” she said without hesitation.
There was no reason for her to dread being alone with the detective, but the thought of it set her nerves on edge.
“Then you can stay, Durk. And, Meghan, if the questioning becomes too stressful, ring for the nurse.”
Patricia sported a genuine smile. “Yes, and give me the pleasure of kicking him out. The man’s been bugging me all day.”
Dr. Levy made a few notes on her chart and left with the nurse at his heels.
She finger combed her hair, took a sip of water and turned back to Durk. “You’re down to nine minutes. What is it you wanted to tell me before the detective arrives?”
He squirmed and repositioned himself in his chair. “Does the name Ben Conroe sound familiar to you?”
“Ben.” She let the name roll off her tongue. “Ben Conroe.”
The name was vaguely familiar. That had to be a good sign. Perhaps she was on the verge of a memory breakthrough.
But when she looked at Durk, she was overcome with a pervasive fear that the worst was yet to come.
Chapter Seven
“Who is Ben Conroe?” Meghan asked, suddenly anxious to get this new revelation out in the open.
“He was your assistant.”
“Was?”
“Ben was murdered last night in your office, around the same time that you were attacked.”
She wrapped her fingers around the rungs of the bed rail, clutching them so tightly that pain shot up her arms. The nausea hit in waves, but this time she doubted it was related to the concussion.
Fighting back burning tear
s, she met Durk’s gaze. “Is this ever going to end?”
“Not until we know who’s behind the violence.”
She tried to make sense of the sickening circumstances. “The attack and the murder must be connected, probably carried out by the same depraved person.”
“I’m sure they’re connected, but unless the detective has evidence to the contrary, we can’t be certain how many perpetrators were involved.”
“But it’s entirely possible that the killer left my condo and went directly to my office, where he encountered and killed my employee,” she said.
“I’d say there’s a damn good chance it happened exactly like that,” Durk agreed.
“Ben Conroe.” Meghan repeated his name several times, as if the repetition would force memories of him to explode in her mind. When they didn’t, her spirits sank to rock bottom. “This is so frustrating. I feel a sickening sense of loss, as if I’m grieving for a friend. Yet I can’t remember him at all.”
“Maybe your mind is protecting you until your body has recovered enough to handle his death.”
“I don’t want to be protected, at least not like that.” Impulsively, she touched her fingertips to the swollen knot behind her temple and then to the bandages that covered her wounds. The man who did this to her was a killer. It was a miracle she was alive. Ben hadn’t been granted a miracle.
“How old was Ben?”
“I’m not sure,” Durk said. “In his late twenties, I’d guess.”
“Did you know him well?”
“No. I met him a couple of times when you and I were dating. We’d talk a few minutes when I picked you up at the office. That was the extent of it. But I know the two of you worked closely together and you spoke very highly of him.”
“Was he married?”
“Yes. His wife’s name is Mary Nell.”
And now she was a widow. “Do they have children?”
He hesitated and looked away—never a good sign. “Don’t even think about lying to protect me, Durk. I don’t want twisted half-truths that will only confuse me more.”
“Mary Nell is four months pregnant.”
“Oh, no. How horribly sad.” But something seemed odd. “How do you know so much about Ben’s wife?”