A hairbrush. A compact. Two lipsticks. Keys. And a wallet.
Not so much, considering this was the sum of her life. Turning the purse upright, she opened it wide, ran her fingers along the inside to check for a zip pocket but found only a smooth silk lining.
She pulled her hand out and felt an oily residue on her fingertips. Rubbing her thumb against the slick pads of her fingers, she examined the interior of the empty purse. An amber stain, a tad larger than her hand, discolored the lining.
Unable to identify the curious stain that smelled like bananas, she set the bag aside and wiped her fingers clean on a tissue. To put off the inevitable search of her wallet, she snapped open the compact and grimaced at her appearance. Taking care not to dislodge the bandage on her head, she ran the brush through her hair as best she could, powdered her nose and applied lipstick. The normal, everyday motions came naturally, and yet she could not ever recall having done them before.
With a sigh, she replaced the brush and cosmetics in her purse and stared at the wallet, whose soft leather matched her purse. The wallet enticed her like Pandora’s box with all its secrets and possible clues to her identity, to the kind of person she was. And like Pandora, once she explored the wallet’s contents, she could never go back. But what if the information threw her another bad curve?
She had to shake off her foolishness. What could possibly be in there that she didn’t want to see?
Gathering her courage, she checked the change purse, slots to hold credit cards, cash and a checkbook. She didn’t have a dollar, a penny, a check.
Her driver’s license was there with her address—a find. She’d just celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday last month. Although she didn’t recognize the street name, at least she belonged somewhere. Quickly she thumbed through miscellaneous cards; attorney, health insurance, car insurance, check-cashing cards from the grocery store.
A receipt for a gun.
She jerked and the paper fluttered from numb fingers. A weapon? Forcing herself to look, but unwilling to touch the paper as if it could contaminate her, she checked the date. She’d purchased it within the past three weeks.
Why?
Her body shook and fear invaded every pore. Instinctively she knew she hated guns. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.
Her accident might not have had anything to do with the gun. But she couldn’t ignore any possibilities. Had she simply fallen and banged her head?
If only she could remember.
As she rested against her pillow, her shoulders drooped with exhaustion. Her head ached from her effort to recall why she had needed a weapon. Was someone after her? Had she been threatened?
Or was she trying to make something dramatic out of a simple fall? She yawned, her thoughts unclear. She needed sleep.
The door of her room opened. “Ms. Connors?”
With effort she forced open gritty eyes. Dr. Kendall had returned with a short, hefty, blond-haired man in a too-tight uniform. The stranger sighed, as if he wished he could be anywhere but here.
“I’m Officer Russo, ma’am.” When she didn’t reply, his Adam’s apple bobbed in his thick neck. “The doc says you don’t remember a thing.”
“The doc’s right.” She wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. Her heart seemed to thump erratically, but the beep of the heart monitor said otherwise.
Attentive to her needs, Dr. Kendall poured a glass of water, inserted a straw, then held it while she sipped. “Better?”
His acute powers of perception made him a wonderful doctor. The cool liquid eased the dryness in her parched throat. She lay back, grateful for small comforts, and thought how good it was to have him take care of her. “Thanks.”
The officer bit the end of his pen. “We found you at the bottom of some steps. A neighbor’s dog stood over you, barking like hell. If the neighbor hadn’t called the dog off…”
She shivered. “The dog attacked me?”
“Actually the animal had yanked the stake he’d been chained to out of the ground to get to you. It seemed to be protecting you.”
“From what?” She cocked her head. “Did the neighbor see anything?”
“Nope. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
“I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help. Where was I found?”
The officer glanced down to his pad. “At 75 Parkwood Drive. That’s in Greybourne. By the way, your car is still parked there. We’ve been unable to determine if you slipped and fell or whether you were mugged.”
Chelsea’s eyes widened. “What was I doing there?”
“We don’t know. The neighbors were unable to identify you.”
Dr. Kendall’s blue eyes looked askance. “Who was she going to see? Who lived at that address?”
“The house is a rental property and currently vacant.”
“Maybe I was going to lease it,” Chelsea suggested.
Dr. Kendall nodded. “That would make sense.”
The officer put his pen in his front pocket with a sigh. “Ms. Connors lives in a much more expensive neighborhood. It’s unlikely she would move to this area.”
Chelsea shifted in the bed, drawing her knees toward her chest beneath the sheets. Speculation seemed useless, and the pounding in her head sharpened. “Well, maybe I was looking at the house for a friend.”
“Or meeting someone. Do you know what happened to your gun, miss?”
“I don’t even remember having a gun.”
“By the smell of it, that’s Hoppe’s Number Nine gun oil in the lining of your purse, and you’ve got a receipt for a weapon.”
Her head spun and she fought to concentrate on his words. “Was that a question?”
Dr. Kendall, an incredulous look on his face, turned to the officer. “What do you think she was doing with a gun?”
“Wait a minute,” Chelsea interrupted. “Are you insinuating I’m some kind of criminal?”
The police officer shook his head. “Lady, I can’t insinuate anything until you give me some answers.”
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all this.” Dr. Kendall shot the officer a warning look, and she couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or annoyed by his attempt to protect her.
On second thought, after a glance at the doctor’s dubious look, Chelsea reconsidered. Though the doctor sounded as if he were defending her, she suspected he had reservations but didn’t want his patient upset. In a deliberate and soothing tone, Dr. Kendall continued. “As soon as her memory returns, Ms. Connors will tell you more.”
Apparently realizing she couldn’t help with the missing details, the patrolman closed his pad with a snap. “You ought to report the missing gun.”
Frustration surged through her. “But I don’t know that it is missing. I don’t know if I had the gun with me or if that’s an old stain.”
“Is there reason to think that you didn’t simply fall and bump your head? Did you have a fight with your husband?”
Chelsea held up her ringless left hand. “I don’t think I’m married.”
“Perhaps you had a lovers’ quarrel?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.” She worked hard to keep a whine from her voice.
Dr. Kendall spoke thoughtfully, “It seems odd that she wouldn’t have any money at all, doesn’t it? Even her change purse was cleaned out.” The officer ignored her lack of funds. “If a crime is committed with your gun, your lack of memory is a convenient excuse.”
“Not for me.” She glared at the cop, decided it wasn’t worth the trouble and closed her eyes to signal the end of the interview.
“She’s obviously exhausted. And I think she’s told you all she can. Perhaps you’d better go.” Dr. Kendall straightened the sheet over her.
“Let me know if her memory returns.” The door closed behind the officer.
Despite the drowsiness that floated like fog in her head, something the officer had said pricked her awake. “He said if my memory returns. Is there a c
hance I’ll never remember?”
Dr. Kendall stepped to her side and gave her shoulder an encouraging pat. “It’s possible but highly unlikely. Usually memory returns within a day or two.”
He was keeping something from her. The room almost echoed with his unspoken qualifiers. “But?”
“It could be another day, a week or a month. I really can’t say.”
Beneath the covers, she dug her nails into her palms. “Why not?”
He checked the bandage on her head, gently lifting her hair from the injury. “Medicine is not an exact science. People heal at different rates. And there is still much we don’t know about the human brain. Think of your memories as files stored in your head. The files may open piecemeal, and then your memory would return in stages. Or you may wake up tomorrow morning with full access to every file and be back to normal.”
“Or the files could be permanently erased?”
“Oh, the files are there. It’s just a matter of when you’ll be able to read them.”
Finished with his examination, he replaced the bandage. She relaxed under his gentle touch and wondered if all his patients received such care. The nurses probably adored him. His female patients would feel better just by looking at him.
Dr. Kendall turned up his lips in a most attractive smile. “The good news is that the hospital will release you tomorrow. Your EEG and CAT scans show no abnormalities.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me there’s nothing wrong with my brain except that it’s lost a filing cabinet full of the last twenty-eight years of my life?”
He chuckled and his blue eyes danced. “Get some rest, Ms. Connors.”
She lay back on her pillow, wearied with the hurdles she faced. From where would she summon the strength to find her place in the world? With her entire life a blank page, without memories of family or friends or lovers, haunting loneliness gnawed a hollow inside her.
“Wait. Suppose my family is looking for me?”
“Usually the family shows up within the first twenty-four hours.”
She gasped. “How long have I been here?”
Dr. Kendall glanced at his watch. “Approximately thirty hours.”
More than a day. Fighting back tears, she clenched and unclenched her fingers. Calm down. Perhaps not enough time had elapsed for anyone to notice her absence. Although she’d been gone overnight, perhaps she spoke to her parents only once a month, so there was no reason for them to feel concern. Perhaps she had a roommate who was accustomed to her spending a few days with a lover.
Without one person from her past to recognize her, she felt adrift. If she had a husband, surely he would have come for her. Loneliness gnawed at her. The hollow ache inside mushroomed until it encompassed her in a giant gray cloud of desolation. She could die in this hospital and no one might ever know—or care.
So do something about it, a little voice in the back of her consciousness urged.
Despite the fatigue weighing down her limbs like lead, she remained alert enough to watch Dr. Kendall reaching to open her door on his way out.
“Doctor, could you please bring me a phone?”
He sighed. “You should rest.”
She’d pinned her chance of finding someone who knew her on a simple phone call and refused to back down now. “How can I, when I may have family wondering where I am? Let me make one phone call. Please.”
As if understanding how vital making a connection to her past was to her sanity, he yielded. With a quick nod, he left, returning within minutes with a phone. After setting it on the bedside table and plugging it into the jack, he retreated to the far side of the room, giving her some privacy, but clearly unwilling to leave her alone.
Did he know how difficult this call would be? Did he expect hysterics if she didn’t receive the answers she needed? If so, she vowed to disappoint him.
Unable to recall her phone number, Chelsea, with shaky hands, picked up the receiver and dialed directory assistance. Damn! Her number was unlisted. Now what?
A glance at the doctor revealed he wasn’t about to allow her much more time. He stood against the wall, arms folded across his chest, leaning impatiently forward.
“Operator, this is an emergency. Would you please connect me to someone at…” She flipped open her wallet and gave her address.
“Hold, please.”
Excited, Chelsea forced air into her lungs. She heard ringing. And ringing.
Someone please pick up the phone. Talk to me. Tell me what I’m like.
A recorder clicked on, and her taped voice greeted her. The operator disconnected after the first “Hello” and came back on the line. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no answer. Please try again later.”
Disappointment chilled Chelsea, raising goose bumps on her arms. She couldn’t control the shaking in her hands or the sudden chattering of her teeth. As she hung up the phone, discouraged, a tiny moan escaped her lips.
Could Dr. Kendall sense how close she was to screaming in frustration at her latest setback? If so, at least it kept him from abandoning her.
Within a moment, he neared her bed and took her cold hands into his large warm ones. She stiffened at his touch but then relaxed in the realization his gesture lacked sensuality. She squeezed his fingers like a frightened child seeking to connect to reality and banish an all-too-real nightmare. His caress was soothing. It felt so good to be touched, to allow his warmth to banish her chill.
She breathed in his male scent and took comfort in his strength. He remained still, holding her hands until the tightness left her shoulders and her breathing evened.
Minutes passed and the fearsome tension drained from her limbs. When she tipped her head back to thank him for his kindness and compassion, their gazes locked, igniting a different kind of tension.
He was just doing his job, she assured herself. No one could possibly be interested in a woman who couldn’t even remember her name.
When she calmed, he eased his hands away. “You should rest,” he stated in that voice she so adored, and she lay back on her pillow, willing to follow his suggestion.
At a sharp rap on the door, he turned, a small scowl flitting across his face at the disturbance.
A woman backed into the room, her wide hips clearing the doorway by mere inches. The newcomer was short, curly haired and in her middle fifties. Her booming voice matched her hefty size, no doubt waking patients throughout ICU.
The overweight woman turned and smiled at Chelsea, her wide skirt blocking some kind of wheeled cart behind her. “Well, here we are. Aren’t you pleased Ms. Kilcuddy has found you?”
Dr. Kendall stepped forward. “I think you have the wrong room.”
Chelsea studied the woman without recognition. As the kindly-faced woman approached, Chelsea’s apprehension increased accordingly. And she had no idea why.
The look in Ms. Kilcuddy’s expressive eyes changed from delight to puzzlement. “Isn’t this Chelsea Connors’s room?”
Excitement sent adrenaline surging through Chelsea. This must be someone she knew. This woman could help her, perhaps lead her to family or friends.
“I’m Chelsea.”
With difficulty, the woman turned around, bent and picked up a bundle and turned back to offer it to Chelsea. “My dear, this is your little boy.”
Chapter Two
A perfectly manicured forefinger and thumb picked an imperceptible speck of dust off a mahogany desktop. If the damned dog hadn’t pulled out the stake and come to Chelsea’s rescue, she wouldn’t still be breathing.
But mistakes could be rectified.
Finding Chelsea again hadn’t been easy. But a resourceful planner had ways of ferreting out information. At the first phone call, she’d been listed as Jane Doe. Persistence, another round of phone calls and a few lies to a nurse had won the day.
Chelsea Connors had all the luck, landing in cushy Maryland Memorial. The hospital had regulations, security and locked doors, but that wouldn’t keep out a d
etermined person.
Her diagnosis of amnesia had turned out to be a stroke of luck. That meant she couldn’t identify anyone, including her attacker.
But since she might regain her memory at any time, following through with the plan with all due haste had become a necessity. Chelsea Connors couldn’t hide or run from her fate.
She’d only prolonged the inevitable.
“MY BABY?” Chelsea stared at the infant, baffled by the squirming bundle. What kind of mother didn’t recognize her child?
The baby’s head looked perfectly round and disproportionately large for the short body and stubby legs. A cap of curly light brown hair framed large blue eyes, a button nose and plump pink cheeks.
Chelsea sat up in bed. “He’s mine?”
The hefty woman placed the baby in Chelsea’s arms. “Of course, dear.”
Naturally she didn’t remember a thing. But her memory wasn’t a priority right now, not with the cuddly infant in her arms. A scent of powder wafted up to her nostrils, and she hesitantly reached down to smooth the infant’s darling curls. So soft. So sweet. So helpless.
While she fumbled with the bundle and awkwardly caressed the child’s cheeks, Dr. Kendall frowned. “Ma’am, how did you get a baby into this hospital?”
Ms. Kilcuddy winked and smiled broadly. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” She handed Chelsea a file of papers. “This little tyke has been separated from his mother long enough.”
“I don’t understand,” Chelsea said, setting the file beside her unread.
The woman’s smile wavered, and she pointed to the file. “You went before the judge and signed the custody papers last week, dear. Surely you haven’t forgotten?”
“Chelsea was hit on the head,” Dr. Kendall explained. “Her memory has not yet returned.”
Ms. Kilcuddy’s smile faltered, and her eyes grew large with sympathy. “Oh, you poor thing. If there’s anything I can do, you just let me know. I’m sure you and Alex will do just fine together.”
Panic rose to choke Chelsea. Holding the wiggling baby didn’t feel natural. Alex couldn’t be hers. Surely she wouldn’t be so inept if she’d done this before. “You’re sure this is my child?”
A Baby to Love Page 2