Lost Identity

by Leona Karr

  Andrew tightened his arm around her waist and glared at O’Donnel. “She needs time to absorb the shock. Maybe tomorrow—”

  He shook his head. “No. In a situation like this, time is not a luxury. She’ll have to answer some questions for us tonight.”

  “She doesn’t have any answers,” Andrew flared. “Can’t you guys get it through your thick skulls that she can’t remember. That’s what amnesia is,” he added sarcastically.

  O’Donnel didn’t even blink at the implied insult. He just nodded. “Maybe something will jog Ms. Radcliffe’s memory. In any case, we’ll have to try and find some answers.”

  Andrew knew from his tone that there wasn’t any use arguing. He glanced at Trish’s glazed expression and cursed the insensitivity of the law. Their limousine was already waiting at the curb, so Andrew said, “All right,” and propelled Trish toward the limo. “What station?”

  “Why don’t I ride along with you and leave my car for my partner who will be bringing Mrs. Reynolds along?”

  The suggestion was more an order than a request, and the lieutenant’s polite tone didn’t fool Andrew one bit. If they turned down O’Donnel’s suggestion, he might have ordered Trish in the police cruiser and ended the argument right then and there.

  The three of them sat in silence for most of the trip back to Manhattan. If O’Donnel was impressed by the luxurious limousine, he didn’t show it. Most of the time, he sat with his hands folded on his generous middle, and let his gaze shift from Trish’s stunned expression to Andrew’s glaring frown.

  As they neared the police station, warmth began to flow back into Trish’s chilled body, and a blessed detachment from the horror of the moment was replaced by a sense of panic.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Andrew soothed as the hand he held suddenly began to tremble.

  She scarcely heard him. Her ears were filled with an inner tumult. You have to remember. You have to remember.

  At the station, O’Donnel quickly escorted them into a small interrogation room. Trish paid little attention to the surroundings. She heard Andrew protesting the manner of the interrogation, but O’Donnel referred to the situation as “a little chat.”

  “You can stay with her as long as you keep your mouth shut,” O’Donnel told Andrew in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Trish sat down in a wooden chair beside Andrew and struggled to maintain an inner equilibrium that was tilting like an off-balance gyroscope.

  O’Donnel began asking her the same kinds of questions that he’d asked before, and she gave the same answers.

  “When was the last time you saw Perry Reynolds?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Was he with you the day of the storm?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you kill him?” The question came at her with the swiftness of a dagger.

  Her breath caught. The floor seemed to waver beneath her chair as she whispered the same answer in choked horror, “I don’t remember.”

  “That’s it!” Andrew was on his feet. “You can do your badgering when she has legal counsel, and not before. We’re out of here.” He tried to urge Trish to her feet, but she just sat there, her eyes fixed on O’Donnel.

  “Why did you ask me that?”

  The detective hesitated. “Maybe your friend is right. We should save this until you have legal representation, Ms. Radcliffe.”

  “Please, I have to know. Tell me everything. What makes you think I could have…been responsible?”

  Andrew wanted to protest but her insistence was so compelling that he could only sit back down and capture her hand again in his. He knew that she was fighting to recover any tiny piece of herself, even if the truth threatened to destroy her. Being devoid of any past memories was already a dire sentence to endure.

  O’Donnel folded his hands on the table. “We found a woman’s purse in the cabin.”

  Her lips were stiff. “Mine?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you sure? I mean, women’s purses are all alike. It could belong to someone else,” she protested.

  “This one contains your wallet and identification. Would you like to see it?”

  She shook her head. Why bother? It wouldn’t be any more familiar than any of the other things that supposedly belonged to her.

  “Do you own a gun, Ms. Radcliffe?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll check for a registration, of course.”

  Andrew’s stomach took a sickening plunge. If Trish did own a registered gun and the bullet that killed Perry was of the same caliber, Lieutenant O’Donnel would have the evidence he needed. Andrew didn’t believe for one moment that Trish would kill anyone, but the circumstantial evidence mounting against her was frightening.

  “Trish, let’s get out of here.” Every moment they stayed could stiffen any charges they might want to make against her.

  “Maybe you should seek legal counsel before we talk again,” O’Donnel conceded, making no objection to Andrew’s rush to get Trish out of the room. “Stay close where we can reach you.”

  Andrew propelled her down the hall, and had just reached the front desk when Darlene came in, escorted by the other policemen who had been with O’Donnel earlier.

  When Darlene saw Trish, she screamed and jabbed her finger at her. “Why did you kill him? Wasn’t the money enough for you? He was going to end the whole thing. That was it, wasn’t it? You’d rather kill him than give him up.”

  Andrew maneuvered Trish past the nearly hysterical woman. Her vile accusations followed them out the door, filling the night air with her fury.

  Only Andrew’s support kept Trish moving down the steps to the waiting limousine. Before the driver could get out of the front seat and make it around the car, Andrew had the door open and was urging Trish inside. The chauffeur shot an anxious glance at Trish as she huddled in the back seat.

  “Where to, sir?” he asked Andrew as he prepared to shut the door after them.

  Andrew hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he should take Trish home or find some place where she could collect herself. He could tell that Trish was only holding on to her emotions by a force of will. Darlene’s verbal attack had added another dimension to O’Donnel’s accusing interrogation.

  “Let’s take a turn through the park while we decide,” Andrew told the driver.

  “No,” Trish objected forcibly. A trapped feeling sent panic racing through her. Suddenly the interior of the car was too confining. None of her nightmares had been as terrifying as the fears that were swelling up inside of her. She wanted to run and hide from everything and everyone. Undefined images whirled in her head, and she heard O’Donnel’s voice ricocheting from one side of her skull to the other, beating her with questions she couldn’t answer. She reached for the door handle. “Let me out!”

  Andrew pulled her back and barked at the driver. “Home.”

  Home…home…home. The word was like a foreign sound to her, having no meaning and no context. She had been told where she lived, where she belonged, but none of the beliefs were hers. She had accepted what everyone told her as the truth. Now two people were telling her that she had murdered someone. How could she defend herself when she wasn’t even sure that what they were saying was not the truth?

  Andrew circled his arms around her in a protective embrace. He could sense the wild beating of her heart as fear sent adrenaline racing through her. Without saying anything he tried to honor her feelings. This was not the time for spouting empty platitudes that everything was all right. Hell, things couldn’t be worse, he silently swore. He was ready to go to battle with someone, but who? The only thing he was sure about was that Trish had every right to be afraid for her own life.

  Letting her head rest against Andrew’s chest, Trish closed her eyes and swallowed back choked whimpers. The regular rhythm of his breathing was strangely reassuring and by the time the limousine pulled up in front of her building, her panic had slightly s
ubsided.

  Andrew’s admiration for her deepened when he saw her assume an air of composure as she nodded at the doorman and they entered the foyer. As they walked toward the elevators, he debated with himself whether he should insist on staying with her until Janelle got home. He was startled when Trish stopped short in the middle of the foyer, almost as if she’d run into an invisible wall.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  Without answering, she turned and walked right back outside. He was at her side in a second. “What is it?”

  She looked at him, clear-eyed and steady. “I want to go home with you.”

  After the emotional shock she had endured, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. He smiled in relief. “Sounds like a good idea. Do you want to pack a bag first?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t argue, but slipped his arm through hers as they walked to where he had parked his car. They could have been two people out for an early stroll, all dressed up for a dinner party. He glanced at her calm profile, and in some ways there was something about her stiff, controlled manner that was more disturbing than the panic she’d displayed in the limo. Was she retreating into some protective state where he might not be able to reach her? Maybe it would be a good idea to call Dr. Duboise in the morning. After what had just happened, the doctor might want him to bring her to Havengate for a special session.

  Trish sat close beside him as they drove to the cottage. He turned the radio to soft music, the kind they had danced to just a few hours earlier. Remembering the sensuous way they had moved together, and the inviting curves of her body nestled against his, he knew that having her stay the night with him was going to present some challenges. He had cared tenderly for her when she first came into his life, and his feelings for her had deepened and expanded. No telling how rough the road was that lay ahead, but any sacrifice would be worth it if he could keep her happily in his life.

  As they climbed the stairs to the deck, she said in a strained voice, “I think I’ll just stay out here a bit.”

  “All right.” He couldn’t even imagine what was going through her mind, but he accepted her need to be alone. “I’ll put on some coffee.”

  She could hear him moving around the house as she leaned against the railing and looked out at the rippling sheen of moonlight on the water. A rhythmic surf, ebbing and flowing against the beach below, lent a soothing touch to her jangled nerves. Somewhere a night bird made a soft piping cheep as if calling to a mate.

  The soft night sounds allowed Trish to withdraw to some protective corner of her mind where she could handle the devastating news that O’Donnel had laid on her. Perry Reynolds was dead. He’d died from a bullet to his head. Her purse had been found in the cabin with his body, and Lieutenant O’Donnel believed that she’d killed her business partner.

  This wasn’t happening, she told herself, struggling to deny the harsh reality enveloping her. She wanted to flee and hide herself away, but where could she go? There was no escape from the shackles of her lost memory.

  The only image that had broken through the blank curtain of her memory was the fleeting image of a gray-haired man whom they said was her business partner. Why? Why was he the one person she remembered. Was it because she already knew that Perry Reynolds was dead?

  Andrew had just finished making some fresh coffee when the phone rang. He picked up the receiver, and, for some reason, wasn’t surprised to hear Curtis’s angry voice.

  “Is Patricia there with you?”

  “Yes.” Andrew waited for the expected explosive response.

  “I want to speak with her.”

  “I’m sorry, she’s taking a little quiet time for herself right now.”

  “Do I have to drive all the way to your place tonight to see her?” he demanded in a haughty tone.

  “I wouldn’t advise it. It’s quite late to make that trip for nothing,” Andrew said evenly. “Trish has made it clear that at the moment she doesn’t want to see any of you.”

  “Don’t you realize that you’re jeopardizing a very perilous situation?” he snapped. “There are important decisions that have to be made. I should think that you’d be eager to help protect Patricia in this situation.”

  “I am. And that’s why you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to disturb her. Good night.” He hung up the phone with a punctuating bang.

  When Andrew went out on the deck, Trish resisted the temptation to forget about everything but being here with him. She turned around as he joined her at the railing, and in a soft voice pleaded, “You’re the only one I can trust, Andrew. Tell me what to believe.”

  He was taken back for a moment. How much of the confusion in his own mind should he share?

  “Please, be honest with me.”

  He took a deep breath. “All right, I can do that. First of all, you have to believe in yourself. Trust your gut feelings. Don’t let anyone dictate to you what you believe or don’t believe.”

  “How can I do that when I have to depend on other people to tell me who I am?”

  “That’s not true. Deep down, you know who you are. That’s what you need to trust.”

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  “Of course, you can. Despite the fact that your memory has failed you, you can’t be anybody else but you. You’re this lovely woman standing beside me right this moment. Complete. Whole.”

  Her lips trembled as she looked out upon the ocean that stretched into the dark rim of the horizon. “The only time I feel whole and complete is when I’m with you.”

  “That’s because I know without a doubt that you are the true victim in this situation.”

  She shivered as she pictured a small white boat rocking aimlessly with the current. “What do you think happened? Why did I end up here on this beach when I must have been with Perry on the boat during the storm?”

  “We don’t know, for sure, that you were there,” he said quickly, even though he had failed to come up with any other scenario in his own mind. She’d been terrified when he found her on the beach, and her hysterical amnesia must have had its basis in what had happened during the storm. If she had been on the boat with Perry, she might have made it to shore in the condition he found her.

  As if reading his mind, she said in a leaden tone. “Nothing else makes sense, does it? Do you think I killed him?”

  “Do you think you did?”

  “Don’t play Dr. Duboise with me,” she flared. “Always asking a question instead of answering mine.”

  “All right,” he chuckled, surprised and pleased at her sudden display of spunk. “No, I don’t think you shot Perry Reynolds. I doubt that you even know how to handle a gun. If I handed you one right now, you probably wouldn’t even know how to release the safety catch.”

  A spurt of hope shot through her, and then just as quickly died. “Maybe I did know how to use a gun once, but I’ve forgotten just like everything else.”

  “That’s not likely. Remember, Dr. Duboise explained that you could lose personal memories in hysterical amnesia without any functional knowledge being lost? You remembered how to drive a car, use a computer and a dozen other things like that. If you knew how to handle a gun once, you still would.”

  “O’Donnel would never believe I was telling the truth.”

  “Probably not, but you would know whether or not handling a gun is familiar. And that’s what’s important. You have to honor your feelings. Deep down you know what is true, and you’re going to have to hold on to that, Trish.” His voice softened as he added, “There’s one more thing.”

  “What is that?”

  “I don’t want you to trust anybody, except me.”

  “I don’t think that will be too difficult. Of course, I would like a little proof of your sincerity.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’ll think of something.” Impulsively, she leaned into him as her hands slipped up around his neck.

  The way she was searching his face, he knew that if he reje
cted the love she offered, all the words about his being there for her would count for nothing. Even though one kiss could open a flood of desire that neither of them would be able to close, he couldn’t turn away. She wanted him, and he wanted her, and at the moment all his reasons for holding back faded. Whatever the future or the past held, he was committed to loving her, and she needed to know that.

  He brushed a kiss to her forehead, and then lowered his lips to find hers. Trish trembled in his arms, matching the rising hunger of his desire as his hands slipped from her waist to draw her closer. There was no need for words as they delighted in the rising passion that crowded out every thought but the promised pleasure that awaited them.

  “Shall we go inside?” she asked breathlessly.

  “The coffee will get cold.”

  She gave a soft laugh as he led her inside to the bedroom that had been her refuge and comfort.

  As they lay together, all ugliness in the world faded away, and she marveled at the suspended bliss his kisses and touch created in her. His tender caresses and softly spoken endearments healed her spirit, and the incredible sensations of making love gave her back a confidence that she had nearly lost.

  As Andrew traced the lines and curves of her sweet naked loveliness, he was filled with the wonder of having found a woman who was totally without pretense. Every response she made to his touch was honest and in harmony with his needs. The explosive fulfillment of their desire was one that neither of them had experienced before.

  Content and satiated with love, they lay quietly in each other’s arms, and neither the past nor the future had any reality or any relevancy. They were lovers who had found each other, and for the moment they jealously clung to the reprieve that had been given them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Andrew awoke early, even before the first blush of gray light touched the ocean with the shiny patina of a new day. Trish was curled up beside him, and for a long moment, he lay still, savoring the warmth of her soft body. She was breathing quietly in a relaxed sleep. He wanted to kiss her and let his fingers trail through her soft hair, but he resisted. The night they’d spent together had held a promise for both of them, but he knew that once she awakened, all of the torment would come rushing back. Better let her sleep, he schooled himself.