You Must Remember This

by Clara Wimberly

  She turned and hurried from the room. In the kitchen it took long moments before she managed to compose her- self enough to return to his room.

  She handed him a glass of water and some tablets.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Just painkiller. Nothing exotic…hospital- strength Tylenol. It’ll help you rest.”

  Hagan shook his head, taking the water, but ignoring the pills in Sarah’s hand.

  “I don’t need it. Something could happen. I might need to be alert and those would only dull my mind and my re- flexes.”

  Sarah sighed with exasperation. What kind of life did he have that he was so cautious…so concerned with being on guard every moment?

  “Have you already forgotten our agreement?” she re- minded him. “This will relax you and take the pain away. You probably have a concussion and I know your head must ache terribly. And whether you know it or not, you are aware of that pain even in your sleep, which means you won’t rest properly.” Her voice grew softer and more ca- joling. “Nothing’s going to happen. You’re safe here. So please…take it.”

  She almost laughed when he grimaced, then reached out to take the medicine. Still, she watched him carefully as he drank the water and swallowed the tablets. When she took the glass of water from him, she gently opened his fingers to make sure he hadn’t hidden the pills.

  “Why Miss Sarah,” he drawled, his eyes wide. “Don’t tell me you still don’t trust me.”

  “Should I?” she replied.

  Hagan chuckled and slid down into the bed. Then he reached toward her.

  The movement surprised her and she hesitated for a moment, staring at his outstretched hand.

  Finally, against her better judgment, she took his hand. His fingers were warm and strong and there was some- thing compelling about his look and his touch.

  “Sarah James,” he said, his voice soft.

  “What?”

  “Thank you,” he said, pulling her closer. “For saving my life. And for letting me stay. For trusting me enough to untie me. There’s nothing I hate worse than being tied down,” he added with a teasing smile.

  “Ah…see,” she said. “Something else you remember about yourself. Do you think you meant that figuratively, or literally?” she added.

  “Both, I think,” he said with a grin.

  Sarah nodded. She probably shouldn’t trust him. Every nerve in her body was warning her not to.

  In fact she was beginning to think that this man, who- ever he was, was the last man on earth she should trust.

  When he closed his eyes, Sarah went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She sat at her grandmother’s old kitchen table and traced patterns on the red checked oil- cloth the way she’d done when she was a girl.

  Her thoughts were about the man lying in her front bedroom. About the way he had been tied when she found him. Who was he and why had someone wanted him dead? He seemed confident that he would wake up and remem- ber everything and she hoped for his sake that it hap- pened. But she hadn’t the heart to tell him how unlikely it was. It would take time. And it might not ever happen at all.

  Sarah got up and walked to the counter to turn on a small radio. As she listened to the music and sipped her tea, her mind wandered. But when the announcement of the news came, she listened carefully.

  The man’s voice droned monotonously as he acknowl- edged the advertising sponsors, but Sarah noticed there was a decided note of interest in his tone when he began to tell what he described as the story of the hour. Nothing important ever happened in Wayland. And he made this sound important.

  “At dawn this morning, agents with the Georgia Bu- reau of Investigation raided a backwoods compound on the Satilla River. It has long been rumored that a cultlike group living there was involved in illegal activities from drugs to gun smuggling. The raid came after an apparent botched undercover operation last night during which a young female policewoman, Cynthia Harper, from At- lanta, was killed. Witnesses say she was pushed from a speeding van on Highway 82 just outside Wayland. Police have not confirmed the story and are releasing no other information, although sources tell us another undercover G.B.I. agent was believed still inside the van when it eluded law-enforcement officers. The Georgia Bureau of Investi- gation will not confirm or deny it, although there was a very intense search in the area last night, which was called off because of heavy rain that has flooded area streams. Officers are also on a manhunt for the occupants of the dark green van described by witnesses. Ware County Sheriff, Ben Metcalf, will have a statement about the case today at noon.”

  Sarah sank back in her chair. She’d been holding her breath and now, as the reality of what the announcer said sunk in, she felt stunned.

  Could the man in her house be the missing agent? Or was he perhaps one of the others…someone from the van?

  She glanced at her watch. It was ten o’clock. She’d make sure he was awake at noon so he could hear the report for himself. Maybe something about it would trigger a mem- ory for him.

  “My gosh,” she murmured. “This is unbelievable.”

  She glanced through the wide arched door of the kitchen and down the hallway, toward the room where the stranger lay. When the phone in the kitchen rang, Sarah almost jumped out of her skin and she picked it up quickly.

  “Sarah?”

  “Oh…Lacy,” Sarah said breathlessly.

  “I’ve been worried to death about you.”

  “Why?” Sarah said, suddenly alert and cautious.

  “You didn’t call me last night when you got home. You said you would…don’t you remember? The storm was terrible. I felt guilty that I’d coerced you into coming for dinner and you had to drive home in that.”

  “The phone was out,” Sarah said. At least that was the truth. “Actually I didn’t even know it was working again until just now.” She glanced down the hall, hoping the phone hadn’t wakened her patient. He needed rest more than anything.

  “I was just getting ready to drive out there and make sure you were all right.”

  “Oh, heavens,” Sarah said, her voice breathless with anxiety. “I’m glad you didn’t do that. There’s no need…I’m fine. What shift are you on today?” she asked, intending to change the subject.

  Sarah and Lacy had grown up together. They’d gone through nursing school together and ended up working at the same hospital.

  “Second.” There was an odd tone to Lacy’s voice. “I told you that last night.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right, you did.”

  “Sarah…is everything all right?”

  “Of course…everything’s fine.”

  Get it together Sarah, she warned herself. Lacy knows you better than anyone and if anyone is going to pick up on your mood and become suspicious, it will be her.

  “Really,” Sarah said. “I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night…because of the storm.” She frowned, hoping Lacy would believe her.

  “I know. Me, too. Comes from working at the hospi- tal, I guess. Seems like all the bad things happen on rainy nights. Early babies, domestic quarrels and car accidents. Did you hear about the woman they found outside town?” She skimmed right past Sarah’s murmur that she had. “It’s just horrible. Really scary. I spoke to Ruth in E.R. and she said the girl was young and very pretty. Ever- yone’s in an uproar over it because the news about her leaked out. Law enforcement’s blaming the hospital and the hospital’s gone into it’s defense mode. There’s even a rumor that the G.B.I. is investigating Sheriff Metcalf’s office because of a leak that messed up the undercover operation.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “That’s what I hear. Well, look, I have a million things to do. Mother wants me to take her to the bank. Are you sure you’re all right? I can still drive out later. I could bring lunch if you’d like and—”

  “No…no,” Sarah said. “You don’t have to do that. Besides, I think I’ll go back to bed for a while.”

  “Hey,” L
acy said, her voice slower and softer. “I’m re- ally glad you came to dinner last night. This is what it’s going to take, you know. A dinner here and there, a movie or two, and soon you’ll be ready to think about having your surgery and coming back to work.”

  “I hope so,” Sarah said.

  “Call me.” Lacy said as she hung up.

  Sarah walked out to the front porch. She closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of wild roses and the rain that still clung to the trees and shrubbery around the old house. She fed the cat and walked to the edge of the porch to make sure nothing of her truck could be seen through the closed garage doors that hung rather haphazardly on their old hinges.

  She should try to sleep, she knew that. But glancing out toward the road and beyond where she’d seen the van, she thought that would be impossible.

  She glanced at her watch and went to the kitchen to make soup for her patient. It would be time for the news- cast before she knew it and she wanted to make sure he ate before he heard everything.

  If he really was this missing agent, he was not going to like the news one bit. And if he was in that van, he prob- ably saw the female officer murdered. That in itself could explain his amnesia. It could be that he didn’t want to re- member.

  Later she tiptoed into his room with the tray of food, then hurried back to the kitchen to bring the old radio. After plugging it into the outlet, she walked to the bed and turned on a light. Her patient’s eyes were closed and he seemed to be breathing quietly.

  “You don’t have to tiptoe,” he said. The sudden sound of his deep voice in the quiet room caused her to jump. His lashes lifted and she found herself staring into those in- credible eyes.

  “I brought you some soup…and a radio. There’s go- ing to be a news conference in a few minutes about some- thing that happened last night. I thought you should hear it.”

  Hagan frowned and tired to push himself up in bed. He groaned slightly and winced.

  “Be careful,” Sarah began, her hand reaching toward him. “Don’t…”

  “I’m all right,” he snapped. “You don’t have to baby me. I’m not used to it.”

  Sarah’s lips tightened and she felt a flush cover her face.

  “You don’t have to feed me, either. Just stop hover- ing,” he said.

  She handed him a glass of ice tea and watched as he placed it against his forehead and closed his eyes. Ignor- ing any further protests, she placed the back of her hand against his face.

  He felt hot…too hot.

  “Wait…don’t drink that yet,” she said. “I need to take your temperature first.”

  “Forget it,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  Sarah couldn’t decide what made him so grumpy, ex- cept that what he said about being babied was probably true. With his male ego that was probably enough to make him irritable. Not to mention the fact that he was wounded and had a fever. No matter how detached he seemed to be, she knew he had to be feeling anxious about who he was. Sometimes with an amnesiac victim, their subconscious voice spoke volumes about who they were. She’d just have to be sure she listened carefully for any hints of what that inner voice might be telling him.

  Sarah took the glass of tea from his hand just as he started to drink it.

  “Look, if you don’t want to go the hospital, then I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” she said. “And that means you’re going to have to stick to our agreement and do ex- actly as I say if you want to get better.” She almost smiled at his look of disbelief. He obviously was not used to be- ing told what to do, either.

  “Well? You do want to get better, don’t you?”

  Her patient rolled his eyes and gave a loud huff of in- dignation, then he shrugged.

  “You’re enjoying this,” he muttered.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” she said.

  “All right…all right,” he grumbled. “Take the damn temperature.”

  Sarah frowned when she read the numbers.

  “A hundred and two,” she said quietly. “That’s not good.” She placed the tray cross his lap. “Can you man- age?” she asked automatically.

  She was very close to him and as she glanced at his face, she was looking directly into hiseyes. The frustration and spark of defiance was still burning as brightly as ever.

  “What a silly question,” she murmured as she straight- ened and stared at him. “Of course you can manage. You’re a big tough guy, aren’t you? And you don’t need anyone’s help.”

  Hagan’s eyebrow lifted slightly, but he ignored her as he began awkwardly spooning soup into his mouth. Sarah noticed that he hardly moved his head and she thought it must be hurting him badly. Not that he would ever admit it.

  Sarah rummaged in her nurse’s bag and brought two tablets to him.

  “More Tylenol,” she said. “It will help keep your fever down. But I have to tell you that you probably have an in- fection, which is very common with gunshot wounds—es- pecially if you happened to lay in or swallow the swamp water last night.” Sarah grimaced at the thought. “I can get some antibiotics but they might not be strong enough to get rid of it. You really should be getting them in an IV drip, especially since you lost so much blood,” she said almost to herself.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Hook me up.”

  “It’s not quite that easy,” she murmured. “I don’t just happen to have such material lying around here at the farm.”

  “Then this will have to do,” he said.

  Sarah shook her head helplessly. She could use differ- ent herbal teas from the garden, to strengthen his immune system and her grandmother’s liniment made from lobe- lia would be good for his bruises. Other than that there wasn’t much else she could do.

  He took the tablets, then glanced at a clock beside the bed. Impatiently he pushed the tray away from him.

  “You said there’s a news conference?”

  Sarah turned on the radio and sat in the rocking chair, well away from the bed. She felt like a voyeur as she watched him listening to the same news text she’d heard that morning. He frowned a time or two, but she could read nothing in his expression. When the announcer got to the part about the woman officer who’d been killed, Sarah saw him tense. He stared hard at the radio and this time he wasn’t able to disguise the pain in his eyes. His jaw tight- ened and released and when he turned to meet her gaze, she thought she’d never seen such fury, or such agony.

  “Did it mean anything to you?” she asked.

  He pushed his hand over his unshaven jaw and chin, closing his eyes with a sigh of exasperation.

  “I don’t know. No,” he said.

  “They said they think the other agent is missing,” she said, still watching his expression.

  “And you think that might be me,” he said with a soft grunt of doubt.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Last night when I was driving home I saw a dark green van coming toward me. It seemed to be stopped on the side of the road about a mile from the house here.”

  “That’s stretching it a bit,” he said. “I’m sure there are a lot of green vans around.”

  “I know…but you have to come from somewhere. There’s no car. Maybe you got away from them some- how. Maybe they shot at you as you ran through the brush and swamp water.”

  Hagan frowned as he recalled the vision he’d had ear- lier. The rain and wet brush slapping against him as he stumbled and fell, then pushed himself up and tried to run again.

  “And I heard something, too,” she continued. “Just before the van revved up and sped past me toward town. It could have been a gunshot.”

  Hagan shook his head and his eyes turned brooding and thoughtful.

  “What?” she asked. “What are you thinking?”

  “I know guns,” he said. His eyes stared straight ahead, blank and expressionless. “When I saw your shotgun in the hallway earlier, I realized that I know an awful lot about guns. Ruegers, Smith & Wessons…gun clips and single shot. Automatics and semis…” His v
oice trailed away in a puzzled monotone.

  “A G.B.I. agent would certainly know about guns,” she offered softly.

  He turned to look at her, his eyes searching and trou- bled.

  “So would a gunrunner. And he’d be much more likely to be wearing those clothes you showed me earlier.”

  Chapter 4

  Sarah couldn’t deny that what he was saying was true. But she still didn’t want to believe he was a criminal.

  Hagan’s expression softened slightly as he looked at Sarah and at the mysterious scar that troubled her so. Here was a woman who had her own problems. Yet she had taken him in, without thought for her own safety. She had treated him as tenderly as anyone could. Whatever he was involved in, now she was involved in it, too. That was the part that bothered him.

  Even now as he made the suggestion that he could be a criminal, she was looking at him with sympathy and un- derstanding.

  “Look,” he said, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful for all you’ve done. I’m not, believe me. It’s just that I’m so damn frustrated. Whoever I am, I don’t think I’m used to being on the sidelines, waiting for some- one to rescue me or take care of me.”

  “I’d say you’re right about that.”

  Just then the announcement that the sheriffs statement was imminent made both of them stop and glance toward the radio.

  “I wonder what he’ll say?” Sarah said. “A friend of mine called this morning and she said—”

  “A friend?” Hagan snapped, tensing. “Called you? What did you tell her?”

  “Don’t worry,” Sarah said, her voice turning wry and a bit sarcastic. “I didn’t tell her that I found a mysterious man on my porch after I got home last night. Or that I dragged him into the house where he’s lying in my grand- parent’s bed complaining because he’s been shot and can’t be up and about. Who’d ever believe such a wild story?”

  Hagan closed his eyes and shook his head. There was a little hint of a smile on his lips when he looked at her again.

  “Sorry. Second nature maybe…being cautious. Go ahead…tell me what your friend said about the sheriff.”