“I didn’t forget. I’m just choosing to focus on the more…positive side of your comment. Look, it’s been a really long day. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
“Yeah, I think I will.”
He pulled the chair back over to the window and sat, watching the woman as her breathing slowed and she drifted off to sleep. His eyelids got heavier with each slowing rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. He was exhausted. Hungry. And he wanted a shower. It was possible she was faking, though, plotting to try to run again as soon as she thought she was alone. There was no way he was about to let that happen. And whoever had called the hospital wasn’t from the police department. His instincts told him it was more than likely the same person who attacked her, trying to figure out if she’d survived and if she’d talked. She needed protection, from her attacker and from herself.
He stood and paced the room, the limited information he had about her case running through his mind. Whoever had tried to kill the woman had to have known his way around the back roads. Known enough to at least assume that the service road was desolate enough to kill and bury someone without being seen.
A local?
If it was her abuser, would that mean she was a local as well? Gunderson was a small town, and James was certain he would have remembered her if she lived here. A beautiful woman like her would have been hard to forget.
“Are you going to pace like that all night?” Her comment invaded his thoughts, and he turned to see her raising the head of the bed to sit.
“Sorry. I thought you were asleep.”
She shrugged. “I can’t sleep.”
“Then how about we make good use of this time? Why don’t we talk about why you tried to leave?”
She frowned. “I already told you. I thought it would be best if I wasn’t here, where whoever tried to kill me could easily find me.”
“And you were going to go…?”
“Why are you asking me these questions again? I already told you. I don’t know where I was going to go. I was just going to…run.”
“Maybe you thought you could hide out at a friend’s house?”
“A friend’s house? I don’t know who I am; let alone who my friends are. That is, assuming I have any. If I’m such a liar, I may not.”
“I never said you were a liar.”
She let out a short laugh. “You didn’t have to. You’ve been implying it since you started questioning me. Do you seriously think if I remembered who I am and where I live, that I’d still be here, playing twenty questions with you?”
“My job is to find out who you are and who’s trying to hurt you. That means I have to be positive I have as much information as possible. Besides, you’re being treated for serious injuries. Leaving would be foolish.”
“Oh, so now I’m a liar and a fool?”
“I never said you were either of those things. How about you calm down and—”
“Calm down? You want me to calm down? I wake up in a hospital, no memory of how I got here. I don’t remember the accident. I don’t remember having surgery. I can’t remember where I live. I don’t even know my own name! I find out I’ve been abused, and someone is trying to kill me, but the hero cop doesn’t know who.” She sneered at him. “The hero cop that hit me with his car and is now accusing me of what? Faking amnesia?”
She reached up and quickly brushed a tear from her face. That had not gone as he had intended. He needed to find out if she really had amnesia, but he hadn’t meant to upset her. Worse, he probably would have to start completely over in the trust department.
He should have known that would be her response. If living with his grandfather’s Alzheimer’s over the past couple years had taught him anything, it was that losing one’s memory was painful and needed to be handled with compassion. He saw it every time he looked at her—the uneasiness in her eyes was just like his grandfather’s.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
She crossed her arms and looked away. “Just get out.”
“Look, I really am sorry, but I still have a job to do. I’m not leaving.”
“Whatever. Leave. Don’t leave. I don’t care. Just get out of my room.”
He grabbed the chair and pulled it toward the door. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”
She didn’t respond, just stared out the window.
* * *
The door closed behind him, and she tried to calm herself down. She knew he had a job to do, but still, he didn’t really think she was faking amnesia, did he? Why would she? If she knew who she was, she could be in familiar surroundings. Not here. Without anything or anyone familiar. Anyone except him.
She gazed out the window and tried focusing on the twinkling lights dotting the vast black sky. She closed her eyes and took a breath, wishing she were out there instead of tethered to machines in here. The blanket felt heavier and heavier on her legs, trapping her. The walls of the room seemed to close in around her. She pushed the blanket onto the floor and took a deep breath.
Focus on something else.
Sunshine. Birds. A babbling brook. Things she almost remembered. She closed her eyes and tried to hold onto the memories, but they slipped away like whispers in the wind, leaving only hints at something she used to know.
She tried again. Sunshine. Birds. Trees. Running. The attacker holding her by the throat. She opened her eyes and stared at the window again, her heart pounding. She wasn’t on ground level. Her attacker couldn’t get to her from outside. She looked at the door, imagining the man in the black ski mask charging through it. No, that wouldn’t happen. Not as long as the sheriff was out there. She heard the muffled sound of his voice talking from the hallway.
She couldn’t deny the fact that his presence gave her the feeling of security. He might be a jerk, but he was a good cop. Persistent, for sure. He would keep her safe, and he would find her attacker. She rested her head against the pillow and closed her eyes.
Chapter 3
Don’t open it! Her mind screamed the warning. Don’t open the door! Her hand reached for the handle anyways, shaking with fear. It squealed as she turned it, shouting a warning of its own.
She pushed the door open, releasing the gruesome smell of blood and death. A man lay dead on the floor, his blood-soaked shirt clinging to his body. The handle of a hunting knife stuck out of his back.
A figure came out of the shadows toward her.
Get out. Run!
She ran for the woods. For safety. Birds chirped to the melody of a nearby stream. The warmth of the sun bathed her face.
The light faded. A cloud? Suddenly the man in the black ski mask lunged from the trees and reached for her throat.
She woke with a start, her eyes flying open. The white walls of the hospital room glowed with various muted shades of pink and apricot. Morning. Her head pounded and made her eyes feel heavy.
She sat up and tried to shake off the haze of the dream. Or was it a dream? The smells and sounds of the forest seemed so familiar. Maybe because she had dreamed about them before? No, it was more than that, she was almost certain. She closed her eyes again and concentrated, trying to remember what it was about the woods she thought she knew.
The only memories she could grasp ahold of were of yesterday. Mostly her argument with the stubborn, yet handsome sheriff. She glanced around. He had stayed out of her room. The realization didn’t make her as happy as she thought it should have. She listened to see if she could hear anything from the hallway. Nothing. He had probably left the hospital as soon as he knew for sure she was sleeping. So much for hero cop.
“Figures.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, annoyed by the fact that she even cared whether he was there or not. It didn’t matter, anyway. She hadn’t remembered anything new, and she didn’t need his protection or his comfort. She might not remember much, but she knew she could manage just fine by herself.
Hopefully he would stay away. It would be easier for her to leave without him
breathing down her neck. And she was leaving today. She had to get away from here.
But where could she go? Maybe she could work at a hotel in exchange for a room. No, that wouldn’t work. Her broken ribs were going to keep her down for a while. A shelter? Yeah, maybe a battered women’s shelter. They wouldn’t ask questions about her injuries, and they would keep her hidden. That could work. She just had to go, get somewhere she could hide while she tried to figure out who she was and why someone wanted her dead.
A chill ran through her and she pulled the blanket up, then glanced at the door again.
She shook her head and sat a little taller, then looked around the room, trying to find some kind of clothes or maybe even a purse. Something that was hers. Something she could take with her when she left.
She didn’t want to leave the hospital in a gown and slippers, but if she had to…
There was a knock at the door, and Dr. West entered. “Good morning. How are you feeling today?”
“Better than yesterday.”
“Good.” He shined a light in her eyes, one at a time. “Your recovery seems to be coming along quite nicely. No signs of infection, and all of your stats look really good.”
“Then you don’t have a problem with me leaving.”
He turned off his flashlight and frowned. “That’s out of the question.”
“It can’t be, because I’m leaving.”
“Look, as your doctor, I have to do what I believe is in your best interest. That does not include discharging you not even a day post-surgery. Your numbers need to show twenty-four hours with no air leak, and I’ll require a clean chest x-ray before I’ll remove the chest tube. As of now, you meet neither of those criteria.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
“I can. You can’t remove the tube without possibly killing yourself, and you’re not leaving with it in.”
“But I can sign something, right? Something that—”
“Until you remember your legal name, you can’t sign anything. Now, you could pull that tube out and try to leave, but you’ll be back in surgery before you hit the front doors.” He took a breath and smiled a small, kind smile, then looked her in the eye. “Listen, I know this is difficult, but you need to trust me. I promise, I will do everything in my power to make sure you get out of here as soon as possible, alright?”
The sheriff walked into the room, his hair tousled, his blue shirt wrinkled. “How’re we doing today?”
“I was just explaining to my patient that she is going to be here for at least a few days, so she needs to forget the idea leaving.”
“Leaving?” The sheriff set two cups of coffee on the table near the bed. The five-o-clock shadow, along with his piercing blue eyes, made him look like one of those sexy GQ models. A sexy, but very tired GQ model.
He hadn’t left. He’d stayed outside her door all night. And he brought her coffee.
“She would like to leave today,” Dr. West said.
“I wouldn’t like to. I’m going to,” she insisted. She put her legs over the side of the bed and forced herself to stand. She had to prove she would be fine on her own.
She didn’t feel fine. She felt like she was going to pass out.
The sheriff grabbed her arm, his grip gentle, but firm, and leaned in close, his expression tight. “I thought we discussed this yesterday.”
“That was yesterday.” She shrugged and pulled her arm free of his grasp. “Today I feel better, and I’m leaving.”
“Everyone says they feel better while they’re on pain meds.” Dr. West dismissed her comment, then glanced from her to the sheriff and back again. “We need to go over some labs before I get to my other patients. Your blood work showed a substantial amount of Rohypnol in your system.”
“Rohypnol?” That didn’t sound good.
“It’s a powerful amnesiac and sedative.”
“Are you saying…I was drugged?”
“That seems to be the case.”
It seemed like the bad news just kept coming. Abused. Assaulted. Drugged. She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process the new revelation.
“If she was drugged,” the sheriff asked, “how did she manage to run in front of my vehicle?”
“In very rare cases, the drug acts as a stimulant,” Dr. West explained. “Once the initial sedation wore off, she would have gotten a boost of adrenaline, giving her the strength to run. Rohypnol can also cause short-term amnesia. That, combined with the concussion, is the likely cause of her memory loss.” He looked back at her. “Get some rest. As soon as your lung stays inflated and is no longer leaking air, I’ll order a chest x-ray. When it’s clear, we will discuss discharging you. Not before.”
Dr. West closed the door behind him as he left the room.
He wasn’t going to listen to her, but it didn’t matter. She was leaving, whether she had his permission or not.
“So, now that we know you were drugged, do you still think leaving is a good idea?” The persistent sheriff was not going to make this easy. She either needed to convince him to help her, or find a way to get rid of him.
“What difference does it make? Leaving is better than being a sitting duck. You keep pointing out the fact that someone tried to kill me. Don’t you think—if he decides to try again—I’m pretty easy to find here?”
He looked her in the eye, his gaze reassuring and unnerving all at once.
“I won’t let him hurt you again.”
“Then why don’t you leave and go find him?”
“Not until you promise to stay.”
She sighed, her inability to inhale a sharp reminder that she couldn’t deny reality anymore, no matter what the pain meds said. She had no choice but to put herself at the mercy of Dr. West and the hero cop. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
“No, you really don’t.”
She crossed her arms and looked away. “Fine.”
“Bailey?” The sheriff called out, and another officer came into the room.
Great. A babysitter.
“This is Officer Bailey,” the sheriff said. “He’s going to make sure you’re safe while I’m gone for a bit.”
“Ma’am,” Officer Bailey nodded. “Anything you need, I’m right outside that door.”
She sighed and rolled away from the sheriff and his babysitter. “Whatever.”
Chapter 4
“Good morning. Almond milk mocha, extra hot.” The sheriff set a coffee on her tray table and smiled, then held his drink up and rattled the ice. “I’m telling you, you should try it iced.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m missing out, I know. Four mornings in a row, though—I must be running up quite a…tab,” she answered, realizing what it meant as soon as she said it. A tab meant debt, and she didn’t need anything tying her to the sheriff, even if it was just a few bucks for coffee. Once she was released, she planned to go far away and never look back.
“Don’t worry about it. One of the perks of being a cop.” He narrowed his gaze and tipped his head, as if he heard her thoughts. “Something’s bothering you.”
That. That bothered her. The way he could read her, despite her efforts to keep him at arms-length. The way he blurred the line between cop and friend—surely for the purpose of gaining information—and the way she’d started falling for the whole act. It was an act…right? Even if it wasn’t, she couldn’t have friends. Stay hidden, stay alive. She didn’t know why she believed that, only that it was true.
“It’s been five days since the accident, and I still have no idea who I am or who attacked me. I’m frustrated, tired, and I just want to go—” The word caught in her throat. She closed her eyes to fight the tears she felt building. Crying wasn’t going to help anything.
“Home,” he said, his voice quiet and empathetic. “We’re going to figure out who you are and who attacked you. We’re going to get you home.”
“Maybe,” she forced the words past the lump in her throat, then stood and started peeling the tape from h
er IV site. “But I can’t stay here anymore…look, the longer I’m here, the more vulnerable I feel. I need to go.”
“Come on, stop,” the sheriff pleaded. He held her gaze and put his hand firmly over hers. “Let’s not do this again.”
“Again? This is the only thing I’ve wanted since I got here.”
“Just stop until I get a nurse, okay?”
It had to be a trick. He was going to get a nurse to restrain her, probably by drugging her. Her pulse jumped, her breathing quickened, her palms felt clammy.
He stepped back and raised his palms, his eyes pleading with her. “I’m not going to try to stop you. Just give me a few minutes to see if I can arrange something so you’re not out on the streets. Please.”
She needed him out of the room, and this was probably the best break she was going to get. “Okay, fine. I’ll wait.”
“I’ll be right back.” He raised his brows and pointed at her. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He backed out the door, maintaining eye contact until the door closed, leaving her alone.
Finally. She looked around, trying to find her clothes. There was a closet on the other side of the room. Maybe her clothes were in it. She peeled back the tape on her arm and slowly pulled IV line out, becoming queasy as a bead of blood formed at the site.
She grabbed a tissue and pressed it against the wound. She probably couldn’t take the chest tube out by herself, but at least it was more portable than the IV. She lifted the purse-sized unit from the side of her bed and walked to the closet, her steps unsteady. Sheets. A towel. More gowns. But nothing that looked like street clothes.
Maybe in the drawers? They were all locked except for one that was full of gauze, tape, swabs, and Band-Aids. She opened one and stuck it over the IV site. Handy, but where were her clothes? She didn’t remember what she’d been wearing, but she had punctured a lung, so maybe her shirt had been cut off.
Sheriff Warrick walked in alone, clothes in one hand, papers in the other. The door closed behind him.
Killer Secrets Page 3