by Traci Hall
Not a native to Florida…too bad, though she’d guessed that due to his lack of tan. “Married?”
Michael tilted his head to the side and checked his ring finger. “I don’t know. I don’t feel married.” He tapped his chest, then looked at his watch. He unbuckled the clasp and studied it, turning it over.
“Is there an inscription?” Maggie sat next to him on the bed to look for herself.
Surprised, he inched over to make room and showed her the other side. He read, “Mikey, so proud of you, Mark.”
“Told you that you would have people looking for you. Is Mark your husband?”
That got her a chuckle and a friendly shove. “No, my brother.”
“Your family did the “M” names too. Do you have any more siblings?”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Tell you what, let’s go to the shop and grab a sandwich. Or we have freezer stuff you can nuke in the microwave. Nothing fancy, but it will get you fed while we come up with a plan. You belong to somebody.” She smiled at him. How could he not? He was handsome, and he’d been kind, even in the worst of circumstances.
“It doesn’t feel right,” he said, his eyes turning dark chocolate in confusion. “I don’t remember what happened but other things are coming into view. I have a business, and an assistant, I think.” His voice deepened with frustration. “One time in college, I drank way too much, and I didn’t remember anything the next day. I’d been a total ass, and I promised myself I would never lose control like that again. I don’t.”
“Mistakes happen,” she said. It had taken her a few times to realize that tequila was not her friend.
He grabbed her hand, forcing her to look him in the eye. “I don’t think so.”
She tugged free. Maggie wasn’t frightened of him, but she wasn’t stupid either. What did she really know about this man? “Let’s go to the shop.”
Michael followed her from the bed, up the stairs to the deck. The sun was shining in a blue, blue sky, the breeze off the water chasing away the smell of fish. He blinked against the sun then cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”
She turned and smiled at him over her shoulder then hopped from the deck to the dock, holding her hand out for him. He made the leap without her help, his landing slightly wobbly but solo.
An independent man, used to doing things for himself. Wealthy, but not spoiled, she guessed. Growing up in this small town by the sea, she knew rich men who spent their leisure time popping beers and baiting hooks. She’d never fraternized with the Ft. Lauderdale ladies who lunched. Maggie stopped herself from asking him a million more questions that the poor guy probably didn’t have the answers to—she was the type of person who had so little patience that she’d skip to the end of the book before starting at the beginning again. She liked knowing what was coming.
Mindy was the exact opposite. Her baby sis never peeked at the presents under the Christmas tree, either.
Maggie opened the door and Michael stayed on her heels. The interior of the convenience store/gas pump/service station was about the size of your average 7 Eleven. They carried the requisite sunscreen, cheap shades and hats. A clear refrigerator-style cooler held drinks, heavy on the water. “Grab whatever you want,” she said. “Frozen dinners are to your left, or soup and crackers are in the pantry next to the lotion. I hope you aren’t too picky.”
Maggie turned to her sisters, who both stared at the computer screen streaming the news. “What’s up, guys? Hey, our stranger remembers his name.”
Madeleine, mouth tight, crossed her arms and pointed at the images. “Michael Livingston ring a bell? Billionaire software developer believed lost at sea.”
Michael dropped the candy bar he was holding to the concrete floor. The resounding smack made him jump and memories bombarded him. “Lost at sea?” That didn’t feel right, but how else to explain his washing up on the beach?
He shook his head, and Maggie quickly joined him, offering her touch to calm him down.
“This is good,” she said, assuring him. “Now we can alert the authorities and let them know you’re all right.”
He backed into the shelf behind him, teetering the stack of saltines. Emotionally bombarded with a warning, he didn’t know where to look or how to protect himself.
“You’re shaking, Michael. Sit!” Maggie pulled him to the stool he’d sat on earlier to eat his breakfast. He wasn’t dead. Had a bit of a headache. Considering the circumstances, he had a lot to be thankful for. So, why the caution?
Her sisters, both the same shade of blonde as Maggie, brought the computer to the long Formica counter so he could see.
“We were celebrating the joining of our two companies,” an older Asian man said from the computer screen via news camera. He looked familiar. “Having dinner with the board on the Diamond Girl.”
Michael’s stomach clenched. He didn’t recognize the white yacht in the harbor behind the man—Mr. Moriaki, according to the text below the picture. But the woman next to him, long shiny hair, big brown eyes, she—“Kayla!” he managed to pull from the depths of fog.
“You know her?” Maggie asked, her hand still on his shoulder.
“She’s my assistant.” He watched in disbelief as Kayla took another man’s hand in hers. Ryo Moriaki. His mouth tasted sour, and he tightened his hands into fists, his breaths coming rapidly. Salt water, darkness, bone-deep cold. The stars. He’d focused on the stars and remembered that the shore was west. His watch had a compass. Mark.
Maggie rubbed between Michael’s tense shoulder blades then turned to her sisters. “Mindy, can Neil come over during his lunch, maybe?”
Mindy picked up her cell phone. “I’ll ask. Should we get a hold of the police?”
“No cops,” he said, hearing the voice of his brother in his head. Why the hell not, Mark? I’m alive. Well.
“Why?” Maggie’s question was heavy with concern and lacked judgment.
Michael, feeling sick to his core, watched the computer screen as Kayla blinked tears into the camera. “It saddens me, that right after this joyful news, I’ve lost a man who was a great mentor in business.”
What joyous news was she talking about? The merger. He remembered standing on deck next to Kayla, and she earnestly saying, it is the perfect time to sell. The extravagant meal, Mr. Moriaki’s shrewd gaze. I don’t think I signed the paperwork. He didn’t know where this information was coming from, this fear, this warning to be cautious. “I did not want to sell my company. Micro Technologies.”
“They said the dinner was a celebration,” Madeleine pointed out. “Of the merger.”
“What do you remember, Michael?” Maggie kept her touch on his shoulder. “The yacht?”
“The details are muddy.” He lightly beat his fisted hand against his knee. Why wasn’t he able to recall the night?
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Ryo and Kayla, from Mr. Moriaki being interviewed on screen. Pieces of conversation came back, the lamb, the sauce, the champagne toast—he’d had two glasses. That’s all.
Right? Uncertain, he looked into Maggie’s eyes. Blue, with green striations, dark blonde lashes, freckles. A warm heart to match her warm touch. She was his anchor in a storm he hadn’t seen coming.
“I’m here,” she whispered, as if sensing he was on the edge.
“Thank you.” He covered her hand with his, despite Madeleine’s downturned mouth and obvious disapproval.
“We can’t keep a billionaire in our marina without alerting the authorities,” she said. “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you.” Madeleine met his eyes and looked away. “I am, but I have to look out for my sister.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say there was no danger, but he felt as if there was—to him. He had to stay “dead” and prove that he hadn’t wanted to sign. Who could help him, if his assistant wasn’t telling the truth? What did Kayla have to gain? He had to be mistaken. Maybe she hadn’t known?
“Madeleine,” Maggie said sharply. “It’s obvious that something is very upsetting to him. He can’t recollect what happened. People can block stuff out in a traumatic event. If he fell off the boat, then he’s lucky he didn’t drown.”
“Madeleine.” Mindy spoke in gentler tones. “Let’s not rush into anything.”
Madeleine pointed at the screen, at the concerned business magnates. “We know who Michael is, you found him on the beach! They claim he fell overboard. It seems pretty straight-forward.”
Mindy nodded her agreement.
“Mr. Moriaki is lying.” Michael sensed it and yet he had no proof. How to access his own mind when the night was a black hole?
Chapter Four
Maggie heard the resonance of truth in Michael’s tone as he proclaimed Mr. Moriaki a liar, but why would a successful businessman do something so bold? The easy answer: that was how they became successful. “Maybe he’s taking advantage of a bad situation. You fell, and were lost at sea, so they decided to change history to suit their own purpose. Tell the world that you signed the merger. Did your assistant know you didn’t want to sign?”
“I don’t think…I don’t think we talked about it.” Michael pounded his fist down on his knee again, his frustration tangible. “Damn it.”
She watched the news, listening closely, then she tapped the screen and the map of the South Florida coast. “Why are they looking for his body south of Miami?” she asked suddenly. “There’s no way you would have drifted this far north.”
Looking to her sisters, Maggie felt dread in her stomach. Mindy and Madeleine were forced to agree—they knew the pull of the tides like the backs of their collective hands.
“Not even caught in a rip current, which would have drowned him.” Mindy sighed and tapped her lower lip with her thumb nail, a nervous habit her baby sister had done, always. “Neil will be here soon. It will be good to have some answers.”
Maggie shared Michael’s concern that maybe things weren’t on the up and up. She turned to look him in the face. “You said that you remember not wanting to sign the merger?”
He nodded, but uncertainty flashed across his expression. His jaw hardened. “It feels that way, which is the best I can do.”
“What would they gain?” she asked.
“Money.” He shrugged, the soft gray t-shirt moving across his shoulders. “Billions. I had a software company in Utah,” he said, as if digging deep for personal information. “I started small and grew it—my brother was a shareholder.” He tapped the watch. “He bought me this as a thank you for making him rich.”
Sweet. “Do you remember why you didn’t want to sign?”
Michael stood and stuffed a single hand into his pocket. “No.” He stared at the neatly lined jars of peanut butter as if they might have answers. “I feel like we talked about it, like I wasn’t sure, and then I decided not to at the last minute?” He growled. “This sucks.”
Maggie’s heart went out to him. “Let’s just relax and get some lunch until Neil arrives, okay? Everybody just…chill.” She gave Madeleine the stink-eye. What did her sister have against Michael?
Reverse snobbery because he was rich?
Nah, they’d been raised that money did not make a person; it was the mettle of the individual that mattered. Her dad’s friends enjoyed the salt life, and that came without a price tag.
She’d never been in a situation where she couldn’t remember something, so she had no way of understanding what Michael was going through other than his obvious frustration. “I make a mean nuked lasagna, or would you prefer mac and cheese?”
Madeleine snorted. “Oh yeah, that should be right up his alley. God, Maggie, why don’t you open a can of tuna and tell him its sushi?”
Mindy elbowed Madeleine in surprise. “Hey! Why are you being so mean?”
“She’s looking at him like she can save him. Do I need to remind you about the baby birds every spring? They would die, and she would cry.”
“Helllo,” Maggie said, anger building in defense. “Not all of them died. And Michael is not a baby bird.” He was a very handsome man—who just so happened to be in trouble.
“He’s worse.” Madeleine crossed her arms.
“Should I take offense here?” Michael asked, pulling at the stubble beginning to show on his chin.
“No!” The three sisters answered in unison.
Maggie vented a frozen lasagna and popped it in the microwave for three minutes. “Michael, Madeleine is very over-protective.” She shook a fork at her sister. “Madeleine, what is it you’re worried about, exactly?”
“For one, what if his family sues us for not taking him directly to the police? Or the hospital?”
Maggie hadn’t considered that and glanced at Michael.
Another shadow crossed his face. “I have no family. They’re all dead.”
Even the brother who’d given him the watch? Glaring at Madeleine, Maggie said, “Let it go, Madeleine.”
“I’m sorry,” her sister told Michael. She knotted her loose hair into a bun at the back of her neck and stabbed it in place with a pen, looking like a strict librarian.
“I am not going to sue you. Your sister saved me.”
Madeleine arched a “told you so” brow to Mindy.
The microwave beeped, and Maggie pulled the cheesy pasta out and let it cool on the counter. “It might not be five-star,” she said, “but it’s food. Come sit, Michael. It will tide you over until Neil gets here, and we come up with a plan.”
Michael’s taste buds actually salivated as he inhaled oregano, basil, and parmesan cheese. He hadn’t been born rich so he knew all about economizing and getting full on a budget. Funny that he couldn’t ever forget that. He ran through his entire history until he tripped over some blank spaces and black-outs about the time he and Kayla had arrived in Miami from Utah, checked into their hotel and gone to the harbor for their fancy dinner and then nothing. His memory was a string of broken code.
When he’d finished the meal, he thanked Maggie and her sisters. “I’ve got my whole life back except for last night.” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “I am not a big drinker, but this feels like I’ve had one hell of a night. I believe I only had two glasses of champagne.” He touched his Rolex. The glow in the dark dial feature as well as the compass had given him a chance to find shore, he was sure of it. His brother’s voice in his head. Float. West.
“What are you going to do?” Maggie asked, staying at his side like a guardian angel.
Pulled from his reverie, Michael tossed the napkin into the plastic lasagna tray. “I don’t know, and I can only go on instinct—I feel like I need to hunker down.” He looked to Mindy. “If your boyfriend gives me the all-clear, and we know I’m not hallucinating, then I guess,” hell, he didn’t really know. Had he fallen overboard? Hit his head, maybe, on the way down? Where had his clothes gone to?
Maggie put her comforting hand on his back and lent him strength.
“The more I remember the more questions I have.” He exhaled, suddenly exhausted.
The marina shop door opened and in walked a guy who looked like he should be in Hawaii running a surf shack instead of wearing gray scrubs and clogs. Dark hair, dark eyes, wide smile. Olive skin. A clip-on plastic tag that read Neil.
“Is this the mystery man?” Neil asked Mindy, his palm outstretched to Michael. “Neil Caman, RN.”
“Not so mysterious after all,” Michael said as he shook hands in greeting. “I’m Michael Livingston.”
“No shit?” Neil grinned as if that was the best news all day. “I caught a clip at the hospital and wondered if it might be you that Maggie dragged from the sea.”
“I did not drag him from the sea.” Maggie practically sniffed with indignation. “He needed help, and I offered it.”
Neil settled a recyclable shopping bag on the counter next to the microwave. “I brought a few drug kits, if you don’t mind peeing in a cup or two. After talking to Mindy about what
happened it made me wonder—the confusion could be a concussion, but Maggie said you don’t have any scalp wounds.” Neil’s studious gaze scanned Michael’s face. “The one above your cheekbone there is a thin bone and bruises easily, no biggie. Your symptoms sound like a hangover, with the exception of the memory loss. These tests are shots in the dark. Okay?”
Michael nodded and swiveled on the stool so Neil could shine a penlight into his eyes.
Neil kept up the friendly chatter as he did a medical assessment. “No concussion—it looks like the girls took good care of you.”
“They have.”
Neil handed him three separate plastic bottles. “A little in each is all I need. Let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we? Rohypnol stays detectable for 72 hours, GHB only 12, and Ketamine, up to 48 hours.”
“Thanks.” Overwhelmed but trying to keep it together, he looked to Maggie. She’d stayed close during the examination. “Uh, should I take these back to the boat?”
Maggie pointed to a Guys and Gulls bathroom sign. “Go ahead.”
“How-”His voice caught, then he cleared his throat. He couldn’t even begin to think about the implications of being drugged. Who would do such a thing? “How long before we get the results?”
“Five minutes, bro. That’s all.”
At least it wasn’t a long wait. He went into the bathroom and did his business, following the directions on the cups. When he was through, he washed his hands and tried to force memories of last night into total recall. The effort was a bust. Nothing at all.
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Mindy shouted from the other side of the closed bathroom door.
Mindy was cute—but he liked Maggie best. Mindy’s eyes were more blue than green while Madeleine’s were more green. Maggie’s were the perfect blend of blue-green, but even in the dark he knew he’d be able to tell the sisters apart. Maggie’s coconut scent, her essence, had imprinted itself upon him when she’d said her name in his ear at the pier. When she’d saved him.
What must they think of him washed up on their beach? He opened the door and gestured to the time on his watch. “One more minute.”