by Regan Black
“We haven’t gotten that far.”
The detective halted in the cramped entry. “What do you mean?”
“From what she’s shared with me, it sounds like only a few pieces of that night have come back to her so far, and she doesn’t seem to trust them.”
“So I’m wasting my time here,” Werner grumbled.
“You know where the door is,” Carson said.
“Ease up there, Galahad.” Werner started up the steps. “I’ve made some progress just from her fear of hospitals,” he admitted when he reached the landing. The detective looked over her small home with a cool, assessing gaze, and Carson wondered how much he learned about the woman based on the address and the room.
She stepped out of the bedroom wearing faded jeans and a flowing top that left her shoulders bare and fluttered at her hips. The bold strokes of copper slashing through black reminded him of sunlight striking her dark hair. Although she tried to smile, it was tight at the edges, and her dark eyes remained cautious. “Hello, Detective. We were planning to meet you at the station.”
“This was quicker for me. Are you ready to cooperate, Miss Baxter?”
“Careful,” Carson murmured under his breath.
“I hope what I’ve pieced together will be helpful,” she replied, ignoring the barb.
Carson admired her cool reserve. The detective unbuttoned his suit coat, revealing the gun in his shoulder holster as he pulled around a ladder-back chair from the dining set and took a seat. Carson sat with Lissa on the love seat she’d covered with a blue-and-white gingham slipcover. As he expected, the detective made a note on the move.
We’re a team now, Carson thought, eyeing him. Deal with it.
“I’d like to speak with Miss Baxter alone.”
“No.”
“You’re not her doctor or her lawyer,” Werner said. “You can’t claim client privacy or privilege.”
“I’m the closest thing she has at the moment,” Carson shot back. “And I know she doesn’t have to cooperate with you. Weren’t you saying something to me about finding a lead at the hospital?”
“Really?” Lissa perked up.
“Not a lead, precisely. Your fear of hospitals in light of Noelle’s work made me curious. I’ve been taking a harder look at the people there, but she didn’t seem to have any enemies.”
“Noelle got along with everyone. She was gregarious, compassionate and a quick study. The emergency room is a perfect fit for her. Was,” Lissa corrected herself after a beat.
“Her coworkers claim you stopped by often.”
Lissa bobbed her chin slowly in agreement.
Werner leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So why were you so afraid to go back to a place you know well when you were hurt?”
“I don’t know. Did you ever find my purse?”
“Yes,” the detective answered without elaborating on where it had been found. “We have it stored with the other evidence gathered in the case. Your phone, cash and cards were all in there. You can come down and claim them at any time and double-check if anything is missing. Now let’s hear it.”
Lissa took a deep breath. “A man gave us trouble, hassled us as we walked from the hospital to the parking garage after Noelle’s shift. We’d planned a night out. A club and appetizers, maybe a movie. We hadn’t decided.”
Carson didn’t like the cloud of doubt on the detective’s face. He bit back the questions and interruptions only so she didn’t get hauled into the police station as a suspect.
“According to the hospital employees on duty with Noelle that night,” Detective Werner began, “she spoke to you during a break. She hadn’t finished her shift at all.”
Lissa’s eyes darted from the detective to Carson, and he saw the flare of panic in her deep brown eyes. “Maybe I’m confused and mixing up the timing with another night.” Her eyebrows drew together, and her teeth worked over her full lower lip, avoiding the healing split from the night she was attacked. “I clearly know who I am, and I remember my parents and details from my childhood, as well. I know where I work, how I got through college and how I was hired into my current position. Everything about the night Noelle died is still a bit blurry around the edges. I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh.” The detective braced his elbows on his knees, his pen tapping against the page in his notebook. “Just let me hear the rest.”
Carson gave a start when she reached for his hand. He let her hold on as she told the detective the fractured pieces she’d remembered.
Werner sighed and closed his notebook and sat up straight. “This isn’t much to go on and far less than I’d hoped for.”
“I’m aware,” Lissa agreed. “I’ll keep you informed as more details come back to me.”
At Werner’s snort of doubt, Carson leaped to her defense. “This is a good start,” he said. “And it’s a strong sign that she’ll recall more details with better clarity.” He hoped it wouldn’t mean more terrifying nightmares for her in the process. He turned to the detective. “How is it three men came after two women on the street and no one saw anything?”
“People saw Melissa,” Werner replied pointedly. “The rest seems to be up for debate.”
Her hand flexed in Carson’s. “You’re looking at me as a suspect?”
“No.” Werner shook his head, resignation stamped on his features. “It would have been easier if you’d been treated and had a definitive, official medical record of your memory trouble.”
“Grant and I can attest to her condition when she showed up at the club,” Carson offered.
Werner snorted again. “Stand down, Lane. I’m aware of the good Grant does for the community beyond the music. But a full workup could have been helpful, y’know?”
“They respected my fear of going back,” Lissa said. “The attack had to have happened there, rather than on the street as I’m recalling it.” She rubbed at her temples. “Where do I factor into your investigation?”
“Well, so far as we can tell, you didn’t kill her,” Werner said. “The injuries she sustained were delivered by someone bigger and far more brutal,” he added, with another glance around the cheery apartment. “That being said, I’d appreciate it if you stayed in town.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “And I will let you know as soon as I remember anything that makes sense.”
“How about you call when you remember anything? Let me make sense of it.” When she nodded an agreement he turned to Carson. “Get me a sketch if she recalls enough.”
“You have my word.”
The detective stood and buttoned his suit jacket, the gun discreet once more. “Walk me out?” he asked Carson.
They went downstairs in silence and stepped out on the porch and into the gentle spring warmth. “Look, anything at all she remembers,” he said. “I’m serious. I need to know.”
“You’ve made that crystal clear.” Carson folded his arms over his chest. “I’ll stay in touch with her. Check in occasionally.”
“How about closer than that?” Werner rocked back on his heels. “I don’t have anything definitive, but there are some nasty rumors under the rocks I’m turning over.”
“You just said—”
Werner’s gaze drifted past Carson, up and down the street. “She’s not a murder suspect, I can’t keep her under surveillance much longer and I don’t have enough right now to justify an official protective detail.”
“What are you asking me to do? I’m just a washed-out paramedic.”
Werner had the grace to wince. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Look, she trusts you. If you care about her, you need to stay close until I get a handle on this case.”
“Care?” Carson protested instantly. “I barely know her.”
“Exactly.” He aimed a finger at Carson. “It takes inn
ate compassion to do what we do. I’m not saying walk her down the aisle, man. I’m saying she might need someone to stick close, be a friend. Oh—” he reached into his suit jacket, on the side opposite the gun “—here’s the information for her friend’s funeral service. I’m sure Miss Baxter will want to say goodbye.”
Carson winced, knowing the detective was right on that point, at least. He’d also been around long enough to read between the lines. “You’re trying to get out of here without saying it, but Melissa is a target, isn’t she?”
“We both know only the lowest form of humanity is capable of something like this, Lane. I doubt the killer gives a damn about the nuances of amnesia or plans to give her time to remember anything we can use to catch him.”
“And that said, you still can’t offer her any protection?”
The detective rolled his shoulders. “I’m aware the facts suck. I joined the force to protect people. The minute I have enough to take action, I’ll take it.”
Carson knew by reputation and his connection to Grant that the detective was one of the good guys, but he was aggravated all the same. He went back inside, locked the door, and climbed the stairs to Lissa’s apartment.
This entire situation had spun out of control. He didn’t want to stay close to her, didn’t want to worry over a woman who was little more than a stranger. It wasn’t fair to either of them. If things went sideways, he wouldn’t be any good to her.
He could almost hear Sarah calling him a chicken and scolding him for being afraid of letting Lissa get too close.
He didn’t want anyone close, despite what he’d been thinking earlier about being friends with Lissa. She had a target on her back, and he was no bodyguard. He could not take the risk that he’d like her and have her torn out of his life. He wouldn’t survive losing another friend that way.
The only answer was to maintain a polite, professional distance, even while he kept an eye on her.
Chapter 5
Lissa heard Carson’s footfalls as he marched back up the stairs. He and the detective had definitely exchanged words outside. She didn’t want to be the source of trouble for him, and now that she knew who she was, knew how to take care of herself, Carson didn’t need to waste his time hovering over her anymore.
“Everything okay?” she asked as he stepped into the apartment.
“Yeah.” He rolled his shoulders and hooked his thumbs in his back pockets. “Werner can be a jerk. That’s all.”
“I’m sure it goes with the territory. Maybe we should try and do a sketch for him.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Are you confident in the description yet?”
“Not really,” she confessed. She tucked her hair behind her ears, wondering what to do next. “I thought having a starting point or reference could help.”
“The wrong description could throw off the entire investigation.”
He had a good point. “Thanks for taking me to the museum and staying for that interview.” She braced for the solitude that was coming, reminding herself that she’d always thrived on her quiet and alone time. “You probably have at least a dozen things to do. Thanks again for helping me.”
He took a step closer, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Are you kicking me out?”
“That’s not how I’d put it. I’m just—”
“How will you get to work tomorrow?”
Startled by the question, she frowned at him. “I’ll walk or take my bike.”
“No.”
She gaped at his no-room-to-argue reply. “Then I’ll call for a ride.”
He shook his head. “It’s easier if I take you.”
He didn’t seem too happy about it. In fact, his hard expression implied he’d rather pull out his own teeth than stick around. Had the detective lied to her about being a suspect? “Why don’t you tell me what suddenly crawled under your skin?”
He opened his mouth and slammed it shut. “Me. My problem.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean to take it out on you. Sorry.”
That wasn’t even close to the whole story. She folded her arms over her chest. “I’d rather have the truth than a half-assed apology.”
“I haven’t lied to you,” Carson insisted. “It wouldn’t do any good.”
And yet he didn’t elaborate. Exasperated with both of them, she went to the kitchen to see what she could throw together for lunch. It seemed as though Carson was staying even though his body language said he wanted to run and never look back.
“Hey,” she called over her shoulder as she studied the contents of her refrigerator. “Do you think amnesia recovery and hunger go together? I’ve been starving all day.”
“Your body craves fuel for the recovery process,” he answered after a long silence. “We can go hit one of the Sunday buffets if that sounds good.”
He’d come up right behind her. Definitely not much of a challenge in her small place, but his nearness put her on edge, had her hormones revving. “No, thanks.” That would feel too much like a date for her comfort. The last thing she needed was to let an ill-timed attraction spiral into a misplaced crush. “I’d prefer to cook. I hope burgers are okay.” Opening the freezer, she grabbed a package of hamburger patties she’d prepped and frozen. “And you haven’t seen the best feature of this apartment yet.”
He gave her another skeptical eyebrow arch and turned a slow circle. “I’ll take your word.”
“Good.” She pulled veggies out of the crisper and buns from the pantry. Setting everything on the limited counter space, she couldn’t stop the stab of envy she felt for his kitchen. “Can you at least confirm that whatever is bugging you doesn’t come down to the detective believing I really am a suspect?”
“You’re clear on the murder, but he’d love to crawl inside your head and see what you saw that night,” Carson answered.
“That makes it unanimous, I suppose.” When he offered to help with the meal, she gave him a knife and cutting board and set him to slicing tomatoes and onions while she prepped the rest of the picnic she was planning. “If I’m not a suspect, then I must be a target,” she said, watching him closely. “Why else would you feel obligated to stick around?”
He set the knife down carefully and turned to face her. “In a word, yes.”
The brief answer came out of him with such honesty and concern, she melted. Her parents hadn’t stared at her with such abject worry since she was a small child. Her fingertips tingled with a sudden desire to kiss him while yet another thank-you danced on her lips. How had she been so lucky to stumble into such a decent man when she’d needed help? “You can’t stand here and tell me you intend to protect me until the killer is in custody.”
“That exactly what I intend.”
“I’m flattered, but—”
“It’s got nothing to do with flattery.” She couldn’t be sure if that was attraction or frustration sparking in his gaze. “It’s the right thing to do. You don’t have family around and your best friend is d—gone,” he amended quickly.
“She’s dead,” Lissa said. “It’s okay to be blunt.”
“It’s also okay to be kind.”
He’d been exceptionally kind to her. Only a person with a special gift would take in a stranger in her condition. Just because she’d learned to depend on herself out of necessity didn’t negate how much she enjoyed being self-sufficient. But still, there were long, lonely pockets of time, even after she and Noelle had bonded, after she’d made friends at work. Loneliness gave her no right to trample all over Carson’s life. “You have a life, Carson, and I understand you have more important priorities than keeping tabs on me.”
“Not really.” He shrugged and turned back to the cutting board, snapping the strange sizzle arcing between them.
With a hard mental shake, she told herself she was relieved. The
re were more pressing matters to deal with than her undeniable fascination with him. “You must have substitute shifts coming up.”
“Nothing’s written in stone. I can find plenty to do on a construction site to match up with the hours you’re at the museum.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. He was a paramedic, not a jack-of-all-trades. She nearly said the words and stopped herself. It wasn’t her place to judge his choices. For all she knew, he was better at construction than he was as a paramedic. Maybe he even enjoyed it more. She had to remember she didn’t know him and he had no reason to trust her opinions or concerns.
Gathering the supplies they’d prepped and serving ware onto a big tray, she tipped her head to the fridge. “Grab a bottle of water for me and whatever you’d like to drink and follow me. You’ll love this.”
Balancing the loaded tray with one hand, she employed the skills gained during her years as a waitress and opened the narrow door that led up to the roof. Built as a fire escape, she basically had her own private balcony and container garden, though her neighbor on the second floor had easy access if he wanted to climb up the fire escape.
“Holy cow,” Carson said. “This is incredible.”
A breeze ruffled his gold-streaked brown hair, and she wished she could run her hands through it, feel the silk of it against her skin. She had to dial it down before she did something foolish. “Isn’t it?” She set the tray on the small table tucked against the wall of the house. “They don’t even charge me extra rent.”
“Wow.” A smile curled his mouth. “You’ve made the most of every inch of it.”
“Thanks. Usually it’s just me.” Noelle had been her only visitor up here. They’d shared coffee and sunrises after her marathon overnight shifts at the hospital or, more often, moonlight and wine and late-night conversations.
Lissa ignited the compact propane camping grill she’d set up on the open corner of the platform. “It won’t take long to cook these up,” she said, reaching for the plate of burger patties.
Carson seemed to have forgotten the food, thoroughly distracted by the view. “It’s like a secret tree house.”