I gave him a skeptical look and took a sip of my now cold coffee. The letter lay open in my lap, challenging me to doubt its validity. I knew where Francis had gotten the information. Tony, his partner, was an MVPD officer and would have a direct line to the goings on at the station. Chewing on the inner edge of my bottom lip, I studied the letter and contemplated the offer.
This was what I’d busted my ass for by taking on a double major in university. Dual degrees in Physiotherapy and Nursing were not an undertaking for the faint of heart, or the lackadaisical student. Four years with my nose buried in books, a non-existent social life and all-nighters studying to ensure I kept my GPA at the top of the class. I’d done it, and graduated with honors, but the task had been a monumental one.
“What about my job here, and the clinic?” I glanced at Francis, searching his kind face for answers.
He patted my left knee, straightened and rose from his seat. “I think, if the numbers I saw on that letter are real, you won’t have to worry about working two jobs anymore. Not for the foreseeable future anyway.” Francis put his chair back around the break table with the others and turned toward the door. “Take some time and think about it. I’ll get Patty to cover you for fifteen, if you want. And Liv?” I looked up and he smiled. “You always have a job in the ICU if you want one. You’re an excellent nurse, and I’d be thrilled to have you back.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, looking down at the letter in my lap once more. The offer was generous, and provided more than what both my salaries combined brought in. I folded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope, tucking it into one of my scrub top pockets as I rose. Who was this man that he could afford to pay me that kind of money on a cop’s salary? And why, for that matter, did a police sergeant have estate managers? Not one. Plural.
I let the dozens of questions plaguing me scroll through my mind as I exited the break room and made my way to the nursing station. Patty and Jackie looked up, both wearing matching expressions on their faces. Amy watched me, the fingers of her right hand fiddling with the cross she wore around her neck—a gesture that I’d learned meant she was worried about something.
Francis handed me the tablet Lisa and I shared, a warm smile curving his lips. He winked and tilted his head toward Bay #1. I mouthed a quick thank you and made my way across the unit. The girls would have to wait a little longer for the answers to what was going on. At the moment, I wasn’t sure there were any to give.
The lights were off in the bay when I approached, and I took a moment to stand in the shadows, observing the man within. I’d only ever seen him with the ventilator taped to his face, and it had obscured his features. The inexplicable fascination with him over the two weeks Sergeant Lopez was in my care had urged me to look him up online. Resisting the impulse had been a test of my curiosity. Nonetheless, I resisted. Barely.
It hadn’t been difficult to tell that he was good looking; my artistic mind put together the details of his face with ease. But without the vent covering the lower half of his face? Wow. I hadn’t done him justice. Not even close. His jaw was strong, angular beneath sharp cheek bones and a mouth made for kissing.
“Shit,” I muttered and gave my head a shake. What in the seven hells was I doing? Ogling a patient was so not cool, totally against the rules, and very unlike me. I’d seen plenty of good looking clients at the clinic, and patients at the hospital. Mission Valley had its fare share of eye-candy, and yet, none had ever affected me the way Sergeant Lopez did since the moment I’d set eyes on him. Could I accept the offer burning a hole in my pocket? “Get a grip, Liv. This is your dream job. Don’t screw up your life just because it’s been a while since you last got laid.”
Eyes closed, I took a few calming breaths and turned my focus to the chart in my hands. A distracted nurse was no good to anyone, and my patients deserved to receive the best care that I could provide.
Chapter Five
John
The room was semi-dark when I opened my eyes again. There were no windows, which made it hard to determine the time of day, or how long I’d been asleep for this time around. Waking up for the first time had been disconcerting as hell. Strange people hovered around me, their concerned faces watching mine as I woke up.
My throat was raw, my ribs ached, and my head felt like it has been stuffed with rock which rubbed and rolled together anytime I tried to move. The world around me felt like I was surveying it through a fog and the unfamiliarity of the situation made the whole thing that much worse. As they began to speak, the doctors and nursing staff explained where I was and posed questions to test my memory.
“John, what is the last thing you remember?” Doctor Flaherty, or so I’d been informed.
“Waking up and having breakfast.” Me. Voice gravelly and totally not mine. Not the one I remembered, anyway. The nurse held up a cup, bendy straw tipped in my direction. I took a grateful sip and swished it around my mouth before swallowing.
“What was the date that morning?” Doctor, again.
“September 17th, 2015. Why?” My voice sounded better this time, if not tinged with a hint of confused concern. What in the hell was going on?
The nurse exchanged a look with the doctor and he responded with a nod. She put the cup down on the bedside tray and smiled down at me. “John, the date today is October 2nd, 2015. You don’t recall anything about the rest of the day after breakfast?” She tapped her fingers over the screen of her tablet, noting my responses, I assumed.
I shook my head and winced as the rocks masquerading as my brain shifted inside of my skull. “No. Again… why?”
They exchanged a look and a sick feeling lodged itself in the pit of my stomach. What wasn’t I remembering that caused their brows to furrow. The nurse, Lisa, bit her lip and cut a glance at Doctor Flaherty. He nodded, answering whatever silent question she’d posed, and returned his attention to me.
“Can you tell us what it is you do for a living, John?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but the words didn’t come. It was a question that should be easily answered, and yet, nothing came to mind when I thought about my chosen profession. The two waited patiently while I pondered and, much to my bafflement, came up blank. With each passing moment, the queasiness in my gut grew, a tight ball of ‘what the hell’ that stuck in my throat.
My panic must have shown enough to confirm what they suspected. Lisa placed a soft, gentle hand on my right calf and squeezed in what I’m sure was meant as a reassuring gesture, but only served to ratchet my anxiety up further. I drew my elbows in close, moving to push myself up into a sitting position, but Lisa swiftly moved her hand from my calf to the middle of my chest. She pushed, forcing me back down the few inches I’d gained, and flattened me once again. What the hell? I was six-four and a solid two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle. There was no way a little pixie of a woman like the nurse should have been able to lay me flat like she’d just done.
I frowned. How could I remember those details, but what I did for a living was a complete and utter mystery? It made no sense to the analytical portion of my mind. I blinked. Again. What. The. Hell?
Dr. Flaherty moved into my line of sight again, a frown etched deep into his features. “You need to calm down, John. You’ve been in a medically induced coma for the last two weeks. There was an explosion, and you were critically injured. Most of your injuries, and wounds have healed, but you still have a long road to recovery ahead. We need you to stay calm, and try to tell us what you do remember. Okay?”
What I remembered? Jesus. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath through my nose and let it out in a slow, controlled hiss through my lips. The technique felt natural, like something I did regularly without so much as a thought given to the action. Meditation breathing. But, why? Questions flew through my head, rapid-fire. The answers, as elusive as fireflies, weren’t forthcoming.
“I don’t know,” I muttered, and then repeated more clearly. “I don’t know what kind of work I did. Something that
requires me to know breathing techniques that calm and relax me. Something that requires an analytical mind, and a willingness to put myself in dangerous situations that could get me blown up. Otherwise, why would I be laying here with who knows what for injuries?” I closed my eyes for a moment, repeating the meditation breathing until the sharp spike of agitation settled to a dull roar. When I opened them again, Lisa and Dr. Flaherty were watching me warily. “There’s an obvious gap in my memory, okay? I can tell you my shoe size, the kind of beer I prefer, and even which side of the bed I sleep on. But anything related to my job is a complete and utter blank. Nada.”
Dr. Flaherty nodded and tapped away at the tablet he clutched in his left hand. I turned my attention inward again and tried to focus. Who I was and where I lived were easily accessed details. The same went for memories related to my family. Mother—Elizabeth Lopez—deceased since I was fourteen, a victim of ovarian cancer left undetected for too long. Father—Mauricio Lopez—also deceased, but passed peacefully in his sleep at the age of eighty-five. I could remember Mama’s voice as she sang to me when I was a child. Her beautiful soprano rose high and clear as a bell while we rocked in the porch swing on many an afternoon.
“Alright,” the doctor sighed and set aside his tablet. “I’ll be back in a bit to schedule some tests. In the interim, should you remember anything, please let one of the nurses know. Amnesia is not uncommon in people with injuries such as yours, but the selective nature of it is puzzling. For now, rest.”
I resisted the urge to nod and set off another rockslide inside my head. Instead, I gave a small wave of my hand to signal my understanding, closed my eyes and let myself sink back into the inky darkness of slumber.
Awake again, I surveyed the room from beneath my lashes. A shadow hovered near the door, and a soft mutter emanated from its general direction. I blinked to bring my eyes into focus and discovered that the shape belonged to a woman, another nurse based on the scrubs she wore. The tablet she held cast a sickly blue light across her features and made it difficult to discern the details of her.
She stiffened, her eyes flicking up to lock on me as she lowered the tablet. “You’re awake.”
“So it seems.” I coughed and shifted slightly. “Would it be possible to get a sip of water? My tongue feels like sandpaper.”
Her shoes squeaked against the linoleum as she approached—the cadence of her steps oddly familiar. She poured water into the cup on my bedside tray, the liquid burbling as it filled the plastic. Cellophane crackled, releasing the straw it encased, the sound like static in the silence of my hospital room.
“Here you go.” She held the cup and straw near enough to my face for me to turn a fraction and sip at the cool, soothing liquid. “Take small sips. Your stomach has been empty for a couple of weeks. Drinking too fast, or too much, could cause you some discomfort.”
I slowed my sipping, all the while watching her from beneath the cover of my lashes. The pale glow of the nightlight behind my bed limned her features with soft light, giving her an ethereal look. After a few more sips, she pulled the cup away and set it aside, but within reach should I want more.
“Thanks.” I smiled, tracking her with my eyes as she moved around my bed checking tubes and other things I knew nothing about. She kept her gaze averted, hyper-focused on the task of checking my IV bag levels and making a note of it on her tablet. For some reason, my pretty little nurse was nervous, and I determined to find out why. “I’m John, by the way. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”
As if realizing the error she’d made, the nurse straightened her spine and turned to face me. Her lips turned up in what I assumed she meant to be a warm smile, but looked more like a pained grimace. Curious. Very curious. “I’m so sorry. My name is Olivia, and I’m one of your nurses. You probably met Lisa earlier when you woke up.”
Careful not to yank at the IV tube protruding from my forearm, I offered her my right hand by way of greeting. “Nice to meet you, Olivia.” I gave her my best smile and wiggled my fingers, waiting for her to engage. “I promise that I won’t bite.” The urge to say ‘much’ sat on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back and made a mental note to examine that one a little bit later. There was something about her that made me want to push limits, and I couldn’t figure out why—yet another piece in the seemingly never-ending puzzle that I’d become.
Olivia hesitated for what felt like an eternity, leaving my hand hanging there in wait for her to shake it. The muscles began to tremble and I contemplated putting my arm down when she slid her delicate fingertips across my palm. Her small hand wrapped around mine and gave it a small squeeze.
The moment our palms connected, my heart lurched in my chest and my breath hitched. Monitors went wild, an alarm blasting from the screen hung to the left of my bed. Wide-eyed, Olivia released my hand as quickly as she’d taken it into hers. She spun on her heel, slapped a button and silenced the alarm.
“Are you okay?” She faced me, her brow etched with concern as she looked me over from head to toe. “What was that?”
I shook my head slightly, meeting her gaze with my own. “No idea. You felt it too?” She nodded, stepping back from the bedside, and I had the sudden urge to reach out, to soothe her like a skittish little kitten. I wanted to curl her up in my lap, rub my hand down her back and protect her. What the hell?
Another nurse rapped on the thick glass partition and the spell was broken. Olivia cleared her throat and faced her co-worker. “Everything’s okay, Jackie.” She gave the other woman a sardonic smile. “Apparently waking up to the sight of my face was more than Sergeant Lopez could handle. I gave him a bit of a scare.”
I absorbed that tidbit of information while the two chuckled over Olivia’s self-deprecating joke. Sergeant Lopez. Interesting. The list of professions with that type of ranking was short, and I began ticking through them to see if my memory would glom to any of them.
A vibration rattled against the bed frame and I turned my gaze back to Olivia. My lips curled up in a wide grin, and this time, I gave in to the extremely inappropriate impulse. “Is that a pager in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
Her spine went rigid, and her head turned to face the front of my room. I strained to see what she was looking at, but without being able to sit up on my own, found my efforts massively hampered. Her muttered “Damn it.” reached my ears and I frowned. What could be out there that would bother her enough to curse in front of a patient.
“It’s Decker,” she groaned at the other nurse. Olivia reached into her pocket as the pager went off again, and silenced it with a violent jab of her thumb on the button. Someone clearly didn’t like this Decker person. She tossed me a half-smile and let out a sigh, her shoulders slumped in resignation. “I’ll be right back. Hopefully, without Chief Decker on my heels.”
I watched her go, a line from Alice in Wonderland playing through my head. Curiouser and curiouser.
Chapter Six
John
Visitors flooded my room over the next week. Some brought photo albums; others brought video and other items to help jog my memory. None of it worked. I knew the people, recalled their faces, but anything related to my career, and hobbies remained a blank chasm. Friends and co-workers spent countless hours telling and re-telling stories about my life. I was a Sergeant with the Mission Valley Police Department, and specialized as a bomb technician. That, I’d come to find out, was how the explosion that wiped out my memory happened. Diffusing a second incendiary device hadn’t gone well. Not only had I been injured, but the man who’d been strapped to the bomb had perished as a result.
Doctors continued to check in and monitor my progress. Other than the trauma suffered by the shrapnel that had punctured my helmet, they could find no other reason to explain my amnesia. The damage hadn’t been to any of the areas known to affect memory storage, and they continued to be baffled by the inability to recall such a large aspect of my life.
By the fifth day, the
flow had slowed to a trickle and I was left to my own devices for longer stretches of time. Olivia checked in twice daily when she wasn’t on shift to put me through my paces and help rebuild my strength. For such a petite thing, she was quite the taskmaster. It was while I waited for her on the fifth day that I discovered the blank music sheets amidst the pile of things left by my visitors. I picked up a pen someone had left behind and, without giving it a second thought, began drawing symbols between the lines.
The melody of a song took form in my mind as I scratched across the page, filling staff after staff with notes. An hour, and half a dozen sheets later, I sat back to stare at my work. I’d learned to read sheet music at a young age when my mother insisted that I learn to play the piano. This, however, was written for the guitar and was a hard, chord-ripping song. As if from memory, the tips of my fingers tingled with the feeling of sliding over guitar strings, a pick clutched between my fingertips.
I looked over the pages, stopping at the last one as I noticed two words scrawled at the very end of the final staff—Sweet Surrender. My brow creased as I stared at the words. What did they mean, and why had I written them at the end of the song? I opened up the laptop someone had left for me and waited while it booted. Minutes later I had a browser window open and the words Sweet Surrender typed into the search bar. What came up in the results stunned me.
Videos, images, news articles and so many fan pages that it boggled the mind. I clicked on the first article, a blog post by a fan, which talked about a local band named Sweet Surrender and how a recent string of shows had been cancelled due to their lead singer’s sudden illness. No mention was made of what exactly had befallen the singer, other than it was mysterious and the band was keeping mum about it.
Sweet Surrender (Club Stratosphere Book 2) Page 3