In his weakened condition, he shouldn't have been intimidating. He leaned heavily on a pair of crutches. His complex ion was ashen; his lips were practically colorless. Obviously he was in tremendous pain.
There was nothing weak about his eyes, however. They glowered at her from their sunken sockets. Kendall felt her heart in her throat.
She gave a firm, negative shake of her head, trying to make him understand that she wouldn't utter a sound that would give them away. Gradually he lowered his hand.
The nurse on the telephone had continued her litany of complaints without a glitch. The other nurse at the desk hadn't raised her eyes from the novel she was reading. There was no indication that either of them was aware that one of their patients had left his bed.
He had dressed himself in a pair of green OR scrubs. The right pants leg had been ripped apart to accommodate his cast.
The tear was so ragged, it looked as though he'd chewed through the fabrics. Kendall wouldn't have put it past him.
He looked haggard, but his jaw was set with determination.
He would have gone to whatever extremes necessary to get out of bed and clothe himself.
Kendall signaled him to follow her back toward his room.
He eyed her mistrustfully, but he didn't stop her when she began to tiptoe down the hallway. As the doctor had said, he maneuvered quite well on crutches. Their rubber tips made virtually no sound as they struck the floor tiles.
Passing the room he had occupied, they continued toward the exit where the corridor came to a dead end. Red stenciled letters above the depression bar warned that this door was for emergency use only and that an alarm would sound if it was opened.
Kendall reached for the bar. In a motion too fluid and fast for a human eye to track, he raised his right crutch horizontally and placed it in front of her at chest level.
She frowned at him, mouthing, "It's okay. Trust me."
He pantomimed "No Say.
Arguing silently with hand motions and exaggerated facial expressions, she finally convinced him that nothing untoward would happen if she opened the door. He gave her a hard, threatening look, then lowered the crutch.
Kendall depressed the bars It came unlatched with a metallic click, without setting off an alarm. Leaning forward, she pushed the door open.
She paused to listen, but the only sound that greeted her was that of hard rainfall splashing into puddles in the sparse grass of the yard and on the cement walkway from the door to the street.
Kendall held the door open while he hobbled through. She didn't let go of the closing door until she heard the click indicating that it was once again securely latched.
Only then did she speak, but in a whisper. "You're going to get soaked."
"I won't melt."
"Why don't you wait here and"
"Not on your life."
"Do you really think I'd bolt and leave you behind?"
He shot her a retiring look. "Save it, okay? Let's go."
"All right then, this way."
"I know. The navy blue Cougar parked at the laundromat."
He struck off down the sidewalk, seeming impervious to the rain. Kendall held Kevin tightly against her and, making certain the receiving blanket covered his face, followed the man on crutches.
He was shaking from chills, pain, and weakness by the time they reached the Cougar. Kendall hurriedly unlocked the passenger door for him before running around to the driver's side. On a second trip to Wal-Mart she'd purchased an infant seat for the car. She secured Kevin in it now and replaced the damp flannel blanket with a dry one. The baby's mouth made a few sucking motions, but he didn't awaken. It was still a couple of hours before his next feeding. She had timed her getaway with his nursing schedule in mind.
She slid behind the steering wheel and fastened her seat belt, then inserted the key into the ignition. The car started instantly.
"You made a good buy. I saw you from the window of my hospital room," he explained when she looked at him inquisitively. "Who was the old codger in overalls? Friend of yours?"
"A stranger. I answered his classified ad."
"I thought it must be something like that. How'd you know the alarm wouldn't go off when you opened that exit door?"
"The maintenance man left through that door this morning.
[ tested it again later in the day. No alarm. I gambled on it not being on a timer or something."
"But you had a logical explanation in mind if an alarm had gone off, didn't you? Aren't you the lady who's always prepared for the worst to happen?"
"You don't have to get nasty."
"Why not? Why should I be polite to a woman who claims to be my wife but was skipping out on me."
"I wasn't leaving without you. I was on my way to your room when"
"Look," he interrupted, his voice sounding as dry and abrasive as sandpaper. "You were sneaking out in the middle of the night and had no intention of taking me with you. You know it. I know it." He paused. "My head hurts too much to argue about it, so just . . ."
He ran short of breath. His upper body sagged with the effort of making such a long speech. With a feeble hand gesture, he motioned that she should get under way.
"Are you cold?" she asked.
"No."
"You're sopping wet."
"But I'm not cold."
"Fine."
Stephensville didn't have much of a downtown commercial district, although there were a few businesses and one bank on the four corners of the main crossroads. All the buildings were dark except for the sheriff's office. To avoid driving past it, she turned a block before she needed to.
"Do you know where you're going?" he asked.
"Why don't you try to get some sleep?"
"Because I don't trust you. If I doze off, you might push me out at the next wide spot in the road."
"If I'd wanted you dead, I wouldn't have pulled you from the wreckage. I could have left you to die."
He lapsed into a sullen silence that lasted for several miles.
Kendall thought he'd taken her advice and gone to sleep, but when she turned to look at him, he was watching her with the intensity of a sniper who has his target in the crosshairs of his sight.
"You pulled me from the wreckage?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She snickered. "Well, it seemed the humane thing to do."
"Why would you save my life, then desert me in some hillbilly hospital to fend for myself when lam dispossessed of everything?"
"I wasn't going to desert you."
"That's a lie."
She sighed wearily. "After our conversation in your room tonight, I r ealized that you shared my lack of confidence in that doctor. So I thought it best to move you to another facility and get a second opinion.
"Rather than getting trapped in a mess of red tape and I really didn't want to hurt their feelings because they've been generous and kind to Kevin and me, I planned on sneaking you out."
"What if I'd been sedated?"
"All the better. You wouldn't have given me an argument."'
She glanced at him. "Didn't the nurse give you the injection after I left your room?"
"She tried. I insisted on a pill instead and then didn't swallow it. I like to be prepared, too. Gut instinct told me you might do something like this. If you did, I wanted to be awake."
Kendall glanced at the green cloth clinging wetly to his skin. "You stole the scrubs from the supply closet?"
"Better that than traipsing through the countryside bare assed. Are we on our way to South Carolina?"
"Tennessee, actually."
"Why the change in plans? What's in Tennessee?"
"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me, so why don't you just wait and see."
"What'd we do?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"We must be on the run. What crime did we commit?"
"What on earth gave you that idea?"
"It makes more sense than the c
rock of shit you've been feeding me."
"What part don't you believe?"
"None of it. Our being a married couple with a child, to start with. Your intention to take me along when you flew the coop. I don't believe a word of it. You're an adroit liar.
Don't deny it, and don't ask me how I know. I just know.
You make it up as you go along."
"That's not true."
Her protest was born of anxiety as much as affront. His gut instinct, which he seemed to trust completely, was keen. With the exception of her grandmother, no one had ever been able to see through her so clearly. Under different circumstances, she would admire such perception, but right now she knew it could prove lethal.
She needed to act the difficult part of loving wife without arousing his suspicions further. After all, this situation was temporary. Surely she could be convincing for a while longer.
They lapsed into silence. The only sounds inside the car were the hypnotic swish of the tires on the wet pavement and the rapid cadence of the windshield wipers.
Kendall envied Kevin his peaceful sleep, his freedom from responsibility. She would have given almost anything to rest, to close her eyes and let sleep claim her. But she couldn't even think of it yet. She wouldn't breathe easily until there was much more distance between them and Stephensville's inquisitive deputy sheriff.
Gathering her waning energy, she gripped the steering wheel tighter and accelerated to a lawful, safe, but mile consuming speed.
He felt like he was lost in a dark, endless tunnel with a locomotive bearing down on him. He couldn't see it, couldn't outrun it. All he could do was brace himself for the impact.
Dreading the inevitable was the worst part. He would just as soon collide with it and get it over with because the ceaseless roar in his head was trying to blast his eyeballs from his skull.
Every part of his body was uncomfortable. His limbs were cramped and stiff, but he knew even before he tried that he would be unable to stretch his aching muscles. His butt was numb from sitting so long in one position, and he'd have a stiff neck from sleeping with his head at an awkward angle.
His clothes were damp. He was hungry, and he had to pee.
Most important, though, he'd had the dream again.
Shackled inside the nightmare, he couldn't escape the baby's crying, which had seemed even clearer and nearer than usual and had nudged him out of deep sleep. Now his conscious mind was coaxing him to come completely awake, but he resisted. As badly as he hated that recurring dream, he almost preferred it to full consciousness.
Why?
Then he remembered.
He remembered that he couldn't remember.
He had amnesia, which must have been caused by some weakness within himself. Even that smart-ass with a stethoscope had picked up on that psychological quirk.
It made him frustrated and angry to think that he was responsible for his intolerable malady. Surely he could remember if he really tried.
He peered into the dark recesses of his mind, straining to see a flicker of light. Something. Anything. A clue. A hint.
An infinitesimal speck of information about himself.
But there was absolutely nothing. Not a glimmer. His life in before waking up in the hospital was as dense and absent of light as a black hole.
To escape the nagging questions to which he had no answers, he opened his eyes. It was day, but there was no sunlight.
Raindrops splashed against the windshield, then merged to form crooked rivulets that trickled down the glass.
His head was resting against the passenger window. The glass felt pleasantly cool. He dreaded moving, but did so, tentatively raising his head. The headache wasn't as bad as it had been yesterday, but it was still a prizewinner.
"Good morning."
He turned his head toward her voice.
What he saw scared the hell out of him.
Chapter 4
She was nursing the baby.
The seat was angled back as far as it would go. Her head lay against the headrest. Her hair hadn't been combed since the rain got to it the night before, so it had dried into a tangled, blond mess. There were dark crescents of fatigue beneath her eyes. She was disheveled, but her expression was one of such unadulterated contentment that she looked beautiful.
She repeated her good-morning. Trying desperately to keep his eyes averted, and Ailing, he mumbled a reply.
It wasn't as though she was flaunting herself. She had draped a baby blanket over her shoulder to cover her chest. No flesh was exposed. He saw nothing of the baby except movement beneath the blanket. But she was a study of maternal bliss.
Why should that cause him to break into a cold sweat?
What the hell was the matter with him?
He was nauseated. His heartbeat raced and he felt claustrophobic, as though his air passages had been stuffed with cotton and his next gasping breath might be his last.
Equally repelled and fascinated, he wanted to get as far away as he could from her and the child, as fast as he could, and yet he couldn't stop looking at them. The aura of peacefulness that surrounded hera peace he was dead certain he had never experienced was magnetic. The contentment so evident in her expression seemed foreign to him. He would naturally be drawn to it.
Or maybe, he thought with self-disguise, he was transfixed for a prurient reason. Which made him a perverted sicko with a thing for nursing mothers.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to bring tears. Maybe he hadn't survived the accident after all. Maybe he had died, and the hospital had been his purgatory, a waystation before being zoomed into the real thing.
Because surely this was hell.
"How do you feel?"
Before he could speak, he had to Swallow a mouthful of acrid saliva. "Take all the hangovers i'' history and multiply by ten."
"I'm sorry. I'd hoped we wouldn't wake you. You slept right through the diaper change."
"Speaking of which . . ."
"Over there."
Following the direction of her nod, he looked through the rain-streaked window. She had Stopped at a roadside park;
theirs was the only vehicle in sight. The picnic grounds were overgrown with weeds. Rust had eaten holes through the metal trash barrels, which were overflowing with soggy garbage. The entire area looked derelict.
"I'm afraid the facilities aren't very clean," she said. "At least the ladies' wasn't. I hated to use it, but I didn't have a choice."
"Neither do I." He reached for the door handle. "Will you still be here when I come out?"
She ignored the barb. "If you can wait until Kevin finishes, I'll give you a hand."
The baby's fist, poking out from beneath the blanket, had When he returned to the car, the baby was back in his infant seat. "There's a town about eleven miles ahead," she said as she started the engine. "I thought we'd stop there for coffee. Then we should make a call to the nearest neurologist."
The trip to the bathroom had sapped what little strength he had. "Coffee sounds great," he said, trying to hide his weakness from her. "But I'm not going to another doctor." Astonished, she looked at him with wide, gray eyes. Eyes the color of fog. A fog he could get lost in if he didn't keep his head. "There's no reason to go to another doctor," he said.
"Are you nuts? You're a disaster."
"I have a concussion. As long as I don't do anything strenuous for a few days, I'll be okay. Nothing but time will heal this busted leg. So why go to another doctor and pay good money to hear the same old line?"
"You're in constant pain. At the very least, you need a prescription painkiller."
"I'll take aspirin."
"What about the amnesia? You should consult with a specialist."
"And while I'm consulting with this specialist, you'll run out on me."
"I will not."
"Look, I don't know who you are or what your story is, but a grip on her blouse. The tiny fingers flexed and closed, flexe
d and closed. "Thanks anyway," he said gruffly. "I can make it by myself."
It was only a few yards from the car to the concrete block building. He used the stained urinal, then moved to the sink, where rusty water dripped from the faucet. He washed his hands. There was nothing with which to dry them, but it didn't matter. They'd only get wet again when he made his way back to the car. Nor was there a mirror, which was also just as well. He must look like the unlucky survivor of a long and terrible war. That's how he felt.
until I find out, I'm not letting you out of my sight. I'm not giving you another chance to abandon me." He pointed his chin at the steering wheel. "Let's go. I need that coffee."
The next town was a small farming community, practically a clone of Stephensville. She slowed down to the speed limit on the main drag.
"Pull in there," he said, pointing to a cafe tucked between a dry-goods store and the post office. Several pickups were parked at the crumbling curb, although the time on all the parking meters had expired. It appeared to be the place where locals gathered early for coffee and conversation, even on rainy Sunday mornings.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I'll get something we can take with us so you won't have to get out," she told him. "Keep an eye on the baby."
The baby. He shot an anxious glance at the backseat. Good.
The kid was asleep. As long as he continued to sleep, every thing would be fine.
But what if he didn't? What if he woke up and started crying? The very thought provoked an acute anxiety within, but he couldn't understand why.
He didn't breathe easily until she emerged from the cafe several minutes later, carrying two Styrofoam cups and a white paper sack. He removed the lid of the cup she handed him, and the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the interior of the car.
"Ah." He took a sip, grimaced, then looked at her in puzzlement. "Why didn't you sweeten it?"
She drew a quick breath; her lips remained parted but she was speechless. Her eyes stayed fixed on his, then after a moment she relaxed, frowned, and tilted her head with a shame-on-you expression. "Since when did you start using sweetener in your coffee?"
Without breaking the stare, he took another sip of the straight black coffee, which he somehow knew he preferred.
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