Running on Empty

by Michelle Celmer

  “She’s a doll,” Darren said.

  Mitch shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Aw, hell.” Darren glanced from Ms. Doe, whose nose was once again buried in the mug book, to Mitch. “You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  Darren wasn’t buying it. On more than one occasion in the past ten years he’d claimed to know Mitch better than Mitch knew himself. And who knows, maybe he did. They’d gone through the academy together, rode shotgun for two years in uniform, and made detective within a few months of each other. Mitch had been the best man at Darren’s wedding, paced anxiously in the waiting room during the birth of his two daughters, Jessica and Lauren, and spent more Sundays than he could remember watching football in the Waites’ living room.

  In turn, Darren had set him up with just about every one of his wife Diane’s single friends. He’d held vigil with him those last few days when Mitch’s father had lost his battle with stomach cancer. He was the brother Mitch never had.

  “It’s not like that,” Darren mimicked. “That’s what you said before the Kim incident.”

  Mitch did his best not to shudder at the memory. That isolated lapse in judgment would haunt him the rest of his damn life. “This is different. I don’t even know who she is. We have reason to believe she’s married and has kids. You know I would never get involved with a married woman.”

  Again. The word hung between them unspoken, but there all the same.

  “I’m telling you, don’t get yourself mixed up with this one. She’s got trouble written all over her. She could be anyone. That guy who attacked her could be her pimp, or her bookie. She could be dealing drugs.”

  The suspect had seemed anxious to find something. Mitch tried to imagine Ms. Doe pushing drugs, or selling her body on a street corner. She looked more like a kindergarten teacher than a criminal.

  “She could be faking the amnesia,” Darren said. “Jerking you around.”

  “Yeah, I considered that. Every now and then she’ll say something and, I don’t know, it makes me wonder if she’s not just making it up. But then there are times when she seems genuinely scared and confused. You should have seen her expression when she looked in the mirror. Not to mention that she puked on me when she realized she didn’t know her own name.”

  In his pocket, his pager vibrated. He pulled it out and looked at the display. “It’s Lisa. She’s already paged me five times this morning. She probably left fifty messages on my voice mail.”

  “How’s your mom doing? She and Lisa kill each other yet?”

  “Not yet. Of course, I haven’t talked to her today.”

  “Well, I’m outta here. I figure I’ll get some stuff done around the house while Diane is gone.” He laid a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “Watch yourself with Jane Doe. I have a bad feeling about this one.”

  So did Mitch. But not bad enough to scare him off the case. He needed to know what possible connection they could have to each other. “As soon as we revisit the crime scene, I’m going to get her settled in a halfway house.”

  “Using the one on Lexington?” Darren asked, and Mitch nodded. “That place isn’t so bad. Besides, someone will probably report her missing when she doesn’t show up for work Monday, right?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.” But deep down, something told him he wouldn’t be getting off that easily.

  Undetected, he watched as she thumbed through the pages of the mug book. She was wasting her time. She wouldn’t find him in there. He was a master of the game, beyond detection or retribution. Minutes ago, she’d looked right at him, made eye contact even, and there wasn’t the slightest reaction.

  After leaving the store, he’d searched her house for hours last night, tearing through one room after another. He’d found nothing to tell him where she kept them. She was smart for a woman.

  But not smart enough.

  He did find something else. Something that might come in handy later when his possessions were safely returned. He’d found the perfect way to put her in her place, to show her who was in charge.

  The perfect conclusion to the game.

  Jane glanced over at Detective Thompson. He’d changed into jeans and a flannel shirt, and though the denim hugged his long, lean legs and the shirt accentuated those strong, sturdy shoulders, she would miss the hospital scrubs.

  He stood by the door, deep in conversation with the Arnold Palmer wanna-be. Though Arnold looked like he should be out on the fairway chasing golf balls, the ease and authority with which he carried himself in the station told her that he was another cop. They spoke quietly to one another, looking over at her every so often.

  For police detectives they weren’t terribly subtle in their exchange. She would have to be a complete moron not to realize she was the topic of conversation. Or maybe they just didn’t care if she knew. Maybe it was some kind of “good cop/bad cop” routine.

  She watched as Detective Thompson yawned and scratched his unshaven chin. He couldn’t have gotten much sleep last night, and like her, he looked as if he could use a long hot shower.

  Hmm. Now, there was an interesting visual: Detective Thompson in the shower…

  Shame on you, she scolded herself. You could be married. Yeah, to a wife-beater. Wouldn’t that be great. She just couldn’t believe she would let a man push her around that way. She had to believe that if what the doctors said was true and she’d suffered domestic abuse, she’d left the jerk a long time ago. If not, what reason did she have to get her memory back? What kind of life would she have to go back to?

  Her children—if they really existed. That was another thing that just didn’t feel right to her. What mother could forget her kids?

  Her stomach rumbled, and she looked over at the box of doughnuts Detective Thompson had set there. They just weren’t cutting it. Maybe she could talk him into springing for lunch before he dumped her. Until she figured out who she was, she was at the mercy of the Twin Oaks Police department. Having no money, no clothing that fit right—no identity—drove her nuts with frustration.

  She felt Detective Thompson’s presence beside her before he made a sound. The air crackled with energy whenever he was near, raising the hair on her arms. She looked up and was instantly caught in his liquid brown eyes. She sizzled like fire from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair and everywhere in between.

  He was definitely the good cop in this scenario.

  “Any luck?” he asked, pulling up a chair. He spun it around and straddled the seat, resting his arms on the back. He’d rolled his sleeves to the elbows, exposing muscular, sun-bronzed forearms. His hands were large, his fingers long and graceful-looking. She could just imagine what those hands could do to a woman. What they could do to her.

  Swallowing hard, she closed the book. “Sorry, nothing.”

  “Think you’re ready to go back to the scene?”

  Her stomach contracted with a sudden stab of fear. “I—I think so.”

  “If you’re scared, or you’re just not ready, we don’t have to go today.”

  Did he have to be so understanding, so…sweet? If he forced her, if he made her go, she wouldn’t have a choice. She would have to face her fear.

  She took a deep, fortifying breath. Forced or not, she needed to do this. The answers were locked away somewhere in her traumatized brain. Maybe that store would be the key.

  “I want to go,” she said, infusing her voice with confidence. “Does this little excursion possibly include lunch? If I have to face my demons, I probably shouldn’t do it on an empty stomach.”

  He gestured to the box beside her. “What, you don’t like doughnuts?”

  “I’m sure it’s a staple item for you, but I need something a little more substantial. Preferably something that mooed in a former life.”

  He flashed her an easy grin. He didn’t smile often, but when he did…wow. “I guess it’s safe to assume you’re not a vegetarian.”

  “I’m thinking
that I’m probably not.”

  “Any place in particular you’d like to go?”

  Good question. Did she have a favorite restaurant? Did she prefer fast food? Fine dining? Ethnic or American?

  She gave it some thought, her mind colliding with that infuriating brick wall. She shrugged, hating the words even before they left her mouth. “I guess I’ll have to trust your judgment.”

  Mitch watched with fascination as Ms. Doe popped the last bite of the double cheeseburger in her mouth. For someone so petite, she sure could put away the food.

  She gestured to his French fries. “You planning to finish those?”

  He slid his plate across the table.

  She squeezed out a glob of ketchup and dipped one in. “So what if I get to the store and don’t remember anything? What’s our next move?” She noticed his wary look and corrected herself. “I mean your next move. Can’t you run my picture on the news or in the paper? Maybe someone will recognize me.”

  “Not a good idea. Not until we figure who’s behind this. They could use the amnesia to get to you.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

  “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. Any official missing-person report wouldn’t be filed for at least forty-eight. Don’t give up hope. We could have you back with your family soon.”

  She frowned, shaking her head lightly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s this whole family thing. It just doesn’t feel right. I keep thinking I would know if I had children.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Stretch marks,” she said, pointing a ketchup-soaked fry in his direction. “If I had children, wouldn’t I have stretch marks? Because I checked every inch of my body when I was getting dressed and I couldn’t find any. My skin is practically flawless.”

  Every inch, huh? And all of it flawless. He’d been doing his best not to think about her in those terms, or imagine seeing all of that flawless skin firsthand—the parts he hadn’t already seen, that is. And here she had to go and bring it up, putting all sorts of improper thoughts into his head.

  “I know that probably sounds arrogant,” she added, “but it is very nice skin.”

  He nodded. “Hmm.”

  “I have a nice butt, too,” she said, popping the fry in her mouth. “Not spectacular, mind you, but I don’t feel so bad about you seeing it back in the hospital.”

  He nearly choked on his coffee. “I didn’t—”

  “Of course you did. My gown was hanging open, and you were standing behind me. How could you not look? If our roles had been reversed and it was your butt hanging out I would have looked.”

  He leaned back in the booth. “Is that so?”

  “Back at the station, when they were fingerprinting me, you bent over to pick up something and I looked at your butt then.”

  He stifled a grin. The woman was shameless. It was one of the things he liked most about her. And the thing that was probably going to get him into trouble. “Did you?”

  “It’s human nature to look.” She waved a hand in the air. “Hormones or pheromones or something.” She paused, her brow furrowing. “What was my point?”

  “Stretch marks?”

  “Exactly. So if I had ever been pregnant, I would have at least a few stretch marks. Therefore we can safely deduce that I don’t have children.”

  “What about adoption?”

  She popped the last fry in her mouth looking thoughtful. “Darn, I never thought of that. You know, you’re pretty good at this detective stuff.”

  “That’s what they tell me.” He took a long swallow of coffee then signaled the waitress for the check. His pager began to tremble and he pulled it from his pocket, cursing when he read the display. “We’d better get going.”

  “Pressing business?”

  He tossed change on the table for a tip. “You could say that.”

  He paid the bill and she followed him out to the unmarked, run-of-the-mill blue sedan they’d driven over from the station. As badly as she wanted this to be over, as much as she wanted her life back, the possibilities frightened her. Suppose she was married to a wife-beater, or someone even worse. Something too horrible to put into words.

  “You okay?” Detective Thompson was holding the door, waiting for her to get in.

  She plastered a smile on her face. “Fine.”

  She could tell he didn’t believe her. He touched her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Though she was sure the gesture was meant only to comfort, the weight of his hand made the skin beneath tingle.

  “We won’t do more than what you’re ready for,” he said.

  Could the guy be any nicer? He waited until she was in, then closed the door.

  “I don’t suppose I could talk you into loaning me the money for some new clothes,” she said when he climbed in the driver’s side. “I’m good for it…I think.”

  “Buckle up.” He waited until she fastened her seat belt then started the car and pulled out of the lot. “What’s wrong with the clothes you have on?”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  A grin flirted at the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure they’ll have something more suitable for you at the halfway house.”

  They drove along in silence for a minute, then Mitch reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “I’d like you to look at something. It’s a still shot from the security tape.”

  Tentatively, she took the photo. “So this is the man who attacked me?”

  “I know the picture quality is poor, but does he look familiar?”

  “No. Not at all.” She felt relieved and disappointed all at once. She handed the picture back. “Sorry.”

  He folded it up and shoved it into his pocket. “It was worth a shot.”

  He made a sharp right into a parking lot, and when she looked at the Save Mart sign looming above, her heart began to pound wildly in her chest. She gasped, clutching the edge of the seat.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  As quickly as the sensation had gripped her, it disappeared. “I don’t know. For a second there, I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest. I think I may have remembered something.”

  He pulled into a spot close to the door, threw the car into Park and turned to her. “Does the store look familiar?”

  She peered out the side window at the aging brick building. “Yes and no. When I look at it, I instinctively know what kind of store it is, but I can’t say that I’ve ever been here.”

  “So it does look familiar?”

  “Sort of, but…” She paused, searching for the words to explain. It was difficult to describe something she barely understood. “If you took me to a gas station I’d never been to before, I would still know it was a gas station. This store is familiar, but only in the sense that I know what type of store it is.”

  “Do you want to try going inside?”

  “We’re here. I may as well give it a shot.”

  She waited for him to walk around and open her door, delaying the inevitable for a few precious seconds. Not only was she afraid of what she may or may not discover about her past, but her time with Detective Thompson had nearly expired. If she didn’t get her memory back now, he would dump her at some halfway house. Then she would really be alone.

  She swallowed back the fear crawling up from her belly.

  Her door swung open and, steeling herself for what was to come—good or bad—she climbed out. The sun had disappeared behind a line of ominous dark clouds and a chilling dampness skittered the length of her spine. Was it some divine warning? Did she even believe in God? Was she Catholic, Jewish, Muslim?

  So many questions and still no answers.

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” Detective Thompson asked once again.

  “I’m sure,” she said, feeling anything but. Feeling instead as if she’d like to run in the opposite direction, back to the car. Or better yet, into Detective
Thompson’s arms. She was reasonably sure she would feel safe there. However, if she planned to get through this ordeal in one piece, she could rely on only one person.

  Herself. Wasn’t that the way it had always been?

  She stopped dead in her tracks, struggling to hold on to the thought, but it was already slipping away. That had been a memory, she was sure of it. But what did it mean?

  A car horn blared and a hand wrapped around her upper arm, yanking her out of the way. “Earth to Jane.”

  She looked up into Detective Thompson’s concerned face. Only then did she realize she’d stopped right in the middle of the lot, blocking traffic.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I…I think I remembered something. But it was more like a feeling than an actual memory.”

  “What did it feel like.”

  “I felt…alone.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  “Not yet.”

  If she saw a flash of guilt in his eyes, it was gone almost instantly. “Let’s go inside.”

  They stepped through the automatic door and she once again felt that sudden and brief surge of adrenaline.

  “I think I remember being here,” she said, excitement and hope erupting inside of her like a geyser. Maybe it would all start to come back now. Maybe this nightmare was almost over.

  Or maybe it was just beginning.

  Chapter 5

  “Is it familiar?” Detective Thompson asked.

  “I think so. I don’t even know how I know it,” Jane said. “I just…feel it.”

  “We’ll try retracing your path through the store. While we’re here, I’m going to pick up a few things.” He grabbed a cart and pointed it in the direction of the grocery department, swerving to avoid a pack of unruly teenagers and a shell-shocked mother with three rowdy children. Being a Saturday afternoon, the store was loud and bustling with activity.

  They started in the produce section where he extracted a crumpled list from his jacket pocket. She walked alongside him while he shopped, taking in her surroundings, willing herself to remember. It felt so close, like she could brush it with her fingertips, yet too far to get a grasp on. Every time she reached further, strained to touch it, it slipped further away from her. She was thinking so forcefully her head began to throb.