He seemed to pick up on her distress. “Relax. Try to let it come naturally.”
She felt like screaming and stamping her feet. She didn’t want to relax. She wanted this to be over with. She wanted to remember now. “I wish I could put into words how frustrating this is. It’s like hearing a melody in your head, and knowing there are words to go along with it, but you just can’t remember what they are.”
“When that happens to me, I try to think about something else, and usually the words come to me when I least expect it.”
There was a definite logic to that. Maybe she was trying too hard. She’d thought of nothing else since waking in the hospital that morning.
“So tell me about yourself, Detective.” At his curious glance, she added, “If we talk about you for a while, maybe I’ll stop thinking about me. Right?”
“Okay.” He tossed a bag of baby carrots in the cart. “What do you want to know?”
“What do you want to tell me?”
He shrugged. “Not much to tell, really. I’m not married. I live alone. I love my job. That’s about it.”
“Do you have family?”
“My mom and my sister.” He consulted the list and headed for a bin of broccoli.
“Are you close to them?”
“Since my dad died I’ve kind of taken over as the head of the family. When my mom had back surgery a few weeks ago, Lisa moved in with her. I do most of the running around.”
“That must put a damper on your social life.”
He barked out a rueful laugh. “What social life?”
“That doesn’t bother your girlfriend?”
“Might if I had one.”
No girlfriend? How could a man as sweet and attractive as Detective Thompson not have one? Unless girls weren’t his thing.
Jane gave him a sideways glance, watched him walk—the casual, sturdy swagger. She would bet her last dollar he was one hundred percent heterosexual male. The other obvious explanation would be a prior failed relationship.
“Ever been married?” she asked.
There was a slight pause before he said, “Almost.”
His total blank expression made her realize how hard he was trying not to look wounded.
Way to go, Jane. Any other painful past experiences you’d like to dredge up? Maybe a favorite family pet he’d had to euthanize? “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.”
“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. I’m married to my work now.”
“Sounds lonely.”
They fell silent. She walked beside him, watching in her peripheral vision as he dropped items in his cart. It didn’t escape her attention the appraising looks he attracted from women. Appraising being a major under-statement. Jaws dropped and tongues lolled. Not that she didn’t relate. He was ridiculously easy on the eyes.
The unshaven chin, slightly mussed hair and faded blue jeans gave him a roguish edge, like that irresistible bad boy mothers forbade their daughters to date, yet everything else about him screamed dependable and safe. It was probably the intense yet patient way he looked at a person, until they felt compelled to confess their most horrific sins.
Married to his work? It was a damn shame to waste all of that raw sex appeal.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said. “Thinking about your past?”
“Actually, no. I was thinking about sex appeal.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Dare I ask whose?”
“Yours.”
“I have sex appeal?”
She rolled her eyes. “You can’t tell me you don’t notice the way women look at you. On a scale of one to ten, you’re about an eleven on the studmuffin-ometer.”
“Studmuffin-ometer?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is this like the butt thing?”
“I’ll bet you had a lot of girlfriends in high school.”
He turned down the laundry aisle, choosing a box of powdered detergent and a bottle of fabric softener. “Why is that?”
“You look trustworthy. Women like a guy who makes them feel safe.”
She had his undivided attention now. He stopped walking and turned to her. “I’m safe?”
She propped her hands on her hips, giving him a thorough once-over. “I think it’s the big, brown puppy-dog eyes. And you have good manners. I’ll bet you always ask permission before you kiss a woman.”
He shook his head. “Are you always this brutally honest?”
“I don’t know. Does it bother you?”
“No.” He started down the aisle. “Truthfully, it’s refreshing for a change. Women usually play games.”
“Sounds like you’ve been hanging around with the wrong women.”
“Yeah, it’s a gift. I’m like a magnet.”
“Besides, what do I have to gain by playing games? I figure, if I’m totally honest with you, maybe you’ll show me the same courtesy.”
“You want total honesty?”
Something in his tone made the hair raise on her arms. “When you say it like that, I don’t know.”
He leaned down, until she felt his breath shift the hair next to her ear. “In the hospital, I did look.” With a wolfish grin he glanced meaningfully at her backside. “And you were wrong. It is spectacular.”
Oh, my. She’d never imagined him looking so…predatory. This was definitely a side of him she hadn’t expected.
“Ooookay,” she conceded, a flush warming her cheeks, “maybe you’re not quite as safe as I assumed.”
“No, I’m human. And human nature,” he said, “can be a damn fine thing.”
He stopped again, and she realized they were standing in front of the feminine products. He gazed up at the shelves, looking perplexed.
She peeked over at his list. “Ultra-absorbent, huh?”
“They’re not for me.”
She laughed. “Gosh, I hope not.”
“This is my sister’s list.” He looked at the list, then over at the shelf, shifting uncomfortably.
She selected a box and tossed it in the cart for him. “If I had a brother and he’d done something unspeakable to me, like you’ve obviously done to her, I would make him buy my tampons, too.”
He flattened a hand over his chest. “Who, me? The safe guy? The—hey, wait a minute, you just said if you had a brother. Does that mean you don’t?”
She clutched the side of the cart. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t.” That familiar burst of hope rushed to the surface, and just as swiftly fizzled away behind a cloud of uncertainty. If she did or didn’t have a brother—or a surgically removed Siamese twin for that matter—it was a mystery to her. How could she expect to remember siblings when she couldn’t remember her own children?
Tears of frustration stung her eyes. “I hate this.”
“Why don’t we try the aisle where I found you? Are you ready for that?”
She nodded and wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “I just want this to be over with.”
“According to the security cameras you went this way,” he said, leading her past the cosmetic department and through housewares. “You stopped to look at cooking utensils, but never put anything in your cart. Then you headed to the toys.”
She followed him through the toy department, waiting for recognition to set in, for a surge of memories to resurface. If nothing else, the blank space seemed to expand, swallowing up any sense of familiarity she’d felt before.
Mitch stopped at the end of the doll aisle, looking back at her. “You don’t remember.”
“Nothing so far. Where did you find me?”
“This is where I found you,” he said, pointing to the floor. “Right there.”
“Oh,” she said softly, defeat clear in her tone. She looked so lost standing there, Mitch had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her. She’d had such hope, but the secrets locked in her subconscious must have been buried deep.
“Hey, don’t worry. It’ll come back to you.” He tried to keep his voice reassuring, but he cou
ldn’t deny his own disappointment. If her memory had returned he would be taking her home. Now he had no choice but to drop her off at the halfway house, where nothing was likely to jar her memory. He was doing his job, yet he couldn’t dodge a knife of guilt. Maybe Darren had been right. Maybe he should have pawned this off on someone else. He was already too involved.
“Can we go now?” she asked, folding her arms around herself.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
She walked beside him to the registers, head bowed. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted all this time.”
“You didn’t waste anything. Investigating a crime means checking out every possible angle or lead. That can mean hitting a lot of dead ends. Eventually something will pan out.”
“I wish I shared your confidence.”
“You have to trust me,” he said.
“I don’t want to put that kind of trust in anyone. Right now, I don’t even trust myself.” A tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away. “Darn it. I don’t want to do this here.”
As they rounded the corner, he saw that every open checkout lane was lined three to four carts deep. It would take an eternity to get through. Jane stood behind him, her jaw clenched. She was teetering on the edge of an emotional meltdown, yet she didn’t implore him to leave or utter a word of complaint.
Christ, how did he get himself into this mess? He had two choices—neither of which he was all that thrilled about. He could make Jane tough it out and hope like hell she could hold it together. Or, he could get her out of there and risk Lisa’s wrath. God only knew what she’d make him buy next time. Either way, it boiled down to what he was more afraid of. An overwrought, overly emotional amnesiac on the verge of tears, or his sister.
He shoved the cart behind a rack of women’s clothing and cupped a hand under Jane’s elbow, leading her toward the door.
She stumbled, surprised by their sudden speed. “Wh-where are we going?”
“I’m getting you out of here.”
“But—” she glanced back over her shoulder “—what about your groceries?”
He guided her through the door and out into the parking lot. “I’ll come back later.”
Inky clouds hung threateningly low and thunder rumbled in the distance. The pavement was damp, the air chilled and heavy with the scent of rain. He walked her to the car and helped her inside.
“That was very sweet of you,” she said when he got in.
There it was again, that annoying word. “I am not sweet.” He started the car, switched on the wipers and cranked the heat up full blast. “Think like a man for a minute. If you were in a crowded store with a woman who was about to burst into tears, what would you have done?”
“Gotten the hell out as fast as I could?”
“Exactly.”
“In other words, your actions were purely selfish.”
When he looked over at her, she was grinning. “You don’t believe me?”
“I believe that you’d like to believe that. I also believe that you were being sweet. You’re a nice guy, Detective. Why can’t you just admit it?”
Mitch clutched the steering wheel, his jaw tense. “If you knew me, you’d feel differently.”
Any minute now.
Jane listened to the bed creak and groan as she shifted her weight, attempting in vain to avoid the springs jabbing her in the back. There was something about this place. Something disturbingly familiar, like the ghost of a long past memory. It wasn’t even the room itself she seemed to recognize, but the atmosphere. The essence of stale cigarette smoke and mold. The impersonal ambience that made a place feel cold and temporary.
She gazed up at the maze of cracks and craters that barely passed for a ceiling, guessing that it might have been white at one time, and praying it didn’t choose that particular moment for its inevitable collapse. What paint hadn’t peeled off had faded to a dingy, dirty gray and water damage warped three of the four corners. The fourth corner had dark splatter stains that might have been…well, she didn’t really want to know what they were. Just like she wouldn’t venture to guess the origin of similar stains she’d found on the sheets when she’d dared pull back the threadbare comforter.
Apparently the nicer halfway house—talk about an oxymoron—had no available space. Mitch had apologized for the dreary conditions, explaining that the city had limited funds and not enough crime to warrant building a new facility. Luxurious it wasn’t, but for the time being she was trapped here.
Very soon, that would change.
The director of the halfway house—a female physical equivalent of a sumo wrestler—had assured Detective Thompson she wouldn’t let Jane out of the house. Though getting past the woman might prove to be a challenge, outrunning her would be a piece of cake. Unfortunately, Jane didn’t want the police alerted to her self-imposed liberation. Her only hope was a stealthy escape.
They were bound to discover her absence eventually. Hopefully by then she’d be long gone. Her room was on the first floor and the window opened to the back alley. She would simply slide it open and hop down. She couldn’t see the harm in taking a walk around town, maybe give her memory a much needed nudge. If her attacker had no clue as to her whereabouts, as Detective Thompson had assured her, how could he possibly know where to look for her? She would be perfectly safe.
She rolled out of bed and pushed back the tattered, sun-faded curtains. The storm had blown over, leaving dreary skies and a bone-chilling dampness in its wake. She’d wait a few more minutes to be sure Detective Thompson was long gone. Checking the pocket of her jacket, she found the business card he’d given her.
“In case you need anything,” he’d said when he handed it to her.
Need anything? Ha! What she needed was to find out who she was. Still, it would be good to keep his number handy. If she ran into any trouble or, God forbid, got lost, she’d find a pay phone and call him collect—save him the trouble of looking for her later.
She glanced at the glowing red numbers on the digital clock next to the bed. He’d been gone twenty minutes. That should give her a pretty good head start. Dressed in the clothes the halfway house director had given her—clothes that actually fit—and with the hood of her jacket up, there was a good chance she could go unrecognized.
She rolled out of bed, locked the door to her room, then unfastened the latch on the window. With some effort she pried it up far enough to stick her head out. As far as she could see in either direction the alley was deserted. So far so good. But boy was it a long way down—six feet at least with nothing but asphalt to cushion her landing. One wrong move and she could bust an ankle or twist a knee.
Come on Jane, don’t be a chicken.
She’d come too far to back out now. Putting all her weight behind the effort, she pushed open the window. She stuck one foot out, then the other, until she was sitting, both legs dangling out the window. It was now or never.
One…two… she closed her eyes and shoved…three!
She hit the slippery asphalt at a slight angle. Both feet flew out from under her and she went down hard on her behind. Not exactly graceful in her execution, but nothing appeared to be broken. And better still, she was free.
Or was she?
She sensed a presence before she saw him emerge from the side of the building.
“Going somewhere?”
Chapter 6
“You scared me half to death!”
Jane looked cute sitting on the ground under the window, glaring up at him. Pissed off, but cute. And right now, Mitch wanted to tan her hide. He should have known she wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
He did know.
Mitch extended a hand to her. “Need a boost?”
He grabbed her hand, ignoring the softness of her skin, and the distinct urge to pull her straight into his arms and hold her—an urge he seemed to be feeling a lot lately—and hiked her to her feet.
“I thought you left,” she said, brushing dirt and gravel from the seat of
her jeans.
“That’s what you were supposed to think. Call it intuition, but I had a feeling you might try something.”
“I watched you drive away.”
“I parked around the block and walked back.”
She looked up at the window then back at him. “I don’t suppose you’d believe it if I said I accidentally fell out.”
“Don’t suppose I would.” He leaned against the building, folding his arms across his chest. “That was a stupid move. Short of posting an armed guard outside your window, I don’t suppose there was any chance of you staying put.”
She imitated his stance, adding a stubborn lift of her chin. “I’m thinking, no, probably not.”
She was going to mess around and get herself hurt. “I can’t stand guard under your window and investigate your case.”
“Then let me go. Pretend you never saw me jump out the window. It’ll be our little secret.”
“I can’t do that.”
She let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Then we’ve got a dilemma, because wherever you take me, I’m going to find a way to escape.”
Any amusement he’d been feeling was instantly replaced with an inexplicable urge to shake some sense into her. Her habit of constantly second-guessing him irritated and intrigued him all at once. “That would be a really bad idea.”
“So you keep telling me. But I’m not going to sit around doing nothing. It’s not like I’m under arrest. You can’t force me.”
“There’s been a new development.”
“Oh, yeah—what?”
“Someone claiming to be me called the hospital and was asking questions about you. About the amnesia.”
Her voice lost that just-try-and-mess-with-me edge. “You think it was the man who did this to me?”
“Whoever it was knew which hospital to call, he knew to use my name and he had information that could have only been obtained in the case file. There was something about the security tape that was bugging me. I finally figured out what it was. When the suspect searched you, he patted you down.”
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