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No fingerprints.
Definitely impossible…unless…unless he’d lied about the police not being able to find a match. But what reason would he have to lie?
Leah shook her head. No reason. To be fair, there could be another explanation. The police could have lied to him, just as they had lied to her.
Again though, why? What she needed were answers. But she didn’t have a clue as to how to get them or even where to begin. For all she knew, Hunter could have lied about everything from the very beginning. About being a cop. About his medical leave.
“No!” she muttered with a determined shake of her head, denying the possibility of such a thing. There had to be something else, some other reason for all that had happened.
Suddenly, Leah grew stone still, the spatula in her hand poised just above the skillet. She couldn’t explain it, but without looking, she knew the exact moment Hunter entered the kitchen.
She cleared her throat, mostly to swallow the lump that had formed in it. “You timed that just about right,” she said, scooping the egg from the skillet and sliding it onto a plate next to the first one she’d cooked.
Only then did she glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, he was standing just inside the doorway.
He’d shaved, she noted. The clothes she’d given him didn’t fit quite as well as they had the last time she’d seen him wear them. He’d lost weight, just enough so that the jeans no longer hugged him like a second skin, and the knit shirt was loose instead of molded to his body.
Leah frowned. Though he’d combed his hair, it was still damp from the shower. She should have thought to tell him where she kept the hair dryer.
The sight of Hunter standing there with wet hair reminded her of the first time she’d seen him, and like an old-time movie reel, a kaleidoscope of images played through her mind.
It had been the end of February, the week before Mardi Gras Day, and she’d worked a night shift at the hospital. Though it wasn’t something she normally did, after she left the hospital, she’d let her friend, Christine, persuade her to meet a couple of their co-workers at Café Du Monde in the Quarter for coffee and beignets. Surprisingly the outdoor coffeehouse hadn’t been overly crowded from the influx of tourists in town for Mardi Gras festivities. Leah had decided that most of the visitors were probably still in their hotel rooms sleeping off their previous night of debauchery and carousing.
The sky had been overcast with dark clouds, the damp air of the Mississippi River chilly and breezy. She’d just seated herself with her friends, when it suddenly began to rain. She’d glanced up, and that’s when she’d seen him. He’d been running across the street to take shelter beneath the deep overhang around the outdoor coffeehouse. In his path was a bedraggled bag lady struggling with her shopping cart full of junk that she’d collected.
Then, something amazing had happened, something rarely seen in the Quarter. Though it meant getting soaked, he had stopped long enough to help the old woman push her cart up out of the street onto the sidewalk that ran in front of the coffeehouse. Then he’d pushed it beneath the shelter of the overhang. By the time he’d sat down at a nearby table, he’d been soaking wet.
“Is something wrong?”
Hunter’s question jerked her back to the present. “No—nothing’s wrong,” she told him. She motioned toward the plate of food on the cabinet. “I hope you like your eggs fried.” She already knew he did, but did he remember that he did?
Hunter shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” He stepped farther into the room.
With the spatula, she motioned toward the refrigerator. “There’s orange juice and apple juice in the fridge. Pour yourself a glass of whichever you want and be seated.” She grabbed a mitt and opened the oven door. “Yep, perfect timing,” she reiterated. “Even the biscuits are ready.” A couple of minutes later, she placed the plate of food on the table in front of him. On the plate were the two fried eggs, grits, bacon and a couple of the hot biscuits that she’d buttered as soon as she’d removed them from the oven.
“This looks great,” he told her.
“I’m afraid that the only kind of jelly I have is fig preserves,” she said. “Is that okay?”
Before she realized his intentions, he grabbed her wrist. “You tell me.”
Chapter 3
Leah swallowed hard. Hunter’s manacle grip was anything but gentle, but it was the hard, cold look in his eyes that sent a shiver of fear racing up her spine. “Tell you?” she cried. “Tell you what?” She tugged on her wrist, but his grip tightened.
“If, as you claim, we’re such good friends,” he sneered, “then you would damn well know my likes and dislikes, wouldn’t you?”
Leah tensed and desperation clawed at her insides. She’d been a fool, a lovesick fool. Only a complete idiot would let herself get caught alone with a man with no memory of a past that was questionable.
Stay calm and think. Use your brain. If it came down to a physical confrontation, she’d lose, hands down. Even though Hunter had lost weight, he still outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds. The only thing to do was try to bluff her way out of the situation.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing—” She looked pointedly at his hand around her wrist. “Whatever it is, stop it,” she demanded. “And let go of my arm. Now, please.”
For long seconds he simply stared at her as an array of expressions crossed his face. First confusion, then, when he glanced down at his hand wrapped around her wrist, he paled and confusion changed to shock.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, immediately releasing her. Propping both elbows on the table, he dropped his head forward, and supporting his head with the heels of his hands, he squeezed his eyes closed. “Sorry.” He slowly shook his head from side to side. “I didn’t mean to—it’s just that—” He dropped his hands and looked up at her, his eyes reflecting his genuine remorse. “Everything’s so damn confusing. I don’t know what to think, who to trust, how to act.”
Leah was still wary, but her heart ached for him as she watched him struggle for composure. “It’s okay,” she told him gently. “I guess I’m a bit jumpy, too. It’s not every day that a long-lost friend shows up on my doorstep. In hospital scrubs, knowing my name.” Though she was serious about being jumpy, the last was said in an effort to relieve the tension, an effort that fell flat if his expression was any gauge.
He shook his head. “No—you don’t understand. I need some answers.”
“Well, of course you do,” she said.
At her placating tone, warning bells went off in Hunter’s head, and he threw her a wary look.
“Considering your condition it’s only natural that you want answers,” she continued.
Her tone and expression were full of what seemed like genuine concern, but beneath it all, he sensed fear as well. Was she simply telling him what she thought he wanted to hear? Was the concern reflected in her eyes real or fake?
“Yeah, I want answers,” he finally agreed. “But there’s more to it than just the amnesia.” The not knowing about his past was driving him crazy, and while it was true that he needed answers, even worse than not knowing about himself was the issue of not knowing who to trust. Once again he had to ask himself if he could trust her.
Hunter stared deep into her eyes as if doing so would tell him whether she was trustworthy. He wanted to trust her, and the last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him.
At some point, you have to trust someone. Either that or end up running for the rest of your life.
There was no way he could keep running and, to give her credit, so far she’d done nothing suspicious, nothing but try to help…the food, the clothes…
Hunter swallowed hard. “You know that hospital I told you about?”
Leah nodded.
“They didn’t just release me. I was being held there against my will, and I had to escape.”
Leah backed away from him. First the amnesia, and now he was delusional as well, unless… It had been her experience that the only people they locked up in hospitals were mental patients.
Stay calm. Don’t panic. She forced a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure it seemed like that to you, but—”
His eyes suddenly blazed with fury. “Not just seemed, dammit!” He slammed his fist against the top of the table so hard the dishes rattled. “I’m telling you that I was being kept a prisoner.”
Leah threw up her hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay.” She forced calmness in her voice that she didn’t feel. “Just take it easy.”
Hunter sighed heavily. “Sorry.” His face was bleak with regret. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
Leah’s tensed muscles relaxed somewhat and she felt her professional instincts kick in. In an even, soothing voice, she said, “Maybe if you talk about it, I might understand better. Why don’t you tell me about it—about your stay at the hospital—and the reasons you think you were being held prisoner.”
After a moment, he finally nodded.
Keeping an eagle eye on Hunter, Leah sidestepped over to the cabinet. “Just let me get something to drink.” Without waiting for a response, she poured a glass of apple juice, then seated herself across the table from him. She motioned toward his plate. “Your food’s getting cold. Eat first. Then talk.”
When something that resembled a grin tugged at the corners of his lips, Leah relaxed even more.
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled and gave her a two-fingered salute. “Aren’t you eating, too?”
Leah shook her head. “I ate earlier,” she lied. Truth was, she was far too nervous and her emotions in too much chaos to eat, even if she wanted to.
Before Leah had finished even half her juice, Hunter had polished off every bite of food on his plate.
“That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he told her. “From the bottom of my heart and my stomach, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she responded with a smile. “When was the last time you ate?”
“That obvious, huh?” But instead of answering her question, Hunter shoved the plate aside and wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. “Please understand that I’m just trying to figure things out, trying to understand what happened to me and why.”
Leah nodded and in spite of her earlier apprehension, sympathy welled up inside her. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
For several seconds he stared at her, then, as if he’d come to some kind of decision, he began. “When I came out of the coma, I was placed in rehab. My right leg had been badly broken in the accident, and it was almost six weeks before I could walk again without assistance.”
He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “Once I could walk,” he continued, “I was placed in a private room. I was still pretty weak, and at first, I didn’t think about it too much. I mean a John Doe, a charity case, being placed in a private room,” he clarified. “I was just grateful that I didn’t have to share the room with anyone else.” He frowned. “Later, I realized that I was never allowed to go anywhere outside of my room without an orderly accompanying me.
“Anyway—” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “As I felt stronger, I began to feel antsy. I was ready to get out of there so I could find out who I was—find out about my life. But each time I asked the doctor about being discharged, he always came up with an excuse as to why I wasn’t ready. Well, I got enough of that real fast and decided to simply leave.
“Since all I had to wear was a hospital gown, I talked an orderly into getting me some scrubs, and—” Hunter shook his head. “A lot of good that did me. I only got as far as the hospital exit door before they caught me. Before I knew what hit me, one of the nurses popped me with a shot and the lights went out. When I woke up, I was back in my bed with restraints on my wrists and ankles. The scrubs were gone, and I was in a hospital gown again.”
Unbidden outrage and anger at the treatment that he’d received welled within Leah. “Didn’t anyone bother trying to explain?”
Hunter shook his head. “No matter how many times I asked, no one would tell me what was going on, and each time I raised hell, they drugged me. It didn’t take me long to figure out that if I ever hoped to leave that place, I was going to have to play along. I’d have to pretend that I was cooperating. After about a week, they finally removed the restraints and began giving me the sedatives by mouth.”
Restraints…sedatives… Leah frowned, not liking what she was hearing. Until she knew more though, she figured that humoring him would be the best thing to do for now. “So, just how did you escape?” she asked.
“The last couple of nights I was there, I pretended to swallow my pill, and as soon as the nurse left, I spit it out. As long as they thought I was drugged they didn’t watch me as close.”
Hunter paused. He’d seen the fear in her eyes earlier, and since the last thing he wanted was to scare her again, he decided against telling her about the guard outside his door. He’d caught the man half-asleep, and before the guard had realized what hit him, he’d knocked the man unconscious and dragged him into the bathroom out of sight. He’d debated on whether to take the guard’s uniform, but one look at the short skinny man and he’d known that there was no way he could squeeze into the clothes.
“I found some clean scrubs on an unattended utility cart down the hall from my room,” he continued. “With the scrubs on—” He shrugged. “No one paid me any attention. The only door that wasn’t locked was at the emergency-room entrance. Once I found that, I walked right out.”
When Leah shifted in her chair, he could tell she was unsure of how to react to what he’d told her, and he wondered if she would catch his discrepancy about the clothes, specifically the shoes, the one thing he’d glossed over.
As Leah stared into her glass of juice, she tried to digest everything that Hunter had just told her. Everything he’d said, the restraints, the sedatives, all of it only served to confirm her suspicions about him being held in the hospital mental ward. There were also huge discrepancies in his story about escaping. Mental wards had locked doors, and patients didn’t just wander around at will. He wasn’t telling her everything, and every instinct within cried foul. Something just didn’t add up.
“You’re right about one thing,” she finally said, looking up at him. “We do need to find out more about what happened to you and why.” And I need a little time to do some checking around, she added silently. If she could determine exactly which hospital in Orlando had treated him, then maybe she could get some answers. But first she had to figure out how to do so without Hunter knowing that she was checking up on his story.
When Hunter reached up to cover a yawn, Leah figured she’d been handed the perfect opportunity.
“For right now though,” she told him as she stood, “in my professional opinion, I think what you need even more is rest.” She picked up his plate and juice glass. “If you’d like, you can take a nap on that bed in the first bedroom down the hall. Then, when you’ve rested some, we can figure out where to go from here.”
Hunter yawned again. She was right about him needing rest, and the fact that she’d said “we” was certainly encouraging. Did he dare hope that she believed him?
“I am tired,” he admitted. Tired didn’t begin to explain how drained and exhausted he felt, and since he had no money, nowhere else to go and no one else he could trust for the time being… “Maybe just a short nap—if you’re sure that’s okay?”
Leah nodded. “That’s more than okay with me.” She walked over to the cabinet, where she paused. “Tell you what though,” she said. “Why don’t you nap in the bedroom at the end of the hall, instead of the front bedroom? It’s a lot quieter back there. Less street noise.”
There would also be less chance of him overhearing any phone conversations she had. She placed the dirty dishes in the sink, then motioned toward the hall door. “We’ll talk more after you’ve rested.”
Once Hunter had disappeared around the hall doorway, at the last minute, Leah remembered that she hadn’t yet made up her bed that morning. Too bad, she finally decided. As he’d said, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Leah frowned as she wiped off the table. But Hunter wasn’t a beggar, not by a long shot. She transferred the dishes in the sink to the dishwasher. He was her husband, and from the looks of him, he wouldn’t care if there were clean sheets on the bed.
Glancing around the kitchen, Leah began what she’d always called busywork. Wiping the stovetop, the counter, and cleaning the glass front of the oven and microwave. She wanted to give him plenty of time to get to sleep before she began making phone calls.
When Hunter entered the bedroom at the end of the hallway, he immediately realized that it belonged to Leah. For one thing, the bed was unmade.
As he stood, staring at the sheets, just the thought of climbing into the bed that she’d slept in did funny things to his libido. Surely he wouldn’t be feeling this way unless there was a good reason, which, in turn, made him more certain than ever that she hadn’t been exactly truthful about their so-called friendship.
Then, another thought occurred to him. If she’d been untruthful about their relationship, she could be lying about other things as well. What if she was using the same trick he’d used at the hospital? What if she was just lulling him into a false sense of safety so that once he was asleep, she could call the police to come get him?
Get a grip, man. If she’d meant to call the cops on him, she could have easily done so while he was in the shower. Hunter shook his head. Too many days of plotting and planning his escape from the hospital had taken its toll, and he was seeing a conspiracy in everything. Again he reminded himself that at some point, he had to trust someone, and right now, Leah was the only game in town.
Hunter stared at the doorknob. Too bad there wasn’t a lock on the door, but the doorknob, like the house, was old, the kind that required a key.
Near the bed, Hunter pulled off the knit shirt, unsnapped and unzipped the jeans and shucked them as well, then climbed into bed. As he lay his head on the pillow, a musky flowery scent filled his nostrils. The scent felt familiar and safe. Was he imagining things, or was it a memory?
Hunter closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Whether imagined or a true memory, he was too dog-tired to worry about it.
Leah eyed the doorway leading to the hallway. She needed to put some clothes on instead of walking around in her pajamas and housecoat. And she needed a shower. And since she’d sent Hunter off to her bedroom, there was no way she could get into her closet without disturbing him, and disturbing him was the last thing she wanted at the moment.
Leah stood in the middle of the kitchen, debating what to do next, when suddenly the solution to her clothing problem came to her. Maybe, just maybe, there was something in the laundry room that she could wear. If she remembered right, she’d neglected to put away the last load of clothes she’d dried.
In the laundry room, she rummaged through the dryer. Sure enough, she found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Both were faded and wrinkled, but too bad, she thought as she headed for the bathroom. Wearing faded wrinkled clothes was the least of her problems at the moment.
When Leah entered the bathroom, she paused, her hand on the doorknob as she debated whether to leave the door ajar or lock it. But just thinking about being locked up in the small room was enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. For as long as she could remember, being in a small, closed-up space was a surefire guarantee that she would have a panic attack.
Leah pushed the door almost closed, leaving about a six-inch gap. Besides, she comforted herself, if Hunter had meant to harm her, he could have already done so.
She glanced around the bathroom. Hunter had left the room the way he’d found it except for the wet shower curtain and the damp towels and washcloth. Leah’s gaze landed on the small trash basket in the corner. And except for the scrubs he’d been wearing. He’d shoved those into the trash.
She walked over to the basket, pulled out the scrubs, and carefully examined them. “Yes,” she whispered when she finally found what she’d been looking for. Most hospitals stamped their names on the scrubs that they provided to their surgery doctors and nurses. Just as she’d suspected and hoped for, inside the neck of the shirt, stamped with permanent ink, was the name of the hospital, Orlando Memorial. Knowing the name of the hospital would save her a lot of time and trouble, not to mention the cost of making a bunch of long-distance calls.
“Now, that’s strange,” she murmured, noticing, for the first time, the square lump in the pocket of the pants. The lump turned out to be a black billfold, made of plastic that was supposed to resemble leather.
But Hunter’s billfold had been burned in the wreck, so where had this one come from? And why would Hunter have thrown it away? she wondered as she searched through the different compartments.
Leah frowned. Empty. The billfold was empty. Well, duh, what did you expect? Why else would he have thrown it away?
Still perplexed and more wary than ever, she stuffed the scrubs and the billfold back into the trash basket. The answer had to be that he’d stolen it. He’d needed money, and with no available resources, he’d resorted to taking what he needed. But from whom? And what had happened to the person he’d stolen the billfold from? A shiver ran up her spine. Just one more reason to proceed with caution, she decided.
From experience, Leah knew that it usually took about thirty to forty minutes for her to brush her teeth, shower, wash and dry her hair, and dress. By the time she’d dried her hair and was pulling on clean underwear and the jeans, she figured that she’d given Hunter plenty of time to fall asleep. There was just one problem, she thought as she glared down at the front of the jeans. She couldn’t snap the jeans and still breathe.
With an oh-well shrug, she zipped up the jeans as far as they would go and left the snap undone. Once she pulled on the T-shirt, she gave a soft sigh. The T-shirt was midhip length, just long enough to cover the unsnapped, half-zipped jeans.
