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“No rush, sugar. We can head into town to drop off that film whenever you’re ready. If you feel up to it.”
“Sure. Fine. That’s…fine.” She lied. She wasn’t fine. How could she be with her mind so empty?
No. Not empty, not exactly. It was more like a drawn curtain, transparent enough to let shadowy images through but too opaque to allow any real detail to show.
She sensed rather than heard Ryan’s quiet steps as he retreated, leaving her alone in the strange room, staring at her reflection, which should have been familiar, but wasn’t.
She wanted to trust him. Her instincts told her she could, but why? All indications were that they’d never met, yet she’d followed him here, to a strange house, with barely a moment’s hesitation. Who was he?
Her heart sped up at the memory of his touch. When they shook hands, it had been magnetic. The jolt hadn’t startled her so much as the strange sense of familiarity had. She didn’t know him, but there had been a sense of recognition on a deeper, more elemental level, as though they were kindred spirits. She hadn’t experienced anything like that since…since…when? Who? Someone else, someone important to her. The knowledge slipped further behind that blasted curtain.
She rubbed her temples, working at the tightness that wrapped around her head like a huge rubber band. Every time she tried to remember, her head ached. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, relaxing with each slow exhalation, willing the pain to leave.
Standing, she rolled her shoulders, raised her arms over her head and stretched. Slowly her knotted muscles relaxed. She paced around the room as she worked the snarls from her long hair and braided it. This task at least seemed familiar, routine. The normalcy served to calm her a little more. She could almost pretend everything was normal. Until she picked up the T-shirt.
It was a man’s V-neck T-shirt, the kind that comes three to a package. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except she knew it had to belong to Ryan. The soft, pale green cotton matched the material of the one he wore right now.
Another shiver, totally unrelated to a chill, swept over her, dragging with it an awareness of the man who’d found her on the beach and brought her into his home. Not an awareness of him as a kind person doing a good deed. But an awareness of him as a very masculine, very attractive man.
This wouldn’t do. Not at all. She hadn’t missed Ryan’s attention to her rings, especially the one he’d found hidden in her camera bag. The one that looked like a wedding ring.
Her thumb rubbed over the twined bands, rolling them back and forth over her knuckle. The motion was familiar, comforting even. The three intertwined circles of gold rolled together easily as she slid them over her knuckle and off her finger. Sadness flowed over her. Her finger felt naked without the ring. She felt lost without that symbol of being connected to someone.
The bands were nicked and burnished, their shine muted with the patina of constant wear. Lettering etched on the inside surface of one of the bands caught her eye.
She switched on the stained-glass lamp and held the ring close to the light. Tilting it back and forth, she found additional markings. Each band had been inscribed. She swallowed hard, fighting back the rush of grief threatening to swamp her tenuous composure.
The words were familiar. On some level, she’d even expected to find them. Still the emptiness swirled around her. AJD, Together Always, Remember 3/15. The same inscription Ryan had found on the silver tag.
She slipped the ring back on and hugged her hand close to her heart. Pacing the room did nothing to ease the knot in her chest. It wasn’t fair. How could grief this strong exist without memory of the person?
The room began to close in on her. The welcoming coziness became smothering. The light scent of the potpourri turned cloying. She pulled on the loaned clothes, ignoring the rippling awareness of whom the items belonged to, intent on one thing—getting out of the room before she started crying again.
Once out of the bedroom, she regained some small measure of calm. She made her way down the short hall, aware of the soft murmur of Ryan’s voice. As she neared the door to the kitchen, he stopped talking. She held her breath, wondering who was in the kitchen with him. She wasn’t ready to face anyone else yet.
He started talking again and she let out a slow sigh. Whoever it was, they were on the other end of the phone line, not in the kitchen. Her calm façade slipped a notch as his quiet words sank into her awareness.
“I don’t know. It could be a setup, but I don’t think so. You’re the only one who knows I’m here.”
Setup? What was he talking about?
“Yeah, I know. You’re the one with the super, weird-vibe detector, but my gut says she’s okay. She comes off as…real, I guess.”
He was talking about her. Her rubber-soled sandals squeaked on the linoleum floor as she stumbled to a halt in the doorway.
Ryan turned to look at her, his steady gaze never wavering as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. He’d been leaning back against the counter by the door and now he shifted so his entire body faced her. He stood mere inches from her, relaxed, seemingly unbothered by her sudden appearance.
The clean scent of sea air mingled with the tang of the perspiration he’d worked up on his morning run. She was close, too close, too aware of him. Instinct warned her the situation was dangerous, she’d been foolish to trust him so easily.
Before she could step away, his warm fingers wound around her wrist. The pale green of his eyes darkened as he watched her. He swept her with an appreciative gaze, a smile quirking up one corner of his mouth.
“That sounds good,” he said into the phone. “Right, see y’all later.” He returned the phone to its cradle and turned the full strength of his attention to her. “Those clothes never looked better. How ’bout you? Are you feeling better?”
She nodded. “Who were you talking to?”
“The esteemed Jamison McRobbie. Better known as our host, Jamie. I thought he might be able to help us out. He works with the police sometimes—”
“No! No police.” She pulled her arm free from his loose grip and took a quick step away from him.
“AJ?” His soft tone stopped her backward movement.
“No, please, we can’t go to the police.” She fought down the panic threatening to shatter what remained of her hard-gained peace.
“Okay, we won’t.” He reached for her, gently running his hand down her arm. “Can you tell me why we can’t go to the police?”
She closed her eyes and swallowed. A shudder ran across her shoulders, down her back. “I…I don’t know. I just get this huge wave of ‘danger’ at the thought.”
“All right, sugar. Don’t worry about it. We proved your instincts are still pretty sharp, and if they’re telling you to stay away from the police, we will. For now.” He lifted her chin on the edge of his hand.
She opened her eyes. For a moment she lost herself in the pale depths of his steady gaze. How could she not trust him? From the moment they’d met on the beach, his one concern seemed to be helping her. What could he possibly gain from her?
Time stood still as she searched for an answer in his face. “Am I foolish to trust you?” she whispered.
Ryan’s focus shifted from her eyes to her lips. “Probably.” His breath caressed her cheek. “But not for the reason you think.”
His attention to her mouth lasted for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for her to realize how close they were standing to each other, how easy it would be to close that small space. How much she wanted to do exactly that.
Awareness coursed through her, setting her nerve endings on fire. There was more than trust at issue here. She’d just been on the verge of tears over an inscription in a wedding ring, her wedding ring. Whoever her husband was, whatever the status of their relationship, he held a great deal of importance to her. She couldn’t—shouldn’t—be so attracted to Ryan so easily.
But she was. What kind of person am I?
He released her arm and stepped back, putting a little distance between them. Had he been as aware of her as she was of him?
“Now then.” He cleared his throat. “We have something really serious to discuss. Breakfast.”
The sudden change of topic granted her a momentary reprieve from her troubling thoughts.
“’Course, I need to clean up before we leave,” he continued. “But that won’t take long. There’s this great little place about ten minutes away. They do a mean loco moco.”
She realized she was nearly hungry enough to tackle the local dish of rice and hamburger patty topped with gravy.
“Or how does fresh fruit and waffles sound?” Ryan offered the alternative.
“Wonderful.” Her stomach rumbled in agreement. How long had it been since she’d eaten?
“Great. I’ll be ready in two shakes. Why don’t you put your feet up in the living room, while I go get gorgeous?” His quick smile revealed teeth so white they would have seemed fake if not for a slight misalignment of the eye-teeth. He led her into a spacious room filled with wicker furniture.
She sank onto the bright floral cushions of the couch and watched Ryan disappear down the hall.
Her camera bag sat on the coffee table. She crossed her legs tailor style and settled the bag in her lap. Its weight was comforting in an odd way. When she opened the cover, she discovered the contents had been neatly stowed back in their proper compartments. Ryan had done an excellent job of returning the equipment to its original order. It all looked and felt…right.
She ran her fingers over her equipment and pulled out her camera. Everything else in her life might be a blank, but this at least held a familiar certainty. It was the same security she’d experienced earlier, when she’d awakened on the beach and reached out for the only solid object near her.
For a few brief moments she’d been able to forget that she had forgotten. The familiar weight of her trusty Nikon had comforted her. When the sunrise had begun, she’d been able to lose herself in capturing the beauty of it through her viewfinder and saving it on film.
She slipped the camera back into its compartment and pulled the notebook out. She leafed through the pages, looking for something, anything that might trigger her memory. Precise notations of locations, times of the day and camera settings filled the pages. The handwriting held a vague sense of familiarity. She dug a pen from one of the pockets, turned to a blank page and began writing. At first it was nothing more than random words, enough to know it really was her handwriting in the book. Then she refocused, became intentional about what she wrote.
My name is…
She couldn’t finish the sentence. She tried again and again, each time starting on a new line, each time getting no further. She closed her eyes and tried again.
Failed again.
She tore the pages from the book, crumpled them into a tight ball and jammed it into a compartment in the bag. The pen and notebook went back into their pockets and she closed the bag with a snap.
People don’t just go around forgetting who they are for no reason. Something terrible must have occurred to wipe out every bit of her conscious memory.
Relax. That’s what she needed to do, just relax. Little things came when she didn’t try so hard. She leaned her head back against the cushions. Her eyes drifted shut as she rubbed her hands over the bag. Each texture, each contour, felt familiar and reassuring beneath her fingers.
The silver pull on the zip hung cool and solid from its chain. Opening her eyes, she examined it, reading the inscription for herself. Remember. Remember what?
A tear traced a hot path down her cheek.
“AJ?”
She jumped at Ryan’s voice, her hand flying to her chest to catch her wildly beating heart. “Jeez, you scared me! Don’t you ever make any noise when you walk?”
“Sorry. Old habit. You seemed to be pretty deep in thought.”
She wiped the tear away with the heel of her hand before turning to look at him.
His short, light brown hair was damp and standing on end, looking like the latest style in a trendy men’s magazine. He wore khaki shorts and a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt that he’d left unbuttoned and untucked. The white T-shirt he’d changed into hugged the contours of his well-muscled torso and set off his tan. A small gold ring hung on a chain around his neck. With these clothes, he looked as if he’d fit right in with the tourist crowd. Provided the tourists were a bunch of Olympic competitors.
And she was still far too aware of him and his athletic body for her comfort.
“I’ve only been sitting here eight-and-a-half minutes. Did you get a real shower taken?” She shut out the brief image of him in the shower before it could fully develop.
“Yes, ma’am. Even washed behind my ears. Mind if I ask a question?” He waited for her consenting nod before continuing. “How do you know it’s been eight minutes? There aren’t any clocks in here and you aren’t wearing a watch.”
“Eight-and-a-half minutes.” She corrected him. “I always know exactly how much time has elapsed. It comes in handy when timing exposures or developing film.”
“Are you always right?”
“Always,” she replied with absolute certainty. “My turn. How did you manage to shower and get dressed in such a short time?”
“Military training. Heck, anything over five minutes is considered downright leisurely.” He held out one hand to her. “Now, how about that breakfast?”
He led her out the front door and handed her into the passenger seat of a cherry-red Corvette convertible.
“Nice little car.” She watched as he buckled his seat belt and turned the ignition key. The engine came to life with a powerful rumble.
“Jamie’s.”
“Ah, all part of the vacation package?”
Ryan nodded, slipped on a pair of RayBan Wayfarer sunglasses and nudged the stick shift into first gear. As they pulled onto the road, he launched into the story of his first stay on the island.
He kept her entertained all the way to the little restaurant and all through the meal.
For a brief period, she was able to pretend everything was normal.
Chapter Four
Ryan had run through the better part of his repertoire, regaling AJ with carefully sanitized stories of his childhood. It seemed to work. She had actually eaten some fresh fruit and even looked a bit relaxed until they got back into the car.
Now silence fell as they headed for Honolulu. He flipped on the radio, filling the quiet with KNUI’s Hawaiian music. An ad for a photo finisher came on between songs.
AJ cleared her throat. “You mentioned getting the exposed film developed. Do you have a lab in mind?”
“None in particular. With all the tourist trade there’s bound to be a slew of those one-hour places. We can drop the stuff off at one of them.” He glanced at her in time to catch her grimace of distaste. “What?”
Her hands tightened on the camera bag. “Nothing. I’m sure that would be…”
“Like flossing with razor wire.” He reached over and covered her white-knuckled hands. “Scratch the one-hour place. We can stop and check the phone book for professional labs. Maybe one of them will sound familiar.”
“That’s assuming I ever used one or, if I did, that I’ll remember which one it was.”
“Don’t fret yourself. It’s possible you might remember. I did a little Web surfing while you were in the shower, found some information about amnesia. From what I found, the kind of amnesia you have is called psychogenic amnesia.”
“And that means what?”
“It means, sugar, that the memories aren’t really lost, just sort of hidden for the time being.”
“Like a drawn curtain.” She leaned forward a little, hope lighting her face. “So, I’ll remember everything? My name, where I live, all that?”
“Maybe.” He didn’t want to get her hopes up too high. While the research said the amnesia might only last a few hours, it could also last years. “One of the articles said hypnosis or free association might help trigger memories. That’s why looking through the yellow pages isn’t such a crazy idea. You might see a name that’s familiar.”
She nodded and leaned back into the seat, nibbling on her lip in thought.
“Once we get your film taken care of proper like, then we can do a little shopping. Cute as you look in my clothes, I don’t imagine they’re particularly comfortable.” The discomfort was probably mostly his. Every time he thought of the way his shirt draped—he squashed the image before it fully formed. To distract himself, he launched into another story about one of his early visits to the island.
AJ visibly relaxed, watching the scenery flow by as they sped toward Honolulu. As they neared the city, she opened her camera bag, checked her equipment and began sorting through the canisters of exposed film.
Ryan eased up on the accelerator as the city traffic began building around them. AJ glanced up. “Take the next exit. At the stoplight, take a right.”
He opened his mouth then closed it again. She was busy digging through her bag, and he decided not to interrupt her. This might be the beginning of the breakthrough they needed. He wasn’t about to jinx it by asking her a pile of questions.
He made the turn, scooting through the intersection as the light changed from yellow to red. She directed him through a few more turns before telling him to pull over.
