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“Wait a minute.” Before she came upstairs to his apartment, she’d been adjusting to the idea that Drew wouldn’t be in her life. But this was too abrupt. “Wherever you go, there are going to be phones.”
“As soon as possible, I’ll contact you. Until then, is there anything you need? Is your insurance in order? Do you need money for a doctor?”
“I don’t believe this.” A raging fury exploded behind her eyes. “You’re trying to buy me off.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You expect to write me a check, pat me on the butt and send me on my way.” She dodged around him and made a beeline for the door. “No, thanks. I don’t need or want your money.”
She stormed into the hall, raced down the stairs to her apartment and slammed the door. The nerve of him! Sure, he’d had a rough life and bad luck with relationships, but that didn’t excuse the way he’d treated her.
She paced furiously. To the bedroom. Back to the front room. Into the kitchen. Her apartment was too small to contain her anger. How dare he offer me money! She stamped her running shoe on the hardwood floor. Who in the blazes did he think he was?
When she heard the knock on her door, she figured it was Drew again. “Go away. I don’t want to see your face.”
Another knock. More insistent.
She flung open the door. Before she could speak or react, a bright flash of light blinded her. Then everything went dark.
She crumpled to the floor.
Chapter Three (#ulink_71e6a420-6358-5a1c-9d97-f5f05cd3bcb4)
Standing over the sink, Drew jabbed a spoon into the center of the apple pie and dug out a bite, hoping that the sugar rush would help him feel less like an ass.
The pie tasted great. Sweet, tart apples perfectly complemented by a flaky crust that crumbled on his tongue. Homemade, of course. Probably a recipe passed down from her dear old granny. Melinda’s family tree went back for generations. No way should she be involved with a rootless loner like him.
He shoveled in another bite of pie.
From downstairs, he heard a crash. Apparently, Melinda hadn’t gone for a run even though she’d been dressed for jogging in her smooth black pants with a white stripe and matching sweatshirt. There was another loud thud. It sounded like she was tearing apart her apartment, throwing things, breaking furniture. Terrific. He’d managed to drive a completely rational woman to the brink of madness.
He saw two options: he could close his ears, pretend nothing was wrong, leave in the morning and never look back. Or he could stand and fight for her. Damn it, he wanted Melinda in his life. He needed to make her understand that he had enemies and there was a very real threat. Unfortunately, that meant he’d have to tell her the whole truth.
Not yet. More pie.
He licked the back of the spoon and listened. The sudden quiet from downstairs felt ominous, like a vacuum had sucked the air from her apartment. Was she sitting in the dark, cursing him under her breath? Did she own a gun?
He wiped his mouth with a paper towel and headed for the door. Moving fast so he wouldn’t change his mind, he went down the staircase.
When he knocked on her door, it pushed open. She’d left it slightly ajar. “Melinda?”
He stepped inside. An end table lay on its side. Books scattered across the floor. Her sofa had been shoved out of place. Her apartment had been trashed.
This can’t be. He didn’t want to believe the evidence that lay before him. Someone had been here. His enemies had gone after her.
Cold night air blasted through the window that opened onto the fire escape. He rushed toward the long, beige curtains that were flapping in the breeze and peered down at the asphalt parking lot behind the building. A vehicle pulled away from a spot beside the Dumpster. A dark sedan.
Had they taken her?
Desperately, he called out, “Melinda, where are you?”
The sound of a whimper drew him toward the arched hallway. She was in the bathroom, sprawled beside the claw-foot tub. A thick smear of red blood marked the black-and-white tiled floor.
As she propped herself up on her arms, she winced in pain. Her zippered sweatshirt had been torn off. From the waist up, she wore only a gray sports bra. There were welts on her arms. She was still bleeding from a puncture on the inside of her elbow.
He knelt beside her, gathered her into his arms. He had to get her away from here before they came back.
She looked up at him. Her pupils were dilated. “Drew?”
“I’m here,” he whispered. “Do you think you can stand up?”
“How did I get into the bathroom? What happened?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“I opened the door.” She licked her lips. “And there was a flash. A blinding light.”
He’d seen that flash. Hundreds of times when he was growing up. There was a burst of light, and he’d black out. Sometimes, he’d be awake within an hour. Other times, it was days. “I have to get you to safety.”
Gamely, she struggled to stand up. Her legs were unable to support her weight. She collapsed against him. “What’s wrong with me?”
He checked the darkening bruise on the inside of her arm at the vein and made an educated guess. “I’d say you’ve lost some blood.”
“I need a doctor.”
“Come with me.” He needed to get her away from here before they came back.
Leaning heavily against him, she stumbled into her living room. “What happened in here? Was I robbed?”
Explanations were going to take a while—time they didn’t have. He lifted her off her feet and carried her toward the door, where he came face-to-face with a uniformed policeman holding a gun.
“Freeze,” the officer ordered.
Standing behind him was Melinda’s neighbor from across the hall—a gray-haired woman who taught anthropology at Augustana. “It’s all right,” she said to the policeman. “He lives in the building.”
“Put her down on the sofa.” The cop’s gun didn’t waver. “Do it now.”
Though Drew knew he was capable of disarming the cop, he did as ordered. It was never wise to assault an officer.
The professor rushed to Melinda’s side. “Are you okay?”
She nodded slowly.
The neighbor smoothed Melinda’s hair off her forehead. “I heard crashing and peeked into the hall. Your door was partly open, and I saw a man inside. I called the police.”
“Can you describe the man?” Drew asked.
“I didn’t get a good look.” The professor’s cheeks were flushed. Beneath her gray bangs, her forehead furrowed. “He was Caucasian. Definitely mesomorphic.”
“What’s that?” the cop asked.
“Large, muscular body structure,” she said. “And he had a shaved head.”
Any doubt Drew might have had about the identity of the intruder vanished. Melinda’s attacker was the same man who had been after him in Italy.
LESS THAN AN HOUR later, Melinda walked through the door of the health services clinic at the college with Drew at her side. He’d insisted on driving and now hovered close to her.
“Are you sure you want to go here?” he asked.
“I hate hospital emergency rooms.” The shock of being attacked in her own home made her want to seek the safe and familiar. “I know the people here.”
Physically, she didn’t feel too terribly bad. Her injuries had been far worse after a Rollerblade accident. But the memory loss was worrisome. It didn’t seem like her head had been injured. What else could cause a blackout?
Holding her arm, he directed her into the room. Slate-blue chairs lined the walls in the small waiting area, and two students huddled in the corner. Both were coughing and sniffling. The woman in pink scrubs who sat behind the counter looked up from the book she was reading. Melinda recognized her; she was a frequent patron of the library.
“Melinda,” the nurse said. “What happened?”
Drew answered for her. “She was assaulted. We need to see the doctor right away.”
His intensity must have impressed the nurse because she quickly escorted them to a small room with an examination table and the typical medical paraphernalia arrayed on a countertop beside a sink. She turned to Drew and said, “You can wait outside.”
“I’m staying here.”
The nurse helped Melinda onto the table. “You’re in luck, hon. Dr. Lynn is on duty tonight until nine, and she’s the best.”
“Thanks, Ruth.” Her recall of the nurse’s name was somewhat reassuring. Her long-term memory seemed to be unaffected by the assault. Only the few moments after the flash remained blank. “You didn’t really have to rush us in here. It looks like other people were waiting.”
“No problem.” She patted Melinda’s hand. “You sit tight, hon. You’re going to be okay.”
When she left, Drew came closer again. “Do you want to lie down? Should I get you some water?”
“Give me some space, okay?”
He backed off one pace. “How’s this?”
“That extra eight inches is really swell.” He didn’t take his eyes off her for a second. She couldn’t help but comment on his change in attitude. “I thought you were in a big hurry to leave town.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “I’m staying with you.”
“What if I don’t want you around?”
“You’ll get used to having a bodyguard.”
A bit overprotective, but she liked being taken care of. The attack upset her. That kind of violence wasn’t supposed to happen to people like her. She’d always lived a very quiet, very safe, very average life.
Doctor Bethany Lynn entered. In spite of her horn-rimmed glasses and blond hair pulled back in a severe bun, she looked like a teenager. Melinda knew that Doctor Lynn was in her late twenties and she liked to read Jane Austen.
After the doctor introduced herself to Drew and shook his hand, she focused on Melinda. “Tell me what happened.”
“I wish I could. I was alone in my apartment. I opened the door and got hit by a bright flash of light. After that my mind is blank until Drew came into the bathroom and found me lying on the floor.”
The doctor shot a vaguely suspicious glance toward Drew. “Why did you go to her apartment?”
“I’m Melinda’s upstairs neighbor. I heard crashing.”
“And the woman who lives across the hall from me also heard the noises and called the police. She saw a strange man inside my apartment.”
“Was it a burglary?” the doctor asked. “Was anything taken?”
“Not even my purse,” Melinda said. “The police think Drew scared him off before he could take anything.”
“Take off your sweatshirt, and I’ll get started.” Dr. Lynn continued to ask simple questions while she examined Melinda’s bruises, paying particular attention to the wound on the inside of her arm. “This is on the vein. Was there a lot of blood?”
“Just a few smears,” Melinda said.
She wrapped a cuff around the uninjured arm to test blood pressure. “Any vomiting?”
“No.”
“Ringing in the ears? Dizziness?”
“I’m really tired. Kind of weak in the knees.”
The doctor ran through a couple more tests. “Your blood pressure is a little low, and you’re slightly anemic. The bruising appears to be superficial. Mostly defensive.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your arm was grabbed with force, and you were dragged. While you were trying to fight off your attacker, you bumped into things, which caused the crashing noises.” The doctor gave her a reassuring smile. “I’d like to ask some personal questions. It might be best if we were alone.”
“I’m not leaving,” Drew said. When he folded his arms across his chest, it looked like they’d need a bulldozer to remove him from the examination room.
“It’s okay with me if he stays,” Melinda said.
Dr. Lynn didn’t look pleased, but she continued, “Were you sexually molested?”
“Golly, no.” If she’d been raped, Melinda would have felt it. “I still had my pants on.”
“I was downstairs pretty quickly,” Drew said. “Five or six minutes after I heard the first crash.”
Ignoring him, the doctor examined Melinda’s eyes. “You don’t appear to have a concussion, but your amnesia concerns me. I’d suggest you go to the hospital for a CAT scan.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t have a head injury. What else would cause a blackout?”
“You might have been drugged. I should take a blood sample and run tests to find out.”
She hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that possibility. “Drugs might be a problem. I’m pregnant.”
Behind her glasses, the doctor’s eyes widened. Of course, she’d be surprised. She knew Melinda was single. “Well, congratulations.”
