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“Do you remember anything from before you got in the cab?”
Rose sat quietly, staring at the open vee of his white shirt, pretending to think. Instead she was struck with a memory from one of her dreams in which she’d stared at that same chest. Only in the dream there had been no shirt, just bare, muscled skin. Feeling her face grow warm, she blinked the image away and quickly shook her head.
“No. Nothing.”
“Well then,” he said quietly. “Will you accept the idea that you just might be Anna Benedict?”
Rose fought off a shudder that had nothing to do with the fact that her clothes were still slightly damp. She wanted to shake her head, insist that she was Rose Delancey, but controlled the impulse. Slowly she lifted her shoulders in a shrug.
“I’ll consider it.” She paused. “Perhaps it would help if you’d tell me a little about Ann—me. So far all I know is that I have a mother named Elise, a father named Robert and an aunt named Grace. Elise mentioned someone named Chas. Who is he?”
“Your older brother,” Logan replied.
Rose frowned. “I thought you were my older brother.”
“No, I’m not,” Logan replied. “Not really.”
Logan watched Anna’s eyebrows twist into a puzzled frown, which told him just how confusing this might sound—especially to an already confused mind.
“My parents, Thomas and Brenda Maguire, worked for your grandfather,” he explained. “I was ten when they died, and I didn’t have any other family. Your father managed to get himself appointed my legal guardian and has always treated me like a surrogate son.”
Logan saw an expression of sympathy darken Anna’s eyes. His chest tightened around the pain he’d locked away so long ago, and he frowned.
There was something deeply empathetic in that look of Anna’s, almost as if she knew just how that loss had affected him. But she couldn’t. By the time Anna learned about the accident that had killed his parents, the young girl had long been accustomed to thinking of him as her “bigger brother,” which had been her way of distinguishing him from Chas, two years his junior.
Receiving sympathy from Anna now was something entirely new to him, and rather than try to deal with the uncomfortable emotions she evoked, he did what he did best—focused on the business at hand.
“Come with me,” he said. “And let me introduce you to the family.”
Logan noticed Anna offered no resistance when he took her hand to pull her to her feet, then lead her across the room to stand in front of an oak rolltop desk. The wall above was filled with framed photos. He pointed to a five-by-seven on the far right.
“There’s Elise, holding you on the day you came home,” he said. “Other than her hairstyle, you can see that her looks have changed little. And I think you can recognize Robert, despite the fact that his hair was nearly black back then. Just like yours is now. And the shorter blond boy on the left? That’s your brother, Chas.”
Logan watched Anna scrutinize each figure until a sudden frown formed and she abruptly turned to him. “And the other blond boy. Is…is that you?”
Her eyes were wide. Thinking he saw a hint of recognition in them, he nodded. “Yes. Look familiar?”
An expression very close to fear darkened her eyes before she blinked and shrugged. “Maybe…a little. I don’t know.”
“Well, maybe looking at some of these other photographs will stimulate your memory.”
Logan directed her attention to the images that Elise had framed in silver and placed on the wall of her daughter’s room. He started with a large oval sepia-toned photograph at the top.
“That’s your great-great-great grandfather, Lucas Benedict. He established the family fortune back in the 1870s when he struck a vein of silver in Virginia City, Nevada. No one can find a picture of his wife, but the men in the two pictures on either side are his sons, Jonah and Jerald. Beneath those we have Jerald’s sons, Raymond and William, along with William’s wife, your grandmother, Anna. Some think you bear a close resemblance to her.”
He watched as Anna studied this last photo. “I don’t agree.”
Logan shrugged. “Well, you do both have curly hair—and there’s a widow’s peak beneath those new bangs of yours. The picture is rather faded, so it’s hard to make out any further resemblance. Anyway, the next set of pictures are of William and Anna’s two sons and their wives. That’s Victor and Grace on the left. The other couple is your grandfather, Charles, and your grandmother, Louise. You wouldn’t remember your grandmother, because she died before your first birthday.”
“And this picture on the top of the desk?” he heard her ask softly.
Logan frowned at the photo of two dark-haired men sitting at a piano. “That’s a shot of your father,” he said slowly, “with his brother, your uncle Joe. You wouldn’t remember Joe, either. He died…shortly before you were born.”
Logan swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat and blinked back the sudden memories of the day that Joseph Benedict died, and the two people who had perished with him.
“Oh, Anna! You’re up.”
Elise Benedict’s voice echoed from the doorway. Logan turned as the woman stepped into the room, followed by her husband and the doctor.
“How is our patient?” Dr. Alcott asked as all three stopped in front of Anna and Logan.
When Anna said nothing, Logan replied, “She’s fine, physically. At least, she hasn’t complained of any major aches or pains.”
“And her mind?”
Logan turned to Elise. “I think I’ve convinced her that she is Anna Benedict. She appears to recognize some things, but her memory is far from clear.”
“Oh, dear.” Elise sighed, then turned to the doctor. “Well then. Perhaps we should still consider sending her—”
“No!”
Logan glanced at Anna, who had broken into her mother’s suggestion just moments before Logan could reject what was undoubtedly going to be another suggestion that Anna be placed in the hospital. He turned to Anna’s father.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Robert. Or particularly wise right now. I’m sure the facility that Alcott recommended is discreet, but this sort of thing has a way of leaking out. Not that I think there’s any shame in a person checking in for mental help, but you know how it could look.”
Robert nodded.
“Besides,” Logan went on, “Anna might benefit by being around familiar things and people. Don’t you agree Dr. Alcott?”
The man’s dark eyes narrowed a moment behind his glasses before he nodded. “Possibly. Theoretically, being exposed to familiar items speeds recovery in persons suffering from amnesia.”
Logan looked to Elise, half expecting her to show some kind of displeasure at having her plans denied. Instead the woman was treating her daughter to a speculative gaze.
“Well, perhaps that is best. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain Anna’s absence at the campaign dinner tonight. And many of our longtime friends and associates will be there. Maybe seeing one of them in a relaxed atmosphere will prompt Anna’s memory. What do you think, Dr. Alcott?”
Logan gave his head a small shake. Only Elise Benedict would consider a campaign dinner and dance a “relaxed” atmosphere. Anna certainly would not. She hated spending time in the public eye.
Before he could bring this up, however, the doctor replied, “Excellent idea.”
This brought a wide smile to Elise’s lips. She turned to Logan. “You’ll be there, of course.”
“Actually,” he said, “I got very little sleep during the past three days, so I’d planned to catch up on it after I filed the paperwork from my trip to France and explained the details of your father’s will.”
Only the slightest tightening of the woman’s jaw gave any hint of Elise’s feelings about the now-deceased man who had abandoned his wife and daughter so many years ago. A second later she was smiling again.
“Oh, there will be plenty of time to discuss dreary financial matters at a later date. What’s important now is that you escort Anna to this affair tonight and keep an eye on her. You know, point out the people she should know and, of course, see to it that she doesn’t say the wrong thing.”
Before Logan could reply, Robert spoke up. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea, Elise. Logan is obviously suffering from jet lag, and Anna looks as white as a sheet.”
The woman glanced from Logan to Anna, concern wrinkling the brow over her dark brown eyes. “Yes, they do both look a bit ragged. But it’s hours yet until they need to make an appearance. I’ve reserved a suite at the hotel, where you and I can change so that I can be on hand to oversee the last-minute arrangements. When I planned this months ago, I’d figured that Anna would go with us, and keep Aunt Grace company until it was time to go downstairs. But Chas and Nicole can take care of Grace. That way, Anna can stay here and rest up while Logan goes home and catches up on his sleep before dressing and returning to get her. And who knows? Perhaps after Anna takes a nap, her memory will have returned and everything will be fine.”
Rose knew that neither of these things were going to happen. First, she had no memories of Anna’s life to recall. And second, nothing was going to be fine until she escaped from this mad house.
That was going to have to wait a bit, however. No one would believe her now if she were to suddenly insist that she was Rose Delancey. Most likely they would cart her off and lock her up in the room they’d reserved for poor Anna. So, until she could get them to leave her alone she would be forced to go along with this charade.
“Anna.”
Rose’s heart beat two or three times before she realized she was being spoken to. Turning to the speaker, Robert Benedict, she was met by soft brown eyes full of concern as he took her hand.
“Are you up to this plan?”
Rose took a deep breath. As soon as these people cleared out of this room, she had every intention of slipping out the sliding glass door and making her way to freedom. She no longer gave a fig who this Anna person was, or why she’d had all those dreams of the view outside this window. She just wanted to get back to her own life. This might not happen, though, if she gave these people any reason to suspect that she might do anything other than what they were suggesting.
But she’d been raised not to lie, so she forced a small smile to her lips and said simply, “I’m feeling okay.”
“Wonderful!” Elise leaned forward to brush a kiss across Rose’s cheek before stepping back, saying, “Robert, we need to be hurrying along. Logan, you go home and rest up. Anna, are you hungry? No, well then you take a long nap. Your dress hasn’t arrived yet, but I’ve been assured it will be here in plenty of time.”
The woman started to leave, then stopped and reached out to take Rose’s hand. “Anna, dear, your father needs to be seen with his family. Promise me you will be there, and on your best behavior.”
Rose stared into those dark eyes. Promise? Kathleen Delancey had held promises sacred and taught her daughter to do the same. If she promised, she would have to follow through. And if she didn’t, the slight narrowing of Elise’s eyes suggested that she might end up in a nut house.
“I promise,” Rose breathed.
At that, Elise released her hand. “Robert,” she said. “Doctor—I think we can leave now. Logan. You, too.”
Logan nodded but didn’t follow the other three out of the room. When they’d disappeared into the hall, he looked at Rose and asked, “Are you going to be all right here?”
After a moment of hesitation, Rose shook her head. “No. Not at all. I thought I could do it, but I can’t.”
She expected him to scowl. Instead his gaze softened with understanding as he asked, “The crowd thing?”
Rose blinked. “What crowd thing?” Before he could reply, she stuck her hand out in a halting motion. “Never mind. I don’t want you to explain. I want you to listen. I can’t keep the promise I just made. I can’t go to this dinner campaign thing and pretend to be someone I’m not. I can’t—won’t—live a lie. I am not Anna, and I will no longer pretend to be her.”
Logan closed his eyes and shook his head. A jolt of anger and fear made Rose grab his upper arms, much as he had held hers so many times that day, and shake him.
“Listen,” she hissed as his eyes flew open. “You have to believe me. If I am telling the truth, then Anna is out there somewhere, alone, confused and probably frightened.”
“Confused,” he said quietly, gazing at her pointedly. “Undoubtedly.”
Rose shook her head. “I am not confused. I have people you can call who will confirm that I am who I say I am. The woman who owns half of my mother’s shop, for instance. I’ll give you the number. Call her.”
“Why should I believe someone I’ve never met?”
Rose’s frustration was building by the moment. She clenched her teeth. “All right. Then…then have me write something and compare it to something Anna has written.”
“You could easily disguise your handwriting, so that won’t prove anything,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “However, I could arrange to have your fingerprints analyzed.”
There was no mistaking the challenge in his gaze. Instead of retreating from this, Rose smiled.
“You’re on.”
Chapter 4
Twenty minutes later Rose was seated in Logan’s red Mustang.
“Where are we going?” she asked as Logan finished pulling off the quiet residential street and onto a busy boulevard.
He gave her a quick glance before turning his attention to the traffic ahead. “To see a friend of mine from college.”
Rose blinked. Her life had been turned upside down and he wanted to socialize? Slowly she asked, “And we would do this because…?”
“Because he works in the police forensics lab.” Again Logan glanced her way. “You are still willing to prove your identity, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I have the glass from Anna’s bathroom, one of her perfume bottles and her brush, which should hold her fingerprints. I also have a clean glass for you to leave your prints on. My friend Dennis agreed to do a quick comparison. That is, if you’re still so sure of yourself.”
Logan turned narrowed eyes to Rose as the car stopped for a red light. She stiffened beneath his suspicious glance. “I’m sure. And once I prove to you that I am Rose Delancey, I want you to promise—”
“One step at a time,” Logan broke in.
Rose had barely managed to nod before Logan’s attention was once more captured by traffic. As the car moved forward, he shifted into second gear, then into third to race down the street. As he swerved from one lane to another, passing the slower vehicles, Rose’s heart leaped, then began to race.
Was this due to fear, she wondered, or excitement? The last few years had become a blur of doctors’ offices, hospital rooms and the small chamber her mother retreated to after each chemo treatment. There had been ups and downs to deal with, hopes and fears, tears and laughter. So her life had hardly been uneventful. And although she and her mother had been dealing with death, together they had learned to live each day as fully as possible, to notice the way the clouds moved in, the taste and texture of each bite of food.
But since the funeral Rose had come to see how narrow her world had grown, and how empty she felt. She’d greeted this numbness with fury, seeing it as a poor way to remember the woman who had given her life, showed her how to live, encouraged her to dream and to follow those dreams, even as all of hers were fading.
Rose sighed and stared out the window at the tall buildings and the business-lunch crowds bustling along the sidewalk. Kathleen Delancey had undoubtedly been referring to life choices and career direction when she’d urged her daughter to “follow your dreams,” but the woman’s death had left Rose feeling too lost to address such imposing matters. So she’d followed the only dreams she could think of, those involving the Golden Gate Bridge and the laughing-eyed man who so resembled Logan Maguire.
This thought brought Rose’s attention back to the man sitting next to her. The sense that she somehow knew this man warred with the knowledge that he was really a complete stranger. A stranger who thought—no, wanted—her to be someone else, something quite ironic, considering that two years ago she’d walked away from what she knew had looked like a fairy-tale marriage for just that reason.
“Yesss!” Logan hissed as the car braked to a sudden stop. He glanced over to smile at her puzzled look and explained, “The parking gods have smiled upon us.”
Rose looked ahead to see a large silver car pull out of a parking space directly in front of them, then held her breath as Logan gunned his motor and angled into the spot practically on the heels of the departing vehicle.
After switching off the engine, he reached into the back seat for the black backpack that held the items he’d referred to earlier. He whipped a handkerchief out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket, then wrapped it around his hand as he retrieved a plain drinking glass.
“Grip this,” he said. “Make sure all five fingers leave a mark. All right, now. Give it back.”
Rose placed the glass in his handkerchief-wrapped hand, then watched him fold the white fabric around the item before returning it to the backpack.
“Okay.” He gave her a smile. “Now we feed the meter, then go confirm that you are who you say you are. Or rather, who you aren’t.”
Rose fought a strange sense of nervousness as she exited the elevator on the third floor of the building Logan led her into. This was silly, she told herself as she followed him down the hall and into a green-and-stainless-steel room, where Logan introduced her to a man wearing a white lab coat over a denim shirt and tan tie.
Dennis Langtrey stood a little over five-seven. He had light, caramel-colored eyes, a round, youthful face beneath short, wavy blond hair and a smile that could only be described as angelic, which instantly put Rose at ease. Once Logan explained what he wanted, the man placed the items taken from Anna’s room into one tray and the glass holding Rose’s prints in another. He then brushed gray powder over them and used tape to lift the resulting smudges. All the while, Dennis chatted with Logan about “old times” at Stanford University. Occasionally he glanced at Rose, as if expecting her to comment, leaving her to assume that this man must have met Anna on several of those occasions.
“Yes, that was some party Robert threw for our graduation,” Dennis said, then smiled as he straightened from his work. “Well, I have a pair of perfect thumbprints. Now for the fun part.”
