“You’re very courageous,” Tyler told her.

“Or very stupid. My principles have often gotten me into trouble.” Hannah smiled wryly.

“So Daycon’s men left you for dead on the roadside? Why didn’t they finish you off?”

“I figure they were supposed to bring me back. Without me, Daycon can’t reproduce the formula,” Hannah replied.

“Is Lionel Daycon capable of murder?” Tyler demanded.

“I think he’s capable of hiring it to be done.” Hannah shivered. “There’s a lot of money at stake and he’s a very greedy man. Do you see why time is running out? I’m sick, and getting sicker. And right now, I’m all alone.”

“That’s not true, Hannah.”

Their gazes locked. She saw something in Tyler’s eyes that gave her hope.

“You’ve got me.”

Racing Against the Clock
Lori Wilde

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LORI WILDE

realized from a very young age that she wanted to be a writer. Knowing it took many years of hard work to achieve that goal, she attended nursing school to have what her family called “a career to fall back on.” As a registered nurse, she worked in a variety of clinical settings from house supervisor to dialysis to anesthesia recovery. Her years in nursing taught her the healing power of love, a subject she loves to visit in her stories. Lori retired from nursing in 1997 in order to write fulltime. Although she loved helping people as a nurse, she feels she is truly blessed to be able to touch hearts through her love stories.

To Antonio—who never races against the clock.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Chapter 1

When Dr. Tyler Fresno stared down at the woman on the stretcher, he had the weirdest sensation that he had met his destiny and there was absolutely nothing he could do to alter his fate.

If someone had pressed him to elaborate on his feelings he would not have been able to put it into words, but there was no denying the rush of anxiety that clutched his stomach and held fast when he gazed upon her.

“Details,” Tyler demanded of the eager young emergency room intern following at his heels.

“Jane Doe. MVA. Rollover. Found unconscious at the scene. BP seventy-two over forty-eight,” the earnest physician-in-training reeled off. “X ray reveals hairline fracture of the right femur. Minor facial lacerations. Possible ruptured spleen. Neuro signs intact.”

The woman’s eyes were shuttered closed, her dark blond hair fanned across the pillowcase. Tyler placed her age somewhere between late twenties and early thirties. There was a superficial cut over one eyebrow and another along her jaw. Those wounds wouldn’t even require stitches.

She was a beautiful woman with a proud aquiline nose that at the moment played host to green plastic oxygen tubing. Her lips were salmon-colored, her cheeks pale. Her face was slender, her complexion as flawless as a cosmetics model’s.

Tyler snapped on a pair of rubber latex gloves, slipped a yellow barrier gown over his starched white lab jacket and tied a surgical mask over his clean-shaven face. He had just stepped from the shower after a twelve-hour workday when he had gotten the phone call. He’d been preparing for dinner out with friends, but as usual, the hospital had changed his plans at the last minute. Tyler couldn’t say he minded too much. He was happiest when working and this case promised to be more intriguing than most.

And there was nothing he liked more than a complicated medical puzzle to solve.

“Go on,” he prompted the intern, his eyes focused intently on the inert woman lying so still beneath the crisp green sheet.

A strange sensation slithered over him. Something he couldn’t name. Not trepidation, but something similar. Apprehension?

But why should he feel apprehensive?

“She has what appears to be mild chemical burns scattered over her arms and legs.”

“Chemical burns?” Tyler repeated, frowning.

The intern shrugged. “The paramedics found shattered glass vials throughout her car and an empty lockbox with a biohazard sticker on it. Apparently, she was transporting some volatile drug or chemical, and during the course of the accident the lockbox clasp was damaged and the vials tumbled out.”

“Do we know what we’re dealing with here?”

The intern shook his head. “The vials weren’t labeled but the paramedics were able to retrieve a small sample.”

“You’re saying the paramedics were exposed?”

“Potentially.”

Tyler swung his gaze to the younger man. “We could have toxic contamination.”

The intern nodded.

“Dammit, where’s the Hazardous Materials team?”

“On route.”

“I want this side of the E.R. evacuated and this room sealed off. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And anyone else who came in contact with this patient needs to be examined. Have those paramedics admitted for observation.”

“Will do.”

He could tell the intern thought he was going overboard, but the young pup was wet behind the ears. The man had no idea what lingering effects chemical substances could have on the human body, nor did he have a clue how serious this could be for the young woman. He hadn’t seen the dark things Tyler had seen. Hadn’t experienced the devastation of chemical warfare firsthand.

“Hop to it,” Tyler commanded.

The intern spun on his heels and hurried out the door, pulling it tightly closed behind him.

“Well now, Jane,” Tyler crooned, stepping up to the gurney. “Just what have you gotten yourself into?”

Jane Doe did not respond.

He studied the heart monitor attached by electrical wires leading to conductive gel pads on her chest. Normal sinus rhythm. A good sign. Apparently the mystery chemical hadn’t affected her cardiac functioning.

Hang in there, Jane. He mentally willed her; determination a solid fist in his gut. I’ll take care of you.

The emotional intensity of his thoughts startled him. He wanted to help all of his patients, but there was something special about this woman and he did not know what it was or why. He just knew that he felt committed to her case in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

Peeling back the covers, he allowed his gaze to rove over her while his fingers investigated. A smattering of first-degree contact burns carpeted her arms and legs. Tyler sucked in his breath and shook his head.

Her chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. Her body was lithe, supple. Her firm musculature told him that she worked out often and her lack of a tan meant she was either conscientious about the use of sunscreen or spent most of her time indoors. Her breasts were high and firm. Her abdomen was flat.

Tyler registered these things and tried hard not to be moved by them. He was a professional. A doctor. He’d seen thousands of unclothed women and had never been aroused. He was a surgeon, and because of his stint in the first Gulf War, also something of an expert on chemical exposure. Apparently, that was why the intern had called him in to consult on the case.

Curiously enough, considering she’d been exposed to a potentially harmful chemical, her respirations were deep and unlabored. Color good. Her blood pressure was low but he could put that down to the internal bleeding from her spleen, not from the chemical.

Tyler made a mental note to get her lab analysis as soon as possible. Until he knew what he was up against he was not taking any unnecessary chances. She needed surgery but anesthesia at this juncture might be risky. He would not operate until he knew what he was dealing with or until her physical circumstances deteriorated, forcing his hand.

She moaned when he pressed the right-upper quadrant of her abdomen where her spleen was located. He glanced up and saw her eyelids flutter open.

Their gazes met.

The woman looked like a delicate doe startled in the woods by the sound of a hunter’s gun.

Something stirred inside him. Her vulnerability reached out to him, strumming a chord that was far too familiar. In a flash, he saw a loneliness inside her that matched his own, a sense of desolation that ran as deep as the pain he had harbored for so long.

The connection was instantaneous and frightening in its power.

For God’s sakes, Fresno, stop it.

She was his patient, he was her doctor and even if she weren’t his patient, she deserved much more than a damaged man who’d lost his ability to love.

“Miss?” he said, purposefully denying the heavy thump, thump, thump of his heart. “Can you hear me?”

“Marcus,” she mumbled.

“I’m Dr. Tyler Fresno, and you’re in the emergency room at Saint Madeline’s Hospital in Houston, Texas. You were involved in a motor vehicle accident.” Tyler leaned closer and touched her shoulder. “Can you tell me your name?”

She shifted away.

“Are you in pain?”

She didn’t answer or meet his gaze again.

Tyler pressed the button on the electronic blood pressure cuff—88/62. Her BP was up. Excellent news. Perhaps her spleen wasn’t bleeding as profusely as he had feared.

“Can you tell me your name?” he repeated.

“Marcus.”

“Your name is Marcus?”

“Marcus.” Her lips puckered in a whisper. She stirred. “Where are you?”

Was Marcus her husband? Tyler glanced at her ring finger and saw that it was bare. A woman as beautiful as this one was no doubt married or engaged or at least had a significant other. Somewhere, somebody, probably this Marcus fellow, was worried about her.

A twist of pain stabbed through him as he imagined how frantic her husband must be. If she were his wife…

No. She wasn’t his wife. She was a patient. She meant nothing to him beyond the healing of her injuries. That detached attitude had kept him sane and functioning for the last six years. It was the only attitude he could entertain.

“Miss,” he said, “we need to take you to surgery. You’ve suffered internal injuries and your right leg has a hairline fracture.”

Her eyes were closed again. She did not move.

Tyler shook her. “Is there someone we can call? A family member? Your boss?”

Her eyes flew open and he noticed they were as blue as the ocean outside his beach house on Galveston Island. “No,” she snapped. “There’s no one.”

At least he had gotten a response. “What’s your name?” he repeated.

Fear flitted across her face. She paused a moment before saying hesitantly, “I don’t know.”

He had the oddest notion that she was lying, but it wasn’t that unusual for patients to suffer temporary amnesia following a major trauma such as a car accident. So maybe he was imagining things.

“Can you tell me what chemicals you were transporting? It’s important.”

“Chemicals?” Her voice went up an octave and she dropped her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There were no chemicals in my car.”

“The paramedics found broken glass vials and a damaged empty lockbox in your vehicle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jane Doe repeated, but she still refused to meet his gaze.

“It’s important. Your life might depend upon this.”

“I’m sorry,” she insisted. “I don’t remember anything about any chemical.”

“Where were you going?”

She shook her head. “I can’t recall. Are the paramedics okay? Did they come into contact with these chemicals?”

Something flickered in her eyes. Remorse? He knew now that she was lying but he had no idea why.

“Possibly.” Two could play this withholding information game. A little guilt might loosen her tongue. “I’ve got to check your lab values, then I’ll be right back with some papers for you to sign. Permission to do surgery. Since you don’t know what your name is, you can sign with an X.”

“All right,” Jane Doe murmured, and he had the suspicion she was simply placating him.

He left the examining room and stepped into the empty work lane. He pulled the door closed behind him, sealing the woman inside. His mind whirled. What had just passed between the two of them? Why was his pulse thready, his breathing rapid?

The intern, obeying his command, had shut down one whole side of the E.R. The HAZMAT decontamination team had arrived garbed in gas masks and rubber suits. The three men carried instruments that looked something like Geiger counters. A band of curious nurses watched the proceedings from behind a glass partition. A representative from administration waited with them, safely out of harm’s way, no doubt fretting over the cost involved.

“Doctor.” One of the members of the decontamination unit moved to block his exit.

Tyler knew what to do without being told. He stopped, raised his arms level with his shoulders and allowed them to run their instruments over his body, searching for foreign material.

“You’re clean,” the man said at last. “But I recommend you decontaminate, just in case.”

“Do you have any idea what the chemical is?” Tyler asked.

“No, sir.” The man shook his head. “We just came from the accident site and we’ve impounded the car.”

“Good.”

Whatever the chemical was, it must have a short half-life if the HAZMAT crew had been unable to find anything. He would check with the lab, then visit the paramedics. Tyler stripped off the barrier gown, the rubber gloves and paper mask and tossed the items in a special biomedical-hazards bin located near the exit. After scouring his skin in the decontamination shower, he dressed in fresh hospital scrubs and combed his damp hair.

As he left the E.R. and headed for the lab, he was stopped in the corridor by a uniformed police officer.

“Dr. Fresno?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Officer Blankenship and I understand you examined the Jane Doe who was brought in this evening from the MVA on Interstate 45.”

“That’s correct.”

“When can we interview her?”

Tyler shook his head. “I’m afraid she won’t be much help. She’s suffering from amnesia and I’ll probably be taking her to surgery soon.”

“We understand from several eyewitnesses that she was forced off the road by a white sedan. We need to confirm that.”

“Come back in the morning, officer. You’ll be able to talk to her then.”

“Will do.” The policeman thanked him and left.

Tyler continued on his way, his mind on his patient. Someone had intentionally run her off the road? If so, why? Did it have anything to do with those chemicals she was transporting? Or was it a random case of road rage? He worried his brow with his fingers and pushed through the door into the lab. There he found a wizened technician peering through a microscope.

“Any luck identifying the chemical that Jane Doe was transporting?” he asked the ruddy complexioned, sixty-year-old Irishman perched on the stool.

Danny O’Brien, of the twinkling blue eyes, infectious grin and short stature, abandoned the microscope. He greeted Tyler with a hearty slap on the shoulder. “I shoulda known you would be the one behind this mess. You’ve played havoc with my dinner hour.”

“Hey, I didn’t start it.” Tyler grinned. “E.R. called me as a consult.”

Danny sobered. “I think you better take a look at her blood work.” He handed Tyler a computer printout with Jane Doe’s name at the top and list of lab values beneath.

“Her white blood cell and reticulocyte counts are dangerously low.” Tyler’s heart plummeted.

Cancer.

The word ripped through his mind and he immediately thought of Yvette. Did Jane Doe have cancer? Had the woman taken matters into her own hands and concocted her own bizarre chemotherapy? She wouldn’t have been the first to try such a daring and desperate experiment. It would explain her reluctance to admit to having the chemicals in her possession.

“Such a shame,” he whispered and stroked a finger over the piece of paper as if stroking her in a gesture of comfort.

How tragic that a woman so young and beautiful could be in such dire trouble. He didn’t want to feel the surge of sadness that rose inside him, but he did. He clenched his jaw, chasing away the softness in his heart. He plucked a prescription pad from the pocket of his lab jacket and scribbled something on it.

“Run these additional tests. And page me the minute you have a fix on that chemical.”

“We don’t have enough blood left to run all this,” Danny said. “Could you get me another sample? The HAZMAT team is only letting essential personnel into her room.”

“Will do.” Tyler nodded. He felt sorry for her. She was in pain. All alone. Not even remembering her own name.

“She got to you, didn’t she?”

“What?” Tyler stopped at the door and turned to stare at Danny.

“Jane Doe.” Danny tapped the left side of his chest.

“No.” Tyler denied Danny’s perceptive observations.

How had he slipped? Usually, he maintained an impassive countenance. The stone wall he had erected over the years served him quite well. He lived his life on the surface, never delving too deeply into anything or anyone. Hadn’t he prided himself on masking his feelings, on how well he kept out of his patients’ personal lives? No cozy bedside manner for Tyler Fresno. He was all business. His colleagues admired his objectivity, his self-reliance. What would they say if they knew about the tender emotions Jane Doe had stirred in him?

He’d better watch himself. If Danny had picked up on his mind-set, others would too.

“You’re full of romantic blarney, Danny O’Brien,” Tyler said gruffly.

“Yes.” Danny’s eyes twinkled. “But without a little romantic drama where would a man be?”

Where indeed?

Then Tyler realized with alarming consternation the door he had slammed and locked shut six years ago had fallen off its hinges, revealing a gaping hole just aching to be filled.

Time was running out.

Dr. Hannah Zachary couldn’t afford the luxury of a hospital stay. She had to find Marcus. It was imperative.

He was the only one who could help her now. The only one who could understand the gravity of the situation.

Lionel Daycon and his nefarious cronies would stop at nothing. She had learned that tragic lesson all too well and now she was paying a very high price for her naiveté.

Hannah bit down hard on her bottom lip, fighting back the swell of tears. She had no time for self-pity. Too much was at stake. Too many lives hung in the balance. It was up to her to stop Daycon before he unleashed Virusall on an unsuspecting world.

Virusall. The elixir that was supposed to have been a miracle cure that obliterated all viruses. A unique and stunning medication that anticipated a virus’s ability to mutate and destroyed it completely.

Virusall. The drug she had invented. The drug that had once promised to revolutionize medicine.

Until three days ago when the results of the initial clinical trials had started coming in and her world had collapsed.

Hannah shuddered against the memory. The side effects were horrific. Everyone with type O blood who used Virusall experienced violent psychotic episodes three to four weeks after they’d ingested the drug. One test subject had committed suicide, another had beaten his family, yet another had randomly attacked a group of schoolchildren.

And she was the one responsible.

Hannah shuddered again.

Immediately after receiving the first disturbing report, she’d gone to see her boss Lionel Daycon. She’d never liked the unctuous man, but he’d had deep pockets and an amazing laboratory. He’d left her alone to work as she pleased, and Hannah had convinced herself that carrying out her deceased parents’ ground-breaking experiments with the Ebola virus was far more important than trusting her boss. The virus had killed her parents. There was no better way to honor their deaths.

How she’d deluded herself!

On Monday afternoon, she’d walked into Daycon’s office, but he wasn’t there. Restless, agitated, she’d begun to pace and that’s when the fax had come through. When the faxed paper floated to the floor, she’d picked it up. She hadn’t meant to violate Daycon’s privacy, but the word Virusall had caught her eye and compelled, she’d read on.

By the end of the letter, she was trembling with fear and fury.

What she learned from the fax was that Daycon had known for days about Virusall’s deadly side effects. Not only had he known about it, but he was capitalizing on it. He’d been corresponding with overseas terrorists, promising them tailor-made assassins for exorbitant sums of money. All they had to do was administer Virusall to anyone with type O blood, wait a few weeks and then put a weapon in their hands. Absolutely, carnage would result.

Most alarming of all, however, was that the fax had originated from inside the CIA. Someone high up in the government was not only sanctioning Daycon’s exploits, but had actually instigated the contacts for him.

Armed with this knowledge, she knew she couldn’t risk going to the authorities. Desperate to keep the drug out of the wrong hands, Hannah had taken an irrevocable step by obliterating every scrap of written data related to the drug. Except for an e-mail message she’d sent to Marcus that included an encrypted formula for Virusall.

She’d also had the presence of mind to reserve ten vials of the elixir in hopes that she and Marcus might create an antidote together in order to administer it to those unfortunate test subjects. She’d packed the vials carefully and secured them in a metal lockbox. After that, she’d set fire to the lab and fled without even retrieving her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk.

And then one cold, dreary November evening two desperate days later somewhere outside of Houston, on a stretch of rain-soaked highway, Daycon’s henchmen had run her off the road. Only the presence of concerned motorists pulling over to help had saved her.

She recalled the sickening crunch of metal as her little Fiat had hydroplaned after being struck repeatedly by the henchmen’s car. It had hit the median and rolled end over end. She cringed as she heard again the sound of her own screams, as the impact had wrenched open the lockbox sending the glass vials flying around the car. She’d felt the hot splash of Virusall burn her skin in numerous places and she remembered saying a prayer of thanks that she had type AB negative blood just before she’d lost consciousness.

Somewhere, Daycon’s goons still lurked, waiting for the opportunity to finish the job they’d left undone.

She had to get out of here.

Now.

Five minutes after Dr. Be-Still-My-Beating-Heart Fresno had left her alone, Hannah sat up on the gurney, flung back the stiff green sheet that smelled of antiseptic and peered down at her right leg. Hadn’t he claimed her femur was fractured?

Tentatively, she ran a hand along her thigh. Her leg seemed fine. Puzzled, Hannah looked around the room at the medical equipment stored on the shelves. A defibrillator and crash cart stood beside a suction machine and a heart monitor. She heard the steady blip, and saw that her heart rhythm was normal. Leaning over, Hannah flicked the Off button, silencing the machine.

The overhead lights beamed down hot and bright. She wore a flimsy hospital gown and nothing else. Not even her underwear. Where were her clothes?

Plucking the oxygen tubing from her nose and peeling the sticky monitor pads from her chest, she then carefully swung her legs over the edge of the gurney. Her head swam and she was forced to grip the railing for support. Once she had regained her equilibrium, Hannah eased her bare feet onto the tile floor and hissed in a breath against the shocking coldness.

She had to get out of here. Before Daycon’s goons came back. Before the police showed up. Before Dr. Handsome returned and started demanding answers. She knew he hadn’t believed her when she’d lied about not knowing her own name. She had seen the suspicion in his dark eyes, had heard the doubt echo in the richly resonant tones that matched his cautious demeanor. She lied to protect him, to keep him from getting any more involved with her than he already was.

And any minute he would be back, wanting to take her to surgery. Hannah couldn’t allow that to happen. If she succumbed to anesthesia she would be too vulnerable.

What a predicament.

She had no money, no identification and no clothes. Plus, she had a movie-star handsome doctor who made her pulse race and wanted to slice her open. To top it all off, she was starving.

As if to illustrate the point, her stomach growled.

“Forget food. Get moving, Hannah,” she whispered.

First things first. She had to focus, had to find where the hospital staff had stashed her clothes. She took a hesitant step toward the cabinet below the shiny stainless-steel sink in the corner. Her leg seemed to be working fine. Fractured indeed. Dr. Handsome had better learn how to read X rays. Thankfully for her, his diagnosis left a lot to be desired.

Reassured that everything was in proper working order, she stalked over to the sink and rummaged beneath it. Betadine wash. Antiseptic hand soap. Scrub brushes. Nothing that looked like her beige car coat, navy-blue jumper, black penny loafers and white-lace cotton blouse.

Hurry, you’ve got to get out of here before that studly doctor comes back.

She shut the cabinet door and closing the back of her immodest hospital gown with two fingers, moved across the floor to investigate the other side of the room.

There was a brown paper sack on the floor wedged behind a chair, beneath a heavy metal supply rack.

Aha. This looked promising.

Hannah bent over and touched the sack with her fingertips, but her arms were too short to reach it. The sack slid farther against the wall.

Shoot.

She settled herself onto her knees in the chair and leaned over the back, allowing the tail of her gown to flap as she strained to extend her arm. She was concentrating so hard on reaching her coveted prize that she didn’t hear the door whisper open, but the next sound drew her attention.

A throat being cleared.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dr. Tyler Fresno demanded.

Chapter 2

Her head came up. Her eyes were wide and scared, but Tyler could not get the image of that round little fanny from his mind. When he had walked through the door and spotted the woman bending over the back of that chair, the thin cotton hospital gown draping loosely around her legs and revealing her naked backside, his initial response had been utterly masculine and not at all professional.

Physical passion, hot, hard and more powerful than anything Tyler had experienced in the past six years kicked him solidly in the gut. He had no business entertaining these thoughts. None whatsoever. Yet there they were.

Jane Doe scurried to her feet and spun around, a red stain coloring her cheeks. “I was just trying to find my things,” she said, fumbling to close her gown and hide her nudity.

Immediately contrite, he was embarrassed at his overt sexual desire.

Then surprise ambushed him as he realized what she had been doing. The woman should not be able to stand on that leg, much less kneel in the seat of a chair. The pain would be too great.

“What are you doing out of bed?” he demanded, stalking toward her.

She backed up, her chest rising and falling so rapidly he couldn’t stop himself from noticing the swell of her firm, unfettered breasts beneath that skimpy gown.

He shifted his stare to her right leg. The limb supported her without even trembling. Impossible! Confused, Tyler shook his head. The intern must have been wrong about the hairline fracture.

Jane Doe squared her shoulders, raised her head and took a stand. “I’m leaving the hospital against medical advice. Please, get me my clothes.”

“No,” he said.

“You can’t hold me here against my will. I know my rights as a patient.”

“The police are outside. They want to talk to you.”

Her color paled and she looked stricken. “The police? Why would they want to speak to me?”

“About the accident. They’re saying that someone tried to run you off the road.”

“No.” She forced a laugh. “Where did they get that idea?”

“Eyewitnesses.” She was clearly afraid of the police. Why? Was she in some kind of trouble?

Tyler sank his hands on his hips and studied her face. The look of desperation in her eyes sliced him deep. He’d seen a similar expression before. In his own mirror. He remembered what it was like to feel utterly desperate and completely out of control.

After Yvette had died he’d gone off the deep end, drinking too much and isolating himself. Six weeks after her death, he’d taken off for Big Bend National Park and walked into the desert without any supplies, determined to stay there until he died. Three days later, dehydrated and malnourished, he’d become delusional and staggered into an illegal immigrant’s camp. The man could have left him for dead. He’d taken a great risk, but he had stayed with Tyler and nursed him back to health. If a considerate stranger hadn’t given him sanctuary during that grim time in his life, he would not have survived.

Did Jane Doe need that kind of help from him now?

Yeah, like you’re capable of giving it. When was the last time you altruistically did anything for anyone? his cynical voice taunted.

After Yvette’s death, he had become so accomplished at shutting off his own feelings that his concerns for his patients never extended beyond their surgical recovery time. What mattered to Tyler was that he performed their operations to the best of his ability. After that, it was out of his hands. He hadn’t cared about their family life or spiritual well-being. He hadn’t bothered with learning how they got around at home or if they had someone to cook and clean for them while they recovered. That was the job of social workers and nurses, not surgeons.

He was too rusty. His do-gooder instincts were flabby and out of shape. He should just get someone from social services to come consult on her case so he could wash his hands of everything but her medical condition.

Inside his head, he heard Yvette click her tongue that way she had when she was disappointed in him. He could almost feel her disapproving frown burning the back of his head.

Angrily, he shrugged off the sensation. Dammit! He had no reason to feel guilty. He hadn’t asked for this assignment. He wasn’t this woman’s savior. Nor was she even asking him to be. He didn’t want to get involved.

I’m my brother’s keeper. Yvette’s motto—his own old motto before he’d lost touch with his humanity—echoed in his ears.

Ah, hell.

“No one forced me off the road,” Jane Doe denied. “The eyewitnesses are mistaken. It was wet and getting dark. I was driving too fast. My car hydroplaned and flipped.”

“You can remember the accident but you can’t remember your name?”

She shrugged.

He swept his gaze over her body, befuddled at the suddenness of her physical transformation. A short time ago she had been immobile, barely conscious. Her face had been lacerated and her blood pressure low. She had come into contact with an unknown chemical that was quite possibly toxic and she had acute upper-right quadrant pain. Now, she presented the picture of health. Her pasty color had been replaced by a lively pink sheen. Blond hair that had been damp and matted with blood now hung soft and luxuriant down her back. Plus, she was placing full weight on the bone that supposedly had a hairline fracture.

Something didn’t jive. He had seen Olympic athletes that hadn’t looked as good.

Then he remembered the results of the woman’s blood work. The low white blood cell count, the elevated platelets, the numerous lymphocytes. She didn’t look like an advanced cancer victim, either. Tyler narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin as he contemplated the evidence.

Maybe the chemicals she’d absorbed through her skin during the accident had altered her blood values, mutating her cells in some bizarre manner that resembled cancer. It was possible, although rare, to see such a change so quickly after exposure, but then again nothing about this woman seemed normal or predictable.

He had to get to the bottom of this anomaly. He had to find out how she could go from obtunded to robust in the span of half an hour.

What exactly had been in those vials?

“Get back on the gurney,” Tyler commanded, pointing a finger at the stretcher.

Jane Doe raised her chin and glared at him defiantly. “No.”

“I will not allow you to leave this hospital until I’ve examined you.”

“You can’t stop me.” Her blue eyes flashed fire.

He folded his arms over his chest and moved to block the doorway. “Maybe not, but the police can. Shall I call them?”

“This is an outrage.” She frowned. “It’s blackmail.”

“Sit,” he commanded again and pointed at the bed. This time, she obeyed.

Jane Doe scooted herself up onto the gurney but instead of lying down, she stayed sitting on the edge, her feet dangling inches above the floor. She looked like a disgruntled kid forced to eat her broccoli before being allowed to have chocolate cake.

“Has it occurred to you that something isn’t quite kosher here?” Tyler asked, stepping closer to the stretcher.

“What do you mean?”

“Your leg. It should be causing you terrible pain.”

He could explain away her irregular lab values in the face of renewed health, and it was within the realm of possibility that her spleen had stopped bleeding on its own without surgical intervention. But he could not, no matter how hard he tried, come up with an explanation for why she could bear weight on her fractured leg.

“I’ll tell you what’s not kosher,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Your diagnosis. Admit your mistake, Doctor. You were wrong about the fracture. Obviously, my leg is not broken.”

“Let’s check the film.”

He stepped to where her X rays were clipped to a fluorescent, wall-mounted box and switched on the backlight. The bulb flickered a minute, then illuminated the view of her right-upper leg.

“See that,” he said, pointing to the thin dark line that ran almost the entire length of her long bone. “That’s what we call a capillary fracture. The mildest fracture, but a fracture nonetheless. You should be in considerable pain.”

“It simply isn’t my X ray,” she denied.

“It’s got your name on it.”

“And what name is that?”

“Jane Doe.”

“Yes. A name you give all unknown female patients. Correct?”

“There have been no other Jane Does admitted tonight,” Tyler replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” But her statement caused him momentary doubt. Could it be true?

“Then someone mislabeled the X ray,” she insisted. “You’ve got me mixed up with another patient. That’s all there is to it.”

“I want to X ray your leg again.”

“No need. It’s fine. You saw me walking on it.”

“Appease me.”

“I see no point. Clearly if I can bear weight on the leg it can’t be fractured.”

She had a valid argument. Their gazes caught and he couldn’t help but feel a flare of heat low in his belly. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent. Nothing got by this one.

“You still can’t remember your name?” he asked, flicking off the light under her X ray and coming back to stand beside her.

“No.”

“I want to check your neurological signs.”

“All right.”

At least she hadn’t fought him on this. He removed a penlight from his pocket and flashed it in first one pupil and then the other. Equal and reactive.

“Do you know what day it is?” he asked, testing to see if she was oriented to time and place.

“Thursday. November, the seventh,” she replied.

He nodded. “And where are you at?”

“St. Madeline’s Hospital in Houston, Texas.”

“Here,” he said. “Squeeze my hands.”

She stared at him. “What for?”

“So I can check your grip.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“I don’t bite.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes.

Why was she so reluctant to touch him? He wriggled his fingers. “Come on.”

Slowly, she took his fingers in her hands and squeezed.

“Harder,” he said.

Her hands were soft and warm and fit perfectly in his. Delicate and feminine hands. She smelled nice, too. Like sunflowers.

“How’s that?” she asked, squeezing with all her might.

“Good.” He met her challenging glare and swallowed back his awkwardness.

“Sure you don’t want it harder?” Her voice held a note of sharp sarcasm. Her stare was disconcertingly intense. His gut knotted.

“That’s fine. You can let go now.”

She released his hands and although Tyler was relieved, he felt vaguely dissatisfied.

“Lie down,” he said. “I want to examine your abdomen again.”

“May I leave after this?”

“Perhaps.” Boy, was she a tough cookie. He had to admire her doggedness.

Sighing, she stretched out on the gurney, crossed her legs at the ankle and propped the back of her head in her palms.

He moved to her side and palpated her spleen. “Is that tender?”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t be lying simply to get out of here, would you?” he asked.

“I’m not above fudging the truth in order to get dismissed,” she admitted and Tyler suppressed a smile at her honesty. “But I’m sincere. It really doesn’t hurt.”

When he had examined her previously she’d had marked guarding of the area and had moaned in pain. Now, she seemed unaffected by his probing. Weird. Her spleen must have stopped bleeding spontaneously. He’d never seen it happen, but he’d heard it was possible. He took her blood pressure—116/78. Textbook normal.

“I really think you should be admitted for observation,” Tyler said. “We don’t know for sure that your spleen isn’t still leaking. What happens if you get down the road a few hours and start hemorrhaging internally?”

“Guess that’s a chance I’ve got to take.” She shrugged.

Concern kicked him hard in the heart. If she wanted to take that risk, why should he care?

He didn’t care.

Yes, you do.

No, I don’t.

Come on, you’ve got to stop being such a crusty old goat eventually. The contrary voice in his head was pure Yvette, goading him to rise to the occasion. She’d always kept him on his moral toes and since she’d been gone he’d slid far down the slippery slope to indifference.

I don’t, he mentally argued.

Yes, you do. Because once upon a time you were self-destructive and your friends stepped in. Right now this woman needs all the friends she can get. Whether she recognizes it or not.

Okay. Fine. He would try to cajole her into staying. That way, if she refused, he could let her go with a clear conscience.

“Why are you so adamant against spending the night?” Tyler asked. “What could it hurt?”

“I have an aversion to hospitals.” She rubbed her arms and he saw goose bumps rise on her skin. That’s when he realized her chemical burns were gone.

He shook his head, blinked and did a double take. He examined her arms and legs. Not a burn insight.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Your burns have disappeared.” Now that really was strange. He frowned, shoved a hand through his hair and wracked his brain for a plausible explanation. A mistake on the X ray he could buy. Her spleen clotting itself off, while unlikely, wasn’t impossible. But now this?

Tyler felt as if he’d just fallen into The Twilight Zone.

What kind of chemicals had been in those vials? Curiosity gnawed at him. She was a complicated woman with disappearing symptoms. He told himself he needed for her to stay so he could get to the bottom of her odd healing, but in reality he wanted to find out who she really was.

Gently, Tyler drew the sheet around her shoulders to warm her. She shied at his touch as if afraid he might harm her. Her lip trembled and she turned her head away from him.

“Please, bring me a release form and I’ll exonerate you from all responsibility,” she said. “I just want to leave.”

“You think a piece of paper will keep me from worrying about you?” Tyler asked, disturbed because what he’d said was true. No matter how much a stubborn part of him longed to deny it, he cared about Jane Doe.

And that scared the living hell out of him.

“If you’re insistent on leaving can I at least call someone for you?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “I…I don’t remember.”

He saw through her like glass. Whenever she lied, the tip of her nose reddened.

“How do you intend to get home? Your car was totaled in the accident.”

“I’ll walk.”

“Do you even know where home is?”

She didn’t answer.

Tyler clenched his teeth. “You didn’t have any identification on you. The paramedics searched your car but couldn’t find a purse. Do you have any money?”

“Are you offering a loan?” She quirked one eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” Tyler said, reaching for his wallet. A wad of cash should take care of the problem. He needn’t get anymore involved than that. “Except it’s a gift, not a loan.”

“Do you often offer needy patients money, Doctor?”

“No.” He hadn’t ever given money to a patient, but Yvette had. Many times. He’d often joked she was driving them into the poor house with her lost causes. His late wife had been a social worker with a marshmallow heart who’d been unable to resist any stray who showed up on her doorstep. He heard Yvette whispering in his ear, Help her.

“I’m special, then.” Jane Doe’s tone was sardonic but the look in her eyes was one of appreciative surprise.

His chest swelled with an odd emotion he couldn’t name. Their gazes locked and he knew it was true. He couldn’t say why or how but this woman was special to him and not just because she obviously needed him. Without even trying, she touched something deep inside him. Perhaps it was the sarcasm that hinted at her hidden vulnerability; perhaps it was her nervousness, perhaps it was because she looked a bit like Yvette—blond, petite, fragile.

Or perhaps it was his own loneliness that he saw reflected in those soft blue eyes. Peering through those cerulean depths and on past into her troubled soul was like staring into a looking glass.

“Yes,” he admitted. “You are special.”

She ducked her head, denying him further access to those tantalizing eyes.

“Please,” he said, extending five twenty-dollar bills to her. “Take the cash.”

“I can’t accept your money.”

She glanced up and he caught another glimpse into those too wise yet oddly naive eyes and drew in a breath. What he was about to suggest overstepped all boundaries of the doctor-patient relationship but he could not bear the thought of her wandering the streets hungry and alone.

He remembered the kind man in the desert who had saved his life when he was at his lowest point. Jane Doe was at that threshold now.

Here’s your opportunity to repay that karmic debt, Yvette’s voice niggled. Not only that, but giving this woman sanctuary is a chance to get the old Tyler back. I miss him. Don’t you?

Tyler clenched his jaw. Why her? Why now? She made him feel something again when he believed he’d lost all ability to feel tender emotions. And he did long to be the man he was before Yvette had died. Concerned, loving, compassionate. He’d forgotten how to be all those things.

This is your chance at redemption.

Offering Jane Doe a place to stay was the right thing to do, even though he feared prolonged proximity to her might alter his fate in ways he never imagined. He needed to do this. In memory of Yvette. In memory of the man he used to be.

“All right.” Tyler pocketed the money. “If you refuse to stay in the hospital and you won’t take my cash then there is only one option left.”

“And that is?”

It was now or never. If he hesitated, he would back out. Tyler took a deep breath and committed himself. “You’ll stay at my secluded beach house on Galveston Island. No one will bother you. You can rest, collect your thoughts and stay until you get your memory back. Is it a deal?”

She had no other choice but to say yes. She couldn’t go back home to Austin. It wasn’t safe. Daycon’s men would be watching her house. And she couldn’t talk to the police. They would make a phone call and discover she was the one responsible for torching Daycon Laboratories. Besides, Daycon was buddies with a rogue CIA operative. He would have no trouble locating her if she didn’t accept help. She had no money for a motel. She needed food and a good night’s sleep before trying to obtain another car so she could get to Marcus in New Mexico. Dr. Fresno’s offer was a gift from heaven.

Hannah gazed into Tyler’s sincere brown eyes and felt guilty for lying to him. But she didn’t know how far she could trust him and as long as she kept her name a secret it offered both of them some small measure of security.

“Why would you do that for me?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe because you’re the most interesting case I’ve ever come across.”

She studied him a moment, trying to figure him out.

“Well?” he asked slanting his head and waiting for her response to his proposal.

“All right,” she agreed.

“There’s just one stipulation.”

Hannah groaned. She should have known there would be a catch. “What is it?”

“You allow me to perform a few more tests.”

Hannah hesitated. She wanted out of this place. Now. The longer she stayed, the more precarious her position became.

“I’ve got to know what happened to you,” Tyler insisted. “Why your spleen stopped bleeding. Why your chemical burns disappeared.”

I could tell you what I think might have happened, Hannah thought, but I don’t fully understand it myself.

Virusall could be responsible for her stunningly quick recovery. How, she did not know for sure, but the experiences she’d had with the drug in the lab indicated anything might be possible. It was a miraculously healing drug but it was also very unstable.

Fear rippled through her, but she pushed her anxiety aside. She didn’t have time to piece together what Virusall might have done to her. Not now.

When she’d accused Tyler of misreading the X rays and confusing her with another patient, she had done it to offer him an explanation. A rational possibility his scientific mind could accept. She couldn’t tell him the truth—that she had concocted a wonder drug proven to eradicate all viruses. She had scarcely believed it herself.

And then there were the horrific side effects that turned ordinary people with type O blood into vicious beasts.

To let Tyler in on her secret would be tantamount to signing his death warrant. If Daycon suspected she told anyone about Virusall, she knew the man would not hesitate to do whatever was necessary to protect himself and his CIA cohort.

She had to get to Marcus before Daycon figured out what she was planning, and she had to get out of this hospital before his henchmen discovered she had not died in the car crash.

“Concerning these tests,” Hannah asked Tyler. “What do you have in mind?”

“X rays, more blood work.”

“How long?”

“Three, four hours tops.”

“Sorry. I can give you an hour. That’s all. Do what you can in that length of time—after that, I’ll be gone.”

“Fair enough.” He surprised her by agreeing.

Cocking her head, she studied him, wondering what his motivation was in opening his house to her. He had told her she was special. What had he meant by that? Was it because her vanishing illness fascinated him? Had someone helped him when he was down and out? Or was there something more?

He was a handsome man, tall and lean. His hands, long and slender, belonged to a surgeon. His hair was dark brown, his eyes an even darker shade of chocolate. There was a brushstroke of gray at each temple and a few laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes. An air of refinement clung to him and yet at the same time he exuded a rugged masculinity. A hunter who listened to Mozart. A soldier who studied fine art. A man as comfortable skiing in the Rockies as he would be at a wine-tasting party.

She could not deny her attraction to him, but Hannah didn’t employ her physical urges to form opinions or make decisions. Her parents had taught her that nothing was more important than a clear head and a practical mind. Affairs of the hearts were reserved for sentimentalists and fools and she was neither.

Her parents, though they professed to love her, had not been the type to offer kisses, hugs or even many words of praise. Hannah had been expected to perform to the best of her ability and she had strove to please them. She had earned a bachelor’s degree in chemistry by age sixteen, had a master’s by eighteen and at age twenty had been the youngest woman ever to earn a Ph.D. in pharmacology from the University of Texas. In fact, it had been her burning desire to honor the memory of her parents and the high standards they had set which led her to discover the phenomenal Virusall.

She had always been on the outside looking in, the girl who was out of step with everyone else her age. Because of her up-bringing, Hannah had never been very good with people, but it was this trait that made her such a dedicated researcher. She possessed an analytical mind and she enjoyed being alone. She didn’t easily succumb to the emotional pull of others and she held herself to lofty standards.

But right now Tyler Fresno was tugging at her with the force of a high-powered magnet.

“Do you know where my clothes are?” She ran a hand through her unruly hair. Furrowing her brow, she wished for lipstick and a hairbrush. She must look a fright and although Hannah wasn’t given to vanity, she found herself wanting to look nice for him. Why?

“Perhaps they’re down here.” He turned and bent over to pick up the sack she had been trying to reach when he had come into the room and caught her with her backside in the air.

This turnabout was fair play.

She propped herself up on her elbows and watched with interest as she got a glimpse of his rear-end. Unfortunately, doctors’ scrub suits did not offer the same uninhibited view as an open-back hospital gown. Still, she enjoyed running her eyes down the length of his lanky form. She wasn’t one for ogling men, but for this guy she would make an exception.

“Here you are.” He handed her the paper bag.

Hannah peered inside and was alarmed to see her clothes matted with dirt and blood.

Tyler must have read her mind because in the next minute he said, “Tell you what—I’ll get you a set of scrubs to wear. What are you?” He squinted, raking his gaze over her. “An extra small?”

“Yes, but a small will do fine and thank you. That’s very considerate.”

“Don’t mention it.” He smiled and Hannah felt warm and tingly all over.

A girl could fall for a guy like him.

She had to be careful. Hannah had spent so much time in a laboratory, she knew very little about the opposite sex or how to handle herself in the presence of a man she found attractive.

“I’ll just draw a vial of blood first,” Tyler said. He opened a supply drawer. “Damn, we’re out of purple-top tubes. Just hang on a minute while I pop over to the lab for the right tube.”

“I’m leaving in a hour,” she warned.

“Okay, fine. I’ll just go ahead and draw your blood and then carry the specimen to the lab in the syringe. I can put it in the correct tube when I get there.”

“Thank you.” She beamed at him.

He wrapped a yellow rubber tourniquet around her arm and palpated a vein in the bend of her elbow. “Make a fist for me.”

After drawing her blood, he then put the syringe into a red bag marked with a biohazard chemical emblem.

It was after eleven o’clock and Danny was getting ready to leave for the night when Tyler walked into the lab.

“Here’s the blood on Jane Doe,” he said.

“Lad, your timin’ leaves a lot to be desired,” Danny grumbled good-naturedly and started to shrug out of the coat he’d just put on.

“No, no, go on. I’ll put it in a purple-top tube and label it for the next shift,” Tyler offered.

“You’re a saint, you are.”

“Off with you.”

Danny headed for the door.

Tyler removed the syringe from the red plastic bag and took off the needle cap. He started to push the needle into the tube’s rubber stopper but his hand slipped and he accidentally plunged the needle into the pad of his thumb.

“Yeow!”

“What’s the matter?” Danny turned back and paled when he saw the syringe of blood protruding from Tyler’s thumb.

“I slipped.”

“Ah, Laddie. I shouldna let you done that,” Danny castigated himself. “It’s my job.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Tyler said, trying to appear casual when his heart was racing. He’d just been stuck with a patient’s blood and he didn’t even know her HIV status.

Jane Doe wasn’t HIV positive.

How do you know? Just because you don’t want her to have AIDS doesn’t make it so. Her blood work is abnormal.

Danny took the syringe and blood tube away from Tyler. “Go wash up at the sink and mind you fill out an incident report on this. You’ll have to get tested and so will she.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tyler washed his hands at the sink and tried his best to ignore his throbbing thumb. He would live.

But would his beautiful mystery woman?

By the time the X-ray technician wheeled her back to the emergency room, Hannah was more than ready to see the last of Saint Madeleine’s. A knock sounded on the door and she looked up to spy Tyler standing in the doorway, a blue scrub suit in his hands and a smile hovering at his lips.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She nodded, relieved. “Do I need to go to the billing office?” she asked. “It’s going to be tough. I don’t have any identification. To be honest, I don’t know if I have health insurance or not.”

This was the truth. After her run-in with Daycon, she figured her old boss would not be inclined to pay her medical bills. Especially since he would rather cover her funeral expenses instead, but not until he got his hands on Virusall.

“Don’t worry about it.” Tyler said. “I’ve already checked you out of the hospital.”

“How did you accomplish that feat?”

“I told them I would be responsible for your bill.”

“Dr. Fresno,” she protested, “I can’t allow you to do that.”

He raised his palms. “Shhh. I have more money than I know what to do with. We’ll discuss it later. Right now you need a warm bath, a hot meal and a good night’s sleep. Hopefully by morning your memory will have returned and we can piece together what happened to you.”

“Why would you do this for me?” she asked. “I’m a stranger to you.”

“I’m curious about your condition. About you.”

She wasn’t buying it. There was something more. Mere curiosity didn’t cause a man to open his home to someone he did not know.

“What’s the real reason?” she asked.

He looked at her for a long moment and she saw a myriad of emotions play across his face. Sorrow, loss, sadness, regret. By helping her, was he assuaging something inside of him? A long ago guilt? A bad choice made? A wrong turn taken? Was he looking for redemption? Who was she to deny him his salvation?

“A stranger helped me once when I was in deep trouble,” he said quietly. She could tell by the way he held himself that the memory of his troubles still haunted him. “I vowed that I would never turn my back on someone in need. And from my vantage point, you’re looking pretty needy. Besides, you remind me of someone I once knew.”

His voice caught and Hannah realized then he wasn’t doing this so much for her or even for his own good karma, but for the person that brought the gravelly, emotional sound into his voice. She shouldn’t fight his generosity. She should just accept it as a gift. Why was it so difficult for her to receive help?

Hannah swallowed hard. “I have trouble taking assistance from people I don’t know.”

“Ah, trust issues.”

“You have no idea,” she muttered.

“I understand. You’re under no obligation to me.” The look on his face was one of utter compassion. He had no ulterior motives. He was simply a nice guy. Why did she have so much trouble accepting that?

Because no one has ever been kind to you without an ulterior motive.

“What about the police?”

“I told them you weren’t available for an interview until tomorrow morning.”

“What happens tomorrow when they find out I’m not here?”

“We’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

A lump formed in Hannah’s throat. She couldn’t believe the kindness of this good doctor. She didn’t deserve to be treated so well, particularly since she was lying to him.

In that moment, Hannah experienced a premonition, a spooky sensation that sent goose flesh flying up her arms. By agreeing to go off with Dr. Tyler Fresno and evading the police, was she possibly making the gravest mistake of all?

Chapter 3

“Are you hungry?” Tyler asked as they left the hospital in his silver BMW.

It was either early or late, depending upon your definition. The parking lot lay half-empty. The sky was dark and the street lamps exuded a fuzzy golden glow. Hannah had crashed her car around dusk, now it was after midnight.

“Famished,” she admitted and pressed a palm to her belly. She hadn’t eaten all day. Between the terror of fleeing Daycon’s men, living through a smashup and experiencing a miraculous healing, she was ready for a down-to-earth activity like supper.

Besides, eating might take her mind of this unexpected twist of sexual desire building at a brushfire pace between she and the good doctor. Being in the car alone with him was causing her to think some very unseemly thoughts. She kept getting a flash of what he might taste like. Warm and sweet, she decided. And deliciously sinful. Like Death By Chocolate dessert.

You’re just famished. Knock off the fantasy.

“How are you feeling otherwise?” Tyler fretted. “No nausea, no headaches, no dizziness?”

“I’m fine except I could eat a hippopotamus.”

“How about a hamburger instead?” He chuckled and pulled through a drive-through fast-food joint.

“Is this your idea of healthy eating, Doctor?” she teased, surprised at her own levity. The truth was, she felt good. Damned good. Happy to be alive and, if she dared to confess it, excited. For the first time since fleeing Daycon’s burned-out laboratories, Hannah had hope.

“Normally,” Tyler said, “I recommend healthier fare. But considering what you’ve been through you need the protein and a little fat won’t hurt you, either.”

She was usually conscientious about what she ate, preferring fruits and vegetables to meat and bread but her mouth watered at the thought of a thick, juicy hamburger. Sometimes junk food was exactly what the doctor ordered.

And what a doctor he was! Tall and lean but muscular. With a dark, brooding quality beneath his professional demeanor. A quality that issued a call to her own sense of isolation.

Stop this, Hannah. Stop it right now. No good can come of your sudden infatuation.

She knew better, and yet she could not stop sending him surreptitious glances over the rim of her thick chocolate milk shake.

Within minutes they were traveling south outside of Houston, the comforting smell of mustard and onions filling the car. After she had polished off the hamburger and the milk shake, she wiped her hands on a paper napkin, sighed her pleasure and leaned back against the leather seat.

What elegance. What style. The car perfectly fit the man. She must have drifted off because the next thing she knew, Tyler was pulling the BMW into the driveway of a dark, silent beach house.

There was no light, save for the full moon overhead and the illumination from the headlight beams. Sitting up, Hannah rubbed her eyes and rolled down the window. The scent of salt air mingled with the sound of the ocean lapping against the shore.

“This is it,” he said, coming around to help her out.

Her body had grown stiff during the hour-long drive from the city to the Gulf of Mexico. Stretching, Hannah suppressed a yawn.

Tyler reached to take her arm but she tensed and rejected his extended hand. He shrugged nonchalantly, but evidently she’d wounded his pride. She wanted to tell him it was nothing personal but how could she explain that she didn’t like to be touched? Particularly by strangers.

Growing up without much physical affection had caused her to crave a larger than average personal space. She needed distance. Her parents had taught her it was rude and presumptuous to press herself upon people. As a result, she often felt awkward whenever someone touched her. She didn’t even care to shake hands.

As for kissing, well, that had proven to be a nightmare the few times she’d tried it. Hannah supposed her less than enthusiastic response to swapping spit was the main reason she’d had a string of first dates but never a steady boyfriend.

And yet, some small part of her desperately wanted Dr. Fresno to kiss her.

She knew she was an oddball. Her parents’ negative view of romantic love had colored her outlook. Doctors Eric and Beverly Zachary had been friends and colleagues and little more. They had prided themselves on avoiding the trap of useless emotions in favor of a marriage based on mutual respect. They had even encouraged Hannah to make an emotionless match herself. When they had met Marcus Halpren, they had been hopeful she would choose him as her life mate. He had an IQ of two hundred and ten, and even though Marcus had been interested in her, Hannah had been unable to bring herself to ruin their friendship with a business merger. Although she liked and respected her colleague, she had never been attracted to him. A passionless marriage might have been enough for her parents. It wasn’t enough for her. She’d rather remain single.

In college, her roommates had extolled the joys of sex in vivid detail. Hannah had even attempted the act herself but after one or two groping sessions in the back seat of some guy’s car, she had come to the conclusion that one, sex was noisy, sweaty and not worth the bother and two, she was in the minority in her opinion.

“This way,” Tyler said, leading her up the path to the two-story frame structure built on stilts.

She could see sand dunes beyond, and the ocean shimmering in the distance. It had been such a long time since she’d been to the seaside. The water called to her, pulled at something deep inside her solar plexus. The tide was so elemental, so basic, at once temporary yet enduringly permanent. She was tired of her complex life and had a sudden desperate need for the simple fundamentals.

Food. Water. Love. Not knowing where that last thought came from, Hannah moved toward the ocean.

“Where are you going?”

“Can we take a walk along the beach?” she asked, desperate to clear her head. His proximity was disconcerting. The smell of his woodsy aftershave mingled with the scent of the ocean, creating a powerful draw inside her. A draw she must deny.

Tyler arched his eyebrows at her request. “Sure, if you feel up to it.”

Without waiting for him, she trailed over the shifting sand toward the beckoning waves. She needed to put distance between them, needed to get some perspective on what she was feeling. She’d never been this physically attracted to a man before and she didn’t know how to handle her body’s purely feminine response. Particularly when she could not act on her feelings. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

“Jane,” he said, and it took Hannah a minute to realize he was speaking to her. “I know that’s not your real name, but I don’t know what else to call you.”

Hannah turned and saw him silhouetted in the moonlight, regal as a mythical knight. His handsomeness took her breath. He possessed an elegant self-assurance and a natural patience. In that instant, she almost told him her name but fear for his safety stopped her. The less he knew about her, the better for both of them.

Wistfully, she thought back to her childhood when her first-grade teacher had read the story of Cinderella to the class. Until that time, Hannah had never heard the tale. Her parents, disdainful of fiction in general and fairy tales in particular, had read only nature stories and biographies for entertainment. Of course, like any little girl, she had been enthralled with the notion of Prince Charming. Excited, she had rushed home to tell her mother what she had learned. Her mother had burst her bubble, telling her that fairy tales were utter nonsense written for silly fools. Then she had pulled Hannah out of public school.

The memory lingered. She wondered why her mother had been so opposed to the romantic story. Now, looking at Tyler, Hannah recalled the joy she had experienced upon hearing that story her first and only time.

What was the matter with her? Why was she thinking these crazy romantic notions when her mind should be consumed by thoughts of Virusall?

“Jane will do fine,” she said, and wished she could tell him her real name. She would have loved to hear him whisper “Hannah” in his low, sexy voice.

“I want you to know that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be on my way in the morning.”

“It’s not necessary.”

Hannah crossed her arms. “Listen, you’ve been very sweet and I really appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I’ve got to be straight with you. I don’t ‘do’ people well.”

He cocked his head. The moonlight caught his eyes and they glinted with a dangerous light. “What’s that suppose to mean?”

“I’m a loner. I have a hard time with small talk.”

“And?”

“I snore.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you make a terrible house guest?” He gave her a look that raised goose bumps on her arms. What was it about him that drove her hormones insane? Was this what they called chemistry? It felt wonderful and wild and scary and out of control. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. But she loved it.

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose I am.”

“Don’t worry. I live in the city. The beach house is yours.”

“I won’t be here long,” she reiterated.

“Stay as long as you need.” Tyler stepped closer and Hannah felt both fearful and thrilled that he might try to touch her again, but he didn’t. Discombobulated, she glanced away.

“Let’s walk,” she said and started down the beach.

The chilly night wind whipped the thin scrubs around her legs, sliced through her car coat and snatched at her curls. She took a deep breath. It was good to feel cold. She savored being alive with a handsome man by her side. A man she liked more than she had any right to.

These feelings were deadly. She had to be on her way as soon as she got a good’s night sleep. For both their sakes. Because she could tell by the expression on his face he was feeling the same powerful push-pull of attraction that was grabbing at her chest.

“I haven’t been to the beach house since summer. It’s probably pretty musty inside. Salt water takes its toll.”

Hannah nodded. Silence elongated between them, increasing their awkwardness with each other.

“Are you married?” she asked at last.

“No. Are you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, then she remembered she was suppose to have lost her memory. “I don’t think so,” she hedged. “I don’t remember.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure your amnesia is temporary. It’s not uncommon in the aftermath of an accident. Spontaneous memory usually returns in a few hours to a few days.”

Fresh guilt swept over her. The more she lied to him, the worse she felt.

“I was married once,” he said quietly. “A long time ago.”

The water lapped at their feet. The moon shone down. She could almost palpate his uneasiness.

“You never remarried?” She angled a sideways glance at him. His face was cast in shadows, his jaw ridged.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Divorced?” she asked, startled to find her throat thick with an unnamed emotion.

“Widowed.”

Then he stopped, turned his back on her and stared out to sea, letting Hannah know the subject was closed. He had loved his wife a great deal, she realized. So much that he still found it hard to talk about her. The knowledge stirred a longing deep within her. Would anyone ever love her with such intensity? Better question, would she even live to see the end of the week?

Not for the first time, she wondered why Tyler had offered her sanctuary. She shivered and hugged herself. If she hadn’t been desperate she would never have accepted his offer.

“You’re cold.”

He slipped off his heavy jacket and draped it gently around her shoulders. He held himself stiffly, making sure he didn’t touch her. He was as discombobulated by their attraction and apparently did not welcome it anymore than she did. That was good. If they both kept their distance everything would be all right.

The jacket smelled of him. Of hamburgers and hospitals, soap and antiseptic. She couldn’t help herself. She found the scent very comforting.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s go to the house.”

She stumbled in the sand, almost lost her balance. He reached out to take her hand, but she hung back.

“Does touching me make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

“I just don’t want you to fall, but if you’re uncomfortable, I understand.” He dropped his hand and seemed relieved she didn’t need him.

“I’m fine.” But then she stumbled again, belying her statement.

He reached out again. “Come on. Take my hand.”

Tentatively, she reached out and slid her hand into his.

Holding his hand was awkward at first. She couldn’t deny it. It was as if she didn’t belong in this place and had no business touching this man as they walked along in silence under the crescent moon.

His hand was smooth and firm. He held her loosely so she could easily break free if she chose. Hannah liked that. He was offering his support with no expectations. He simply wanted to keep her from falling.

Palm trees swayed. Leaves rustled. The water whispered as it rolled forward, and then slithered back. Near their feet sea creatures scuttled for safety across the sand.

The bond between them grew. Her hand tingled with a warm glow that increased the longer Tyler held on. Her heart filled with heated syrup. Her mind spun. She felt as if she were falling from a high precipice into a bottomless abyss.

Hannah had never experienced anything to equal the sensation. Her pulse quickened. What did it mean? So many strange things had happened to her over the last few hours that she couldn’t unravel the implications.

It means nothing. It couldn’t mean anything. She could not act on this attraction. She couldn’t trust it. Even if she wasn’t on the run. Even if her life wasn’t in danger. She simply didn’t know how to please a man. She’d spent her life in a lab. She had no idea how to flirt or wear makeup. Had not a clue what turned men on. And most of all, she had no idea how to open her heart to love. And a man as special as Tyler deserved a feminine woman who could give him her all. Especially after he’d been so scarred by life.

So what was she supposed to do about this vibrant electric current running between them?

“Do you feel it?” Tyler asked, his voice a low rumble invading her ears.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“My hand’s melting into yours.”

“Flowing,” she said, articulating the word that leapt to her head.

“It’s so hot. As if you have a fever.”

“I don’t.”

“What does it mean?” Tyler asked, stopping just short of the house and drawing her into the moonlight. His eyes searched her face. “Tell me, Jane, what’s going on?”

Had he guessed that she was lying about her amnesia?

“I can’t. Not now. Not yet.”

“But soon?”

She shook her head. “It’s safer if you don’t know.”

He raised their joined hands above their heads. “We’re connected, you and I, whether we like it or not.”

Fear vaulted through Hannah. What he said was true. She felt it. He felt it. And the feeling was almost as terrifying as the knowledge that Daycon and a renegade CIA agent were planning on using her miracle drug as a deadly weapon in a foreign country.

“No,” she denied.

She could not be united with this man. She was in this alone. Only Marcus Halpren could help her. Only her ex-partner would understand what was at stake. Tyler was an innocent bystander, sucked by his big heart into something he could not comprehend. She would not allow him to wade any deeper.

With a twist, she jerked her hand from his. It felt as if her arm had wrenched from its socket.

Panic descended upon her. An anxiety so sharp in its intensity she was left breathless. Her chest refused to expand to full capacity. She yanked in small swallows of air and sweat beaded her brow.

“Jane!” he cried.

She dropped to her knees, sand filling her penny loafers. Hannah clasped her hand over her chest and tried to speak, to tell him she was all right, but the words would not come. How could she say she was fine when she obviously was not?

A roaring noise sounded in her ears. Her vision blurred and her stomach burned.

What was happening?

A reaction to Virusall?

Hannah knew the drug was volatile, unstable and had some serious side effects, but she couldn’t tell Tyler about it.

Without hesitation, he bent and scooped her into his arms. “I knew something like this was going to happen,” he muttered under his breath. “I knew that you weren’t well.”

Her chest still encompassed by an invisible band that squeezed tighter with each inhalation, Hannah leaned her head against Tyler’s shoulder. Even though she weighed only a hundred and twelve pounds, he was much stronger than she had anticipated. For a lean man, he was quite stout. He carried her as if she weighed no more than thistledown, holding her aloft as he stalked up the stairs toward the house.

If Hannah had thought holding hands with this man had been an earthshaking experience, it was nothing compared to what zinged through her body now.

Desire.

Quick and hot.

Never had she wanted any man the way she wanted this one. Suddenly, the woman who disliked being touched, who hated being kissed, could think of nothing but this man’s lips upon hers, his hands tracing a brush fire across her body.

What would he do if she were to kiss his cheek? Why was she thinking like this? She wasn’t the sort of woman who fell willy-nilly into relationships. She was cautious, practical, sensible.

Maybe she had a head injury from the accident. Or perhaps she was shell-shocked. She longed to cling to the explanation but she feared her attraction to this man was due to much more than trauma.

And yet, she had waited all her life to feel like this, had waited for someone to unlock her passion. No matter what her parents had told her, deep down inside Hannah had secretly believed in the Cinderella fable. She had hoped against hope that it was true.

Now that she felt these unfamiliar stirrings, she was terrified. This couldn’t be happening. Not at this juncture in her life. Not with so much at stake. Not with her future so uncertain. Not when she could drag him down with her.

She clung to Tyler’s neck, tossed helplessly by her emotions, more frightened of what she was feeling than the increasing tightness twisting through her chest. Were the two connected? Her emotions and her physical distress?

Tyler sat her on the porch, then reached into the pocket of his scrub pants for the key, keeping one arm curled around her waist.

The door sprang open at his touch. He reached inside, fumbling for the lights. They came on with blinding brightness. Hannah shielded her eyes with her forearm.

Picking her up again, he then hurried inside and kicked the door closed with his foot.

He was right. The house did smell musty. She crinkled her nose against the odor of mildew. Her head ached. The living room furniture was covered with sheets that made it appear like squat, silent ghosts.

Carefully, he deposited her on the sofa, and then disappeared into another part of the house. He returned seconds later with a small black medical bag. He popped an old-fashioned glass thermometer under her tongue and strapped a blood-pressure cuff around her right arm. Hannah peered up at him. His eyes were so filled with concern she experienced an unexpected urge to cry. She was not given to displays of emotion and she fought against the tears.

His bare arm brushed her hand and she lost her breath. She stared at him, unable to look away. He compelled her in a way nothing, beyond her work, ever had.

The green of his scrub suit contrasted nicely with his tanned complexion and straight white teeth. Most people looked blah and shapeless in scrubs, but Tyler Fresno looked astonishing. The cotton scrub top lightly grazed his chest, coyly hinting at the streamlined muscles lurking under the material. Even though he was slim, the man was built like the Rock of Gibraltar.

She felt herself blush. The heat burned her cheeks. What was this? She never blushed. She’d been trained to be passionless, clinical, in control of her emotions.

Disassociate. Disconnect. Disengage. But her favorite mental chant failed to stop the alien sensations from tumbling over her.

His prying fingers were strong yet tender as he examined her. He raised her scrub top, exposing her chest, slipped a stethoscope into his ears and placed the cold bell against her rib cage, his warm hand skimming over her skin. She closed her eyes and battled the hot yearning sensation that surged through her. She ached for him to drop that stethoscope and cup her breasts in his palms.

Why? She had never hungered for anyone’s touch.

Tyler told her to take several deep breaths and then cough. Avoiding his eyes, she did as he asked.

He took her blood pressure, then removed the thermometer from her mouth and held it up to the light. “Temp and BP are normal,” he proclaimed, his relief unmistakable. “Your breath sounds are clear. How do you feel?”

“Better.”

“That’s good.” He lowered her scrub top and patted her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I don’t know what happened back there on the beach. Or why I collapsed.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he soothed. “You’ve had a rough day. I think it’s past time that you got some sleep. Give me a few minutes and I’ll put sheets on the bed in the guest room.”

Hannah nodded. She was so touched by his kind heart she couldn’t speak. A few minutes later, he returned to lead her upstairs and into the guest bedroom.

The room contained a canopied bed, a white wicker chair and a full-length mirror. There was a dressing table with a round-faced clock sitting on it and a small a.m./f.m. radio. Plain white curtains hung at the windows and several pastoral photographs of the beach adorned the walls. It was an understated but elegant room. Had his late wife decorated it?

Her own domestic genes were nonexistent. She’d been a scientist for so long she had no idea how to simply be a woman.

“You can wear one of my T-shirts,” Tyler said, tugging her from her disturbing reverie and handing her a white cotton T-shirt.

She thanked him and when he left the room a forlorn emptiness overcame her. She pressed his cotton shirt to her nose and breathed deeply. It smelled nice and she was surprised to discover the scent comforted her. She took off the borrowed hospital scrubs and pulled the T-shirt over her head. It came to her knees, hugging her in a cloth embrace. Startled, she realized she had never worn a man’s garment before.

Hannah tried to sleep but her mind whirled. She closed her eyes and willed her disturbed thoughts away. She dozed for a while, but then the nightmares came. Vivid ugly dreams in which she relived the car crash again and again. Above it all, she kept seeing Lionel Daycon’s cruel twisted face laughing at her.

At five o’clock, she jerked awake to the sound of rain hitting the window. Her chest tightness returned along with her labored breathing. She had an awful premonition that something terrible had happened to Marcus. She had to speak to him. Now. He should be home at this hour. It was 4:00 a.m. in New Mexico and although she would probably wake him, she didn’t care. She had to know he was safe, plus, she was desperate to get his opinion about the bizarre things that had been happening to her.

Easing out of bed, she tiptoed downstairs, running her hand along the wall to guide her. In the strange house, she was lost and found herself stumbling through the living room before realizing she didn’t know where the telephone was located.

Her pulse rate increased. She padded through another room and skipped her fingers along the wall searching for the light plate. Eventually, she found it and flicked the switch, bathing the kitchen in a fluorescent gleam.

It was a nice kitchen. Open, airy, done in blues and yellows, with a wide picture window that looked out over the ocean. She paused a few moments to get her bearings. Cocking her head she listened for sounds of movement upstairs and prayed she hadn’t awakened Tyler. She didn’t want him involved in this.

A phone was mounted on the wall over the bar. Relief poured through her, and she grasped for the receiver. Sitting down on a bar stool, she punched in the number of her telephone calling card with trembling fingers.

An automated voice came on the line telling her the calling card number was no longer valid. Certain that she had punched the number in wrong, Hannah hung up and tried again.

The same monotone recording greeted her ears.

Damn! Daycon Laboratories issued her calling card and Daycon had probably canceled it the minute she’d left Austin. He had not been idle in the hours she was infirm. She wondered if he could somehow trace her through the card. Terrified at the prospect, she slammed down the phone. She regretted the company phone card, corporate bank account and car they’d leased for her.

Oh, no, what if Daycon had frozen her checking account, as well? A sharp pain rippled through Hannah’s chest, then disappeared.

Don’t panic, calm down, think. What next?

She couldn’t risk dialing direct and having Marcus’s phone number appear on Tyler’s telephone bill. She would call collect. Hannah dialed again and gave her name to an automated operator. Nervously she drummed her fingers on the counter.

“Hello,” a sleepy male replied.

Relief shot through her, and she unclenched her fists. Marcus was safe.

“Hannah?” he said once the call had been patched through. “Is that you?”

“Listen Marcus, listen to me very carefully—you’re in grave danger.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Something very strange is happening,” she whispered. “It’s about Virusall.”

“What’s the matter?”

“The drug is amazing. Much more effective than we guessed. It eradicates every virus I’ve tested it on. HIV, Ebola, hepatitis, influenza, even the common cold.”

“You’re kidding! That’s world-changing news.”

“I know, but wait, here’s the bad part. There are serious side effects. Everyone with type O blood that took the drug during the clinical trials eventually had psychotic breaks. They all became extremely violent.”

“But only people with type O blood?”

“As far as we know. The effects seem permanent.”

“My God, Hannah, that’s catastrophic.”

“It gets worse.”

“How much worse can it get?”

“I went to Daycon with my findings.”

“That unscrupulous bastard.” There was no love lost between Marcus and Daycon. “What did he do? Try and doctor the clinical trials?”

“He’s more unscrupulous than you ever dreamed.”

“Tell me.”

“I found out he was attempting to sell Virusall to overseas terrorists. He wants to create made-to-order assassins.” She gripped the receiver hard.

“Did you call the police?”

“I couldn’t.” She lowered her voice. Paranoia had her thinking Tyler’s phone was tapped, even though she knew it wasn’t possible. “He has a rogue CIA agent making the contacts for him.”

“Hannah!”

“I knew I had to destroy the drug but I also knew I had to find an antidote for those poor test subjects. I packed up a few samples, e-mailed an encrypted version of the formula to you and then I torched Daycon Laboratories to the ground. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. The fire was all over the news.”

“I don’t even have a television up here, Hannah, and I haven’t checked my e-mail in a few days.”

“That’s why you’re in danger. If Daycon even suspects I sent you the formula…” She let her words trail off. “You’ve got to download it, put it in a safe place and then eradicate that e-mail.”

“I’ll take care of it. In the meantime, where are you?”

The tender note of concern in his voice almost had her losing her control. She had to stay calm and not give herself away. While Tyler’s phone probably wasn’t bugged, Marcus’s definitely could be.

“I’m safe for now. It’s better if you don’t know where I am, but I’ll be headed in your direction as soon as I can.”

“You sound odd. Is there something else you’re not telling me?” he coaxed. Her old friend knew her too well. She was trying to be brave, but it was so tempting to let down her guard just a bit with someone she trusted.

“Daycon’s men found me.” She gulped, then briefly told him about the accident.

“My God, Hannah, are you okay?”

“Marcus, I’m really scared. Some very bizarre things have been happening to my body.” Gingerly, she reached down to rub the leg that had been fractured and then traced her fingers over the right-upper quadrant of her abdomen. “And I think it was because the vials of Virusall broke during the accident and burned my skin.”

“The drug is toxic?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly? Talk to me. I want to help.”

Deciding to tell him everything, Hannah took a deep breath and related her suspicions that absorbing Virusall through her skin had cured her injuries.

“That’s amazing,” he said.

“But how would it be possible?”

“You said the drug was very unstable and that it did have miraculous healing properties.”

“We’re talking spontaneous regeneration here, Marcus. It’s the stuff of science fiction. And nothing of this magnitude occurred during the clinical trials.”

“Did any of the test subjects have AB negative blood like you do?”

“No, but would my blood type actually make that big a difference?”

“Look what Virusall did to the people with type O.”

“I can’t believe it’s simply the drug and my blood type responsible for my healing. There’s got to be something more.”

Marcus’s tone dropped an octave. “I know what it is.”

Her heart thundered. She couldn’t even believe they were having this conversation. The discussion flew in the face of rational scientific evidence, but she could not deny what was happening to her.

“What?” she whispered, bracing herself for his theory.

“Remember when we were experimenting with radioisotopes last summer?” he said. “And there was a radiation leak at the lab? Daycon hadn’t installed the proper safety ventilation and we both got sick.”

“But he assured us the exposure was minimal. We were even tested for chromosomal changes and we came up clean.”

“And you believed him? You’ve already learned how ruthless he is. The man would lie about anything to serve his own nefarious purposes.”

Hannah sucked in air as the reality of the situation hit her. Inexplicable as it seemed, with the triple combination of her rare blood type, the topical absorption of Virusall and her recent exposure to radiation, she’d become her own human guinea pig. While the womanly part of her was horrified at the realization, the clinician in her recognized what an amazing opportunity she’d been given.

“But, Marcus, what does it all mean?” she cried.

And that was when the line went dead.

Chapter 4

Tyler couldn’t sleep.

No matter how hard he tried to quiet his turbulent thoughts, his mind stayed hitched on that fascinating woman sleeping in his guest bedroom right down the hall. It had been an eternity since anyone had entranced him, much less set his soul ablaze.

And he was scared spitless.

He recalled the way her skin had felt beneath his fingers when he had examined her—smooth, cool, creamy. He remembered the way her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he had placed his stethoscope above her breasts. He recollected the manner in which she had peeped surreptitiously up at him from behind those long, pale eyelashes.

He thought of the way she’d looked swaddled in his T-shirt that was five sizes too big for her. Her eyes wide and round as she’d studied him. Her blond hair floated softly about her slender shoulders. Her feet were bare, her toes appearing childishly innocent in their unpainted state. She’d looked china-doll fragile, except for the hard set of her determined chin.

Who was this mysterious Jane Doe? More important, why was he so drawn to her? And most interesting of all, how could he explain her instantaneous recovery from life-threatening injuries? Concern for her welled up in him from as far south as his feet and throbbed through his chest.

How had she managed to resurrect his emotions so completely in such a short time? How did he fight these dangerous feelings while at the same time help her?

He felt confused, baffled by both his attraction and her extraordinary afflictions. He found himself caught up in backwash he did not understand, unable to solve his dilemma but equally unable to retreat. Like it or not, he was caught up like a fish in a net. He was involved.

High time you got truly involved with something again, his conscience gloated.

But he feared he was not up to the challenge. It had been a long time since he’d put himself out for another human being and he wasn’t so sure he could handle the implications. What had he gotten himself into?

She was an enigma, a riddle, a paradox that compelled him despite his reservations. If only she could remember something about herself. If only he knew what chemicals she had been carrying with her and for what purpose. If only he could explain this inexplicable pull toward her.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—those vulnerable lips, those wide blue eyes, that mass of golden hair.

After wrestling with the covers for over an hour, Tyler switched on a small bedside lamp, slung his legs over the side and browsed through the books mounted on the shelf over the headboard.

There weren’t many medical books here. Yvette had been loath for him to work at the beach, so most of the volumes were either basic textbooks or short paperbacks on first aid. Nothing about chemicals and certainly nothing about spontaneous healings. Then one title jumped out at him, squeezing off his airway.

Healing Your Cancer From Within.

After all these years, any reminder of Yvette still had the power to knock the wind from his lungs. She had been so young, so pretty and full of life, looking forward to conceiving their first baby. It had been during a routine visit to the ob-gyn, in preparation for getting pregnant, that the doctor had discovered she had leukemia. But it had been over four months before she had broken the bad news to him.

Tyler fisted his hand as the familiar anger rocked back into his life. His wife had cheated him of precious moments, all because she hadn’t wanted to worry him while he was finishing his surgical residency.

The memory of that awful day when she finally told him the truth was burned into his subconscious. Metastasis. To her lungs and liver. Prognosis poor. Six months to live. With chemo. Four months had already passed and she had decided on her own not to have chemotherapy. Single-handedly she had made the choice without him.

There would be no babies. They would not grow old together.

Shocked, Tyler had slumped into denial. He simply could not bring himself to accept the cruel diagnosis. The doctors had to be wrong. This could not be happening. Not to his young, beautiful, vibrant wife. She could beat it. She would live.

Yvette had handled the news with her usual quiet calm. She had always been spiritual and she turned deeper into her religion. Buying books such as this one that promised if you just prayed hard enough God would heal you.

Rubbish. Tyler jerked the book from the shelf and flung it across the room. It struck the wall with a resounding whack.

He’d lost whatever naive beliefs he’d ever held about miracles.

He was still angry, still very guilty. He should have detected her cancer himself. But no, he had been as useless as a third thumb, and even after the diagnosis he had been unable to do anything but sit idly by and watch her die. There was no greater torture for a physician. Because of his denial, he had never said the things that needed to be said, but he had brought her to the beach in the end, as she had wished.

It was hard for Tyler to come back here. He associated the beach house with her death and could not say why he hadn’t sold the place years ago.

It had been too late to save his wife. Maybe he wasn’t too late to save Jane Doe. Perhaps that was why fate had deposited her in his emergency room. He was a doctor, dammit. He should be able to save someone.

It frustrated him that the hospital laboratory had been unable to identify the toxic chemicals in Jane Doe’s car. Running his hands through his hair, Tyler paced. Over and over he tried to rationalize what he had seen this past evening. How one minute Jane had been broken and bleeding, hovering on the verge of death and later that night she had been in his car wolfing down a hamburger, her battered body completely healed.

There had to be a logical, rational explanation, and he would find it if he just looked long enough.

Then he remembered the symptoms she’d suffered when they were walking on the beach. Obviously, she wasn’t completely healed. And what about those lab reports? The ones that indicated she might have cancer?

The conundrum intrigued him almost as much as the lady herself. He had the strangest feeling she was faking her amnesia. But why? What was she hiding from him? Was she in trouble with the law? And how could he get her to trust him enough to give him the answer? She was a very private person and by her own admission, distrustful. Her remoteness evident in the way she held herself aloof, a little shy, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to react to people.

What was he going to do with her? What if her amnesia was real? He should report her case to the police but Tyler knew he wasn’t going to do that.

An odd excitement raced through him. A sensation of aliveness he hadn’t felt since Yvette’s death. If he could find out how Jane Doe had been healed, he might be able to heal others in the same manner. The possibilities were mind-boggling and flew in the face of all rational thought, but Tyler knew something miraculous had happened and he intended to find out exactly what it was.

Fingers trembling, Hannah called an operator and had her re-dial Marcus’ telephone number. She held her breath. It rang.

Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the operator interrupted, “no one seems to be answering.”

“Please, could you let it ring longer? My friend was just there. We were cut off.”

The operator sighed as if Hannah had asked for the key to Fort Knox. “All right.”

More empty rings.

“Your party is simply not picking up.”

“Thank you.” Hannah cradled the receiver and sank against the wall.

What had happened to Marcus? Why had the line gone suddenly dead and why hadn’t he answered when she called back? Her imagination ran rampant as she imagined Daycon or one of his hired henchmen standing in Marcus’s bedroom with a gun pressed to his temple, making all kinds of awful threats. She shuddered. By calling him, had she inadvertently placed Marcus in mortal danger?

“What’s going on?”

Hannah jumped and clutched a hand to her chest. She had been so concerned about Marcus’s welfare that she hadn’t heard Tyler come into the room.

His dark eyes were disconcertingly intense, as if he knew exactly what she was hiding. Her stomach churned and for a moment she thought she might be sick.

“I…er…” she stammered, and gestured helplessly. She couldn’t explain anything to him without drawing him deeper into her problems. He was a nice man and didn’t deserve to be mixed up in this mess. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“Is there something you need to tell me?”

“No,” she whispered softly, surprised by the strange look in his deep chocolate eyes.

His gaze landed on hers. Hannah caught her breath. Try as she might, she couldn’t look away. He seemed intent on searching her soul, on getting answers to his questions.

“If you tell me the truth maybe I can help you.”

“Truth?”

“About those chemicals in your car.”

“I told you before that I don’t know anything about any chemicals.” She hated lying to him, but it was for his own safety.

“Jane, or whatever your name is, whether you realize it or not, you’re in serious trouble.” His tone of voice suggested he was saddened by her response and disappointed in her.

Hannah’s eyes widened. She hated to think that she had displeased him. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip despite the chill in the room. How did he know she was in trouble?

“Come here.” He extended his arms to her. “You look as if you could use a hug.”

“I’m all right.” Hannah shook her head and wrapped her arms around her chest. She wanted to hug him and yet she was afraid. Too many years of keeping her distance from people had held her in reserve.

Plus, she was afraid that if she ever let down her guard, even just a little bit, she would totally unravel and never be able to put herself back together again.

“Are you sure?” His eyes softened. “I’ve got broad shoulders just perfect for crying on.” There was such self-assurance in his voice. He had no clue that crying on his shoulders would not fix anything. He was a doctor, accustomed to performing miracles. How could he know her problems were far beyond his expertise?

She managed to return his smile in spite of her escalating anxiety. How easy it would be to step into his welcoming embrace, and yet how utterly hard. She fought against the attraction urging her to give in and accept his comfort. “I appreciate the offer.”

“It’s an open invitation.” He dropped his arms to his side. “What are you doing up this early? Did you need something?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Would you like a sleeping pill?”

“No!” The last thing she needed was to be knocked out. Despite the exhaustion permeating her body, she must remain alert.

“Okay. It’s probably better to avoid drugs anyway. There’s no telling how they might react with those chemicals you came into contact with.” His brow knit with concern.

“Thank you for understanding.”

“Listen, I have surgery at seven-thirty this morning, so I have to head back to Houston. I’m sorry, there’s no food in the house but there’s a convenience store at the end of the block that should be open in a hour. Do you think you can walk that far?”

She nodded.

“I’ll leave you some cash.” He picked up his wallet off the bar and pulled out three twenty-dollar bills and laid them on the counter. “Will you be all right here alone?”

“Yes.”

“Sleep, read, rest. Make yourself at home. I should be back by three-thirty since I’m not on call today.”

“Thank you so very much. I’ll pay you back whenever I can. I promise.”

“I’m not worried about it and if you need something else to wear later on, check out the closet in my bedroom. There’re some clothes that used to belong to my wife and you’re just about her size.”

“You’re very generous.”

Tyler looked deeply into her eyes. “You will be here when I get back.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I can’t make any promises,” she admitted.

“Here’s my beeper number.” He scrawled the number on a notepad hanging by the telephone. “Page me if you need me.”

Unexpected tears misted her eyes. Why was he being so nice to her? She was nothing to him. An odd stranger who had materialized in his emergency room. She didn’t know how to deal with kindness. She wasn’t used to such an intimate connection with others.

“You’re feeling a little emotional,” he said as if he could read her thoughts. “It’s not surprising, given the circumstances. Come.” He held out his arm. “Let me put you back into bed.”

Uncertain, she hung back, but Dr. Fresno was not the type to take her hesitation for an answer. Smoothly, he reached over and slipped his hand into hers.

His touch instantly calmed her in a way that confused Hannah. Why should she be so reassured by a stranger? Especially when there was nothing he could really do to help her. And yet she felt safer with him than she ever had with anyone, including her own parents.

What was wrong with her? Why was she so hungry to trust this man?

“Come,” he coaxed, drawing her upstairs beside him and draping his free arm around her shoulder.

He was good at handling people. But of course, he was a medical doctor who had been taught the importance of therapeutic touch. She had the strongest urge to lean into his body and absorb his warmth, but she wasn’t accustomed to such intimacies with a total stranger, nor was she accustomed to following her emotions.

Instead, she did what came naturally. She kept her shoulders stiff and her attention diverted from the sensation of his warm breath tickling the nape of her neck.

“Here we are,” Tyler said gently, leading her into the guest bedroom. “Back to bed.”

Hannah’s heart did a strange little skip. She couldn’t stop looking at him. She admired his strong jaw, the curve of his firm chin, the flat planes of his cheeks. She took a curious delight in the way his hair curled along his collar. She yearned to run her fingers along his neck and knead those corded muscles.

What she wanted was for Dr. Fresno to make love to her. She wanted him to kiss her. She ached to feel his hands at her back, pulling her close, locking her to him. She longed to rip off his pajamas and share with him the hottest, most dynamic sexual passion she’d never had the pleasure to experience.

But were her feelings really based on pure sexual need, as she told herself they were, or was it something frighteningly more? Was she really just seeking to assuage her fear and loneliness through bodily contact?

Earth to Hannah, earth to Hannah. This man is not a potential lover.

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