Suddenly a piercing scream rent the silence of the house

Andrew lurched to his feet, threw open the bedroom door and saw the stranger on the bed, sobbing and crying.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he soothed, and gathered her trembling body into his arms. Tears poured down her cheeks and she clung to him with the fierceness of a terrified child.

“You just had a bad dream,” he said gently.

As her heartbeat seemed to slow, she stammered, “I’m—I’m sorry….”

“It’s all right.” He stroked her hair and lifted it away from her moist cheeks. “Everything will look different in the morning,” he promised. He held her close until her breathing returned to normal, then eased her back down on the bed and left the room.

Sleep evaded him as he settled down for the night on the cot in the other room. Holding her in his arms had ignited some tender needs that he thought he’d buried a long time ago.

Turning restlessly on the narrow cot, Andrew tried to forget how soft and vulnerable she had felt in his arms.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

We’ve got another month of sinister summer sizzlers lined up for you starting with the one and only Familiar—your favorite crime-solving black cat! Travel with the feisty feline on a magic carpet to the enchanting land of sheiks in Caroline Burnes’s Familiar Mirage, the first part of FEAR FAMILIAR: DESERT MYSTERIES. You can look for the companion book, Familiar Oasis, next month.

Then it’s back to the heart of the U.S.A. for another outstanding CONFIDENTIAL installment. This time, the sexiest undercover operatives around take on Chicago in this bestselling continuity series. Cassie Miles launches the whole shebang with Not on His Watch.

Debra Webb continues her COLBY AGENCY series with one more high-action, heart-pounding romantic suspense story in Physical Evidence. What these Colby agents won’t do to solve a case—they’ll even become prime suspects to take care of business…and fall in love.

Finally, esteemed Harlequin Intrigue author Leona Karr brings you a classic mystery about a woman who washes up on the shore sans memory. Good thing she’s saved by a man determined to find her Lost Identity.

A great lineup to be sure. So make sure you pick up all four titles for the full Harlequin Intrigue reading experience.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Lost Identity
Leona Karr

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A native of Colorado, Leona Karr lives at the foot of the Rocky Mountains with her husband, Michael. After pursuing a career as a reading specialist, she has followed her dream of becoming a writer, and is a multipublished author of romantic suspense, historicals, mysteries and inspirational romances. “Love conquers all” is the theme of her books, and she enjoys reading and writing fast-paced stories of danger and love.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

A mysterious young woman—She is nearly drowned on a deserted beach and has no memory of who she is or how she got there, but a terrifying sense of danger remains.

Andrew Davis—A solitary young man who offers his bungalow as a refuge. Will the discovery of the woman’s identity change his life forever?

Perry Reynolds—A middle-aged successful business partner whose mysterious disappearance could be a hoax.

Curtis Mandel—A company executive who makes romantic claims that may be a clever cover-up.

Janelle Balfour—A friend and co-worker who has a familiarity with all that has happened in the past.

Darlene Reynolds—The angry young wife of Perry who has suspicions about her husband’s disappearance.

Gary Reynolds—Perry’s son. Is his need for money connected with his father’s disappearance?

To my husband, Michael,

who fills my life with laughter, love and light.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

Fierce winds and slashing rain whipped the New Jersey coastline as Andrew Davis stood at the window of his seaside cottage late one afternoon, and viewed the strong summer storm. Outside dark afternoon shadows mingled with curtains of slanting rain and thundering clouds. Warnings had been posted up and down the coast. He was about to draw the drapes when he glimpsed something unusual on the beach below. Even through the rivulets of rain pouring down the window glass, the shape of a human form lying on the sand was unmistakable.

Good Lord, could it be? A body washed up in the cove below his house?

Grabbing his slicker, he bounded out the door, took the deck stairs two at a time, and raced across the wild grass and sandy ground that lay between his elevated cottage and the beach below. When he reached the prone figure lying on the sand, he saw that it was a petite young woman lying on her back, her face stark white, framed by tangled dark hair drenched with seawater.

At his touch, she gave a weak groan, and then took in a gasp of air that told him her lungs were free of water. Her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed at him with rounded eyes filled with terror.

“It’s all right,” he assured her. “It’s all right. Let’s get you out of this storm.” He scooped her up in his arms, and quickly carried her back to his cottage. Laying her down on a rug in front of the fire, he reached for a quilted cover to spread over her.

Her white slacks, soft pink blouse and white sandals were soaked. The clinging wet clothing defined the swell of her firm breasts, narrow waist and shapely legs. Her teeth were chattering, and her body was racked with shivers, but she seemed to be all right otherwise.

“I’ll get you something warm to drink,” he said and disappeared into his small kitchen.

She sat up, covered her face with hands and choked back a sob. A vertigo of unanswered questions swirled in her head, and fear was like a monster attacking her memory. Even as she struggled to fill the void in her mind, a deep terror shot through her. Who is this man? She couldn’t remember anything beyond the moment when his anxious face bent over her. Even her very identity was lost in the dark abyss of her mind. Was she afraid to remember?

Andrew returned with a cup of coffee laced with brandy and said, “Here, this will warm you up.”

Her blue lips murmured a weak, “Thank you.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to handle this unexpected houseguest. Should he suggest that she take a warm shower and put on some clothing of his? In her distraught condition, she might take offense. Obviously she had been traumatized by what had happened to her. How did she get on his beach? He’d been watching the storm develop all day, and hadn’t seen any boats on this stretch of ocean. Weird, he thought.

He gave her a few moments to sip the drink, and then he said, “I’m Andrew Davis.” When she didn’t make the usual response, he waited for a long moment and then asked gently, “And your name is—?”

She lowered the cup, stared at it, and then said in a choked voice, “Trish.” Even as she said it, there was no real familiarity with the name or any firm recognition that it belonged to her. Her stomach curled with tension. Trish? Where did that name come from?

“Should I call someone, Trish, and let them know that you’re safe?”

Call who? A subtle warning lay somewhere in the devastating disorientation that she was experiencing. She lifted her head. “No, there’s no one,” she said as evenly as she could. Why am I so frightened that someone will come for me?

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press her. She was obviously in a state of shock. Whatever had brought her to a deserted beach at the height of a lashing storm must have been catastrophic. Every time there was a clap of vibrating thunder, sparked by forks of summer lightning, she cringed as if she feared the fierce winds would whip the small cottage into the greedy ocean.

“This little house is storm-proof,” he reassured her. “It’s firmly anchored and has weathered gales a lot worse than this one.” She nodded, but her sea-blue eyes remained glazed and rounded.

“Can I stay here…until…until the storm’s over?” she asked, silently adding with a sense of helplessness, until I remember where to go?

“The welcome mat is always out for unexpected visitors,” he lied. In truth, Andrew valued his privacy above everything else, and only an emergency like this one would compel him to share his roof with a stranger. “I’m curious how you found your way to my beach…well, not exactly mine,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “But I claim it.”

She didn’t respond, but the warmth of the fire and the stimulation of the hot drink began to ease her bone-deep chill. There was something reassuring about her rescuer’s gentleness, his clean-cut looks, wavy blond hair bleached by the sun and his nicely tanned face. I feel safe here, she thought with a spurt of surprise. She stammered, “Maybe…maybe, I got lost.”

“Lost?” Andrew waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. What did she mean—maybe she got lost? Did she or didn’t she? “You’re not from around here, then?” he prodded.

Her hands tightened on her cup and she stared at it without answering.

Andrew decided to back off from any more questioning for the moment. He could tell that she was fighting for self-control, and whatever had happened to her had left her in a state of shock. No telling how long she would have to stay before the weather cleared and he could drive her somewhere. He decided that he’d have to take charge whether he wanted to or not.

“Would you like to take a hot shower, Trish, and get into some dry clothes? One of my long sweatshirts and bathrobes will keep you warm while we put your things through the washer and dryer.”

She hesitated for a long moment and he could see uncertainty stamped on her face. Then she raised her head and nodded.

Like a child who is grateful for some adult direction, she followed him into the small bedroom. Quickly, he laid out the clothes he’d mentioned, and then directed her to a small bathroom that adjoined his bedroom and the other small room, which he’d taken for his office.

“Here are some towels. Shampoo and soap are on the shelf. Make use of whatever is there, and if you need anything else, just holler.”

After he had closed the door, she just stood there for a long moment, staring at herself in a mirror. Then she whispered, “Trish…Trish.” Was that really the name of the strange woman with wide frightened blue eyes staring back at her? What happened to me that I’m even afraid to remember who I am? She shivered, and fought a weakness that went bone-deep.

She dropped her clothes, and searched her body for some familiar signs of recognition. There was an appendix scar, so she must have had it taken out at some time. Her toenails were polished in the same rosy hue as her fingernails. A bruise was forming on her right forearm and there was a tender spot on the back of her head. Had she fallen? Or had someone hit her? Had she suffered a blow to her head that had caused a momentary loss of memory? Momentary. She clung to that word as if it were a life preserver. Yes, she reassured herself, at any second, everything could come rushing back. Then she would know who she was, and why fear was coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach.

AS ANDREW WAITED for her to join him again, this sudden intrusion into his contented and solitary life was creating some deep mixed feelings. Of course, he was glad that he’d been able to go to the woman’s rescue, and would do it again in a minute, but at the same time, he sensed he was being drawn into something that was not to his liking.

As a developer of software for a major computer company, he worked at his beach cottage, and only commuted to the Manhattan office a couple of days a week. His life was ordered in a way that allowed almost complete privacy. He knew that his background as a foster child who had been constantly moved from one family to another had created this need to get away from the demands of other people. A couple of brief romantic relationships had not filled the empty void in his life, but had only resulted in more disappointments and a vow not to open himself up to that kind of pain again. He loved living alone, being accountable to no one, and having control over every aspect of his life. Just the sound of water running in his bathroom was a strange kind of intrusion. He wished that the storm would let up and he could drive the lady back to wherever she belonged.

Her vague answer about being lost was obviously a lie. Was she running away from someone? No sign of a wedding or engagement ring on her finger. He had noticed that her water-resistant watch was an expensive one, and her clothes certainly weren’t bargain-basement. Who in the devil was she? And what was she doing on an isolated beach at the height of a storm?

When she came back into the living room a few minutes later, he was startled by the sudden change in her appearance. Her face was slightly pink from the warm shower, and fringed eyelashes and crescent eyebrows matched her clean, dark brown hair. There was a lift to her head that had not been there before, and he was strangely aware of a feminine loveliness about her that couldn’t be disguised in his old plaid bathrobe, and faded argyle socks.

“I think I used up all your hot water,” she apologized, giving him a weak smile.

“No problem. It heats fast. You look much better.”

“I feel much better. Almost like myself.” Whoever that might be, she thought with a touch of painful irony.

“Good. I was about to put together some fish chowder for supper, would you like to join me in the kitchen and watch?” he asked, hoping she’d be more talkative if he maintained some kind of normalcy in the situation.

“Sounds good,” she said, pleased that she felt an honest reaction to his suggestion. Maybe she could rely on her gut feelings until she had something more tangible to give her insight. She followed him into the compact kitchen and sat down in one of the chairs beside a small round table.

As he reached into the refrigerator for the makings of his chowder, he asked. “Do you like to cook?”

She looked around the kitchen, her thoughtful eyes studied the counter canisters, spice rack and kitchen appliances. With a strange sense of certainty, she said firmly, “No, I don’t. I’m not a good cook.”

Her expression puzzled him. Why did she look so pleased with herself? His suspicion that she was someone with money deepened. No doubt, she had hired help to do all the things that didn’t appeal to her, like cooking.

“What do you like to do?” he asked, noticing her polished nails.

“Oh, lots of things,” she said vaguely, as muscles tightened around her mouth. She had no answer to the simple question, and she quickly turned away from it. “What about you?

He wasn’t fooled. He had to admire the way she deftly avoided any talk about herself. Why was she so guarded about giving him any information? Was she running from the law? Could it be that he was harboring a fugitive? A spurt of resentment overtook him.

Ever since he’d purchased this cottage almost five years ago, he had jealously guarded his privacy. Even at the office, he was known as a loner, and although he was friendly enough with everyone, he avoided any personal intrusion in their lives, and he didn’t invite any of them into his. He was thirty years old, and it was ironic that a strange woman sitting in his kitchen, wearing his robe, might be drawing him into some unwanted involvement that he had been careful to avoid.

As Andrew prepared the meal, he gave up trying to make any more conversation. Trish was aware of his withdrawal. Outside, the sounds of the relentless surf beating upon the beach below scraped her frayed nerves. Her safety seemed more tenuous than ever. She felt as if she were holding on to a lifeline that he’d thrown her, and would suddenly pull it away if she said the wrong thing.

What if she told him the truth? Would he believe her? Or would he think she was taking advantage of the situation and him? How could she describe the terror that swept up in her when she tried to remember? How could she explain the melodramatic truth that an ever-present danger lurked in the dark corners of her mind? She desperately needed to know the truth about who she was and what had happened to her before she opened herself up to anyone. An unknown terror reached out to her from the dark abyss of her lost memory.

Andrew sensed her inner turmoil as he served her a steaming bowl of chowder and corn bread muffins. “You’ll feel better with some hot food in your stomach,” he told her with a smile.

“It smells wonderful,” she said, even as her tight stomach rebelled at the thought of food.

Instead of taking a chair opposite her at the tiny table, he perched on a high stool at a counter where he usually ate with a book in his hand. Her presence in the small kitchen seemed to demand some kind of social exchange, but her vague responses had discouraged any conversation between them.

She scarcely touched her food. “I’m sorry, I’m just not very hungry, after all,” she apologized when he had finished eating his.

“That’s okay. Sometimes food isn’t the answer. You’re probably needing a good night’s sleep. I’ll make up the cot in my computer room so you can have the bedroom.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you like that,” she protested, already sensing that just having her there was putting some kind of pressure on him.

“It’s no bother,” he answered politely. “Everything will look different in the morning.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will.” She forced a level of confidence into the words. Surely, whatever had caused her to lose her memory would be healed in sleep, allowing her to draw out of the depths of her unconscious the answers that were hidden from her. Somehow she knew that a temporary loss of memory could return as quickly as it was lost. Surely by morning she would know who she was, and why she had nearly lost her life in the raging storm.

ANDREW TRIED unsuccessfully to ignore the presence of the woman sleeping in his bed. As was his custom, he worked at his computer until after midnight, and then finally gave up because his mind kept wandering, plagued by unanswered questions about her. Why did he have a nagging suspicion that he was being used in some fashion? Even though his rescue of her seemed legit, could she have faked the whole thing for some nefarious purpose?

He plopped down on the living room couch. Sitting there and staring at the ebbing fire, he tried to come to some understanding of what he was feeling and what he should do next. His experience with conniving women had left him guarded and slightly bitter. He had long since decided that he wasn’t cut out for the mating games that went with heavy dating. His few ventures into romantic relationships had proved what he already knew—opening oneself up only brought hurt, big time.

He leaned his head back on the couch and had just closed his eyes when a piercing scream rent the silence of the house. He lurched to his feet, threw open the bedroom door, and saw her writhing on the bed, sobbing and crying.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he soothed and gathered her trembling body into his arms. Tears poured down her cheeks and she clung to him with the fierceness of a terrified child. Her breathing was rapid. Her body felt cold to his touch and she was caught in a spasm of shivers. Any doubts about her anguish being genuine were instantly dispelled. There was no way she could have pretended such an upheaval of emotion.

Trish heard his voice and struggled to find her way out of an enveloping panic. She clung to him and felt the warmth of his arms encircling her.

“You just had a bad dream,” he said gently.

A bad dream. Her mind grabbed at his reassurance. That’s all it was. A nightmare. Only fragments of images remained in her consciousness, and even as she tried to capture them, they faded away like shadows in a mist. Whatever had triggered the terror that had brought her screaming out of a tortured sleep, slipped away, leaving her empty and shaken.

As the drumming of her heart began to lessen, she managed to stammer, “I’m…I’m sorry…”

“It’s all right.” He stroked her hair and lifted it away from her moist cheeks, aware of the delicate contour of her face and the totally feminine body pressed against his. “Everything will look different in the morning,” he promised once again. He held her close until her breathing settled into a normal rhythm, then he eased her back down on the bed and quietly left the room.

Sleep evaded him as he settled down for the night on the cot in his computer room. His mind kept turning over unanswered questions. He was certain now that she was truly frightened about something or someone. Although he was sympathetic to her situation, whatever it might be, he still didn’t want to get involved. He suspected that there was a lover somewhere in the picture. She was very attractive, and more appealing than he was ready to admit. Holding her in his arms had ignited some tender needs that he thought he’d buried a long time ago. Turning restlessly on the narrow cot, he tried to forget how soft and vulnerable she had felt in his arms.

WHEN TRISH WOKE UP early the next morning, she was disoriented as she looked around the small room. Then a quiver of relief shot through her. She knew where she was. Everything came back from the moment that she’d been carried into the house. A man named Andrew had rescued her. And before that? And before that? The question kept ricocheting from one side of her head to the other.

Her lips quivered. Nothing. Nothing.

Hugging Andrew’s faded robe around her, she walked to the window and stared at the scene stretched out before her. The summer storm had passed, leaving a soft mist moving away from the land.

Dragging her eyes over a small rocky cove below the cottage, she searched the empty beach and rolling breakers, struggling to recover some vision of what had happened to bring her to that deserted stretch of sand.

A new day lay fresh and glistening in the sunlight. She swallowed hard. A new day. For what? Running and hiding? Running from what? Hiding from whom? She turned back toward the bed, ready to crawl back in and cover up her head, but hesitated when she heard sounds in the other rooms.

Andrew was up. She knew he would be wanting some answers, but what should she tell him? If she admitted that she had no clue who she was, or how she had ended up on his beach, he would probably insist on taking her somewhere. Something deep within warned her not to leave this haven of safety until she could remember why she felt threatened and in danger. She decided to take the coward’s way out—climb back in bed, cover up her head and pretend to be asleep.

Andrew prepared his usual breakfast of cereal and toast, and made two extra cups of coffee. This was one of his days in the office, but he’d hoped that he and his houseguest would have some time to talk before he left. Glancing at his watch, he knew that wasn’t going to happen unless she got up in the next few minutes.

She didn’t appear. The bedroom door was still closed when he was ready to leave. He listened for any sounds inside, and then quietly opened the door and peeked in. She was still in bed. He was about to close it again when she raised her head and gave him a startled look.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m about to leave for the office.” He frowned. He didn’t feel right about leaving her after last night’s sobbing nightmare, but he didn’t have any choice. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she readily lied. “Just tired.”

“Well, sleep in as long as you like. I’ve left some breakfast for you.” He hesitated, wanting to ask what her plans were, but it didn’t seem to be the right time. After her ordeal yesterday and the kind of night she’d had, it was clear that she needed rest. He felt a little uneasy, leaving a stranger alone in his house, but he really had no choice. “I’ve left a note with my cell phone number if you want to call me.”

She nodded.

There didn’t seem to be anything more to be said so he closed the bedroom door and left the house. The whole business was unreal. Never in the world would he have imagined twenty-four hours ago that he would have a strange woman sleeping in his bed, sabotaging his well-ordered life and cluttering up his mind with irritating questions. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t forget the way she’d clung to him last night. He’d been careful not to allow anyone to be dependent upon him for anything, but there was something of a lost soul about her that could easily get to him if he let it. Anyway, she’d probably be gone when he got back home, he told himself, and he could chalk the whole episode up to some kind of weird adventure.

His unsettled mood must have been communicated to his fellow workers because several of them asked, “What’s the matter with you today, Andrew? You don’t seem like yourself.”

He brushed off their comments with a shrug and vague answer. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself, wondering what their reaction would be if he told them the truth—that there was a strange lovely waif sleeping in his bed.

As usual, Andrew had lunch by himself in the coffee shop that he frequented. He exchanged pleasantries with the motherly waitress who was used to serving him in a back booth where he ate his usual corned beef sandwich with a book opened on the table beside his plate. He tried to resume his usual routine, but when he found himself staring at the pages without reading the words, he pulled out his cell phone and called home.

No one answered.

He let it ring six times before he hung up. She must have left or was still sleeping. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or irritated.

Later that afternoon, he called again. Still no answer.

TRISH HAD STAYED huddled in bed until midmorning. Finally, she took herself in hand, retrieved her clean clothes from the dryer and dressed. Thankful that she’d been given a slight reprieve from having to make any kind of decision, she went into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.

She saw that Andrew had left bread on the counter for toast and some cereal waiting to be heated on the stove, but her stomach was churning with too much anxiety to feel like eating anything.

What should she do? Where should she go?

Her mind played the questions over and over again. If she left the safety of this cottage, would she be walking straight into some unnamed danger? She knew with sickening certainty that something terrifying had happened to her, but that was all she knew. How could she protect herself when she didn’t even know who she was or where the threat lay?

Taking the cup of hot coffee with her into the living room, she sat down in his easy chair. A faint masculine scent was strangely comforting as she thought about the man who had rescued her. Who was this Andrew Davis? His personal imprint was all over the small house. Wooden shelves flanking the fireplace were crowded with books of all kinds, and in the corner of the room was a guitar. Framed pictures on the wall were obviously prints taken with a simple camera, probably his, she thought. The modest furnishings suggested a man comfortable with himself, and a man who invited trust. She remembered how he had held her last night, and the way his gentle reassurances had soothed her shattered state. Up until now, he hadn’t burdened her with a lot of questions, but she knew that that couldn’t go on. She had to make a decision. Either she was going to have to start lying or tell him the truth.

If she told him that she couldn’t remember anything before he found her on the beach, would he believe her? He might think she was just trying to con him with such a tale, and show her the door. Where would she go?

Maybe a lie would be better, she reasoned. Almost any story would seem more acceptable than the truth. What kind of a tale could she weave that would make it reasonable for her to stay here until she had some glimmer of her Lost Identity?

The sudden ring of the telephone sent her into instant panic. She was afraid to answer. What if they asked, “Who is this?” And what was more frightening, someone might be trying to find her.

She held her breath until it stopped ringing. Too late, she realized that it might have been Andrew calling to see if she was still there. Maybe he had wanted to tell her that he expected her to be gone by the time he got home?

If only she could remember anything, even a glimmer, maybe she would know what to do. She hated the thought of going back down to the beach where he had found her, but maybe something there would trigger her memory. Nothing could be more terrifying than not knowing anything about what had happened to her.

Cautiously she opened the front door and peered out at a redwood deck that stretched across the front of the cottage on the ocean side. A small mahogany picnic table, benches and two matching chairs presented an inviting scene, but as she stood in the doorway, her feet refused to move outside. Her fear was stronger than her will.

Slamming the door shut, she leaned back against it with tears in her eyes and her fists clenched. Maybe she didn’t know her name, but there was one question that was imbedded deep in every cell of her being.

Had she been fleeing for her life when Andrew found her on that beach?

Chapter Two

Andrew returned home that evening just after the sun had set. Twilight was slowly creeping across the ocean, and turning relentless rolling breakers into a dull gray. When he saw that there weren’t any lights on in the cottage, he felt a momentary pang of disappointment. Although he was used to coming home to an empty house and grateful to be out of the hustle and bustle of the city, his mysterious houseguest had made this homecoming out of the ordinary. Just in case she might still be there, he had stopped and picked up some fried chicken and salad.

Well, so much for taking the time to plan supper, he thought, impatient with the whole situation. Even though he knew she’d been shaken by her ordeal, she could have had the courtesy to explain herself before she took off. She could have phoned him, he argued with himself, and then shoved the thought away. It didn’t matter. Maybe it was better that she disappear as suddenly as she had come. At least she’d locked the door before she left, he thought as he let himself in.

As the door swung open, Trish jerked up from the couch where she’d been lying, and her cry of terror was like a sharp knife renting the air.

“It’s just me, Andrew,” he said quickly as he flipped a light switch just inside the door.

“I thought…I thought…” She took a deep breath to steady her voice.

“I’m sorry I frightened you. The house was dark. I thought you’d gone, but I guess I woke you up?”

She wanted to run into his arms, let him hold her the way he had last night, and end the torturing long hours of trying to retrieve something that lay at the edges of her memory. His reassuring figure and concerned expression invited the kind of security that she desperately needed. Somehow, she knew she was safe now that he was home.

“Have you been sleeping all day?” he said, wondering why the telephone hadn’t awakened her.

She nodded, not wanting to admit that for hours she’d been staring at the ceiling, trying to hold on to flickering impressions that faded too quickly for her to hold and examine them. Several times the darkness curtain in her mind seemed about ready to lift, causing her to hold her breathe as sweat beaded on her forehead. And then nothing.

“I brought supper,” he said, holding up the sack that was redolent with the odor of fried chicken. “Did you raid the fridge and fix yourself some lunch?”

“I made some tea and nibbled on some cheese and crackers. I wasn’t very hungry.”

“Well, I’ll fix us a couple of plates and we can go out on the deck to eat. The sun has burned off yesterday’s rain, and it’s going to be a lovely evening. Did you get out at all today?”

The question was casual, but it brought a tightness in her chest. “No, I stayed inside.”

“I called a couple of times, but no one answered.”

“I—I guess I must have been sleeping too hard to hear it.”

He didn’t believe her. The way she was avoiding his eyes spoke volumes. Why was she lying to him, and acting as if she was trying to come up with some believable story? He wanted to ask if she’d phoned anyone, or made arrangements to go back to wherever she belonged.

“Well, you probably needed the rest.” She had touched a sympathetic chord in him, but loud and clear it vibrated with a warning. Her continued presence could completely upset his life. She’d already played havoc with his normal routine and he’d spent more time thinking about her than was wise.

“Why don’t you freshen up, while I get things ready?” he suggested. After they had eaten, he’d insist that she level with him. He deserved to know what in the hell was going on.

She sensed his simmering impatience, and her stomach tightened as she went into the bathroom. Staring at herself, she was embarrassed at her disheveled appearance reflected in the mirror. Her hair was tangled, her eyes heavy, and deep lines of worry and fatigue etched her face. No wonder he had suggested that she freshen up. She was embarrassed that she’d let anyone see her in such a washed-out state. Somehow she knew that she’d always tried to look her best.

I have pride, she thought with a deep sense of satisfaction as she washed her face briskly with cold water. This little discovery was like a gem shining in a foggy darkness. It strengthened an inner confidence that seemed natural to her, and she glimpsed a tensile strength that had not been destroyed in the throes of amnesia.

I’ll remember everything soon, she told herself as she carefully brushed her hair around the tender spot on the back of her head. She had just put the brush back on the shelf, and automatically reached out her hand to pick up something when she froze. Nothing was there.

For a split second the curtains of darkness in her head split and she could see a dark blue cosmetic bag decorated with bright butterflies just beyond her empty hand. The flash of remembrance was clear and unmistakable.

Joy like a surge of adrenaline shot through her. I own a bright blue-and-yellow cosmetic bag. My memory is coming back! Her heartbeat quickened and the palms of her hands were suddenly moist with sweat. It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning.

With a stronger step, she hurried out to the living room to join Andrew, but he was already outside on the deck. She saw him through the large picture window. He had lit some patio lamps, which sent a soft glow over the deck.

“Come on out. Food’s ready.” Andrew gave her an inviting wave of his hand.

As Trish stood in the doorway, looking out, her burst of well-being faded. Her mouth went dry and her chest was suddenly weighted. She fixed her eyes on Andrew’s reassuring figure as she slowly pushed opened the screen, and forced herself to step out on the deck.

As her frantic gaze searched the beach below the house, she didn’t know what or whom she was expecting to see. In the twilight only a peaceful scene of water, sand and sky greeted her eyes. She saw that Andrew’s house was nestled in a small cove isolated from other structures whose roofs she could glimpse in both directions some distance away.

Andrew was puzzled by the visible signs of a struggle going on inside her as she stood there, her eyes searching in every direction. Had she expected to see something or someone? She was certainly attractive enough to have a man chasing after her. Had she been fleeing from a lovers’ quarrel when she got lost in the storm? By this time, the poor guy was probably frantic from her disappearance.

Andrew suddenly had a bad taste in his mouth. This kind of speculation didn’t sit well with him. Her reluctance to go back and face the situation gave him the feeling that she was just using him.

He said rather stiffly, “Have a seat. I’m sorry it isn’t more. I’m afraid my bachelor life is lacking in the finer things of life.”

She shot him a quick look as she sat down on the bench facing him. He’d never used that tone with her before, and she knew what was coming. She had over-stayed her welcome. Her stomach tightened. If only he would give her a little more time to remember why she had a deep fear of someone knowing where she was. Any story she’d been able to think of had too many holes in it to convince him to let her stay. If she lied about being on vacation alone, her belongings would have to be somewhere. No doubt, he would offer to drive her back to her lodgings, and then what?

Sitting across the table from her, Andrew watched her pick at her chicken and salad, really not eating but just going through the motions. Was she putting on an act? He’d been taken in by manipulating women when he first came to the city, but he’d learned his lesson. Hadn’t he? Looking at her appealing femininity, he wasn’t sure.

He set down the chicken leg he’d been eating, wiped his hands and then leaned toward her. “I think it’s time you leveled with me, Trish, don’t you?”

She deliberately took a drink of water, delaying the moment when she’d have to speak. She wished now that she’d told him the truth in the beginning, but she’d been too frightened to think clearly. Like a hunted animal, a deep protective instinct had warned to protect herself.

“All right. Let me guess,” he said when she was slow in answering. “You’re running away from some unpleasant situation that you don’t want to face.”

“Maybe.” I don’t know. I don’t know.

“Maybe?” he repeated, with a disbelieving edge to his voice. “Either you are or you aren’t, Trish. Frankly, I suspect that some man is beside himself wondering where you are.”

“Do you think so?” she asked almost in a whisper.

The anguish that flashed across her face made him soften his tone even though he was getting impatient with her evasiveness. “Trish, I’m thankful that I was around when you needed rescuing, but hiding out here isn’t going to work for you—or for me, either.”

“I know.” She sighed. “You’ve been more than patient, and I don’t know what I would have done if…if you hadn’t found me.”

“You’ve got to face up to whomever, or whatever you’re running away from, Trish.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “Why don’t you tell me about what was going on?”

She laced her fingers through his, drawing strength from the contact. Maybe he would accept the truth. Or would he just think she was making everything up in an effort to wring enough sympathy from him so he’d let her stay?

“What is it, Trish? I have to know.”

She drew in a deep breath to settle the quivering in her chest. “The truth is that I don’t know who I am. And I need a little time to figure it out.”

His mouth quirked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or let his irritation show. “That’s the metaphysical question for this generation, isn’t it? Who am I? I can’t believe how many people get on this quest—”

“That isn’t what I mean.” She jerked her hand away from his. Her eyes flashed as she said each word with loud emphasis, “Don’t you understand? I don’t know who I am.”

Andrew simply stared at her.

“I’ve lost my memory. I remember your rescuing me from the beach. But that’s all. Nothing before that.”

“I see.” An inner voice warned him to be careful. “You have amnesia.” Skepticism laced the statement.

Trish could tell from his tone that he didn’t believe her. He obviously thought she was trying to put something over on him. Her hopes that he would understand took a sickening dive. Any lie she could have dreamed up would have had a better response from him than the truth.

“Yes, I have amnesia,” she repeated firmly.

“Well, that is a problem, isn’t it?” he said as if he were addressing a child who had just told a whopper of a lie.

“Don’t patronize me,” she flared. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t remember anything from the moment I opened my eyes and saw your face bending over me.”

“But you said your name was Trish,” he protested. “Did you just make that up?”

She hesitated, and then answered thoughtfully, “I don’t think so. The name just kind of floated up and seemed familiar.”

“And you don’t remember anything else?”

“I know I have a blue-and-yellow cosmetic bag with butterflies on it. I remember that,” she said triumphantly.

He watched as her blue-green eyes lost their flatness. There was such joyful thankfulness in her face when she said she had remembered the bag that he had a hard time believing it was just an act. Still, it was a stretch to accept this bizarre story as the truth.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” She sighed, watching his brown eyes narrow as he looked at her, and deep lines furrow his forehead.

“Frankly, I don’t know whether I do or not,” he answered honestly. He’d heard of retrograde amnesia when a person would remember things after a trauma and nothing before. Clearly she’d been in a state of shock when he’d found her on the beach, but keeping such a frightening state to herself didn’t seem rational. Was this very appealing woman cleverly manipulating him to her own ends?

“I’m telling you the truth,” she insisted, reading the skepticism in his expression.

“You have to admit that you’ve been rather adept at keeping your loss of memory from me. I mean, I would have thought you would have told me right away.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because…because I had to protect myself any way I could.” Her gaze dragged his face with pleading intensity. “Deep down I knew that I was being threatened by something or someone. By keeping quiet, I was just trying to protect myself—and you—until I could remember and know what to do.”

Andrew’s thoughts whirled like dry leaves caught in a devil’s wind. He knew that her nightmare had been real enough. Some of her vague answers and behavior could be symptoms of complete disorientation. When he thought about her behavior in the context of her not remembering anything, there was a ring of authenticity about it. Still, her determination to keep such an appalling state a secret bothered him. “You should have told me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“How long did you plan to keep me in the dark?”

“I thought—I hoped—that at any moment, my memory would come back. Plus I wasn’t sure you’d believe me if I told you the truth.”

He hesitated. “I’ve heard about people losing their memory when something horrendous happens to them.”

Her lips quivered as she looked across the table at him. “I don’t know why I’m in danger, but it’s a deep-gut feeling that I can’t deny. I feel safe here with you, Andrew, and that’s why I don’t want to leave. Please say that I can stay.”

All rational arguments against opening himself up to this disruptive intrusion in his life fled. He walked around the table and eased down beside her. Putting an arm around her slumped shoulders, he heard himself saying, “Of course, you can stay. We’ll sort this thing out.”

He felt a surge of protectiveness that was alien to anything he’d felt before. His cautious, rational approach to life deserted him as he was suddenly filled with desires that made him a stranger to a surge of bewildering hunger. He wanted to trace the sweet curve of her cheeks with his fingertips, and bury his lips in the smooth loveliness of her neck. He bent his head close to hers and as a soft breeze tugged at wayward strands framing her face, he knew that in another moment, he would forget himself completely.

Gently he withdrew his arm and took a steadying breath, hoping that she was unaware of his physical response to her nearness.

“There are things that we can do right away to find some of the answers,” he said, allowing his methodical intellectual nature to take over. Then he added as lightly as he could, “We’ll find out why you showed up like a drowned kitten on my doorstep, and it will all make sense. Until then try to relax, and let me see what I can find out. Okay?”

Gratitude made her voice unsteady as she thanked him. “I’ll try not to be an intrusion. Why don’t you let me sleep on the cot?”

“No, I like to work late, and sometimes get up in the middle of the night to try out an idea. It’s better if you take the bedroom.” He eyed her nearly untouched plate. “I guess you don’t like chicken.”

“Yes, I do.” She found herself relaxing for the first time since her rescue. “It’s strange, but I seem to know things like that—what I like and what I don’t like. I saw your guitar in the house and I know I like music but I’m not sure what kind. Some of the books on your shelves seemed familiar even though I can’t actually remember reading them.” She frowned. “That’s weird, isn’t it? I know a lot about myself, but none of the important things like what my name is and why I have a compelling instinct to hide.” She shivered. “None of it makes sense, does it?”

“It will make sense when we know the whole story.”

A sudden tightening in her chest made her plead, “But don’t let anyone know I’m here, not until we know for sure who I am. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Even though his mind had already been racing ahead to printing flyers with her picture on it, he knew she was right. If she had been a victim of foul play, it wouldn’t be wise to let other people know who and where she was until they found out the whole story.

“What do you think we should do first?” she asked, her spirits rising with hope for the first time.

“I’ll get a list of missing people in the area, and you can look over the names and see if any of them seem slightly familiar. We’ll go from there.”

His confidence was like a healing balm and when they went back inside the house, Trish felt stronger and less fearful than she had before, and she chided herself for not telling him sooner. She was able to look at her situation in a rational light for the first time. She belonged somewhere. She had connections to others. Every question in her dark memory had an answer.

“Getting impatient isn’t going to help,” Andrew had warned her earlier when she confided in him that not knowing the simplest things about herself was devastating.

She knew that he had been skeptical in the beginning, and who could blame him? This whole scenario was something out of a soap opera. But in the end, he had believed her. The warmth of his protective arm around her spoke volumes. She had an ally. She was no longer alone.

THAT NIGHT, ANDREW USED his computer to run off everything he could find on amnesia due to traumatic shock. When it came to facing any problem, he was always meticulous in his approach. That was just his nature, and one of things that made him successful in creating sophisticated software. By the time he turned off the computer, he had a fistful of research material.

He quietly went back into the living room and slumped down in his easy chair as he studied the printouts. The mantel clock was striking two o’clock when he finished reading.

Experts seemed to agree that hysterical amnesia resulted from a person’s desire to dissociate from a particularly intolerable situation when the victim chose to block out that incident and everything that went before it.

Leaning his head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes as he tried to digest the information. One unrelenting question stabbed at him with demanding clarity.

What was the intolerable situation that made Trish choose to lose her memory?

Chapter Three

When Trish got up the next morning, Andrew was already gone, and her sense of well-being faded instantly as she faced another long day alone. Somehow she hadn’t expected him to go to the office two days in a row. Even though she was tempted to go back to bed, she dressed slowly in the undergarments she’d washed out the night before, and put on the same white slacks and blouse.

The same swirl of disorientation poured over her as she moved about the kitchen. Just like the first morning, he had made coffee, but there was no sign that he’d already had breakfast. Maybe he hadn’t gone to work. Her hands were suddenly clammy and cold even though they circled a hot mug. Could he have decided to take matters into his own hands and gone to the authorities? What if he reported that a strange, delusional woman had invaded his house? Surely, the authorities would come for her. And then what? Maybe she was responsible for something terrible. For the first time, she entertained an unnamed guilt, and a fear that whatever had happened to her, she had brought it on herself.

Panic suddenly overwhelmed her. She set down her coffee cup with such force that the liquid spilled all over the table. Everything that lay hidden in her mind seemed to crystallize in one thought—she had to leave the house before the danger lurking in the shadows of her memory found her.

She lurched up from her chair and started across the kitchen toward the back door, but before she reached it, she stopped dead in her tracks, frozen in horror. She was too late! The firm sound of footsteps warned her that someone was coming up the back stairs. They were already here! Before she could turn on her heels and flee, the door opened and she screamed.

Andrew stared at her in disbelief. “Trish, for godsake, what’s the matter?” He’d never seen raw terror on anyone’s face before, but he saw it on hers.

“Andrew,” she breathed, giddy with relief.

“You look as if you were expecting a ghost.” He was wearing a jogging suit, running shoes, and his moist sun-streaked hair was held back with a sweat-band.

“Not a ghost,” she managed, leaning up against the counter to keep her weak knees from buckling.

He searched her ashen face. Who had she expected to see coming through the door? Had her memory returned? “Tell me what’s going on, Trish. I’m not used to being greeted with bone-chilling screams when I come in the door—at least, not so early in the morning,” he added, trying to lighten the situation.

She ran an agitated hand through her dark hair. “I guess I let my imagination run away with me,” she admitted, totally embarrassed by the way she had lost control. “I’m sorry. When you weren’t here, I thought you’d decided to turn me over to someone else. And that frightened me.”

Even though he knew that in her present state, she was vulnerable to distrust, it really bothered him that she thought him capable of callously tossing her out of his house. “I thought we’d agreed on how we were going to handle this thing? Didn’t we?”

His briskness told her that she had offended him, but she didn’t know how to explain that the frightening scenario had developed in her mind because of his absence. She nodded, not wanting to admit that panic had driven everything out of her mind.

“All right, then.” His tone softened. “I promise I won’t do anything without your approval.”

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

“You should be. I don’t recall that anything was said about me bringing a paddy wagon up to the back door and hauling you away,” he chided. “At least, not before breakfast.”

In his teasing smile, she saw a steady uncompromising strength that invited her to trust him. She prayed that whatever truth she discovered about herself would not destroy that trust.

“Now, sit down and finish your coffee while I whip up some French toast. Oui, Mademoiselle?”

She laughed at his corny accent, and couldn’t believe how deftly he had changed the whole timber of the day. For the first time since her rescue, her past didn’t seem as important as letting herself momentarily enjoy the present moment.

As the day progressed, there were times when she wished that he wasn’t so intent upon following up every avenue that might end the protective sanctuary that she’d found with him. Deep down, she knew that she was using him as an anchor in the morass of her unknown problems, and that it wasn’t fair to attach herself to him on any emotional level, but she couldn’t help herself.

When he brought her a list of the people who had been reported lost in the state of New Jersey since the storm, she carefully read every name of women in her age group. Saying the name aloud, she paused to see if there was any flicker of familiarity. When she’d made it through the list, her lips trembled as she handed it back to him.

“If my name is there, I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s okay. There are other lists,” he reassured her, even as he hoped that they wouldn’t have to go through the missing persons records for every state in the union. She could have come to New Jersey from anywhere and for a thousand different reasons. “I’ll get a similar list from New York City and Long Island.”

When he gave them to her, Trish was appalled at the hundreds of names of people reported missing in only a three-day period. Once again, she tried to connect any kind of memory with each of the possible names, but with the same result.

“Nothing. I guess this isn’t going to work,” she said, holding back a wash of despair.

He was silent for a moment. “Of course, the best way to handle this might be to come at it from a different way,” he said thoughtfully. “We could pass out flyers with your description and picture and see if—”

“No!” she protested vehemently. “I have to know who I am first. Don’t you understand?”

“I’m not sure I do,” he said quietly. She was suddenly like a wild creature backed into a corner. “I would think that you’d want to use any means you could to find out who you are.”

She searched for words that would help him understand. Drawing a shaky breath, she tried to explain. “There is some deep terror buried within me. I don’t know how to explain it, but I’m afraid that whatever happened to me before is out there waiting to happen again. I have to find out who I am before I’ll feel safe.”

“You think someone is waiting to do you harm?”

“I don’t know what I think. I just know that I don’t want to put out my picture all over the place. Not yet. Not until I have a chance to discover my identity.” She sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just paranoid because I can’t remember what happened to me.”

“I don’t think paranoid is a characteristic of amnesia,” he admitted. “There must be something more there, and I don’t think we should do anything that doesn’t sit well with you. At least for the time beginning, let’s concentrate on coaxing your memory back. Okay?”

She gave him a relieved smile. “What do you suggest we do next?”

“How about a walk down to the beach?” he suggested casually as if it was just a pleasant idea. He watched myriad emotions cross her face as fright, refusal and then determination gave way to a stubborn lift of her chin.

“All right. I suppose that’s a good place to start.”

He admired the way she was fighting the demons in her mind. “If things get too tense for you, just say so, and we’ll leave it for another day.”

As they stepped out on the deck, Trish felt a rush of adrenaline that was like a charged current surging through her. She stiffened her resolve not to be defeated by emotions warring within her. If she could just make it down to the place where Andrew had found her, everything might come rushing back. Maybe the blocks in her mind would fall away and she would see what was hidden from her. She swallowed back her fear and stiffened her resolve to accept anything that her memory threw back at her. Anything.

“You, okay?” he asked as she stiffly walked beside him. When he reached out and took her hand, he was surprised how clammy it felt. She looked like someone walking to her execution. With a start, he realized the strength of will she was displaying in leaving the house and exposing herself to whatever upheaval might be waiting for her. “It’s going to be all right. Don’t be frightened.”

“I’m not,” she lied.

He tried to get her mind off the purpose for their walk. “It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said without looking at it.

“Why don’t we take a little walk in the other direction before we circle the cove?”

She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. The reprieve, even for a few moments, was a welcome blessing.

They crossed a wide strip of sandy ground dotted with wild grass, sand, rocks and driftwood, and carefully made their way down to the beach. As they walked along the edge of the water, seagulls darted overhead, keeping up a cacophony of raucous noise. The ocean simmered in the bright light of the sun, and a light breeze ruffled the water, sending a frill of white dancing to the shore.

Trying to ease her nervousness, Andrew talked a little bit about the coastline and the terrain farther south. Nothing he said about the geography seemed to register with her, but her body lost some of its tension as she walked beside him. Her hand felt small and fragile in his, and glancing at her profile, he realized again how petite and feminine she was. It was beyond his comprehension why anyone would want to hurt her. Was her trauma centered on her loss of memory and nothing more?

She felt his searching gaze upon her, and she gave him a tenuous smile. With his strong body so close to hers, she felt safely anchored in the moment. When he smiled back at her, his brown eyes catching a glint of sunlight in their depths, she felt a strange stirring that unwittingly brought warmth into her cheeks.

They walked for about a half mile before they turned back, and he felt her tension returning as they neared the cove that lay below his cottage. The sandy beach narrowed at this point. In this small scallop of the coastline, dry seaweed and bleached driftwood lay among rocks that edged small eddies. A couple of indignant gulls rose with a flutter of wings from one of the small pools.

“Let’s see now,” he said in a conversational tone. “If I remember right, you were lying just about there.”

She stopped and looked down at the smooth sand as if the indentation of her body should still be there. “Are you sure?”

He glanced up at his house. “Yes, I could see this spot through the front window.”

She moistened her dry lips. “Did you see anybody else? Or anything?”

“Nope. I just glimpsed you lying right here. No sign of a boat or anything else.”

“Then how did I get here?” she asked, frowning, as if he were somehow keeping the answer from her.

“That’s what we need to figure out.”

She had steeled herself to accept whatever her mind dredged up, and she felt like someone ready to do battle without any enemy to fight. How could they find any answers when her memory was as blank as a freshly washed surface?

“Why don’t we sit down, and just take it easy for a few minutes? You can look around and once you get oriented, you may remember something.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I guess we’re back to square one,” he said, not wanting to admit he’d put a lot of hope in her remembering something that would give them a place to start. He was convinced that if they didn’t have some kind of a breakthrough, there was no other alternative but to get her some professional help. Without even suggesting such an idea, he knew what her response would be.

She sat on the sand, hugged her pulled-up legs with her arms, and resisted the temptation to bury her face against her knees. Biting her lower lip, she looked out at the waves breaking in white-foamed sprays against rocks outlining the inlet. She narrowed her eyes, trying to superimpose another scene upon one in her view, but she failed. Nothing in the way of a memory came to her. She only knew that the sound of roaring surf was one that had tortured her and brought cold chills rippling down her spine.

Sitting close beside her, Andrew watched her face and sensed the struggle going on within her. “Just try to relax, Trish, and let your mind wander where it will. Forcing yourself to remember will only make you more tense.”

They sat in a heavy silence for several long minutes, until Trish couldn’t take it any longer. She turned to him. “Talk to me. About anything.”

“All right. See that tern pecking away over there?” he pointed to a small white bird hopping about as if she were riding a pogo stick. His resonant voice softened. “She’s got a nest over there in the rushes, and in the early spring there were five little ones following her around. They’ve all gone now, seeking their fortune in the big wide world.” He described other water fowl that were frequent visitors to the small cove as if they were his friends and companions.

Just listening to his steady unruffled voice was strangely soothing. She stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her arms, pretending that there was nothing more urgent than just listening to him.

“I collect a lot of driftwood in this spot. For some reason the current seems to swing into this small cove. I suppose that anything or anyone caught in the surf might end up here.” He watched for any slight flicker of her eyelids but her expression remained impassive.

She knew what he was trying to do—prime her memory pump. But it didn’t work. All she could remember was lying in that very spot, gasping for air, not knowing if her clothes were drenched either from seawater or the pouring rain.

“Where do you go on your morning run?” she asked, wanting to get his attention on something else besides her complete lack of success in remembering anything before he found her.

“Sometimes I make it down the coast to those buildings whose roofs you can see,” he said as he pointed southward. “A little over a mile. There’s a small shopping center and a couple of resort hotels. Just a nice walk from here—in nice weather.”

Getting to her feet, she stared in the direction he had been pointing. “Do you think I could have walked in the storm from there to here?”

“Do you?” he asked quietly.

“It’s possible, isn’t it?” Nervous hope suddenly churned her stomach. “Maybe I was stupid enough to hike this far in the rainstorm and was overcome by fatigue. That could be it, couldn’t it?”

“What do you say to getting in the car and taking a quick look around Seaside Plaza? We can see if anything rings a bell,” Andrew suggested as he rose to his feet. “You don’t have to get out of the car unless you want to.”

Instant refusal caught in her throat. Leaving the safety of Andrew’s cottage was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Come on, let’s give it a try,” he coaxed as he slipped an arm around her waist and guided her back to the house.

In a matter of minutes, she found herself crowded close beside him in the front seat of his small car, her chest tight and her breathing rapid. Something deep within her didn’t accept the explanation that her present condition was the result of something as benign as a misguided walk.

Aware of her intense physical reaction, Andrew began to wonder if it was such a good idea after all to make her leave the house. She looked almost physically ill hunched down in her seat. He was tempted to turn the car around and go back to the cottage, but he knew that sooner or later, she would have to get out in public. The possibility that they might find some inkling of her identity so close to his place stiffened his resolve to see the thing through.

A fashionable resort hotel had been built on the beach in the center of a landscaped square bordered by inviting tourist shops. Driving slowly past the hotel, Andrew gave her a chance to look at the front of the building. Through large front glass windows and doors, they could catch glimpses of the elegant interior. He reasoned that if Trish had been staying at the hotel, she would be familiar with it and the surrounding stores.

Just as they passed the front entrance, two men and a woman came out the front door of the hotel, and instantly Trish hunched down in the seat.

“Do you think you know them?” Andrew asked quickly. “Do they look familiar?”

She shook her head. Nothing looked familiar. Not the hotel. And her driving instinct was to hide from any stranger. How could she make him understand that this total lack of recognition was the reason enough to hide from an unnamed terror that kept her from remembering?

“How about any of the shops? Any of them ring a bell?” He asked as he parked the car so she could view the front of the various stores.

After a moment of letting her searching gaze rove around the busy plaza, she reluctantly shook her head. Sitting there in her one set of clothes, there were dozens of things in the colorful window displays that she wished she could walk in and buy, but none of the store names or fronts registered any recognition. If she had shopped there, she didn’t remember anything about it.”

“Well, just relax and be a people-watcher for a few minutes. I’ll be back right back.” He opened his door and slipped out of the car.

Before she could protest, he had taken off with a leisurely stride and headed down the walk toward the hotel. She didn’t know whether to yell at him to come back, or go after him. In the end, she did neither.

“It’s all right,” she told herself, taking some deep breaths to center herself. She had to trust him. There was no reason to believe that he was going to abandon her. She leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. She knew that the fatigue that swept over her body was born of a fear of betrayal.

Betrayal. The way the word shot through her, startled her. She sat up with a jerk. A flash of betrayal triggered a series of vague images that slithered by too fast for her to grab them. A sudden, slight lifting of the shadows in her mind caught her off guard. A memory was almost there, but it lacked form. It was like waking up from a dream, and not quite remembering. Only the emotion remained. She felt weak and shaken, and yet, strangely elated. She had been betrayed. She knew it!

When Andrew returned to the car a few minutes later, he was startled by the change in her posture and expression. Her earlier glazed, dull expression was gone. Her face was animated and her blue eyes were shining.

“What happened? Did you remember something?”

“Almost,” she said, smiling. “I almost remembered something.”

“Almost?” He had been ready for her to declare that she remembered who she was. His elation faded slightly as he asked, “What happened?”

“I saw some images. Just for a few seconds,” she explained. “They flickered past too vague and quickly for me to examine them.” She saw disappointment tug at the corner of his lips so she grabbed his hand. “Next time I might be able to hold on to them long enough to really recognize and remember them. It’s a start—don’t you see?”

Her excitement was contagious. Her sudden animation took him by surprise. For the first time, he caught a glimpse of a vivacious, confident woman who would not be defeated by the devastating shock she had suffered.

“Yes, it’s a start,” he agreed, smiling even though he didn’t know exactly what she was talking about. Had she wanted to remember something so badly that her mind was playing tricks on her? “Do you know what triggered these images?”

“Not really. I was just sitting here wondering if you had abandoned me.” She shot him an apologetic look. “The feeling of betrayal seemed to take over for a few seconds and that’s when it happened.”

“I really don’t know what to say, Trish.” He squeezed the hand still locked in his. “Let’s give it some thought, and see what we should do next. I checked at the hotel, pretending to be a reporter doing an article on the storm. I asked if all their guests were accounted for, and they assured me that they were, but, of course, there’s no way of knowing if you were registered—unless we show them a picture.”

“No,” she said firmly, withdrawing her hand. You don’t give your enemies an advantage. She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until she saw his startled expression.

“If you really believe that, Trish,” he said firmly, “then it’s time to get you some professional help. What happened today might be a breakthrough if you had the right kind of counseling.”

“You mean psychiatric care?” she flared. “Just because I can’t remember, doesn’t mean I should be committed to some booby hatch.” Even as she heard herself, she knew she was like a child throwing a tantrum because she didn’t want to go to the doctor.

“I’m sure we can find a respectable clinic that can provide the kind of help you need,” he said in a quiet, reassuring way. “Just think about it.”

She fell silent as he drove back to the cottage. Even though she desperately wanted a breakthrough as quickly as possible, the idea of putting herself in the hands of perfect strangers was terrifying. She wasn’t even sure that she could depend on Andrew to remain as her main anchor. Maybe he was urging her to seek help because he didn’t want to be involved with her any further.

When they got back to the house, he suggested that she take a nap while he caught up on some work. As soon as she was settled in the bedroom, he left his computer and took his cell phone out on the deck. One of his female co-workers had spent some time at a small mental health hospital after a nervous breakdown, and she’d only had positive things to say about the care she’d been given. He made a quick call to her and she gladly gave him the number he needed.

Andrew phoned the hospital, and asked to speak to one of the resident doctors concerning the admittance of an amnesia patient. He was referred to a Dr. Jon Duboise. As succinctly as Andrew could, he explained to the doctor about Trish’s condition.

“She has a deep fear that someone will find her before she can remember what happened to her. Whatever it was must have been something traumatic.”

“Reason enough for her to block out the memory,” the doctor agreed. “The loss of memory about an emotionally traumatic event is usually the result of a person’s desire to dissociate from a particularly intolerable situation.”

“And once she’s willing to recall that event, will she get her memory back?” Andrew asked hopefully.

“If it’s hysterical or post-traumatic retrograde amnesia, it’s very likely,” Duboise explained. “But even with therapy, it could take time.” He asked a few more questions, and then assured Andrew that privacy was a top priority at Havengate Hospital.

Andrew thanked him and hung up without committing himself to anything. He sat out on the deck for several minutes trying to come up with the best way to handle Trish. Her aversion to exposing herself to anyone was clear. He knew that she would accuse him of withdrawing his support if he insisted that she check herself into a hospital. She had already admitted that she feared his betrayal.

He decided to wait until evening before saying anything. When she emerged from the bedroom, he noted that she had, undoubtedly, taken his advice and had a long nap. She was more rested than he’d seen her. At dinner, she even ate a nice helping of his spaghetti and meatballs.

They had coffee in the living room, and impulsively he picked up his guitar and began strumming some familiar tunes. Trish curled up on the couch, smiling as she watched his dexterous fingers find the chords with an easy pleasure. She could tell that he was used to spending evenings in the company of his guitar. A soft wave of blond hair drifted forward as he bent his head over the instrument. Her eyes followed the strong sweep of his cheeks and jaw, and lingered on the fullness of his mouth. She greedily captured every detail in her mind, knowing that she would draw on this memory over and over again, no matter how many others were denied her. She felt a peculiar stirring inside that made her want to shut out the rest of the world and hold on to this sweet moment forever. At that moment, she realized she was dangerously close to allowing her feelings to deepen for this blond-headed troubadour.

Andrew was pleased with the soft smile on her face and he was glad he’d broken his rule never to play for anyone but himself. None of his co-workers at the office even suspected he knew one note from another, and as Trish began humming some of the tunes, he experienced sudden companionship that had been rare in his life.

He gave her an encouraging grin as very softly she began singing along with his playing, as though testing her memory for the words. She had a lovely clear voice, and her confidence grew. When he began strumming a bouncy tune, she started clapping in rhythm, and he glimpsed an outgoing, perky manner that he hadn’t seen before. He ended the song with a flourish of chords that left them both laughing.

“Hey, you’re good.” He grinned at her as he set aside his guitar.

“I love to sing,” she admitted with wide-eyed surprise. Knowing one more thing about herself was like finding another piece of a hidden puzzle.

“We make a good team. Shall we go on the road?”

“I wish we could,” she answered wistfully as a cloud descended on her face, erasing the brightness that had been in her eyes only moments before.

Andrew realized immediately that he’d said the wrong thing. Even in jest, talking about the future was painful for her. He eased down beside her on the couch. Maybe the time had come to tell her about the call he’d made to Havengate Hospital.

“Trish, there’s something we need to talk about.”

Instantly her sense of well-being took a dive. Here it comes, she thought. He’s going to tell me it’s time to move on. He put his arm around her shoulder, but she sat stiffly beside him.

“All right, let’s talk,” she said as steadily as the quivering in her stomach would allow.

“I talked with a Dr. Duboise about you and—”

“What? You didn’t!” Her voice was strident. “You promised!”

“I said that I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your safety, and I didn’t.” He kept his tone even and controlled. “Let me explain.”

“I trusted you,” she lashed out, and started to get up, but he pulled her back down.

“Just listen, please.” Putting his hands firmly on her shoulders, he looked directly into her rounded eyes. He could see the wild pulse beating in her neck. “There’s a Havengate Hospital near here, and they treat amnesia patients. You need professional help, Trish.”

“And you want me out of your hair,” she flared angrily and tried to push him away.

“Trish, you can’t do this on your own.”

“If you’d just give me a little time,” she pleaded. “After all, it’s only been three days.”

“And what if it becomes three months? What then? Are you willing to suffer not knowing who you are, and what happened to drive away your memory for months and perhaps even years?” He softened his voice. “You’re a beautiful young woman, and you deserve better than that.”

“But what if someone finds me before…before my memory comes back?” She swallowed hard, feeling as if she’d suddenly been swept up in a whirlwind over which she had no control.

“Dr. Duboise has promised complete secrecy about your presence there.”

“But what about payment? They’ll admit me to a place like that out of the goodness of their hearts?”

“Almost,” he admitted with a reassuring smile. He could tell that her initial defensiveness was easing, and he dropped his hands from her shoulder. “Havengate is supported by a philanthropic trust fund. The hospital will accept you without payment with the belief that after you recover your identity, you’ll be able to settle with them financially. According to Dr. Duboise they take many amnesia patients on that basis. So you see, there’s nothing to stop you from getting the best treatment available. And I’ll be close enough to make sure you’re staying out of trouble.”

She searched his face and felt all the fight go out of her body. Was he making her an idle promise? She couldn’t tell. What if he left her there alone for heaven only knew how long? For the first time, she considered the possibility that he might not want to have anything to do with her once he found out who she truly was. She wondered if he’d been thinking the same thing and was making this move to get her out of his life before the truth came out.

“All right,” she said stiffly. “Whatever you say.”

Chapter Four

Trish checked into the hospital with a small valise of new clothes and personal effects that Andrew had insisted upon purchasing. She’d offered him her watch to pawn, but he had refused.

“Your credit’s good with me. I’ll just add the purchases to your running tab of three nights lodging and gourmet meals,” he teased, but his levity had failed to lessen the tension between them. He’d been prepared for her backing out even as they made the drive to the hospital. She sat stiffly in the car, looking straight ahead, and barely nodding to acknowledge his attempt at making conversation.

When they had arrived at Havengate, he shot anxious glances at her pallid face to see how she was reacting to the cluster of pink stucco buildings that were scattered on the landscaped grounds, looking very much like a small college campus. He knew she felt betrayed by his insistence that she leave his house and check into the hospital. He only hoped that the decision would prove to be the right one, and, in time, she would thank him for it. He would do everything he could to make sure she didn’t feel abandoned.

“What do you think, Trish?” he asked, acutely needing reassurance that she didn’t feel he’d stabbed her in the back.

“It looks—” she tried to find the right word.

“Safe?” he supplied, hopefully.

She managed a wan smile. “Yes, safe.”

His anxious expression had made her lie. She felt anything but safe as she got out of the car, and waited for him to take her small bag out of the back seat. If there’d been anywhere to run to, she would have taken off in a flash.

As if reading her mind, he said gently. “Easy does it, Trish. If you hate the place, we’ll find something different. Okay?”

“I hate it.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Not so fast. How about a forty-eight-hour trial?”

“Okay, forty-eight hours.”

Andrew slipped his arm through hers as they walked together into the main building, and she drew strength from the length of his warm firm body brushing hers. She wondered how she could bear to be parted from him for even the two days that she’d promised to stay.

Andrew held his breath that everything would go quickly and smoothly at registration. He had called ahead and talked with Dr. Duboise. The doctor had assured him that everything would be ready for Trish’s admittance.

A pleasant middle-aged woman at the reception desk nodded when Andrew gave his name. “Oh, yes, Mr. Davis. We’ve been expecting you.” She smiled at Trish, and put out her hand. “I’m Ms. Sloan. We have a nice room all ready for you, Trish.”

The use of her name and the warm clasp of the woman’s hand sent a momentary flicker of relief through Trish. She had expected to be treated like some poor victim who couldn’t remember who she was instead of a person with all her faculties.

“Would you like to look over the premises before you settle in?” Ms. Sloan asked in an easy, friendly manner.

Andrew decided that the question must be a routine one. Apparently it was the hospital’s policy to give people a chance to change their minds, he thought, holding his breath as he searched Trish’s face to see what her response was going to be. Would she take advantage of the momentary reprieve and head back to the car?

Fortunately, there was only a slight hesitation before she said, “No, thank you. I’d rather go to my room.”

“Fine.” Ms. Sloan smiled. “If you’ll follow me, please. It’s just a short walk across the grounds to your building.”

Andrew kept his arm through Trish’s as they followed a sidewalk that led them to a two-storied pink stucco building that looked every bit like a college dormitory.

“You have room 110,” Ms. Sloan told them as she opened a door on the first floor and motioned them inside.

Trish was surprised at the homey charm of the room, and its generous size. There was nothing of a sterile institution about the accommodations. Furnishings were in shades of a restful pink and green. Soft pillows brightened two lounge chairs and a single bed, which was covered with a pastel floral skirt and harmonizing bedspread. An adjoining bathroom was small with cream-colored fixtures and ceramic tiles.

“This building is close to the physical therapy and occupational therapy departments,” Ms. Sloan told Trish with a smile as if she were a social director acquainting a guest with all the offered accommodations. “Dr. Duboise will be by later to get acquainted and set up a time for daily therapy.” She pointed out a telephone on a small desk. “If there’s anything you need, just lift the receiver.” She paused. “Do you have any questions?”

Trish suppressed the impulse to reply that at the moment questions were all she had. She simply shook her head. “No.”

Responding to the lost look in Trish’s eyes, Ms. Sloan reached out and touched Trish’s hand. “We’re a friendly bunch, Trish. You’re going to like us. I promise.”

The pinched lines around Trish’s mouth eased and she gave the woman a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“I’ll leave you then,” she said.

Andrew held out his hand. “Thank you, Ms. Sloan.” He was deeply grateful to her. She had offered Trish a reassurance that went beyond just professional concern.

She nodded and left them alone in the room.

Trish slowly walked over to a large window that overlooked plantings of flowers, trees and an expanse of emerald grass. Very deliberately, she drew the drapes, shutting out the view. Then she turned to Andrew. “I can handle it from here.”

The dismissing edge of her tone cut him to the quick. As she stood there in the shadows of the darkened room, she looked like a child trying to hide from the world.

He moved quickly to her side. “Don’t be frightened. It’s going to be all right.”

She lowered her head to keep him from seeing tears spilling from the corner of her eyes.

“I’m going to be here for you,” he promised. He gently eased back strands of hair falling over her face and tucked them behind her ears. Then he gently cupped her chin, and lifted her face upward. He had intended to say something reassuring but the words got lost. A swell of emotions that made him a stranger to himself caused him to bend his head and kiss her.

Her mouth tensed under his, and for a second it seemed as if she were going to pull away. Then her arms crept up around his neck, and the kiss deepened until they both were breathless. Slowly, they withdrew from their heated embrace, and Andrew searched her face as she turned away from him and sat down on the edge of the bed.

How could he explain the wild impulse that had ignited such a passionate kiss? If he did try to explain, would he only make matters worse? He was angry with himself for taking advantage of her vulnerable emotions at a time like this.

“Trish, I—”

“Don’t say anything,” she pleaded. She couldn’t stand hearing his apology for something that was her fault. If she hadn’t behaved like a fearful child begging to be comforted, he never would have kissed her. He feels sorry for me. “Just let it go.”

He started to protest, but he was stopped by the sudden appearance of a doctor in the open door. He was a short, robust man with a nicely trimmed black mustache that gave his round face a rather jaunty air.

“Dr. Duboise,” he introduced himself as he came in, shaking hands with Andrew, and smiling at Trish. “Are you getting settled in?”

Trish gave him a noncommittal nod, and braced herself. The doctor’s quick glance at the closed curtains and the shadowy cast to the room had already alerted her that nothing was going to get by him.

“I was just leaving,” Andrew said quickly as he took Trish’s cold hand in his. “You have my number. Call me, anytime.” There were a dozen more things he wanted to say, but he settled for, “I’ll be back tomorrow after work.”

He felt her stiffen for a second as he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. No doubt, the trained eye of the psychiatrist caught it all, Andrew thought as he left the room. Maybe Duboise would ask Trish what was going on between them—as if either of them knew!

Dr. Duboise settled in one of the easy chairs near where Trish sat on the edge of the bed. She expected him to turn on a light, but he didn’t. As if reading her thoughts, he commented, “You find it more peaceful with the curtains drawn?”

“I find it safer,” she answered flatly.

“Why safer?” There was no judgment in the question, just a quiet invitation, and it seemed to offer her a refuge for her thread-worn thoughts.

Slowly, she got up from the bed and sat down in the lounge chair that was placed close to his. As she met his steady eyes, she began talking, trying to put into words the nebulous sense of danger and apprehension that was like a bone-deep chill running through her as she tried to remember who she was and what had happened to her.

ANDREW WAS TRYING TO settle down at his computer and get some work done that evening when the telephone rang. Both relief and apprehension flooded through him when he heard Trish’s voice on the line. He’d been wanting to call her, but hesitated because he wasn’t certain what he should say to her. Remembering their passionate kiss and the way they’d melted together in that hot embrace made him cautious about upsetting her again.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.