Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About The Author

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

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

Copyright

Jonathan squeezed her hand

“You’re safe here. The police will find the person who attacked you.”

Panic screamed through her aching body. She knew she could trust him, but not all those other people—the police, the family. She couldn’t fit them into the puzzle that was her life, no matter how hard she tried.

An awakening instinct warned her to hide her fear. Maybe the emptiness inside her would fill up with all the pieces she needed. Until then she was alone.

She balled both her hands into fists. She had to try to explain.

“I’m afraid because…because I can’t remember anything. About myself. About my past.”

She unfurled one fist, her fingers desperately searching out his as she willed him to understand.

“The only memory I have is you.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lynn Leslie is the pen name of the dynamic writing team of sisters-in-law Sherrill “Lynn” Bodine and Elaine “Leslie” Sima. Both women have been writing for most of their lives and are avid researchers, a skill that is evident in all their novels.

Both women love to travel and are involved in various social-service groups in their communities. They also love to spend time with their families, who reside in the Chicago area.

The Other Amanda
Lynn Leslie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Dr. Marc Simeon Karlan.

Thank you for your expertise—

you gave us exactly what we needed!

With special thanks to Dr. Steven E. Rolhke and to Sue and Norm Westerhold for all those great weekends in northern Wisconsin.

PROLOGUE

ACROSS THE PARK the moon, like a giant red beach ball just above Lake Michigan, beckoned her into the night. Surely it would be cooler by the water. Here, under the Majestic Hotel marquee, the combination of good old Windy City summer humidity and hot lights made her skin feel clammy.

She flicked open her compact to examine her carefully made-up face. Blush highlighted her cheekbones, accentuating the hollows in her face. Her lips were pale and glossy but her eyes looked tired. And frightened. She stretched her lids so her mascaraed lashes nearly brushed her brows and smiled experimentally.

There, that looked better. No one but she would notice the tiny glimmer of anxiety that lingered.

Somehow, some way, she had to change her life.

Holding that thought, she dropped the compact back into her evening bag, waved at the doorman and started across the street toward the lake.

The park grass felt like a slippery cushion under her feet. She slowed her pace to avoid catching her heels. She couldn’t be late for this appointment, but she didn’t want to arrive with a run in her stockings or grass stains on her dress.

When she was halfway through the park, she noticed that the moon had risen high over the lake and dimmed to a pale glow. It seemed as if all the lights in the world had gone out. Where a moment before she had seen park benches and a children’s playground to her left, everything now lay in shadow.

Suddenly, out of the darkness something hurled itself against her legs. A scream tore from her throat, and she swayed for balance before she realized it was a small white poodle dragging a leash.

Relief flooded through her. Abnormal relief. Overwhelming relief. She leaned over to pet the furry animal licking her leg, laughing nervously at the absurdity of her fears.

“Hi there, guy. Where’s your owner?”

“Ralphie! Ralphie, stop jumping on the pretty lady!” An elderly woman, her face flushed, rushed up to grab the leash with trembling fingers. “I’m so sorry. The naughty boy got away from me again,” she gasped.

“That’s all right. No harm done.” She straightened while watching the woman struggle to catch her breath. “Are you all right? Can I help you?”

“No, no. I’m fine now.” The woman held up her hand, with Ralphie’s leash wound tight around her palm. “I have him and I’m taking him straight home.”

“Okay. Have a nice evening.” She smiled and stepped back, anxious now to reach her destination.

“You, too. Be careful in the park, dear. It’s getting dark.”

She nodded and walked backward for several yards, watching the woman to make sure she would be all right. Ralphie and his owner disappeared behind some bushes. Beyond the darkness, lights flickered on through the trees like fireflies. Part of her wanted to follow the old woman and her dog out of the park, back toward those lights, but she knew she couldn’t.

Sighing, she turned around slowly. She had to get this over with before she could take the woman’s advice. She crossed a reservoir of darkness between the town lights behind her and the moon-painted lake before her. The sudden and complete silence made her feel very isolated. She might be the only person in the world.

Alone, in a dark, silent universe. Funny, how often she felt this way.

A rustle off to her left, like something or someone brushing against one of the low bushes shattered the quiet. Probably a raccoon, or maybe another dog, she reasoned. Yet a tingle of fear made her quicken her pace in spite of the treacherous grass.

A second sound rippled around her. Louder. Closer.

She froze in a puddle of shadow, knowing any movement would betray her presence. Then terror struck her like an icy fist to her chest. Someone was here in the darkness with her. She could feel someone watching her. There was nowhere to hide.

She whipped around in a panic, hurling herself back toward the street, back toward the lights, the old woman and the poodle. Her feet slid on the grass, her legs twisting under her as she fell to the ground. Clawing at the soaked earth, she tried to get away.

There was no sound, no warning. Pain exploded through her body, and she screamed when merciless feet kicked her onto her back and more monstrous pain pierced through her like a million knives stabbing at her flesh.

She threw her arms up over her face, trying to protect herself. She tasted blood in her mouth, smelled it on her hands before they fell useless to her side. Something inside her mind began to shut down as a dense black cloud swallowed her:

Without warning, a light filled what remained of her consciousness. Through the skin of her eyelids, she could feel its brightness, sense its warmth.

Irresistible.

She forced her eyes open. An angel looked at her.

So this was how it felt to die.

CHAPTER ONE

DR. JONATHAN TAYLOR stepped out of Memorial Hospital into the sweltering summer night, the smell of acid from the steel mills in Gary assaulting his nostrils. In the distance he heard the whine of an ambulance racing toward the ER. Another siren, farther away, joined in. He was glad to be going home. Summer nights like this, when oppressive heat stacked pollution over the city, always drove people a little nuts. But none of it would be his problem until tomorrow. Grateful, he turned toward the staff parking lot.

“Wait, Jonathan! There’s one coming in for us.”

Damn!

“Bonnie, the skin graft on that five-year-old finished me. You didn’t catch me.” Only musclenumbing exhaustion would have driven him to snap at his scrub nurse. What in hell was wrong with him tonight? He sucked in hot, acid-tinged air. “Masters can take it.”

An ambulance screeched to a halt inches from him. The back doors flew open and two paramedics jumped out. He took a step back, clearing the way into the hospital, but then curiosity took over. He leaned forward.

Even with the ambu bag forcing air into her lungs, the woman on the gurney looked dusky from lack of oxygen. Coughing, spitting blood, she fought to move her head free of the restraining straps.

Deep inside him, something snapped. A sudden surge of adrenaline shot through his system. He was needed. He swung around, gave Bonnie a nod and shouted at the paramedic, “What have we got?”

“Mugging victim. Police found her in the park.”

The trauma team swarmed toward the gurney, rushing the victim to the room set aside for lifethreatening cases. Jonathan followed instinctively. The body on the gurney was starting to thrash violently as the victim struggled for breath.

“Get me the tracheotomy tray!” the resident on duty shouted over his shoulder.

The woman’s dusky color changed to chalky white. She was choking on her own blood, fighting to breathe. Beneath her eyes, her face had caved in, cutting off her windpipe.

“She doesn’t need a trach.” Jonathan pushed through the trauma team. “Look at her irises.”

The victim’s irises were shrinking to pinpoints, her skin bleached out entirely. Jonathan knew he had to act. Inserting two fingers between her bloody lips, he pushed her palette up and forward.

Her thrashing and gasping stopped. The victim took in a sigh of air and opened her eyes. Her unfocused gaze searched, then locked onto his.

“You’re safe now. I promise. I’m going to help you.” Her eyes blinked, then refocused. “Stay with me.” His harsh demand couldn’t stop her blue eyes from closing again. He’d lost her to oblivion; probably just as well, from the look of her. Someone had beaten this woman to a bloody mess. How she’d endured this much he’d never understand. She was a survivor!

“Get a chin strap.”

Bonnie handed it to him, as always, knowing what he needed without instruction.

Finished, he moved back to make room for the neuro team. Carl Johnson looked at him for confirmation.

“It’s a craniofacial separation. God knows what else you’ll find. I want to go in to reconstruct as soon as she’s stable. Before the swelling prohibits.”

Johnson nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

There were no cops in sight, and the ambulance had left on another run, so Jonathan headed to the locker room. He shed his faded jeans and red polo shirt for green scrubs, all the time wondering about the woman. He shook his head, brushing away the cruelty he’d seen. His adrenaline had kick-started him. All he needed now was to splash cold water on his face and down one cup of the bitter black muck the hospital called coffee to keep himself going. It was going to be a long night.

“Jonathan, I think you’d better see this.”

He hadn’t heard Bonnie come in. Something in her pale face made him grab the chart, but instead of looking at it, he stared at her. Bonnie was an old pro. Why was she so upset? She’d seen worse.

“What’s going on? Dr. Johnson done?”

“Not yet.” She put her hand out as if she might touch him, then stopped. “The victim is Randall Chambers’s niece, Amanda Braithwaite. The police are in ER with her identification.”

He heard her words. They crashed like clanging cymbals through his brain but their meaning wouldn’t sink in. Because he’d been in the operating room for eight hours. Because he was hungry. Because he was impatient to do his job while he could make a difference. Because he didn’t want to believe them.

“What?” He stared at the clipboard with the ER admittance chart a black blur. That woman with every facial bone pulled away from her skull so it hung like a bloody mask couldn’t be his Amanda.

“It’s Amanda Braithwaite,” Bonnie repeated. “The police found her Medic Alert bracelet, her driver’s license and…”

“All right! All right! I get the picture,” he snarled, not wanting to understand, not wanting to believe.

Bonnie looked confused at his abrupt response, but she was smart enough to remain silent while he came to terms with his disbelief and anger. “Have you called her uncle?”

“No luck so far. Mr. Chambers is at that hospital administrators’ conference in Dallas. We called his service and left a message. His wife wasn’t home. We left a message for her to call the hospital immediately.”

Amanda. Beautiful Amanda. Wild Amanda. Cruel Amanda.

He shut off that train of thought, knowing he was going to have to stop thinking of her as Amanda and start treating her as if she were any other patient. Otherwise he’d be useless to her.

“Where is she now?”

“Dr. Johnson ordered a CT scan and an MRI. They’re finishing up now.”

“Blood work done? Cross-matched?”

“Done. We have her records in the hospital computer. A positive. Penicillin allergy. Everything checks out.”

The half-formed idea that someone had made a crazy mistake died a quick death. He relaxed his iron grip on the chart, took a deep breath, then thrust it back at Bonnie.

“Notify security that I need to get into Randall’s office.”

“What for?” She recoiled at his glare and clasped the clipboard to her chest like a shield. “Okay, Jonathan. Sorry I asked. You go up there, and I’ll have security meet you.”

Too impatient to wait for an elevator to the administration wing, Jonathan took the steps two at a time. The stairwell smelled of fresh paint, far removed from the life-and-death struggles going on below.

Amanda…

Light spilled into the hallway, where a security guard stood in the doorway of Randall Chambers’s office. Jonathan nodded to him before pulling the door shut.

He scanned the bookshelves until he found the oval silver frame. Sunlight streaked an eighteen-year-old Amanda’s blond hair, and her blue eyes flashed in her tanned face as she smiled for the camera, one arm draped around her uncle Randall’s shoulders.

Hers was a smile that wasn’t easily forgotten. Jonathan hadn’t seen it in the flesh for ten years. Not since the night he’d walked into his parents’ lake house and found her in bed with someone else.

A sudden realization of how young he had been, Amanda even younger, took him aback. Arrogant and wild, they’d shared a summer romance full of great sex and lots of laughs. He hadn’t even known he was halfway in love with her until that night. Then he’d been too hurt, his ego too bruised to deal with the consequences. He’d just walked away.

It had taken him a while to get over her, with the help of a luscious nursing student he vaguely remembered. He hadn’t thought about Amanda in years. But now he needed those memories, this picture, as old as it was, to do what had to be done.

The door slammed against the wall. Startled, Jonathan looked up to find Carl Johnson looming in the entryway.

“Bonnie told me you were up here. The patient’s being prepped for surgery. I found a subdural hematoma. She should make a full recovery—maybe some temporary memory loss—if no complications set in. As soon as I’m done, if she’s stable, you can work your magic.”

“ER trauma team find anything?” Jonathan asked matter-of-factly. He kept his hands busy slipping the picture from its frame.

“Deep bruising at the throat and sprained wrists. She must have tried to fight the guy off.”

“Was she raped?” The thought made him freeze.

“Nope. All her serious injuries are cranial. Some psycho. Maybe he was interrupted before he could finish.”

“Let’s go.”

Jonathan’s confidence built with every step he took toward the OR. Amanda wouldn’t suffer for what she’d gone through tonight, he’d see to that. He was the best at what he did.

Johnson glanced at the picture he held. “Heard she was Randall Chambers’s niece. That her? She was a babe.”

“This is at least ten years old, but it’s the best I’ve got unless Randall or his wife shows up.” Jonathan’s answer was clipped. He could hear stress edging every word.

So could Dr. Johnson, whose eyes narrowed with speculation. “She’s lucky to be alive after a beating like that. I’ve never seen a worse craniofacial separation. You’ve got a night of it, buddy. Are you up for it? You were in the OR with the McKay burn for eight hours.”

Some of Jonathan’s youthful arrogance had never faded. It was part of what made him such an excellent plastic surgeon. “Don’t worry. You do your job and I’ll do mine. I’ll give Amanda back her face.”

SHE DRIFTED IN an endless black void. Cool, caressing darkness. She felt safe and comforted.

Safe.

The angel had said she was safe with him.

Suddenly vibrations of sound disturbed her sea of quiet and she stirred. He had asked her to stay with him. Had he come for her at last?

Another echo of sound reverberated through her. This time, an awareness, a feeling, ebbed to life at her center. She felt a pinpoint of heat in all her cold emptiness.

The sound gradually formed a pattern that beckoned her. It was his voice. She struggled toward it, but the pattern tightened into a knot of pain—pain pulsing through the darkness, engulfing her. She found she couldn’t fight any longer. It was too excruciating to continue toward him. She had to escape from the pain. She turned to the darkness, and it took her, obliterating the sounds, a peaceful world where she could drift in oblivion.

She felt safe again.

THE VOICES RETURNED. This time she couldn’t keep them at a distance.

A sob cut through her silent black world. Then a cry, as if someone were in pain, the rough edge of a strong voice—his voice. This time with his voice came comprehension.

“Dr. Johnson explained to you that Amanda is out of danger, barring any unforeseen complications. This semicoma is to be expected. It’s aiding in her recov ery. I feel safe in saying she’ll wake up in the next few days.”

She trusted his voice. His strong, deep, comforting voice. He had helped her breathe, promised her she’d be safe. She sighed, a deep shuddering sigh of relief. If he said she would recover, recover she would.

“Do you have any questions?”

She clung to the sound of his voice. But to hold on to it she had to allow the other voices, the intruders, into her world.

“The poor dear. How she would hate all these awful bandages,” a woman’s voice complained.

“I still can’t believe there’s no brain damage after she had that seizure.” A man, insistent and concerned.

“Are you certain she’s all right, Jonathan?” A soft, breathy whisper.

She fought against their doubts, fought to control the fears their words stirred inside her, where heat moved in slow circles, warming her.

“Randall, I explained to you that the subdural hematoma was successfully evacuated by Dr. Johnson. Posttraumatic seizures are common. They can occur up to two years after surgery. We’re treating her with carbamazine for seizure prophylaxis.”

“Oh, my God! She just moved her hand. I swear I saw the fingers move on her right hand!”

“It was an involuntary reflex, Margaret. Perfectly normal. When I remove most of the bandages tomorrow, you’ll be able to see the progress she’s made in the last week.”

“The poor dear looks…so…awful.” The cry gurgled into a deep sob. “I know she would so hate to…to be hideously scarred.”

“Mother, you’ll make yourself sick with all this crying. You heard Jonathan. She will recover. He is the best reconstructive surgeon in the city. Margaret, I think perhaps Mother should return home. All this is too much for her heart.”

“Randall’s right, Mother Chambers! I’ll take you back up to The Lodge tomorrow. Randall will call you when Amanda wakes up.”

The voices went silent. She began to fade into the depths of her black world. Some new instinct made her struggle, no longer content to welcome the emptiness. Searching through the darkness, fighting against oblivion, she sought one special voice.

And then, miraculously, he was there.

“Amanda, it’s Jonathan Taylor, your doctor. I know you can hear me. You’re safe and you’re recovering. You’ll still be a beautiful woman. Amanda, remember, I’m the best….”

She wanted to answer him, to tell him she understood. She tried to open her eyes, to let him see her comprehension, but the darkness rushed back, drowning her in cool oblivion.

THERE WAS A BRIGHT, blinding light. The darkness vanished, and with it her endless drifting. She opened her eyes. Where was she?

She found she couldn’t move; she was alone, flat on her back, covered by a white sheet, surrounded by white: walls, ceiling, everything—white. She was in a whole new world. Heaven?

Where was her angel?

He would guide her through this new world. He would be her lifeline, her anchor in this unknown.

She drifted off into darkness once more, but this time it felt different.

When she opened her eyes again she realized she was lying in a hospital bed. Why? How had she gotten here? She couldn’t remember. And she couldn’t move, she was anchored to the bed in such a way that she couldn’t even shift her head.

Why was she here? She lay there, flexing her fingers to prove to herself that she was alive, frustrated and fighting her stubborn memory.

She drew in a deep breath, trying to take stock of herself. She couldn’t move, couldn’t really see much, but she could feel. Something hard and cold pressed against her face. When she tried to lift one hand to explore it, she realized her left wrist was strapped down with a tube leading out of her arm. Her eyes followed the tube up to an IV bag hung on an aluminum stand. Cautiously she shifted her gaze to the right.

“Goodness, you’re awake!”

The voice startled her. It belonged to a woman with a pale face dressed in a uniform jacket covered with butterflies. Her mind searched for a moment. Monarchs.

The nurse smiled. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Where is my angel?”

The smile disappeared. The nurse took her wrist and checked her over as if she were a specimen.

“Jonathan.” Her voice was a soft whisper that sounded hollow to her. Strange. Not like Jonathan’s voice.

“You mean you want to see Dr. Taylor?”

Instinctively she moved her head on the pillow, and that small effort caused an explosion behind her eyes.

“Don’t try to move.” The nurse’s face started to fade. “Stay awake and I’ll get the doctors for you.”

The pain in her head began to settle. She was afraid to close her eyes, afraid the darkness would engulf her again. She was alone and afraid. If he didn’t come soon, the whiteness might swallow her up and she’d disappear forever.

“Amanda. Amanda, can you hear me?”

She must have closed her eyes after all, for she found she had to open them to see him. The brightness dissolved in his dark hair, making it easier to see. His eyes were a mixture of blue and green and gold, just as she remembered. He was here at last. She wasn’t alone.

She sighed. “I thought you were an angel.”

The nurse laughed. “That’s a new one.”

He leaned over her so she wouldn’t have to strain to see him. “How do you feel?”

“You are…the best, Jonathan.”

The words made him smile. The nurse laughed out loud somewhere behind her, but she looked only at Jonathan. His smile was infectious, crinkling his eyes at the corners and slashing deep dimples in his cheeks. She wanted to share that smile, so she attempted one herself. Pain stabbed through her face.

“Hurts.”

“Amanda, don’t try to smile.” His angel face hardened. Suddenly he was just a man. “You have a plate on your nose and wires in your jaw and in your mouth. Don’t let that worry you. You’re going to be fine.”

“Why?” She suddenly realized it hurt to talk, but she had to know why. Why did she hurt?

He bent over her, and a wave of dark hair fell over his eyes. He tossed his head to clear the stray lock away. She could smell him; his masculinity permeated the scent of lime aftershave.

“I want you to rest now. Don’t worry about anything.”

“Can’t close my…eyes.” Every word she forced out through her lips brought pain. “The darkness…”

“No more darkness. I promise.”

Despite her pain and fear, she believed him without question. She looked into his eyes, trusting that whatever he told her was true.

“You’ll just sleep. And when you wake up, your aunt and uncle will be here.”

Aunt and uncle? Pain centered at her temples in deep, hot throbs.

“You won’t have to talk to the police about the night of the attack until you’re feeling a lot better.”

Police? Attack? She stared up at him, trying to hold back her rising panic. The throbbing in her head spread down her body. She didn’t understand his words.

She knew so much about this world. She knew what a hospital was, what a doctor and a nurse did. She knew an aunt and uncle were members of a family. She understood those things. But police? Attack? She sensed that these words should make her afraid.

Jonathan was turning to go. He was going to leave her.

“Please.”

But even he couldn’t stem this rising tide of fear. It washed over her as she struggled with all this new information, trying to fit the pieces together.

The nurse came and looked at her. There was no comfort in her eyes.

She struggled against her doubts. Nothing fit. She believed him, but nothing he said made any sense. She tried to think of something else. There was nothing. Nothing in her mind. Her past was as dark as the oblivion she had drifted in for so long; black and empty and forever.

The only concrete images she could conjure up were of him—Jonathan.

“Please.” She tried again.

“Amanda?” He turned back to her, just as she wanted him to. “Are you in pain?” His forehead creased, and the light disappeared from his eyes.

Physical pain she understood. It defined her whole being in this new world. It was meaningless compared to her rising terror.

She didn’t have one tangible memory about herself. About what had happened to her before she’d opened her eyes and saw Jonathan looking down at her.

Amanda. He called her that, so it must be her name.

But she couldn’t remember what she looked like. Did she have dark hair like him or fair hair like the nurse? What color were her eyes?

She couldn’t remember what she was like. Was she kind and good like Jonathan? If so, why would someone attack her? And someone must have. That much she understood. Had she made someone angry? How?

Who loved her?

Who hated her?

“I’m afraid.” Her whisper tumbled out, turning into a sob that echoed against the stark white walls.

“Bonnie.” The quiet word sent the nurse out of the room. She felt the bed shift as Jonathan sat beside her. He covered her right fist with one of his hands. It was large, with strong yet sensitive fingers. It felt warm and comforting.

“Amanda, I won’t lie to you. There was severe damage to your face from the beating.” His fingers tightened around her hand. “But I promise that when you’re fully healed, you’ll be as beautiful as ever.” His eyes seemed to dissolve into a kaleidoscope of jeweled colors. They pierced through her, leaving behind a strange burning sensation in her chest.

“I’m not afraid about my face.” How could she be? It would be a new face for her. She had no sense of how she looked.

“Then why are you afraid? Is it the attack in the park?”

Again he squeezed her hand. Now she understood he did it to make sure she believed what he said.

“You’re safe here. The police will find the person who did this to you. He’ll be punished, then you can put this all behind you.”

Panic screamed through her aching body. First he reassured her, then he confused her. She knew she could trust him, but not all those other people, not all those other things. If he promised she would heal completely, she believed him. But the other things: the attack, the police, the family. These she didn’t fully understand. She couldn’t make them fit into the puzzle that was her life no matter how hard she tried.

An awakening instinct warned her to hide her fear. Maybe the emptiness inside her would fill up with all the pieces she needed. Until then she was alone.

Alone.

Somehow she knew she didn’t want to be alone. Not anymore.

The only memory she possessed was of looking into Jonathan’s eyes and being able to breathe, of finding comfort and reassurance. She clung to the recollection, balling both her hands into fists.

“I’m afraid because…because…I can’t remember anything. About myself. About my past.”

She unfurled one fist, her fingers desperately searching out his as she willed him to understand.

“The only memory I have is you.”

CHAPTER TWO

SHOCK JOLTED THROUGH HIM like a current of electricity, wrapping itself around his veins and arteries, reaching into every part of his body. This was an Amanda he’d never known. Terror blazed out of her blue eyes—terror at the extent of her isolation and a vulnerability—that made her strangely appealing.

He lowered his voice to a gentle tone he rarely used and hardly recognized. “Tell me everything you can remember.”

“You. All I remember is you.” Her whisper broke into a sob. “I was…was struggling to breathe. Helpless. Alone. Dying.” A deep sob shuddered through her. He felt it in her fingers as she gripped his hand. “Suddenly you were there, surrounded by a bright light, and the pain went away. You told me I was safe.” She took a deep, shaking breath. “You told me that you’d…help me.”

Her fingers trembled. Their weak plea compelled him to fold her hand between his palms, warming it.

What the hell had happened?

Both surgeries, his and Johnson’s, had been wildly successful given the extent of her injuries. They’d agreed to induce a comatose state for one week to keep her quiet, to allow her time to heal. It shouldn’t have affected her this way!

He’d hoped they were home free, that there’d be no complications. He’d hoped she would just be another case to him. The Amanda he remembered, all arrogant confidence, would recover quickly and just as quickly leave with her doting aunt and uncle. He would remain her doctor. A pleasant memory from her past. Not this. She was going to need a lot more help than he could give her.

“Please, Jonathan.” Tears welled in her eyes, spilling. over and spiking her lashes before gliding down her cheeks. She tried to raise a fist to scrub them away and winced with pain as the IV needle pressed into her skin. “Please…help me. I’m so scared.”

Indecision, doubt in his ability as a surgeon had never troubled him, but this situation was clearly outside his realm of expertise. As gently as possible, he pulled away from her. It was time to be a professional.

“I’ll get Dr. Johnson.” He crossed to the door, turning at the last moment, compelled by feelings he’d thought long dead. “I meant what I said. You’re safe here and I’ll help you.”

He found Bonnie hovering outside the door. “I’ve paged Dr. Johnson three times. He should be here soon.”

“Yeah, thanks, Bonnie.” He grinned sheepishly, knowing he’d been short-tempered and demanding lately. Amanda’s case, Amanda herself, had thrown him a real curve, more than he wanted to admit, even to himself.

Waiting for Carl Johnson, he paced the corridor outside Amanda’s room like an expectant father. This was Johnson’s field; he’d know what to do. Even so, Jonathan didn’t like this feeling of helplessness.

“Something has happened to Amanda. Tell me at once!” Randall’s hoarse cry drew curious looks from nearby staff. They all knew Randall Chambers as a tower of strength who never got rattled.

“It’s all right, Randall. Amanda’s awake at last. I’ve just sent for Dr. Johnson to assess her status.”

A smile of relief burst across Randall’s ruddy face. “Thank God. And thank you, Jonathan.” Randall leaned forward and clasped his shoulder in a fierce, emotional grip that surprised him. “I must phone Margaret right away. I can hardly believe that the one night we left for a few hours, Amanda woke up. Did she ask for us? May I see her?”

“Sorry. Not until Dr. Johnson clears it.” Jonathan understood what Randall was going through, but he had to do what was best for his patient. “Go call your wife.” There was no point in telling Randall about this new complication until he had all the information.

Jonathan stopped in midstride and muttered under his breath, “Where the hell are you, Carl?”

“Right here. Sorry, buddy. I was in surgery.” Sighing, Johnson rubbed his neck above his sweatstained green scrubs. “What’s up?”

“Amanda Braithwaite is awake.”

“Hey, that’s great!” Johnson gave a bark of pleased laughter. “All the neurological tests I’ve run the past week have been golden, just like I told you.”

“Uh-huh. She has amnesia.”

It took a full twenty seconds for Johnson to absorb Jonathan’s curt announcement. Then he rolled his eyes. “Let’s take a look at her.”

She looked small, lost in an avalanche of white sheets and bandages. Jonathan resisted the urge to go to her and take her hand. What was happening to his professional detachment? He let Johnson take over, and stood back against the wall, trying not to respond to her fear as Carl pulled a chair close to the side of her bed.

“Hi, Amanda. I’m Dr. Carl Johnson. I performed surgery on you the night you were brought in. You’re doing just great, but I want to help you some more. Let’s have you stand beside the bed now.” Johnson laughed low in his throat, as if he were sharing a private joke. “You know hospitals. We never let you rest.”

Dr. Johnson gestured her up, not helping, yet close enough to catch her if she faltered. Jonathan couldn’t keep himself from lunging forward to maneuver the IV pole out of her way, fighting to stay back when she struggled to keep her narrow white feet under her. This was Johnson’s examination. He had to butt out.

“A little balance problem, Amanda?” Dr. Johnson’s mouth curled reassuringly. “That’s normal.”

“Yes…I…I feel dizzy.”

Dr. Johnson finally stepped forward and helped her back onto the bed. Over his shoulder, her eyes sought Jonathan’s approval. He smiled encouragingly but waited for Johnson’s next move.

“Don’t worry about it. We expect a little dizziness. Can you tell me about the night of the accident, Amanda?”

She looked confused. Finally she replied, “No. I…don’t know anything about an accident.”

“All right.” Dr. Johnson made her answer seem perfectly natural. “Listen, what would you like for dinner? We want you to be happy here.”

“I don’t know what I like. I can’t seem to remember. All I know is Jonathan.”

Johnson threw him a look that made him squirm inside. “All right. Don’t worry about it for now. Jonathan and I are going to go outside for a few minutes.”

She huddled under the sheets, looking at Jonathan with tortured eyes. “You’ll come back?”

“Yes. I promise.” Shocked at the rough edge of emotion he heard in his voice, he pulled the door shut behind him forcefully. The automatic brake caught it, closed it gently, pushing the air into the corridor on a sigh, mirroring his own feelings.

Johnson frowned. “We’ve got problems. Better call in someone from the traumatic brain injury unit.”

Jonathan braked his inappropriate emotions. They had no place in what had to be done. “I’ll get Patrick Newman down here. He’s the best psychiatrist in the state.”

It didn’t take Newman five minutes to respond. They briefed him while he nodded. Jonathan had questions, but Pat waved him away.

“Let me do my job, fellas.” He turned to enter the room as Jonathan stepped forward. “Alone.”

IT WASN’T JONATHAN. She was disappointed, but tried not to show it. The stranger wore the same white coat over his clothes as Jonathan and Dr. Johnson, so he must be a doctor, too, she reasoned, feeling pleased with herself.

“Where’s Jonathan?” she couldn’t help asking. This doctor was different somehow. His eyes were…kind.

“Jonathan will be in soon. I’m Dr. Newman. Jonathan sent me to ask you some questions about your past.”

“I don’t know anything,” she said, confused that they didn’t understand her, or maybe they just didn’t believe her. They could ask all the questions they wanted, it wouldn’t help. Her past was a dark tunnel broken only by the bright light that had brought Jonathan to her.

“Do you know your name?”

His gentleness persuaded her to try again. Of course she should know her name! “Everyone calls me Amanda.”

“How old are you, Amanda?”

She struggled. Panic, like a storm in her brain, threatened to send her out of control. “I…I don’t know.”

“Tell me something you do know.” He ignored her panic, remaining calm and reassuring.

“Jonathan helped me. He was surrounded by…by a white light. Then the darkness came. And the voices.”

He smiled down at her. “Good. Tell me about the voices.”

“I heard Jonathan. And…and other voices.”

“Did you recognize the other voices like you recognized Jonathan’s?”

Her head pounded as she tried to find something in the darkness, just one tangible memory. “No. Please. This makes my head hurt.”

“You did well, Amanda.” Dr. Newman patted her arm.

“Can Jonathan come in now?” She felt alone and afraid without him. The dark emptiness in her head was terrifying.

“Yes. I’ll send Jonathan to you.”

She sighed. As nice as this doctor seemed, he wasn’t Jonathan. She sank back into her pillow, willing the tension to recede.

IT SEEMED FOREVER to Jonathan before Pat Newman came out of Amanda’s room. “Well, what’s the verdict?”

“I need to do a whole range of tests over the next several days for a complete assessment. However, she appears to be suffering from autobiographical memory loss, atypical in these cases. However, it does occur.” Newman seemed to evaluate him. “You’re going to have to be very careful, Jonathan. She remembers nothing before you on the night she came into ER. She’s developing a very strong attachment, which for the sake of her mental health we can’t sever, but we can’t let her grow too dependent on you. She wants to see you now, in fact.”

Newman searched his face, all business. “Can you handle this?”

“Of course.” Jonathan rubbed his face with both hands, trying to disguise his feelings. “I’ve dealt with the doctor-patient thing before.”

Except his other patient hadn’t been so terrified and so alone, or evoked such provocative memories. Every time he looked at Amanda, a knife twisted in his gut. Would the beautiful, sensual, headstrong woman he had once cared for ever return?

“Doctor Newman!” Margaret Chambers, with Randall in tow, headed toward them.

Jonathan looked to Newman for guidance.

“She’s not ready to see them.” Dr. Newman squared his shoulders. “They’ll only confuse her more.”

“You know Randall. He’ll insist on it. C’mon. We’d better all talk to them.” Carl moved purposefully down the corridor to intercept them.

“Pat, you help Carl stall as long as possible. I’ll try to prepare Amanda.”

She was lying still, her eyes wide, then her fingers began pleating the sheet. Careful not to get too close, trying to walk that thin line between doctor and friend, Jonathan stayed at the end of her bed.

“Jonathan!” she gasped, as if she’d been holding her breath until he returned. The soft trembling of her voice begged for reassurance. A tear trickled down one cheek.

“Amanda, everything will work itself out.” He spoke briskly, professionally. “You don’t have to be afraid. Dr. Johnson, Dr. Newman and the rest of the staff are here to help you. I’m only the plastic surgeon. To get you well, we’ll need lots of help.”

“I’m sorry.” A deep sigh rippled through her body. “It’s just that to me you’re the only real thing in this world. To make any sense out of the rest of it, I have to have a…a lifeline. For me that’s…you.” With a quiet sob, she turned her face away.

Could he handle this? The power she offered him could have enormous consequences. Could he forget the past? Treat her like any other patient? Ruthlessly he switched off all the red lights flashing in his head.

“I understand, Amanda. But your family is here, and they’re very anxious to see you. They’ve been here every day just waiting for you to wake up. I know you don’t remember them, and they may seem a bit intimidating at first, but your aunt and uncle love you and want to help you.”

She raised her head, frightened but determined, and very, very vulnerable.

He couldn’t resist. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you. We’ll do this together.”

Her grateful response triggered something he thought had died a long time ago. Without warning, memories rushed over him. The taste of her mouth. The feel of her body under his. The passionate abandon they’d shared that summer.

“I don’t remember my family. Will they think I’m crazy?”

“You’re definitely not crazy.” Was that why she seemed so fragile? Why hadn’t Newman reassured her? “There’s nothing wrong with you that can’t be fixed with a little time. Now close your eyes and rest.”

Like a trusting child, she obeyed him, and that small action tore at his heart. Maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t handle this after all. Pausing at her bedside, he critically assessed the healing process. He’d remove the gauze wrap tomorrow, the wires and metal plate next week. She’d have bruising and swelling to deal with for a time, and the hair would grow out where they’d shaved her. He was used to dealing with the transient consequences of traumatic reconstructive surgery. But repairing her memory, the essence of who she was, was out of his hands. He hoped to God that loss would be as temporary.

“I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE between semantic and episodic memory. Dr. Johnson. I was a nurse in this hospital before you were out of med school! So what does this have to do with my niece?”

Jonathan entered a conference room fraught with frustration. Apparently Carl Johnson had been trying to explain Amanda’s condition to the Chambers with little success.

“You are deliberately keeping us from our own flesh and blood. Do I need to call a lawyer?” Margaret Chambers had the polished confidence of a beautiful, mature woman. A woman who was sorely tried at the moment. Randall sat with his head down, wringing his hands, apparently overcome with emotion.

Jonathan intervened. “Your niece is resting, which is most important to her recovery. I’m sure Dr. Johnson and Dr. Newman are only trying to prepare you so you’ll be able to assist in that recovery.”

Randall looked up, a hopeful light in his eye. “It’s not irreparable, then?”

“Actually, I think you’ll be pleased. Carl did an excellent job with the hematoma, allowing me to operate before a lot of swelling set in. In fact, Margaret, her bone structure will be restored to the perfection of your own.” He’d dealt with hysterical relatives before.

“We aren’t deliberately keeping you from her, Mrs. Chambers.” Pat Newman jumped into the fray. “I’m her psychiatrist….”

“Yes. Yes.” She shook her head dismissively. “But why does she need a specialist in physical medicine and rehabilitation like you? What has happened since we were here last?”

Randall reached over to pat his wife’s hand. “Margaret, let the doctors explain.”

“She’s awake—” Dr. Johnson stared into Margaret’s pale face “—but Amanda is suffering from some memory loss.”

Margaret gasped and shrank against her husband. Jonathan had the impression that the only thing holding her together was the strength in Randall’s arms.

“Is it permanent?”

“Most probably not.” Johnson looked as if he meant business. “However, for the moment, Dr. Newman believes her personal memories are completely gone.”

“She doesn’t remember us?” Shock registered on Randall’s face.

“I don’t believe she does, Mr. Chambers. I’m sorry.”

Randall buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Margaret waved away any attempt at reassurance. “Is this a complication from the surgery?”

The tone in her voice drew a quick response from Johnson. “No. All her neurological tests have been normal. I would have told you if I’d seen any indication of this.”

“Autobiographical memory loss is highly unusual in this type of case. If, as Dr. Johnson feels, it is not caused by the neuro-trauma, it might have other causes. That’s why I’ve been called in to consult.” Pat Newman spoke quietly and confidently. “In many cases like this memory returns gradually over a month or two, but the patient never recovers the moments of the attack. We believe it’s a defense mechanism to spare the recurrence of pain and suffering. In any case, I won’t know without more testing.” Newman stood, as if the whole problem were settled.

“I want to take her home to The Lodge as soon as possible.” Margaret insisted. “She’ll get better there. She loves the lake. Tell them, Randall!”

Pale-faced, Randall looked from his distraught wife to each doctor. “I agree with Margaret. At The Lodge, my wife and I can attend to her every need My mother, who adores her, will be there. All of her own things are there. Surely that will help to restore her memory?”

“Yes. You are correct. Those things will all be important in her recovery. However, she can’t leave the hospital without some rehabilitation.” Pat Newman glanced around the room.

“Amanda has badly sprained wrists and is experiencing dizziness. I need to do some more tests.” Dr. Johnson, too, was adamant.

“Besides, she needs time to get to know you before you take her away. She’ll be afraid to leave me and the hospital.” Jonathan wanted to get his point across. Amanda couldn’t be taken anywhere. Not yet.

Randall’s head jerked up, “What do you have to do with this, Jonathan?”

“Dr. Taylor saw her when she first came into ER. She was conscious and he spoke to her. He is all she remembers.” Dr. Johnson’s announcement caused a stunned silence in the room.

“She’s very vulnerable right now. And frightened of everything and everyone but me.” Jonathan tried another tack. “It will be much easier on her if you go slowly.”

Pat Newman pulled his glasses out of his pocket and jammed them on impatiently. “This needless wrangling isn’t getting us anywhere. It’s important that Amanda not have to deal with any additional stress right now.”

“What do you have to say, Jonathan?” Randall’s hoarse voice echoed in the room. “Will you have time to assist Dr. Newman and Dr. Johnson with Amanda, given your heavy caseload?”

“Can you help my niece?” Margaret’s unwavering stare challenged him.

He gave one brief thought to his heavy schedule and dismissed it. “Amanda believes I can help her. That’s half the battle.” He turned to Newman. “As soon as Dr. Johnson agrees, she can move upstairs to rehab and your care. I can do my post-op anywhere.”

Johnson nodded and glanced around at each of them. “Then it’s agreed, Mr. and Mrs. Chambers? Dr. Newman will take over Amanda’s care. You should visit her now with Dr. Taylor. We’ll keep him informed, and he will give Amanda as much time as we feel is helpful for her complete recovery.”

Time. That was the key. Time for Amanda to heal. Time for her memory to return. Time for him to learn to deal with the fact that she was back in his life, dependent on him. Could there ever be enough time for him to forget the memory of making love to his patient?

AMANDA HAD WAITED to open her eyes until after Jonathan left her room. With her movement so limited, she didn’t have much range of vision. Still, anything was better than being alone in her empty mind. Why couldn’t she remember? She fought to stem the rising panic by reliving every moment with Jonathan. Only he was real, only his voice meant safety.

After a while, muffled voices from the hallway and the clatter of carts rolling past her door intruded on her solitude. Somewhere out there was a whole world for her to discover. Out there were the answers she needed, the knowledge that would set her free. She made a vow that it wouldn’t always be like this. She would do whatever she needed to make a life for herself. Jonathan and all the other doctors in the world, the faceless people that were her family, might try to do their best for her, but it all came down to her.

She concentrated, trying to capture some feeling of what her aunt and uncle meant to her. Nothing.

No matter how she tried, she found nothing and no one. How could this be? She must know someone besides Jonathan. She might not know how old she was, but she sensed she was an adult. How could she have no memory of herself or anyone else and still remember all that she had learned in school?

That was it! School! She’d gone to…

A deep sob caught in her throat as she turned her face toward the sun filtering in through the blinds. She closed her eyes again. She wanted her memory, her life, back so much it burned like a fire inside her. She wanted to know, yet suddenly feared what she might learn.

She ignored the sound of her door opening. Maybe they’d just go away. She didn’t want to see more strange faces; hear more questions she couldn’t answer.

“Open your eyes, Amanda.”

The one voice she couldn’t ignore—Jonathan’s. She opened her lids slowly, focusing only on him.

“I’ve brought your aunt Margaret and uncle Randall to see you. They want to visit a few minutes.”

Here it was! What she feared, what she coveted: a link to reality. She controlled her trembling body and looked past him to the strangers.

The woman had beautiful blue eyes set in a slant above cheekbones dusted a rosy color, giving her a kind of exotic air. She seemed to glow in the soft light. Maybe it was the blond hair and all the gold jewelry she wore, wide hoops on her ears and a matching choker. Her yellow silk dress molded a well-cared-for body. There was a sense of wary concern in her eyes. Amanda didn’t want to see into those eyes, so she shifted her gaze to the man.

He was shorter and broader than Jonathan. And older, with thick gray hair and deep smile lines around his brown eyes. He didn’t look frightening at all, yet a new trembling started deep inside her.

She must know this man and woman in an intimate way if they were her family. She stared at them, trying to find something to stir the darkness in her mind, but there was nothing to help her.

She searched for something to say to them. Like a pinpoint of light, a memory broke through. She grasped it before it fled like all the others.

“Did Mother Chambers go back to The Lodge?”

“Amanda!” The man gasped as the woman rounded on Jonathan.

“You lied to us!” The fury her aunt turned on Jonathan stabbed into her. Hot, stinging tears burned her cheeks.

“My God, she does know us!” Her uncle lunged toward her.

She tried to put her hands up to stop him, shaking her head in confusion, the pain throbbing through her face adding to this waking nightmare.

“Please don’t yell at Jonathan. I…I don’t remember you. I heard you talking…before when…when I was asleep.”

Her uncle seemed to turn to stone at her words. “Oh, my God, we are frightening you. Margaret, stop. Amanda is crying.” He backed away slowly. “You really don’t know me? Or your aunt Margaret?”

Margaret crumpled into the chair beside the bed. Randall went to her side and put his arms around her to support her.

She didn’t want to hurt these people, but they made her nervous and afraid.

“Amanda needs to rest now.” Jonathan turned to protect her.

“No! Darling, I’m so sorry.” Her aunt broke away from her husband and sank down beside her on the bed. She smelled like flowers, and the hand that patted Amanda’s arm was soft, the nails long and painted red. “I apologize to Jonathan. I’ve been so worried about you. Now that you’re awake, we have some work to do.”

Smiling, Margaret ran her soft fingers up and down Amanda’s hand. “I’ll bring your own things to you. Then-you’ll start remembering just like that!” She snapped her fingers and laughed.

After a moment Amanda thought of what to say. “That would be nice.” Her answer must have been satisfactory, because Margaret nodded.

“I’ll buy you a beautiful new bed jacket. You will like that, I know, my sweet girl.” Randall leaned over, so close she could see every line in his tanned face. His hand grasped hers so tightly she almost cried out in pain.

“I think Amanda’s had enough excitement for today.”

She couldn’t help but feel glad that Jonathan’s words caused her aunt and uncle to move away from her bed. She wanted them to leave, because fatigue pulled at every muscle in her body. Yet, in another way, she wanted them to stay, to give her answers to the myriad questions brewing in her mind.

One pounded like a hammer behind her eyes. “Jonathan told me my name and who you are.” One last time she swept through the dark caves and hollows in her brain. “But where are my parents? Do I have brothers and sisters?”

Her aunt glanced at Jonathan, and Amanda saw him nod. Bending forward, Margaret again patted Amanda’s hand.

“No, you were an only child. Your mother was my older sister. She and your father, Bradley Braithwaite, drowned in a yachting accident in the Caribbean when you were twelve. That was seventeen years ago. Since then, you’ve lived with us and Randall’s mother. We’re your only family. Mother Chambers, Randall and I.”

“We love you very much, Amanda.” Randall’s voice sounded thick with emotion.

She didn’t know what to say, what to feel. She stared up at Jonathan, and he nodded, as if he understood her confusion. “Amanda’s tired. You have to go now.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow, darling.” Aunt Margaret waved to her from the doorway. “And if Mother Chambers is feeling better, I know she’ll want to come, too.”

“She refused to go home until we could tell her you were awake.” Randall blew her a kiss. “We will be back soon.”

“I’ll be right there,” Jonathan called as they slipped through the door. He turned to her. “Did seeing them spark anything?”

His chiseled face looked so stern and his eyes so intent she wanted to say or do something to lessen his distress. “They seem to be…nice people. But I don’t remember them. I don’t remember anything except you and the voices while I slept.”

He nodded. “Give it time. This has been a lot for one day. I know you must be tired. Would you like me to stay with you?”

Of course she wanted him to stay! Without him she was alone in her dark, empty mind. But he was a doctor and must have other patients to look after. Being able to reason that through gave her the courage to move her head the tiniest bit on the pillow. “No.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He hesitated slightly at the door, and she held her breath, hoping he might stay anyway.

The door closed behind him, shutting out the strangers and the voices and the things she couldn’t understand. She was alone.

Tomorrow loomed like a promise and a threat. She would find the pieces of her life and fit them together.

DEAD. She should be dead and buried by now. Instead she was thriving under Jonathan Taylor’s care. He went in and out of her room at all hours of the day, never keeping to a schedule, never giving an opportunity to finish the job.

It had be taken care of, and soon. Before her memory returned

CHAPTER THREE

SOMETIME DURING the night she struggled awake to find a dark shadow standing over her.

“What are you doing?”

Someone, gowned and masked, turned away from her IV bag. She couldn’t make out which nurse was on duty, because it was so dark in the room. Always before the lights had only been dimmed so they didn’t shine on her bed.

“I’m just checking,” a muffled voice answered her. “Go back to sleep.”

The next time she woke, the night nurse was standing just inside her door. “Good. You’re awake.”

“Is it morning already?” Her head felt fuzzy and it was difficult to focus.

“Two-thirty. I’m going to take the IV needles out and you’ll get real food in the morning.”

“But you were already here.”

“No, dear. You were dreaming.”

She felt so much better with the needles gone. Real time must have nothing to do with hospital procedure, she decided as she fell back to sleep, curling her arms protectively around her body.

Real food, at least liquids, arrived with a clatter of metal trays. The orange juice tasted like heaven, even though it was awkward to drink. Actually, she hadn’t realized until this moment that she hadn’t been eating or drinking. She raised her hand to tentatively explore her face. Her head was still all but immobilized by the bandages. A metal plate covered her nose, extending over her cheekbones. She didn’t want to think about the wires in her jaw, deliberately keeping her exploration away from that area. Actually, the less she thought about it, the better.

There was still a monitor attached to her chest, but having her arms free gave her a real sense of getting better. She sat up and immediately lay back down. Still dizzy, she would have to be very careful. She reached for her juice and sipped at it, savoring the sweetness on her tongue.

The doctors would be in soon. She smoothed the hospital gown, wondering just what she looked like to them, to him. She wanted to tell Jonathan…actually there was nothing to tell him, she just wanted to see him again.

She must have dozed, for when she opened her eyes again, a nurse was setting another tray on her bedside table. She lifted the silver food cover with a flourish, revealing a thin gruellike cereal. Even that looked good to Amanda’s empty stomach, so she couldn’t wait to try it. The nurse had elevated the bed, and without too much effort Amanda was eating. Her hands felt awkward, and as she manipulated the spoon, her right wrist throbbed with pain. She wondered about the heavy bandages there.

When she was feeling pleased that she had successfully fed herself, even if it had fatigued her a little, Jonathan walked in. A sharp jolt of joy, an awareness of him as a man echoed against something deep inside her.

She seized on that vaguely familiar feeling—at last, something tangible to grasp. She was almost afraid to question him about it, in case, it, too, slipped through her fingers.

“Jonathan, did we know each other? Before.”

His eyes widened. But before he could answer, her aunt pushed through the door. “Of course you know Jonathan, Amanda!” Her arms were full of packages, one hand holding an enormous vase of red roses. “His family has a house across from us on Clear Water Lake. Here, darling. I brought you your favorite flowers. Aren’t they beautiful?”

They were the color of blood, but Amanda nodded.

Margaret smiled and placed them on her bedside table. Amanda couldn’t smell them. Didn’t roses have a distinct perfume?

Jonathan distracted her by announcing, “I’m taking your bandages off today.”

He was all business as his nurse, Bonnie, came in with a wrapped tray full of instruments. She swung a table into place and stood at Jonathan’s side.

“This won’t hurt.” His voice was gentle but impersonal.

“I believe you,” she whispered and closed her eyes while he slowly and carefully removed the tight wrap from around her head and throat.

Margaret’s gasp caused her to open her eyes. Jonathan was studying her and nodding.

He continued to work, Bonnie handing him instruments before he could even ask.

“You should be pleased.” Margaret sounded surprised. “Darling, only someone with your superior bone structure could look so gorgeous with the butcher job they’ve done on your hair. Let me get a mirror so you can see for yourself.”

Panic exploded in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. As curious as she was, she wasn’t ready to actually see her face.

“No. I don’t think Amanda needs a mirror yet. We’ll wait until I remove the plate and wires next week.”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” She felt pleased at Jonathan’s nod of approval and strangely bereft when he left without another word. Margaret followed him as Bonnie silently cleaned up, then left herself.

She was afraid to touch her face, and kept her fingers clenched at her side. Finally her eyes closed of their own volition and she slept again. When she. woke, Randall was sitting in a chair pulled close to the bed, studying her face.

“Finally you awaken, my sweet girl.” Leaning forward, he laid his cheek on the pillow beside hers.

Shock made her blink at him. He was so close their mouths nearly touched.

“Do you remember how much I love you?” His whisper brushed over her face.

An odd, heavy feeling filled her chest. She didn’t want to cause him any more pain but she couldn’t give him the answer he wanted so desperately.

“No, Uncle Randall. I…I don’t remember. But I…sense how much you and Aunt Margaret care for me,” she added, hoping it would be enough to wipe the stricken look from his face.

A deep shudder ran through him as he squeezed his eyes shut. “My sweet, sweet girl, if only…”

The door swung open, startling him upright. Jonathan threw him a curious look. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“I brought Amanda some of her things. And the gifts I promised her.” His smile looked sad as he touched his lips to one of his fingers and then laid it on her cheek. “Open your things. Perhaps they will help you remember. I’ll be back to see you later.”

For the first time, she noticed a suitcase and two boxes at the end of her bed. The things Margaret had brought were stacked against the wall. So much generosity. Too much.

Jonathan lifted a pink satin nightgown trimmed in black lace out of the suitcase. “Go ahead. Maybe some of these things will seem familiar to you.”

The satin gown and matching robe were beautiful but sparked no memory. All the lingerie bore labels that she couldn’t exactly identify but knew were expensive. The gifts from Randall were identical bed jackets covered with lace and delicate beading, one powder blue, the other shell pink.

She didn’t know what to think about all these beau tiful things. Jonathan was no help, sprawled in the chair beside the bed, his long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, waiting for her reaction.

“Are Aunt Margaret and Uncle Randall rich?”

“They’re comfortable.” He laughed. “You, however, are very rich. The only heir to the Braithwaite fortune.”

Fortune. She searched her mind but found no impression of how it felt to be wealthy.

“What are you thinking about now?” His voice had dropped to the gentle tone she preferred.

“About being…rich. Did I embrace it or shun it? Did it bring me happiness or sadness?”

The dimples in Jonathan’s cheeks deepened as he smiled. “I think you enjoy every moment of being able to indulge your whims. Does any of that stuff bring anything to mind?”

“No.” She raised her hands to her head, wishing she could force her memories out. “All I have up here are impressions and feelings.”

“Tell me about them.” He leaned forward eagerly. “Maybe there’s something Dr. Newman can build on.”

She rested back against the pile of pillows, searching for the right words. “The nurses make me feel warm and…cared for.”

“Bonnie and her famous back rubs.” His burst of laughter caused her mouth to curl a little at the corners. It felt safe to smile now. It didn’t hurt as much.

“Dr. Johnson and Dr. Newman are concerned, but a little more detached. I’m comfortable with them.”

“What about your aunt and uncle?” he asked, watching her intently.

Now she had to be careful. She trusted him, but didn’t know how much he would tell them. “I…I sense how much they care for me. But they confuse me.” She didn’t add that they made her tense and cold inside. She swallowed to soothe her suddenly dry throat.

Ever observant, Jonathan handed her a glass of juice. “And me?” he prompted.

“With you, I feel this…this…urgency to be close. To keep you with me. Do you think that’s because we knew each other before?” His eyes had gone dark, almost black. “Were we friends?”

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Alarmed, Amanda reached out her hand toward him. “Did I say something wrong? You asked what was inside my head.”

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” But his smile didn’t light his eyes.

Suddenly the beeper at his belt went off. He silenced it and stood flexing his shoulders. “I’ve got to go back to work. We’ll talk more about this later.” At the door, he turned back to her. “I’m going to leave this door open. You need to see more of the world.”

The world in the corridor didn’t seem very friendly, though. The nurses rushed from room to room without even a wave. There was an overwhelming amount of noise. A woman in a pink smock pushed a cart full of flowers past her door. Men, women and a few chil dren rushed by, all impatient to get somewhere. She’d forgotten all about this world. Actually, with her door closed, she had felt safe and protected. Obviously Jonathan thought she didn’t need that barrier any longer. Well, if he wanted her to learn about the outside world, she would.

From the snatches of conversations she caught, she began to understand that all this commotion concerned other patients. People visited them, sent gifts and flowers. When anyone slowed near her door, she braced herself, but no one stopped that day.

The next brought Dr. Johnson with his tests, Dr. Newman with his kind eyes and gentle questions, and, of course, the nurses. She was beginning to know them all by name—Leslie, Donna and Chris. After dinner, soup and Jell-O, Chris came with orders that Amanda should go for a walk. They made it halfway to the nurses’ station before Amanda became lightheaded. She could hardly make it back to her bed, even with the nurse’s help.

Her aunt and uncle came and went several times, but they didn’t bring Mother Chambers. She discovered her aunt had brought toiletries, cosmetics, perfume. All of her favorites, apparently, but nothing she recognized.

Always the best part of each day was when Jonathan appeared. He came in the morning, professionally. In the afternoon he’d stop by just to chat. Once in a while he’d stop in the evening. She had no idea how unusual this was until, on an afternoon walk with Leslie, she saw him from a distance and he waved.

“Is he a friend of yours?” The nurse turned her around carefully, for she still had an occasional bout of dizziness. “He spends a lot more time with you than any of his regular patients.”

That gave her something to think about. So what if other patients’ rooms were filled with flowers and cards and balloons, while hers was empty except for the bloodred roses and gifts from her aunt and uncle. Jonathan was her friend. Yet, as she fell asleep that night, she decided to ask him why she didn’t have any other friends to send her flowers or cards.

As she began to understand time and grow impatient with the sameness of her days, she realized she felt much stronger. Now she was anxious to get rid of the plate and wires and see her own face. Maybe then her identity would return.

Even so, there was a certain security in the sameness of her days. Then everything changed. Jonathan didn’t come in the morning. The time for his afternoon visit came and went. A dull ache throbbed through her, and she was tempted not to eat lunch. She even thought of asking for him when she realized he wasn’t coming, but instinctively she knew that was wrong. She paged listlessly through one of the fashion magazines her aunt Margaret had brought.

Suddenly she heard his voice. He seemed to be arguing, but that didn’t matter; he was coming to see her. The day was suddenly bright. She hardly noticed the other men with him—two strangers and both of her doctors.

One was a policeman—she recognized the blue uniform from the television shows she sometimes watched to help pass time. The other had on a brown tweed jacket and trousers. His tie wasn’t neat like Randall’s, and Jonathan seemed upset with him.

Her aunt and uncle crowded in, too, standing by the door. Jonathan sat in his customary chair next to her bed. Dr. Newman and Dr. Johnson stood on the other side. The strangers took positions at the foot of her bed. She felt surrounded by confusion and huddled under the sheet in her new powder blue bed jacket, looking to Jonathan for guidance.

He smiled. “Amanda, everything’s just fine.”

Dr. Johnson nodded. “Amanda, this is Detective Savage and Officer Mahoney. They need to ask you some questions about the night you were attacked. We think you’re strong enough to answer now.”

Dr. Newman’s kind eyes reassured her. Her family was there, and Jonathan; she had nothing to fear. But how could she answer questions about something she couldn’t remember?

“We’d like to tell you what we’ve learned, Miss Braithwaite. Your doctors have told us you’re sufferin’ from a temporary memory loss, and I want you to know that we understand. Don’t worry about forcin’ yourself to remember anythin’, okay?” The detective spoke very gently.

Jonathan nodded as if he approved of the man’s technique, so she nodded, too.

The officer pulled out a small book, consulting it as he said, “The Majestic Hotel confirmed you made a reservation that night but never checked in. The doorman says he saw you standing under the marquee before you crossed the road and went into the park.”

Detective Savage loosened his tie so it hung partway down his white shirt. There was a gravy stain midway down it, and she concentrated on that stain, afraid to look anywhere else. “We’d sure like to know where you were goin’ that night. Or where you were for the six weeks before.”

The silence stretched, echoing in the dark corridors of her mind. When she didn’t answer, he continued, “You apparently E-mailed a message to your uncle on 17 May that you were goin’ shoppin’ out of town. Did you go with someone?”

All the questions were too much. Tears welled in her eyes. She began to tremble.

“I can’t remember anything,” she whispered.

“Well, you did meet someone in the park.” The detective leaned on the railing at the end of her bed. “You caught a runaway poodle for an elderly woman walkin’ her dog.”

“Amanda has a dog,” her aunt interrupted. “She’s always been kind to animals.”

“Well, ma’am, that bit of kindness saved her life.”

Amanda looked at the policeman.

“The park is my beat. That poodle escaped his owner again and I caught him.” Officer Mahoney coughed and his face grew as red as his close-cropped hair. “That’s when she told me you’d retrieved him earlier and that you might still be in the park. I didn’t like the sound of that, so I decided to do my sweep of the park and lakefront earlier than usual.”

“Mahoney didn’t see your assailant, but he must have frightened him off, because the guy left this behind.” Detective Savage laid a ring on the bed. A golden ring with a sapphire the size of a nickel surrounded by diamonds.

Her aunt sobbed. “It was my sister’s. Amanda’s mother, Alice.”

Alice. My mother’s name was Alice. A clue, but one that conjured up no response. She felt nothingno waves of sentiment about her mother or the ring. Her only reaction was vague shock at the size of the stones.

“If we knew why you were walkin’ in that park, Miss Braithwaite, or who you were meetin’, it would sure help our investigation.”

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t know, but she could only scream silently into the darkness of her memories. As always, there was no reply. She tilted back her head and, through a veil of confusion, found Jonathan studying her.

“That’s enough!” he growled, staring first at Dr. Johnson and then at Dr. Newman.

Dr. Newman nodded. “Dr. Taylor is correct. Miss Braithwaite needs rest. Pressure to remember could impede her recovery.”

“No more questions, today, gentlemen.” Dr. Johnson ushered everyone out, including her family.

She was glad to see them leave. Her head was pounding, and waves of fatigue made her muscles feel like spaghetti, but she didn’t want Jonathan to go. She held out her hand until he took it in his own warm, strong one.

“It’s all right,” he soothed her. “Don’t think about it anymore. I want to talk to the officers, but I’ll be back and we’ll put the ring away.” He stood and she reluctantly let go. He placed the ring in her hand and turned out the lights as he left.

She closed her eyes, feeling the ring’s weight in her palm. Her mother’s ring. But she couldn’t think about a mother she couldn’t remember.

Who could she have been meeting in that park? Had they been following her or would they have tried to hurt any woman on her own, as she must have been? Would they try again? When? Why?

Yet even with the little she knew, she instinctively felt that she wouldn’t have gone into a park alone at night. That just wasn’t safe. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body.

The door opened.

“Why was I alone in that park, Jonathan?” she blurted out, gulping back tears. “Why am I alone now? No one but Margaret and Randall visit me. No one has called or sent flowers. Not even a card.” She looked at him and saw a strange expression, one that she couldn’t interpret, on his face. “Why don’t I have any friends, Jonathan? Am I such a terrible person? Is that why someone wanted to kill me?”

“Amanda.” Her name was a groan on his lips.

He crossed the room and his arms closed around her. Strong, comforting arms that she couldn’t resist. She buried her face against his chest and let her tears soak into his soft shirt, clinging to the only person she wanted or needed in this frightening new world. The only one who made her feel safe.

“Amanda, listen to me.” He held her shoulders in his firm hands. “You are not alone. I’m here.”

He was so close she could see a shadow of herself reflected in his eyes. Yet a sense of urgency made her press even closer against him.

“Amanda,” his warm breath brushed her lips.

She could taste him. She felt him shudder.

Suddenly light and noise exploded into the room. Without looking at her, he stood and moved away from the bed. Goose bumps ran over her skin where his hands had been.

“Here’s an orderly now. I came back to tell you Dr. Johnson has ordered that you be moved up to Dr. Newman’s floor.”

“That means you’re getting better.” The orderly winked at her as he helped her into a wheelchair.

The unsettled sensation in her stomach had nothing to do with the elevator ride. The orderly pushed her out into another long corridor, this one carpeted, with artwork on the walls. It was much quieter, almost as if she had entered a hotel. Even her room looked different, not like a hospital at all. There was a regular bed with a wooden headboard and a matching bedside table. A lamp filled a corner of the room with a soft glow. There were actually drapes at the window. This felt more like a home.

She asked to sit in the large wing chair. She wanted Jonathan to stay so she could talk to him, but he wouldn’t look at her. Dr. Newman knocked before he entered. He had his glasses perched on his forehead. For some reason, she found that amusing.

“Welcome to the rehab floor, Amanda.” He patted his pocket, looking for his glasses, then realized where they were. “Tomorrow we will be starting various forms of memory tests. Do you have any questions about that?”

“Yes.” The questions pounding in her head needed to be answered. She stared up at Jonathan, wanting him to understand her fear and need.

“Won’t the person who did this want to stop me from remembering who he is?”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE EMOTION GLITTERING in Amanda’s eyes froze him, but Pat Newman leaned forward eagerly. He pounced, “Do you remember anything about the person who tried to hurt you?”

Jonathan watched her grow rigid, sweat forming on her brow, her hands clenching as she fought to remember. Then she closed her eyes and sighed.

“I can’t even remember how old I am. That detective said I’d been gone six weeks before that night, but I’ve lost a whole lifetime….” She lifted one hand in a pathetic gesture that tore at Jonathan’s heart. “Who hates me so much he would do this? Does someone want to kill me? Help me find out who I am. Give me back my life. Please.” She shut her eyes as tears slid down her cheeks.

“We will, Amanda. I promise.” Jonathan folded his fingers over her hand in a soothing grip. “I won’t let anything else happen to you.”

Pat Newman cleared his throat and moved away from the bed diplomatically. Jonathan suddenly realized he’d gone far beyond the doctor-patient relationship he was trying so hard to maintain and released her hand. “You’ve had enough for now. Try to rest.”

She smiled up at him with a slight curve of her mouth and winced as her skin pulled. He fought to maintain his objectivity, reluctantly following the other doctor into the corridor.

“Is something going on that I should know about, Jonathan?”

Even as he shook his head in denial Jonathan recalled the sensory tug he felt whenever he was near her. Her memories might be gone, but his were strong, heightened by her unexpected sweetness and vulnerability. He couldn’t keep fooling himself, but he’d be damned if he was going to let Pat Newman inside his head.

Newman hesitated, studying him, then capitulated. “Good.” Lowering his glasses to the end of his nose, he frowned. “She needs you to be completely objective. Tomorrow we start the real tests.”

In the morning, Amanda insisted she felt strong enough to walk to the first battery of tests. Jonathan had cleared his schedule, driving Bonnie to distraction, so he could observe. He sat near the door so Amanda wouldn’t be distracted. After one nervous glance at him, she turned to concentrate on Dr. Newman’s questions. The determined set of her mouth touched something deep inside him; she was obviously frightened but persevered anyway.

The first test dealt with general knowledge. Pat showed her pictures of actors, politicians and sports figures from different time periods.

“Can you name these people for me, Amanda?” he asked.

A spark came to life in her eyes. “That man with the powdered wig is George Washington.” Her smile blazed like a million-watt bulb. She didn’t have to ask if she was right; she knew it. Jonathan felt as if he’d taken a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach.

He couldn’t know for certain, but it seemed she did best with the historical group. The familiar faces of presidents since Jimmy Carter, and celebrities like Michael Jordan or Harrison Ford, were out of her reach. Her performance was exactly the same for the Famous Names Test.

He was amazed by how well she concentrated. He was getting tired just watching her efforts, but each time Pat asked if she’d like to call it a day, she insisted on continuing. The next tests, consisting of verbal and nonverbal priming tasks, were more difficult. She showed above average learning ability under trying conditions, further indicating that she hadn’t suffered any brain damage.

By now, she’d been at it for several hours. Because he was watching so closely, Jonathan saw a faint trembling begin in her arms and legs and signaled Dr. Newman, who stood immediately, as if this were the natural place to stop.

“Thank you, Amanda. You did very well today.”

“Did I?”

The strain around her eyes showed how hard she’d been trying.

“Yes!” Jonathan agreed. “Now it’s time for a nap. I’ll take you back to your room.”

Her steps were unsteady, but she didn’t seem to realize she was walking at a snail’s pace. He put his arm around her, only to steady her. Any doctor would have done the same thing, he told himself.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I know the date the nation was born, but I don’t know my own birthday.”

This was dangerous territory. He should talk to Pat before he gave her any information, but he couldn’t resist her. Despite his doubts, he answered. “It’s August 9. You’ll be thirty.”

She thought about that for a moment. “How old are you, Jonathan?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Did we play together as children at the lake?”

Far too dangerous to go down this path. “No, not as children,” he answered truthfully.

“There you are darling!”

He was saved by Margaret. She and Randall were outside Amanda’s door, obviously waiting for her to return. He felt a sharp stab of relief. Right now, she didn’t need the baggage from their past.

“We thought we would be on time for your tests.”

Randall appeared to have aged ten years in the past three weeks, Jonathan thought. He saw his hand tremble as it reached for Amanda and gave her a gentle hug. He also noticed her flinch at the touch.

“Is everything all right?” Jonathan asked.

“I’m just tired. I need to rest.” She laughed, a genuine, carefree sound that transformed her bruised face. She looked straight into his eyes. “I’m beginning to sound like you.”

Whatever barriers he’d thrown up developed a few more cracks. He pushed open her door and urged her inside. “Take a nap. Doctor’s orders. We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

She waved and sank down onto her bed. He pulled the door closed as Margaret turned to him.

“Well, what happened with the tests?”

Randall slumped against the wall, as if standing had become too difficult for him.

“It would be best for Dr. Newman to fill you in, Margaret.”

She turned on her heel and marched toward Pat’s office without another word.

Jonathan searched Randall’s tortured eyes. “I really believe Amanda will make a full recovery.”

In slow motion, Randall moved away from the wall, the effort draining all the color from his face. “Thank you for everything. This has been a very trying time.”

Jonathan watched him move. Randall’s steps were clumsy, heavy, especially compared to the determined stride of his wife. He made a mental note to check the last time Randall had been in for a physical.

He found Detective Savage waiting for him outside his office.

“I need to ask you a few questions, Dr. Taylor.”

Surprised to find him alone, Jonathan glanced around. “Your partner isn’t with you today?”

“Oh, no, sir. Officer Mahoney isn’t assigned to this investigation. I brought him along the other day hopin’ Miss Braithwaite might recognize him, since he was first on the scene.” He sat on the chair Jonathan indicated and stretched his legs. “She still has no memory of the night she was attacked?”

“No.” Jonathan sank into his swivel chair behind a desk piled high with paperwork. Bonnie, he noted, had formed two piles, one marked Urgent, the other Urgenter. He smiled absently before looking at the detective, who was regarding him with a curious gaze.

“Amanda only remembers me in the ER, before her surgery. That’s it—the rest of her past is a blank.”

“Well, that’s what I want to talk about.” Relaxing, the detective loosened his tie. “After givin’ the matter some thought and questionin’ a few of your old friends, it became clear to me that you and Miss Braithwaite have had a prior relationship. I mean before the night you performed surgery on her.”

Jonathan’s stomach clenched in warning.

“Had you and Miss Braithwaite resumed the affair durin’ the six weeks before she was attacked?”

He resented feeling as if he’d fallen into the middle of an old Columbo episode. “My relationship with Amanda Braithwaite has nothing to do with your investigation, Detective. Actually, I haven’t seen or spoken with her for ten years.”

Ignoring his icy tone, Savage continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “So, you know where she was those six weeks?”

“Damn you…” Before he could issue his denial, a sharp knock on the door interrupted him.

Margaret paused on the threshold to stare at the detective. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were busy.” Nonetheless, she shut the door behind her and joined them.

Both men stood, but Margaret refused to sit. She glared at the detective. “I’m surprised to see you here. Have you learned anything more about Amanda’s attacker?”

“No, ma’am, we haven’t. I was hopin’ your niece had regained some parts of her memory.”

“When that happens, we’ll let you know. Is there anything more we can help you with?”

Perhaps Margaret’s style wasn’t to his taste, but right now he found her refreshing. The detective looked like a man ready to call it a draw.

“No, ma’am. But I’ll be in touch.” He nodded in Jonathan’s direction. “Thanks for your time. I’ll get back to you.”

Margaret lifted her eyebrows in disdain as soon as he was gone. “Do you think that man has been watching too many old detective movies?”

Relieved that he wasn’t her target this time, Jonathan grinned. “He’s probably great at his job.”

“Well, I hope so!” Dropping down into the chair the detective had vacated, Margaret heaved a deep sigh. “I want to catch the monster who hurt Amanda. Which is why I stopped by.”

Her imperious anger was gone, replaced by a soft charm that almost disarmed him. “I know I’ve been difficult to get along with. I’m sorry. Between Randall’s falling apart and Mother Chambers’s health, I’ve been going a little crazy. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for Amanda. Dr. Newman thinks your presence is responsible for her progress with the tests. Can you tell me what’s next, Jonathan?”

“She has to take it one day at a time. So do we.” He turned the page on his calendar, although it was unnecessary. He knew what was there—it burned in big red letters behind his eyes. Tomorrow was the day he’d find out how well he’d done. “Tomorrow I remove Amanda’s plate and the wires. She should look more normal and will see her face for the first time. Let’s hope it helps her remember.”

TODAY WAS THE BIG DAY. Jonathan had promised she could see herself for the first time. She’d look in the mirror and know who she was.

When no one was watching, she’d begun to explore her face, touching it tentatively with her fingertips. High cheekbones. A wide mouth—of course the wires could have something to do with that. Her ears felt small and fit flat to her head. She’d kept her fingers away from the plate over her nose.

Sometimes she wondered why she hadn’t cheated, trying to see her reflection in the bathroom mirror. But Jonathan had seemed to think she should wait, so she had. His warning hadn’t kept her from exploring her head, though. On one side her hair was stubble, on the other silky and about shoulder length. She’d pulled a piece forward so she could see it out of the corner of her eye. It looked light, almost without color. Her skin was fair, she could tell from her arms. Her fingers were long, the nails strong ovals.

But she didn’t recognize any of it! And when she started to think like that, her head hurt. So finally she’d given up.

However, today was the day!

Whatever pill the nurse had given her made her feel as if she were floating. Jonathan and Bonnie worked in slow motion; his mouth moved so she knew he was talking, but she couldn’t hear a word he said. Despite her best effort, she finally fell asleep.

After a while she sensed someone at her bedside, but she couldn’t seem to open her eyes. Whoever it was stood over her for a long time.

“Jonathan,” she muttered, trying to fight the heavy fatigue.

No one answered, yet she could feel someone lean closer, feel the heat from a body over hers.

She moaned. Jonathan, where are you? Save me!

A glass was held to her lips as someone lifted her head. No! Instinct made her shove the glass away as she struggled back to reality.

When she woke, she was alone and frightened. The dream had seemed so real.

When she touched her pillow it was wet. Not a dream! For a moment she panicked, but then she remembered Jonathan had been here to take the wires out. She felt as if she’d been set free. Her jaws and mouth were lighter, softer, more mobile. She reached for the hand mirror conspicuously propped on the table beside her bed. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

“No, darling! Not yet!”

She hadn’t realized the door was open. Aunt Mar garet swooped into the room, dragging a tall, thin man behind her.

“I’ve brought your favorite hairdresser, Marcus. After you take a nice, hot shower he’s going to do something with your hair. Only then will I let you look in the mirror.”

Good. She could put off the much anticipated, much dreaded moment. And when she finally saw herself, she would be glad to look her best. Amanda allowed herself to be led to the bathroom and thrust under the shower. She hadn’t realized how she missed the feel of the water beating against her skin. She breathed in the delicate apricot scent of the soap and shampoo and decided this was going to be a very good day.

Aunt Margaret insisted she dress in a frilly pink nightgown and one of the lush bed jackets Randall had brought her. Marcus was waiting by a chair facing the window with what looked like an entire beauty shop of products at his feet.

“Sit, darling! Marcus is the miracle man.”

She wondered what he would do—her head had obviously been shaved on one side. He massaged her head gently through the towel before running his fingers through her wet hair.

“I can do wonders with this, Mrs. Chambers, never fear.”

Fear? A cold shiver ran through her. There was nothing to fear here in the hospital. Jonathan had promised her he would keep her safe.

A layer of hair fell into the towel across her lap. It wasn’t quite colorless, but very pale gold shot with silver; very intriguing and not at all what she expected.

Marcus leaned over her with the dryer. Hot air brushed her cheek and neck as he worked with the brush, pulling her hair over to one side. All the time he worked he talked; nothing consequential, he just droned on. She liked him, she decided. He didn’t put pressure on her by demanding she remember or by asking her opinion. He just did his job.

At last he was finished. He stepped back, and Aunt Margaret walked around her. Amanda could sense that Marcus was holding his breath, and for some reason she did, too.

“This will do.”

His thin face split in a self-satisfied grin. “I thought so. You can look now, Miss Braithwaite.”

Her breath seemed trapped in her lungs as her aunt held out the mirror. Tentatively she took it, concentrating first on her hair: a snug cap of waves, soft and touchable. An ache started in her chest. It was time.

She looked.

The face she saw was pale. There were a few purplish green bruises along her jawline, but she noted the well-defined bone structure, the narrow nose, the soft, wide mouth. Blue eyes, like Aunt Margaret’s.

A pleasant face. A strange face.

She knew they were waiting for her response. It wasn’t that this face displeased her. It was simply new to her.

“The hair looks very nice. Thank you, Aunt Margaret. Marcus.”

Marcus looked pleased. Her aunt Margaret smiled and patted her arm.

“There, there, darling. I know it’s been quite a day for you. Get some rest.”

It seemed as if people were always telling her to rest. After Margaret hustled Marcus out of her room, she was alone. She studied her face, trying to pull a memory out of the blank vault in her mind. Turning from side to side, she contemplated every angle. She opened the closet and stood looking at the full-length mirror. She had no memory of herself.

No identity at all.

This day, so long anticipated, was a disaster. She sat back in the chair by the window, the mirror still clutched in her hand. Outside, the world moved on, but she was stuck in here. She had no life. No friends. Nothing.

She allowed herself this one moment of self-pity before raising the mirror to look again. Something called to her from deep in those eyes. It told her to stop feeling so helpless. A powerful belief took root in her mind. She would discover each new thing as if she’d been reborn. She would put together the puzzle of her life. She wouldn’t let this defeat her. And if she became a whole new person, that would be all right, too.

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