Remember Me?
Autor
Jennifer Mikels
Lecturas
18,1K
Capítulos
13
Chapter One
Where was she? Pushing back her dripping hair, she squinted through the blurry mantle of rain. She’d been running through the woods for so long that her side ached. She needed to rest but was afraid to, for if she stopped, she’d have to think.
Slippery, the ground played the enemy. Twice she fell to her knees. She couldn’t remember where she’d started running. Only when.
A flash of lightning had eerily illuminated the woods. Thunder had rumbled deafeningly and panic had surged through her, not from fear of the storm but from the emptiness in her mind.
After scrambling to her feet again, she clamped her mouth tight to keep her teeth from chattering and pushed away brush to reach the clearing beyond trees. In staggering steps, she plodded through the mud then saw the outline of a cabin, smoke drifting from the chimney.
Maybe she had come from this cabin, wandered outside. Then what? She’d fallen and hit her head?
Exhausted, she lunged for the cabin stairs. What if she’d been running from someone inside? She fought dizziness and leaned against the cabin door, unsure about entering. None of that might be true, and she wanted warmth, dryness. She wanted to close her eyes.
Inside the cabin, Nick Vincetti poked at the fire he’d started moments ago. Steadily rain fell, coming down in a syncopated beat on the cabin roof as a November storm brewed with a vengeance.
He sipped at lukewarm coffee that he’d poured from a thermos. Though tired from driving to the cabin, he was in no hurry for bed. He’d left schedules behind him in Chicago. One perp was in jail, awaiting trial. Another investigation was stalled by a lawyer who claimed police had harassed his client Forget all of them. For two weeks he would put trouble behind him.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since noon. He yawned and snatched up his jacket, sliding it on while he strode to the door to haul in the last two cartons. One of them contained a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. - As he stepped off the porch, mud sucked at his boots and buried one foot to the ankle. Looking down with an oath, he gave his foot a shake. He took two strides forward, then stilled, alert to banging from the back of the cabin. Drenched already, he squinted against the rain and followed the sound to the back door.
Darkness shadowed the stairs, but he caught movement. A dark figure stood by the door—a woman, he decided instantly. Hair dripping and coated with mud, she clung to the door, her hand gripping the doorknob. Lightning revealed a face that looked pale. “Lady, what are you doing out here?” he yelled to be heard over the howl of the wind.
As she whipped around, the beam of a flashlight glared at her. She blinked hard. He’d called her “lady,” she reminded herself, amazed her brain managed such a rational thought She shrank against the door, even when he lowered the flashlight, no longer blinding her. To see him more clearly, she wiped a hand across her damp face.
He hunched broad shoulders as rain battered at him. She noted slashing cheekbones, a strong, masculine face. His dark hair was shaggy, overlong and ruffled by the wind. He kept staring at her as if she were crazy. Did she look that way? She drew a ragged breath and squeezed her eyes at the dull ache in her head. Tired, shaking, she fought panic. If she had a few minutes from the wetness and noise of the storm, she could think clearly. “Please,” she nearly begged. The wind masked her voice as she hugged herself. ‘I’m cold. So cold.”
Cold and wet himself, Nick saw no point in both of them freezing while he got answers. “Go in.”
She wanted to but hesitated and sneaked another look. If only she could see his face, a glimpse of a smile.
Trembling with cold, she scurried into the cabin. As she passed through a short narrow hall, she touched a closed door to what she assumed was a bedroom. The thought of a bed tempted her, but she kept moving toward the warmth of the fireplace. Though dry, the cabin held a chill, and she shivered again. Outside, she’d craved escape from the cold. It was all she’d thought about when she’d seen him. Now she wondered if she was safe. If only she knew where she was. If only she knew her name.
Nick jammed his hands into the pockets of his parka and stalled for a minute, trying to judge the situation. When he’d neared the back of the cabin, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been some woman looking half-drowned. As she’d opened the door, he’d noted apprehension in her face. Because she’d looked scared, for her peace of mind, he’d maintained his distance until she’d stepped inside.
Rain beat at him, but he took the time to scan the dark woods surrounding the cabin. He had to consider the possibility that someone was chasing her…perhaps an irate husband or abusive boyfriend with a cockeyed notion that she belonged to him.
Some idiot bursting into the cabin didn’t worry him. For the past twelve years, even when in uniform, he’d dealt with the dregs of society. But he’d left the city, hoping for a brief respite from them.
Trudging through the mud, he resigned himself to no solitude, no peaceful two weeks in an isolated cabin to forget a homicide that had kept him hopping for nearly a year. Instead he had unexpected company.
At the door, he pried off his boots then entered the one big room containing the fireplace. He found her shaking, facing the fire. Her clothes hid little, since she wore no jacket, and the soaked white sweater and snug jeans clung to her.
Thin and tall, nearly five foot eight, she was dirty, but he gathered impressions. She had high cheekbones, a thin nose and generous mouth, a look that denoted good breeding.
With his step forward, she skittered halfway to the door. “Take it easy.” He rummaged in a carton for two towels and tossed one onto a chair near her while he dragged the other one over his face. Without looking at her, he lifted an extra blanket from another carton and draped it over a chair. As if her arm weighed too much, she raised it slowly and touched her forehead. Nick eyed the small bump just to the right of her eyebrow. “You’re hurt. Did you pass out?” he asked while digging into his duffel bag for a bottle of aspirin.
“No.” She spoke so softly that he got the answer by lipreading.
“Are you nauseated?” he asked, trying to eliminate a concussion. If she went into shock, he’d be in a hell of a fix traveling over rain-soaked, rutted dirt roads to get her medical care.
“I’m just cold,” she said in a stronger voice, and snapped up the blanket to drape it around her shoulders.
Nick scratched off one problem while he palmed the aspirin bottle. “Why don’t you sit by the fire?”
Still warily keeping an eye on him, she moved on command, slowly.
He couldn’t offer much in the way of a reassurance. He thought of himself as one of the good guys. Even with women he’d dated then stopped seeing, he’d made sure the relationships had ended without animosity. For now, until she felt more comfortable around him, he’d keep his distance. “Did you have an accident?”
Don’t ask me too many questions, she wanted to say. “Is there anyone else here?”
Nick didn’t miss the nervousness in her voice. “No, there isn’t.”
“You aren’t married?” As he intently watched her, she gathered the blanket tighter. She wished for the company of a woman, for someone who might understand the helplessness overwhelming her. She wished she didn’t feel so scared.
“Not anymore,” Nick answered. Lightning slashed across the sky. Rain hammered harder. While he banished a quick image of his ex-wife, he peeled off his wet parka, then hung it over the back of a chair.
“Where are we?”
“Near Rhinelander.” Tired from driving, he decided to get facts, then show her to the bedroom. In the morning, he would deal with his next problem…getting her wherever she’d been going. He turned and took one step toward her with the bottle of aspirin. “Do you want—?”
She recoiled, jumping from the sofa and nearly plastering her back against the closest wall.
Nick needed no explanation. Dark wet lashes framed eyes riveted to his shoulder holster and the service revolver tucked in it “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quickly, softly. “I’m a cop. Nick Vin-cetti. A detective with the Chicago Police Department”
Those eyes that appeared more green than blue flew from his revolver back to his face. “Do you have—have proof?”
Proof? Nick nearly laughed. She had nowhere to go in the rain, and she was challenging him about identification. She’d already taken too many unnecessary chances. Driving alone in the storm, she must have veered off the main highway or she wouldn’t have been so deep in the woods. “I’m going to reach back for my identification.” He pinched the slim wallet from his rear pocket, flipped it open and set it on the table.
She inched closer, craning her neck to study the information. Twice she glanced from it to his face to verify that the photograph was of him. “Is this your cabin?”
With narrowed eyes, Nick studied her. What’s wrong with this picture? he wondered. Again she’d gathered the blanket tighter around her shoulders and was perched on the edge of the dark green lumpy-looking sofa. Something more than fear of being with a stranger made her cower. Nick would bet his badge on that “It belongs to a friend, my partner. Riley Garrison,” he finally answered, crossing to the fireplace. As he tossed another log in the fireplace, the fire crackled. “Do you drink coffee black?”
Did she? she wondered. She nodded, not feeling steady enough to deal with the way he’d invariably look at her if she told him she didn’t know.
“Why don’t you tell me what you were doing out there? Did you get lost?”
Lost. Yes, she felt unbelievably lost. Avoiding his stare, she noted, a couple of worn tweed chairs on the other side” of the stone fireplace. Letting her gaze dance over objects, she named them. Coffeepot. Sink. Stove. You’ll be all right. Don’t panic. Useless as the information seemed, it meant she’d retained some knowledge. Her eyes traveled to a dented white metal cabinet with a short counter. Nearby stood a scarred oak table and chairs with arms.
Tightening fingers around the cup he’d set in front of her, she seized the comfort in its warmth. Maybe she was crazy, one of those people who lost touch with reality and wandered off aimlessly. She frowned at her hand tightly clenched around the cup. It looked unfamiliar to her, though well cared for, the nails manicured and polished. “I think I had a ring.” She smoothed her thumb across her bare ring finger. “It looks like I did.”
Because she kept staring at her hand, Nick angled a glance at it. Though faint, there was an indentation as though from a ring. If she expected him to search for it, she needed a wake-up call. Looking for one in the woods would be like hunting for the proverbial needle in the haystack. What he’d like is some straight answers. ‘’Look, are you really okay?” he asked, aware of the fatigue in her eyes.
“Tired. I’m tired,” she admitted.
So was he. “You can take the bed in the other room.” He set the aspirin bottle and a glass of water near her. “I can’t call anyone for you. There’s no phone in the cabin.” He thought it likely some man and possibly a family would have a few days of worry before she would be able to call home. “What’s your name?” If he was giving up his bed, he would at least like to know to whom.
Lowering her head, she rubbed a hand over the top of it. If it would stop pounding, she could tell him. So what should she do? Should she lie? Pretend she remembered? Give him a phony name? Then what? No, she had to trust him. She had no other choice. Looking up, she fought for strength, but her voice broke with a rush of emotion. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, You don’t know?”
“I don’t know my name.” There—she’d said it aloud.
“You what?” Nick took a moment to let what she’d said sink in. Dealing with people’s problems came with his job, but he’d never personally had this one dropped in his lap. Maybe she wasn’t telling the truth. She could be using some memory loss as an excuse because she didn’t want to explain too much. “Are you saying you have amnesia?”
How simple he made that sound, she mused. Like someone might say he has a cold. This wasn’t simple. Didn’t he understand? She couldn’t tell him anything about herself. Taking several deep breaths, she fought tears. Alone, she might cry, but not now, not yet. Using time to pull herself together, she swallowed a couple of aspirin and drank the water. Again she felt his gaze on her as if he were trying to see inside her. It’s empty. You’ll see nothing. She stared down at her hands and rubbed at the dry mud on the top of one of them, then at the dirt on her sweater. “Is there somewhere—” Self-consciously she touched strands of her matted hair. It felt filthy, sticky. “I’m so dirty.”
It suddenly occurred to Nick how delicate she was emotionally. She sat, hugging herself as if needing to feel the presence of her own body. “I have some clothes in there.” He motioned toward the duffel bag he’d hauled into the cabin earlier when he’d arrived. “Take what you need. You can change in the bedroom.”
Certain that if she was clean she’d feel better, she pushed to her feet. The room spun.
In three strides, he crossed to her, catching her before she slid to the floor. “Easy.”
Exhaustion weakening her, she didn’t protest the arm snug around her. With each step she took, her legs felt more rubbery. And there was something so reassuring about his strong arm at her waist and the heat of his body.
Nick guided her into the bedroom, stopping beside the bed. He kept his hold on her for a moment longer. She looked far more delicate than she felt. Despite her slim appearance, the body against his was well toned. “If I let go, you’re not going to pass out, are you?”
She hoped not. “No, I’m all right.”
With her trembling against him, Nick didn’t really believe her. “Okay.” Hesitatingly he lifted his hand from her. She caught the bedpost but remained standing. “If you need anything, yell.’ He dropped the duffel bag she’d forgotten on the floor. “And if you’re hungry, I’ll cook you something when you come back out.”
She nodded, nothing more. Dizziness sweeping over her, she fought it until he closed the door, then she sank to the mattress.
She’d hoped for someone to supply her with answers. Instead he’d wanted to know her name. Her name. Such a simple thing to ask a person. As she tried harder to remember, her head throbbed. For a moment, she would stay still. Only a moment. She’d spotted a mirror, felt desperate to see herself.
If only she’d known him, but even his name had meant nothing to her. She’d skimmed his address on the identification card, but what did she remember about him? Six foot one, 195 pounds. Thirty-three years old. How old was she? Forget that. Keep thinking. His birthdate. What was it? September. September 20. She’d recalled statistics about him. Only her past eluded her.
Why don’t you know who I am? she wanted to scream. Why don’t you know me? With her eyes half-closed, she reached back, stretching fingers for the edge of the quilt, then yanked it over her. She was cold. Too cold.
Behind her eyelids, her eyes burned with tears. She felt so alone. Empty. The hollowness within her was unbearable. How could she not remember anything personal about herself, not even the color of her eyes? What would happen to her now? What did the police do with someone who had memory loss? Would she be institutionalized? She shivered, not letting her mind imagine more, not wanting to think, and gave in to sleep.
Twice Nick checked on her to make sure she was breathing all right. The. first time, he noticed that she’d never made it past the bed. Dirt had dried in her hair. Mud still smudged her delicate face. Lightly he placed a palm to her forehead and felt no heat. Moving to the foot of the bed, gently, slowly, he tugged off her boots. She never stirred. Assured her breathing was even and steady, he stepped out of-the room as quietly as he’d entered.
More than once since her announcement, he’d wondered what he was going to do with her. Shifting on the lumpy sofa for the umpteenth time, he punched at one of the cushions. In the city, he would have followed procedures. He would have taken her to a hospital emergency room and forgotten about her. She would have been considered a Jane Doe and probably carted off to the county psychiatric ward or left to fend for herself. But here, in this cabin, she was his responsibility.
He slept but awoke to darkness and the storm still around him. Restless, he made a second trip into the bedroom. He made no noise, but the woman’s eyes opened when he bent over her. In the dark, he watched them widen.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in a voice thick with sleep.
With a step back for her benefit, he spoke quietly. “Checking on you.”
“Is it morning?”
“No. Don’t talk.” He’d handled witnesses who’d claimed they remembered nothing, then after questioning, pulled up some pertinent facts. He guessed the best way to treat her was like a shell-shocked witness. Question sympathetically. Go slow. “Go back to sleep,” he urged, believing she needed rest the most.
Her lashes fluttered for a second, but as if craving to know something, anything to cling to before she gave in to sleep again, she spoke in a slurring manner, “Where’s Rhinelander?”
“Wisconsin.”
“Wisconsin?” she murmured the word. And others. “Illinois, Indiana, Michigan. What day is it?”
“November fifth.”
“Then comes December. Christmas.”
Deliberately Nick spoke with a softness usually reserved for more intimate moments with a woman. “Today’s Sunday.”
“Sunday. Monday. Tuesday.” She shut her eyes and a single tear streamed down her cheek.
Bending over, Nick drew the quilt higher to her shoulders. And he wondered again, what the hell he would do with her.
