What She Forgot
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Amanda Stevens
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15,4K
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17
Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
The woman was covered in blood. The drying crimson splashed across the front of her expensive white tank dress like globs of red paint. Her pale face was streaked with dirt and mascara, and her blond hair hung to her waist in damp, matted clumps. She looked as if she’d been to hell and back, and Sergeant Troy Stoner of the Houston Police Department couldn’t take his eyes off her.
He turned to the patrol officer who had picked her up earlier in the evening after spotting her wandering down a busy street and brought her to the emergency room at St. Mary’s.
“Who is she?” Troy asked over the noise and chaos of the ER. Thunder boomed outside, and somewhere down the hallway, a baby cried incessantly while a man with a gunshot wound in his leg screamed obscenities in Spanish at one of the nurses.
Officer Dermott shrugged his damp shoulders, oblivious to the general confusion around him. “Hell if I know. I couldn’t find any identification on her, and she was pretty disoriented when I picked her up. Didn’t say one word the whole way here.” He paused and tapped his left temple with his fingertip. “I figure they’ll take her up to the bin after they check her out here.”
Troy frowned at the derogatory term for the psychiatric ward, although to be honest, he couldn’t say it had ever bothered him before. But something about this woman brought out something in him he didn’t care to analyze. Unable to tear his gaze away, he stared at her through the curtained partition.
Who was she? What the hell had happened to her? She hadn’t been seen by a doctor yet, but the nurse who had spoken briefly with Troy a few moments ago assured him that her injuries appeared to be minor, a few scrapes and bruises, nothing to warrant the amount of blood on her clothing. So whose blood was it? And how had it gotten on her?
As if reading his thoughts, Dermott said, “She’s damn lucky that blood isn’t hers. It’s a wonder some drunk didn’t splatter her all over the pavement.”
Somehow lucky wasn’t a word Troy would ascribe to the pale, frightened woman sitting on the very edge of the hospital bed, as if poised to flee the moment she sensed danger.
He wondered if she had any idea she was being watched. He and Dermott stood just outside the curtained partition, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the din of the ER and the storm that raged outside, but the woman gave no indication that she was aware of their presence. She sat stone still, staring at some distant point in space that only she seemed aware of.
He should have gone home, Troy decided wearily. His shift had ended hours ago, but he’d been delayed at the hospital with a prisoner who’d sustained serious injuries after a botched convenience-store holdup. Just as he was about to leave, hoping to beat the rain, his lieutenant had called him to tell him as long as he was still there he might as well stick around and talk to another suspect who was being brought in.
But the moment Troy had seen the blonde, he’d been experiencing a myriad of regrets. He didn’t need this. Not tonight. He wished he’d told his lieutenant to go take a flying leap. Let somebody else handle this case. But it was too late now, and with another weary sigh, Troy pushed the curtain aside and stepped through.
He hardly made a sound, certainly nothing that could be heard over the groans in the next cubicle, but the woman’s gaze shot up, panic flashing in her blue eyes before she glanced away, as if wanting to shield her emotions from him.
But in that moment when their eyes met, Troy felt an odd little tremor in the pit of his stomach, a sensation not unlike the ones he experienced in times of keen excitement or extreme danger.
Damn, he thought. He really didn’t need this.
He walked toward her, but she didn’t look at him again. Except for that brief moment of eye contact, she’d retreated into that distant place that made her appear so unreachable. So…fragile.
Troy guessed he ought to be relieved she wasn’t his type. He didn’t like fragile women. He wasn’t like his brother, Ray, who needed to be in control, or his other brother, Mitch, who needed to be needed. Troy liked strong, secure, independent women. Women who knew the score as well as he did.
What he didn’t like was a woman who brought out his protective instincts. He’d found out the hard way that a woman like that could be a dangerous thing for a man like him.
He cleared his throat, trying to draw her attention without causing her further alarm. “I’m Sergeant Stoner,” he said gently. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
When she didn’t answer, he said, “Let’s start with your name.”
Still no response.
Taking out his notebook and pen, Troy tried not to let his eyes wander to the slender bare legs revealed by her short hemline. He concentrated instead on the bloodstains. “The nurse said you didn’t appear to be seriously injured, but you have a lot of blood on your clothing. Can you tell me what happened?”
Silence.
Troy moved to the end of the bed, giving her a little more space. He studied her profile and wondered what she was thinking. He could almost feel her sinking deeper into that place where no one, least of all him, could reach her.
But he wanted to try anyway. He wanted to take her by those thin, tanned shoulders, gaze into those crystalline eyes and, by sheer force of will, bring her back to a place where he could reach her. Touch her…
He broke off his thoughts abruptly. “What were you doing out alone this time of night? Officer Dermott said he found you on Westheimer, walking down the middle of the street. What happened to you? Were you running away from someone? Were you assaulted?”
Her hands were clasped in her lap, and Troy saw they were trembling. He took that as a good sign. At least she wasn’t completely unaffected by his questions.
A scream erupted down the hallway, and the woman flinched. She looked around, as if suddenly aware of her surroundings. The groans in the cubicle next to her grew louder, and her blue eyes widened in despair.
“Where am I?” she whispered.
“The emergency room at St. Mary’s Hospital. Don’t you remember?”
She looked around again, as if seeing the cubicle for the first time. Judging by the quality of her clothing and the heavy gold bracelet around her wrist, these stark surroundings were hardly the accommodations she was accustomed to. But she was damn lucky it was Sunday, Troy thought. On Friday and Saturday nights, beds were lined up in the hallway.
“What’s your name?” he asked again.
She lapsed back into silence, her blue eyes again staring into space.
He walked toward her, recapping his pen and putting it away. “Look, I want to help you here. Your family must be worried sick about you—”
At the mention of the word family, her gaze darted up to his. Her eyes widened, giving her the appearance of an animal trapped in a headlight. Troy found himself leaning toward her, wanting to shield her from whatever terror had driven her out into the rainy darkness.
Her left hand fluttered to her neck, and for the first time, he saw the faint shadow of a bruise marring her forearm, as if someone had grabbed her roughly. He also saw the glitter of diamonds around the third finger of her left hand.
She was married, a suspect, completely off-limits. But before he could stop himself, Troy reached out to touch the bruise on her arm. She gasped and jerked away, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle as if she could somehow ward off whatever threat he might pose to her.
Troy let his hand drop to his side and said, “I won’t hurt you. I only want to help you. Your husband…did he do that to you?”
The blue eyes flooded with tears, but she still said nothing.
Troy swore under his breath. He’d seen it before. A battered wife refusing to press charges against an abusive husband. Refusing to admit what had really happened until it was too late.
“Look,” he said impatiently, running a hand through his damp hair, “I can’t help you unless you level with me. Tell me what happened. What’s your name? Where do you live?”
One tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. Troy had to forcibly restrain himself from reaching out to wipe it away. She looked so young, sitting there with a teardrop drying on her cheek and bloodstains drying on her dress.
Troy’s temper surged at the thought of any man committing an act of violence against any woman, but especially one who was as defenseless as this one.
Or was she?
He let his gaze drift back to the bloodstains. “You don’t have any identification on you. Did you lose your purse? Did someone steal it?” When she still didn’t respond, he sighed. “This is getting us nowhere fast.”
He started to turn away, but her blue gaze met his again, and in those crystal depths, he saw a plea for help that touched him all the way to his soul.
He took a step toward her in urgency. “Won’t you at least tell me your name?”
“I…can’t.”
Her voice floated across the distance separating them and wrapped around him like a sweetly provocative perfume. Her blue eyes held him enthralled, mesmerizing him with the secrets hidden within. Troy had the sudden mental image of a gossamer spiderweb, so deceptively beautiful, so potentially deadly…
“What do you mean, you can’t?” he asked. “Are you afraid to tell me your name?”
“I mean…I can’t.” Her voice quavered with emotion, and her eyes brimmed with tears. Troy thought he’d never seen a face so haunted. So terrified.
“I can’t tell you my name,” she whispered in anguish, “because I don’t know it. I don’t know who I am.”
* * *
“HEY, DOC, WAIT UP!” Troy hurried to catch up with the man he’d been waiting to see.
Dr. Timothy Seavers, tall, lanky, with a plain face and a disarming smile, strode down the hospital corridor, his lab coat flapping behind him like the wings of some giant white bird. When he heard Troy’s voice, he turned, the blue eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses lighting up in recognition. “Troy! How’s it going?” He pumped Troy’s hand vigorously.
He hadn’t seen him in years, but Troy had known Tim Seavers for a long time, ever since he’d attended medical school with Troy’s younger sister, Madison.
“Not bad,” Troy said. “How about you?”
“Busy. You know how it is.” Tim ran a harried hand through his light brown hair. “So how’s the family? Not a Sunday goes by I don’t think about your mom’s fried chicken.”
“You should drop by sometime. She still cooks enough to feed a small army. She’d be thrilled to see you, and so would Dad. He’s retired now, you know.”
Tim’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “You’re kidding. I didn’t think your old man would ever quit the force.”
“Neither did I. Look, Tim, I need to talk to you about the Jane Doe who was brought in earlier tonight. Blond hair, blue eyes, about so tall.” Troy measured the air with his hand. “The one who says she doesn’t remember her name.”
Tim glanced at the chart in his hand. “What do you want to know?”
“I need for you to explain to me just exactly what her condition is. In layman’s terms.”
“She’s only had a preliminary examination in the ER. None of the test results are back yet, including the blood work.”
“I know all that,” Troy said impatiently. “But you checked her out, right? What’s your guess?”
Tim frowned. “I don’t like to guess.”
“Come on,” Troy urged. “Just between you and me. Off the record. It would be a big help to me to know exactly what I’m dealing with here.”
Tim sighed. “Okay. Like I said, I haven’t seen all the test results yet, but my best guess, in layman’s terms, is that she has hysterical amnesia.”
“In other words, there’s no physical reason for her memory loss? No bump on the head or anything like that?”
“Other than a few minor bruises, she appears to be perfectly healthy.”
“She wasn’t sexually assaulted, then?”
“No.”
The woman’s trauma, along with her almost palpable fear, had led Troy to the obvious conclusion. He felt a moment of intense relief before asking, “Is there any chance she could be faking the memory loss?”
Tim glanced at him curiously. “Anything’s possible. It’s also possible that by morning her memory may be restored, at least in part.”
“Could the amnesia be drug related?”
“I can’t say for sure until we get the blood work back, but I don’t think so. I’m guessing she received a tremendous shock of some kind tonight, something so traumatic her mind couldn’t cope, so she blocked out whatever it was she saw or heard.”
“Or did,” Troy added, almost to himself. “Her dress was covered in blood, and yet you say she only has minor injuries. The blood had to come from somewhere, Tim. From someone. I’ll need that dress, by the way, along with the rest of her clothing.”
Tim nodded. “I know the drill. We’ll bag it up, along with all her other personal effects. That is, except for her wedding ring. She became quite agitated when the nurse tried to remove it. Under the circumstances, I felt it best not to upset her. Who knows? Her ring may be the one thing that can trigger her memory.”
“Let’s hope so.” But Troy had a feeling it wasn’t going to be that easy. “In the meantime, I’ll get everything over to the lab. Hopefully, in a day or two we’ll have some answers about Jane Doe one way or another.”
“I feel sorry for her,” Tim said suddenly. When Troy glanced at him in surprise, he shrugged. “I know. I’m a doctor. Like you cops, we aren’t supposed to have feelings, but there’s something…haunting about her. I can’t explain it.”
He didn’t have to. Troy knew exactly what Tim meant, but he kept his opinion to himself. The last thing he needed was to be having feelings for a suspect, one who couldn’t remember her own name, let alone how she’d come to be covered in blood. Troy had learned a long time ago that when it came to women, he was a lousy judge of character.
He said so long to Tim and then retraced his steps down the hallway. After she’d been examined in the ER, the woman had been moved to a room on the seventh floor. Troy stood outside the door, wondering if he should go in and talk to her again. Demand some answers. Find out if she really was faking her amnesia.
But it was late, after one o’clock in the morning. The caffeine kick had long since worn off, and exhaustion was setting in. Troy couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d seen a bed. It seemed like a lifetime. He’d been working too damn hard, he thought. Seen too much going down lately. He didn’t like closing his eyes anymore. Didn’t like dreaming about the bullet that might have his name on it.
He wondered if his brother Gary, who had been killed in the line of duty five years ago, had had those same nightmares before he died. He wondered if Mitch and Ray, who were also cops, had them now, and knew he would be relieved to learn that they did.
But there was no way Troy would ever ask them. No way he would ever reveal to his brothers that being a cop sometimes scared him. He was the daredevil of the family. The thrill seeker. The Stoner who didn’t give a damn about tomorrow. His brothers would be shocked and not a little disappointed to learn that Troy had nerves after all. And that he just might be losing them.
Maybe he wouldn’t go home, he decided. Even on a Sunday night, there were still places where he could find plenty of warm bodies and lonely souls who would be willing to share a few drinks and whatever else he might crave. Maybe he’d just go drink himself into a stupor so that when he finally did fall asleep, the doubts would be held at bay. For a few hours of blessed oblivion, he wouldn’t have to think about mortality and betrayal and the woman from his past who had almost killed him.
* * *
SHE WOKE UP, choking on a scream. Someone was leaning over her bed, whispering to her.
Her eyes flew open, straining to see in the darkness that surrounded her. A scent lingered. Something familiar.
Fear exploded inside her, and she bolted upright, sweat pouring down her back. Her heart pounded in terror as she peered into the darkness, afraid to call out, afraid to even breathe. Someone was in here. Someone who wanted to hurt her.
A flash of lightning revealed that she was alone. No one was lurking in the shadows, but her terror did not lessen. She had to get out of here. She had to run away. Find someplace to hide where they would never find her.
An image of a small, dark room appeared in her mind, and an overwhelming sense of panic engulfed her. She couldn’t go back there. They would find her. They would lock that dark room and never let her out. They would say she’d done bad things. Terrible things.
But before she could get out of bed, light flooded her room, the door opened and a middle-aged nurse with a kindly face bustled into the room. “What’s the matter, hon?”
She looked at the nurse blankly. “Wh-what?”
The nurse nodded toward the bed. “You pressed the call button several times. Do you need something? Are you in pain?”
She uncurled her fist and found the call button inside. She hadn’t even been aware of holding it, much less pressing it to summon help. “I think someone was in here.”
The nurse took her by the shoulders and pressed her gently back against the pillow. “You probably had a nightmare. God knows, this weather is enough to give anyone the heebie-jeebies.”
It wasn’t a nightmare. She was sure of it. Someone had been in here with her. Someone—or something—evil.
“Someone was here,” she said again.
“No one was here,” the nurse soothed. “I’ve been at the desk all night. I would have seen if anyone had come into your room.”
What about the scent? she wanted to ask. But the fragrance, so tantalizingly familiar, had already faded away. She put her hands to her face. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember?” she whispered.
“You will,” the nurse assured her. “The doctor said your tests so far all appear normal. More than likely, your memory loss is only temporary. In a few days, everything will start to come back to you.”
No! She didn’t want everything to come back to her. What if they took her away again? What if they locked her in that dark room again?
But even as those thoughts flitted through her mind, a flash of memory caught her by surprise. A man’s voice screaming Andrea!
Her heart started to pound again. “Andrea,” she murmured. “My name is Andrea.”
The nurse brightened. “There, you see? You’re starting to remember already. What you need now is rest.” She straightened the covers with an economy of motion. “Do you want me to bring you something to help you sleep?”
No drugs! The idea filled her with terror.
The nurse patted her arm. “Very well, then. Do you need anything else before I go?”
I need to know why I’m so afraid! I need to know who wants me dead!
She needed to know about the dark room.
But she said nothing.
“Get some sleep now,” the nurse said, turning toward the door. “Everything will seem better in the morning.”
But Andrea didn’t think so. She didn’t think daylight would bring an end to her terror.
