Читать книгу Dangerous Memories - Barbara Colley - Страница 8

Leah’s mind raced as she tried to find answers. Her stomach grew queasy just thinking about the hell she’d gone through the night Hunter disappeared. It had been her twenty-eighth birthday. They’d just returned to the hotel room after having dinner, and she’d sent him to the drugstore. She’d waited for Hunter to return…one hour…two hours, then three, until she couldn’t stand to wait a minute longer.

Now, she realized she should have thought it strange that when she finally called the police, they showed up almost immediately. But by the time they had knocked on the hotel-room door, she’d been in such a state she hadn’t been thinking straight. And afterward, after they told her what she’d dreaded the most, she’d been too distraught to think of anything but her loss and her guilt. And she’d spent four months grieving and blaming herself for his so-called death.

But grieving wasn’t all she’d done in that time. She’d spent a lot of it thinking, mostly about their hasty courtship and marriage.

Under normal circumstances, there was no way she would have married a man, any man, after only knowing him for a few weeks.

Leah swallowed hard against the tight ache in her throat. But that particular time had been anything but normal, and Hunter wasn’t just any man. She’d been in mourning when she’d met him, mourning for her beloved grandm’ere, the woman who had raised her since she was five. With her parents’ deaths, her grandmother had become everything to her. When her grandmother had died, the world as Leah had known it, along with the love and security she’d always felt, had disappeared.

Hunter had been on an extended medical leave from the New York City Police Department for psychiatric reasons. He’d been involved in a bad shoot-out, and had accidentally shot and killed an innocent bystander, a ten-year-old girl. As a result, he’d been unable to fire a gun ever since.

For Leah, it had been a time of adjustment and mourning, of coming to grips with being all alone in the world. For Hunter, it had been a time to heal.

They had both been vulnerable and needy and had taken solace with each other and within each other’s arms.

Leah suddenly went still as yet another strange discrepancy occurred to her. “There’s something I don’t quite understand,” she told Hunter. “You say you have amnesia. But if you have amnesia, and you didn’t even know your name, why are you here on my doorstep? What made you think that I might know you? In fact, how did you even know where I lived?”

He shrugged. “I guess that does seem kind of strange, even a contradiction of sorts. But I do have an explanation,” he hastened to add. “I was told that there was a good chance I would regain my memory.”

A momentary look of embarrassment crossed his face and he got to his feet. “This might sound weird,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck and paced the width of the porch in front of her. “But about a month ago I began having flashbacks—memory flashes. Most of them didn’t make sense to me. But in one particular flashback I kept seeing a woman’s face, and an address kept running through my mind.”

He stopped in front of her and motioned toward her. “Your face,” he said. “The same auburn hair, the same brown eyes, the same face.”

Hunter felt heat climb up his neck as he stared at her. He’d seen more than just her face in his recurring flashback, much more. In his mind he’d seen her completely naked. He’d seen himself hovering over her, stroking her, felt her smooth, silky skin, felt her writhing beneath him in the heat of passion, her hands urging him to…

He squeezed his eyes shut. There was no way he could tell her the rest, not until he knew if it what he’d seen in the flashback was true or simply wishful dreaming on his part. With a shake of his head, he opened his eyes then gestured broadly. “And this address. I’m not sure why—” He raked his fingers through his hair. “But, like I said, this address kept flashing through my head. It took me days of hitchhiking to get here from Orlando, but I felt I had to do it or I might not ever find out who I am.”

He dropped down beside her then turned to face her, his left arm across the back of the swing. “I was right, wasn’t I?” Tilting his head to one side he held her gaze. When she nodded, he said, “I need to know what else you can tell me about myself. Please,” he added.

Leah’s mind raced as she considered just how much she should tell him, and after a moment, she decided that divulging some of the facts couldn’t hurt.

“You’re thirty-two years old, and you’re a police officer with the New York City Police Department,” she said. “We met when you took an extended vacation to New Orleans after you were placed on medical leave. You said that you had always wanted to see Mardi Gras but had never had the time off.”

A frown creased his forehead as he mulled over what she’d said, and Leah laced her fingers together tightly in her lap to keep from reaching up to smooth the frown away.

“Medical leave for what?” he finally asked.

As Leah explained about the shoot-out and the ten-year-old girl, a multitude of emotions played over his face. But when she told him the part about him being unable to fire a gun, he stared at her as if she’d just grown horns.

“So it wasn’t just a simple medical leave? I wasn’t physically injured?”

Leah shrugged. “I—I don’t know all the details,” she hedged.

“Who does?”

Leah shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe your captain or your doctor.”

“You mean my shrink, don’t you?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” she repeated slowly, emphasizing each word.

“Then, how do you know me?” he retorted. “And just what was our relationship?”

The answers to his questions stuck in Leah’s throat. She’d known he would eventually ask, and she’d dreaded it, especially since she wasn’t sure how to answer him.

With all of her heart, she wanted to tell Hunter that he was her husband, and she wanted to share with him the wonderful news that he was going to be a father. But even as her hands strayed protectively to her abdomen, a little voice inside warned against revealing everything, warned that she should proceed with caution until she knew more about Hunter’s circumstances. What she’d realized in the months since Hunter’s death was that she didn’t really know him very well at all.

For long moments, a battle raged within her. Tell him… No, don’t tell him. But he’s your husband…but what if there was more to his medical-leave story than he’d admitted? After all, you only know what he told you, and he could have lied, could have lied about everything. Can you afford to take the chance? You’ve got your unborn baby to protect.

Leah finally decided that what she needed was time. Time to digest what he’d told her, and time to further assess his mental state.

“We’re friends,” she finally said. “We’re just really good friends.”

Again, he seemed to mull over what she’d told him, and Leah tensed. She’d never been a good liar, and there was nothing in his expression to indicate whether he did or didn’t believe her. If he didn’t, then what?

After a moment, he finally said, “So, friend, do you have a name?”

Leah’s stomach knotted. He didn’t believe her. Somehow he knew they had been more than just friends, knew that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. “My name is Leah. Leah…Johnson.”

“Leah Johnson,” he repeated slowly, thoughtfully. But to her acute disappointment, his eyes remained blank, without even a spark of recognition. After a moment, he squeezed them tightly shut and whispered, “Damn.”

When Hunter opened his eyes, the brief look of confusion and disappointment that Leah saw in them almost broke her heart. It was evident that he’d hoped that hearing her name would awaken some of his lost memory. But it hadn’t.

“What about family?” he asked. “Do I have any family? Mother, father, brothers or sisters?”

Leah shook her head. Only me, she wanted to say, but she whispered, “No. Your parents both died in an accident when you were a young teenager. After their deaths you lived with an aunt, your mother’s only sister. But she died of cancer not long after you graduated from the police academy.”

Again that same brief, miserable look of confusion and disappointment flashed in his eyes. “Then there’s no one,” he mumbled, pushing out of the swing.

No one but me, Leah added silently as she watched him pace the length of the porch. That they had both been alone in the world had been just one more thing that sealed the bond of need between them despite the short time they’d known each other.

I’ll be your family and you’ll be mine, then neither of us will have to be alone. The words he’d whispered to her when he proposed echoed in her mind, and knife-stabbing guilt pricked at her conscience.

Hunter stopped his pacing near the porch steps and sudden panic seized her. What if he left? After all, as far as he knew, there was nothing to keep him here.

“Why don’t you come inside?” she blurted out before she had time to change her mind. There was no way she could let him leave…not just yet…not until she got some answers that made sense.

“The least I can do is fix you a bite of breakfast.” Half-afraid he would say no, Leah pushed out of the swing. With an eye on Hunter, she stepped over, picked up the bat, then walked purposely toward the front door, leaving him little choice but to follow.

“You don’t have to do this,” he protested, his gaze sliding warily to the bat. But even as he protested, he took a step toward her.

“Don’t be silly.” She motioned for him to follow her.

The look of relief on his face pricked her conscience again, but she ignored it. Once inside, she leaned the bat against the wall, then led him through the parlor and down a short hallway.

“As long as you’re here,” she told him when they entered the kitchen, “maybe you’d like to take a hot shower—clean up a bit—while I cook breakfast?” She turned to see him inspecting the large kitchen and breakfast area.

“I could definitely use a shower,” he muttered, his gaze settling on her face. “But I really couldn’t impose on you like that.”

“We are friends,” she emphasized. “And it’s not imposing if I invite you. I might even be able to rustle up a clean change of clothes for you as well. Last time my uncle came for a visit, he left a few of his things in the closet.”

While it was true that she had an uncle—a great-uncle—the jeans and shirts had actually belonged to Hunter. When she returned from Orlando, she’d packed them away in a box with intentions of giving them to Goodwill. Only problem was, she never seemed able to remember to put the box in her car.

Leah turned away quickly for fear he would somehow be able to see that she’d lied yet again, and she walked over to the phone sitting on the kitchen counter. “Right now, I need to make a phone call and let the hospital know that I won’t be coming in today.”

“You work at a hospital?”

Leah punched out the numbers of the floor she worked on. “I’m a nurse.”

Her call was answered on the third ring, and in a matter-of-fact tone she explained that she needed to take a sick day.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Hunter said when she hung up the receiver. “Not on my account.”

If only you knew, she thought, and taking a deep breath for courage, she turned and faced him. “It’s no problem. Really it’s not. It seems like forever that I’ve seen you and I could use a day off.” She motioned toward the breakfast table. “Why don’t you have a seat and wait right here while I get you those clothes. Feel free to pour yourself a cup of coffee. It’s decaf.” She turned and headed toward the door leading to the bedrooms. “Coffee mugs are on the counter,” she called out over her shoulder.

When Leah reached her bedroom, she glanced over her shoulder again, just to make sure he hadn’t followed, then she headed straight for the dresser. Sitting on top was an eight-by-ten framed photograph of the two of them taken on their wedding day. She hadn’t hired a professional photographer, and the picture was only an enlarged snapshot taken by a friend, but she’d worn a short veil to go along with the white-lace dress she’d bought, and Hunter had rented a tuxedo for the occasion. One look at that picture, and he’d know that they had been more than just friends.

Leah glanced over her shoulder again, just to make sure that she was alone, then she removed the framed picture and placed it in the bottom drawer of the dresser beneath a stack of out-of-season sweaters. After a quick inspection of the room to make sure there was nothing else incriminating, she headed for the closet. In the bottom of the closet near the back was the small cardboard box that contained the remainder of Hunter’s clothes.

After a brief stop in the guest bathroom, Leah returned to the kitchen. Hunter was seated at the breakfast table, staring out the bay window. His hands were wrapped around a steaming coffee mug.

Just beyond the bay window in the tiny backyard, her grandmother had created a lovely garden oasis surrounded by a wall of camellias, azaleas and a host of other evergreens that thrived in the Uptown neighborhood. In the midst of it all was a small goldfish pond, complete with lily pads, and edged by palmetto palms. A water fountain shaped like a fish rose in the center of the pond, and a water spray flowed continuously from the mouth of the fish.

A heavy feeling that had nothing to do with pregnancy settled in Leah’s stomach. Hunter had loved that particular view, and seeing him sitting there, staring out the window was déjà vu. He’d once told her that all that lush greenery had a soothing, calming effect and was a stark contrast to the depressing shades of gray he was used to seeing. He’d said that the only green to be found in New York City was in Central Park.

When Hunter pulled his gaze from the window and stared up at her, the uneasy, jittery feeling she’d had when she’d first seen him on the porch returned with a vengeance. She quickly placed a pair of jeans and a folded knit shirt on the table. “These should fit you,” she said as she backed away. “Sorry there’s no underwear, but even if there was—I mean, even if my uncle had left some, I figured you wouldn’t want to wear someone else’s.”

She was babbling, she realized, babbling because being in such proximity to him, along with the lies she’d already told, was making her nervous. But who wouldn’t be nervous, given the circumstances?

Taking a deep breath, Leah motioned toward the doorway that led to the guest bathroom. “Just down that hallway to the right is a bathroom you can use when you’re ready. I laid out a couple of clean towels and a washcloth. I also left a new razor and toothbrush on the countertop next to the sink.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “Why are you doing this? There’s no way I can repay you.”

Leah felt her cheeks burn with guilt. Unable to face him, she quickly turned away. “What are friends for?” she murmured, almost choking on the words as she busied herself with preparations for breakfast. “Friends” didn’t begin to describe their relationship, but until she knew more about what had happened to him and why, being friends was a lot safer.

Hunter Davis.

As Hunter entered the bathroom, he mulled over his name. Not wanting any unwelcome surprises, he locked the door behind him, and then glanced around the small room. The name felt right, felt as if it fit and was a hell of a lot better than just plain John Doe. But he didn’t remember it. Even knowing his name hadn’t produced the breakthrough that he’d hoped for. His mind was still a blank.

He eyed the jeans and shirt that the woman named Leah had given him and wondered if, like his name, they would fit. Anything had to be better than the hospital scrubs he’d worn for the past three days. Like him, the scrubs were beginning to smell a little too ripe.

Hunter closed his eyes and breathed deeply and slowly. Leah…Leah Johnson…Leah Johnson… He silently repeated the woman’s name.

Nothing. No revelation, no sudden memories. Nothing.

With a frustrated sigh, he picked up the toothbrush and tore off the packaging. When he’d finished brushing his teeth, he used a bar of soap to lather his face and shaved.

His insides quivered with frustration as he rinsed then dried his face. Throwing the towel on the countertop, he stepped over to the shower, jerked back the shower curtain, and turned on the water. Then he took off his watch and slipped off the shoes. After he stripped off the hospital scrubs, he kicked them into the corner.

There was no doubt that Leah Johnson was the woman in his flashbacks. She was even more beautiful face-to-face, and the extra pounds made her look even more womanly, more sexy.

Friends…

She’d said they were just “really good friends.” So if they were only friends, why would her face be the one he remembered? Even more puzzling, why the ache in his gut when he’d first seen her in the flesh, and why the overwhelming urge to crush her into his arms and taste her lips.

With a shake of his head, Hunter stepped into the shower. “Depends on her definition of ‘friends,’” he muttered. Just how good of friends were they? According to the visions he kept having, “friend” was far too tame to describe the relationship between them. Besides, he couldn’t imagine why he would be “just friends” with a woman as beautiful as she was…unless he was married.

Married. “Damn,” he grunted. It had never even occurred to him to ask her if he was married. Surely she would have said so if he was, wouldn’t she? And she hadn’t said so. Besides, if he was married, it stood to reason that he would have had flashes of his wife’s face, instead of just his friend’s face. And if he was married, why would he have come to New Orleans alone, instead of staying in New York? She’d said he’d come for an extended vacation, but that brought up yet another question. If he lived in New York and had just come for a vacation, why was it this address he remembered?

Too many questions and not enough answers, he decided as he turned his face into the spray. The water was steamy hot, and Hunter savored the feel of it against his skin.

It had been three days since he’d had a real shower. With almost no money, he’d been unable to afford even the shabbiest of motel rooms, neither for sleeping nor for cleaning up. Instead, he’d had to make do with washing up in public rest rooms along the way.

What he really needed was a hot whirlpool to soothe his aching right leg. It had been broken in two places when he’d been thrown from his car. According to the doctor who had treated him, it had healed nicely, but it still ached when he walked a lot. And he’d walked a lot during the past three days.

In addition to his leg aching like hell, the two nights he’d spent with hardly any sleep had exhausted him. By the time he’d found the address that kept flashing in and out of his head, it had been past midnight, far too late to be knocking on anyone’s door, especially someone he wasn’t sure he even knew.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the porch. He’d only meant to sit there and wait until morning, until a decent hour to knock on the door. He’d chosen the spot near the steps to wait because he’d needed cover from the prying eyes of neighbors and any patrol cars that might pass by. After everything he’d been through, the last thing he’d wanted was to be picked up by the police, and the huge bush near the steps was wide enough and tall enough to provide just the right amount of cover.

Hunter wrinkled his nose and sniffed. The bathroom door was closed and the shower was running full blast, but he could swear he smelled bacon frying.

She’d said she would fix him breakfast, and Hunter’s mouth watered at just the thought of food.

Not only had it been three days since he’d showered, but the last meal he could remember eating was the egg sandwich he’d had yesterday morning. Unfortunately, it had been the last of his money as well.

At the thought of the money, Hunter swallowed hard and lathered his upper body. Then, using the washcloth, he scrubbed with a vengeance, as if doing so would scrub away the thoughts of how he’d gotten the money.

Stolen money.

Jumping the hospital guard outside his room and knocking him unconscious had been bad enough, but stealing the man’s wallet, his watch and his shoes was even worse. Hunter heaved a sigh. Desperate measures called for desperate actions, and he had been desperate…desperate to escape. Besides, it hadn’t been much money, just barely enough to eat on during the three days he’d been hitchhiking. The shoes weren’t that great, either. They were too tight for one thing. But wearing tight shoes beat the hell out of going barefoot. As for the watch, it wasn’t as if it was gold or anything. It probably didn’t cost more than twenty dollars at most.

Even with all his excuses for doing what he’d done, he felt badly about it. Even before Leah had told him he was a cop, stealing from the guard had bothered him enough to realize that, whatever he was, he was no thief. And somehow, some way, he fully intended to repay every penny he’d taken, including enough to buy the man a new pair of shoes and a new watch. But first he needed to figure out why there had been a guard posted outside his hospital room…and why the hospital had been holding him prisoner.

Hunter turned off the shower, grabbed the towel Leah had left for him and vigorously dried himself. He’d been lucky. When he’d gone in search of something to wear other than the skimpy hospital gown, he’d come upon an unattended cart of sheets, towels and blankets not far from his hospital room. On the cart, secured in a clear plastic bag, were clean scrubs. He’d snatched the bag, and just as he ducked into an empty room to change, he heard the footsteps of the attendant returning to distribute the contents of the cart. Wearing the scrubs and the security guard’s shoes, he’d been able to walk right out without a hassle.

Once outside, he’d only had to walk a couple of blocks before he spotted an all-night café. Judging by all the eighteen-wheelers in the parking lot, the café was also a popular truck stop. Thanks to the generosity of one wizened old trucker, he’d been able to hitch a ride all the way to Alabama.

Hunter pulled on the jeans and shirt. He’d had a lot of time to think on the road, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that there was more to his situation than just the accident, more than just having amnesia. And despite Leah’s statement about them being “just friends,” Hunter’s gut feeling told him that there was a good possibility that she knew more than she was telling. With every fiber of his being, he was certain that she was the key that could unlock his memory, the key to the whole puzzle.

But could he trust her? Should he trust her? After what he’d been through, he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone.

No fingerprints on record.

“Impossible,” Leah muttered as she cracked an egg and dropped the yoke and egg white into the skillet of heated oil. The oil popped and crackled as the egg cooked, and Leah tilted her head to one side when she heard the water pipes in the old house groaning, an indication that Hunter had cut off the shower.

She returned her attention to the egg, and in one smooth motion, flipped it over.

No fingerprints.

Definitely impossible…unless…unless he’d lied about the police not being able to find a match. But what reason would he have to lie?

Leah shook her head. No reason. To be fair, there could be another explanation. The police could have lied to him, just as they had lied to her.

Again though, why? What she needed were answers. But she didn’t have a clue as to how to get them or even where to begin. For all she knew, Hunter could have lied about everything from the very beginning. About being a cop. About his medical leave.

“No!” she muttered with a determined shake of her head, denying the possibility of such a thing. There had to be something else, some other reason for all that had happened.

Suddenly, Leah grew stone still, the spatula in her hand poised just above the skillet. She couldn’t explain it, but without looking, she knew the exact moment Hunter entered the kitchen.

She cleared her throat, mostly to swallow the lump that had formed in it. “You timed that just about right,” she said, scooping the egg from the skillet and sliding it onto a plate next to the first one she’d cooked.

Only then did she glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, he was standing just inside the doorway.

He’d shaved, she noted. The clothes she’d given him didn’t fit quite as well as they had the last time she’d seen him wear them. He’d lost weight, just enough so that the jeans no longer hugged him like a second skin, and the knit shirt was loose instead of molded to his body.

Leah frowned. Though he’d combed his hair, it was still damp from the shower. She should have thought to tell him where she kept the hair dryer.

The sight of Hunter standing there with wet hair reminded her of the first time she’d seen him, and like an old-time movie reel, a kaleidoscope of images played through her mind.

It had been the end of February, the week before Mardi Gras Day, and she’d worked a night shift at the hospital. Though it wasn’t something she normally did, after she left the hospital, she’d let her friend, Christine, persuade her to meet a couple of their co-workers at Café Du Monde in the Quarter for coffee and beignets. Surprisingly the outdoor coffeehouse hadn’t been overly crowded from the influx of tourists in town for Mardi Gras festivities. Leah had decided that most of the visitors were probably still in their hotel rooms sleeping off their previous night of debauchery and carousing.

The sky had been overcast with dark clouds, the damp air of the Mississippi River chilly and breezy. She’d just seated herself with her friends, when it suddenly began to rain. She’d glanced up, and that’s when she’d seen him. He’d been running across the street to take shelter beneath the deep overhang around the outdoor coffeehouse. In his path was a bedraggled bag lady struggling with her shopping cart full of junk that she’d collected.

Then, something amazing had happened, something rarely seen in the Quarter. Though it meant getting soaked, he had stopped long enough to help the old woman push her cart up out of the street onto the sidewalk that ran in front of the coffeehouse. Then he’d pushed it beneath the shelter of the overhang. By the time he’d sat down at a nearby table, he’d been soaking wet.

“Is something wrong?”

Hunter’s question jerked her back to the present. “No—nothing’s wrong,” she told him. She motioned toward the plate of food on the cabinet. “I hope you like your eggs fried.” She already knew he did, but did he remember that he did?

Hunter shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” He stepped farther into the room.

With the spatula, she motioned toward the refrigerator. “There’s orange juice and apple juice in the fridge. Pour yourself a glass of whichever you want and be seated.” She grabbed a mitt and opened the oven door. “Yep, perfect timing,” she reiterated. “Even the biscuits are ready.” A couple of minutes later, she placed the plate of food on the table in front of him. On the plate were the two fried eggs, grits, bacon and a couple of the hot biscuits that she’d buttered as soon as she’d removed them from the oven.

“This looks great,” he told her.

“I’m afraid that the only kind of jelly I have is fig preserves,” she said. “Is that okay?”

Before she realized his intentions, he grabbed her wrist. “You tell me.”