Читать книгу Slow Burn - Jamie Denton Ann - Страница 10

“WHAT’S YOUR NAME, sweetheart?”

She looked up into the clearest, bluest eyes this side of the Rockies and would’ve sighed with pleasure if her throat didn’t feel so darned ragged. All she could do was blink before her world tilted again, and those sexier-than-sin eyes swam before her blurred vision. Her head ached, her chest burned and a searing pain gripped her right arm. Someone said it was because of smoke inhalation, but she couldn’t be sure.

She tried to shake her head to clear the haze, but a pair of large, warm hands held her still. Her head rested against a pair of rock-hard thighs she assumed belonged to the black-haired angel of mercy who’d hefted her over his shoulder and carried her from the burning building seconds before the explosion.

What she was doing in a paint warehouse, she couldn’t say.

“You got a name, honey?” he asked again in a rich, soothing voice that made her think of silly things like white picket fences, children’s laughter and golden retriever puppies.

“Maggie.” She tried to shake her head again, but he held her still. Maggie? That wasn’t right. Or was it? “I think,” she added with a croak, her throat raw and as hot as the Sahara Desert.

Someone jammed a needle into her left arm and she winced. She hated needles. Her frown deepened. Why did she hate needles?

She fought down a sense of panic as voices she couldn’t decipher rose around her. She looked up at the prime male specimen again. “What happened?” she asked in the croaky voice only a bullfrog would envy.

“You’ll be fine.” His lips curved into a smile and those eyes the color of blue topaz filled with a reassurance she wasn’t exactly buying. She didn’t feel fine. She felt as if her body was on fire.

“What’s your last name, Maggie?” he asked, smoothing her hair away from her face with a tenderness that felt almost foreign to her. Now why was that? she wondered.

Her vision blurred again until there were two of her angels of mercy gazing down at her with concern banked in their heavenly eyes. Her world started to fade to a dark murky gray, then quickly to black seconds after she whispered, “I was hoping you could tell me.”

AS HE’D DONE every day for the last six, Cale Perry pulled his Dodge Ram pickup into the visitors’ parking lot of the UCLA Medical Center. He avoided the emergency access where everyone knew him and opted for the anonymity of the main entrance. Holding a brown paper bag that was giving off the tantalizing aroma of fried foods, he sauntered through the automatic sliding glass doors, a tuneless whistle on his lips. After a quick scan of the corridor for familiar faces, he slipped into the elevator, where he pushed the button for the fourth floor.

He hadn’t told a soul where he’d been disappearing to once his shift ended, especially not his nosy brothers, Drew and Ben, or Tilly Jensen, a family friend and E.R. nurse, who happened to be on duty the night of Maggie’s accident. They’d never understand the inexplicable need that drove him to the hospital on a nightly basis, and they most certainly couldn’t possibly understand how Cale felt drawn to Maggie. In fact, about the only thing he did know was that she needed him, and that alone was reason enough for him.

Where she came from or why she’d been trapped in a burning paint-supply warehouse were as much a mystery to her as they were to Cale, not to mention to the cops or the arson investigation team. The way he figured it, there were a lot of blank spaces in Maggie’s memory, and he couldn’t find a single, solitary reason why he should not be the one to help her fill in those gaps.

A rueful grin slid across his lips when the doors opened on the fourth floor of the medical center. If his brothers found out he was acting out yet another knight-in-shining-armor fantasy over a woman he didn’t know they’d never let him hear the end of it.

He turned left when he got off the elevator and nodded to the medical staff huddled around the nurses’ station as he made his way toward the rooms at the end of the long corridor. Without a doubt, his brothers would most definitely think him crazy, and in all honesty, they were probably right. There wasn’t much information on his mystery woman, except that her eyes were an intriguing combination of blue, green and gold. Her hair, a shimmering shade of cinnamon, hung halfway down her back in long, soft waves, and she had a serious penchant for junk food. A petite thing, she had plenty of curves to heighten any man’s interest, along with a sweet, lyrical voice that had returned once the effects of the smoke inhalation had dissipated. She had a disposition to match, as well. Considering her past remained unknown, he thought her attitude admirable.

For reasons that defied every known source of logic he’d reviewed and subsequently discounted since he’d first found Maggie With-No-Last-Name surrounded by gallons and gallons of paint cans inside the burning warehouse, he was more than intrigued by this mysterious stranger who stirred his blood and fired his imagination.

He’d stayed with her in the hospital that first night. His shift had ended, so he’d just…stayed. At first he’d told himself it was only because she’d asked him to—a desperate plea that had tugged at his heart. It hadn’t been the first time a victim he’d treated on the scene had wanted him to stay. Until Maggie, he’d always just assured them the doctors would take good care of them, then left without a backward glance. But something in her voice, something he couldn’t quite define, had pulled at him hard. In the end, he simply couldn’t leave her.

The next day his tendency toward heroism faded into worry for one simple reason—he hadn’t been able to get Maggie out of his mind.

Because this one victim out of the thousands he’d treated since becoming a paramedic six years ago had caught him off guard and touched an emotional chord he’d kept carefully hidden, he’d been more than a little alarmed. Maggie was sweet, pretty and scared, however, so what guy wouldn’t feel like a knight on a white charger?

The next day he brought in a motorcycle rider who’d been involved in a collision and damned if Cale didn’t act like a fool by asking the E.R. doc who had treated Maggie about her condition. Mere curiosity, he’d told himself over and over once he’d left with his partner, Brady Kent.

Until his shift had ended, and he’d driven straight to the hospital.

Curiosity and his arguments of “it’s only mild concern” flew out the window when he’d walked into her room. His heart had slammed into his rib cage when she’d looked over at him and offered a weak, morphine-induced smile.

He’d pulled up a chair and had sat with her that night, and every night since, waiting until she’d fallen asleep before finally going home to his small house near the beach. Getting to know Maggie wasn’t exactly the easiest thing he’d ever done considering her past remained elusive, but Cale knew enough about her personality to be highly intrigued and maybe even a little bewitched.

Now, he couldn’t seem to stay away from her.

He pushed through the door to Maggie’s room, the tuneless whistle stilling on his lips. She glanced his way from her hospital bed, her eyes a piercing shade of blue rimmed in gold. With her mouth set in a grim line, she didn’t look at all pleased to see him.

He stepped into the room and quickly realized she wasn’t alone. He easily pegged the two gentlemen dressed in suits as cops. One stood at the foot of the bed, while the other leaned casually with one shoulder braced against the wall closest to the window overlooking the parking lot.

The older of the two detectives shot him a dark look. “You’ll have to come back later,” he told Cale without moving from his stance near the window.

Maggie shifted her attention to the detective. “He’ll be staying,” she replied. Her firm and somewhat harsh tone took Cale by surprise. The Maggie he knew was sweet and soft-spoken. Obviously there was more to his mystery woman than met the eye.

The younger detective looked Cale up and down. “You a lawyer?”

Cale approached Maggie and set the grease-stained bag on the tall metal nightstand. “No. A friend,” he answered cautiously. “Is there a problem, detective?”

Being a paramedic, he came in contact with law enforcement practically on a daily basis, however most of his experiences were either with the uniformed cops or the guys in the arson unit within the fire department.

Maggie let out a huff of breath. “I already told you. I must’ve lost my purse in the fire. I don’t have any identification.”

“How is it you know Ms….” The detective glanced in Maggie’s direction. “Ms. Doe?” he finished, his gaze skeptical.

She looked at Cale. “What Detective Villanueva is trying to ask is if you know who I am. Isn’t that right, Detective?”

“What’s going on here?” Cale demanded, feeling his protective instincts rise to the surface.

“We’re only trying to determine why Ms. Doe was at the Harrison Paint and Wallpaper warehouse. Alone. Especially since the warehouse was closed, not to mention that it isn’t open to the general public.”

The color in Maggie’s eyes brightened considerably. “I already told you, I don’t know anything.”

“How convenient,” Villanueva muttered.

“Until my memory returns, I’m afraid I won’t be of much assistance to you.”

The older, stout detective near the window straightened and gave his partner a quick glance, motioning toward the door with a nod of his head. “You have my card,” he said. “In case you remember anything.”

Cale waited for them to leave before turning his attention back to Maggie. “What was that about?”

Maggie straightened the already perfectly arranged bed covers. “Exactly what they said. They want to know why I was in the warehouse. I’d like to know, as well.”

The question had crossed Cale’s mind, too, more than once. He also understood that Maggie had spoken the truth when she’d told the detectives that until her memory returned, she’d have no answers, only questions of her own.

“They don’t believe me,” she said abruptly. “Who can blame them, really? I sound like something out of a bad soap opera.”

Despite the hint of truth to her statement, Cale chuckled lightly as he carried the visitor’s chair closer to the bed. “I thought the truth was supposed to be stranger than fiction.”

She looked over at him, her eyebrows suddenly pulled down into a frown. Whatever was on her mind, she kept it to herself. After a brief moment, she shook her head then graced him with a hint of a smile. Her pert little nose twitched, as if she were a bunny rabbit anticipating the delightful feast of an unguarded vegetable garden. “Is that a cheeseburger?”

His heart stuttered at the pure pleasure softening her features. “The lady knows her junk food.”

“I can’t believe you remembered,” she said in the same soft voice that had been haunting his dreams all week.

The awe in her voice had him wondering why something so trivial as a cheeseburger brought her such delight. Almost as if no one had ever done anything as ordinary as bring her a special treat. He’d ask her about it, but she’d only whisper, “I don’t know,” and then her eyes would cloud with worry or frustration.

He reached across the bed to settle his hand over her fingers peeking out from the cast that extended to her elbow. Her skin was soft, smooth and silky. If her fingers were this soft, he’d surely drive himself insane imagining the feel of the rest of her body.

“You said it was your favorite.”

Her grin widened, and she playfully snatched the bag from his hands. “I might not know much about who I am, where I belong or what I was doing in a burning warehouse but I most assuredly know a cheeseburger and fries when I smell them.”

Cale chuckled again despite the frightening truth of her statement. Where did she belong? The absence of a ring on her left finger, or of the pale circle caused by wearing one for any length of time, might indicate she didn’t have a husband in the picture, but it didn’t alleviate the possibility of a boyfriend or a serious relationship. The doctors had told her she’d never had any children, but she’d merely shrugged and muttered they no doubt knew more than she.

According to Maggie, the psychiatrist who came to see her on a daily basis had told her she was suffering from level III amnesia, which was generally caused by medical trauma. Well, she’d certainly had that, Cale thought, watching her carefully unwrap the cheeseburger with her good hand. In addition to a broken wrist, smoke inhalation and enough bruises to play connect-the-dots, she’d suffered a severe concussion when a shelf filled with paint cans had fallen on top of her.

She took a bite of the burger, closed her eyes and issued a sultry little moan of pleasure.

Cale exhaled slowly as his imagination took flight. “I take it the lady is pleased.” He leaned back in the chair and propped his foot over his knee, which did nothing to lessen the snug fit of his jeans.

A brief nod followed another bite before she finally answered him. “Very pleased. This is the best thing that’s happened to me all day.”

“I know those detectives must’ve been rough on you, but they’re only doing their job.”

She sighed and set the rest of the burger down on the wheeled table as if her appetite had vanished. He took the action as warning sign of impending not-so-good news.

She dropped her gaze to the cast on her right arm. “That’s not what I meant. A social worker came to see me today,” she said quietly.

“And?” he prompted.

She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly before she looked over at him. That same desperation he’d seen the night of the explosion, along with a dose of panic, returned. “And they’re releasing me tomorrow. Mrs. Sutter suggested I consider going to a long-term care facility.”

He straightened, alarm rippling through him. “Why?” he demanded. He’d been around the medical profession long enough to know long-term care was code for nursing home. Because of Maggie’s inability to remember anything about herself, it wouldn’t be all that unusual for her to be transferred to a psych hospital. The thought of Maggie in an understaffed, state-operated facility filled him with more dread than he imagined possible.

She made an attempt to cross her arms over her chest, but the weight of the cast and the cumbersome IV line had her frowning instead. “Because,” she said, dropping her hands to her lap, “I don’t know who I am or where I live. It doesn’t appear so far that anyone is looking for me, either, since the detectives informed me they had no missing persons report on file for anyone fitting my description. The social worker said I should consider her suggestion, since, according to her, I’m relatively incapable of taking care of myself.”

From what Cale had witnessed upon entering her room, she could take care of herself just fine. There had to be something he could do to help her. So what if he felt himself slipping into a time-honored tradition? He’d been lending a helping hand to others for as long as he cared to remember. Granted, he’d been making a concentrated effort of late to be a little more discriminate, but Maggie honestly needed a champion. Until she regained her memory, she had no one else. Besides, he hardly believed helping Maggie would result in him having to change his telephone number again or require him to obtain a restraining order, the way he had when Paulette Johnson had become a little too clingy.

“What about fingerprints?” he asked. The authorities had taken her prints in an attempt to identify her. “Haven’t you heard anything?”

Disappointment filled her gaze. “According to Mrs. Sutter, nothing showed up. She also said it’s not all that unusual. I’ve just probably never been fingerprinted for anything.”

He slid his hand over hers again. “Hey, look at the bright side. At least you’re not a criminal.”

The look she gave him momentarily startled him. Cold and icy, and not the Maggie he’d come to know the past few days.

“Maybe I’ve just never been caught.”

Cale didn’t think so. He’d seen and treated enough of the criminal element in Los Angeles to know the difference. Maggie’s identity might be unknown, but that she was a criminal wasn’t even a remote possibility in his mind.

“Can you?” he asked. “Take care of yourself, I mean?”

Slowly, she pulled her hand from beneath his. “I know red means stop and green means go.” Anger and frustration lined her voice, and the gold rim surrounding her irises brightened. “I know fire is hot and ice is cold. If it’s raining, take an umbrella. If the telephone rings, answer it. I know what day it is, the month and even the year. I think I can cook, and I know how to make change so I can at least buy my meals if I can’t.”

Cale shrugged. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know where I live or even how I make my living. Since I don’t know if I have any family or anywhere to go, Mrs. Sutter explained a long-term care facility would at least assume my care until I’m better equipped to do so myself.”

“What if…” He stopped and carefully considered his next words. Once uttered, he couldn’t take them back. But, dammit, he just didn’t have the heart to turn his back on someone who really needed him.

“What if you had someone willing to take care of you?” he blurted before he could change his mind.

She tilted her head slightly, and frowned. “What do you mean?”

His brothers were right. He was crazy. Not to mention so far out of control his common sense had deserted him…again.

She’s not like the others, his conscience rallied. Or was that his libido talking? Did it really matter? He didn’t think so.

“What if you had someone willing to see to it that you’re safe?” There. He’d said it. No taking the words back now.

“I don’t know anyone.” She blinked back the moisture suddenly shining in her eyes. “I don’t know anything,” she said, her voice tight.

“Tell this Sutter woman I’ll care for you.” The ground slipped out from under him as he stepped off the cliff into a sea of insanity. His own history with the opposite sex should have had him running in the opposite direction. But how could he turn his back on Maggie when she needed him the most?

He couldn’t. And that’s when the trouble always started.

Her smile was thin as she swiped at the tears with her good hand. “That’s very sweet of you, Cale. But it still doesn’t solve my problem. Besides, what if Mrs. Sutter decided to check on me.”

He had his doubts on that score. “So what if she does? In any case, it’ll never happen. The heavy case-load of the social system in this county prohibits extravagances. The social workers spend their time on only the most severe cases, and, Maggie, you hardly qualify as a severe case.”

He reached across the bed and grabbed her hand again. He wanted to do more than hold her hand, he wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her close, promise her everything would be okay in the end. It didn’t matter that her future was uncertain. The urge to comfort her was strong, just as strong as the need to feel her soft curves pressed against him.

He smoothed his thumb over her slender fingers. “You call Mrs. Sutter and tell her you’ve got a place to go tomorrow when they release you, and that’ll be the end of it. You can stay at my place for as long as you need.”

She snatched her hand away. “No—”

“Just until you get your memory back.” He moved from the chair and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. He braced his hands on the mattress to bracket her hips, his body stirring at the closeness. Momentarily distracted by the shape of her mouth, he simply stared.

“I couldn’t,” she said, but she didn’t sound convincing.

“Yes, you can. Look, aren’t your doctors saying it could only be a few days until your memory returns? Do you really want to go to a long-term care facility?”

She shook her head, and a hank of fiery hair fell over her shoulder. The wavy ends teased the slope of her breasts beneath the cotton hospital gown. “Or maybe a few weeks, or months, or even never. You’ve already been so kind to me, Cale. I won’t ask any more of you.”

“You aren’t asking,” he argued. “I’m offering.”

He understood her fear, or at least he liked to think he did. The truth wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like not to know where he came from or the members of his own family. Of course, when his brothers learned he’d brought home a total stranger, they’d be convinced he’d taken leave of his common sense for sure this time.

Where Maggie was concerned, they were probably right. Didn’t he have enough disastrous relationships in his past to prove their arguments? Okay, so maybe there was some truth here. But, none of those women was Maggie. She genuinely needed his help. He wasn’t offering a permanent solution, only a temporary one.

“Cases that last that long are the exception, Maggie, not the rule,” he said gently.

“I don’t know…”

“Come stay with me, just until we can figure out where you really belong. I’ve got a quiet little place near the beach and a bedroom to spare. You’ll be perfectly safe there, and it’s a hell of a lot better than some sterile environment where you’ll just be another name on a chart.”

“I might not even live in L.A.,” she argued. “Or California for that matter. Maybe I was just passing through and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe I was visiting someone.”

“Then why hasn’t anyone else come to see you? And why wasn’t anyone else at the scene when we found you?”

She dropped her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes, but not before he saw defeat pass through them.

“It’ll give you a quiet, peaceful place to recuperate and when I’m off duty, maybe I can help you find out who you really are.”

She opened her eyes. “But…how can I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re a complete stranger. I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t even know yourself at this point,” he said dryly.

“Exactly.” She sat up again. “What if I’m a serial killer or something equally horrible? How do you know I won’t rob you blind? You wouldn’t even know who to tell the police to arrest.”

Cale chuckled. “The perfect crime.”

“It’s not funny.”

Lifting his hand, he gently smoothed his knuckles over her satiny cheek. “What other choice do you have, Maggie? It’s either me or a state facility.”

“You’re not giving me much by way of options, are you?”

“You don’t have a lot of options,” he said truthfully, lowering his hand. “It’s me or the funny farm, babe.”

“I don’t think I’m used to being told what to do.” She shot him a frustrated glance. “Because I sure don’t like it now.”