Читать книгу Identity Crisis - Laura Scott - Страница 12

THREE

Since leaving wasn’t an option, Mallory restlessly limped around her penthouse condo, searching for clues to jar her memory. Oddly, there wasn’t an overabundance of personal items lying around. She discovered she had an eclectic taste in music ranging from rap to jazz. Several new-wave art prints were splashed on her walls. Nice, but she couldn’t shake the awful feeling she was looking at her things through a stranger’s eyes.

Bone-weary, she fought off an encroaching wave of fatigue. She blinked and forced her eyes to stay open. There had to be something here that could make her remember who she was. Or why she continued to feel an overwhelming sense of doom. Hoping to find more personal items, she headed down the hall, toward the bedroom.

On the dresser she found a framed snapshot of her and Alyssa. She picked up the photo, surprised to realize just how much they looked alike physically. Alyssa was easy to identify, since she was conservatively dressed and wore her long blond hair pulled back in a French braid. Alyssa’s expression was full of joy, and she proudly wore a modest diamond on the third finger of her left hand.

In contrast, Mallory wore a slinky rose-colored dress, and despite the bright smile on her face, there was a certain sadness reflected in her eyes.

Who’d taken their picture? A man? Gage?

Mallory set the photo down with a grimace. This unhealthy fascination with her sister’s boyfriend had to stop. She needed to focus her attention on filling the cavernous blanks in her memory. On searching for the person whose blood stained her jeans.

Alyssa’s boyfriend was definitely off-limits.

The huge bed was softly inviting, but she refused to simply go to sleep when she had no idea what was going on. Or why she might be sad in contrast to her sister’s happiness.

Her control slipped and suddenly she couldn’t stand wearing the uncomfortable and blood-splattered clothes another minute. She stripped everything off as quickly as humanly possible.

After a good hour in the bathroom, scrubbing her skin until it was almost raw, she felt much better. But finding something appropriate and comfortable to wear wasn’t easy. She rooted through drawers, searching until she found a clean T-shirt that didn’t fit too snuggly and a comfortable pair of yoga pants.

On the opposite side of the bed, a bundle of rose-colored silk on the floor caught her eye. Intrigued, she leaned down and picked up the garment, fingering the fabric thoughtfully. It was a gown, cut daringly low. She had no memory of wearing it, or of leaving it lying crumpled on the floor, as if she’d changed in a hurry. She lifted the dress and glanced around the otherwise neat room. From what she could tell, she wasn’t normally a slob.

Had she worn the gown recently? She spread the rose silk on a nearby chair, wishing the simple item of clothing would spark some sort of memory. If not the gown, something else, then? She opened the closet door and rifled through the hanging garments. Only, nothing looked familiar. Her gaze landed on two boxes sitting on the closet floor.

Wincing against the swelling in her ankle, she kneeled beside the boxes and opened the flap of the top one. She found winter clothing, mainly turtlenecks and cashmere sweaters. She shoved that box aside and grabbed the second. This one held more clothes. Men’s clothes.

The sick feeling in her stomach intensified as she stared at the contents of the box. Had she lived with someone? Been married? She wasn’t wearing a ring. Divorced, then? And if so, from whom? She really should have asked Gage more questions.

Digging beneath the clothes, she found expensive dress shoes and a leather shaving case. Nothing else. Nothing to give a clue as to the identity of the owner.

Dazed, she stumbled to her feet. Limping over to the dresser, she opened every single drawer, relieved to find only female items of clothing. She couldn’t explain why the thought that she may have actually lived with a man so bothersome. Except that it didn’t seem like something she’d agree to do.

In the bottom drawer, beneath more sweaters—really, how many sweaters did one person need?—she found a buttery-soft, brown suede box.

Expecting to find jewelry, she was surprised to discover it empty except for a glossy photo lying inside. Hesitantly, she picked up the picture.

This time, she was dressed in yet another evening gown, this one in brilliant blue. But she wasn’t alone. A man held her possessively in his arms. She swallowed hard, her stomach gurgling with tension as she studied the picture. The guy looked older than her, maybe in his mid- to late thirties, and was dressed in an expensive suit. His handsome face held a note of triumph, but she looked less than thrilled. A faint hint of distaste shadowed her gaze.

Who was he? The owner of the clothing she’d found in the box? Staring at the background behind them, she could see they were standing in some hotel, with linen-covered tables and an orchestra behind them. How many hotels were there in Milwaukee? Or even worse, how many hotels were in the entire United States? No way to know where the photo had been taken.

She put the glossy photo back inside the box, hoping, praying that the men’s clothing belonged to some sort of ex-husband rather than just some guy she’d decided to live with. She didn’t want to believe she was that sort of woman. But the slinky evening gowns and the revealing clothes, not to mention the rose and dagger tattoo she’d discovered just below her collarbone, told a different story.

She closed her eyes on a wave of helplessness.

Please, Lord, help me remember!

Loud pounding on her door startled her. She spun from the dresser, nearly falling on her face when her ankle screamed with pain. Her pulse jumped and, despite the T-shirt and yoga pants, she really wanted a robe or something to cover up with.

Since there didn’t seem to be anything nearby, she yanked the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her. Gripping the lower hem of the blanket so she wouldn’t trip, she made her way down the hall toward the front door.

The banging grew insistently louder.

Nervously, she peered through the peephole. Gage’s face, distorted by the glass, had her sighing in relief.

Not the guy in the photo or some other stranger. Gage. Gage had come back. A wave of pleasure swelled in her chest, and she quickly squelched it. What was wrong with her? He didn’t belong to her, he belonged to Alyssa!

“Open up, Mallory,” he called.

Hanging on to the blanket with one hand, she opened the door. “How did you get in? Isn’t there security here?”

“I accidently kept your keys. And that’s not important right now. Finding Alyssa is.” He brushed past her, tossing the keys onto the kitchen counter. With a sigh, she closed the door behind him.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” The sheer agony on his face made her feel bad, as if she should be doing something more to help. “I’m afraid my memory hasn’t returned.”

He stared at her as if just noticing her for the first time. “What’s with the blanket?”

She flushed and gripped the edges tighter. “I couldn’t find a robe.”

Gage gave her an odd look but didn’t say anything. “Hurry up and get ready. Because we’re heading out, together, to find Alyssa.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, but in the end, she didn’t really want to stay here alone. Going out somewhere, anywhere, would be better than sitting around waiting for her memory to return. “All right, give me a couple of minutes.”

“A couple of minutes?” The surprise in his tone made her glance back at him over her shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Once again, she tried to find clothing that she wouldn’t be embarrassed to wear in public. In the very back of the closet, she found a pair of slacks that weren’t skintight, and she gratefully pulled them on. She found a long-sleeved, somewhat sheer blouse and pulled that over the plain T-shirt and buttoned it all the way up, not caring about the lack of fashion. Running shoes were harder to find, but she finally found a pair that looked almost brand-new in the back of the closet.

Odd, how there were parts of her that didn’t seem quite right. Did amnesia make a person forget his or her personality? Or maybe a more likely answer was that she put on an act on the outside, hiding her true self within. But why would she put on an act for the public? Because she was afraid? Or because she had something to hide?

Her sister, Alyssa, was the one person who might know for sure. Mallory grimly realized that she needed to find her twin as much as Gage did, maybe more.

Gage seemed a little surprised when she returned to the living room in less than five minutes, but then he gestured to the answering machine in the corner. “You didn’t listen to your messages?”

“No.” She didn’t want to admit the simple task hadn’t occurred to her. “Why?”

He crossed over to press the button on the machine, which was located on the back wall of her kitchen. She followed more slowly, carefully stepping over the sticky orange juice mess she’d left on the floor. She felt foolish having avoided the kitchen after the scene with Gage.

“Mallory? This is Rick Meyer. We won the bid for the Jefferson project. I’d like to get started with some color schemes as soon as possible, so call me.” Gage hit the button to stop the tape.

She stared at him. “Who’s Rick Meyer?” Was it possible he was the older guy in the photo with her?

“Your boss. But I’m looking for a message from Alyssa.” Gage rewound the tape and then replayed all the messages from the beginning.

“Mallory? Call me the second you get this message. It’s urgent that we talk as soon as possible.”

Gage stopped the machine. “That’s her.”

Mallory nodded. Her sister’s voice sounded like an exact replica of her own. “I figured as much. But what does it mean? Why would it be so urgent that we talk?”

“I don’t know.” Gage spun away from the counter, his movements agitated. “Alyssa called me two days ago. She sounded paranoid, saying something about the Jefferson project being dangerous. She wanted me to drop the project and warned me to be careful.”

Mallory suppressed a shiver. There was no denying the tense note of fear in her sister’s tone. The laughing image of Alyssa standing beside her in the photograph mocked her. “What exactly is the Jefferson project?”

Gage dropped into a kitchen chair. “Hugh Jefferson is a wealthy businessman from Chicago. He bought several old warehouse properties along the Milwaukee River and apparently promised to bring in businesses, but then changed his mind and decided to build condos instead. The city government wasn’t pleased and fought him tooth and nail, refusing to change the zoning permits. After a year-long debate, Jefferson finally got his permits and my company was awarded the construction contract. Despite the hassle of getting it approved, the project is nothing more than a real-estate endeavor. I can’t see how there’s anything dangerous about it.”

Mallory frowned and sat at the kitchen table across from Gage. She tried to make sense of the pieces, which frankly was easier than trying to remember. “I don’t understand. What gave Alyssa the impression it might be dangerous?”

Gage scrubbed his hands over his face. “She worked the trauma room the night City Councilman Ray Schaefer was brought in. Apparently he was mugged and stabbed twice in the abdomen. According to Alyssa, before he died he told her a guy hired by Hugh Jefferson stabbed him.”

“He died?” The blood-splattered clothes she’d been wearing flashed in her mind. Logically, she couldn’t imagine she’d been anywhere near the councilman who’d died, but then again, the doctor did say that her amnesia was the result of a traumatic event. Watching a man being stabbed certainly would be traumatic. Had she really been there? Was Schaefer the guy standing with her in the photo? Her nausea deepened.

“Yeah, but according to a statement made by the chief of police, Councilman Schaefer was killed in a simple mugging, and they’d already caught the gang member who’d done the crime. The councilman was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the kid had stabbed him as part of a gang-initiation dare.”

So she hadn’t been there. Her relief was quickly replaced with fear. “But what if the chief of police is wrong?”

Gage’s face reflected his skepticism. “How could he be wrong? They caught the guy—it was all over the news.”

“Yet Alyssa sounded frantic and claimed the project was dangerous.” She tried to curb the rising panic.

“Thinking the worst isn’t going to help.” Gage’s expression was one of sheer determination. “I have to believe Alyssa is all right. And I have to trust that we’re going to find her.”

Arguing wouldn’t help, so she let the matter drop. Think. She needed to think. “Okay, if Alyssa was worried about something shady going on, what would she do?”

“She tried coming to me.” Gage stared down at his hands for a long moment. Self-reproach shimmered from his cinnamon-colored eyes. Sympathy stirred deep in her heart. He really cared about her sister. And the radiant happiness reflected in Alyssa’s eyes on the glossy photo was a strong indication she felt the same way about him.

The two of them deserved to find happiness together. She should be thrilled for them. So why did she feel depressed?

Gage raised anguished eyes to hers. “Since I refused to help, I’m not sure what she’d do. I left a message with a friend of mine who might be able to help find her. I checked her place, but she’s not there. I even stopped at my house, but she wasn’t there, either. All I know for sure is that she called you.”

Mallory nearly apologized, before she caught herself. “Okay, obviously Alyssa’s not here. Who are Alyssa’s closest friends? People from work? Maybe she’s staying with one of them because she was afraid to be alone?”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Gage brightened, as if he hadn’t considered that option. “I think Paige Sanders and Emma Banks are her closest friends from work. We can start with them.”

“And what if they’re not home, or don’t want to talk to us?” She watched as Gage swiftly paged through the phone book.

“We’ll find a way to make them talk.” He scowled darkly. “Because I’m not leaving until we have answers.”

* * *

Gage slammed the phone book shut with a sense of frustration. He wasn’t close to Alyssa’s friends, another thing she’d complained about while they were engaged, and he soon realized he didn’t know if either of the women were married, which meant they might not be listed under their own last name in the directory.

Finally he asked Mallory to call Trinity Medical Center, pretending to be Alyssa to request the numbers. He wasn’t surprised when she was readily given the information. Mallory sounded more like Alyssa now that she had amnesia than she did before. He tried to put his finger on the difference. Maybe because the brittle edge had vanished from her tone.

Mallory acted more like Alyssa now, too. Not only was the sharp edge gone, but she didn’t flirt the way she had before she’d hit her head. Even her clothes were more conservative than usual.

Thankfully, after that fiasco in the kitchen, she’d kept her distance from him. Which was a huge relief.

He felt bad for her. Having amnesia couldn’t be easy. His memories of Alyssa were painful, but at least he had them. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like if he couldn’t remember Alyssa.

“I have the phone numbers,” Mallory said. He gratefully took the slip of paper and then used directory assistance to get addresses. At least they still had home phone numbers, because cell numbers would have been a dead end. Finally they were ready to leave. Hoping Jonah Stewart, his detective friend, would return his call soon, he waited, rather impatiently, while Mallory grabbed her massive purse and slung it over her shoulder.

She must not have noticed his impatience, because she grinned at him. “Okay. I’m ready, Freddie.”

For a moment he stared at her in shock. I’m ready, Freddie, was a phrase Alyssa had often used, but had he ever heard Mallory say it? He tried to think back but couldn’t honestly remember. She sounded too much like Alyssa, which made it harder to remember that he didn’t like her. Normally Mallory was easy to dismiss. Especially since he’d already fallen for Alyssa.

He jerked the door open, and then paused to glance back at Mallory. Was it possible that Mallory was really more like Alyssa than he’d ever realized? She’d never acted anything like her twin, until now. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything?” he couldn’t help asking.

“Oh, sure, I’m faking amnesia.” She rolled her eyes with exasperation. “Of course I don’t remember. Why would I bother to pretend?” Mallory truly looked perplexed.

To be more like Alyssa. To make me like you. Gage bit back the words before they could slip off his tongue. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

He closed and locked Mallory’s door then headed for the glass elevator. He kept his gaze straight ahead. He wasn’t particularly fond of heights. But he also refused to cave in to his fear. If anyone on a construction site knew he built tall buildings but was afraid of heights, he’d be the topic of endless jokes. Even on-site, he forced himself to manage every phase of a building project, even if that meant going up to the top.

He was glad when they reached the lobby level. Outside the sun was shining and puffy white clouds dotted the sky, the wind off the lake bringing a gust of cool air. A nice day, but he didn’t care. Alyssa was missing and he was stuck with Mallory. He couldn’t relax, not until he knew Alyssa was safe.

He glanced at Mallory, surprised when he saw her blue eyes filled with stark apprehension as she glanced around as if she’d never seen this part of the city before.

He’d wanted Mallory to come with him because he thought Alyssa’s friends would respond better to her twin. He could only assume Alyssa had told her closest friends how they’d broken up. He and Alyssa had known each other for only about three months before getting engaged, and they’d tended to keep to themselves. He had no idea what reason Alyssa had given her friends for breaking off their engagement, but he suspected Alyssa confided that he was the problem.

Mallory stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing another couple to step around her. Lost in thoughts of Alyssa, Gage followed too close and smacked his chin on her head.

“Ow.” She rubbed the top of her head. He hastily backed up, putting at least a foot of space between them. “This is so frustrating. I’m walking along like I should know where we’re going, but I don’t.”

“Over there.” Gage nodded toward his truck, parked a few car lengths down the street. “The blue pickup.”

“What about the rest of them?” She waited for several pedestrians to pass by before gesturing toward the scattered cars parked along the street. “Do you think my car is here somewhere?”

“You drive a three-year-old red Mustang convertible.” He didn’t see the car, and that was strange. Where would Mallory have left it? Near the spot where the ambulance picked her up?

“Maybe someone stole it.” Mallory scowled.

Gage didn’t answer. An old-model beige Cadillac moved slowly down the street. Odd, how it didn’t accelerate. Especially with no stop sign in sight. The clouds shifted from the sun and something glinted brightly from the partially open window of the backseat.

Long and narrow, he belatedly recognized the barrel of a gun.

“Get down!” Gage grabbed Mallory and shoved her down behind the parked cars. He dropped on top of her, protecting her body with his. Within seconds a storm of bullets showered the area around them.