Читать книгу Agent to the Rescue - Lisa Childs, Lisa Childs, Livia Reasoner - Страница 11
Оглавление“Are you sure you’re all right?” Dalton asked. He glanced over at the passenger’s seat to check on her. He expected to find her eyes closed as she rested or passed out from exhaustion. She had been through so much—had lost so much blood.
But the doctor had assured him that it would be all right to take her out of the hospital. And she had insisted that she was strong enough to be released.
Maybe she was right. She wasn’t sleeping or passed out. She leaned forward, straining against her seat belt, as she stared through the windshield. She had studied every street and building between the rural area of lower western Michigan and the urban skyline of Chicago as if trying to recognize it or hoping something might jog her memory.
The bridge rattled beneath the tires of the SUV as Dalton drove over the Chicago Skyway into the city. “Anything familiar?”
She groaned.
“I thought this would be too much for you,” he said. “You should have stayed at the hospital with Trooper Littlefield protecting you.” The local lawman had been offended when Dalton had asked him to protect an empty room. He thought that Dalton didn’t trust him anymore.
That hadn’t been the case at all, though.
He was pretty certain that the killer was watching her and waiting for another opportunity to get to her. So Dalton had wanted him to think that she was still at the hospital—still protected.
Instead of alone with just him for protection. But Blaine was on standby. Dalton could call him in or several other agents for backup...if he needed it. But nobody had followed him. He had taken a circuitous route and had kept a vigilant watch on the SUV’s rearview mirror. So he was certain they had no tail. But her attacker was the least of his concerns at the moment.
“Are you all right?” he asked. Her skin had grown pale again, making her red hair look even brighter and more vibrant. She had exchanged her hospital gown for clothes that Dalton had bought and sneaked into her room. She wore tan pants and a pale yellow blouse. There were other clothes in a small bag in the backseat, too. It had bothered her that she hadn’t been able to buy them herself. But along with her identity, her money and credit cards had been lost, too.
With obvious reluctance, she admitted, “My head is starting to hurt again.”
“Should I take you to a hospital?” he asked with alarm, even as he mentally clocked the distance to the closest one.
“No, the headache is my fault,” she said. “I think I’m trying too hard to remember—to find something familiar.”
His tension eased somewhat. Maybe she wasn’t medically in danger. But how about emotionally?
“Have you found anything familiar?” he asked.
“It’s Chicago,” she said. “Doesn’t everyone know what Chicago looks like—just like they know what New York looks like? It doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ve ever lived there or even been there. Maybe they just saw it on TV so many times or in movies or described in books that it feels familiar.”
“So it does feel familiar to you,” he deduced.
She uttered a small groan of frustration. “I just don’t know...”
“Close your eyes for a few minutes,” he suggested. “Relax.” He didn’t want her hurting herself.
She must have been exhausted, because she took his advice, but her rest didn’t last long. When he pulled into the downtown parking garage, she opened her eyes. “We’re here?”
