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Even if she did have amnesia, and even if she did look like Christie, it didn’t mean she was Megan’s mother. Mentally, he noted the differences in the two women. The voice. The clothing. The jewelry. The figure.

“Because you can’t remember who you are does not make you Christie Anderson,” he stated firmly, as much for her sake as for his.

“But I could be,” she said with a spark of hope in her eyes.

“No, you’re not Christie. She died, Faith.” He kept his voice deliberate. “Six months ago, while sailing her small boat. The St. Louis County coroner signed her death certificate.”

“You said they never found her body,” she reminded him.

He didn’t want to believe any of what she suggested could be true, nor did he want to remember that only a few hours ago he’d wondered about the very same possibility.