Читать книгу Diagnosis: Attraction - Rebecca York - Страница 10

Chapter Four

When Polly opened the front door, Matt stepped into the living room. “Thanks for calling me.”

“I didn’t mean to drag you over, but thanks for coming,” the nurse said.

“I was telling myself it was unethical to keep seeing Elizabeth. Now I think it’s unethical not to, if I think she’s in trouble.”

Mrs. Kramer nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Where is she?”

“In the kitchen. Cooking dinner. I thought it would give her something to do.”

Matt took an appreciative sniff. “Smells good. Did you have to help her, or did she remember how to fix a meal?”

“I just showed her around the kitchen, and she got busy all by herself.”

“Good.”

They walked to the back of the house and stopped short when they saw the kitchen was empty, a simmering pot was on the stove, and the back door was open.

“Where is she?” Matt asked, feeling his stomach knot.

“She was right here,” Polly murmured.

Matt looked toward the open back door and cursed under his breath. “Did you say something that would frighten her?”

“I told her a man who called himself Bob Wilson had been asking for her at the nurses’ station. That was before I called you, and you said the same guy had been to your office.”

Matt clenched his fists as he walked to the back door and looked out at the darkened yard. “She must have heard the doorbell, assumed the worst and ran. You look through the house in case she changed her mind and ducked back inside. I’ll look outside.”

“I’m sorry. I should have warned her that you were coming over,” Polly said.

“We’ll find her,” he said, to reassure himself and Mrs. Kramer. As he stepped onto the cracked patio, a security light came on.

“Elizabeth. Elizabeth, it’s me. Matt Delano,” he called.

When she didn’t answer, he looked around. Polly’s yard butted against the property in back of her and to the sides. Elizabeth would have to climb over several fences to get far. His gaze landed on the metal storage shed just inside the range of the security light.

Quickly he hurried to the door and thrust it open, although he didn’t charge inside, because his experiences in Africa had taught him not to rush into an enclosed space if he didn’t know who might be in there. Lucky for him. He jumped back as a baseball bat came swooshing down. It missed his head by less than an inch.

The woman holding the weapon stared at him. “Oh, Lord, Matthew. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Polly told you someone called the nurses’ station, right?”

“Yes.”

“I think the same guy came to my office after he tried to get information from the staff. He said you were Elizabeth Simmons.”

“That doesn’t sound right. I mean the last name.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged, looking so lost and helpless that his heart turned over. But she wasn’t exactly helpless. Instinct had told her to run when she’d heard the doorbell ring. And she’d been prepared to defend herself.

He had vowed not to touch her again, yet the desperate look on her face drew him forward. Unable to stop himself, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms, holding her close as he stepped into the shed.

“She’s not inside. Did you find her?” Polly’s voice called from behind him.

“Yes. She’s fine. She’s in here. We’ll be right there,” he managed to say, amazed that he sounded so rational when his brain and his senses were already on overload.

He said they were coming back, but he didn’t move, only absorbed the reality of Elizabeth’s body molded against his.

He had been trying to stay away from her. Now he knew that was an impossible goal. Not when they already meant more to each other than anyone had ever meant to either one of them. It was a crazy evaluation. How could two people who had just met mean everything to each other? But he knew it was true as he wrapped her more tightly in his arms.

In the hospital he’d barely touched her—just his hand on her arm at first—and the memories had come. Then holding her closer had been enough to trigger additional memories and so much more. Now they were alone in a dark, private space where it was impossible to pull away from each other. At least that was the way it felt.

Her own arms came up and locked around his waist, holding him close, and he was lost to everything except the woman in his arms. Her sweet scent, the feel of her silky skin, the crush of her body against his.

The same thing happened as before. Memories flooded through him. Her memories. And he knew she was picking up things from him—things that he had tried hard to forget. He was traveling through the backcountry, and he had come to a village that looked deserted. But the smell rising from the huts told him a different story.

He forced himself to look in one, seeing the mangled bodies of a mother, a father and three children piled on the floor. He backed out, retching, unable to understand why anyone had felt compelled to slaughter innocent civilians who were just trying to live their lives as best they could. Had the rebels done it or the government? He didn’t even know.

He thrust away the horrible images and slammed into one of Elizabeth’s memories. An early recollection that had always torn at her. She was in an elementary-school classroom. He saw bright pictures on the wall, pictures painted by the students. And words that might be the spelling lesson for the week.

She was sitting in a chair, watching as other children leaped up and ran to their parents. It must be some sort of special school day, and everyone was hugging and interacting. But Elizabeth sat in her seat, and her mother was standing near the door. Finally Elizabeth got up and ran to the woman, the way the other children had done. But it wasn’t the same. Elizabeth knew it wasn’t the same, and so did her mother. They were separated in ways that Elizabeth didn’t understand. She wanted desperately to bridge that gap, but she didn’t know how.

The scene was an echo of his own memories. His parents had been well-off. They’d wanted the best for their son—and they’d given Matt everything they could. Even love. And Matt had tried to respond, but he simply couldn’t give them what they craved from him. What he craved, if he were honest about it.

And now he suddenly had what he had always been searching for, from a woman who was a stranger.

In her memory, he saw another scene. She was an adult now, bending over a bed, comforting a young and beautiful Asian woman who turned her head away and wouldn’t look her in the eye.

All of the memories—his and hers—made him sad. It was much more gratifying to focus on the here and now—on the woman he held in his arms.

His head had started to pound, but he ignored the pain as he moved farther back into the shed, taking her with him. The door was at an angle that made it close behind them, shutting them inside. In the dark, they clung to each other for support and a whole lot of other reasons.

He hadn’t admitted it, but he had needed so much more from her since the first moment he had touched her. Now, here, he couldn’t resist the pull. Unable to stop himself, he lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss that was almost frantic. His lips moved over hers, and he smiled when he realized she’d been tasting the dish she was cooking on the stove.

But he stopped thinking about the chili as he stroked his hands up and down her back. Seeking more, he lifted the hem of the T-shirt she was wearing and slipped his hands underneath, flattening them against her warm skin, loving the feel of her and the contact that was so much more than he could put into words.

He knew he was arousing her, just as she knew she was arousing him. Holding her, kissing her, touching her was so very sexual, even with the underlying layers of memories from her past and his.

He’d made love with women before, looking for something that he was sure he wasn’t going to find. Sex had always been physically satisfying, but there had invariably been something missing, the same disappointment that had dogged his life.

Again he knew it was like that for her. Searching and never finding. Until now.

I didn’t go out and sleep with a bunch of guys.

I know. I was just thinking how it was the same for you. Disappointing.

The exchange stunned him. Neither of them had spoken aloud, yet he’d clearly heard her respond to his thought. And he had responded to hers.

That was enough of a shock to make him drop his hands and step back. What was he doing? What were they doing?

And he was glad he had broken the contact when the door of the shed opened. Whirling, he found himself staring at Polly Kramer.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No. We were just coming back to the house,” Matt managed to say, hearing the thick quality of his own voice and not quite able to meet the older woman’s eyes.

“Are you all right?” Polly asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth ran a hand through her hair. “Yes.”

Polly turned back to the house, and Matt waited a beat before asking Elizabeth, “Does your head hurt?”

“Yes. What do you think that means, Doctor?”

He laughed. “I can speculate, but I don’t know.”

By mutual agreement, he turned and walked out of the shed, and she followed. He didn’t have to see her to know she was walking behind him.

He wanted to talk about what had happened between them. The sexual pull. The memories. And something even more startling. Actual words exchanged in their heads.

“You heard what I said?” he asked.

“Yes.”

There was no need to explain he was talking about the silent exchange.

“I turned the chili down,” Mrs. Kramer said when they stepped into the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth answered. She went straight to the pot, stirred it and tasted.

“How is it?” Matt asked, his voice still sounding not quite normal.

“Good.”

“We should eat,” Mrs. Kramer said. “You two sit down, and I’ll serve.”

“I can get us all a glass of water,” Matt said, thinking it was a lame comment. But everything felt stilted now except the intimacy of being with Elizabeth.

“We can serve ourselves from the stove,” Mrs. Kramer said.

They all did, then sat at the table, which would be a perfectly normal thing to do, except that nothing would ever be normal again.

That was a pretty exaggerated way to put it, but Matt knew it was true.

“Where are you from?” Elizabeth asked him, startling him by breaking into his overblown thoughts.

He struggled to deal with the question. “New Orleans.”

“What did your parents do?”

“My dad was an oil company executive. My mom sort of did the country-club thing. They live in Santa Barbara, California, now.”

“Were you an only child?”

“Yes,” he answered, thinking that his mother had told him she’d had a lot of trouble getting pregnant. She’d been torn between wanting another child and not wanting to go through the rigors of a fertility clinic again. Although that had been her decision, she’d made it clear that he hadn’t been the loving son she’d wanted. But he didn’t tell the women he dated any of that.

“Did you grow up down there?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth was staring off into space.

“What?” he asked.

“New Orleans.”

“What about it?”

“I remember stuff about the city. I mean I can picture...Jackson Square,” she said.

“You’ve probably seen pictures.”

“I think I’ve been there. And the French Market.”

“Okay.”

He waited for her to give him more information, but she only shook her head. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

“We’ll assume you’re right.”

“If it’s true, it gives us something in common.”

He nodded, wondering if it was important, and why it might be.

“Do you know how to cook pain perdu?” he asked.

“French toast?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s easy.”

“What about gumbo?”

“I have a general idea of what’s in it, but I’d have to look up a recipe if I wanted to make some.”

“Most people would, I think.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Where are you from?”

The answer to the question lurked below the surface of her mind. “Nice try,” she murmured.

“I thought I’d give it a shot.”

They were all silent for several moments while they ate.

“Well, this chili is delicious,” Mrs. Kramer said, as she spooned up more of the beans and beef mixture.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth answered.

Again they resumed eating, and Mrs. Kramer broke the silence once more as they finished the meal. “How did you get so far north?” she asked Matt.

“I went to medical school at Hopkins. After...” He stopped and glanced at Elizabeth. “After Africa, I decided Baltimore was as good a place as any to practice medicine.”

“You intend to settle down here?” Mrs. Kramer asked.

He involuntarily glanced at Elizabeth again, thinking that everything they said had a double meaning or a subcontext that only the two of them could really follow.

“I...don’t know.” He cleared his throat, changing the subject abruptly as he looked at Elizabeth. “Do you want to try hypnosis?”

“What?”

“With many people, it can help recover memories.”

“You mean now?”

“After we finish eating.”

“You know how to do it?”

“I had a class,” he said. “We could try it.”

Elizabeth gave that some consideration. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

“Just sit in a chair and relax.”

“I can clean up,” Polly said.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Elizabeth protested. “You already have a houseguest.”

“You cooked us a delicious meal. I’ll do the cleaning. That’s only fair.”

Matt and Elizabeth got up, carefully avoiding touching each other. They went into the living room where she glanced around, then settled into an overstuffed chair, looking apprehensive.

“What should I do?”

“Like I said, get comfortable.”

“That’s difficult.”

For a whole lot of reasons, some of them having to do with her situation and some with him, he knew.

He sat down on the sofa, trying to relax and not having perfect success.

“Lean back. Look up at the line where the wall meets the ceiling.”

“Why?”

“It puts your eyes at the right level.”

She did as he said, and he kept speaking to her in a soothing voice. “Relax now. Relax now. Relax now.”

He saw some of the tension drain out of her features.

“How do you feel?”

“Good.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. We’re just going to see if we can bring back more of your past.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

“And when I tell you to wake up, you will. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“We can start with a little mental vacation. Let’s go somewhere where you’d like to be.”

She thought about that. “I’m not sure.”

“Most people like the beach. Does that work for you?”

She waited a beat before answering, “Yes.”

“We’re at the beach. You’re on a chaise, lying in the sun. It feels good on your face and body. The waves are rolling up across the sand.”

“Um.”

“Let’s go a little deeper into relaxation. You go back to the resort where you’re staying. You go inside, and there’s a flight of steps. You go down, one step at a time.”

“Okay.”

“Every step takes you deeper into relaxation.” He could see from her face that it was working.

“What’s at the bottom of the stairs?” he asked.

Her body jerked.

“What?”

“Women. They’re frightened.”

“Why?”

“They’re a long way from home.” Her body jerked again. “I don’t want to be there.”

“Okay.”

Her eyes blinked open, focusing on him.

She looked so lost and alone that every instinct urged him to cross the room and take her in his arms again, but he knew that wasn’t such a great idea, given what happened every time they touched.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“You know what I’m thinking?”

“It’s all over your face.”

“Sorry I’m so transparent.”

“Not to most people, I think.”

“I want to ask about that memory.”

She shuddered. “It’s nothing good.”

“Is it something recent?”

Her vision turned inward. “I think so.”

“But you aren’t sure?”

“I’m betting it has to do with that man who was following me. Maybe I saw something I wasn’t supposed to. And the mob is after me.”

“The mob?”

“You have a better explanation?”

“I wish I knew, but the part about your stumbling into something sounds right.” He thought for a moment. “What kind of women?”

“Young and pretty.”

“What race?”

“Why are you asking?”

“You had a memory of an Asian woman before.”

“These were Caucasian.”

“Okay. Do you think it has anything to do with your job?”

“Good question.” She shook her head. “Maybe it would help to try word association.”

“I think we shouldn’t try to push this any further tonight. You’ve had a tiring day—coming off a mild concussion.”

“Yes, probably pushing to come up with any more answers right now is a waste of time.”

“I don’t want to leave you and Mrs. Kramer alone, with that Wilson guy out there.”

“I think we’ll be all right.”

“But you took off out the back when the doorbell rang.”

She shook her head. “Yeah. I’m jumpy, but that doesn’t mean it’s logical.”

He wrote down his cell phone number and set it on the coffee table. “Call me if anything worries you. Or if you have any memories.”

“I think the latter’s more likely when you’re around.”

He nodded, looking at her hand. It was so tempting to reach out and touch her. They’d get memories, all right. And a lot more.

She looked up at him and away, and it was obvious again that she knew what he was thinking.

“I’ll tell Mrs. Kramer I’m leaving.”

Elizabeth was still in the living room when he returned, and he had to force himself not to stop and touch her. And force himself to leave, for that matter. He’d forged a connection with this woman who didn’t even know her name, and he wanted to strengthen that connection. But nothing had changed as far as his ethics were concerned. He still had no business coming on to her.