Читать книгу A Stranger She Can Trust - Regan Black - Страница 12
ОглавлениеCarson dug through the glove box for a second pair of sunglasses, relieved that one of his sisters had left a pair behind at some point. He wasn’t embarrassed by Melissa’s battered face and didn’t want her to be, either, but he felt that the less they advertised it, the better. For both of them.
He’d been working through the blurry pieces of Melissa’s puzzle Detective Werner had given them. Hearing her name and that of a close friend hadn’t triggered any reaction for her. Yet. The brain was tricky terrain, and he wished she hadn’t been forced to hear even that much before she was ready.
Her friend had been dumped in the river by a killer who hadn’t bothered to remove any identifiers. Not a good sign. In Carson’s limited experience, that meant the killer wasn’t worried about being identified, and yet no one had come after Melissa. Had she escaped from the situation Friday night, or had she been left for dead?
If Noelle’s coworkers knew she and Melissa were friends, how long would it take before the detective or reporters searching for a story plastered Melissa’s face across the media?
He decided to take his own advice and not push himself. It wasn’t his job to solve the case, only to keep an eye on Melissa. “If you feel weak or sick,” he said as they neared the ticket booth at the front of the zoo, “let me know and we’ll go.”
“Are you second guessing this outing?” she asked when they’d purchased their tickets.
“Not really,” he replied. “Fresh air and sunshine will do you good. And being active should help you ward off sore muscles, too.” He handed her the zoo map.
“Is it so obvious?”
“Only to a trained observer.” He smiled, pleased when her mouth curled up and her eyes sparkled in return. They veered left, meandering by the hot-air balloon and down the tree-lined path toward the African Plains exhibits. Between keeping an eye on her and the families around them, he discovered the fresh air and sunshine were giving him a boost, too.
It was soon evident they both enjoyed people watching, or at least, this side of her enjoyed it. When they sat down to a late lunch, she was full of questions about both the nightclub and his adventures as a paramedic. Whether it was because he expected her to be a short-term intrusion in his life or out of respect for her situation, he found it easy to talk with her. Before long, he’d shared a couple of the strangest calls he and Sarah had handled.
“Why did the detective call you washed-out? Wait.” She held up a hand before he could think how to evade the question. “Don’t answer that. It was too nosy. I must be a real pain in the butt at parties,” she added absently.
The remark had him laughing until his sides hurt. First time since Sarah’s death that had happened. “Only Sarah could make me laugh that hard,” he admitted when he finally caught his breath. “It’s a reasonable question.”
“You still don’t have to answer.” She tore a french fry in two and nibbled on one piece.
“I want to,” he said, surprising himself that his immediate reply was true. “Sarah died on a call just over eight months ago.” 255 days. The math was automatic. “She was shot by thugs determined to rob the rig. I couldn’t st-stabilize her.”
“That must have been awful, Carson. I’m so sorry.”
“It was the worst night of my life.” He rolled his shoulders against the flood of sympathy. At least the sunglasses hid the pity surely lurking in her pretty brown eyes. “I haven’t gone back to full-time since, though I sub in for paramedics once in a while.”
“You don’t want to get close to another partner.”
He nodded. “I appreciate you not adding your voice to the chorus of people telling me to get back in the saddle.”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you. No clue why, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a partnership as deep as you clearly had with Sarah. I can see what she meant to you.”
“Still.” He balled up the paper from his burger and held it in his fist while he searched for his composure.
“Were you more than friends and coworkers?” She waved her hands. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“No,” he answered, anyway.
“Make me another promise.” She wrinkled her nose as she leaned closer. “Please?”
“We’ll see.” He wasn’t sure making promises to her was the wise thing to do.
“When my memory returns, ask me the most personal, embarrassing questions you can think of. I mean it,” she added when he laughed. “I deserve every single one of them.”
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked instead.
“Purple,” she replied instantly. “Wait. How did you know to try that?”
“It’s one of the questions I asked you last night, just to see if the answer stayed the same.”
“Did it? I was so exhausted, I barely remember you coming in.”
He grinned at her. “Yes.”
“I’ll take that as a good sign and the first piece of me coming back.” She bounced a little in her seat.
“We’ll find out soon enough, I think.”
“You’re a good man, Carson. However I wound up at the Escape Club last night, I’m glad you were there to help me out.”
“Any of the staff would have done the same,” he said, ducking the praise. “Grant trains all of us to be aware and help discreetly.” With every hour she seemed more at ease, despite her lack of personal history. Her ability to roll with her circumstances baffled him and, to his shame, stirred up a little resentment. He felt constantly battered by his memories of the night Sarah died.
His knee was an achy distraction by the time they finished their circuit and returned to the main gate, but he was glad they’d come. She was moving better and seemed refreshed overall. He offered to buy her a shirt from the gift shop, to add to the few possessions she could call her own, but she turned it down, claiming she owed him enough.
“Do you want to go by your place for clothing or anything else you might need?” he asked as they returned to his truck.
“We probably should. Do you know my address? Good grief, that sounds so weird to ask.”
“I’ll get it from Grant.” Carson sent the text and had a reply before they left the parking lot. She lived only a few blocks away from the museum, and when he told her, she eagerly gazed out the windows.
“Something pulls me to that building,” she said, twisting around in her seat when they passed the museum again.
“It’s designed to pull attention,” he agreed.
“More than that. I’m going to take it as a good sign that maybe this version of me isn’t too far off from the real me.”
“I’ve never believed anyone could stray too far from their basic nature.” He felt the curiosity in her gaze and focused on the driving.
“You don’t believe people can change?”
“Habits? Sure. People can and should grow through life,” he said. “I just think some people are inherently nice or awkward or have a built-in mean streak. They can mask those traits, learn to use them, but they can’t alter what’s ingrained.”
She made a little humming sound and started drumming her fingertips on her thigh. “What traits define you?”
Cowardice, he thought, immediately aggravated by the first word that popped into his head. “I’d define myself as helpful and compassionate.” And, gee, didn’t that sound exciting?
“Based on our short acquaintance, I’d agree.” She whistled. “This is so weird, knowing concepts and stuff without knowing who I am or where I come from.”
Carson was inordinately relieved to shift the subject into the safer territory of her. “You’ll get there, Melissa.” He’d decided to use her name. It wasn’t as if they could put that genie back in the bottle, anyway. While pushing her could be counterproductive, the sooner she recovered, the sooner he could resume his routine. He’d been smart to stick with being a paramedic, a job in which he could treat and transport and hand off the patient for long-term care. Spending these hours with Melissa—a patient—through her recovery was messing with his head and tempering his resolve to avoid connections. Talking with her exposed that raw, gaping hole where his best friend had been and left him vulnerable to every emotional assault.
He parked at the curb and studied the corner lot and the three-story home that had been converted into separate apartments. “Do you want to go inside and get some things? According to the address, your apartment is on the third floor.”
“I don’t even know how to get inside,” she pointed out, shying away from the window.
“We can ask a neighbor or look for where you hid your spare key. Most people do that.”
“A key, right,” she whispered, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Why don’t I have my key? I don’t remember if I trust my neighbors. I must. I live here, right?” Her teeth caught her lip, and she hissed at the pain. “This is a bad idea.” Her gaze raked the street, her house and back again. “I can’t do this.” Her breath came in shallow sips. “Nothing here feels right. This isn’t home. It’s wrong.” She closed her eyes tight, curling in on herself, and wrapped her hands around her head. “Not home. My head hurts, Carson.”
Her sudden reversal scared the crap out of him. He understood memory lapses from trauma, understood some people never recovered all the pieces relating to a violent event or accident. Several of the first responders he counted as friends had blank spaces and never remembered all the details of severe injuries that had occurred. Still, he’d never seen any of them experience the stark fear stamped all over Melissa right now.
He released her seat belt and dragged her to his side of the truck cab. Her body shook like a leaf in a hard wind. Out of better ideas, he wrapped his arms around her, silently willing her to calm down as he searched for the right thing to say or do.
“Easy. Just breathe.” He muttered more nonsensical suggestions, most of them probably useless, until eventually her body gave in and relaxed. “It will be fine. It’s all going to be fine.” A lie if ever he told one, since he had zero idea how any of this would work out for her.
At last she pushed back from him, blotting her face with the cuff of her denim jacket. “This isn’t home, Carson.”
“Okay.” Maybe she’d moved and hadn’t updated her information yet. Although it wasn’t a definitive reason to take her to a hospital, he’d have to let Grant know about her panic attack at the sight of her house. “Can you tell me what home looks like?”
“No,” she murmured. She scooted back to the passenger seat and snapped her seat belt. “I’m trying. Can I please abuse your hospitality a little longer? And borrow more clothes from your sisters?”
“Sure thing.” He was thinking he should probably call his sisters in to give her someone else to lean on. It was only a matter of time before he made a mistake and let her down.
She pulled the matchbook from her pocket, then the business card. “I didn’t have a purse. Today every woman I’ve seen has been carrying some kind of purse or tote. What happened to mine?”
He wished he had an answer. Carson pulled away from the converted house and decided to take the long route to his place. Whether it was the scenery, lack of a formal destination or some other reason, being on the move seemed to soothe her. “After an accident or an emergency, a lot of female patients ask that question,” he said after they’d left her neighborhood. “About the purse, I mean. It’s a kind of lifeline. Grant and Werner will already have people on alert for action on your credit cards or identification. You may feel alone and disconnected, but there are people in your corner.”
“People who have no way of knowing if I’m worth their effort,” she said.
He reached over and covered her hand with his. “You’re worth it.”
She just shook her head, her dark hair swaying over her shoulder. “I hope you’re right.”
“It is absolutely normal to be scared, Melissa. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” He was definitely a coward, wishing he could wipe out his final memories of Sarah. He’d tried everything to forget, to no avail. He understood how the department chaplain and others wanted to help, but that horrible night wouldn’t fade.
“That house was really my address?” she asked, drawing him away from what had become a familiar slide into despair.
He cleared his throat and focused on her. His personal problems would be there after her situation was resolved. “According to the records that popped up with your fingerprints.” She sounded stronger with the distance from her apartment. “Maybe the record needs to be updated.”
“Home isn’t one place,” she whispered a few minutes later.
“Pardon?”
“I don’t know, but it feels right. Home isn’t one place,” she repeated. “Home is...” Her voice trailed off, and she groaned. “It was right there, a glimpse of my memory, and I lost it.”
“For now. I think that’s a good sign you’ll make a full recovery.” He glanced over and saw the frown tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Relax. Paramedic’s orders.”
He saw the ploy worked when she smiled at him. “Thanks for putting up with me.”
“No problem.” And it wasn’t. He hadn’t been all that comfortable with the idea at first, concerned that she might need medical attention more than his observation. While he didn’t think she was completely out of the woods yet, he wasn’t worried that they were doing more harm by honoring her wish to avoid hospitals.
Her panic wouldn’t help her amnesia recovery or anything else. “Let’s go see if my sister came through with the arnica oil, and we’ll just take it easy for the rest of the day.”
“You can do that?”
He nodded. “Can and will.” With luck, having Melissa at the house would be enough of a distraction to ward off the loneliness and flashes of Sarah’s voice and face that he dealt with day in and day out.
* * *
Melissa found an absurd comfort and sense of peace in her head and her heart when she saw the small, dark bottle of arnica oil on Carson’s kitchen counter. The note from his sister left him shaking his head, and she wondered again if she was an only child. Or maybe she was an orphan. The detective hadn’t mentioned that she had any family in the city, only a job and a friend. A dead friend.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took the oil to the downstairs bathroom and smoothed the oil onto the battered skin. When she finished, she stretched out on the couch to watch television in Carson’s den, again relaxing per paramedic’s orders.
She learned that resting a brain wasn’t as easy as it should have been, especially for her, with no memories, responsibilities or guilt to get in the way.
Though she didn’t feel tired, she discovered the afternoon had slipped away and the sun had set when she woke to warm, savory scents drifting on the air. She stretched and sat up, trying to feel like Melissa Baxter. Giving up on that exercise after several wasted minutes, she walked into the kitchen and found Carson hunched over his phone at the island.
Though he turned and smiled, she caught the shadows of sadness in his hazel eyes. “Something smells fantastic,” she said.
“It’s Becky’s famous lasagna. She’s the chef in the family.”
“Did she come by to check on you?” She bit back the query of how much he’d shared about her. Maybe his family was simply trying to make sure his forgetful patient, who was also a possible murderer, hadn’t decided to take a second life in as many days.
“Yes. They’ve all been hovering more after...after Sarah died.”
“Oh.” That must have been a nice feeling, to have someone care and hover and check in. “Do you think the detective is keeping me away from my family?”
“Huh?” Carson tilted his head. “That’s a good question. I don’t see how that would help his case or you, either, but I can double-check with Grant if it bothers you.”
She studied the label on the bottle of arnica oil. Had someone cared enough to teach her about this trick, or was it something she’d taught herself? “I’m not bothered, exactly. I guess I’m just trying to figure out how much trouble I’m in.”
“Stop trying to figure out anything and let your mind rest. If Werner had some valid evidence that you killed someone, you’d be in custody, amnesia or not.”
“Right.”
At Carson’s direction, she tossed fresh salad greens together with a blue cheese dressing that appealed to her taste buds after tasting the options he had on hand. She set the serving bowl on the table while he served each of them a hearty square of the cheesy lasagna.
Carson made small talk about the Escape Club and how and why Grant Sullivan had opened the place. It made her sad to hear he’d been wounded in the line of duty, but she smiled at the man’s triumph over the situation. “You should hear him on drums,” Carson said. “He could’ve made a career out of that.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“The man is third-generation cop. It’s hardwired into his DNA. If I had to guess, the music is his release valve and serves him better that way.”
Every conversation she had created more questions about who she was and what might be hardwired into her. Did she have passions and release valves? Generations of family she’d followed into her career at the museum? She liked music, but she didn’t think she played an instrument. She’d had a great time at the zoo with both the animals and people watching. Did that mean she worked with the public?
“I can practically hear the gears turning in your head.” Carson pointed his fork at her plate. “Focus on the food, just the food for now.”
She did as he asked, simply in honor of the way he’d upended his life for her. “Is this the house where you grew up?”
He shook his head. “My parents are too glued to their empty nest to vacate. They finally remodeled after my youngest sister moved out. I got to pitch in because they used a friend of mine in the fire department for the interior updates. They claim the house is now fortified and ready for grandkids to wreck it.”
“Are there grandkids?”
“Two so far, courtesy of Renee and her husband. She’s the one who brought over the oil.”
“Oh, I should thank her for that.”
Carson chuckled. “Trust me, the fact that I asked for it is all the encouragement and praise she needs.”
Melissa grinned at him. “You work with a construction company in addition to shifts at the club and your job as a paramedic?”
He nodded, and something niggled at the edge of her mind, as if that movement should have been familiar.
“You could say the release valve for me is demo day on a construction site.”
She studied his face and hands, remembered the strength in his arms when he’d held her during her meltdown in the truck. “I can see that.”
“Can you?”
She grinned, as curious about her observation as he seemed to be. “Nothing more objective than a stranger,” she quipped. “Good grief. That sounds like something I heard as a kid.”
“I think your parents must be unique people.”
She’d hoped he would toss out more theories so she could see if they fit, but he dug into his meal instead. She did the same, although the silence was companionable and comforting.
“Your eye is looking better,” he said as they took care of the dishes together. “Not as puffy and definitely not as colorful. Renee won’t let me live it down.”
When they finished the meal, Melissa covered the lasagna pan with foil and slid it into the refrigerator while Carson loaded the dishwasher. “Your sister has a gift,” she said, pressing a hand to her stomach. “That was divine.”
“Agreed.” At the sink, Carson dried his hands and folded the towel over one of the hooks at the end of the counter. “Is your headache gone?”
“Yes, thanks to you.”
“See? There’s one more reason I’m sure you’re not the problem child in this equation.”
The remark caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”
“You’re thoughtful, kind and quick to show gratitude.”
“Are you saying that in some subtle effort to encourage my memory?”
He shook his head. “I only want to reinforce that you’re in a safe place when your memory returns.”
She appreciated the gesture and his efforts, so much that she had to blink back a rush of tears. Crying didn’t seem like something she normally indulged in, and it felt as if she’d hit her quota outside what they’d been told was her apartment.
“Feel like a movie?” he asked.
“Sure. As long as you choose.”
“Can’t remember any favorites?” he queried with an easy smile.
“Not so far.” The idea of watching a movie made her feel lighthearted, as if it was some kind of rare treat. That didn’t make much sense if she had her own place, but whatever. She had to let her mind come back online at its own pace.
Carson chose a romantic comedy his sisters loved. The blend of action, romance, laughter and fun held her attention. She relaxed, curled into the corner of his big couch and just let the story wash over her. When the credits rolled, she was smiling and full of good feelings with only the smallest twinge of a headache behind her eyes. “That was a great idea.”
“I’m glad.” He walked over, ejected the DVD and returned it to the case.
His entertainment system switched over to the television broadcast, and she recognized the anchors on the news. Considering that small revelation progress, she begged Carson to let her watch for a few minutes. Suddenly her face filled the screen along with her name. Melissa froze as a picture of Noelle Anson followed, along with overhead views of the place where the body was found. The view changed again, showing a reporter standing outside a hospital where Noelle’s coworkers had created a makeshift memorial.
She heard Carson’s voice, muffled and distant, then closer. The reporter’s voice died and the television screen went black. Carson held her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Melissa! Melissa, breathe.”
Had she stopped breathing? His hands were on her arms, rubbing briskly. She was so cold and trembling again.
“Breathe. Slow and easy,” he said over and over. “Look at me now. Come on.”
She followed the sound of his voice, struggled to cooperate with his requests. Her eyes locked with his, registering the abject worry in his hazel eyes. “What is wrong with me?”
“Trauma. It leaves a ton of wreckage.”
She heard the experience and pure sympathy in his voice. If he could get over what happened to his ambulance partner, she could fight back from this abyss to help her friend.
“Did they say they were looking for leads?”
“Yes.”
“Looking for information on me?”
“They said they were looking for people who saw you together last night.”
She had a sudden fear that this mess would cost her the museum job. On instinct alone she knew that kind of fallout would be awful for her. On the heels of that, she felt dreadful that she’d apparently lost a good friend and was selfish enough to worry about her work rather than a woman’s life. “I’m a terrible person,” she muttered.
“You didn’t hurt your friend.”
“I want to believe you. I almost do. But my friend is dead, and inside—” she tapped her fingers over her heart “—I’m actually worried about my job.” She couldn’t look at him. It was bad enough to say it all out loud. She couldn’t bear to see the judgment in his eyes.
Carson tipped up her face so she had to look at him. “That’s human, Melissa.”
“I don’t even remember what I do.” Her voice cracked on a borderline hysterical laugh. “I don’t—”
She gasped when Carson tugged her to her feet and nudged her along to the kitchen.
“Chocolate. You’ll have something sweet, and then we’re going to bed.”
“What?” The image of being in bed beside his lean, warm body gave her mind something new and tempting to latch onto. An utterly inappropriate choice, but she couldn’t reel it back in.
“I, ah. I didn’t say that quite right. Have a seat.” He guided her to the counter stool. “I have it on good authority, which adds up to pretty much every woman I know, that chocolate fixes everything. So you’ll have chocolate and then you’re going up to your room and sleeping. You don’t have to worry about me interrupting you at all tonight.”
“Okay.” Sleeping alone in the twin bed didn’t hold as much appeal as sleeping beside him, but it was the smart solution. He was taking care of her, and she’d have been crazy to give in to the attraction pulsing through her blood at the moment. “Chocolate sounds perfect,” she managed.
A slice of cake appeared in front of her. It was airy and nearly black, and the aroma alone eased her frayed nerves.
“Ice cream?” Carson had a small pint of ice cream in one hand, scoop ready in the other.
“No, thank you.”
“More for me,” he said with an easy shrug. He topped his slice of the dark cake with a generous scoop of ice cream and then returned the remaining ice cream to the freezer. He raised his fork in a dessert version of a toast, and they dug in.
The cake was amazing, the rich cocoa flavor melting in her mouth. “Your sister again?”
“Yes,” he said. “But this is a family recipe. My mom used to make this all the time because it’s so fast and easy.”
“This?” She turned her plate, wondering how something so intense and delicious could be easy. “If we find out I like to cook, I want the recipe.”
“Deal.”
She believed he’d honor that deal, just as he kept his word and insisted she head straight up to the bedroom as soon as she finished her cake. He refused her offer to take care of the dishes, practically pushing her up the stairs.
In the bathroom, she washed her face, brushed her hair and teeth, and changed into the T-shirt he’d brought in for her last night. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
This time she pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets, but sleep eluded her. Staring up at the dark ceiling, she thought about Carson’s confidence in her, even without her memories. She prayed her mind would cooperate soon. The police needed to know who had killed her friend and beaten her up. She had to remember, no matter what those memories revealed about who she was and how she was involved.
