Running on Empty
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Jane lay watching him, memorizing his features, for fear that the next time she closed her eyes he would vanish from her memory. Vaguely she recalled being moved to a private room. She still felt a little groggy and slightly disoriented and her head ached something fierce. All things considered though, she didn’t seem to have been too badly damaged. Not physically, anyway. It would be awfully nice to know her own name, to know where she lived. She didn’t like being trapped here in the hospital, playing the role of the victim. Somewhere, deep down, she knew she wasn’t accustomed to feeling this way, and at the same time, it was hauntingly familiar.
This is temporary, she reminded herself. The doctor said her memory would return soon and she would be good as new.
From the chair across the room, Detective Thompson stirred. His eyes opened, focused on her, and he sat up. “You’re awake.”
“More or less. I’m feeling a little woozy.” She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. The detective was cute in the morning, in a rough, disheveled sort of way. Thick beard stubble shadowed his jaw and his voice had a husky quality that sent shivers down her spine. And the way he looked at her was so measured and deliberate. Like he could read her thoughts. Which at this point wouldn’t get him far. There wasn’t much left up there to think about. “You were here all night?”
He looked up, squinting against the sunlight pouring in the window, then down at his watch. “Looks that way. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
He yawned and stretched, the green hospital scrubs he wore pulling taut across his chest and biceps. They didn’t burst at the seams from hulking muscle mass. He was more the slim and athletic type. She couldn’t say with any certainty if he was the type of man she was normally attracted to, but from where she sat now, she wouldn’t kick him out of bed for getting crumbs on the sheets.
It occurred to her suddenly that he was dressed like a doctor—save for the holster and gun strapped at his side—and she wondered what happened to the clothes he’d been wearing. Then she recalled, with a stark clarity that made her cringe, what she’d done. “Sorry about your clothes,” she said. “It wasn’t one of my finer moments.”
One eyebrow quirked up. “No?”
“At least, I don’t think it was.” She paused, chewing her lower lip.
“You still don’t remember who you are?”
She shook her head, noting that the action didn’t induce the same paralyzing pain as before. It had since reduced to a persistent, dull ache. The nausea had ebbed, as well and she actually felt hungry. “I think I may have also, um, spit water at you.”
“You bled on me, too. But I won’t hold it against you.” A grin teased the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t even a real smile and her stomach still did a half-gainer straight down to her toes. Was he trying to look adorable, or did it just come naturally?
“What else do you remember?” he asked.
“I remember waking up in the hospital.”
“That’s it?”
“Everything before that is gone. It’s the weirdest feeling, like opening a book and finding blank pages. I know something is supposed to be there, but it’s as if all the words are written in invisible ink.” She sat up, pulling the light blanket up to her neck, feeling self-conscious in the flimsy hospital gown. “Where are my clothes?”
“I think there’s a bag of stuff in the drawer next to the bed. You didn’t have a purse or any identification when I found you.”
She slid the drawer open and found a plastic bag marked “personal belongings.” “I don’t suppose you know when they’re letting me out of here.”
“Today, I think. Why? You’ve got plans?”
She swore she detected a note of suspicion in his voice. “We have to try and find out who I am, don’t we?”
“We?”
“Yeah, we. I assume you’re the one investigating my attack. I’m not going to sit around doing nothing. I want to help.”
“Ms.—”
“Don’t tell me that put in the same situation you would want to sit around twiddling your thumbs, waiting for your memory to magically reappear.”
“No, I wouldn’t, but—”
“The doctor told me that seeing something familiar could trigger a memory. It only makes sense that I get out and try to find something familiar. If I have to, I’ll do it alone.”
“I wouldn’t advise that,” Detective Thompson said. “You have no money, no identification, no transportation. And we have no idea who attacked you, or why.”
“You think I’m in danger?”
“I’m not ready to make any assumptions at this point.” He sighed, leaning forward and raking a hand through his tousled hair. Hair the same warm brown as his eyes and just long enough to cover the tops of his ears and brush the collar of his jacket. And soft looking. She imagined what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.
Oh, yeah, like that would ever happen. He was probably married. Or at least attached. For that matter, maybe she was, too.
“So when do we start?” she asked.
“We don’t do anything. First off, I don’t even know if I’ll be the one investigating. And second, I don’t make it a habit of dragging victims along with me while I work a case.”
“My case. Also, there’s the slight problem of me not knowing where I live. Where do you plan to put me?”
“A halfway house. You should be safe there until we figure out who you are and who did this. As long as you stay put,” he added.
No way. No way was he dumping her off at some crummy halfway house. If he expected her to agree to that, he was in for a big surprise. “But the sooner I get my memory back, the sooner you solve the case, right?”
“You can call the precinct if you remember anything.”
Was he joking? Did he honestly expect her to sit around doing nothing?
Fat chance.
She dug through the clothes bag, wondering how something that belonged to her could look so completely foreign. “They’re all cut up,” she said, pulling out a mutilated pair of jeans and T-shirt. The only thing left intact was a dark blue jacket.
“They cut your clothes off in the E.R. It’s standard procedure.”
She looked up at him, aghast. “What am I supposed to do, walk out of here naked?”
“I’m sure the hospital will give you some clothes, and the halfway house will have things for you.” Detective Thompson stood, pulling his jacket on. “I’m going to try to find the doctor to see when they’re letting you out of here, then I’m going to make a few phone calls and set things up.”
She was pretty sure, from the determined set of his jaw, that arguing would get her nowhere, so she nodded. She’d think of something, some way to make him see things her way. And if that didn’t work, she’d have to take matters into her own hands. She had rights. He couldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
She stuffed the jeans and shirt in the bag and looked the jacket over. Searching the pockets, she found wadded tissues in one and a faded receipt in the other. There was no store name, just a few random numbers. Then she turned it over to check the other side and gasped at the note scrawled there.
Detective Thompson stopped halfway to the door. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you put this in my jacket?” she asked, holding the paper up.
“No. Is it familiar?”
“Sort of,” she said, holding it out to him. On the back of the receipt written very lightly in pencil was a name: Detective Mitch Tompson.
Chapter 3
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Mitch said. “What are you doing with my name in your pocket?”
She shrugged, looking equally baffled. “How should I know? Have we met?”
No, a man didn’t forget a woman like her. The wide, silvery eyes alone were enough to snag his attention. Had he met her in a social situation he would have noticed, and he’d have been interested. “I’m sure we haven’t. I would have remembered.”
“Maybe the person who hit me stuck it in there.”
“I know a good way to find out.” He pulled a pen and notepad out of his jacket, opening it to a blank page. He handed them both to her. “Write my name.”
She penned his name across the paper and handed it back to him. After comparing the two, there was no doubt in his mind. They were identical. She’d even left the h out of his last name both times.
“It was definitely you,” he said, holding it up for her to see. “But why?”
She shrugged, looking genuinely bewildered.
Damn. What had started out as a simple attack had just become a lot more complicated.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that they’d been in the same store and she had his name. It also meant he wouldn’t be passing this case off to anyone. Not until he knew why and how he was involved. Not after the last time he found himself involved in a case. That had nearly cost him his career.
So much for his weekend off.
In his pocket, his pager vibrated. He pulled it out and checked the display. “I have to make a call,” he told her. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“What, I’m gonna sneak away with my rear end hanging out the back of my gown?” she called after him.
With an amused shake of his head, he headed to the elevator bay, where he could safely use his cell phone. She didn’t pull any punches. He had to admire her for that. And he couldn’t deny that he liked her. So why did he feel this impending sense of doom?
Maybe he liked her too much. He felt an urge to protect and shelter her that he didn’t typically get. Well, not since…a long time ago.
Shrugging off the unpleasant memory, he dialed the precinct.
“We’ve got your guy on the security tape following the victim through the store,” Greene said. “He’s wearing a hooded jacket, so we can’t get a look at his face and the picture quality sucks. Maybe the victim will recognize him.”
It was a long shot. Seeing her attacker might be enough to snap her out of it. “I’ll bring her by as soon as they discharge her. If she can’t ID him from the tape, we can sit her down with the mug books.”
“I’m off in five minutes. I’ll leave everything with Marco.”
Mitch called halfway houses next, until he found her a vacant room. It wouldn’t be the Marriott, but it would be safe enough until someone claimed her. With any luck, her memory would return after watching the tape and he’d be taking her home instead.
When he got back to her room, the doctor was there.
Ms. Doe looked up at him and smiled, and it washed over him like sunshine. Ribbons of golden hair fanned out across the pillow framing her delicate face like a halo. Her skin was milky white and smooth—fragile looking, like the porcelain figurines his mother collected. He recalled how soft her skin had felt against his fingers when he’d touched her face back in the store. The sudden, intense pull of lust the memory evoked nearly floored him.
What the hell was he doing? Fantasizing about her? Real smart, Mitch. Like she didn’t already have enough problems.
His pager vibrated and he wasn’t surprised to see that it was his sister. She would hound him relentlessly until he picked up her groceries. He erased the number and stuck it back in his pocket.
“They’re cutting me loose,” Jane said. “I’m a free woman.”
“I’ll sign her release and have the nurse find her some clothes,” the doctor said. “She’ll need to come back in a week to have the stitches removed.”
“And the amnesia?” Mitch asked. “Can you do anything for that?”
“Give it a little time. Try taking her back to the scene of her attack if she’s comfortable with that. When she’s ready to deal with the incident, I think her memory will come back on it’s own.”
“But you think she should try to find something familiar?”
“As long as she’s okay with that, I think it’s a good idea,” the doctor said.
Ms. Doe shot Mitch an I-told-you-so look. Christ, she had attitude. She was going to be a major pain in the behind, he could just tell.
“And if her memory doesn’t come back?” Mitch asked.
“If her condition hasn’t improved in a week we’ll schedule an appointment with a neurologist.” The doctor hooked her chart on the foot of the bed. “Ibuprofen every four to six hours should ease any discomfort.”
“I’ll be right back,” Mitch told her, and followed the doctor into the hall. “Did you find anyone with injuries matching hers?”
“Not yet. It could take a day or two.”
Mitch pulled a business card out of his jacket pocket. “Call me if you find anything.”
When he stepped back into the room, Ms. Doe was out of bed, her back to him, gazing out the window. Her height surprised him. Based on tenacity alone, he’d expected her to be taller. He guessed now that the top of her head would barely reach his chin. She was slight, delicate-looking even, until she opened her mouth and all of that attitude spilled out. It was obvious, if it weren’t for the amnesia—assuming she really did have it—she was the kind of woman who looked out for herself.
It was hard to imagine someone physically abusing her—or her allowing it.
She leaned forward to look out the window, the edges of her gown pulling open and—whoa! He got an eyeful of smooth, rounded, ivory flesh. Something hot and carnal flickered to life inside of him. Something he hadn’t let himself feel in an awfully long time. Apparently, too long. Try as he might, he had a hell of a time looking away.
He forced himself to speak. “Recognize anything?”
She spun around, startled. As if realizing the view she’d just given him, she reached back to hold her gown closed. “No, I don’t. And I just want to say for the record, I don’t appreciate you talking about me behind my back.”
He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb. “Who says we were talking about you?”
“Oh, please. I have amnesia, I’m not brain-dead. Who else would you be talking about? If you have information about me, I want to hear it. I may remember something.”
There were certain things he didn’t really want to tell her yet, things he wasn’t sure she was ready to hear, but she was right, anything could trigger a memory. “We were talking about healed injuries he found in your X rays.”
She frowned, her pale brows pulling together. “What kinds of injuries?”
“Bone fractures. Eleven that he can see. He seems to think it was domestic abuse.”
“Domestic abuse?” Her eyes widened, shimmering like beach stones resting just below the surface of the water. “Does that mean I’m married?”
“You weren’t wearing a wedding band. But when I found you, you had diapers and baby food in your cart.”
“Diapers?” She backed toward the window clinging to the sill. “I have a baby?”
“It’s possible,” he said, noting that she’d paled several shades. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe it was too much all at once.
She shook her head. “No, if I had children I would remember. I couldn’t forget something like that.”
“You could if you had amnesia.”
“You don’t understand. I just have this feeling, deep down, that I don’t have kids. I can’t explain it. It’s not that I remember not having kids. But I feel like I would know in my heart if I did, even if I couldn’t specifically remember them.” She puffed out a long breath, stirring the hair on her forehead. “Does that make any sense?”
“It doesn’t explain the items in your cart.”
“Maybe I was picking them up for someone else. A friend or relative?”
“If that’s the case, maybe they’ll report you missing.”
“Maybe,” she said, gnawing her bottom lip with her front teeth. She glanced toward the bathroom door, then back at him. “I, um, need to use the bathroom.”
“Okay.”
She just stood there, adjusting her weight from one foot to the other.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, amused to see her cheeks flush a vibrant pink. He didn’t figure her as the type of woman who would embarrass easily. Though she did seem to wear all of her emotions right out on her sleeve.
“Actually, I’m kind of afraid to go in there.”
He gestured over his shoulder. “You want me to get a nurse to help you.”
“No! I don’t need help, I just…this is going to sound so lame. I’m afraid of what I’m going to see when I look in the mirror.”
“You’re afraid you won’t recognize yourself?”
“Well, that, too. But I have no idea what I look like.”
He frowned. “I’m not following you.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “I could be a troll. I could be hideous looking.”
He fought the smile tugging at his lips. Just like a woman to worry about beauty. In the looks department, she had nothing to worry about. “You’re not a troll.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, yeah? How do I know you’re not just saying that to be nice?”
“Because I’m not that nice. Besides, maybe when you look at yourself, you’ll remember who you are.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, accentuating the swell of two perky breasts under the thin gown. “My heart is pounding like crazy.”
Yeah, mine, too, he thought, trying like hell to keep his eyes above her neckline. Which was even worse, because then he had to look at those eyes. Round, innocent and full of uncertainty, they made him want to pull her into his arms and soothe away her fear. It was against his better judgment, and unprofessional, and wrong for about a dozen other reasons he didn’t even want to consider, but darn it, he couldn’t shake this irrational desire to protect her. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Want me to go with you?”
With her free arm, she hugged herself. “You think I’m a flake, don’t you?”
The truth was, he admired her spirit. She was tough, but not afraid to show her vulnerabilities. And if she was faking her apprehension, she was one hell of an actress. “You’ve been through a lot. You’re holding up better than most people would in your situation.” He nodded toward the bathroom, holding out a hand to her. “C’mon. We’ll do it together.”
She looked at his hand, then over to the bathroom door. “If I pass out, do you promise not to look at my butt? I mean…I don’t know what it looks like yet.”
It looked okay to me. He caught himself before the words tumbled out of his mouth. He had no right to be talking about her butt. Or looking at it for that matter. She could be someone’s wife, someone’s mother.
“I promise.” He walked to the bathroom and switched on the light. “You’ll feel better if you just get it over with.”
She shuffled over in bare feet, her face twisting into a grimace as she neared the doorway. He extended his hand, startled by the zing of awareness he experienced when she slipped her cold fingers into his. His first reaction was to yank his hand away, but it was too late to back out now.
Her fingers trembled in his. He tightened his grip, pulling her into the room. “You won’t see much with your eyes closed.”
“I’m working on it. Just give me a second.” She took a long, deep breath, blew it out, and opened her eyes.
She stared at her reflection for the longest time, while Mitch waited for recognition to set in, for a flood of memories to erase the uncertainty so clearly written in her eyes. With her free hand, she reached up and touched her cheek, ran a hand through her disheveled hair.
If he hadn’t believed her amnesia story before, it would be tough to refute it now. There was no doubt, she was looking at a total stranger.
“Well?” he asked.
“If it weren’t for the fact that you’re standing behind me, and I recognize you, I wouldn’t know this was me in the mirror. This is so…weird.” She frowned at her reflection, sticking her tongue out. “At least I’m not a troll. If I had to deal with losing my memory, having an abusive husband, giving birth to children I don’t remember and being ugly, it would be too much. Oh, and the fact that someone tried to kill me. Can’t forget that.”
He gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure out who did this.”
She looked up at him in the mirror, then down at their clasped hands. “We?”
Poor choice of words. The glimmer of hope in her eyes hit him like a sucker punch. “We as in, the Twin Oaks P.D.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “Still planning on dumping me somewhere, eh?”
Christ, could she make him feel a little more guilty? He was only doing his job. “I do need to take you to the precinct to get your prints, and I’ll take you back to the scene if you feel up to it. Maybe it’ll jog your memory.”
“Hate to break up the party,” someone said from behind them.
They simultaneously jerked their hands free and spun around to see a nurse standing there with a pile of clothes in her arms.
“The doctor signed your release. Try these and see which ones fit. I’ll send an orderly in to take you downstairs.” She walked over and dropped the clothes on the bed, glancing with unmasked curiosity one last time before she left the room. Mitch was sure he looked guilty as hell. What had possessed him to take Ms. Doe’s hand, and even worse, to keep holding it?
Okay, it’s not like he didn’t have a distant history of this, of letting himself get sucked in emotionally. He had to keep reminding himself, she could be married. Never in a million years would he consciously consider touching another man’s wife.
Never again. But it hadn’t been a conscious decision then, either, had it?
“I’ll wait while you get dressed,” Mitch said, when the nurse was gone. He walked over to the window, leaving a reasonable distance between them. He looked down at the already crowded parking lot. The rising sun cast a golden glow over the city streets, warming his face through the glass. It would be a beautiful weekend, a weekend he would much rather spend fishing, or working on his yard. And sleeping. God knows he could use a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep.
“Detective?” Ms. Doe said softly.
He turned. She was standing in the bathroom doorway, the clothes stacked in her arms.
“I just wanted to say thanks, you know, for everything. You’ve been really sweet.”
Sweet? He nearly cringed. “I’m only doing my job.”
She smiled. She seemed to know as well as he did, he’d gone far above the call of duty.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Mitch watched the video monitor with a deep sense of unease as the man in the hooded jacket stalked Ms. Doe through the store. He carried a basket, taking items from the shelves every so often to appear less suspicious, never getting close enough to be discovered, yet always keeping her in his line of sight. “He keeps his head down, so the camera never gets a shot of his face.”
“He knows what he’s doing,” Marco, the video tech, said.
This was no crime of opportunity. As Mitch had suspected, this had been a cold and calculated attack. But why? “How long does he follow her?”
“About twenty minutes. I spliced the tapes together so we could track their movements.” Marco fast-forwarded the tape. “When she leaves the grocery area, he’s right behind her. When he’s getting ready to strike, he puts the basket down in the middle of the aisle.”
“Because he knows we’ll eventually be watching the tape, and if he stashes it on a shelf somewhere we’ll find it.”
“So why not wear gloves? Then he wouldn’t have to worry about leaving prints.”
“Why attack her in a well-lit store when he could have done it in a dark parking lot? He’s arrogant. He’s showing us how cunning he is. He knows that if he puts the stuff in plain sight, some employee will probably see it, pick it up and put the stuff back on the shelves, thus removing any fingerprint evidence.”
“And one did. But I’ll get to that in a minute. First we have our victim walking down the toy aisle, our suspect is right behind her. Now look, see what he pulls out of his jacket?”
The fluorescent lights glinted off the object in his hand, making its shape clear for several seconds. Mitch mumbled a curse under his breath. “A gun.”
He watched as Ms. Doe stopped to pick up a toy. With her back turned, she didn’t see the suspect behind her. In a flash of movement, the man coldcocked her in the back of the head, sending her reeling forward. With swift efficiency, he checked her back pockets, then rolled her over to search her jacket. Within seconds, he’d searched her, shoved her small purse in his jacket, and disappeared through a stockroom door.