A Stranger She Can Trust. Regan Black
and medical school are expensive. I started out as a paramedic, thinking I’d work my way through, and then found out I loved the first-on-scene piece of the process.”
Based on the strain in his shoulders and the hard set of his mouth, she thought there was more to it, but prying seemed rude in light of everything he was doing for her. Really, as soon as she remembered who she was, she would be out of his life. Ideally she wouldn’t be trading Carson’s guest room for a jail cell. Whatever had him convinced she wasn’t a killer, she appreciated his unwavering belief and willingness to stand by her before they had any definitive answers.
“Anything?” he asked as they drove by the museum’s iconic run of stairs like the monument it was.
“No.” She blew out a sigh. “Maybe we should go in for a little bit.”
Carson shook his head. “Not today.”
“At some point I’ll be late for work.”
“True. And when we reach that point, we’ll deal with that.” He aimed one of those quiet smiles her way. “I’m sure the detective will let them know what’s going on.”
He might have done so already. There wasn’t much she could do either way until someone told her about her life or she remembered who she was. What type of work did she do as an art conservator? When she tried to think about a job, she couldn’t pinpoint any precise task or familiar routine or responsibility. As it was, she was useless to everyone. She laced her fingers together, wondering what it would take to break through the walls in her brain.
“Are you working at the club again tonight?” She studied the scenery, hoping for some familiar clue.
“No,” he replied. “I was on the schedule, but Grant will have covered the shift by now. He’s made you my sole priority.”
“Then what are we going to do with the rest of the day?” Despite his encouragement to rest her mind, she didn’t want to go back to his house and hide from the world and the trouble she couldn’t remember.
“Good question.” He gave her a long look while they were stopped at a red light. “Is the sunlight bothering you?”
“No.” Another part of the observation process, she supposed.
“In that case, let’s go to the zoo.”
“The zoo?” She circled a finger around her face. “Looking like this? I’ll scare little kids.”
“So, you have a vain streak. How interesting.”
She laughed when she caught his teasing tone and the smirk on his face, although she wondered what she would be like, how she’d feel about Noelle and everything else, once her memory returned. “You’re right. Not about the vain thing, though that’s possible. I feel like I can agree with you that I didn’t kill her. My friend,” she added, testing the theory in her heart, in her head.
“Good.”
“Promise me one thing.” She studied the silver band on her thumb, twisting it around and around.
“What’s that?”
“If we’re wrong and I am a killer, promise me you’ll take me straight to the police station.”
She liked that he took his time, mulling over her request for several blocks before he offered an answer.
“We’re not wrong, but you have my word, Melissa.”
However things worked out for her, whoever she was when her brain started cooperating again, she suddenly hoped she would be a person Carson had reason to believe in.
Carson 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