Dangerous Memories. Barbara Colley
slipped off the shoes. After he stripped off the hospital scrubs, he kicked them into the corner.
There was no doubt that Leah Johnson was the woman in his flashbacks. She was even more beautiful face-to-face, and the extra pounds made her look even more womanly, more sexy.
Friends…
She’d said they were just “really good friends.” So if they were only friends, why would her face be the one he remembered? Even more puzzling, why the ache in his gut when he’d first seen her in the flesh, and why the overwhelming urge to crush her into his arms and taste her lips.
With a shake of his head, Hunter stepped into the shower. “Depends on her definition of ‘friends,’” he muttered. Just how good of friends were they? According to the visions he kept having, “friend” was far too tame to describe the relationship between them. Besides, he couldn’t imagine why he would be “just friends” with a woman as beautiful as she was…unless he was married.
Married. “Damn,” he grunted. It had never even occurred to him to ask her if he was married. Surely she would have said so if he was, wouldn’t she? And she hadn’t said so. Besides, if he was married, it stood to reason that he would have had flashes of his wife’s face, instead of just his friend’s face. And if he was married, why would he have come to New Orleans alone, instead of staying in New York? She’d said he’d come for an extended vacation, but that brought up yet another question. If he lived in New York and had just come for a vacation, why was it this address he remembered?
Too many questions and not enough answers, he decided as he turned his face into the spray. The water was steamy hot, and Hunter savored the feel of it against his skin.
It had been three days since he’d had a real shower. With almost no money, he’d been unable to afford even the shabbiest of motel rooms, neither for sleeping nor for cleaning up. Instead, he’d had to make do with washing up in public rest rooms along the way.
What he really needed was a hot whirlpool to soothe his aching right leg. It had been broken in two places when he’d been thrown from his car. According to the doctor who had treated him, it had healed nicely, but it still ached when he walked a lot. And he’d walked a lot during the past three days.
In addition to his leg aching like hell, the two nights he’d spent with hardly any sleep had exhausted him. By the time he’d found the address that kept flashing in and out of his head, it had been past midnight, far too late to be knocking on anyone’s door, especially someone he wasn’t sure he even knew.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the porch. He’d only meant to sit there and wait until morning, until a decent hour to knock on the door. He’d chosen the spot near the steps to wait because he’d needed cover from the prying eyes of neighbors and any patrol cars that might pass by. After everything he’d been through, the last thing he’d wanted was to be picked up by the police, and the huge bush near the steps was wide enough and tall enough to provide just the right amount of cover.
Hunter wrinkled his nose and sniffed. The bathroom door was closed and the shower was running full blast, but he could swear he smelled bacon frying.
She’d said she would fix him breakfast, and Hunter’s mouth watered at just the thought of food.
Not only had it been three days since he’d showered, but the last meal he could remember eating was the egg sandwich he’d had yesterday morning. Unfortunately, it had been the last of his money as well.
At the thought of the money, Hunter swallowed hard and lathered his upper body. Then, using the washcloth, he scrubbed with a vengeance, as if doing so would scrub away the thoughts of how he’d gotten the money.
Stolen money.
Jumping the hospital guard outside his room and knocking him unconscious had been bad enough, but stealing the man’s wallet, his watch and his shoes was even worse. Hunter heaved a sigh. Desperate measures called for desperate actions, and he had been desperate…desperate to escape. Besides, it hadn’t been much money, just barely enough to eat on during the three days he’d been hitchhiking. The shoes weren’t that great, either. They were too tight for one thing. But wearing tight shoes beat the hell out of going barefoot. As for the watch, it wasn’t as if it was gold or anything. It probably didn’t cost more than twenty dollars at most.
Even with all his excuses for doing what he’d done, he felt badly about it. Even before Leah had told him he was a cop, stealing from the guard had bothered him enough to realize that, whatever he was, he was no thief. And somehow, some way, he fully intended to repay every penny he’d taken, including enough to buy the man a new pair of shoes and a new watch. But first he needed to figure out why there had been a guard posted outside his hospital room…and why the hospital had been holding him prisoner.
Hunter turned off the shower, grabbed the towel Leah had left for him and vigorously dried himself. He’d been lucky. When he’d gone in search of something to wear other than the skimpy hospital gown, he’d come upon an unattended cart of sheets, towels and blankets not far from his hospital room. On the cart, secured in a clear plastic bag, were clean scrubs. He’d snatched the bag, and just as he ducked into an empty room to change, he heard the footsteps of the attendant returning to distribute the contents of the cart. Wearing the scrubs and the security guard’s shoes, he’d been able to walk right out without a hassle.
Once outside, he’d only had to walk a couple of blocks before he spotted an all-night café. Judging by all the eighteen-wheelers in the parking lot, the café was also a popular truck stop. Thanks to the generosity of one wizened old trucker, he’d been able to hitch a ride all the way to Alabama.
Hunter pulled on the jeans and shirt. He’d had a lot of time to think on the road, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that there was more to his situation than just the accident, more than just having amnesia. And despite Leah’s statement about them being “just friends,” Hunter’s gut feeling told him that there was a good possibility that she knew more than she was telling. With every fiber of his being, he was certain that she was the key that could unlock his memory, the key to the whole puzzle.
But could he trust her? Should he trust her? After what he’d been through, he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone.
No fingerprints on record.
“Impossible,” Leah muttered as she cracked an egg and dropped the yoke and egg white into the skillet of heated oil. The oil popped and crackled as the egg cooked, and Leah tilted her head to one side when she heard the water pipes in the old house groaning, an indication that Hunter had cut off the shower.
She returned her attention to the egg, and in one smooth motion, flipped it over.
No fingerprints.
Definitely impossible…unless…unless he’d lied about the police not being able to find a match. But what reason would he have to lie?
Leah shook her head. No reason. To be fair, there could be another explanation. The police could have lied to him, just as they had lied to her.
Again though, why? What she needed were answers. But she didn’t have a clue as to how to get them or even where to begin. For all she knew, Hunter could have lied about everything from the very beginning. About being a cop. About his medical leave.
“No!” she muttered with a determined shake of her head, denying the possibility of such a thing. There had to be something else, some other reason for all that had happened.
Suddenly, Leah grew stone still, the spatula in her hand poised just above the skillet. She couldn’t explain it, but without looking, she knew the exact moment Hunter entered the kitchen.
She cleared her throat, mostly to swallow the lump that had formed in it. “You timed that just about right,” she said, scooping the egg from the skillet and sliding it onto a plate next to the first one she’d cooked.
Only then did she glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, he was standing just inside the doorway.
He’d shaved, she noted.