Memory Reload. Rosemary Heim
“Not necessary and too noisy, in that order.”
He nodded, his gaze steady on hers.
A frown creased her forehead. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I think we can safely say we know one thing about you.”
“What? What do you know?”
Her answers had been automatic, not rehearsed. The difference was subtle but discernible if you knew what to listen for. And Ryan knew. “You’re a professional photographer.”
She rubbed her temples. “A lot of people carry camera bags. That doesn’t make them photographers.”
“True, but this is high-end equipment. Pretty pricey. Except for the disposables, it’s not exactly standard vacation supplies. I’ve only met one other person who carries this kind of stuff with her and she’s a pro.”
“Maybe I’m just rich and waste a lot of money on a hobby.” She picked up one of the cameras and fiddled with the settings.
Ryan shook his head. “Maybe so, but I don’t really think that’s it. You hold that camera with…authority. When I found you on the beach, you were completely absorbed with what you were shooting. You knew what you were doing, exactly how long it’d take you. Then, of course, there’s your answers.”
“My answers.”
“Uh-huh. They come instinctively. You know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh.” Her lips shaped the word more than said it. “Then why can’t I tell you my name? Shouldn’t that be instinctive?”
“Well now, ya got me there. Can’t claim to know much about amnesia, but if you’re running from some kind of danger…” He lifted his shoulders. “Guess your name might be one of the things your mind would want to keep hidden. First thing we do is see if we can get you in to see a doctor.”
“Is that really necessary? There’s nothing wrong with me, physically. What can a doctor do?”
“Won’t know ’til we ask. Is there any reason you don’t want to see a doctor?” He watched as she thought for a moment. Finally she shook her head.
“I’ll give Jamie a call when it’s a more civilized hour and see if he can recommend someone.” He turned back to the camera bag. “These dividers look movable. Mind if I pull them out?”
“Go ahead. They’re only Velcroed in place.”
He pulled each cushioned section out, checked them for hidden contents, then laid them on the table. The bottom cushion didn’t budge when he tugged on it. Stitching held it tight at all four corners, making for a solid bottom. When the bag stood empty, he surveyed the items covering the tabletop then turned to her. “Does anything strike you as not being right?”
“You mean other than the gun?” She shook her head, all the while massaging her temple with one hand. Her other hand cradled the camera to her chest.
Ryan tilted the bag, trying to get a better view of the interior. The dark fabric soaked up light like a sponge. The overhead light didn’t help much in the way of illumination. He opened the drawer beneath the phone and pulled out a flashlight.
The intense beam of light played over the interior of the bag. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. None of the seams showed evidence of having been opened and re-sewn. Light bounced off something in the bottom. He tilted the bag more with a little shake.
The bottom cushion wasn’t so solid after all. A dull silver bead chain fell into view, the short length slithering out from beneath that cushion. He tugged it free and probed beneath the cushion for any other hidden treasures. All he encountered was the nylon-covered base.
He settled into his chair and held his last find up to the light. Two items dangled from the chain looped over his finger, jingling softly in the still kitchen.
A rectangular matte silver medallion, about one inch in length, gleamed in the dull kitchen light. The tag wasn’t new but hadn’t come standard issue with the bag, either. From the weight, it could be real silver.
The second item held even more interest. Three gold bands intertwined to form a single ring.
His thumb brushed the lettering engraved across the surface of the medallion. He flipped it over. More engraving. Something in his chest shifted, tightened as he made out the words.
“What is it?” Her question pulled his attention from the tag.
“Do the letters AJD mean anything?”
She squinted, as if trying to focus on a distant image, then sighed. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“They’re etched into this tag. They don’t trigger anything for you?” He watched her, waiting for some sign, a flicker in her eyes, a tightening around her mouth, something that would reveal the truth of her coming answer.
“No.” She sank against the chair’s ladder-back. “Is there anything else?”
He nodded. His thumb rubbed the engraving again. He imagined he could feel the rest of the phrase, the words, each individual letter burning against his skin. His eyes narrowed and he waited for her reaction. “Together, always.”
The blood drained from her face, leaving her pale beneath her slight tan. The kitchen’s fluorescent light heightened the effect, making her look even more ashen, sickly.
It was the first automatic response from her with any real emotional strength. The first crack in the defensive wall her mind seemed to have built. If he pushed her a little more, maybe he could widen the crack, and they would discover what she didn’t want to remember.
The idea of using her pain left a sour taste in his mouth. His need to protect her battled their need to discover what lay hidden in her mind. He hated himself for it, but he had to take advantage of her reaction before her defense mechanism kicked in again. “There’s more on the flip side. ‘Remember’ and some numbers. They could be a date. ‘Three slash fifteen.’”
Her eyelids fluttered shut and she seemed to struggle to breathe for a moment. She set the camera back on the table with great precision. He didn’t try to stop her when she stood. She wrapped her arms around her waist, holding herself tight.
Why did her reaction feel like a knife stabbing his chest? How had this woman managed to get so far under his skin?
She crossed the kitchen to stand by the wall of windows overlooking the beach. He followed her, coming to a stop beside her.
He wanted to comfort her, to put his arms around her and hold her close. All he would allow himself was to brush her hair back over her shoulder so he could see her face. He dangled the chain in front of her.
After a moment, she took it from him. Her fingers worried the clasp open, slipped the ring off the chain and onto her left ring finger. The trio of gold bands rolled over her knuckle and settled into place, neatly covering the lighter colored skin banding her finger. A perfect match.
She refastened the clasp and examined the silver medallion. A soft ting-ting-ting punctuated the silence. Ryan watched as she repeatedly rolled the triple bands over her knuckle, around her finger and back into place. All of her attention was focused on the medallion. Playing with the ring was an unconscious action, one born of an old habit.
“What does it mean?” His words sounded harsh in his own ears and he couldn’t say for sure if he was asking about the medallion or the ring. Either way, his hands itched to reach out to her. Instead, he jammed his fists onto his hips.
“It’s…he…no, they…” She struggled to find the words, her chin trembling with the effort. “I don’t remember.”
She impaled him with a haunted look before squeezing her eyes shut and turning away from him.
The pain in her eyes undid Ryan. Anger he could stand. Tears he