A Stranger She Can Trust Page 5

  He threw his head back and laughed. It was a beautiful sound that rolled over her and took a little of the weight of the terrible insinuations from the detective with it. “Not a chance. You’re just trying too hard to figure out if you’re Melissa and what that means.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring you here to sandbag you.”

  Before she could reply, the office door opened and Grant returned. To her relief, he didn’t close it again. “Well, that couldn’t have gone much worse. How are you holding up, Melissa?” His gaze jerked to Carson as he slapped a hand lightly to his mouth. “Is it okay to call her that?”

  She answered, “We have to call me something. Might as well use my given name.”

  “Sit down. Relax,” Grant said. “Werner has agreed to give us—you—a little time and breathing room.”

  It wasn’t as comforting as he probably meant it to be. “Meaning?”

  “Go home, rest, let yourself heal,” Grant said. “I made Werner give me your information.”

  “So, which home?” Carson asked.

  “Not mine,” she said quickly. “I mean, if I have a choice. I know you can’t babysit me forever, but—”

  “My place it is.” Carson patted her hand again. “As I said, we’ll stick it out together. I have a feeling the detective knocked a few things loose in there.” He tapped his own temple. “But I’d rather you didn’t rush it and risk more trouble. You shouldn’t be alone when things do come back to you.”

  Grant agreed with him. “Just keep me in the loop and I’ll deal with Werner.”

  She let Carson guide her out of the office, turning back to Grant at the last second. “Can you tell me where I work? Maybe it will help me remember something relevant.”

  Grant looked past her to Carson, got the nod to share. “You’re a conservator at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.”

  The information didn’t create any spark of recognition, only left her feeling more detached as though it all related to a stranger. She locked onto the one detail she could put in context. “We drove by earlier, right? With all the steps?” she asked Carson.

  “Yes. You didn’t seem to recognize it.”

  “Can we try again?” She couldn’t give up. Not while the police were searching for the truth about the murder of a woman who was apparently her friend.

  Though Carson was reluctant, they left the club behind for another drive past the museum. Though the song wasn’t familiar, the rock music on the radio was a welcome background noise for her whirling thoughts. The beat was hard and steady, the bass grounding her when it felt like her life was flying about her in ragged pieces. “Do you think anyone at the museum would recognize me if we went in?”

  “I’m sure they would, if we found the department you work in. It’s a big place.”

  “And I could be anyone,” she said. “What if I’ve missed work?” For reasons she couldn’t fully express, it troubled her to think that the fallout of having amnesia would cost her her job. “It makes me queasy to think I’ve missed work.”

  “That’s a good sign on several levels...” His voice trailed off awkwardly.

  “Why do you hesitate to call me Melissa when you let Grant and Detective Werner give me other details?”

  “Because I don’t want to plant more ideas or thoughts in your head. It’s just my opinion, but I think it’s best if your memory returns as naturally as possible.”

  “How is it you know so much about amnesia?”

  “I don’t know that much. My experience on the ambulance hardly qualifies me, though I’ve seen people who can’t recall how they were injured,” he replied. “The detective isn’t wrong to suggest you see a doctor.”

  She understood the concern and couldn’t suppress the goose bumps that shivered over her skin at the thought of it. “Did you ever want to be a doctor?” she asked, shifting the focus away from her.

  “I considered it at one point. I thought I’d enjoy the challenges.”

  “You’d be great.” She wasn’t sure why she knew it, but she believed his careful hands and comforting manner would be an asset in the medical field. “What changed your mind?”

  “College 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.

  Chapter 3

  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 ba
ttered 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.