Читать книгу: «Running on Empty», страница 3

Swallowing hard, she closed the book. “Sorry, nothing.”

“Think you’re ready to go back to the scene?”

Her stomach contracted with a sudden stab of fear. “I—I think so.”

“If you’re scared, or you’re just not ready, we don’t have to go today.”

Did he have to be so understanding, so…sweet? If he forced her, if he made her go, she wouldn’t have a choice. She would have to face her fear.

She took a deep, fortifying breath. Forced or not, she needed to do this. The answers were locked away somewhere in her traumatized brain. Maybe that store would be the key.

“I want to go,” she said, infusing her voice with confidence. “Does this little excursion possibly include lunch? If I have to face my demons, I probably shouldn’t do it on an empty stomach.”

He gestured to the box beside her. “What, you don’t like doughnuts?”

“I’m sure it’s a staple item for you, but I need something a little more substantial. Preferably something that mooed in a former life.”

He flashed her an easy grin. He didn’t smile often, but when he did…wow. “I guess it’s safe to assume you’re not a vegetarian.”

“I’m thinking that I’m probably not.”

“Any place in particular you’d like to go?”

Good question. Did she have a favorite restaurant? Did she prefer fast food? Fine dining? Ethnic or American?

She gave it some thought, her mind colliding with that infuriating brick wall. She shrugged, hating the words even before they left her mouth. “I guess I’ll have to trust your judgment.”

Mitch watched with fascination as Ms. Doe popped the last bite of the double cheeseburger in her mouth. For someone so petite, she sure could put away the food.

She gestured to his French fries. “You planning to finish those?”

He slid his plate across the table.

She squeezed out a glob of ketchup and dipped one in. “So what if I get to the store and don’t remember anything? What’s our next move?” She noticed his wary look and corrected herself. “I mean your next move. Can’t you run my picture on the news or in the paper? Maybe someone will recognize me.”

“Not a good idea. Not until we figure who’s behind this. They could use the amnesia to get to you.”

“Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. Any official missing-person report wouldn’t be filed for at least forty-eight. Don’t give up hope. We could have you back with your family soon.”

She frowned, shaking her head lightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s this whole family thing. It just doesn’t feel right. I keep thinking I would know if I had children.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Stretch marks,” she said, pointing a ketchup-soaked fry in his direction. “If I had children, wouldn’t I have stretch marks? Because I checked every inch of my body when I was getting dressed and I couldn’t find any. My skin is practically flawless.”

Every inch, huh? And all of it flawless. He’d been doing his best not to think about her in those terms, or imagine seeing all of that flawless skin firsthand—the parts he hadn’t already seen, that is. And here she had to go and bring it up, putting all sorts of improper thoughts into his head.

“I know that probably sounds arrogant,” she added, “but it is very nice skin.”

He nodded. “Hmm.”

“I have a nice butt, too,” she said, popping the fry in her mouth. “Not spectacular, mind you, but I don’t feel so bad about you seeing it back in the hospital.”

He nearly choked on his coffee. “I didn’t—”

“Of course you did. My gown was hanging open, and you were standing behind me. How could you not look? If our roles had been reversed and it was your butt hanging out I would have looked.”

He leaned back in the booth. “Is that so?”

“Back at the station, when they were fingerprinting me, you bent over to pick up something and I looked at your butt then.”

He stifled a grin. The woman was shameless. It was one of the things he liked most about her. And the thing that was probably going to get him into trouble. “Did you?”

“It’s human nature to look.” She waved a hand in the air. “Hormones or pheromones or something.” She paused, her brow furrowing. “What was my point?”

“Stretch marks?”

“Exactly. So if I had ever been pregnant, I would have at least a few stretch marks. Therefore we can safely deduce that I don’t have children.”

“What about adoption?”

She popped the last fry in her mouth looking thoughtful. “Darn, I never thought of that. You know, you’re pretty good at this detective stuff.”

“That’s what they tell me.” He took a long swallow of coffee then signaled the waitress for the check. His pager began to tremble and he pulled it from his pocket, cursing when he read the display. “We’d better get going.”

“Pressing business?”

He tossed change on the table for a tip. “You could say that.”

He paid the bill and she followed him out to the unmarked, run-of-the-mill blue sedan they’d driven over from the station. As badly as she wanted this to be over, as much as she wanted her life back, the possibilities frightened her. Suppose she was married to a wife-beater, or someone even worse. Something too horrible to put into words.

“You okay?” Detective Thompson was holding the door, waiting for her to get in.

She plastered a smile on her face. “Fine.”

She could tell he didn’t believe her. He touched her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Though she was sure the gesture was meant only to comfort, the weight of his hand made the skin beneath tingle.

“We won’t do more than what you’re ready for,” he said.

Could the guy be any nicer? He waited until she was in, then closed the door.

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into loaning me the money for some new clothes,” she said when he climbed in the driver’s side. “I’m good for it…I think.”

“Buckle up.” He waited until she fastened her seat belt then started the car and pulled out of the lot. “What’s wrong with the clothes you have on?”

“You’re joking, right?”

A grin flirted at the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure they’ll have something more suitable for you at the halfway house.”

They drove along in silence for a minute, then Mitch reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “I’d like you to look at something. It’s a still shot from the security tape.”

Tentatively, she took the photo. “So this is the man who attacked me?”

“I know the picture quality is poor, but does he look familiar?”

“No. Not at all.” She felt relieved and disappointed all at once. She handed the picture back. “Sorry.”

He folded it up and shoved it into his pocket. “It was worth a shot.”

He made a sharp right into a parking lot, and when she looked at the Save Mart sign looming above, her heart began to pound wildly in her chest. She gasped, clutching the edge of the seat.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

As quickly as the sensation had gripped her, it disappeared. “I don’t know. For a second there, I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest. I think I may have remembered something.”

He pulled into a spot close to the door, threw the car into Park and turned to her. “Does the store look familiar?”

She peered out the side window at the aging brick building. “Yes and no. When I look at it, I instinctively know what kind of store it is, but I can’t say that I’ve ever been here.”

“So it does look familiar?”

“Sort of, but…” She paused, searching for the words to explain. It was difficult to describe something she barely understood. “If you took me to a gas station I’d never been to before, I would still know it was a gas station. This store is familiar, but only in the sense that I know what type of store it is.”

“Do you want to try going inside?”

“We’re here. I may as well give it a shot.”

She waited for him to walk around and open her door, delaying the inevitable for a few precious seconds. Not only was she afraid of what she may or may not discover about her past, but her time with Detective Thompson had nearly expired. If she didn’t get her memory back now, he would dump her at some halfway house. Then she would really be alone.

She swallowed back the fear crawling up from her belly.

Her door swung open and, steeling herself for what was to come—good or bad—she climbed out. The sun had disappeared behind a line of ominous dark clouds and a chilling dampness skittered the length of her spine. Was it some divine warning? Did she even believe in God? Was she Catholic, Jewish, Muslim?

So many questions and still no answers.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Detective Thompson asked once again.

“I’m sure,” she said, feeling anything but. Feeling instead as if she’d like to run in the opposite direction, back to the car. Or better yet, into Detective Thompson’s arms. She was reasonably sure she would feel safe there. However, if she planned to get through this ordeal in one piece, she could rely on only one person.

Herself. Wasn’t that the way it had always been?

She stopped dead in her tracks, struggling to hold on to the thought, but it was already slipping away. That had been a memory, she was sure of it. But what did it mean?

A car horn blared and a hand wrapped around her upper arm, yanking her out of the way. “Earth to Jane.”

She looked up into Detective Thompson’s concerned face. Only then did she realize she’d stopped right in the middle of the lot, blocking traffic.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I…I think I remembered something. But it was more like a feeling than an actual memory.”

“What did it feel like.”

“I felt…alone.”

“You’re not alone.”

“Not yet.”

If she saw a flash of guilt in his eyes, it was gone almost instantly. “Let’s go inside.”

They stepped through the automatic door and she once again felt that sudden and brief surge of adrenaline.

“I think I remember being here,” she said, excitement and hope erupting inside of her like a geyser. Maybe it would all start to come back now. Maybe this nightmare was almost over.

Or maybe it was just beginning.

Chapter 5

“Is it familiar?” Detective Thompson asked.

“I think so. I don’t even know how I know it,” Jane said. “I just…feel it.”

“We’ll try retracing your path through the store. While we’re here, I’m going to pick up a few things.” He grabbed a cart and pointed it in the direction of the grocery department, swerving to avoid a pack of unruly teenagers and a shell-shocked mother with three rowdy children. Being a Saturday afternoon, the store was loud and bustling with activity.

They started in the produce section where he extracted a crumpled list from his jacket pocket. She walked alongside him while he shopped, taking in her surroundings, willing herself to remember. It felt so close, like she could brush it with her fingertips, yet too far to get a grasp on. Every time she reached further, strained to touch it, it slipped further away from her. She was thinking so forcefully her head began to throb.

He seemed to pick up on her distress. “Relax. Try to let it come naturally.”

She felt like screaming and stamping her feet. She didn’t want to relax. She wanted this to be over with. She wanted to remember now. “I wish I could put into words how frustrating this is. It’s like hearing a melody in your head, and knowing there are words to go along with it, but you just can’t remember what they are.”

“When that happens to me, I try to think about something else, and usually the words come to me when I least expect it.”

There was a definite logic to that. Maybe she was trying too hard. She’d thought of nothing else since waking in the hospital that morning.

“So tell me about yourself, Detective.” At his curious glance, she added, “If we talk about you for a while, maybe I’ll stop thinking about me. Right?”

“Okay.” He tossed a bag of baby carrots in the cart. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you want to tell me?”

He shrugged. “Not much to tell, really. I’m not married. I live alone. I love my job. That’s about it.”

“Do you have family?”

“My mom and my sister.” He consulted the list and headed for a bin of broccoli.

“Are you close to them?”

“Since my dad died I’ve kind of taken over as the head of the family. When my mom had back surgery a few weeks ago, Lisa moved in with her. I do most of the running around.”

“That must put a damper on your social life.”

He barked out a rueful laugh. “What social life?”

“That doesn’t bother your girlfriend?”

“Might if I had one.”

No girlfriend? How could a man as sweet and attractive as Detective Thompson not have one? Unless girls weren’t his thing.

Jane gave him a sideways glance, watched him walk—the casual, sturdy swagger. She would bet her last dollar he was one hundred percent heterosexual male. The other obvious explanation would be a prior failed relationship.

“Ever been married?” she asked.

There was a slight pause before he said, “Almost.”

His total blank expression made her realize how hard he was trying not to look wounded.

Way to go, Jane. Any other painful past experiences you’d like to dredge up? Maybe a favorite family pet he’d had to euthanize? “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.”

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. I’m married to my work now.”

“Sounds lonely.”

They fell silent. She walked beside him, watching in her peripheral vision as he dropped items in his cart. It didn’t escape her attention the appraising looks he attracted from women. Appraising being a major under-statement. Jaws dropped and tongues lolled. Not that she didn’t relate. He was ridiculously easy on the eyes.

The unshaven chin, slightly mussed hair and faded blue jeans gave him a roguish edge, like that irresistible bad boy mothers forbade their daughters to date, yet everything else about him screamed dependable and safe. It was probably the intense yet patient way he looked at a person, until they felt compelled to confess their most horrific sins.

Married to his work? It was a damn shame to waste all of that raw sex appeal.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said. “Thinking about your past?”

“Actually, no. I was thinking about sex appeal.”

One eyebrow lifted. “Dare I ask whose?”

“Yours.”

“I have sex appeal?”

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t tell me you don’t notice the way women look at you. On a scale of one to ten, you’re about an eleven on the studmuffin-ometer.”

“Studmuffin-ometer?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is this like the butt thing?”

“I’ll bet you had a lot of girlfriends in high school.”

He turned down the laundry aisle, choosing a box of powdered detergent and a bottle of fabric softener. “Why is that?”

“You look trustworthy. Women like a guy who makes them feel safe.”

She had his undivided attention now. He stopped walking and turned to her. “I’m safe?”

She propped her hands on her hips, giving him a thorough once-over. “I think it’s the big, brown puppy-dog eyes. And you have good manners. I’ll bet you always ask permission before you kiss a woman.”

He shook his head. “Are you always this brutally honest?”

“I don’t know. Does it bother you?”

“No.” He started down the aisle. “Truthfully, it’s refreshing for a change. Women usually play games.”

“Sounds like you’ve been hanging around with the wrong women.”

“Yeah, it’s a gift. I’m like a magnet.”

“Besides, what do I have to gain by playing games? I figure, if I’m totally honest with you, maybe you’ll show me the same courtesy.”

“You want total honesty?”

Something in his tone made the hair raise on her arms. “When you say it like that, I don’t know.”

He leaned down, until she felt his breath shift the hair next to her ear. “In the hospital, I did look.” With a wolfish grin he glanced meaningfully at her backside. “And you were wrong. It is spectacular.”

Oh, my. She’d never imagined him looking so…predatory. This was definitely a side of him she hadn’t expected.

“Ooookay,” she conceded, a flush warming her cheeks, “maybe you’re not quite as safe as I assumed.”

“No, I’m human. And human nature,” he said, “can be a damn fine thing.”

He stopped again, and she realized they were standing in front of the feminine products. He gazed up at the shelves, looking perplexed.

She peeked over at his list. “Ultra-absorbent, huh?”

“They’re not for me.”

She laughed. “Gosh, I hope not.”

“This is my sister’s list.” He looked at the list, then over at the shelf, shifting uncomfortably.

She selected a box and tossed it in the cart for him. “If I had a brother and he’d done something unspeakable to me, like you’ve obviously done to her, I would make him buy my tampons, too.”

He flattened a hand over his chest. “Who, me? The safe guy? The—hey, wait a minute, you just said if you had a brother. Does that mean you don’t?”

She clutched the side of the cart. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t.” That familiar burst of hope rushed to the surface, and just as swiftly fizzled away behind a cloud of uncertainty. If she did or didn’t have a brother—or a surgically removed Siamese twin for that matter—it was a mystery to her. How could she expect to remember siblings when she couldn’t remember her own children?

Tears of frustration stung her eyes. “I hate this.”

“Why don’t we try the aisle where I found you? Are you ready for that?”

She nodded and wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “I just want this to be over with.”

“According to the security cameras you went this way,” he said, leading her past the cosmetic department and through housewares. “You stopped to look at cooking utensils, but never put anything in your cart. Then you headed to the toys.”

She followed him through the toy department, waiting for recognition to set in, for a surge of memories to resurface. If nothing else, the blank space seemed to expand, swallowing up any sense of familiarity she’d felt before.

Mitch stopped at the end of the doll aisle, looking back at her. “You don’t remember.”

“Nothing so far. Where did you find me?”

“This is where I found you,” he said, pointing to the floor. “Right there.”

“Oh,” she said softly, defeat clear in her tone. She looked so lost standing there, Mitch had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her. She’d had such hope, but the secrets locked in her subconscious must have been buried deep.

“Hey, don’t worry. It’ll come back to you.” He tried to keep his voice reassuring, but he couldn’t deny his own disappointment. If her memory had returned he would be taking her home. Now he had no choice but to drop her off at the halfway house, where nothing was likely to jar her memory. He was doing his job, yet he couldn’t dodge a knife of guilt. Maybe Darren had been right. Maybe he should have pawned this off on someone else. He was already too involved.

“Can we go now?” she asked, folding her arms around herself.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

She walked beside him to the registers, head bowed. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted all this time.”

“You didn’t waste anything. Investigating a crime means checking out every possible angle or lead. That can mean hitting a lot of dead ends. Eventually something will pan out.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.”

“You have to trust me,” he said.

“I don’t want to put that kind of trust in anyone. Right now, I don’t even trust myself.” A tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away. “Darn it. I don’t want to do this here.”

As they rounded the corner, he saw that every open checkout lane was lined three to four carts deep. It would take an eternity to get through. Jane stood behind him, her jaw clenched. She was teetering on the edge of an emotional meltdown, yet she didn’t implore him to leave or utter a word of complaint.

Christ, how did he get himself into this mess? He had two choices—neither of which he was all that thrilled about. He could make Jane tough it out and hope like hell she could hold it together. Or, he could get her out of there and risk Lisa’s wrath. God only knew what she’d make him buy next time. Either way, it boiled down to what he was more afraid of. An overwrought, overly emotional amnesiac on the verge of tears, or his sister.

He shoved the cart behind a rack of women’s clothing and cupped a hand under Jane’s elbow, leading her toward the door.

She stumbled, surprised by their sudden speed. “Wh-where are we going?”

“I’m getting you out of here.”

“But—” she glanced back over her shoulder “—what about your groceries?”

He guided her through the door and out into the parking lot. “I’ll come back later.”

Inky clouds hung threateningly low and thunder rumbled in the distance. The pavement was damp, the air chilled and heavy with the scent of rain. He walked her to the car and helped her inside.

“That was very sweet of you,” she said when he got in.

There it was again, that annoying word. “I am not sweet.” He started the car, switched on the wipers and cranked the heat up full blast. “Think like a man for a minute. If you were in a crowded store with a woman who was about to burst into tears, what would you have done?”

“Gotten the hell out as fast as I could?”

“Exactly.”

“In other words, your actions were purely selfish.”

When he looked over at her, she was grinning. “You don’t believe me?”

“I believe that you’d like to believe that. I also believe that you were being sweet. You’re a nice guy, Detective. Why can’t you just admit it?”

Mitch clutched the steering wheel, his jaw tense. “If you knew me, you’d feel differently.”

Any minute now.

Jane listened to the bed creak and groan as she shifted her weight, attempting in vain to avoid the springs jabbing her in the back. There was something about this place. Something disturbingly familiar, like the ghost of a long past memory. It wasn’t even the room itself she seemed to recognize, but the atmosphere. The essence of stale cigarette smoke and mold. The impersonal ambience that made a place feel cold and temporary.

She gazed up at the maze of cracks and craters that barely passed for a ceiling, guessing that it might have been white at one time, and praying it didn’t choose that particular moment for its inevitable collapse. What paint hadn’t peeled off had faded to a dingy, dirty gray and water damage warped three of the four corners. The fourth corner had dark splatter stains that might have been…well, she didn’t really want to know what they were. Just like she wouldn’t venture to guess the origin of similar stains she’d found on the sheets when she’d dared pull back the threadbare comforter.

Apparently the nicer halfway house—talk about an oxymoron—had no available space. Mitch had apologized for the dreary conditions, explaining that the city had limited funds and not enough crime to warrant building a new facility. Luxurious it wasn’t, but for the time being she was trapped here.

Very soon, that would change.

The director of the halfway house—a female physical equivalent of a sumo wrestler—had assured Detective Thompson she wouldn’t let Jane out of the house. Though getting past the woman might prove to be a challenge, outrunning her would be a piece of cake. Unfortunately, Jane didn’t want the police alerted to her self-imposed liberation. Her only hope was a stealthy escape.

They were bound to discover her absence eventually. Hopefully by then she’d be long gone. Her room was on the first floor and the window opened to the back alley. She would simply slide it open and hop down. She couldn’t see the harm in taking a walk around town, maybe give her memory a much needed nudge. If her attacker had no clue as to her whereabouts, as Detective Thompson had assured her, how could he possibly know where to look for her? She would be perfectly safe.

She rolled out of bed and pushed back the tattered, sun-faded curtains. The storm had blown over, leaving dreary skies and a bone-chilling dampness in its wake. She’d wait a few more minutes to be sure Detective Thompson was long gone. Checking the pocket of her jacket, she found the business card he’d given her.

“In case you need anything,” he’d said when he handed it to her.

Need anything? Ha! What she needed was to find out who she was. Still, it would be good to keep his number handy. If she ran into any trouble or, God forbid, got lost, she’d find a pay phone and call him collect—save him the trouble of looking for her later.

She glanced at the glowing red numbers on the digital clock next to the bed. He’d been gone twenty minutes. That should give her a pretty good head start. Dressed in the clothes the halfway house director had given her—clothes that actually fit—and with the hood of her jacket up, there was a good chance she could go unrecognized.

She rolled out of bed, locked the door to her room, then unfastened the latch on the window. With some effort she pried it up far enough to stick her head out. As far as she could see in either direction the alley was deserted. So far so good. But boy was it a long way down—six feet at least with nothing but asphalt to cushion her landing. One wrong move and she could bust an ankle or twist a knee.

Come on Jane, don’t be a chicken.

She’d come too far to back out now. Putting all her weight behind the effort, she pushed open the window. She stuck one foot out, then the other, until she was sitting, both legs dangling out the window. It was now or never.

One…two… she closed her eyes and shoved…three!

She hit the slippery asphalt at a slight angle. Both feet flew out from under her and she went down hard on her behind. Not exactly graceful in her execution, but nothing appeared to be broken. And better still, she was free.

Or was she?

She sensed a presence before she saw him emerge from the side of the building.

“Going somewhere?”