"No, you didn't, Blair," Beth said. "The doctor told me when they called about your accident." She paused again. "I have no explanation for that. You must have had your reasons. You tell me everything. You weren't far along. It's possible you didn't even know about the baby yet yourself. That's all I can think."
I couldn't tell whether she really believed that or if she was trying to reassure me that my memory loss wasn't as bad as it appeared.
"How do you feel about it?" she said, tentative and full of motherly concern.
"Confused," I said, honestly. "Sad." Worried that she wouldn't live to see her "grandchild."
"I don't know what to say. I'm sorry about the baby," she said.
I took a deep breath. I had to satisfy my curiosity. "Were Nigel and I trying to have a baby?" Even as I spoke, the words sounded wrong. I was trying so hard to piece things together. But nothing seemed to fit.
"Nigel?" She sounded suddenly cautious, as if she was suddenly perching on the edge of her chair. "Is he there with you now?"
"No. I sent him home to get some much-needed, and deserved, rest," I said. "He's been with me here at the hospital all night since the accident. He was exhausted."
"I see."
I frowned. I might have a head injury, but I still recognized disapproval in her voice when I heard it. "What aren't you telling me? The pregnancy was an accident?" I couldn't remember wanting to get pregnant, either.
"Yes," she said, gently. "I assume so. Blairest, darling, you know you aren't with Nigel anymore, right? You broke up with him when you moved back to Seattle to take the job at the cancer center in March."
I felt as if she'd punched me in the stomach. The effect was almost dizzying. How could I ever break up with Nigel? And if I somehow had, how could I forget? And taking a job in Seattle? So that was the choice I'd made.
"No. That can't be right." I shook my head. I couldn't imagine my world without him. "I love him. I've always loved him."
There was a beat of telling, frightened silence. What I'd said had apparently scared both of us.
"I'm sorry. I'm upsetting you," Beth said. "Dr. Cage is confident your memory will come back completely intact. Except possibly for the accident itself and maybe the immediate events around it. Just give it time."
But I couldn't let it rest. It wasn't in my pragmatic nature. I'd always been impatient. "If Nigel isn't the father, then who is? Am I seeing someone?"
Beth hesitated again. "I don't want to overwhelm you. Nigel has been keeping me informed since the accident. He doesn't want me to say too much, but…" She took a deep breath. "It's your life, the one you chose to live. You deserve to know about it. And Nigel…well, he has his own agenda. Always has. Be careful around him. Dr. Cage said to answer your questions as honestly as possible. So here we go. You know you're a bit of a celebrity because of Jamie?"
"Yes. Nigel told me." I glanced at the enormous bouquet by my bed. "It doesn't seem real. The show sent me a huge bouquet. With a card signed by Connor Reid and Samantha Roberts." I couldn't keep the wonder out of my voice.
I had some kind of amazing life. And I'd forgotten the best parts.
Beth let a beat of silence pass. "You really don't remember? Scratch that. Of course you don't."
She was quiet, but I could almost hear her debating with herself. "You have your Jamie, Blair. He's handsome, sweet, witty, funny, smart, and devoted to you."
Beth liked him. That said quite a lot. Nigel had been sketchy on the details. Hearing Beth's account, I couldn't blame him.
Beth continued, "He loves you like you've never been loved. Like every woman should be loved. His name is Austin—"
I frowned, anger flashing from nowhere. Defensiveness on Nigel's behalf. "If I have a Jamie, a guy who's as wonderful as you say he is, where the hell is he? Why isn't he here with me? Like Nigel is? Why hasn't he contacted me?"
"I don't know." Beth sounded worried and disappointed. "I don't know where Austin is. And that's what worries me. The Austin I know would move heaven and earth to be with you."
* * *
Austin
I stared at the guy across the table from me. He'd introduced himself as Jerry Wilkes, from a little-known top-secret division of the government in charge of cybersecurity. I had little doubt that was not his real name. The meeting felt cloak and dagger to me.
"Look," I said for what felt like the dozenth time, "You have my entire history. I'm a red-blooded, loyal American. I have no reason to betray my country or sell out for cash. I'm about to become a wealthy guy. I understand you have a problem on your hands. But, as I've told everyone I've talked to, these allegations against me are baseless.
"I can help you find out who's really behind this." I stared him in the eye. "Just let me take a crack at my code. I set traps in it that only I know how to find and evaluate. You need my help."
He didn't blink.
"You don't have to trust me," I said. "I'm not guilty. I have nothing to hide. Supervise me. Have someone look over my shoulder while I work—just let me help you and get me the hell out of here."
"That's why I'm here, MacDougall," he said. "You're lucky to have loyal, powerful friends. They've convinced us to take a chance on you."
I wondered exactly whose arm Lazer had twisted. Which of his billionaire friends had he called a favor in from? Had he gone to his ultra-powerful billionaires' club, EIEIO, and enlisted someone with government connections?
"We believe you can help us," Jerry said. "But you'll have to prove yourself. We'll be watching your every move."
"I expected nothing less," I said. "When do I start? And how soon can you get me out of here? I need to get to Scotland ASAP. You've seen the news. My girlfriend's been in an accident—"
He nodded and studied me. "Slow down. You won't be going anywhere until our investigation is complete and you prove your worth."
"Investigations typically take about how long?" I raised my eyebrows.
"We're working as fast as we can. The more you help us, the faster this will go." His tone was no-nonsense. His posture indicated the offer was nonnegotiable. "In the meantime, you'll be in the black box. No outside contact."
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. This was the best offer I was likely to get. And the fastest way to save my reputation and get to Blair.
"I'm in." I snorted. "I don't really have much choice."
His face remained masked and unreadable.
"I need to talk to Blair, Dr. Edwards, my girlfriend, before I disappear. I need to let her know I haven't abandoned her."
Jerry shook his head. "Not possible. Given her head injury and memory loss, she's too great a security risk to be trusted."
"Memory loss?" I leaned toward him, desperate for news. "What memory loss? How much has she forgotten? What has she forgotten?"
"You. She doesn't remember you." His tone wasn't unkind. But he was the kind of guy who was used to delivering bad news and delivering it straightforwardly.
I sat back in my chair, stunned, sucker-punched. Angry. Desperate.
"You didn't know?" For a second he looked genuinely sympathetic.
"How the hell could I know? I'm not allowed visitors or outside contact. They took my phone away." I ran my fingers through my hair and glanced back at him.
He knew I hadn't known. Of course he knew. This was part of the game to get me to cooperate.
He shoved a water bottle across the table to me. "You look pale."
I grabbed the bottle and took a swig. What I needed was whisky or one of those kilt lifters the guys and I had pounded down with Connor Reid. "A note. A card. Let me write out one for Blair."
Jerry's face remained set.
"Damn it, man! At least let me send Blair flowers."
He nodded very slightly. "I can arrange that. I'll do the ordering. A simple message—I love you. Good enough?"
"What are you afraid of?" This was too much intrigue for me. "I'm not a damn secret agent. I'm not sending her a secret message in the flowers
and note and a lucky decoder ring."
He shrugged. "We don't take chances."
I sighed, desperate. "I need to see her aunt. Beth. I have to find out—"
He shook his head. "Only people who are already involved. Those are the only people I can let you speak to. Lazer Grayson. Your attorney. Those are your options."
"And my buddy and business partner, Cam. He has a security clearance. He can represent the rest of my partners." I wasn't backing down. I realized they wanted my help. I had some negotiating power.
Finally, Jerry nodded.
"What are you waiting for?" I said. "Let's get started."
Blair was with Nigel. I had to get to her. I had to make her remember me. I had to get her back. I had to pray that somehow she remembered me before it was too late.
* * *
Blair
My conversation with Beth had been less than reassuring. And resulted in a bout of morbid curiosity about my life. About the boyfriend who'd supposedly gone missing. Or done a disappearing act. Why did I feel like I was suddenly in the middle of a mystery dinner party, only the dinner was my life? And it was the mystery, too.
After hanging up with Beth, I looked through my phone, playing spy. That was rich. Spying on my own life. Trying to crack the code of who I'd been for the past six months. Most of the year was a blank.
There was a voicemail I'd ignored before in my rush to call Beth. From an unknown number. I deleted it unheard. I had no time to deal with anyone I didn't know. I was having a hard enough time dealing with those I did and those I should know.
I looked through the rest of the phone, my contacts, and messages.
I had numbers for people I didn't remember: Austin, Cam, Dylan, Jeremy, Erica. How did I have a number for billionaire Lazer Grayson? How did I have those kinds of connections?
Just what kind of a fantasy life had I been living? I was almost afraid to find out more. This all had to be a dream. Or a gag.
With a certain amount of fear and trepidation, I looked first through the pictures on my phone, holding my breath as the first of them came up, hoping a face or a scene would jog my memory. I was a very visual learner. But if I didn't remember names, how would I remember faces? I was desperate.
The first picture was a selfie of me in the most beautiful red Elinor dress—Beth had made this lovely creation? I was with a man so gorgeous that my breath caught. Deep auburn hair. Green eyes. Historical kilt. And his arm looped around me.
"Jamie," I whispered.
No, but that wasn't right. He wasn't quite Jamie. He was better. My Jamie.
Desperately seeking Jamie. That had been a joke between Beth and me since she first let me read the book, well before the TV show was filmed. I was just fourteen, romantic, and determined to find my Jamie. Totally confident that he was out there, twenty-first century and beta males be damned. Ah, the cockiness of youth.
But I had succeeded? Seriously? What kind of fantastical thing was that?
Cruel, wicked fate. In the blink of an eye, in the turn of the head in the wrong direction, I'd lost not only him, but worse, myself. The woman I'd always dreamed of being. The vibrant, smiling, happy, confident woman in the red dress. The woman who was finally enjoying life again—by all appearances, anyway—after years of dedicating everything to becoming a doctor. Of spending her youth studying. And this man, this beautiful man, was responsible for the transformation? At least in part?
I racked my brain, but I couldn't remember him. To me, he was no more real than Jamie. A fictional character I dreamed about. And now he was a ghost. Only a shadow on the edges of my mind. Where was he? Should I be worried about him? How do you worry about someone you don't know?
Pictures, pictures, pictures. The phantom Austin and me with Connor Reid and Samantha Roberts, looking like old friends! Us with a smiling zombie. Us with Seattle talk show host Sheri Carmichael.
The phone trembled in my hand. I stared, unseeing, out the window of my hospital room. I'd forgotten the best part of my life. As I looked at picture after picture with me, and this man named Austin, all I saw was joy and fun.
There was a picture of me—not to be vain—where I looked beautiful. I was smiling and happy in a way I couldn't remember being. Whoever had snapped the picture had managed to capture just the right angle and lighting to soften the sharpness of my features and highlight everything that was pleasant about my face. I was looking at the camera and, I assume, him, it had to be him, with what I can only describe as a classic, but very real, look of love.
Austin? Had Austin taken the picture? Was that how he saw me?
I couldn't remember. Not any of it.
I banged my fist against the bedside tray table. Love didn't seem to be a remembered emotion. Did that make it learned? Could it be replicated?
The man, Austin—I had to remember to think of him by his name—was pure eye candy. Well, he looked like Connor Reid, didn't he? Easy to see why I would feel a physical attraction to him. But what I very obviously felt for him was still missing, even though the pictures made me smile and filled me with longing.
There was one short video. Austin hamming it up for the camera. Blowing it, me, a kiss. "I love you, Blair. Never forget how much I love you."
It was the kind of thing people say all the time, never really meaning or thinking that the other person would forget. The thought was so preposterous. We really only meant, Don't doubt our love, not even in a moment of anger or disappointment.
His voice was deep and sexy, filled with emotion. But totally unfamiliar.
There were texts from him. Hundreds of them. Funny texts. Everyday texts. Loving, sexy texts. I read a few and stopped, embarrassed. Unable to continue. I felt like I was reading someone else's diary, someone else's intimate messages. Reading private texts from someone else's boyfriend. Things that weren't meant for my eyes.
Reading them made me unreasonably angry and frustrated. I couldn't be this woman whose text life was on my phone. This fun-loving woman who'd forgotten about Nigel and casually fallen in love with someone else. That could not be me.
Head injuries, like heart catastrophes, healed unpredictably. I tried to remember everything I'd learned about them. I'd seen my share during my stint working in emergency. Plenty of concussions and worse. Would I ever remember Austin? And how would I feel if and when I did? Would the memories of how I'd apparently felt about him return at the same time? Or would it be a purely intellectual thing, like knowing how to add, or memorizing historical facts?
I hadn't seen my MRI or the results of any of my tests. Maybe that was best. I was in no frame of mind to objectively analyze them. Dr. Cage had seen them. He believed I would remember. I'd have to trust his medical opinion. But how long would remembering take, if it happened at all? Would it be too late to salvage these happy points in my life and the relationships I'd formed with Austin and all the people in the photos? Did I even want to?
And what had happened to Austin? Should I be worried about him? There were no missed calls or voicemails from him since. No texts. No Snapchat messages. No IMs, DMs, or PMs. No smoke signals. No semaphore.
I hovered on the edge of calling him. What did I owe this man I didn't remember? What did he owe me? An explanation for why he'd dropped off the face of the earth? Had we had a fight? Broken up? Is that why I was back with Nigel? Had I flown back to his arms?
Before I chickened out, I punched Austin's number, hands shaking. My heart raced so fast I was almost certain the heart monitor would send the nurses running in, fearing I was going into heart failure. My hands shook as the phone rang and rang. My mouth went dry. I almost hung up. I didn't know what I wanted more—him to pick up or ignore me.
Finally, it went to voicemail. And there was that deep, hot voice again, filled with humor. "It's Austin. Leave a message. Hey, seriously. Leave a message. If you have nothing to say, breathe heavily. There's nothing like a good prank call to light up my day."
I hung up. Without breathing heavily. At leas
t not on purpose.
I stared at the other contacts in my phone. And the other men in the photos. His friends, apparently. And now mine? Pictures from all kinds of events. Working out at a gym with a ripped instructor. A camping trip. Highland games. We'd all been having so much fun, or so it looked. Cam, Jeremy, and Dylan? Did I dare call one of them and hope he could, or would, explain?
Footsteps down the hall, pausing just inside the door. I looked up to see Nigel carrying a bouquet of roses. I set my phone on the bedside table almost guiltily. As if I'd betrayed him.
"Blair. Good to see you sitting up and looking beautiful. You're getting your color back." He walked over and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. Just like he had a hundred times or more before.
Did it feel just a little less thrilling than it had been before finding out about Austin? How could that be?
My emotions were all over the place. I tried to force them in check.
"You look at least a little more rested," I said, confused now with all I'd seen and learned. Scared about how much I'd forgotten. "Did you get enough sleep? You should take care of yourself. I'm fine here."
"Knowing you're going to recover made all the difference. I power-slept. I feel more rested than I have in months. I couldn't stay away from you for long." He set the vase of roses on the table next to my phone. "For you. Good old English roses for my English rose."
I studied them, thinking it was an easy gesture that didn't require much thought. It was nice, but generic. They weren't even my favorites. I didn't know where that thought came from. As if someone else had done more. In the past I would have been pleased with the simple, romantic thought behind it.
"They're beautiful. Thank you." I paused. "Beth isn't coming." I seemed suddenly prone to just blurting things out with no segue.
Nigel took a seat in the chair beside my bed and raised an eyebrow. "You talked to her?" He looked worried. "What did she say?"
"Her passport expired," I said, not wanting to go into detail about our talk. Beth had liked Nigel in the beginning. Before she decided he wasn't as passionate about me as he should have been. That he was too focused on himself to really love me as I should be loved. Her words, not mine. "She's trying to renew it. It could take weeks."
Simply Blair: A Jet City Novel Page 5
