DIAGNOSIS: ATTRACTION

by Rebecca York

  “We’re an online publication. That gives us the flexibility to get the news up quickly.”

  Cynthia waited for him to say more.

  “If I did an article about the woman—Jane Doe—someone might come forward to, you know, claim her.”

  “We don’t have a picture of her.”

  “But do you know where she went?”

  Cynthia hesitated, weighing the upside and the downside. Polly had said not to talk about Elizabeth, but this was a newspaper reporter who might be able to help her.

  “She went home with one of our nurses,” she finally said.

  “One of the nurses from this floor.”

  Cynthia swallowed. “Yes, but if you get someone who thinks they know her, you can call me, and I’ll contact her.”

  “You can’t give me her name?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Okay. And what else can you tell me? Can you give me a description of her?”

  Cynthia thought for a moment. “She was in her late twenties or early thirties. Her hair was short and dark, curly. Her eyes were blue. Her face was oval-shaped. She’s about five feet five inches tall and weighs about 110 pounds. Does that help?”

  “That’s excellent.”

  Cynthia was starting to wonder if she had done the right thing. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Jack Regan.”

  “You have a card?”

  He handed her one with his name and a phone number.

  She bent it back and forth in her hand.

  “I’ll call if I get a lead,” he said.

  “When will the article be out?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  The man left, and Cynthia looked toward the phone. Should she call Polly? Or should she just act like nothing had happened? In the end she didn’t make the call.

  * * *

  ELIZABETH WAS THINKING that she would have never in her life have considered finding herself in this helpless situation. Then she laughed because she was making up the “never in her life” part. The truth was that if she had imagined this, she didn’t know about it because the memory was missing.

  She showered and dressed, and spent a restless morning flipping through TV channels.

  Over two hundred channels and nothing held her interest. As she looked out the back window, her gaze roamed over Polly’s weedy garden. If Elizabeth went out and worked in it for a few hours, at least she’d be doing something constructive.

  This was one of the days Polly didn’t go to work. At least that’s what she’d told Elizabeth, who hoped the nurse hadn’t made special arrangements to stay home and watch over her.

  * * *

  SO FAR SO GOOD, Derek Lang decided. Hank Patterson, who had posed as Jack Regan, returned with valuable information.

  “Elizabeth Forester is staying with a nurse who was on duty yesterday.”

  Derek swung to his computer and consulted one of the many databases he had access to.

  He quickly came up with the personnel files of Memorial Hospital and found out who was on the nursing staff. Next he used a hacker program to get into the hospital work schedules and was able to zero in on the medical unit that had treated Forester.

  A few moments later, he looked up from the computer. “There were three nurses on duty in her area. We know it’s not the Price woman. That leaves two others.” He gave Patterson the names. “You and Southwell check them out.”

  When Patterson had gone, Derek went back to the computer. It might be good to know what doctors had been on duty, too.

  * * *

  ELIZABETH FOUND POLLY folding laundry in the bedroom.

  “I’m going to be out back, doing some yard work.”

  “You don’t have to do anything like that.”

  “I want to.”

  “All right, dear.”

  “Do you have some gardening gloves?”

  “In the shed.”

  Elizabeth took a plastic grocery bag from the kitchen. She could stuff weeds inside it and then periodically empty the bag at the side of the shed. And then she could ask Polly what she wanted done with the mess.

  She slipped out the back and stood on the cracked concrete patio for a moment before crossing to the shed. As soon as she stepped inside, she started thinking about what she and Matthew had been doing in here last night.

  Banishing that intimate scene from her mind, she located the gloves, exited the shed and looked around. The garden had been laid out with several flower beds, although it seemed that Polly had lost interest in keeping the place up. But really, it could look much better. Elizabeth crossed to the far right corner, got down on her knees and began pulling at the various weeds that had taken over. She didn’t know the names of them, but she knew which were the plants that were choking out the flowers.

  She’d been working for a half hour when the back door opened. Expecting to see Polly, she looked up. Instead of the nurse, a man was standing in the doorway staring at her. A man with a gun that had a strangely long barrel.

  She gasped.

  He gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s go.”

  “No.”

  “You want me to shoot you here?” he asked.

  She raised her chin. “You won’t. You want information from me.”

  His face registered surprise and annoyance. “Yeah, but what if I shoot you in the kneecap?”

  “Are you going to risk it?”

  Chapter Six

  Elizabeth was shocked at her own audacity, yet in the back of her mind, she had been expecting something like this all along. Men had been chasing her, and she’d been sure they were looking for her. Now she wasn’t really surprised that one of them had caught up with her. They’d been desperate to find her, and it had been bound to happen.

  A horrible thought struck her. The man had come through the house, and Polly had been in there. Had she hidden from him, or had he found her? And what had he done to her?

  She clenched her teeth, holding back the questions. Perhaps he hadn’t seen Polly and she’d gotten to the phone to call 9-1-1.

  Stalling for time, she said, “What if I still don’t know who I am?”

  “We’ll find out if you’re telling the truth.”

  The light behind the man changed, and she saw another figure standing there. Was it the other man who’d been chasing her in the car? Then he shifted to the right, and she saw it was Matthew Delano.

  Her heart leaped—with relief and fear. Matthew had arrived, but what good was that going to do either one of them against a man with a gun?

  She tried not to look directly at Matt, tried not to give away that there was anyone behind the man.

  Matt was staring at her with intense concentration on his face, and she realized with a zing of recognition that he was trying to tell her something.

  Mind to mind. They’d done that once before, when they were touching. Now he was ten feet away and struggling to send her a message.

  She strained to understand what he was trying to tell her. It was fuzzy. Half-formed, like a radio transmission full of static. She struggled to focus on the words while she kept her gaze on the man with the gun. And finally a message solidified in her head.

  If you hear me, raise your shoulder. Then drop to the ground.

  As soon as she got the message, she did as he said, raising her shoulder, then dropping down, out of the line of fire.

  “Wha...”

  That was all the man said before Matt was on him, throwing him down where he stood.

  The gun went off, a silenced sound as the guy fell. She dashed forward and lashed out with her foot, kicking him in the face. He screamed, and Matt grabbed his hair, lifting his head and smashing it against
the concrete patio.

  The man went still, and Matt heaved himself up.

  She turned to him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I tried to stay away, but I couldn’t. Come on, we have to get going.”

  “Where’s Polly?”

  Matt’s expression turned grim. “I’m sorry. She’s dead.”

  Elizabeth felt her chest go tight, hardly able to process the words. “Dead?”

  “Yeah.” He paused for a moment before saying, “He shot her. Used a silencer so you wouldn’t hear it.”

  She moaned. “But...”

  “I know. It’s awful, but we have to get out of here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. Away.”

  He grabbed her hand, and she felt the familiar jolt of sexual awareness. Struggling to ignore it, she let him lead her into the house, but she stopped short when she saw blood trailing out of the laundry room. Following it, she found Polly lying in a crumpled heap in the door to the laundry room, a pool of blood under her.

  “We were just talking about garden gloves,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry,” was all he could offer.

  The reality of everything that had happened in the past few minutes jolted her. “Did she fight him?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  He turned toward the wall phone, picked up the receiver and punched in 9-1-1.

  “What is the nature of your emergency?”

  “There’s been a murder at 2520 Wandering Way,” he said, giving Polly’s address.

  “Stay on the line and...”

  He hung up. “We can’t stay around.”

  “But...”

  “We have to be out of here when the cops get here,” he said with conviction. Picking up a dish towel, he wiped off the phone. “You bought some clothes. Where are they?”

  “Bedroom.”

  He strode down a short hall and came back with the bag from the discount store. “Let’s go.”

  When she couldn’t manage to move, he took her hand again, leading her out the front door. In the distance she could hear the wail of a siren.

  They climbed into the car Matt had parked at the curb and drove away, while Elizabeth looked back over her shoulder.

  “She was a nice woman. She was just trying to help me, and look what happened to her.”

  “It shows what kind of men you’re dealing with.”

  She nodded numbly, trying to take in his words and the implications. She’d thought she was in trouble. She’d had no idea how much trouble. “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t think we can risk going to my apartment.”

  “Why?”

  “They probably know I treated you. They could be looking for me, too.”

  She gasped. “I’ve gotten you into bad trouble.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “Polly’s dead, and thugs with guns are after...us.”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He kept driving, putting distance between Polly’s house and themselves.

  “You sent me a message—mind to mind—and I got it.”

  “Yeah. Lucky thing, because I couldn’t risk hitting him when he had the gun pointed at you.”

  “Telepathic communication,” she whispered.

  “Probably it only worked at that distance because it was an emergency.”

  She would have liked to test the theory, but not now.

  Glancing at him, she asked, “You’re leaving all your stuff in your apartment?”

  “In Africa, I got into the habit of carrying essentials with me, in case I had to get out of a tight spot in a hurry. I’ve got an overnight bag in the trunk.”

  “Okay.”

  She tried to stay calm as they drove toward the suburbs.

  He stopped at an ATM and got a wad of cash, then stopped at another and got more.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I may not be able to use my credit card after this. I want to make sure I’ve got money.”

  “Why are we running from the authorities?”

  “Because we don’t know the situation. The cops could be in on it.”

  “That’s a cynical way of thinking.”

  “I’ve learned to be cynical. And I think you agree.”

  “Why?”

  “Did you go to the cops when those guys were chasing you—or try to run away?”

  “I guess I tried to run away.”

  He put twenty miles between Polly’s house and themselves before pulling into the parking lot of a motel chain.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back. And slump down in the seat so you’re not so visible.”

  She didn’t question him as she slid down and watched him disappear into the lobby. He was back in under five minutes with a key card.

  “I asked for a room away from the highway,” he said as he drove around to the back and pulled up in front of one of the units.

  They both climbed out, and he unlocked the room. She’d held herself together in the car, but as soon as they were inside, she started to shake, leaning her shoulders against the door to stay upright.

  “I’m...I’m sorry...” she managed to say through chattering teeth.

  “None of this is your fault.”

  He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, and it was the most natural thing in the world to mold herself to his rugged frame, letting her head drop to his shoulder.

  He held her close, stroking his hand up and down her back.

  She knew what he was thinking. He was cussing out the bastards who had put her—the two of them—in this position. And he was determined to figure out what the hell was going on.

  But she felt his coherent thoughts—and hers—slipping away, overwhelmed by the sexual need zinging back and forth between them. It had been there from the first moment he had touched her in the hospital, a doctor thinking he was going to do a routine exam and being shocked by the results. The connection between them was stronger now, no doubt jolted up by her fear and his concern for her.

  * * *

  “I SHOULDN’T,” HE WHISPERED. “I’m taking advantage of you.”

  “Do you really believe that? I mean, you can read my mind.” She had to keep from punctuating the comment with a hysterical laugh.

  I guess that’s right.”

  There was more she could say, but she chose to demonstrate her feelings—and his—with actions, not words.

  Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been a stranger. But that was only a technical matter. The connection between them was stronger than with anyone else she’d ever met. Since they had first touched, she’d ached to be alone with him in a bedroom. And now they were here.

  The moment their mouths collided, it was like an old-fashioned kitchen match striking a rough surface. Unbearable heat flared, and she knew there was no going back—if either one of them was going to hold on to sanity. Their lips feasted on each other as his hands roamed her back.

  They kissed like two lovers at the end of the world who had thought they would never see each other again. And then each of them had stumbled around a corner and found the other standing there.

  Joy flooded through her. After all the long lonely years, she had found someone who...

  She couldn’t even put it into words. All she knew was that she and this man were on the same wavelength, both absorbed in the magical reality of being in each other’s arms and each other’s minds. It was so wonderful, except that the pounding in her head—which she’d felt when they had kissed in the shed—was back. “What is it?” she murmured.

  “The headache?”

  “Yes.
”

  “Could be something bad.”

  “Or what’s bad is stopping.”

  He made a sound of agreement, pulling her to him, deepening the kiss, angling his head to drink in everything he could.

  His thoughts were there for her to read. He had wanted her for what seemed like centuries, and it was gratifying to hear that silent admission.

  She moved closer, her arms creeping around his neck as she kissed him with intensity. When he finally lifted his head, they both struggled to drag in a full breath.

  He reached behind her, and she knew he was turning the door lock, then slipping the safety chain into place.

  They swayed as one, clinging together to keep from toppling over.

  “You’re putting your trust in my hands,” he whispered.

  “Who better?”

  He must have read the invitation in her mind because he bent his head, stroking his face against her breasts, then turned to brush his lips against one of the hardened tips poking through both her thin bra and the fabric of her T-shirt.

  Just that touch made heat leap inside her, and she knew that she had to get the damn shirt and bra off.

  She pulled the tee over her head and reached to unhook her bra, tossing them onto the floor. By the time she’d finished, he’d pulled off his own shirt and flung it to meet hers.

  Then he reached for her again, clasping her in his arms.

  She cried out as her breasts pressed against his chest. The sensuality of his naked flesh against hers took her breath away.

  “I don’t think I can stand up much longer,” she whispered.

  “Likewise.”

  He slung his arm around her and led her to the bed, letting go of her to pull down the covers.

  Then they were on the mattress, clinging, rocking in each other’s arms.

  He bent and swirled his tongue around one of her hardened nipples, then sucked it into his mouth.

  Heat shot downward through her body, and she could only sob at the intensity of what she felt.

  Yet the headache hovered at the edge of her pleasure.

  “We could be heading for a cerebral hemorrhage,” he muttered.

  “I don’t want to hear from Dr. Delano right now,” she said.

  And she knew he was thinking that they’d gone too far to stop.