Angus's Lost Lady

by Marie Ferrarella

  She looked down before answering, as if she hoped that one might magically materialize. It didn’t.

  “No. Nothing. Except for this.” Shifting in the chair, she dug into the pocket of the trench coat. When she withdrew her hand, she was holding a small business card. It was stained and bent. And his.

  Angus frowned, taking the card from her. He looked it over. There was nothing written on the back to indicate who it might have come from.

  “Where did you get this?”

  If she knew that, maybe she’d know who she was. She struggled to keep the despair from engulfing her.

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d given it to me.” She let a shaky breath escape her lips. “That’s why I came. To see if you knew me.”

  Steam was rising from the glass pot. Angus measured out two teaspoons of coffee, put them into the mug, and watched the hot water he poured over the granules turn dark.

  “How did you find me?” It would seem to him that if she had amnesia, she wouldn’t know her way around.

  “I asked directions. I don’t know how long it took me to walk here.”

  A half smile curved her mouth. Angus found it completely captivating. It took him a moment to focus on the conversation.

  “I guess people don’t like to stop to talk to deranged-looking women,” she finally said.

  She didn’t look deranged, just wet. And frightened. He glanced down at her foot. “Maybe the fact that you’re wearing just one shoe had something to do with it. Where did you lose it?”

  Embarrassed, she moved her bare foot behind the other one. She shrugged, hating this helplessness that held her prisoner. “I don’t know. When I came to, I only had one on.”

  He nodded, then remembered he’d already poured the hot water. “How do you want your coffee?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The words haunted her. She’d been repeating them over and over again in her mind. Fresh tears threatened. She didn’t know. Not her name, not where she lived, not even something as simple as how she took her coffee, or if she took it at all.

  She looked as close to battle fatigue as any soldier he’d ever seen. The lady was perilously close to breaking down.

  “We’ll try black,” he said soothingly.

  Crossing to her, Angus handed her the mug. The way she wrapped her hands around it, he knew she was seeking warmth from it more than sustenance.

  “Maybe you should get out of that,” he suggested, nodding at her coat. Rather than having kept her dry, the coat was sealing moisture in around her. “I’ve got an old sweatshirt here someplace.”

  Angus began opening the drawers in his desk. The third one yielded a faded blue sweatshirt and an old W-2 form he had thought was missing. He placed the sweatshirt on the desk in front of her and made a mental note to file the form.

  “You can change in there if you want.” He indicated the tiny bathroom.

  The coat was beginning to feel dank. She rose and took it off. But rather than go into the bathroom, she merely slipped the sweatshirt over her blouse. The sweatshirt was several sizes too large for her and the sleeves hung down well past her hands. It accentuated how lost she felt.

  Huddling in the sweatshirt, she sat down again and picked up the mug. Her fingers were half buried in the sleeves.

  “Thank you.” The words were far too inadequate to express the gratitude she felt. As long as she could talk to him, she didn’t feel so alone. Or so frightened.

  She looked more like a waif than ever, he thought, studying her. There was a red mark on her forehead he hadn’t noticed before. Angus stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he gently moved her hair aside. Part of a scab that had just begun to form was torn away. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Am I?” Her fingers fluttered along her hairline. Now that the rain wasn’t washing over her, she could feel a thin, sticky line forming just over her right eye. She winced slightly as her fingers came in contact with it.

  The headache buzzing around her temples amplified twofold.

  “Wait.” Angus caught her wrist, drawing her hand away from the wound. “I’ve got a first-aid kit. Let me clean that up for you. The last thing you want is an infection.”

  Self-conscious, she began to demur. But by now her energy was almost completely depleted. She let out a small puff of air. “I’d appreciate that.”

  The small red, white and blue box Angus pulled out from beneath the bathroom sink was battered and well-worn. It had been old even when he’d gotten it, left behind by the previous occupant of the office, an accountant who—according to the building maintenance man—was accident-prone. Angus placed the metal box on the desk, flipped open the rusty lock and took out what he needed.

  “This might sting,” he warned her just before he applied the antiseptic. She winced again, and he flashed her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” Wanting to fidget, she forced herself to remain perfectly still as he worked. “It’s nice to feel something besides cold and bewilderment, even if it is pain.”

  Angus wiped away the peroxide residue. “Must be rough,” he empathized. “Not knowing.” He knew it would have had him climbing the walls.

  Yes, it was, she thought. Extremely rough. “I feel like I’m a void,” she told him. “A huge, gaping, endless void.” She sucked in her breath again as Angus pressed the ends of the Band-Aid against her wound.

  “Can’t say I know what that feels like, but it must be hell.” Angus stepped back to inspect his handiwork. It would do for now, he decided. “I think that’ll be okay.” He closed the kit.

  Her neck aching, she lowered her head again. She felt awkward. Awkward with herself. With the situation. With imposing on this man. This wasn’t right.

  Taking a deep breath, she rose to her feet. She offered him a brave smile and her hand. “Thank you.”

  Angus looked at her hand, his own remaining at his side. “Where are you going?”

  She lifted her shoulders helplessly, then let them fall. She had no destination. “I don’t know, but I’ve imposed on you long enough. And since you don’t know who I am—”

  Her voice trailed off as she turned toward the door. What more was there to say? He didn’t know who she was. That made two of them.

  Angus hustled to get between her and the door. She couldn’t just walk out of here, he decided. Not if she had nowhere to go. “That doesn’t mean I can’t help you find out.”

  “How?” And why would he want to if he didn’t know her?

  Angus smiled to himself. Maybe she hadn’t finished reading what was written on his card: Angus MacDougall, Private Investigator.

  “Well, the best place to start is the police station.” He took her trench coat from the back of the chair and offered it to her. “It takes twenty-four hours before a person is officially declared missing, but that wouldn’t stop someone from calling if they were worried because you hadn’t turned up where you were supposed to be.”

  She flushed as she took the coat from him. “Do you think so?”

  Angus helped her put the coat on over the sweatshirt. “If I thought you were missing, I’d certainly be calling every place I could,” he assured her.

  As he took her arm to guide her out the door, her limp caught his attention. With only one high heel on, she was off-kilter.

  “Hold it.” Returning to his desk, he opened the bottom drawer and deposited a pair of running shoes on top. They were his, an old pair he kept in the office for emergencies. Running helped him clear his head. “I know they’re pretty large, but if we stuff some paper in the toe, they’ll do in a pinch.” He smiled at her. “At least there are two of them.”

  Grateful, she put them on, then glanced in his direction. “Any chance of there being a hamburger in your desk?”

  It was the first hint of a smile he’d seen on her lips and it lit up her face. “No, but I think something can be arranged.”

  When they walked out of the building, the rain had temporarily stop
ped. Angus took the break in the weather as an omen. Stories handed down from his ancestors had been vivid enough to make him believe in omens, both good and bad. This one was good.

  Angus guided her to his car. There weren’t very many left in the lot. The nine-to-fivers had gone home an hour ago.

  “It takes a little while to warm up,” he explained as the vintage Mustang refused to start. His hand, large and sturdy, swept over the dashboard, as if coaxing a response from the vehicle.

  Like a lover stroking his mistress, she thought. Her eyes widened. Where had that come from? Did she have a lover? Was there someone really waiting for her?

  He saw the startled look. “What?”

  Embarrassed, she looked away. “Nothing.”

  The engine caught. It had taken only three tries. Vindicated, Angus nodded in satisfaction.

  “See, what did I tell you? If at first....” As he guided the car from the lot, his eyes shifted to her face. The solemnity wrenched at his heart, and he made a promise he had no way of knowing if he could keep: “It’s going to be all right.”

  Like a child assured that there were no monsters under her bed, she wanted to believe him. Wanted to, but was afraid to. “Do you think so?”

  He had absolutely nothing to base his assurance on. But that didn’t stop him. In his estimation, she needed to hear the words.

  “Sure I do.” Leaning over, Angus covered her hand with his own in a mute gesture of comfort. Her hand felt like ice. “I know a few guys at the precinct. They’ll be able to help you.”

  She sat looking straight ahead. It began to drizzle again.

  Angus thought he heard her whisper, “I hope so,” and squeezed her hand again before he withdrew his.

  That made two of them, he thought.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Detective Al Biordi looked at the man he had once served under in naval intelligence, and at the woman Angus had brought in. Noting the devastated look on her face, he quickly added. “It’s not a matter of not wanting to. It’s a matter of not being able to. No one matching your description has been reported missing.” He pointed toward the computer he had just spent the last fifteen minutes poring over. The program he had accessed had yielded nothing. “Not here, or in any of the nearby states.”

  She began to protest that she hadn’t been to any other state, then stopped. How did she know that? Maybe she had been. Maybe whatever had happened to her had happened somewhere else and afterwards she’d somehow managed to get here.

  The ache in her head increased several notches and the hamburger Angus had gotten for her lay like cold lead in her stomach.

  “Maybe nobody knows I’m gone,” she said quietly. Or maybe, she thought, nobody cared.

  “Exactly. All this means is that you probably haven’t been missing for very long.” He glossed over the word probably. The detective’s expression softened. “Maybe this amnesia thing just happened in the last few hours.”

  Angus nodded. It was more than possible, given the state of her attire. Well, there was nothing they could do for tonight.

  “Will you excuse us?”

  Before she could answer, Angus ushered Al aside. He wanted a word with the man alone.

  It was only necessary to take a few steps away from her within the crowded squad room for their voices to be lost in the din. Still, cautious, Angus glanced back at her to make sure that their words didn’t carry.

  She looked so small and lost, he was tempted to return to her, take her into his arms and just hold her. For a second, he almost gave in. Common sense intervened.

  Angus turned to his friend. “All right, now what do we do?”

  There wasn’t a whole lot Al could suggest. “You can come back tomorrow and check with me then.”

  That still left them to deal with now. “Meanwhile? She’s got no place to go, Al.”

  Al shook his head. If he had a dime for each person he’d come across that had no place to go, he would have been a rich man by now. The county was filled with them. He motioned Angus over to his desk.

  Taking a pad out, he began to write. “I can give you the address of a homeless shelter that’ll take her in. It’s nearby.” Finished, he ripped off the page, offering it to Angus. “It’s the best I can do.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Angus took the address from him. “Thanks.”

  Absently, he tucked the paper into his pocket and turned around to look at her again. She was watching him hopefully.

  He didn’t like the idea of just dropping her off at some shelter, but it really wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have anything else to occupy his time. Mrs. Madison was counting on him to come through with the evidence she needed to substantiate her claim that her husband was being unfaithful. And there was that little matter he had to clear up for Hogan, plus a background check for Dynamic Aerospace due by the end of the week.

  If that wasn’t enough, there was a certain miniature blue-eyed female who was only just now beginning to trust him—and she was waiting for him in his apartment.

  His plate was definitely full.

  His eyes slid over the woman’s heart-shaped face, lingering on each feature. Her expression tugged at his heart.

  Hell, he had nothing to feel guilty about. He’d done everything he could for her. He’d brought her here and stayed while she gave Al her statement. He’d even given her his sweatshirt and his running shoes. On top of that, he’d fed her. Nobody could fault him if he drove her to the shelter and just went on with his life.

  No, it really wasn’t his problem. Angus heard himself sigh. She wasn’t his problem, just a stranger who had wandered in off the street.

  A stranger who just happened to have his business card in her pocket.

  Where the hell was she?

  God damn it, he’d looked everywhere. If she was dead, she should have been here.

  Why wasn’t she here?

  There’d been a story on the news this morning about the body of an unidentified female being found, but that was in Westminster. There was no way she could have gotten up there in her condition.

  He was sure he’d gotten her. It wasn’t a clear shot, but when his gun had discharged he’d seen her stumble. He had hit her, he bet his life on if.

  He was betting his life on it.

  If it hadn’t been for those firemen, he would have been able to go after her and finish the job. He hadn’t been able to wait them out. The others had been waiting for him. The others, who couldn’t know about this snag.

  A string of obscenities echoed, following him through the empty, crumbling parking structure as he returned to his car.

  What the hell was he going to do if she was still alive?

  Chapter 2

  Angus was still arguing with himself fifteen minutes later, as he turned his car down Main Street.

  He glanced at the woman before looking back at the road. It might have helped assuage his conscience if she’d talked, if she’d gotten on his nerves or even unreasonably lashed out at him because he was her only available target in this newborn world in which she suddenly found herself. Then he might have felt justified in leaving her at the homeless shelter.

  But she didn’t do any of those things. She didn’t lash out, she didn’t get on his nerves. She didn’t say a word once she got into the car.

  What she did was sit perfectly still in the passenger seat and silently watch the rain flirt with the windshield wipers as the storm temporarily slacked off and debated its options for the remainder of the evening.

  Without saying a single word, the woman who had unintentionally wandered into his life without warning or preamble had succeeded, just as unintentionally, in making him feel like a heartless bastard because he was abandoning her. Never mind that she didn’t know him and he didn’t know her. None of that mattered right now. He was the only name, the only face, Angus reasoned, that this woman knew.

  And what was he doing? He was foisting her off on the first homeless s
helter he came across.

  Pretty damn heartless, that’s what his father would have said, looking down his hawk-like nose at him. Not that his father knew anything about hearts—just about assigning guilt. His father had been born without the vital organ in place. That was supposed to be one of the things that made Angus different from his father. He was supposed to have one.

  His conscience continued to nag him as he brought the car to a slow, reluctant halt by the curb directly in front of the shelter.

  It nagged even harder as he took a good look at the building. Squeezed in between a vacant store with a jagged, horizontal crack running the length of the front window, and a pawnshop that sported both dust and items in its show window that were undoubtedly older than the woman beside him, the homeless shelter looked woebegone and forlorn. Whatever color it had once been painted had long since been worn away by the endless parade of lost souls who had crossed the threshold with hopelessness as their only traveling companion. The only bit of color evident was the graffiti scrawled over the gray metal door. When he made it out, he winced at the sentiment that had been spray-painted there.

  Angus felt like a hypocrite for trying to smile at her. “This is it.”

  She turned to look at the building and slowly nodded. Angus couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the head gladiator releasing the Christian virgin into the lion-filled arena.

  “You’ll be all right?”

  It was a dumb question, Angus berated himself. How could anyone be all right in a place that reeked of despair? What was he doing, bringing her here? She didn’t belong in a homeless shelter. She wasn’t a homeless woman. She was a woman who had misplaced her home along with the rest of her life.

  Fighting against the shiver that threatened to take possession of her, she pressed her lips together, then answered, “I’ll have to be.”

  A feeling of being disembodied, of floating just outside herself, played over her as she placed her hand on the car door latch. Looking at him one last time, she forced her mouth into a smile. He’d gone out of his way for her when he hadn’t had to. She was grateful to him for that.