by Curry, Edna
She pulled into the parking space in front of a new apartment building and parked. Turning to watch him, she said, “Well, here we are.”
“No, nothing’s familiar,” he said, answering her unasked question. He got out of the car and waited to follow her lead into the building.
She led the way upstairs and paused at an apartment door. A new lock barred their way.
“It looks like the Super was on the ball and replaced the lock already,” she said. “We’ll have to go find him for a key.”
They walked back downstairs to the apartment near the end of the building. A sign in front read, “Building Supervisor.”
A tall, skinny man opened the door and smiled at them. “Hi, Ken. I see you’re out of the hospital. Darned shame about the break-in. We don’t get too many of them in this neighborhood, thank goodness. You’ll want your new keys.”
“Yes,” he answered, wishing he’d thought to ask Rosie the man’s name. He felt like a kid in a school play who hadn’t learned his lines.
After getting the keys and thanking the man, they went back upstairs, unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment.
He stopped inside the door and looked around. Drawers were pulled out of chests, stuffed chairs and sofa were upended, their backs and cushions slashed open and the stuffing strewn around. Books and papers littered the beige carpet. As she’d said, the place was a mess. He glanced at Rosie in dismay.
“Don’t worry,” Rosie said. “I left Harry in charge at the office so I could spend some time helping you clean up this mess and get settled today.”
“Harry?”
“Harry Nelson. He’s the floor manager at Latham. He’ll do fine without us for a day. You have nothing to worry about.”
He closed his eyes at that and swallowed a laugh. He had nothing to worry about. Only a forgotten life. And somebody who wanted something badly enough to mug him and search his apartment in an attempt to get it. And he had no idea what that something was. Who was he dealing with?
Would they do more than mug him next time? How far would they go to get what they wanted?
What kind of guy was he, anyway? Was he mixed up in something illegal?
No, he couldn’t be. That just felt all wrong. But he’d better find out what was going on and fast, or he might not live long enough to figure it out.
Chapter 4
Rosie watched Ken’s pale face harden with resolve.
He moved into the room and closed the door behind them. “The police are done here, right?”
“Yes, although Lee said they’d want to talk to you again if you regain your memory.”
“We might as well get started cleaning up here, then. I have a decent income, right?”
Rosie tossed him a nervous look. “Ye-es. Why do you ask?”
“Then most of this is going in the trash,” he answered, heading for the kitchen. He dug around under the sink and pulled out a box of large trash bags, then returned to the living room and began picking up the bits of fiber and shredded foam strewn about. She watched him in astonishment. She’d never seen Ken willingly get dirty before. Now he seemed oblivious to the pieces of stuffing sticking to his clothes as he worked.
“How did you know where the trash bags were?” she asked as she picked up another plastic bag and began helping him.
He shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone keep them in the kitchen under the sink? It seems the logical place.”
“Maybe.” She sighed as she picked up a lovely beige silk pillow embroidered with gold and green flowers. It had been slashed with a knife in several places, and then ripped open as though someone expected to find something hidden in the stuffing. What a shame. Someone had put a lot of work into the delicate silk stitching. Now it was damaged beyond repair.
Reluctantly, she dropped it into the garbage bag. She glanced at Ken and said, “You’ll need some new furniture, too. He’s wrecked your sofa and easy chairs.”
“I’ll worry about that, later.”
She nodded. “Of course, I didn’t mean today. We’ll go shopping when you’re feeling better.”
She reached down and picked up some torn paperback books.
Ken reached for another one. “Why’d he have to rip up these?” he wondered aloud. “What could be hidden inside a book?”
“Maybe some papers?” Rosie speculated. “Cash? Stock Certificates?
“In a book?” He turned to stare at her incredulously. “Why wouldn’t I keep valuable things like that in a safety deposit box?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. To keep them handy if you trade a lot?”
“Maybe. But traders don’t usually get certificates. They use a broker or keep track of trades in an online account. Did I trade in stocks?”
She shrugged and bent to pick up a broken vase. “I don’t know, Ken. You never said anything about it to me if you did. But only something flat like papers would be likely to be hidden in a book.”
“True. But those would just fall out if you shake a book. Why tear the books up? Damn it, this was one of my favorite collections of Louis L’Amour’s western short stories.” He fingered a ruined hardcover book, and then dropped it into the garbage bag.
Rosie caught her breath. “You remember the stories?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then you’re getting back your memory?”
He frowned at her and said harshly. “Rosie, I know lots of things, but that doesn’t mean I remember everything, including you.”
“Okay, I hear you.” She bit back a retort and went to the kitchen. Fighting tears, she leaned against the counter and surveyed the destruction. Everything from the cupboards and drawers was scattered about. Only metal pots and pans and tableware seemed to be still intact. Opened and spilled cereal boxes lay on the floor amidst towels, broken glass and crockery. The canned goods had been spared the search, probably because the cans were obviously factory sealed.
She swallowed hard, thinking of what Ken had said. He’d definitely lost his “Mr. Perfect” polish. She laughed ruefully. Well, she’d wanted to call off the wedding, hadn’t she? So why was she feeling so rejected now that Ken wanted that, too?
I don’t feel rejected, she lied to herself. But he doesn’t have to make it so plain that he doesn’t want me, does he?
He’d even gallantly said she could tell everyone she’d broken it off. That was when she should have told him that was the truth of it, because she’d been planning to break it off.
But she hadn’t. If she told him that now, of course, he’d think she was lying to save face. So why bother? It didn’t matter who’d broken it off, as long as it was over, right?
So why did he have to suddenly seem so much more attractive to her than before? Did she like a man with hard edges better than “Mr. Perfect?” Or maybe it was reverse psychology at work. She didn’t want him when he had wanted her so much, but now that he didn’t want her, she did? Argh.
She couldn’t think about it now. She had work to do. She picked up the scattered silverware and opened the dishwasher. There were a few dirty dishes inside that hadn’t been broken. She added the silverware and filled the rest of the dishwasher racks with pots and pans from the floor, then added detergent and turned it on.
She turned to see Ken standing in the kitchen doorway, watching her.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be rude; it just came out that way. I’m feeling so frustrated about this whole situation,, I could swear.”
“You never swear, Ken.”
“I don’t? Then I guess I’m ready to start.”
She laughed. “I’m not upset. It’s okay.”
Their gazes met for a long moment, and then he stepped toward her. She froze. The expression on his face said he wanted to kiss her. He reached out a hand and smoothed back her hair. “You’re so lovely, Rosie. I feel so lucky to have you here to help me out of this weird situation.” He bent forward and kissed her.
She felt the warmth of his lips
on her and raised her hands to his shoulders, suddenly unsteady on her feet. Time seemed to stop as lovely sensations rocketed through her.
Then he pulled back, turned and walked back to the living room before she could regain her composure enough to respond.
He’d kissed her. As she watched him leave, she touched her lips. A tingle of electricity lingered there. Her pulse rate was still soaring. Weird.
He’d often kissed her before, hadn’t he? Usually just goodnight, because they’d agreed they should wait for their wedding night to make love. Kissing her wasn’t so unusual. But telling her he was lucky to have her? Ken, showing appreciation? That was definitely odd. So was her response. She didn’t remember ever feeling like that when he’d kissed her. Well, she wouldn’t think about it now. She had to finish up here and get back to the office.
Quickly she found a broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the broken dishes which had evidently been taken from the cupboards and thrown down in anger. Had the burglar thought something might be hidden behind them? Or inside a cup or bowl? What could it have been?
Bits of knickknacks which had once graced the window sills were broken, too. Since they were too small to hide anything, she could only assume the burglar had vented his anger on them after failing to find whatever he’d wanted.
Or had he merely wanted to damage the apartment as a message of what else might happen? She swallowed at the thought of what that might mean for Ken’s future. Would they return?
~ * ~
In the living room, Kirk wondered what on earth had possessed him to kiss her. He’d broken off their engagement, hadn’t he? Why was he now responding to her like a lovesick high-school jock mooning after the cheerleader?
His heart was still pounding and he’d had to get out of the kitchen fast, or he’d have tried to seduce her against the kitchen counter.
He laughed at himself. He’d certainly acted on the old saying, “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen,” hadn’t he? He’d run from her like a scared rabbit.
What was the matter with him, anyway? He might not remember much, but he knew he was a “love ’em and leave ’em” guy. He didn’t get involved. And Rosie wasn’t a one-night stand type of woman. She was interested in wedding rings, like the diamond engagement ring he’d supposedly already given her and she’d returned to him.
He moved to his desk and fired up the laptop computer. Thank goodness the burglar hadn’t taken or damaged that. And since he hadn’t, didn’t that mean whatever he was looking for wasn’t information, but something tangible?
But what? Few people kept much cash around their homes. He assumed he wouldn’t have kept cash at home, either. He would have used credit cards or a checking account as most people did.
He saw Rosie return and asked, “They broke in here after I was attacked, right?”
“Yes, I think so. I think you planned to go home to change before you went fishing yesterday, but I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “I’m just trying to figure out what they wanted from me. If they trashed my apartment after the mugging, they would have already had my billfold. They had all my cash, driver’s license and credit cards in that. What else could they have wanted?”
“I have no idea. But from the way they cut up your pillows and dumped out drawers, it must be fairly small, don’t you think?”
“That’s true. But, you know, with a USB jump drive, they could have copied all my computer info. Then they could have taken their time searching the info on their own computer.”
She nodded. “That’s a big disadvantage of that technology, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Seems there are drawbacks and pitfalls to every advance.”
He searched the computer for financial information. Opening Quicken, he found it password protected. He tried several obvious ones, versions of his name and their company name which didn’t work.
Rosie moved to stand behind him, watching. She laid a soft hand on his shoulder. Her perfume tickled his nostrils and sent a flutter of awareness down to tighten his groin. He could sure get used to that delicious aroma and the jolt her touch gave him. Did she have to be so darned attractive? He forced his mind back to the business at hand.
“Do you know my password?” he asked, his voice coming out gruffer than he’d intended.
“No,” she replied shortly, evidently reacting to his tone. “You didn’t confide that sort of info to me.”
“Oh. “ So maybe they hadn’t been as close as he’d thought. They hadn’t been living together, and didn’t share finances, so maybe the break-up would be easier than he’d thought.
“What’s my birth date?” he asked.
“Sept. 19, 1974.”
He tried that in various formats without success. “Nope, it’s not that.”
“Maybe your Social security number? Driver’s license number?”
He frowned at her. “How would you know those?”
“I had to look all that stuff up this morning from the office files for the hospital insurance and the police reports. “ She dug out the copies in her purse and read the numbers to him.
He tried several versions of those. “Nope. How about my mother’s maiden name? Lots of sites ask for that as an identifier.”
“How would I know that?”
He glanced up to see her frowning in concentration. “Maybe you typed up address labels for my Christmas cards? Or sent flowers or gifts for me to someone in my family?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t do that kind of thing for you. Besides, you didn’t have anything to do with your family, except for your Uncle Lester in Chicago, of course, because he’s your boss.”
“Well, I must have said something about them at some time or other, didn’t I?”
She lifted a shoulder. Why hadn’t she ever asked about his family? She’d been planning to marry the guy for heaven’s sake. Swallowing, she said slowly, “You never said much about your family except that you have a twin brother in Chicago and your parents are retired. I gathered it was a sore spot, since you usually changed the subject if I asked anything.”
He stared at her. “Really? That’s odd.”
“I thought so, too,” she said, giving him a rueful smile.
Frowning, he turned back to the computer. “Maybe the password is case sensitive.” He tried several other variations of the ones he’d already tried but they didn’t work either.
~ * ~
Finally Rosie remembered Lester saying something once about a picnic he was going to. She said, “I think your mother’s maiden name was Johnson.”
“Okay. I’ll try that. Yep, that worked. We’re in.” His fingers moved competently over the keys.
“Good,” Rosie said. She bent over his desk file drawer to avoid watching him work. She was too close to him. His aftershave mixed with manly scent tickled her nose. She was surprised to realize he’d used the scented soap and aftershave she’d given him for Christmas. At the time, he’d only smiled politely, thanked her and then never used it -- until now. Why?
And why was she suddenly turned on by watching him work? It had never affected her like this before.
She pulled out a folder of paid bills and offered, “I’ll call in to cancel your credit cards and get new numbers for you, just in case the burglar tries to use them. I don’t know why I didn’t think to do that last night.”
“Okay, thanks. I see some saved links to credit card companies. I’ll see if I can get into my account info and see if they’ve been used.”
“We’d better stop at the DMV and get another driver’s license for you, too.”
“Definitely. I need my wheels.”
She frowned at him. “We’ll have to find your car, first. Lee said he’d report it missing and have the police keep an eye out for it.”
He turned to meet her gaze. “Thanks. I forgot it’s still missing. But I can still report my license lost or rather, stolen, and apply for a replacement. And I can rent a car until
we find mine.”
“You’re looking pretty pale, Ken. I think you’d better rest today before trying to drive anywhere.”
He frowned at her, and then shrugged. “Okay.”
Well. If he agreed that easily, he really must still be feeling lousy. “I’ll fix us some lunch,” she said, putting aside the folder. However, in a few minutes, she returned. “There’s nothing to cook in your kitchen, so I’ll have to order in. How about Chinese food? Or would you rather have a pizza?”
“Chinese would be fine.” Kirk kept working at the computer. The websites of several credit card companies were bookmarked. He accessed them and found his user name popped up, so he just needed a password to access his current credit card information. He tried Johnson, assuming he’d want to keep things simple by using the same one everywhere. It worked.
The buzzer from downstairs rang.
“The delivery man is here. I’ll go down and get our food,” Rosie said.
In a few minutes she returned, a couple of bags of food in one hand and a pack of mail in the other.
“I picked up your mail from downstairs, too,” she said.
She handed him the envelopes and carried the food to the kitchen.
“I found enough unbroken dishes for lunch,” she said with a laugh. “But you’re definitely going to have to go shopping for dishes or eat on paper plates for awhile.”
“No problem.” He laid the mail aside and they ate at the kitchen table. She’d made hot tea to go with their Chinese food and he was surprised to find he liked it. Had she known that? Probably.
She really was an attractive woman, he thought grudgingly, watching her fork up peapods. Even if he wasn’t a marrying kind of guy, he could admit that. A restful woman, easy to be with.
Not one to demand a lot of attention every minute, like some women did. A tall redhead named Janet came to mind, who used to drive him crazy with constant chatter. That hadn’t lasted long, he thought.
Then he froze as he realized he’d just remembered something from his past. Who was this Janet and how had he known her? He tried to bring her picture up again, to remember more about her or his life when he’d known her. But nothing else came to mind, so he didn’t mention it. He’d better focus on his present problems instead.
