The dates of service were wrong as well. They spanned more than two years.
Her hands shook as she set the invoice on the desk. A chill settled over her.
Medical records. Jake was meticulous about his files.
She swiveled toward the file cabinet and flipped through the files, looking for one with her name.
Nothing.
She yanked open the second drawer. Taxes, appraisal information on the house, medical journals he belonged to. The man even had a file with all his grades from college. He was OCD to the max.
But where were her files?
Impatience settled over her, a dismal feeling she didn’t want to acknowledge. She yanked open the third drawer, breathing out a sigh of relief when she saw medical folders for Jake, Reed, and herself.
Yes, it would be here. Someone had screwed up, billed the wrong person.
She drew her folder open on the desk, flipped through the stack of forms. A claim for stitches in her toe when she’d stepped on a piece of glass last month. A dental claim when she had to have a tooth repaired last spring. Medical updates from Dr. Reynolds, the neurosurgeon she’d been seeing since the accident. Forms and evaluations spanned the last year and a half of her life, then stopped.
No records on her pregnancy, none on Reed’s birth. Nothing from her stay at Baylor University Medical Center where she’d been treated after the accident.
They had to be in different folders. Something separate, marked “delivery” and “accident”. She closed the drawer, reached for the bottom one. It wouldn’t budge.
She pulled again, only to realize it was locked.
She fumbled through the drawers of his desk, searching for a key. An odd sense of urgency pushed her forward. She tried the few keys she found but none fit the lock. Swallowing the growing lump in her throat, she pawed through his shelves.
Still no key.
The blood rushed to her head, intensifying that dull ache around her scar.
She scrambled up to the bedroom they’d once shared and yanked open his dresser drawers, fumbling through socks and underwear and old T-shirts.
It had to be somewhere. He wouldn’t have locked the drawer and thrown away the key. Her fingers skimmed cotton and finally settled on cold metal.
Pressure settled on her chest as she pulled the key ring from the back of the drawer. Two keys glittered in the low light, one bigger than the other. On wobbly legs, she made her way back down to the office, kneeling on the floor in front of the file cabinet.
Don’t open it. Forget about the key. Forget about the drawer. Forget about that stupid bill. Nothing good can come from this. You’ve already been through enough today.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Before she could change her mind, she turned the key in the lock. The drawer gave with a pop.
Inside, a long metal box rested on the bottom of the drawer. She set it carefully on the desk, then sat in his chair and rubbed damp palms along her slacks. The second key slid into the lockbox with ease.
Drawing in a deep breath, she opened the lid. Medical forms, evaluations, bills filled the box. She extracted each paper, scanned the dates and contents. All referenced the nursing home in San Francisco. All mentioned dates two to five years in the past.
According to the papers, she’d been in a coma for almost three years, not four days. Reed had been born by C-section when she’d been in that coma.
Her eyes slid shut. It couldn’t be. She’d had a long labor—over twenty-four hours. Jake had held her hand through the pain. She’d been wheeled into surgery when the labor had stopped progressing. Jake had been with her as her son was cut from her. He’d told her all about it. He’d relayed the story of Reed’s birth so many times, she could see it in her mind.
Tears pooled in her eyes. She looked at the papers again as her brain warred with what she’d been told and the facts in front of her.
There were no pictures. No pictures of her pregnancy. None anywhere in the house. Jake had told her it was because she’d hated being pregnant, that she didn’t want to remember what she’d looked like.
But there were none of her smiling in a hospital gown, either. None of her nursing her baby. She’d believed him when he’d said he’d forgotten the camera the day Reed was born.
She ran to the family room, yanked picture albums off the shelves, flipped through each page. Jake holding a newborn Reed. Jake giving him a bath. Jake feeding him his first solids. Oh, God. Jake smiling with him on his first birthday. In every picture, it was Jake. Not a single one of her and Reed until after his second birthday.
Panic washed over her. She’d always assumed she’d been the one taking the photos. She’d never even questioned it. Rubbing a hand over the pain in her chest, she tried to rationalize the moment. Couldn’t.
He was a doctor. He was her husband. She’d believed him. It had never even occurred to her not to. Why? Why would he lie?
No, no, no. This can’t be real.
On legs that threatened to give out, she made her way back into his office. Her eyes focused on an evaluation from a neurosurgeon she didn’t recognize.
Damage to the lateral cortex of the anterior temporal lobe as a result of
severe trauma. Prognosis: memory loss, possibly permanent and irreversible.
Permanent memory loss. Coma. Three years.
Choking back tears, she continued flipping through the forms. Her stomach pitched when she saw Jake’s signature on several of the papers. He’d been an attending physician.
Her attending physician.
No, no, no. Her husband never would have been allowed to oversee her recovery. Never. Not in a million years. She wasn’t a doctor, but she knew the rules.
Sweat beaded on her neck, trickled down her back. There had to be an explanation. Something. Anything!
She lifted each paper out of the box in an urgent need to find the truth. Questions continued to swirl in her mind, memories she wasn’t sure were real or contrived. When she drew out the last paper, the floor moved under her feet.
Her legs buckled, and she dropped into the chair. In the bottom of the box rested a photo. Her breath clogged in her throat. With shaking fingers, she extracted the picture, just as a stabbing pain cut right through her heart.
It was a photo of a young girl, roughly five years of age. She was sitting on a boat. Water sparkled behind her. Trees glinted off in the distance. A young girl with a disturbingly familiar face, a curly mop of brown hair, and the greenest eyes Kate had ever seen.
Kate’s eyes. The same shape, size, color…the same exact eyes Kate stared at everyday in the mirror.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
The air clogged in her lungs. And a place deep inside told her this girl couldn’t possibly be anything other than her daughter.
Chapter Two
Ryan Harrison tucked a towel around his waist as he walked through his hotel suite. He picked up the remote on the bed and flipped on the TV, then ran another towel through his dripping hair as he searched for CNN.
The shower still ran in the bathroom, but it didn’t drown out the heavily accented lyrics to “Come What May” from Moulin Rouge. She always sang when she was satisfied. He, on the other hand, didn’t feel like singing. What he really wanted was coffee. He thought about calling room service, but the commotion on the television caught his attention before he could find the phone.
Lights flashed on the screen, people scrambled, sirens shrieked. A reporter relayed the news from yesterday as Ryan sat on the end of the bed and watched the coverage of the plane crash in San Francisco.
His heart beat hard. His palms grew sweaty where they gripped the towel. It was like watching Annie’s plane crash all over again. His stomach clenched at the memory, a sharp stabbing pain that cut right to the center of him.
His cell phone rang, startling him back to the present. Pushing to his feet, he ran a shaky hand over his face and pulled the screaming phone out of the slacks he’d tossed across the back of a chai
r only hours ago.
“Harrison.”
“You rat bastard.” Mitch Mathews’s deep voice boomed through the line, concern more than evident in his brother-in-law’s words. “Scared about ten years off my life. I’ve been calling you for hours. You see the news?”
Ryan couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the screen. “Yeah, just saw it.”
“Where are you?”
He glanced around the room. “New York.”
“Thank God. I thought you were flying out of San Francisco yesterday.”
“I was supposed to. Hannah rescheduled a meeting in LA. I flew there yesterday, then here after.” He caught the airline and flight number when the reporter said it again and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Jesus, that was my flight.”
“Son of a bitch,” Mitch muttered. “You gonna be okay?”
“What?” Ryan was having trouble thinking. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Tonight, I think.” Ryan rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Julia’s gonna be pretty upset by this. Go by and see her, would ya? Your folks are at the house with her.”
“Yeah, sure thing. You might not be able to get a flight back into San Francisco.”
“I know. I’ll try Oakland or San Jose or Sacramento and drive. I want to get home.”
“Okay. Call me before you leave.”
“Will do. See ya.”
The water had stopped, and Monique’s voice was now louder as she sang with her sexy French accent.
Ryan closed his eyes and pressed the phone to his forehead. He didn’t want to be with her right now. A thousand thoughts and memories and feelings were flooding through him, and none of them were things he wanted to share with her.
She was an attractive woman and he enjoyed her company when it was convenient, but he had no desire to get to know her hopes and dreams. And he certainly didn’t want to share his with her. Or cry about his past. If there were two things he never discussed with anyone, they were his wife and daughter.
He turned back to the TV and clicked it off just as she stepped into the room. She wore a much-too-small towel wrapped around her curvaceous body, her wet, fire-red hair dripping down her back. A wicked smile spread across her lips.
“Mon cher.” She crossed the floor, her brick red-painted toes looking oddly like blood splatters on the plush, white carpet. “Je me suis ennuyé de vous.”
He knew enough French to know she was trying to lure him back into bed. He pulled away from her suffocating embrace. “I gotta go.”
She batted her long, exotic eyelashes and stuck out her swollen bottom lip in a sexy little pout she’d perfected over the years. “Non-sens. You said they aren’t even expecting you until after lunch. N’était pas par le passé assez. I want you again.”
Her English was good, but she always slathered on the accent when she was trying to seduce him. He headed for the bathroom. “Yeah, well, as tempting as that is, I have to get to the office.”
She followed, and when she rounded the corner, her eyes narrowed to see him already in his slacks.
“Bien,” she sighed in defeat. “I’ll just have to wait for you to get back tonight.” A bright red nail trailed down his bare chest and hovered at the top button of his slacks. Her eyes tipped up seductively to meet his.
He knew that look. And he knew she was going to be royally pissed in just a minute. “I’m not staying tonight. I have to fly home.”
Her arms crossed over her breasts—breasts just a little too perfect, ones she’d never admit having work done to. “Merde. You said you’d be in town a few days!”
“And I planned on it, but something came up. It’s family stuff. I have to get back.”
She threw up her hands and marched back into the bedroom. “Fils de chienne!”
He also knew enough French to know when she was swearing at him. He followed as he buttoned his shirt. “Look, I’ll make it up to you the next time you’re in California.”
“I don’t plan to be in California anytime soon. I’m here now, dammit!”
“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just bad timing.” He reached for her hand, knowing he was being a dick, trying to soften at least a little of the blow. “Cut me some slack, okay?”
“Hybride, you don’t deserve it.” But she smiled when she said it. “Just this once. And I’ll expect you to make it up to me three-fold, mon cher.”
He kissed her cheek. She liked men. He wasn’t special. He also knew she’d find someone else to hang out with after he left, and it didn’t bother him in the least.
“Thanks.” He dropped to the end of the bed and reached for his shoes, itching to finish up his work and get home as soon as he could. “You’re a gem, Monique.”
***
Ryan pulled the car into the drive of his Sausalito house around seven a.m. the next morning, jet-lagged and exhausted. Getting home had proved to be more of a nightmare than he’d expected. Flights into SFO had been rerouted or canceled. Luckily, he’d managed to catch a red-eye into Sacramento, then picked up a rental car. As he grabbed his bags from the trunk, he steeled himself for what he’d find inside. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Julia since the accident and he had no clue how she was reacting to it all.
Her bubbly laughter greeted him as he pushed the kitchen door open.
“Just roll the damn dice, would ya?” Mitch bellowed.
Julia giggled. “You’ll never beat me at this. I’m a pro.”
“There’s no such thing as a pro at Yahtzee. It’s pure luck.”
“No, it’s not. Yahtzee!” she shrieked as the dice settled. Mitch swore under his breath. “It’s skill, see, Uncle Mitch?”
“You’re not teaching my kid to swear, are ya?” Ryan forced a smile as he stepped through the door and glanced around the room. Julia looked up and grinned.
Mitch flashed the same deep dimple in his cheek he’d shared with his sister. “I save all the really bad words for when you aren’t around.”
“Hey, Dad!” Julia slipped off the chair and caught Ryan in a fierce hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming back for a few more days.”
“I finished early and thought I’d just come home.” He dropped his bag on a chair and eased down so they were at eye level. Then he ran his finger down her button nose, the one that was just like Annie’s. Every time he looked at her, he saw her mother. His heart took one giant roll. “I missed you.”
She frowned, and those knowing eyes of hers swept over him. “You came back because you were worried about me, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, so sue me. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Dad, really. You shouldn’t worry so much. It’s not good for your health. Gives you ulcers and can reduce your life span, not to mention pack on the pounds. And you’re not getting any younger you know. You have to start thinking about your weight. Besides, I’m practically a grown-up. I can handle stuff.”
“The grown-up part remains to be seen.” He tried to hide the smile that wanted to creep up his face. “Where’d you learn about the effects of stress anyway?”
“At school. You know, that private institution you spend a fortune to send me to? I learn a lot at school.”
“Nice to know my money’s being put to good use.” He headed into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
“I’m on the brink of womanhood,” she said after him. “Lots of girls my age are already getting their periods.”
He choked on his water. “Please. It’s not even eight in the morning, I’m jet-lagged, and you’re only nine.”
“So?” She looked right at Mitch, who seemed to be enjoying the banter. “It’s right around the corner. You’re going to have to deal with it, Dad. And while I’m thinking of it, I need a bra. We should probably go shopping for one sometime soon. Maybe today.” She reached for the dice, then flashed a devilish grin his way. “I was thinking of getting one of those red lacy ones like the girls wear in your Max
im magazines.”
“God, help me,” he managed, heat creeping right up his face.
Mitch laughed and walked into the kitchen. He poured himself another cup of coffee then patted Ryan on the back. “Damn it all to hell if she’s not just like her mother.”
“Don’t I know it,” Ryan said as he eyed his daughter. She not only looked like Annie, she sounded just like her too. Same smart-ass attitude and dry sense of humor. His chest tightened as he remembered Annie’s quirky grin, the deep dimple in her cheek when she smiled. The way she could make him laugh no matter the situation.
“Are you okay, Daddy?” Julia’s smile faded. She only ever called him Daddy when she was worried about him. The rest of the time it was Dad or more lately, just “hey, you”.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am now.”
“Good. Me too. I’m gonna go up and get dressed.” She slipped off the chair again and crossed to him. When he eased down, she pulled him in for a tight hug and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you’re home. I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, babe.” On a long breath, he watched her head out of the room and up the back stairs. He didn’t need to worry about her so much, but he did. Truth was, she was way more together most of the time than he was. She’d had to grow up much too fast over the past five years. No nine-year-old should have to worry about her father’s state of mind day in and day out, but Julia did.
He raked a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Son of a bitch, she’s growing up way too fast.”
Mitch grinned. “Yeah, I know. You’re gonna be in a world of hurt in a couple of years.”
“I know.” Ryan rubbed a hand over his chest, trying to ease the knot growing there. “Maxim? Where the hell did that come from?” He shook his head. “It scares the crap out of me. Thank God you’re here to shelter some of the blow.”
“Don’t look at me, buddy. I’m not a parent. I reserve the right to turn a blind eye to issues dealing with puberty and sex. I deflect all that crap back to you.”
Wait for Me Page 2
