by Liz Johnson
Anyway, all he wanted to do was get back to the hospital. Get back to Julie.
Thanking Wendy for her help, he pushed open the door and stepped back into the warm rays of the afternoon sun. It wasn’t exactly an immediate break in the case, but maybe it would lead to something to identify Julie.
*
“According to your chart, you’re healing just like I would hope.”
Julie pulled her robe closed under her chin and tried to smile at Doctor Willow, who had taken over her care just the day before. “That’s good. I guess.” Right? She wanted to be healed. She wanted the bruising on her eye to disappear completely, the scratches to fade and her sprained wrist to function normally again.
But more than any of that, she wanted to remember.
His eyes nearly disappeared among the wrinkles as he squinted. “Physically you’re in good shape. Your body is doing just what it should. But your mind…” His voice trailed off. “There’s nothing I can do to help your memory return more quickly.”
“Nothing?” Even if there wasn’t a magic pill, there had to be something. “Aren’t there exercises? Something I could do to make my brain think in a different way? Like physical therapy for the mind?” She hated the desperation in her voice. It made her sound weak. But she was desperate.
It wasn’t just a nuisance. A baby needed her to remember. And she couldn’t.
He leaned a hip against the foot of her bed, crossing long legs clothed in pale blue scrubs. Like a kind father, he patted the blanket covering her feet. Had her own dad stood in a similar position or made a similar gesture? Or did he have salt-and-pepper hair and a thin face like the doctor?
She closed her eyes and willed herself to picture her parents.
Nothing.
“Try not to force it.” He patted her toes again. “There’s no schedule, no normal with amnesia. Sometimes a familiar location or image can jog a memory. Sometimes not.”
The only place she knew about for sure was Webster Park. But was she ready to go back there, to see the place where she’d been attacked?
A chill rushed down her arms, and she whispered, “I’m not even sure where to start.”
“I know. And that makes this hard to say.”
His words sounded like they’d bounced out the back of a truck and tumbled over a gravel road. The wrinkles in his cheeks seemed somehow deeper than before, and a flicker of concern in his nearly vanished eyes stole her breath. “What?” It was more croak than anything else, and he flipped through the papers in his hands.
“Julie, medically you’re okay, and I have to discharge you.”
His mouth kept moving, but she could hear only the high-pitched ringing in her ears. Pressure behind her eyes built and threatened to spill as the truth washed over her.
She had nowhere else to go.
“We’ll hold on until tomorrow. I’ll have the nurse come in to see about making arrangements.” Another pat on her feet and he was gone. And she was as alone as she would be in the morning.
She could do nothing but stare at her clenched hands in her lap. The angle of the shadow through the window shifted, and she could do nothing. Paralyzed by fear and terrified to let the pent-up emotions loose, she waited.
She couldn’t pinpoint what exactly she was waiting for. Still she waited.
“Julie?”
A weight on her mattress jerked her out of her trance and she blinked into kind eyes. Familiar eyes. “Zach.” The word came out on a breath. He held out his arms, and she fell against his chest, resting her ear against the steady thumping of his heart. She tried to measure her breathing to match its pace, but a sob caught her off guard.
Cupping her shoulders with both hands, he held her away from him and looked at her hard. “What’s going on?”
“They’re releasing me tomorrow.”
His head cocked to the side, his eyes shifting back and forth. “Well, that’s good. Right? You’re getting better.”
“Yes. But with my attacker still out there, I don’t have any safe place to go.”
Like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud, his smile filled her with warmth, and she tilted her face toward it. “You can come home with me.”
SIX
As she followed Zach up the stone-lined front walk to the three-story white house, Julie held her breath. Wind whipped through her oversize scrubs—the only outfit the hospital had been able to provide upon her release—and the weight of someone’s gaze pressed into her shoulders.
She glanced behind her toward the quiet residential street, every house on the block boasting similar giant oak trees and weathered sidewalks. A chain-link fence herded the barking dog next door, and an old jalopy rattled around the corner.
But there wasn’t anyone else around. At least no one she could see.
Still the feeling that someone was watching her sent chills down her back.
Or maybe it was just the uncertainty of walking into a near stranger’s home.
“You okay?” Zach had stopped at the front door, his hand on the knob, but he turned back toward her.
She nodded. Then immediately shook her head. “I don’t know. Something just feels…”
He abandoned the door and bounded down the two cement steps, coming to a stop right in front of her. “I know. This must be scary, but I promise that you’ll really like my sister and brothers. They’re cops, too, so you’ll be safe until we can solve your case.”
He’d made the same argument the night before. But he didn’t really have to convince her. Without him, she’d have ended up staying with strangers, completely unprotected, and that was about as appealing as another crack on her head. Anyway, without a real home how could she possibly help him locate the baby she’d been carrying? Yet that didn’t change the fact that she barely knew Zach and hadn’t met any of his siblings, who shared his home.
“We’ve got lots of room.” He waved at the second-story windows under matching blue gables. “And with you close by, I’ll be able to help you look for familiar places that might jump-start your memory.”
She nodded again. “Thank you. I don’t know where I’d go without you.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled, a dimple appearing in his right cheek. “You’re safe here. And you’re welcome as long as you need a place to crash.”
How long would that be? How long would they have to look for her attacker? Or would he come looking for her a third time?
A knot in her stomach clenched at just the thought. Pressing the pad of her finger to the corner of the nearly healed cut on her forehead, she cringed. Next time she might not be so lucky. Next time she could lose a lot more than her memory.
“Come on in.” Zach tipped his head back toward the front door. “Let’s get you settled.”
She rubbed her hands down the front of her pants. She didn’t have much of a choice here. Her attacker had left her with no other option, so she put one foot in front of the other, following Zach into the house. As she stepped over the threshold, the weight of someone following her every move melted away.
But that easing tension was replaced immediately by the sheer blast of noise coming from the back of the house. Outside had been all rustling leaves and car engines. Inside was like a football stadium filled with rowdy fans.
“Get that dog out of the kitchen!”
“Not my dog.”
The mutt in question barked and yelped before scampering down the wood floors of the hallway, barreling right toward them.
Zach pushed Julie behind him, dropping to a knee to catch the yellow dog in a warm embrace, scratching behind his ears and accepting a lick on his cheek.
“Good boy.” Zach ruffled honey-colored fur before looking up at her. “This is Gizmo. He needed a place to stay.”
The last word remained unspoken, but it nearly rang in her ears. Too. Was he in the habit of bringing home strays? Is that what she was to him? Ears ringing, she managed a smile and patted the dog’s head, its coat warm and silky.
“That you, Zach?” A female voice carried down the hall, filling the entryway and probably all the way up the wooden staircase to Julie’s left.
“Yes.” His call wasn’t quite so loud, but traveled just as far. He stood and walked down the hall, motioning for her to follow.
Gizmo trotted at her side, his tongue hanging out of his mouth with every pant. They passed several closed doors before the hallway emptied out into a newly refurbished kitchen, which featured oak cabinets, stainless-steel appliances and a breakfast nook. A tall woman with a short, dark ponytail stood at the stove, while two men with Zach’s features lounged at the table, reading the newspaper.
One looked up and caught her eye, which sent heat rising up her neck. The one who made eye contact kicked his brother, who jerked up and surveyed her with a careful gaze, as well. Leaning against Gizmo, who came up almost to her hip, she stared at Zach until he cleared his throat.
“Julie, this is Reese.” He pointed at the brother who had been kicked. “And that’s Keaton.” The kicker. “And that’s my little sister, Samantha.” The young woman at the stove stopped stirring whatever was in the pot and strolled across the room. Grabbing Julie’s hand, she shook it.
“It’s good to finally meet you. This guy’s been talking about you for ages.”
More heat burned her cheeks. She refused to seriously consider what Zach had told them.
“Thank you for letting me stay here.”
“What?” Keaton sat up straighter. “Who said anything about you staying here?”
The bottom dropped out of her stomach, and she pressed her hands over it in a vain attempt to keep from crumbling all the way to the floor. Maybe she’d misunderstood. Maybe she really was going to be left to protect herself.
She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Keaton, whose eyes squinted very much like Zach’s. He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair and tossed his bangs across his forehead. The weight of his stare on the remaining bruises on her face stole her breath, and she reached to run her hand down Gizmo’s back. Any connection might help her stand her ground against the unwavering eyes.
But she missed the dog and instead found her fingers tangled with strong, tan ones that gripped her back. Her gaze flowed from their connection all the way up Zach’s arm, and she made eye contact. He winked slowly, followed by a gentle squeeze of her hand.
Suddenly her stomach was back in place but filled with a butterfly swarm big enough to match a monarch migration.
And just like those butterflies, an orange oven mitt sailed across the kitchen, smacking Keaton squarely in the chest.
“Quit being a jerk.” Samantha’s hands pressed into her hips, and her glare silenced the guffaws coming from Reese and the snickers behind Keaton’s hand. There was no doubt who ruled the roost inside this home. “She’s had a rough week, so be nice.”
Julie offered an appreciative smile when Samantha turned back to her.
“Just ignore him. Zach told us all about it last night.” Samantha caught the glove that her brother tossed back to her. “I’m sorry to hear about your troubles, but you’re welcome here as long as you need a place to stay. And if you need some help shopping or getting a haircut, let me know.”
Her hand flew to her uneven locks. She’d done her best to style the sheared mess, but clearly the nurses at the hospital weren’t professional stylists. “Thank you. I— That would be great.”
Reese resumed his laughter and managed between deep breaths to offer his own greeting. “We’re just happy Zach brought you. When he said he was bringing a case home, we thought maybe Homicide had finally cracked him and the morgue was full.”
“Homicide?” It conjured images of gory crime scenes and sheet-covered bodies. But the pictures were fuzzy. Pixelated. They weren’t real memories. They were…television shows. Crime shows.
Had she watched a lot of TV drama?
Strange that she couldn’t remember her name, but she remembered watching shows about crime and punishment.
Or maybe she could remember her name?
Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to bring her name forward. Tried to force it out of the black.
Nothing.
Maybe her memories were too afraid to show themselves.
“Are you all right?” Zach tugged on her arm. “Let me show you your room.”
He slipped back down the hall, his hand resting on the small of her back, guiding her movements. They traipsed up the stairs and down another hallway. Where she thought there should be pictures of the Jones siblings as children, there were pictures of dogs and cats and even a turtle. Each image caught the animal at its most playful, most joyful moment. She could almost feel the breeze in a frame as a giant mutt leaped for a Frisbee, ruffling the dog’s fur and turning her cheeks pink.
“These are beautiful.”
He didn’t even glance at the images as he flipped on a light. “Thanks.”
Something about the tone of his voice gave her pause, and she stared at the pictures more closely. “Did you take— Are these yours?”
He laughed, his hands shoved into the depths of his jean pockets. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not. I just didn’t realize.” She flipped a hand over her shoulder. “They’re good. Really.”
Like fall leaves rustling down a street and collecting compatriots, his low chuckle grew. “I believe you. Really.”
Heat touched her cheeks again, and she slapped her palms against her face. How long had she had this ridiculous blush at the drop of a hat?
Taking pity on her, he leaned a shoulder against a nearby doorjamb and pointed to the image of a green turtle in a white frame on the far wall. “That was my first. My mom signed me up for a photography class the summer I was twelve. I had a broken leg and couldn’t take swimming lessons or play in the Little League, but I was driving her crazy holed up in the house. She found this program for kids, and I wasn’t too bad at it.”
“You’re being modest.” And he was. The movement and emotion caught in the still images were unlike anything she’d ever seen. At least she couldn’t remember seeing anything like that before.
He shrugged it off and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “This is the guest room. There are clean towels in the closet. I made up the bed with fresh sheets last night. And I put a couple clean Tshirts in the dresser.” He opened the top drawer in the solid wood cabinet next to the door. “They’ll be too big, but Samantha will help you find some things tomorrow.”
She stared at the brown carpet between her feet. “That’s really nice of her, but I don’t have any money for new clothes.”
“I have a few bucks saved up.”
Her chin popped up. Was this near-stranger actually offering to buy her something to wear? He was convinced that she was a good investment. But how could he be so sure?
A glint of a smile flickered in the rich chocolate of his eyes. “Just try not to spend all of my money, okay?”
She nodded slowly, emotion choking out any words.
Whether he saw the quiver of her chin or the redness in her eyes, he quickly changed the subject, gesturing toward the guest bathroom across the hall. Samantha’s room was right next door, and Reese and Keaton shared a mini-apartment up another flight of wooden stairs. He opened the door to show her, and it creaked loud and eerie.
“What are you showing her up there, Zach?”
The thunderous voice filled every nook and crevice of the house and shot her blood pressure up at least one floor.
“You’ll always know if someone is leaving the attic.”
Good to know. How had he thought to tell her something like that? So simple, but an easy way to know if one of his brothers was on the second floor. And she didn’t have to fear that hideous creaking.
“Which one is your room?”
He pointed toward his feet. “Basement.”
“There’s another floor? How big is this house?”
He smirked. “Big enough that we don’t ha
ve to spend all of our time together.”
“But you seem to love your family.”
“Oh, I do. But you can only take so much of a good thing.”
She joined his chuckle, but something shimmied up her spine. It wasn’t a memory exactly. Just a feeling. A nudge. “I think I miss my family.”
His laughter stopped, and the muscles in his neck tensed. “Do you know who they are?”
“No. I just know I miss them.”
The corner of his lips quirked into a crooked grin. “Well, I’ve never been able to get away from my family long enough to miss them.” Pointing his chin toward the frames lining the walls, he continued, “These give me a good excuse to hole up in my darkroom without having to talk to anyone. Sometimes what I need most is something quiet and beautiful after all the ugly I see in Homicide.”
Homicide. His brother had said that before.
Her breath caught in her chest, a band around her lungs preventing her from finding more air. Whether from the lack of oxygen or the sudden realization, her head spun. And as he stepped around her, heading down the stairs, she brushed his arm.
“You work Homicide,” she wheezed.
“Yes. For a few years now. Why?”
“Why’d you come to my crime scene?”
His face fell, all humor washed away along with the color. His eyes shifted back and forth and finally settled on the painting behind her. Two vertical lines formed between his eyebrows, and his lips pulled into a hard line. “I was close by when the call came over the radio.”
That couldn’t be the whole truth, so she leaned in a little closer, trying to read the real story in the light reflecting from his eyes. Whatever he wasn’t telling her made her stomach roll and her chest burn. What if he hadn’t been honest with her? What if they’d known each other before the attack? What if he’d been there with her in the park that night? Heaven forbid, what if he’d been her attacker?
“Tell me what’s going on.” Fire licked in her belly, rising with an ire built on the uncertainty of her entire existence up until six days before. “The truth can’t be any worse than what I’m thinking right now.”
The only person she’d thought she could trust wasn’t being honest with her, and while her mind couldn’t conjure real memories, it had no problem manufacturing horrible scenarios.
