by Terri Reed
With her hand on her gun, Audrey stepped out of the room and pushed open the door to the unoccupied room across the hall. The window was open. She stuck her head out.
Footprints in the dusting of snow on the ledge gave Audrey a pretty good idea of how the perpetrator had gained access—he’d climbed the fire escape and shuffled along the ledge to the window. The lock had been broken. She slammed the window closed and made a mental note to have someone fix the latch as soon as possible.
Audrey returned to John Doe’s room and addressed the nurse helping Gregson. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “He’ll need a couple of sutures. Dr. Martin will want to examine him to be sure he doesn’t have a mild concussion.”
“Okay, see that he’s taken care of,” Audrey said. She put her hand on Gregson’s shoulder. “I’ll take over the watch tonight. The sheriff should be here any moment. He’ll want a full account.”
Gregson nodded and looked a bit green around the edges as the nurse helped him to stand and led him out of the room.
Once alone with the unconscious man in the bed, Audrey checked the window, making sure the lock was intact and secure. She took several deep, calming breaths and let the adrenaline ebb away. She’d had more excitement in the past twenty-four hours than since graduating from the academy. She positioned the chair so she had a clear view of the door and the window in case the masked attacker decided to return.
“You’re beautiful.”
Startled, Audrey whipped around to find herself staring into the dark eyes of John Doe. His lopsided grin sucked the breath from her lungs. She’d never understood the term roguishly handsome until this moment. Even groggy and on pain meds, he affected her on an elemental level. Which made her extremely uneasy. What would he be like fully conscious?
Heart pounding, she stepped closer to the bed. “Who are you? What’s your name?”
His eyelids fluttered, and he said something unintelligible.
She reached for the button to call the nurse when his fingers closed over her wrist, pressing against her skin where the sleeve of her uniform rode up. His touch was firm but gentle. Strong hands, and calloused, she noted in a bemused way that made her twitchy. She tugged on her arm, hoping he’d get a clue and release his hold. He didn’t.
“You look like a Christmas ornament.” His words were slurred. “Shiny. Pretty.”
His hand dropped away as if he could no longer hold on. His head lolled to the side, and his eyes closed.
“Hey,” Audrey said, giving him a slight shake. “Mister, I need you to wake up.”
But he’d gone out again.
Okay, that was weird. He’d likened her to a Christmas ornament. Shiny—that was a new one. If she hadn’t known he’d been conked on the head and was on mild painkillers, she’d have thought he was on some sort of hallucinogenic. Maybe he was on something stronger than the medical grade medicine. She’d have to ask her mother.
She sat but was too antsy to stay still. She paced at the foot of the bed, every few seconds checking to see if the man had regained consciousness again.
The door opened suddenly, sending her pulse skyrocketing and her hand reaching for her sidearm.
“Whoa, there,” her great-uncle’s deep voice intoned as he stepped into the room. “Just me.”
She relaxed her stance. “Did you see Gregson?”
“Yep. He’ll be fine.” David moved to the end of the bed and set a fingerprint kit on the chair. “You’ve saved this man’s life thrice now.”
Her mouth twitched at her uncle’s words. He’d once been a scholar of Old English before giving up academia and carving out a path in law enforcement. “I have a feeling the masked villain isn’t going to give up.”
He tipped his chin toward the man lying on the bed. “Has he come to?”
“Briefly.”
“Did he say anything?”
She hesitated, unwilling to reveal the words that were still echoing inside her head. “Nothing useful. Gibberish. Do you know if a tox screen was done?”
David arched an eyebrow. “You know your mother. Of course that was one of the first things she did.”
“Right.” Her mother couldn’t abide drugs. She’d lost her younger brother to the poison years ago. “And?”
“Clean blood. No track marks.”
“Good.” For some reason knowing John Doe wasn’t a junkie pleased her. But just what and who he was remained a mystery, as did why someone was so ardently trying to kill him. What did John know? “The man who shot at me wasn’t some garden-variety bad guy. Whatever John Doe is, he’s into something bad.”
“Yeah, I have that feeling, too. The road tacks the perp used to stop my car when I chased after him can be bought online easy enough. But there was skill involved.”
In the melee of the crash and aftermath, she’d forgotten what John Doe had said on the beach. “He’d muttered a word when I first reached him—betrayed.”
“That’s interesting. And concerning. The masked man may have been his attacker from the get-go and is very determined to finish the job. I don’t like it. I want you to go home,” the sheriff said. “I’ll stick around until Harrison and Paulson can get here.”
She straightened. Did he think she wasn’t doing a good job? “I’ll stay.”
“You’ve been on duty since five a.m.”
“I’m not tired.”
He sighed. “Let’s get his prints and a photo. Then I’m ordering you to go home. In the morning you can search the criminal and missing-persons databases. Hopefully you’ll come up with a name and a reason why someone wants him dead.”
* * *
Audrey arrived at the station at 6 a.m. and uploaded the fingerprints she’d taken from their mysterious John Doe and his photo off her phone into the FBI’s national criminal information center as well as the violent criminal apprehension program for missing persons.
Nothing turned up.
The man could be a Canadian, since the border between the two countries was only a few miles across the ocean. She sent his prints and his photo to the criminal investigation division of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Canada’s federal policing agency. She provided her cell phone number so they could contact her directly.
Then she headed back to the medical center to relieve the sheriff. She met Deputy Paulson outside John Doe’s room. “How did it go?”
“All quiet,” he replied. “Sheriff’s inside.”
She entered, half hoping John Doe had awakened. He still slept. His face looked relaxed. His dark hair fell over his forehead, covering one eye. Beside him sat the sheriff with his arms folded over his massive chest, his chin tipped down and his eyes closed. Audrey hesitated, debating stepping back out.
“You’re here early,” the sheriff said softly, lifting his head.
She straightened and came fully into the room. “No hits on NCIC or ViCAP. I sent his info to the RCMP.”
“Good thinking.” He stood and stretched. “I’m going to grab some coffee. You want some?”
“No, thank you,” she replied. His praise eased the worry from the night before that she wasn’t doing a good job. Her spine straightened as she moved aside to let him pass.
She went to the window. Frost laced the edges of the glass. She stared at the tree line flanking the west side of the building. The green pine trees were sprinkled with a soft layer of new snow that had fallen during the night. Today, the sun peeked out from behind gray clouds. With 80 percent of the state of Maine forested, there were many hiding places for the masked man to lose himself in. Was he out in the woods now, waiting for another opportunity to strike?
A noise behind her sent a jolt of adrenaline straight to her heart. She spun to find John Doe springing from the bed and landing on the balls of his feet to f
ace her. He ripped out his IV line. It fell to the floor, and the heart monitor sounded an alarm.
Audrey quickly shut off the shrill noise.
The hospital gown they’d put on him stretched across his wide shoulders as his hands went up in a defensive position. Words flowed from his mouth, but she had no idea what he was saying.
She held her hands palms up. Adrenaline flooded her veins. She didn’t want to have to take the guy down, but if he didn’t calm himself, she’d do it. “Hey, take it easy. You’re in the hospital.”
More words in a language she didn’t understand came at her.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” she said. “Please speak English.”
His panicked dark eyes swept over her and the room. Looking for an escape?
The door behind him opened. A young nurse rushed in, followed by the sheriff, carrying his coffee in one hand. John Doe whirled to confront a new threat.
“Don’t!” Audrey shouted, afraid either man would attack the other. “He’s okay. It’s okay. Everyone’s okay.”
The sheriff held up his free hand. “Whoa, there, son. No one is here to hurt you. My name is Sheriff Crump. You’re safe now.” To the nurse, the sheriff said, “We’ve got this.”
She clearly wasn’t reassured, as her scared gaze zinged from the sheriff to the patient and back again. “He shouldn’t be up. He’s bleeding where his IV line was. I should check on his wounds.”
Audrey glanced at the smear of blood on the unknown man’s arm. The amount wasn’t life threatening, just messy.
“You can come back in a bit,” David said in a tone that left no room for argument. “I need to question the man.”
With a frown, the nurse retreated, leaving them alone with the mysterious man. John Doe let out a string of words that made no sense to Audrey. Worry churned in her gut. What was going on? Obviously he was a foreigner, but from where? She couldn’t place the language.
The sheriff cocked his head, his gaze going to Audrey. She shrugged, at a loss for how to communicate with the patient. The sharp sense of helplessness was too familiar. She hated the feeling. She’d felt this way the night her father hadn’t returned from the sea. Only then it had been more intense. Now it was enough to make her jittery.
“I can understand a few words,” the sheriff said. “I think he’s speaking in Cree. One of the professors I worked with at the university taught a class in Native American studies and had a segment on languages. Cree has a very distinct dialect.” He turned his attention back to John Doe. “Does that sound right?”
Confusion played over the man’s face. He took a shuddering breath and then spoke in English. “I don’t know. I can hear the words in my head, but they mean nothing to me. Where am I?”
“You’re in Calico Bay,” Audrey supplied. “Were you on a boat?”
John Doe backed up so he could see both Audrey and the sheriff. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. Calico Bay?”
“Downeast Maine,” the sheriff supplied. “The northern tip of the state.”
The man kept his gaze on Audrey. “I’ve seen you before. Where?”
“You woke up for a moment on the beach and again last night while I was here.”
John ran a hand through his dark hair. He stilled when his fingers touched the bandage near his left temple. “What happened?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” the sheriff said. “There’ve been three attempts on your life since you washed ashore on our beach. Why is someone trying to kill you?”
The man frowned and paced a few steps. “I don’t know.”
Audrey fought the urge to tell him it would be all right. She didn’t know if it would, and she wasn’t sure he’d appreciate the platitude.
He staggered to the bed and sat, dropping his head into his hands. “I can’t remember anything. Every time I try to recall, my head feels like it’s going to explode.”
Her heart ached to see his distress. The need to comfort prodded her to take a step closer. The sheriff arched a disapproving eyebrow at her. She halted. Her great-uncle had warned her often enough not to become emotionally involved in cases. She needed a clear, objective head. And if she wanted to be sheriff one day, she had to remain detached and professional at all times.
The patient rolled his shoulders then lifted his gaze to Audrey. “Only your face seems familiar. Nothing else.”
The defenselessness on his handsome face tugged at her. She swallowed. Her heart beat erratically. No way was she going to repeat his delirious proclamation that she reminded him of a Christmas ornament. “On the beach you muttered the word betrayed. Ring any bells?”
His mouth gaped and he shook his head.
She tapped her fingers against her utility belt. “You can’t remember your name?”
He stared at her, the panic returning to his eyes. “No. I can’t remember my name. Or who I am. Or where I’m from. I don’t know what I meant by betrayed.” He let out a shuddering breath. “Or why someone wants me dead.”
THREE
He couldn’t remember his name.
Sitting on the hospital bed under the scrutiny of the deputy and the sheriff made him feel vulnerable. An antsy sort of energy buzzed through him. He might not know his name, but he knew in his gut he didn’t do vulnerable.
His body ached everywhere. His head pounded like a jackhammer going to town inside his skull. His mouth felt like cotton. An encompassing terror gripped him. A shiver racked his body. Cold. So very cold. How could he not know who he was? Or recall his past?
Why did someone want him dead?
His heart slammed against his ribs. A looming sense of dread and foreboding threatened to pull him back into darkness. He hung on to the edge of the bed and fought the tug. He needed to stay awake. Some innate knowledge told him he needed to keep a clear head if he were to survive. He grabbed the water pitcher on the bedside tray and poured a glass. He drank it down and then another.
“Then we’ll call you John.”
“What?” He stared at the blonde, blue-eyed deputy. Her hair was pulled back away from her face and secured behind her head in a knot. She wore little makeup. She didn’t need any. She was absolutely stunning with her high cheekbones, delicately carved beneath smooth, unblemished skin and full lips. He forced himself to concentrate on what she’d just stated. “Is my name John?”
It didn’t ring any bells. And every time he tried to concentrate, to conjure up a memory, his head felt like someone was taking a pickax to his skull, bringing on a blinding pain that was nearly incapacitating. Only keeping his focus on the beautiful woman’s face kept him from keeling over.
She smiled and her eyes filled with compassion. “John as in John Doe. I don’t know your name. You weren’t carrying identification.”
That explained why they didn’t know his name. “Where did you find me?”
“The tide deposited you on the public beach early yesterday morning,” the man who wore the gold sheriff’s badge replied. Sheriff Crump, he’d said. He sipped from his coffee and eyed John with a mix of wary suspicion and empathy.
He’d washed up on the beach like driftwood, which accounted for the bone-deep chill he felt even though the room was heated. Had he been on a boat and fallen overboard? Something else the sheriff said finally registered like a punch to the gut. “You said someone tried to kill me after you found me?”
“Yes.” The woman told him of the attempts made on his life.
Pressure built in his chest, and his head throbbed. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, hoping to ease the tension that was taking root in the muscles. “I’m sorry about the ambulance. And your patrol car. I’d offer to reimburse you for both, but I’ve no idea if I have the means to do so.” The enormity of the situation weighed him down. “This is all so surreal, like I’ve walk
ed into a bad horror flick. Has the doctor said how long my mind will be blank?”
“I haven’t talked to her yet. We should let her know you’ve regained consciousness.” The deputy reached for the call button.
The deputy smelled like sunshine on a spring day. He breathed in deep, letting an image of a grassy meadow form. Was it a memory or just a generic thought made up of a lifetime of images that had no emotional attachment?
As she moved away, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Deputy Martin,” she replied in a brisk tone. She was tall and he’d guess shapely beneath the bulk of her uniform. He’d like to see her with her hair down and wearing a dress that showed off her long legs.
Whoa. Where had that thought come from?
Better to keep his mind on staying alive and not on some errant attraction to the woman who had rescued him from certain death. Pushing the attraction aside, he went with gratefulness. “Thank you, Deputy Martin, for saving my life.”
He wished he could do something more for her, but he had no idea what. He had no clothes, no identification and no money. He was trapped in this hospital room until he either remembered who he was or someone claimed him.
Or the man who wanted him dead got to him first.
Anger at the unknown man and dread that he might succeed heated his blood but did nothing to chase away the chill that had settled in his core. Was he married? His heart contracted in his chest. Did he have a family worried about him somewhere? He glanced at his left hand. No wedding band. A sign that he was single or just that he didn’t wear a ring? His pulse thrummed in his veins. Frustration drilled into his skull. What kind of man was he?
Why couldn’t he remember?
The door opened, and an attractive female doctor wearing a white lab coat walked in. John gauged her age around fifty. Her blond hair was pulled back in a low bun, and she viewed him with bright blue eyes. His gaze darted from the doctor to the deputy. The similarities between the two left little doubt they were related. Mother and daughter?
