by Linda Turner
Louise smiled. She had to give him credit. If she’d been the slightest bit attracted to him as a man, instead of a friend, he would have had her right then. “That was really smooth,” she said with twinkling eyes.
“I try.”
“Oh, I’m aware of that,” she said dryly. “And you’re really good at it. But unless you’re just looking for a buddy to share a Big Mac with, you might want to ask another woman.”
Truly surprised, he blinked. “But why? Aren’t you having a good time?”
He looked so wounded that she felt like a heel. “Are you kidding? I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. And that’s the problem.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She hadn’t told anyone at school about her amnesia, but she could trust him to protect her privacy. Her smile fading, she said quietly, “I can’t remember anything about my past, Lucas. My doctors diagnosed it as trauma-induced amnesia, though no one knows what trauma I suffered.”
Somber, he didn’t try to hide his surprise. “You don’t remember anything?”
“Only what my doctors have told me. I turned up at a clinic in California where I was recognized, and the staff was able to tell me something about my past. It wasn’t pretty.”
“My God, that must have been hell! When was this?”
“Nine years ago.” He didn’t, thankfully, push her for any more details, and she could have kissed him for that. “And you’re right—it was hell. Sometimes it still is. I don’t know who I am, who I was. And even though I can give you the background information the hospital had on me, that woman was a stranger to me. She did some horrible things, things I can’t imagine doing. I can’t ask a man to be a part of my life when I don’t even know just how bad a person I was. For all I know, I could be married! So until I can remember, I’ve got to be alone.”
“And that’s the hardest part of all, isn’t it?” he guessed, his blue eyes dark with sympathy. “Being alone. You don’t even remember your mother or father, do you? You must feel like you’re totally alone in the world.”
“I have to be, don’t you think?” she replied, her shoulders slumping in despair. “Surely, if there was anyone out there who cared for me at all, they would have found a way to find me by now.”
“Don’t give up hope,” he said, reaching across the table to give her hand a squeeze. “Life is full of twists and turns. Just because your family hasn’t found you yet doesn’t mean they’re not looking. Right this minute, they could be worried to death about you, wondering where you are.”
Tears glistening in her eyes, she gave him a watery smile. “Thanks. I hate to be a crybaby but sometimes it just gets to me.”
“Of course it does,” he said gruffly. “If I was in your shoes, I don’t know what I’d do. We all like to think we’re independent and self-sufficient. But the truth of the matter is that without that sense of belonging that family gives us, we’d probably all be wandering around in the dark like a bunch of scared kids jumping at their own shadows.”
He understood! Just knowing that someone besides her therapist understood how rudderless she felt lifted a huge weight from her shoulders. “Yes! That’s exactly how I feel sometimes, like I’m caught up in a nightmare and the bogey man is after me, and there’s nowhere to run because nobody cares.”
He gave her hand another squeeze, and there was nothing the least bit romantic about it. It was just a reassuring gesture between friends. “I care, Louise. And I’ll bet there are others out there who do, too—friends and family, people who miss you as much as you must miss them. Don’t give up hope. You’ll find them one day.”
She wanted desperately to believe him. But later, after he’d taken her home and wished her good-night with a kiss on the cheek, the loneliness of her own existence closed around her, just as it always did, and all she wanted to do was cry. In the silence of the night, a pervasive sense of loss filled her, overwhelming her. There was a pain in her heart that wouldn’t go away, the kind that only came from missing someone you love.
And that was when she realized Lucas was right. She did belong to someone—a husband, family, people who cared about her—because even though she couldn’t remember anyone from her past, she did recall the sense of loving and being loved. In the dark, hidden recesses of her lost memory, there was a warmth, an ache for the feel of familiar arms around her, that she desperately missed. She loved someone, she had to, or she couldn’t be missing him now!
And with that silent admission, she didn’t know if she wanted to laugh with joy or bury her head in her pillow and sob. Because her loved ones were out there somewhere in the world, possibly right there in Jackson, for all she knew, and they were still as lost to her as ever. She could pass them on the street and wouldn’t know them.
The pain of that haunted her all night. She fell asleep with tears on her cheeks, and not surprisingly, she found little peace in her dreams. Once again, the nightmare that had stalked her in her sleep for nearly ten years was back, more horrifying than ever. Trapped in a thick, cold fog, there was evil about—she could sense it, feel it. And somewhere in the night, she could hear someone calling for her, someone who needed her as badly as she needed them. But she couldn’t reach them. Whimpering, she woke with a startled cry, calling out in her sleep for someone whose name she couldn’t remember.
She didn’t sleep for hours after that. She couldn’t, not without taking a chance that the nightmare would come back. Knowing she needed help, she reached for the phone to call her therapist, Dr. Martha Wilkes, who had begun hypnotizing her weeks ago to discover the origin of her nightmares and the debilitating migraines that attacked her without warning. The second she started to punch in Martha’s home number, however, she remembered that she was in Chicago at a convention and wouldn’t be back until Monday. Until then, Louise realized with a feeling of stark despair, she was on her own. Left with no recourse but to deal with the problem the only way she knew how, she switched on all the lights in the house and began cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom.
Armed with Bryan Walker’s former address, his landlord’s name and address, not to mention the names of his co-workers from the Irish Tavern who had also worked Joe’s party, Austin figured it would take all of an hour or two to track down the redheaded waiter and get a few answers out of him. But three days later, he still hadn’t found him, and he was starting to get ticked. Were Walker’s friends protecting him by sending Austin all over town on a wild-goose chase, or was it just dumb luck that the hippie always managed to stay one step ahead of him?
“I don’t know where he went,” his former landlord grumbled. “He said something about moving in with his girlfriend. Go ask her.”
But the girlfriend, one of the waitresses at the Irish Tavern, would hardly give Austin the time of day. “We broke up two weeks ago. Talk to Jimmy.” And without explaining who Jimmy was, she slammed the door in his face.
Frustrated, Austin wasted a whole day trying to track down Jimmy before he finally figured out that Jimmy was Bongo Jim, an eccentric musician who lived in Walker’s former apartment building. He didn’t play the bongos, but rather steel oil drums that he set up on the beach and played for anyone who cared to listen.
As much of a hippie as Walker, and fifty if he was a day, Jimmy merely arched a brow at Austin when he approached him and asked about Bryan. “You one of those bill collectors always calling and knocking on the door?”
Surprised, Austin hesitated, not sure if he should admit who he really was. Jimmy was obviously protective of his friend if he was shielding him from collection agencies. He might shut up like a clam if he told him he was investigating an attempted murder. Then again, he reasoned, studying him, the man had a sharp eye and didn’t look like anybody’s fool. He’d see through a lie in a heartbeat.
In the end, he decided to take a chance on honesty. He had a feeling Bongo Jim was the kind of man who would appreciate it. “Actually, I’m a private investigator,” he said bluntly. “I need
to talk to your friend about a shooting he may have witnessed at a party he worked last month. I was told that you might know where he is.”
“I might,” he said with a shrug, not committing himself either way. “That boy’s got itchy feet—he doesn’t stay anywhere too long. And that’s his problem. I told him he’s never going to get very far as long as he keeps moving around, but he gets bored or in trouble and thinks things’ll be better somewhere else.”
“What do you mean he gets in trouble?” Austin asked sharply. “Is he in trouble? Is that why no one’s seen him? He’s lying low for a while?”
Jimmy chuckled. “He’s not hiding out from the cops, if that’s what you mean. It’s the bank. He’s behind on his car loan, and he’s been turned in to collections. He left town for awhile so he won’t lose his Honda.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Yep, I do.”
When he didn’t volunteer anything else, Austin had to bite back a smile. “Would you mind sharing that information with me?”
Tilting his head, the older man considered him for a minute with a frown. “The boy’s not under any kind of suspicion, is he? If you’re thinking he was involved, you’re barking up the wrong tree. He’s a free spirit, not a murderer.”
From what Austin had heard of Bryan Walker, Bongo Jim was right—he didn’t have the temperament of a killer. “He’s not a suspect. But he may have seen the shooter and not even realized it. That’s why I need to talk to him. He may be the only person who can break this case wide open.”
Considering that for a long moment, he finally nodded, satisfied. “He’s at Big Bear. A friend of his has a cabin up there. He’s going to stay there the rest of the summer and work the resorts. They’ve got big tippers up there, and he’s going to need that if he’s going to catch up on his payments with the bank.”
It was too much to hope that Jimmy might know the address of the cabin where Walker was staying, but Austin wasn’t worried about that. Big Bear wasn’t that big. He didn’t have to know where the cabin was to find Walker. There were only so many resorts in the lake area. He’d just check them all.
“Thanks, man,” he said, tossing ten bucks into the basket he’d set out on the sand for tips. “I owe you.”
With a nod of thanks, the older man grinned and went back to playing his drums.
Austin knew he probably should have headed to Big Bear immediately, but the day was already half gone, and by the time he got there, it would be too late to do anything. He wouldn’t be able to do anything until tomorrow anyway, so he might as well wait until in the morning to leave. And since tomorrow was Saturday, he could invite Rebecca to go with him.
Grinning at the thought as he drove back to his hotel, he knew alarm bells should have been going off in his head. They’d spent just about every evening together over the course of the last week, working on the case, talking things out, just enjoying each other’s company. And he wanted more. More of her time, more of her company, more of her.
That alone should have sent him running for Portland and his nice, safe, lonely life there. He was talking about the future, he thought, amazed. He wanted a future with her. And instead of running, that only made him more eager to see her. She’d gotten past his guard, and although he’d never thought he’d ever want to have feelings for another woman after Jenny died, he thanked God he did.
“You’re losing it, man,” he said wryly. “You’re in over your head and you don’t even have the sense to realize you’re drowning.”
But did he care? Hell, no. The second he reached his hotel room, he went straight to the phone and called her. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said the second she came on the line. “What have you got planned for tomorrow?”
“Nothing much. I need to clean the apartment and do a little grocery shopping, but that’s not anything that can’t wait. Why? What’ve you got in mind?”
“I’ve got to go to Big Bear tomorrow—that’s where Walker seems to have gone to ground—and I thought you might want to go with me.”
“Yes.”
That was it, just yes. She didn’t need any more details than that, and she didn’t have a clue what that did to him. She could change her plans at the drop of a hat and go off with him to God knows where, and she didn’t have to ask how long they would be gone or when they would be back or what she needed to take. Wherever he was going, she wanted to be with him, and that was all that mattered.
Touched, he grinned. “You know something? You’re amazing.”
“I am?” she said, puzzled. “Why? Because I’m going with you to Big Bear?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I’m supposed to be working and you just make it so much fun. I’ll pick you up in the morning at eight, okay? We’ll stop on the road somewhere and grab something for breakfast.”
Her heart thumping crazily at the thought of spending the whole day with him, Rebecca hung up and couldn’t stop smiling. Ever since that night he’d cried in her arms over Jenny and the baby’s death, everything had changed. Although he hadn’t kissed her again except on the cheek when he left her each evening to return to the hotel, they had grown so much closer. They’d talked about everything, including sex, and they’d both agreed that trying to force the issue would only make her problem worse. They had to be patient.
But patience wasn’t nearly as easy for her as it had once been, and she wanted to laugh aloud with the wonder and excitement of it. Who would have thought that she, Rebecca Powell, would be frustrated and actually ache for a man to make love to her? He had changed everything for her, and she was falling in love with him. Of course she’d go to Big Bear with him! He only had to ask, and she’d go halfway around the world with him.
Saturday turned out to be one of those perfect days. Oh, there were more than a few clouds in the sky and traffic was standard California fare—bumper to bumper at fifty miles an hour—but neither Austin nor Rebecca noticed. With an old Dean Martin tape playing softly on the cassette player, they laughed and talked and the miles flew by.
It had been years since Rebecca had been to Big Bear, but it was still just as beautiful as ever. Given the chance, she would have liked nothing better than to spend the day exploring the lake and woods, but they had to save that for another time. For now, they had work to do.
Evidently thinking the same thing, Austin frowned as they drove around the lake. “Where would a redheaded hippie waiter looking for good tips go first?”
Rebecca didn’t hesitate. “The Golden Eagle Lodge. It’s where the old money goes. It’s been here forever.”
“Then we’ll start there,” he replied, and headed for the other side of the lake.
The Golden Eagle had always been Rebecca’s favorite resort on the lake. Built of log and native stone at the turn of the century, it looked like the kind of place Teddy Roosevelt would have come with his Rough Riders. Other fancier places, with hot tubs and big-screen TVs, had sprung up around the lake, but the Golden Eagle remained the same. There was no fancy electronic equipment in the rooms, there weren’t even any TVs. Tea was served in the afternoons, guests were expected to dress for dinner, and no music more current than 1949 was played at the Saturday night dances.
In the modern world, it was an anachronism that should have closed its doors years ago. It was stuffy, old-fashioned, snobbish. But the rich and famous flocked there, not only for the peace and quiet, but the tradition. It fairly wallowed in understated class.
And on a Saturday afternoon in the summer, the place was a beehive of activity. Every tennis court was in use, swimmers and boaters laughed and splashed in the water, and the older guests either played croquet on the lawn or sat on the veranda or on the tree-shaded patio, enjoying tea and the lodge’s famous butter cookies.
Squeezing his rental car into the public lot rather than letting the lodge’s valet take care of the parking, Austin came around the car to open the door for Rebecca. Already searching for Bryan Walker, he studied the lodge and its landscaped grounds wit
h a frown. “Walker may have come here looking for work, but I doubt that he was hired. He’s just not the right type.”
“How can you say that?” she asked as they started up the stone walkway to the lodge entrance. “You’ve never seen him.”
“No, but you have, and according to you, he’s got long red hair and an earring.” Nodding toward the side veranda, where white-coated waiters were solicitously serving afternoon tea, he said, “There’s not a hippie in sight.”
Rebecca’s gaze followed his, and she had to admit, he had a point. Both the waiters and the guests all wore their hair conservatively cut. Regardless of how good a waiter he was, Bryan Walker would never fit in at the Golden Eagle. “Okay, maybe we need to rethink this.”
Not one to leave any stone unturned, Austin still checked with the restaurant manager to make sure no one fitting Bryan Walker’s description had been hired recently. He wasn’t surprised when he learned that Walker had inquired about a job, but had been turned away.
“Well, at least we know he’s here, just like Bongo Jim said. Now all we’ve got to do is find him.”
That turned out to be more time-consuming than either Austin or Rebecca had anticipated. Because of its proximity to the city, Big Bear was a very popular weekend getaway for the L.A. crowd, and there were a number of large resorts in the area that employed a surprising number of people. Trying to find one lone redheaded waiter was like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Frustrated, Austin was about to pull his hair out when he and Rebecca walked into the restaurant at the Redwood Inn and there he was. Stopping dead in his tracks, he said, “My God, it’s him. It’s gotta be. Look at that hair.”
“Where?” Her gaze following his across the restaurant, Rebecca sighed in relief at the sight of the tall, thin young man taking an order at a table for six. Bright red hair, confined in a ponytail, trailed down his back. “Thank God! I was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined him.”
