by Sharon Sala
What next? She frowned. A bus? She flinched as it careened around a corner of her mind. Had there been an accident? Was that why she was here? She remembered hurting and then getting very wet. After that, the need to get home to Clay seemed to overwhelm anything else she might have remembered.
Someone began paging a doctor over the hospital intercom, interrupting her concentration. She tried to refocus, but all she could remember was taking the extra key from under the pot of dead geraniums on the front porch and going into the house.
She inhaled again, this time picturing the inside of her house. What had she done after she’d gone inside? Oh yes. The utility room. Her clothes were soaked, and she’d gone to the laundry and tossed them in the dryer. On the way through the kitchen, she’d taken a painkiller for the headache, then she’d filched one of Clay’s T-shirts for a nightgown and crawled into bed.
Unconsciously, her fingers doubled into fists as she clutched at the sheets, trying to find her way through the maze of images flashing through her mind.
Suddenly something crashed in the hall outside her room. Before she could assimilate the noise, the door opened to her room. She gasped. A man stood silhouetted against the light. Even though her heart was telling her that the man had to be Clay, her mind was telling her different. The need to run overrode caution as she began kicking at her covers and yanking herself free from the machines they’d hooked up to her body.
Clay bolted, catching her just as she tried to crawl out of bed.
“Frankie, don’t.”
“Let me go!” she begged, and started to cry. “Please let me go. I don’t want to die.”
A shudder ripped through him. The wild, blank look on her face was terrifying—even more terrifying than the needle tracks had been. He didn’t know this woman. When she drew back her hand and slapped at his face, he took the blow open-mouthed and staring. Before he could react, blood spurted everywhere as the needle from her IV went flying to the floor.
It was the color of red staining the pristine white of her sheets that broke his shock.
He grabbed her arms and started yelling for a nurse.
Her face was etched in fear as she kicked at both him and the covers over her legs. Moments later, the room was full of hospital staff and Clay was shuffled into the hall.
He dropped into a nearby chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands were shaking. His shirt was splattered with her blood. From where he was sitting, he could still hear her crying. A muscle jerked in the side of his jaw as he drew a deep, shuddering breath. The urge to cry along with her was strong. This was hell.
A short while later, her doctor emerged. Clay stood.
“Is she okay?”
The doctor nodded.
“What was that?” Clay asked.
“I’m not sure, but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say she suffered some sort of traumatic flashback. We gave her something to calm her down. When she’s better physically, you might consider some therapy.”
A psychiatrist? Hell, what next? Clay exhaled slowly, then shoved a hand through his hair.
“Is she having a nervous breakdown?”
The doctor smiled. “No, Mr. LeGrand, nothing like that. As soon as she recovers, we’ll see how much she remembers and then go from there.”
Clay accepted the explanation, but there was something at the back of his mind that wouldn’t let go. She’d been gone for two years. Her reappearance was as sudden and inexplicable as her disappearance had been. He hated to ask. It seemed like a betrayal of his feelings for Frankie. But for his own peace of mind, he had to know.
“Hey, Doc.”
“Yes?”
“Could she be faking a loss of memory?”
The doctor paused, seriously considering the question, then shrugged. “She could be, but in my opinion, I doubt it.”
Clay nodded. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, but it helped alleviate some of his doubts.
“Mr. LeGrand, I know this is frustrating, but look at it from your wife’s point of view, too. If there was something sinister about her disappearance two years ago, then she’s the one who has the most to lose, right?”
The doctor patted Clay’s arm and walked away.
Clay dropped into a nearby chair and leaned forward, staring at a spot on the floor. He felt as if he were going crazy. He didn’t know who to trust or who to believe. He needed answers desperately, but until Frankie got well, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Mr. LeGrand.”
Clay looked up. It was one of the nurses.
“Yes?”
“Your wife is asking for you,” she said.
Clay stood, but his hesitancy did not go unnoticed.
“It will be all right,” the nurse said. “Head injuries are tricky, you know. I think she was just confused before. Don’t take it personally. Oddly enough, she thought we were having an earthquake.”
Earthquake? He vaguely remembered hearing about one somewhere on a news broadcast.
“She’s been medicated, so she’ll probably be groggy,” the nurse added. “If you need us, just press the call button. Someone will be right there.”
Clay moved across the hall toward Frankie’s room as the nurse walked away.
Earthquake. He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. This was the third clue to add to the mystery of finding out where she’d been. First the money, then the tattoo, now this. He pushed the door open and walked inside. Her bloody gown and bedclothes had been replaced. The IV was back in her hand. Her eyes were closed, her face almost as pale as the sheets beneath her chin. Afraid to touch her for fear of setting off another panic attack, he stood, waiting for her permission to move.
Sensing his presence, Frankie opened her eyes.
“Clay?”
He sighed, then started toward her, stopping near the foot of the bed. “Yes, it’s me.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that to you. I know this sounds stupid, but I thought it was an earthquake.” She looked away. “I think I thought you were someone else.”
His heart leaped. “Who, Frankie? Who did you think I was?”
A long moment passed as a frown creased her forehead. Finally, she shook her head and sighed. “I can’t remember.”
A chill ran up the back of Clay’s spine. Could he believe her? He exhaled softly. What the hell could he do? Hold a grudge? What would that prove?
“It’s okay,” he said.
Frankie shook her head slowly. “No, it’s not all right. None of this is all right.” She held out her hand. “Come sit by me. I need to explain.”
He pulled a chair up beside her bed. “I don’t think you should be talking,” he muttered.
“Sit by me…please,” she begged.
He stood and scooted onto the edge of the bed.
Struggling with tears, Frankie bit her lower lip, using the pain to focus. His body language was obvious, and she didn’t blame him for being defensive. But she had to make him understand. And then she sighed. Make him understand what? She was the one in the dark. How could she explain what was going through her mind when they were claiming she’d just lost the last two years of her life?
“Clay.”
“What?”
“Have I really been gone all that time?”
His eyes narrowed angrily. “Oh yes.”
Unaware that her chin was quivering, she bit her lip to keep from crying. She was scared. So scared. And Clay seemed so distant—even angry. Two years. My God. Where would I go? And why don’t I remember?
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Do you hate me?”
Clay’s belly knotted. “No, Francesca, I don’t hate you.”
She glanced at his face. That dear, familiar face. Even though he was right beside her, the distance was obvious. Gripping the sheets with both fists, she stared at him until he looked away. As he did, tears filled her eyes.
Oh God. Please don’t take h
im away from me.
Though she was almost afraid to ask, there was something she still had to know. She cleared her throat, trying to swallow her emotions, but it did little good.
“Clay?”
He looked up at her. “What?”
“Do you still love me?”
A shudder visibly shook him as he suddenly stood. “I have loved you since the day I saw you.”
Her fingers clenched the sheets even tighter. “Why do I sense there’s a ‘but’ in that answer?”
He hesitated briefly, but when he answered, his gaze never wavered.
“There’s a difference between love and trust, Francesca. I still love you, but I guess I don’t trust you anymore.”
She bit her lip and then closed her eyes. This nightmare was too horrible to comprehend.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “I don’t know what to say to make this better.”
“For starters, you could tell me where you’ve been…what you’ve been doing.”
She shuddered. His voice was harsh. But there was an anger of her own that wouldn’t let go. For some reason, she felt abandoned. This wasn’t fair. She knew herself well enough to know that she would never have willingly walked out on Clay. And if someone had taken her away, even though she’d found a way to come back, it stood to reason that it might happen again.
“When I know, you’ll know,” she snapped, turning her face toward the wall.
Her anger startled him. And it was in that moment that the first inkling of trust began to renew itself. What if she was telling the truth? He needed to talk to the detectives to keep this out of the media.
After the quake: Day four
Even unconscious and barely alive, Pharaoh Carn still managed to make headlines. Of the seven bodies they’d pulled out of the rubble on his estate, he was the only one to survive. But the whys and how of it had yet to be told. Pharaoh was unconscious and unable to explain.
Duke Needham, Pharaoh’s second in command, had been out of the country when the earthquake hit, and it had taken him a frantic day of plane hopping to get back to L.A., only to find the mansion in ruins and searchers still pulling bodies from the debris.
By the time he’d located the place where Pharaoh was hospitalized, he’d wasted another day. After finding his boss unconscious, he began searching for Pharaoh’s woman. It wasn’t common knowledge to anyone outside Pharaoh’s compound that the woman even existed, but the ones who knew also knew that he had spent the better part of two years trying to win over a woman who seemed to hate the sight of his face.
After several days of diligent searching, all Duke knew was that Pharaoh’s woman was not in a morgue. Whether she’d survived and been taken to another hospital had yet to be learned. It wasn’t as if they could give out her name and see if she happened to turn up. It would have been like offering a reward to have stolen property returned to the thief. He never considered the fact that the woman could have escaped unharmed. Not after seeing the mansion.
So Duke waited, knowing that the next move had to come from Pharaoh, only Pharaoh was in no shape to tell anyone what to do. It was all he could do to draw his next breath.
There would be time enough later to retrieve that which had been lost.
Within hours of her awakening, Frankie’s physical health took a remarkable turn for the better. By the next morning, she was allowed to sit up on the side of the bed, and by afternoon, with the aid of Clay’s arm, she was walking up and down the hall. The mutinous thrust of her chin coincided nicely with the jumble of curls around her face. She looked like an unruly child, angry from an unjust punishment.
“I want out of here,” she muttered. “I don’t like being helpless.”
Clay sighed. This wasn’t the first time she’d said it, and from the look on her face, it wouldn’t be the last. But if he was honest with himself, he would have to admit that he wasn’t so sure he wanted the same thing. Here, she was under the watchful eyes of her doctor and the nurses, as well as himself. When they went home, he would be on his own again. Truth be told, he was scared. How could he face a normal day ever again, wondering when he left each morning if she would be home when he returned?
“Your doctor says you need to stay one more night. Just be patient, Frankie. You’ll be home soon.”
She headed toward a couple of chairs beneath a window overlooking the city, and sat down with a careful plop. She didn’t know how to explain the urgency inside her, but it was there just the same.
From the moment she’d awakened in the hospital, she’d had an overwhelming urge to run. But why? And where? Clay was all that mattered to her. All that had ever mattered. And the little house they were renting from his folks was the first real home she could remember. She loved that house. She loved Clay. So why the panic?
“I know, but…”
She sighed, leaving her sentence undone, and looked down at her hands, frowning at the strange, dark red polish on her nails. The color was nothing she would ever have chosen. What else, she wondered, was different about her?
“Clay?”
“What?”
“Do I look different?”
“What do you mean?”
She frowned, blinking back angry tears. She hated this rootless feeling.
“I mean, physically. Am I fatter or thinner? Was my hair always this color? Do I have scars that didn’t used to be there?”
Clay sat beside her and took her by the hand. She seemed so sincere. If only he dared believe.
“You’re thinner, but not much. Your hair is shorter, but the color is the same.”
She watched his lips moving as he spoke the words, and even though she heard him, her mind was remembering the way his mouth felt on her body. She stared at his fingers as they threaded through hers, and she shuddered. His hands. She’d always loved his hands. Strong and tan, they were callused from his work, yet with a few skillful strokes, could turn her bones into mush.
Suddenly she realized that he was no longer talking. She flushed, wondering how long he’d been silent. She looked up. His eyes were dark with secrets and pain. Pain that she’d put there. And there was anger, too. She flinched, then looked away.
Clay watched the expressions changing across her face and knew to the moment when her thoughts ran to love. He’d seen that look on her face too many times before not to recognize it now. It hit him, then, how drastically their expectations of life had changed. She thought of making love, while his thoughts ran toward fear and distrust. And then she turned away, once more revealing the tattoo to his gaze. He spoke before he thought.
“The tattoo…what does it mean?”
Frankie looked at Clay as if he’d gone mad. “What tattoo?”
He traced the shape of it with his finger. “The one here, at the back of your neck.”
A shaft of panic dug deep in her belly as she pushed his hand away to feel her skin. Her skin became clammy, and her fingers started to shake. It was as if someone had just pointed out a spider crawling up her person.
“I can’t feel anything,” she muttered, and wondered why she wanted to cry.
He took her finger and placed it directly on the gold ankh.
“There.”
Her eyes were dark and huge with shock. “What’s it look like?”
Clay frowned. Fear wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Then he wondered exactly what he had expected.
“Like a cross with a loop on top. It’s Egyptian, I think. It’s called an ankh.”
“This is my mark. In the eyes of the world, you will always be mine.” The words echoed in her head.
Frankie closed her eyes. “Don’t touch me,” she whispered. “I’ll never be yours.”
She slumped forward, passing out in Clay’s arms.
Five
The sun was weak but persistent as the nurse wheeled Frankie out of the hospital. When the cool air penetrated the thin sweater she was wearing, she shivered. It occurred to her then to wond
er about her clothes. Had Clay given them away, believing her to be dead? Her lower lip trembled as she resisted the urge to cry. The familiarity of her world had been stripped away and she couldn’t even remember being gone. My God, my God, how had this happened?
Sometimes she could feel something pushing at the edge of her consciousness, other times, her thoughts were a blur. She couldn’t help but compare the emptiness she was feeling now to the emotions she’d suffered after her parents were killed. One day she’d had a mother and a father and a wonderful home. Within weeks, she had become a ward of the courts, living in an orphanage and crying in the dark for a mother who never came.
Now this.
The last thing she remembered was getting caught in the downpour and then coming home with a headache and crawling into bed. She’d woken up to a nightmare. Only this nightmare didn’t fade, it was getting worse by the day. The emotional distance between her and Clay was as real as the air that she breathed, and it was scaring her to death. Clay was her rock. If he quit on her…
She shuddered. The consequences were impossible to consider.
“Cold, dear?” the nurse asked.
Frankie shrugged. It was easier to admit being chilled than to face how frightened she was.
“A little, I guess.”
The nurse pulled the wheelchair back a bit into an alcove out of the wind.
“There comes your husband now,” she said, pointing to a gray sedan.
Frankie didn’t recognize the vehicle, but why should she? Her spirits plummeted even lower. In two years, a lot of things could change.
She watched as Clay parked and got out, her eyes narrowing as he came toward her. The first time she’d seen him, she’d been working in a restaurant. She’d looked up and caught him staring at her from across the room. Even then, she’d known they would be lovers. She sighed. Had she ever told him that?
Then she lifted her chin. The present was more than she could handle. There was no need dwelling on the past.
Silently, she continued to watch Clay’s approach. He was so very much a man. Two years was a long time to be without a woman. Had he given up on her and found someone else? She moaned softly. The mere thought made her sick.
