“Okay. Well. I know it’s just the two of us, and it has been for a long time. I can tell you that my son’s teacher is named Ms. Jenny, and I can also tell you that’s her last name, not her first name. Xavier thinks that’s funny.”
“What else?” he prodded.
“Xavier’s birthday is September 1, and his favorite food is waffles.” Her mouth tipped up. “We had them for breakfast this morning. We were out of syrup, and he was supremely unimpressed.”
Remo didn’t bother to point out that she’d just recalled something not only very specific, but also within a very recent time frame; he didn’t want to derail anything that might come after. “I don’t blame him. Not a big fan of waffles without syrup myself. So did you buy him some, or make him suffer through it?”
“I would’ve bought him more. I’m a sucker for his pouty face. But since we were in a hotel room, I—” Her eyes flew open, and she shot an excited look his way. “A hotel!”
“You remember which one?” he asked.
Her face fell. “No.”
“What about a logo? Maybe on a notepad on the nightstand?”
“I think it might be the kind of place that doesn’t spring for branded items.”
“That’s good info.”
“Is it?” She sounded completely disheartened. “It feels kind of useless.”
Remo reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s a start. It means we can probably rule out anything with a three-star or more rating. When we contact the police—”
“No.”
The single word cut him off, but not because it was gasped out or spoken with particularly firm emphasis. Its power was in the fact that Celia had infused it with a genuine fear. And there was a matching terror in her eyes.
* * *
Celia had no idea why, but hearing the word police was like a switch being flipped. Her heart thundered. Her pulse raced. And her head started to throb. The only thing keeping her grounded was the fact that her hand was clasped in Remo’s warm, strong palm. Her body used the contact to keep from bolting. Her mind, on the other hand, refused to stay still.
Was she running from the police? Was she a criminal? Had she broken a law—or more than one law—in the name of keeping her son safe? She weighed the question in her head, and quickly decided that if the choice was between protecting Xavier and not committing a crime, she’d definitely choose the former. If she admitted it aloud, would the blue-eyed paramedic feel a need to contact the local PD, just in case?
And if he does call them...would you blame him?
But when she exhaled and forced herself to meet Remo’s gaze, the concern on his face seemed reserved for her. And his next words confirmed it.
“Hey,” he said gently. “If you don’t want to contact the cops, I’m not going to force you to do it.”
Some of the pressure on Celia’s chest eased, but she felt compelled to shake her head and say, “I should probably point out that the cops are the good guys.”
“I know.”
“So by extension, the people who avoid them...”
“Aren’t the good guys,” he filled in. “I get what you’re saying.”
“If that makes you uncomfortable, Remo, I understand. Just...give me a head start, okay?”
“A head start?”
Celia nodded. It was strange how badly she wanted him to say that it was fine with him if she was kind of a fugitive. Maybe part of it was just that he was one of the few familiar things in her current world. Maybe some of it was that he’d saved her and—even more importantly—saved her son. But she suspected that underneath that was some other driving factor. An unnamable pull. Whatever it was, it deepened when he released her hand and reached up to touch her cheek. He ran his knuckles over her cheekbone, then turned his palm to cup her face. And the intimate contact didn’t feel in the slightest bit wrong or unnatural. Just the opposite. It felt right.
Celia tipped into the attention, leaning a little harder against his touch and enjoying the security of the touch.
Her eyes lifted, and she found the same sense of safety in his responding stare. There was an openness in his gaze. An honesty. And as fuzzy as her specific memories were, Celia was sure that was something she lacked in her day-to-day life.
Always hiding. Always running. No one to trust.
The thoughts were disturbing, and the reasons behind them were frustratingly out of reach. But Remo—this man she didn’t know at all—offered a hint of hope. And something else. A feeling she hadn’t experienced since God knew when.
Attraction.
As soon as Celia acknowledged it, a spark ignited. A current pulsed from his hand to her face. It throbbed in time with the pulse in her throat, and it shortened her breath, too.
A little startled by how strong the zap was—and by the fact that it seemed to mute the world around her—she pulled back. But the moment Remo’s palm left her cheek, she realized she didn’t want the contact to be cut short. And her body reacted reflexively. One of her own hands shot out to grasp his, pulling it back to the spot it’d just abandoned. Her other hand came up to touch his face. Hesitantly, but not without intention. And it was just as pleasant to be on the giving end of the caress as it was to be on the receiving end. Celia took a moment to enjoy it.
Remo’s jaw was strong and well-defined. Maybe a little squarer than would be considered perfect, but it only added to his good looks, making him interesting rather than stereotypically model-esque. His chin and cheek were pebbled with the barest hint of stubble. Just the right amount of roughness against her fingers, as far as Celia was concerned. But it wasn’t his outward appearance, or the way he felt physically that made her skin tingle. It was the look in his eyes, and what he said next.
“You don’t need a head start from me, Celia. I said I’d help you, and I meant it,” he told her, his voice low. “And even if that weren’t true, I would never do anything that would make you or your son need to run. That’s not who I am.”
Dizziness hit Celia again, but this time it had nothing to do with her medical state, and instead everything to do with Remo DeLuca and his promise.
And his nearness, she acknowledged.
He was close. So close that she could feel the warmth of his lips. And she wanted to be even closer. Instinctively, she tipped her face up to make it happen. He tipped his down in response. For the briefest second, their mouths brushed against one another. It was enough time for delicious heat to fan out through Celia’s entire body. Enough time to know that fireworks were waiting under the surface, ready to burst as soon as the kiss deepened. And then her son’s sleepy voice forced them apart.
“Is it morning?” he asked, punctuating the question with a yawn. “I’m so hungry.”
It could’ve been an awkward moment. Maybe it should’ve been. One where Remo offered her an apologetic look and murmured something about the kiss being inappropriate. Or maybe one where Celia questioned what she was thinking, kissing a man she’d only just met. In a hospital bed. While her son slept two feet away. But the tickle of mingling guilt and embarrassment lasted for only a heartbeat. Just as long as it took for Remo to smile in her direction, then lean around her and offer a wider grin to Xavier.
“You’re hungry?” he said. “Well, what’s your favorite gross hospital food? Squishy peas, or pudding? If your mom says it’s okay, you can pick one of those, my treat.”
“Ew,” her son replied. “Are squishy peas really a thing?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?” Xavier’s genuine bafflement made Celia want to laugh and shush him at the same time.
But Remo just shrugged. “Who knows? People are weird. And I take that to mean you want some pudding?”
“Yes, please!” He turned a pleading eye in Celia’s direction. “Please, Mom? Can I?”
Celia nodded. Fighting about middle-of-the-ni
ght treats hardly seemed like a priority in light of everything else. Remo shot a conspiratorial wink her way, then stood up. Xavier jumped out of the bed, and Celia’s heart banged an anxious beat. The big man clearly picked up on her nervousness. He bent down to Xavier’s level and spoke to him in a serious voice.
“Can I ask you a favor, buddy? Because I could really use your help with something,” he said.
Her son was quick to solemnly agree. “Yeah. I can help.”
“The pudding is just down the hall and around the corner in a little kitchen. It’ll only take me a minute to go there and back, but I don’t really want to leave your mom alone. Think you can keep an eye on her for me?”
Xavier glanced from Remo to Celia, and Celia’s heart squeezed. She knew he’d want to say no. And she couldn’t blame him. An adventure to get pudding was undoubtedly more appealing than playing watchdog for his boring, bedridden mom. But she knew, also, that his sense of responsibility was high. Too high for a kid his age.
She swallowed against the thick lump in her throat, and spoke quickly. “You know what? I’ll be fine here for a minute. You two go.”
Remo stood up and lifted an eyebrow. “You sure? Could take us two minutes to track down a spoon. Puddings abound, but utensils are notoriously hard to come by. Had to settle for a fork a few times.”
She heard the other, unasked question in his words. Are you sure you’re comfortable letting your son leave with a stranger?
Celia met his eyes. “Don’t settle. Take five minutes, if you need to. It’ll give me time to regroup.”
Remo studied her for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out if she meant it. She offered a nod. She did mean it. He’d rescued her son from the wreck. He’d taken care of him while she was unconscious. Those two things alone told her she could trust him. And her instincts heartily agreed.
“All right,” Remo said, then tipped his gaze back down to Xavier. “What do you say, my man? That work for you?”
Celia fought a smile as her son practically bounced on the spot with barely bridled excitement.
“Go ahead,” she told him. “Freak out. It’s pudding.”
Xavier’s eyes brightened even further, and he jumped up once, then did an enthusiastic fist pump. “Yes!”
Remo chuckled and held out his hand. Celia watched her son’s tiny fingers disappear in the paramedic’s palm, and her heart squeezed again, this time in a different way. She held her breath until the two of them were gone, then let out a long, shaky exhale and closed her eyes.
She felt lost. The holes in her memory were enough to make her want to cry. And what was worse was that she was starting to suspect that the lack of recall had little to do with her accident, and more to do with not wanting to remember. Like her mind was intentionally blacking out the Big Bad Wolf to protect her.
But it’s having the opposite effect.
Instead of being insulated, she was just helpless. She needed those memories, whether her subconscious wanted to admit it or not. She had to find a way to get them back.
“What am I going to do?” she wondered aloud.
And unexpectedly, a rough, masculine voice answered her. “My suggestion would be to tell me where the boy is.”
Chapter 6
Celia didn’t even get a look at the man attached to the voice before he clamped a hand over her mouth, blocking anything but a muffled protest.
“Scream,” he said in a low voice. “I dare you.”
For a second, the challenge made no sense. And Celia was too scared to attempt to force it to. But then the man eased back just enough to give her a view of his other hand, and she didn’t have to think about it anymore. It wasn’t a challenge; it was a threat. His fingers were clasped around a syringe, one thumb poised on the plunger. And the syringe itself was stuck through a rubberized injection port.
Oh, God.
She had no clue what was in the needle, but the possibilities were endless, and not one of them let Celia come out alive on the other end.
“Do you understand?” the man asked.
Celia nodded—the barest incline of her head.
“Good,” said her attacker.
He eased back, but only a little. As if he thought the needle wasn’t quite enough to buy her silence. It made a silent, hysterical laugh bubble up. But that didn’t escape any more than a scream could have done. Sound was an impossibility. It had all evaporated into fear-induced dryness in the back of her throat.
Even when her assailant pulled back more, then settled into the hard-backed chair beside her bed, and stared at her expectantly, all Celia could do was blink back at him. He was dressed in scrubs, but she knew beyond any doubt that he wasn’t a doctor or a nurse or a medical professional of any kind. Because the moment her eyes landed on his face—acne-scarred and clean-shaven—a vivid memory sprang to life.
This man, with a gun in his hand.
This man, with a gun pressed to a stranger’s head.
This man, pulling the trigger.
“Nothing to say?” His voice cut through the memory, and Celia had to bite back a gasp.
She lifted her eyes and shook her head. Who was he to her? Who was he to Xavier? Looking at him, she was certain he wasn’t her son’s father.
Ten years too young.
The thought wasn’t a vague assumption. It was something she knew. Whoever Xavier’s father was, he was older than this man. Older than Celia herself.
She breathed out, unsure if it was a relief to know that detail or not.
“Are you listening to me, Celia?”
She jerked her attention back to the man’s face—he clearly assumed she knew him—and made herself answer in as sure of a voice as she could manage. “I’m listening.”
“Then maybe you’re not listening well enough,” he replied. “Because if you don’t tell me where your son is, I’m going to make sure you don’t leave here alive.”
His statement made her realize something: he didn’t know that Xavier was in the hospital. Celia squared her shoulders and made sure to keep both her face and her voice devoid of the hope that washed through her.
“I’d rather die than let you get your hands on him,” she said evenly. “But it doesn’t matter. Because even if I wanted to tell you where he was, I couldn’t. He’s with social services.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “You want me to believe that? Social services took him, when his mother is alive and well and capable?”
“They didn’t take him from me,” Celia replied. “I was unconscious. He’s got no family. Who do you think watches kids in a situation like that?”
He studied her for another moment, then leaned back and said, “He’s got family. His dad would be more than happy to ‘watch’ him.”
Her heart tried to plummet toward her stomach. And when she responded, it was like her mouth was on autopilot—saying things she wasn’t consciously aware of, but which she knew were true as soon as they left her mouth.
“Xavier doesn’t have a dad,” she stated. “The man you work for has never had that title. And he lost any chance he ever had of earning it the moment he laid a hand on me.”
“Self-righteous, aren’t you?”
“Completely devoid of morals, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got loyalty, and I get paid. And if you can’t tell me where the kid is, then I guess I’ve got no use for—”
He cut himself off and stood abruptly, yanking the syringe with him. And the moment he was on his feet, Celia saw why he’d made the sudden move. A nurse—not Jane—was stepping into her room.
“Hi, Miss Poller. I’m here to check your vitals,” she said, then frowned as she spotted the scrubs-clad man. “Oh. Doctor... Um. Sorry. I don’t think we’ve met?”
“Wrong room,” the man muttered, brushing roughly by the nurse to exit out to the hall.
Celia let her body sag. He wouldn’t come back. He wouldn’t risk being caught and identified. She was sure of it for the same reason she was sure of everything else—her memory told her so, even if it wouldn’t tell her why.
The nurse stepped closer, concern playing over her face. “Are you feeling all right, Miss Poller?”
“I’m fine,” Celia lied. “Just tired.”
“All right. Well you just let me have a quick look-see, and then you can rest.”
“Thank you.”
Celia closed her eyes and let the nurse do her thing. Where were Remo and Xavier? She prayed that whatever had delayed them had also kept them out of the sights of the unknown man.
Not unknown, she corrected silently. Not exactly, anyway.
Whoever he was, he worked for Xavier’s father. And not in a pleasant way. God, why couldn’t she just remember?
“There you go, Miss Poller,” said the nurse.
Celia dragged her eyes open. “How am I?”
“Everything looks good. Better than good, actually. I’m impressed.” The other woman clicked her pen, then tucked it into her pocket and patted Celia’s knee. “You can go ahead and get some shut-eye. The doctor will be here in the morning. Sound good?”
“Perfect.”
The nurse excused herself, and Celia waited until she was gone, then counted to thirty before throwing her bedding aside. There was still no sign of Remo and Xavier, and she couldn’t shake the nervous feeling that her unwanted visitor might’ve found them. She had to act. She swung toward the various monitors, reaching out to touch the nearest one—the automated IV drip. As she ran her finger over the buttons, it occurred to her that she knew what each one did.
Strange.
But she wasn’t going to question it. Not at the moment, anyway.
She keyed in a sequence, and the IV monitor beeped once, and went silent. Carefully, Celia pulled up the tape from the infusion site on her hand, then drew out the needle. Blood beaded in its place, and she quickly swiped it away, while at the same time scanning the room for a change of clothes. It was all well and good to free herself from the tubes, but it would all be for naught if someone noticed she was walking the halls in nothing but an open-backed robe and her underwear. She heaved a relieved sigh when she spotted her jeans and T-shirt peeking out of a bag near the window. But as she started to stand, a shelf just outside the door caught her eye. It was piled with folded garments, and it brought a better idea to mind. Scrubs. The man who’d invaded her room had been dressed in them, and the nurse had barely blinked when she saw him. She hadn’t even commented on his presence.
First Responder on Call Page 6
