Unfortunately, though, there was nothing handy to use as a weapon, and before she could think clearly enough to improvise, Dr. Manion stepped through the door. She relaxed. She was safe for the moment.
“Good morning, Madeline.”
There it was again—the name that didn’t fit the unfamiliar face in the mirror. “Hello, Dr. Manion,” she said with a cheerfulness that was all a facade. She suspected the doctor knew it. “Have you come to hook me back up to your instruments of torture?” she asked with a glance at the silent machines around the bed.
“No.” Manion smiled and held up the chart he was carrying. “The new MRI scan indicates that the swelling is completely gone. I think we can dispense with continuous monitoring.”
Madeline held up the hand that contained her IV line. “And this?”
Manion approached the bed and laid the chart on the adjustable table at the foot. “That depends. Your color is a little better, but how’s the headache?” he asked as he took a penlight from his coat pocket.
“It’s gone,” she replied.
Manion made a little harrumphing sound as he shined the light into her eyes, checking the reaction of her pupils. He looked at the stitches under her bandage and gently replaced the tape. He took her wrist in his hand and checked her pulse.
“See?” Madeline said. “All better now.”
The doctor grinned at her. “Liar. Your head is pounding ferociously. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“I just don’t want to be hooked up to your machines,” she countered, trying to keep her voice as amiable as the doctor’s because she liked him. He was the only person in this strange, threatening environment who made her feel even remotely safe. “I need to be mobile, doctor.”
Manion’s smile faded as his eyes met hers. “So you can be ready to run?”
“Run where? Since I don’t know who I am, I certainly don’t know where I should be,” she quipped, even though the doctor was right. She did want to run—or at least she wanted to be ready to run when it became necessary.
Manion gave her his best sympathetic smile. “I think I may finally be able to help you with that, Madeline.”
A sliver of excitement crept in alongside the darker emotions she was feeling. “You finally tracked down someone who knows me?”
“Actually he tracked you down when he realized you were missing.”
He? she wondered. “Who? My father? My employer?”
Manion hesitated a moment. “Your husband.”
Madeline frowned as the black hole where her memories should have been expanded, growing wider and even darker than it had been a few seconds earlier. “Husband?” she asked incredulously. “No. That’s not possible. I don’t have a husband.”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, you do, Madeline. His name is Adam. Adam Hopewell.”
Madeline looked into the mirror again. A face she didn’t recognize. A name she’d barely grown accustomed to responding to. And now a husband. Someone who presumably loved her. Someone she had sworn to love, honor and cherish. In sickness and in health.
No. It wasn’t possible. She didn’t remember ever having said those words. She couldn’t even imagine saying them. From the moment she’d awakened three days ago, alone, frightened and unable to recall something as simple as her name, she’d been certain of only two things about herself. One was that she wasn’t accustomed to being frightened. She was used to controlling fear, instead of having it control her as it did now. Being afraid was alien to her.
But being alone—that was something else entirely. Being alone in the world felt familiar, and though Dr. Manion and the police had been trying hard to find out where Madeline Hopewell belonged, she’d never really expected someone to step forward and claim her.
Now someone had. Madeline shook her head and glanced down at her left hand. There was no ring on it, and the even flesh tones of her skin showed no evidence that one had ever been there.
She looked at Manion again. “If this Adam Hopewell is really my husband, what took him so long to realize that his wife was missing?”
“It’s a rather complicated story,” the doctor replied. “I think your husband could explain it better than I.”
“Then by all means, let him explain it. Where is he?”
“Down the hall in the waiting room.”
“Get him in here,” she ordered.
Manion looked concerned. “Are you sure you’re ready for that, Madeline? I know this is a shock—”
“I’m ready, Dr. Manion,” she insisted, “more than ready. I’ve been in the dark for three days. If this man can shed some light on who I am and how I got here, I want to meet him. Now.”
“All right,” he conceded. “But don’t demand too much of yourself.”
Madeline considered the weight he put behind the words. “You mean I shouldn’t expect to remember anything just because I want to remember?”
“That’s right.”
“Believe me, Dr. Manion, I already know that. If desire counted for anything, I’d already know exactly who I am.”
“Nevertheless, I want you to take it easy. Ask all the questions you want, but don’t get frustrated if your husband’s answers don’t open a floodgate of memories.”
Madeline frowned. “You don’t consider that a possibility?”
“Of course it’s possible,” Manion replied quickly. “But just don’t count on it. Go easy on yourself.”
Madeline couldn’t deny feeling a stab of disappointment. She needed to remember so desperately that she was grabbing at any possibility like a drowning woman reaching for a life preserver. She wanted a lightning bolt to strike and sear the lock off the dark room where her memories were hiding.
No matter what Dr. Manion said, surely a husband who appeared out of the blue qualified as a lightning bolt. Seeing him would make her remember; and if not, then the things he could tell her about herself would bring the memories scurrying out of the darkness. It had to happen that way. She wouldn’t accept anything less.
“I want to see him, Doctor.”
“All right,” Manion conceded. “But I want you back in bed first.”
Her eyes widened and she grinned mischievously. “Doctor, please! Haven’t you heard? I’m a married woman.”
Manion chuckled but refused to relent. “You know what I mean. Back in bed.”
She patted the rumpled sheet she was sitting on. “I am in bed.”
He shook his head and wiped the smile off his face. “All the way in,” he replied sternly. “You can keep your head elevated if you like, but I don’t want you taxing your strength. And the next time you want to sit up, ring for a nurse to help you. You’re not as strong physically as you like to pretend. Now, come on.” He pulled back the fleece blanket and helped his protesting patient lift her legs onto the bed. She took the blanket from him and settled it around her waist.
“Happy now?” she asked sardonically.
“Deliriously. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
She started to retort that the only thing she wanted was to see her so-called husband, but she curbed her tongue when a second thought struck her. “My bag,” she told him, pointing to the table beside the bed. “I think the nurse put it in the drawer.”
The request surprised Manion. He hadn’t known that any of her belongings had been returned to her. But when he circled the bed and looked in the table, there was a small cosmetic bag right where she indicated. “Did Detective Hogan bring this to you?”
She nodded. “Yesterday. He said they would probably release the rest of my things today or tomorrow.”
“Did any of the contents look familiar to you?” Manion asked as he handed her the bag.
“Did you hear me shouting hosannas from the rooftop yesterday?” she retorted dryly.
Manion’ smiled. He liked his patient’s wry sense of humor, but it concerned him that she used it to cover up the emotional torment she was suffering. Instead of shedding tears or throwing tantrums to
vent her fears and frustration, Madeline cracked jokes.
“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “That was a silly question.”
Madeline nodded again. “It ranks right up there with the ever-popular ‘And how are you feeling to-day?’” Her faint smile faded. “Now, may I see my alleged husband?”
“All right.” He patted her hand. “I’ll be on this floor for a while longer. If you need me, just ring the nurse and tell her.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, unconsciously tightening her grip on the bag. “Just bring on my better half.”
“As you wish.”
Maddy forced herself to remain still until he was gone, but the moment she was alone, she unzipped the makeup bag and began digging through the contents she had studied yesterday.
Prettying up her face was the last thought on her mind, though. She ignored the tube of lipstick and the other cosmetics, searching, instead, for the small nail file that had a sturdy plastic handle, a coarse metal blade and a tip that had been honed to almost stiletto sharpness.
It was an innocent-looking instrument, but Made-line felt better the moment it was in her hand. Finally she had something to use as a weapon.
Turning gingerly, she put the bag on top of the bedside table and slipped the nail file under the covers where she could reach it in an instant if she needed it.
When the door slid open, she was ready to meet the man who claimed to be her husband.
CHAPTER TWO
HE WAS TALL and lean, with the broad-shouldered, well-muscled build of an athlete. Not brawny like a football player, though. More like a skier. And he had the healthy complexion of an outdoorsman. It showed not only in his tanned face but also in his light brown hair, with its attractive streaks of sun-kissed blond.
He was an undeniably handsome man, and the analytical part of Madeline’s mind said that if he really was her husband, she’d done quite well for herself. He had straight, dark brows over dark, deep-set eyes, and the deeply carved lines bracketing his mouth indicated he probably had dimples when he smiled.
But he wasn’t smiling. He stood just inside the room, entering only far enough to let the door slide closed behind him. He stared at her intently as though drinking in the sight of her—and allowing her to study him, as well. Madeline had the impression that if she gave him the slightest encouragement he would cross the room and gather her into his arms.
Though she found the notion oddly comforting, she didn’t offer the encouragement. Handsome or not— husband or not—this man was a complete stranger to her. Just like all the other strangers around her. With-out memories, Madeline had nothing but instinct to rely on, and at the moment it was screaming for her not to trust anyone.
“Hello, Maddy.”
He had a deep voice, very smooth and mellow despite the tentative tone, which suggested he didn’t have a clue how to deal with this situation. She could hardly blame him, since she had no idea how handle it, either. “Hello, Adam.”
Those lines around his mouth deepened into dimples as he smiled with relief. “Yes,” he said, stepping eagerly toward her. “Maddy, I knew you’d remember.”
Guilt pierced her as she held up her hand. “No. I don’t. I’m sorry. Dr. Manion told me your name.”
Adam came to a halt and his smile vanished. “Oh. Of course.” He closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead, as though rubbing it would help him decide what to do next. “I’m sorry, Maddy. I feel like an idiot. Dr. Manion said not to expect anything…not to push you. I don’t know how to behave.”
“That’s all right. I don’t seem to recall how to behave, either. What’s the protocol for greeting a husband you don’t remember?” she asked wryly.
Madeline wondered if it was pain she glimpsed on his face before he glanced down quickly. She was suddenly ashamed of her flippance.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m finding this all difficult to take in. I suppose Manion told you I had no idea I had a husband until a few minutes ago.”
“Yes.” Adam moved toward her, and panic sent Madeline’s fingers slipping toward the nail file under the covers. Apparently he read the tension in her and stopped again, a few feet away from the bed. “The doctor said you’re confused and frustrated now, but your memory will return eventually.” He was trying to reassure himself as much as her, she thought.
“It can’t be soon enough to suit me,” Madeline replied.
His nod seemed to agree with her. “How are you feeling otherwise?”
“Bruised and battered. With a vicious headache.” She mustered a smile. “I guess that’s to be expected when you go head-to-head with a moving vehicle.”
She was trying to inject a little humor, but Adam didn’t respond to it. Just the opposite, in fact. His reserved facade cracked and in an agonized voice he asked, “Maddy, how did this happen?”
“You’re asking me? Haven’t you talked to the police? They have more answers than I do.”
“I spoke to someone on the phone briefly last night. He would only tell me that there’d been an attempt on your life. When I found out you were in the hospital, I got here as quickly as I could. Maddy, who tried to kill you?”
“I have no idea,” she told him. “As for what happened, all I know is what the witnesses reported and the police were able to reconstruct. I had just arrived on a plane from New York and was in the parking garage at the Charleston airport when someone tried to run me down with his car. Apparently I tried to dive out of his way, but the bumper clipped me and threw me headfirst into the rear window of a parked car.”
“Oh, God,” Adam murmured, closing his eyes.
“I landed between two cars, and my attacker backed up—apparently to finish me off—but one of the witnesses came running toward us, shouting.” Maddy hesitated. This was the worst part of the whole ugly mess. “I don’t think my good Samaritan knew the man in the car had a gun.”
“The guy was shot?” Adam asked, horrified.
Maddy nodded. “The driver of the car clipped off two rounds and hit the other man in the chest, killing him instantly.”
Maddy closed her eyes against a sudden and surprising surge of tears. She hadn’t cried once through this whole ordeal and she didn’t want to start now. But the tears wouldn’t retreat and her throat had constricted painfully. It took a moment to collect herself enough to be able to tell Adam, “He saved my life, you know. The police found me under the car I’d hit. I guess I was conscious enough to try and protect myself. My good Samaritan probably distracted the gunman just long enough for me to crawl under the car.”
Maddy brushed at the tears in her eyes and cleared her throat. “Anyway, by that time, witnesses were screaming and a security guard was driving up. My would-be assassin didn’t have time to get out of his car and finish what he’d started.”
“And you don’t remember any of it?”
“No.”
“Maddy…” The distance between them seemed too much for Adam to bear. He stepped to the bed and probably would have put his arms around her if she hadn’t pinned him with a cold, hard glare that warned him to keep his distance.
“It’s your turn,” she told him brusquely. “I answered your questions, now you answer mine. What was I doing at the Charleston airport? I had a small overnight bag with me, but no other luggage. Why am I here?”
“I don’t know, Maddy. This wasn’t what we’d planned at all. When I realized yesterday that you’d disappeared, I started making phone calls—”
“Yesterday?” she interrupted him. “I’ve been here five days and you didn’t notice I was missing until yesterday?”
“That’s right. And when you didn’t show up in New York as-”
“We live in New York?”
Adam frowned at the interruption. “No.”
“Charleston?”
“No, we-”
“Then where do we live?” she demanded. A floodgate of questions had been opened, and she was so impatient for answers she couldn’t wait for l
engthy explanations. “My driver’s license has a New York address, but the police said no one there had ever heard of me. Why is that?”
“Because we haven’t lived in New York for years,” he replied with a touch of frustration. “Maybe I should just start at the beginning, Maddy.”
He was right. She needed the whole picture, and if this man really was her husband, he could give it to her. “All right. I’ll be a good girl and stop interrupting,” she promised.
He smiled again, this time like a loving husband sharing a private joke with his wife. “Patience has never been your strongest virtue.”
His smile was so appealingly intimate that Maddy didn’t dare return it. “Save the character analysis for later,” she said lightly, trying to deflect the way that smile made her feel. “Let’s deal with the facts first.”
The smile disappeared. “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”
“At the beginning—as you suggested. Who am I?”
Adam stepped to the foot of the bed and faced her with the adjustable table between them. “Your name is Madeline Lambert Hopewell. You’re thirty-four years old, and you and I have been married for almost ten years.”
His warm brown eyes were filled with pain, but Maddy ignored the haunting sadness in them as she voiced a thought that had just occurred to her. “Do we have children? Have I forgotten my children, too?” she asked as panic rose in her throat.
“No,” he said gently. “We hadn’t started our family yet.”
Something in his tone suggested it was an issue they’d been seriously considering, though. Maddy didn’t want to think about the implications of sharing that kind of intimacy with this man.
“What about my parents?” she asked, channeling their conversation onto safer ground.
“Your parents were Irene and Paul Lambert. They were killed in a plane crash when you were fifteen.”
Maddy searched for the emotion that should accompany such a devastating loss, but found only emptiness. “So I was raised by relatives after that?”
Married To A Stranger Page 2
