by Regan Black
Elaine patted Lissa’s white-knuckled hands. “I’m so sorry. I know you were closer than sisters. You didn’t have to come in today.”
“I need the distraction,” Lissa admitted. Though it might have been fun, and the view superb, she couldn’t have sat back and watched Carson work all day. Thinking about the key that might very well be in a killer’s hands, she couldn’t bear the idea of puttering around alone at the apartment, waiting for the next bad thing to find her. “Noelle’s family scheduled a memorial service here in town for tomorrow,” she said.
“We won’t expect you to come in at all, then. I mean it,” Elaine added when Lissa tried to protest. “Grieving takes time. It’s better not to fight the process.”
Lissa swallowed and gave a weak nod of agreement.
“Whatever we can do to make this easier, just say the word. You’re part of our family. Lean on us. We’re happy to support you.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the phrase or felt the sincerity behind it, but the words just seemed to slip past her logic and sink into her heart this time. Family was a beautiful, powerful word, and while she loved her parents and appreciated the opportunities they’d provided, she’d never quite fit in with their lives. No question they loved her, too. They simply thrived on their work. Everything for her first sixteen years had revolved around their schedules. They believed that hard work was good, learning was a lifelong pursuit and immeasurable value was rooted in the past. After her first semester of college, she’d learned she wasn’t built for that lifestyle.
“I would have called earlier, before the news broke,” Lissa explained, “but I had trauma-related amnesia until yesterday morning.”
Elaine gasped. “That must have been terrifying.”
“It wasn’t fun. Unfortunately, I still don’t have full recall of the attack. I haven’t been much help to the police.”
Elaine leaned back and pursed her lips, her fingertip tapping the arm of the chair. “What’s the last thing you clearly recall about Friday?”
“So far, it’s our staff lunch on Friday. I remember all the chatter over the new additions to the American art gallery. We ordered from that new chicken salad place.” The worried frown on Elaine’s face warned her she’d messed up something. “What?”
“Chicken salad was two Fridays ago. Last Friday we ordered cheesesteaks because—”
“David wanted ‘real man’ food,” Lissa finished as the fractured memory fell into place. “Oh, man. I know I had amnesia, but is everything in my head supposed to be this screwed up?”
“What did the doctors tell you?”
“To take it easy and give myself time to recover.” Carson was close enough to a doctor that Lissa didn’t feel guilty for fibbing about technicalities.
“It would be smart to follow that advice.”
“Maybe, but I’d like to try to work. If it’s too much and I get a headache, I’ll go home early.”
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.” Lissa smiled, hoping the expression gave off more confidence than desperation. Here, behind the impenetrable walls of the museum, she felt safe from the person apparently bent on eliminating her along with her memories.
She returned to her desk, her head only a bit achy as she tried to piece together events of what was now a missing week. Last night, Carson insisted that she take care today not to overdo it. It was easy to assure him she’d be smart when she was riding the high of defiance by remaining in her apartment after the shooting on the roof. Of course, having Carson stay with her gave her courage a crucial boost.
Now reality set in. She wasn’t nearly as together as she’d believed. In the wake of remembering Noelle had had a key to her apartment, Carson’s suggestion to leave made more sense. With the near misses and frustrating discussions, it shouldn’t have surprised her that her thoughts were bouncing and skittering like marbles tossed onto a concrete floor. Every time she tried to concentrate on one thing, it rolled out of her grasp.
After an hour of writing and rewriting a single email, she gave in and headed upstairs to the canteen for a coffee. She kept seeing chunks of time with Noelle, overlaid with flashes of Carson’s smile, or worse, his stark, flat gaze when he’d been lost in his own nightmare.
She couldn’t blame the scattered focus solely on Elaine’s concern about her mixing up Friday lunches. She’d noticed similar gaps since she’d woken on Sunday with full recollection of who she was.
Back at her desk, the aromatic coffee filled the space, and she reviewed the team task list, looking for something mundane and physical she could contribute so the day wouldn’t be a total waste. She found two video articles on preservation techniques Elaine had asked the team to view for later discussion, as well as several reports that needed to be logged into the system.
She took notes on the videos and managed to enter the reports with deliberate precision. Checking the clock, she saw she had a few hours left to the typical workday. To avoid email or social media, she poked around online, researching amnesia for a bit, before turning her flighty attention to Carson and Grant. Soon she was engrossed in a series of articles and police reports documenting crimes against first responders in the city. She read every scrap of information available about the attack on the ambulance that had changed Carson’s life and killed his partner.
That led her to Sarah Neely’s obituary. The tributes from her friends, family and colleagues gave Lissa a picture of a vibrant, tough woman who had been respected and loved.
Lissa had the impression that if Sarah and Noelle had known each other they would’ve been friends. Thinking of Noelle’s memorial service, she did a search for the obituary, posted this morning by the funeral home assisting Noelle’s parents with the arrangements. They’d done a lovely job with a challenging task, and Lissa’s heart swelled as she read the long list of accomplishments her friend had racked up through her short life. The family directed donations in lieu of flowers to the children’s research hospital Noelle had hoped to work for some day. Lissa immediately made a donation through her online bank account, but when she tried to add her comment to the outpouring of sympathy, her eyes burned with tears, and she clicked away before she lost her composure completely. Somehow, alternating between grief and numbness, she made it through the rest of her day, even updating the team task chart after two attempts. When the instant message window popped up, she clicked over and smiled at the notice from security that Carson had arrived before she’d had a chance to call him. Elaine caught her at the elevator and gave her a hug, letting her know they’d all be thinking of her tomorrow.
For the first time since she’d started at the museum, Lissa was utterly relieved to leave work behind. The late afternoon sunshine felt amazing on her face as she glanced around for Carson. She didn’t see him or his truck near the door or in either nearby parking area. Confused, she reached for her cell phone, belatedly remembering that he had picked it up, along with her purse, at the police station. As adamant as he had been about keeping close to her, it seemed odd that he’d call and then not be waiting within sight. Doubling back to the museum entrance, she bumped into a hard and unyielding form. “Excuse me,” she said, jumping back from the man she’d plowed into. “I was distracted,” she added, utterly flustered. He wore a navy blazer over a white button-down shirt and khaki slacks, and his hair was combed back from his face, making his sharp features even more pronounced, despite the dark sunglasses.
“It happens,” he muttered. He studied her as if he expected something more from her before striding off rapidly down the sidewalk.
Did she know him? Not today, she didn’t. She couldn’t call the face familiar, and yet those brief seconds had given her a jolt of inexplicable alarm. He’d probably recognized her from the news reports. She tried to blow it off, blaming her reactions on the crazy bundle of nerves and increasing distress she’d been s
truggling with all afternoon.
Once more she searched the area for Carson. She wanted his calm voice and steady presence, and she didn’t care that in her mind she was whining a little. Retreating back inside the museum, she used the phone at the security desk to call and verify where he was waiting for her.
“Perfect timing,” he said. “I’m just pulling up.”
A chill raised the hair at the back of her neck. She peered through the glass as the big gray truck rolled into view. “I’ll be right out.”
She asked the security guard on duty about the original notification that Carson had arrived. Linda looked it up while she shared the latest updates on her kids with Lissa. “Here it is. A phone call came in, and he asked us to let you know rather than letting us put the call through. Was that a problem?”
“No.” Lissa forced her lips to curve upward into a smile. “Thanks so much, Linda. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
The guard’s sympathy trailed her out the door.
Making a beeline for Carson’s truck, Lissa gave a wide berth to the people milling about on the sidewalk. “You didn’t call the security office, did you?”
The wide, welcoming smile on his face disappeared. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” She said the word with a question in her voice. “Nothing bad,” she clarified.
He put the car in Park, ignoring the line of vehicles behind him. “You look spooked. Tell me.”
“Can we go?” She scanned the area. “I need some distance. He’s long gone, anyway.”
The car behind them honked loudly.
“Who are you talking about? What happened?”
She flicked her hands, urging him to move. “I’ll tell you if you just get moving.” She relaxed a fraction and wiped her palms on her slacks as Carson merged with the traffic. “I got the message you were here, so I came upstairs and outside to meet you.” Suddenly what had seemed an innocent mistake took on a bigger significance. She didn’t want the strange encounter to be that important, and yet she couldn’t deny her intuitive recoil from the man she’d bumped into.
“And?” he prompted.
“And you weren’t here. I turned around and ran smack into a stranger. It felt weird and awkward when he stared at me like he thought he knew me.”
“Or that you should know him.”
“Yes.” Her skin went cold all over. “I’m putting it into that context now. I wish I could say ‘better late than never.’” She rubbed her hands over her arms and then closed the air vents on her side of the truck cab. “But I didn’t know him at all. I decided he must have recognized me from the news and was trying to place me.”
“There was nothing familiar about him?”
“No,” she said, wishing the seat would swallow her whole. She felt as if she was one of the new exhibits on display. “Have the locks at my apartment been changed?” The low-grade headache that had started just after lunch was threatening to become an all-out migraine.
“Yes.”
“And my purse?”
He aimed his thumb at the space behind the seat. “I tucked it out of sight, expecting to park and walk in to meet you.”
She wished that’s exactly how it had happened. Closing her eyes, she tried an old exercise she’d learned in college to reframe the moment, envisioning how the pickup should have gone. It gave her a smidge of comfort. Twisting around in the seat, she pulled out the purse. “Thank goodness,” she gushed at the familiar feel of the fabric strap in her hand. She gave in to the urge and hugged it close, thrilled to be reunited with the object.
“Happy?”
“Much, much happier,” she said, feeling as if she’d taken another big leap toward full recovery. “Did the detective give you any trouble?” She pulled back the zipper and rooted through the inner pockets. Her cell phone was there, though the battery had died, and her keys, her wallet, her favorite pen and everything else were just as she’d left them.
“You can hook up the phone and get it charging,” Carson suggested.
“It can wait until we’re at my place,” she said.
“We should make one stop before we do that.” At the next stoplight, he used the voice command to dial Detective Werner’s number.
Lissa smothered her groan of dismay when the detective picked up. Carson did all the talking, asking—directing, really—the detective to meet them at the Escape Club. His next call was to give Grant a heads-up about the impromptu meeting.
She wanted to wilt as they headed out to the pier. “You don’t think the man who bumped me was random.”
“Not a chance,” Carson said.
She closed her eyes, bringing the stranger’s face into view. “At least I can give you an accurate description.”
“Good.” Carson reached over and gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “A sketch and conversation, and we can let the detective figure out if the man fits any part of Noelle’s case while we enjoy our evening.”
It was a good plan, and she knew he was right. “I appreciate that you refer to this as Noelle’s case. Somehow it makes it feel less like my responsibility.”
“There’s still no reason to believe you were anything but an unwilling bystander in this whole mess.”
“From your lips to the detective’s ear,” she murmured, thinking about her jumbled memories and wondering how to tell him it appeared she was missing an entire week.
“He’ll come around.” Carson rubbed her shoulder again, and it took all her self-control to keep from leaning in to his touch. “You do realize you may never get it all back?”
She rubbed at the stress gripping her forehead like a vise. “I hope you’re wrong, but I understand the possibility. I poked around online, looking for information on amnesia today.”
“Did it give you a headache?”
“A little bit,” she admitted with a wry bark of laughter. “And as far as my boss is concerned, you’re a doctor.”
He chuckled as he drove down the pier, parking again near the back door, although there were open spaces elsewhere reserved for employees. The detective’s car wasn’t in sight. “Ready?”
Not at all, but she nodded anyway. What were the odds that the man she’d seen was related to Noelle’s death? At this point she had no idea, but she knew they had to do everything to find out. Resisting the grim awareness settling like an anvil on her shoulders, she walked into the club with Carson.
* * *
Carson wanted to take her hand, to give her some tangible reassurance that it would work out. More than that, he wanted to take her home, but they needed to have this meeting. With luck, the man who’d bumped into her outside the museum would be a helpful lead for Werner’s case. Carson didn’t care for her being drawn out into the open without anyone nearby to keep her safe. If it had been the killer or someone tied to the killer who’d lured Lissa outside, why let her go after making an attempt on her life yesterday?
Grant greeted them in his office and then went off for a bit while Carson created a sketch of the man Lissa had seen. Grant interrupted once with soft drinks and a tray of appetizers for them. The next time Grant knocked on the open door, Detective Werner was at his shoulder, his face locked in that now-familiar expression of perpetual skepticism.
“We’re just wrapping up,” Carson said, setting aside the pencil and shaking out his hand. “She’s got great recall,” he added, just to tweak the detective.
Grant shot him a warning glance as the two men entered the office and the detective closed the door. Beside him, Lissa sucked in a startled breath as she studied the sketch. “That’s him.” She handed the sketch to Grant as if it burned her fingers, and Grant looked it over before handing it to the detective.
Carson watched the detective’s face for any signs of recognition and came up empty. He made a mental note not to pla
y poker with the detective anytime soon. Maybe the man in the sketch was in the system for other crimes, or he was a doctor or some other authority figure from the hospital who fueled Lissa’s current terror of medical establishments. Either way, she’d done more than her fair share today for Noelle’s case.
He clenched his teeth over every small crease of pain and worry on her face as she explained what had happened outside the museum.
“He didn’t say anything else?” Werner asked when she finished.
“No,” she replied with a small, terse shake of her head. “I know he couldn’t have been staring at me for very long, but it felt so strange, as if he was waiting for me to react.”
“To me, that puts him firmly in the problem-child category,” Carson said. “This wasn’t a coincidence.”
The detective muttered an oath and reluctantly agreed with him. “Your lack of memory may have saved your life,” Werner said. “The techs did find one of the marked bullets in the evidence gathered from your rooftop. We’re pushing hard to unravel this one. I’ll add this sketch to the case file, go through some photo arrays myself and then show them to a few of Anson’s coworkers.”
“Noelle,” Lissa whispered.
“Right.” Werner’s stoic poker face suddenly gave way, and he looked as weary as Lissa. “I want you both to keep an eye out for this man at the funeral tomorrow.” He pushed to his feet and reached past Carson to shake Lissa’s hand. “Thank you. I’ll be at the station if you need me.”
He walked out, and Grant hustled after him before Carson could ask about formal protection or a safe house. Resigned, Carson shifted in his seat, unsure of the next good move. “What do you need?” he asked.
She didn’t look up, her gaze on her hands while she twisted the band of silver on her thumb. “Quiet, I think.”
As if on cue, the first band on tonight’s card started warming up, and the bass rumbled through the floors. They both laughed, snapping the strain of the past few minutes.
“Then I guess we’d better head to your place,” Carson said. Standing, he offered her his hand. The quick sizzle when she put her palm in his came as a surprise, and he knew he should resist rather than savor the effect. She looked up at him with those dark chocolate eyes, tilting her head to the side. It would take the smallest effort to lean forward and touch his lips to hers. Before he’d settled the internal debate between temptation and wisdom, Grant returned.
