She shook her head, his brisk words jumbling up in her brain, making little to no sense. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered.
“You’re not dreaming, but you do have a head injury. It’s not unusual to be confused,” the doctor replied. He offered her a small, practiced smile that was edged with impatience. “Now, do you feel up to a few questions? Why don’t we start with your name?"
She opened her mouth to reply, thinking that was an easy question, until nothing came to mind. Her brain was blank. What was her name? She had to have one. Everyone did. What on earth was wrong with her? She gave a helpless shake of her head. “I’m... I’m not sure,” she murmured, shocked by the realization.
The doctor frowned, his gaze narrowing on her face. “You don’t remember your name? What about your address, or where you’re from?"
She bit down on her bottom lip, straining to think of the right answers. Numbers danced in her head, but no streets, no cities, no states. A wave of terror rushed through her. She had to be dreaming -- lost in a nightmare. She wanted to run, to scream, to wake herself up, but she couldn’t do any of those things.
“You don’t know, do you?” the nurse interjected.
“I... I should know. Why don’t I know? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember my name, where I’m from? What’s going on?” Her voice rose with each desperate question.
“Your brain suffered a traumatic injury,” Dr. Carmichael explained. “It may take some time for you to feel completely back to normal. It’s probably nothing to worry about. You just need to rest, let the swelling go down."
His words were meant to be reassuring, but anxiety ran like fire through her veins. She struggled to remember something about herself. Glancing down at her hands, she saw the light pink, somewhat chipped polish on her fingernails and wondered how it could be that her own fingers didn’t look familiar to her. She wore no rings, no jewelry, not even a watch. Her skin was pale, her arms thin. But she had no idea what her face looked like.
“A mirror,” she said abruptly. “Could someone get me a mirror?"
Dr. Carmichael and Rosie exchanged a brief glance, and then he nodded to the nurse, who quickly left the room. “You need to try to stay calm,” he said as he jotted something down on his clipboard. “Getting upset won’t do you any good."
“I don’t know my name. I don’t know what I look like.” Hysteria bubbled in her throat, and panic made her want to jump out of bed and run... but to where, she had no idea. She tried to breathe through the rush of adrenaline. If this were a nightmare, eventually she’d wake up. If it wasn’t... well, then she’d have to figure out what to do next. In the meantime she had to calm down. She had to think.
The doctor said she’d had an accident. Like the car crash in her dream? Was it possible that had been real and not a dream?
Glancing toward the clock, she saw that it was seven thirty. At least she knew how to read the time. “Is it night or morning?” Her gaze traveled to the window, but the heavy blue curtain was drawn, making it impossible for her to see outside.
“It’s morning,” the doctor replied. “You were brought in around nine o’clock last night."
Almost ten hours ago. So much time had passed. “Do you know what happened to me?"
“I’m afraid I don’t know the details, but from what I understand, you were in a serious car accident."
Before she could ask another question, the nurse returned to the room and handed her a small compact mirror.
She opened the compact with shaky fingers, almost afraid of what she would see. She stared at her face for a long minute. Her eyes were light blue, framed by thick black lashes. Her hair was a dull dark brown, long, tangled, and curly, dropping past her shoulders. There were dark circles under her eyes, as well as purple bruises that were accentuated by the pallor of her skin. A white bandage was taped across her temple. Multiple tiny cuts covered her cheekbones. Her face was thin, drawn. She looked like a ghost. Even her eyes were haunted by shadows.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, feeling as if she were looking at a complete stranger. Who was she?
“The cuts will heal,” the nurse said. “Don’t worry. You’ll have your pretty face back before you know it."
It wasn’t the bruises on her face that filled her heart with terror; it was the fact that she didn’t recognize anything about herself. She felt absolutely no connection to the woman in the mirror. She slammed the compact shut, afraid to look any longer. Her pulse raced, and her heart beat in triple time as the reality of her situation sank in. She felt completely vulnerable, and she wanted to run and hide until she figured everything out. She would have jumped out of bed if Dr. Carmichael hadn’t put his hand on her shoulder, perhaps sensing her desperation.
“You’re going to be all right,” he said firmly, meeting her gaze. “The answers will come. Don’t push too hard. Just rest and let your body recuperate from the trauma."
“What if the answers don’t come?” she whispered. “What if I’m like this forever?"
He frowned, unable to hide the concern in his eyes. “Let’s take it one step at a time. There’s a deputy from the sheriff’s office down the hall. He’d like to speak to you."
A police officer wanted to talk to her? That didn’t sound good. She swallowed back another lump of fear. “Why? Why does he want to talk to me?"
“Something to do with your accident. I’ll let him know you’re awake."
As the doctor left the room, Rosie stepped forward. “Can I get you anything -- water, juice, an extra blanket? The mornings are still so cold. I can’t wait until April. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the rain. I’m ready for the sun to come out."
That meant it was March, the end of a long, cold winter, spring on the nearby horizon. Images ran through her mind of windy afternoons, flowers beginning to bloom, someone flying a kite, a beautiful red-and-gold kite that tangled in the branches of a tall tree. The laughter of a young girl filled her head -- was it her laughter or someone else’s? She saw two other girls and a boy running across the grass. She wanted to catch up to them, but they were too far away, and then they were gone, leaving her with nothing but a disturbing sense of loss and a thick curtain of blackness in her head.
Why couldn’t she remember? Why had her brain locked her out of her own life?
“What day is it?” she asked, determined to gather as many details as she possibly could.
“It’s Thursday, March twenty-second,” Rosie replied with another sympathetic smile.
“Thursday,” she murmured, feeling relieved to have a new fact to file away, even if it was something as inconsequential as the day of the week.
“Try not to worry. You’ll be back to normal before you know it,” Rosie added.
“I don’t even know what normal is. Where are my things?” she asked abruptly, looking for more answers. Maybe if she had something of her own to hold in her hand, everything would come back to her.
Rosie tipped her head toward a neat pile of clothes on a nearby chair. “That’s what you were wearing when they brought you in. You didn’t have a purse with you, nor were you wearing any jewelry."
“Could you hand me my clothes, please?"
“Sure. They’re a bit bloodied,” Rosie said as she gathered up the clothes and laid them on the bed. “I’ll check on you in a while. Just push the call button if you need anything."
She stared at the pair of blue jeans, which were ripped at the knees, the light blue camisole top, the navy sweater, and the gray jacket dotted with dark spots of blood or dirt, she wasn’t sure which. Glancing across the room she saw a pair of Nike tennis shoes on the floor. They looked worn-out, as if she’d done a lot of running in them.
Another memory flashed in her brain. She could almost feel herself running, the wind in her hair, her heart pounding, the breath tight in her chest. But she wasn’t out for a jog. She wasn’t dressed right. She was wearing a heavy coat, a dress, and high stiletto heels. She tried to hang on to the i
mage floating vaguely in her head, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. She supposed she should feel grateful she’d remembered something, but the teasing bit only frustrated her more.
She dug her hands into the pockets of her jeans and jacket, searching for some clue as to who she was, but there was nothing there. She was about to put the jacket aside when she noticed an odd lump in the inner back lining. She ran her fingers across the material, surprised to find a flap covering a hidden zipper. She pulled on the zipper and felt inside, shocked when she pulled out a wad of twenty-dollar bills. There had to be at least fifteen hundred dollars. Why on earth had she stashed so much cash in her jacket? Obviously she’d taken great care to hide it, as someone would have had to examine the jacket carefully in order to find the money. Whoever had undressed her had not discovered the cash.
A knock came at her door, and she hurriedly stuffed the money back into her jacket and set it on the end of her bed just seconds before a uniformed police officer entered the room. Her pulse jumped at the sight of him, and it wasn’t with relief but with fear. Her instincts were screaming at her to be cautious, that he could be trouble.
The officer was on the stocky side, with a military haircut, and appeared to be in his mid-forties. His forehead was lined, his skin a ruddy red and weatherbeaten, his gaze extremely serious.
“I’m Tom Manning,” he said briskly. “I’m a deputy with the county sheriff’s department. I’m investigating your car accident."
“Okay,” she said warily. “I should tell you that I don’t remember what happened. In fact, I don’t remember anything about myself."
“Yeah, the doc says you have some kind of amnesia."
His words were filled with suspicion, and skepticism ran through his dark eyes. Why was he suspicious? What reason could she possibly have for pretending not to remember? Had something bad occurred during the accident? Had she done something wrong? Had someone else been hurt? Her stomach turned over at the thought.
“Can you tell me what happened?” she said, almost afraid to ask.
“Your car went off the side of the road in the Santa Ynez Mountains, not far from San Marcos Pass. You plunged down a steep embankment and landed in a ravine about two hundred yards from the road. Fortunately you ran into a tree."
“Fortunately?” she echoed.
“Otherwise you would have ended up in a boulder-filled, high-running creek,” he told her. “The front end of your Honda Civic was smashed, and the windshield was shattered."
Which explained the cuts and bruises on her face.
“You’re a very lucky woman,” the deputy added.
“Who found me?” she asked.
“A witness saw your car go over the side and called nine-one-one. Does any of this sound familiar?"
The part about going off the side of the road sounded a lot like the dream she’d been having. “I’m not sure."
“Were you alone in the car?"
His question surprised her. “I think so.” She thought back to her dream. Had she been alone in the car? She didn’t remember anyone else. “If I wasn’t alone, wouldn’t that other person be here at the hospital?” she asked.
“The back door of your car was open. There was a child’s car seat strapped in the middle of the backseat, a bottle half-filled with milk, and this shoe.” Officer Manning held up a clear plastic bag through which she could see a shoe so small it would fit into the palm of her hand. Her heart began to race. She had the sudden urge to call for a time-out, to make him leave before he said something else, something terrifying, something to do with that shoe. “Oh, God. Stop. I can’t do this."
“I’m sorry, but I need to know. Do you have a baby?” he asked. “Was your child with you in the car?"
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SILENT FALL
Sanders Brothers - Book Two
Excerpt @ Copyright 2011 - Barbara Freethy
All Rights Reserved
Prologue
Golden Gate Park, San Francisco
She was going to die. The terrifying thought made her stumble, her spiked heel catching in a crack in the pavement. She fell forward, breaking her fall with her hands. Tiny pebbles of cement burned into her palms and her knees. For a moment she was tempted to quit. She was so cold and so tired, but if she stopped now he’d catch her, and there would be no tomorrow, no second chance.
Forcing herself back to her feet, she pulled off her broken shoes and headed deeper into the park. The grass was wet beneath her feet, the midnight fingers of fog covering everything within reach with a damp mist. Her hair curled around her face as the wet spray mixed with the tears streaking down her cheeks.
She’d never been a crier, but this was too much. She’d never felt so alone or in such mortal danger.
Everywhere she turned, he followed. She couldn’t seem to get away. How did he keep finding her?
Even now she could hear the footsteps behind her, the crack of twigs, the sound of a distant car. Was it him?
She probably should have stayed on the city streets, but she’d thought the tall trees and the thick bushes of the park would offer her protection, a place to hide. Now she realized how desolate the area was at night. There were no people, no businesses to run into. She was completely on her own.
She gasped and stopped abruptly as a shadowy figure came out of the undergrowth. Her heart thudded against her chest. The man walked toward her, one hand outstretched. His clothes were old and torn, and his face was covered with a heavy beard. He wore a baseball cap, and a backpack was slung over one shoulder. He was probably one of the homeless people who set up camp in the park at night. Or maybe not...
"Hey, baby, give me a kiss," he said in a drunken slur.
"Leave me alone." She put up a hand to ward him off, but he kept moving forward.
"I’m just being friendly. Come on now, sweetheart."
Turning, she ran as fast as she could in the other direction, hearing him call after her. She didn’t know if he was following her or not, and she was too terrified to look, so she left the sidewalk and moved deeper into the park, looking for a little corner in which to hide. Her side was cramping and her feet were soaked. She desperately needed to find some sanctuary. Branches scraped her bare arms and face, but she kept going. It was so dark in the heavy brush that she could barely see a foot in front of her. Tall trees and fog had completely obliterated the moonlight.
Fortunately she had her hand out in front of her when she ran into a cement wall that rose several stories in the air. She must have hit the side of one of the park buildings. Pausing, she caught her breath and listened. She could hear nothing but her own ragged breathing. Maybe she was safe, at least for the moment.
Leaning back against the cold cement, she pondered her next move, but she didn’t know what to do, how to escape. She was out of options.
How had she come to this? Running for her life and all alone? This was not how it was supposed to go. This was Dylan’s fault. He’d put her in this situation, and dammit, where the hell was he?
But she couldn’t count on him to rescue her. She had to find a way out on her own. She couldn’t let things end like this. She’d fought for her life before, and she’d won. She would do it again.
Her heart stopped as a nearby branch snapped in two. A confident male whistle pierced the silent night. Whoever was coming didn’t care if she heard him or not. The bushes in front of her slowly parted. Terror ran through her body. There was nowhere left to run.
Chapter One
Two days earlier - Lake Tahoe, Nevada
Dylan Sanders took a shot of Jack Daniels from the bartender, enjoying the burn as the liquor slid down his throat. After draining the glass, he immediately ordered another. He didn’t like weddings and usually avoided them at all costs, but this one he hadn’t been able to miss, because he was the best man. He was thankful that he’d finished his formal duties. He just had to get through the next hour before he could call it a night.
Glancing acros
s the room, he watched his brother, Jake, and Jake’s bride, Sarah, share their first dance on the back deck of the Woodlake Mountain Lodge. In the glow of candlelight and against the backdrop of the purple-blue twilight sky, they looked exceedingly happy, as if the past year hadn’t tested their love in every possible way. But they’d come through the bad times. From here on out, it would be nothing but smooth sailing -- at least he hoped so. He smiled as one of Sarah’s friends brought his niece, Caitlyn, to the dance floor. Jake’s eighteen-month-old blond angel was the hit of the wedding, but as usual she wanted to be part of the action. Jake swung his baby daughter into his arms, and the three of them danced together like the family they were.
Dylan tossed another shot down his throat, pushing back the ridiculous thought that he was jealous of their happiness. While he loved his brother, he did not yearn for marriage and a family of his own. He’d grown up in a broken home, and he didn’t intend to repeat the experience. Although he sincerely hoped Jake and Sarah would make it, that they would beat the odds of divorce and that they would never fall out of love the way his own parents had.
A cool evening breeze blew through the open patio doors, drawing goose bumps down his arms, but it wasn’t the wind that had put his nerves on edge. It was the beautiful redhead who slid onto the bar stool next to him.
"Are you drinking to your brother’s happiness or to the demise of yet another bachelor?" Catherine Hilliard asked.
Dylan set his glass on the bar. Catherine had cleaned up pretty well since their first meeting two months earlier, when she’d helped him find Sarah. There were no paint spatters on her clothes today, and she’d covered her bare feet in a pair of high heels. She wore a gorgeous, sexy black dress with a low-cut halter top that showed off her beautiful breasts. He loved the way the freckles danced across her chest. He had the sudden urge to see if she had freckles all over her body.
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