“Can I see it?”
He nodded and stood. “I’ll be right back.”
Riley clenched her hands together in her lap as her chest tightened. Apprehension combined with anticipation to stretch her nerves to the breaking point. Soon, she’d have some of the answers to the questions making her a neurotic mess, but none of the memories to go with them.
When the door opened again, she stared at Noah and wondered if she looked like a deer in the headlights.
A sympathetic smile curved his lips. “Hey, I’m sure nothing in this file is going to make you want to hide under your bed.”
“Did you read it?”
“No, and neither did Luna, at least not in detail. We respect your right to privacy, but we both figured you’d feel less . . . adrift with a few solid facts.”
“I appreciate Luna’s thoughtfulness. And yours. Thank you, Noah.”
He handed her a thick folder. “If you don’t mind, try to remember to call me Patch when the others are around. What we do is dangerous, and the less we can divulge about each other under pressure, the safer it is for everyone. Even if it is just a first name.”
A shiver worked through her. He obviously meant if one of their team was captured and tortured. Since she had intimate knowledge of how badly she’d wanted to give her kidnappers information she couldn’t remember, she understood their caution. The fact that Noah had trusted her with his real name set off a small burst of happiness deep inside her.
“I’ll leave you with the file, but I’ll be in my office if you need me. Just push the buzzer.”
“Thank you.” She waited until the door shut softly behind him and then opened the folder. The material seemed to be arranged in chronological order, starting with a birth announcement. “Riley Jane Adair.” She tested the name out loud, but it felt foreign on her tongue. Her birthday was in May, and she was thirty years old. Her parents were Jane and Thomas. She lifted out an article about a car accident and read the contents. Both her parents had died when she was five, and she’d gone to live with her paternal grandfather on his farm in Iowa.
Closing her eyes, she tried to conjure some emotion, but there was no sadness, no sense of loss. She had no memory of the two people who’d given her life. But she had to believe the man she’d remembered on the tractor was Clement Adair, the grandfather who’d taken her in and raised her. Who’d loved her. She knew without a doubt that she’d meant everything in the world to him.
The local paper from Foxfield, Iowa had recorded her first-place science fair projects in middle school. She’d played soccer in high school and kicked more than one winning goal, and she’d been Valedictorian of her class before going to college at the University of Chicago. Again, she’d graduated near the top of her class.
“I’m smart. One hell of a lot of good that’s doing me now,” she muttered.
When she flipped to a police report, her brows shot up. Apparently, she’d been arrested once, at an animal rights protest rally, while she was in graduate school.
“Well, good for me!” She fist-pumped the air, feeling proud of herself for the first time since opening the file.
At a knock on the door, she slammed the folder shut. “Come in.”
Noah entered the room, carrying a large brown bag that smelled like heaven. “You’ve been in here for nearly two hours. I was hungry and thought you might be, too.”
Her stomach growled, and her mouth watered. “I am.”
“I hope you like Chinese food.”
“I love it.” She closed her eyes and swore softly.
“What’s wrong?” He set an array of cardboard containers on the small table in the corner of the room before turning to face her.
“Why do I know I like Chinese food, but I can’t remember where I went to college?” She smacked her fist down on the mattress. “It makes no sense.”
“It actually does. Are you up to getting out of that bed and sitting at the table?” At her nod, he slid an arm around her and helped her hobble the few yards across the room.
Noah smelled good, woodsy with a hint of tang. Her stomach did a funny little flip as he settled her into a chair at the table and released her. While he was dishing food onto two plates and explaining the difference between procedural memory and episodic memory, she observed the steady competency of his strong hands, the day’s growth of beard that told her he hadn’t shaved recently, and the bright intelligence in his deep brown eyes. Bedroom eyes. Eyes that made her breath catch when he met her gaze.
“Are you listening, or am I boring you?”
“Apparently, I’m a science geek, so definitely not boring. Procedural memories are skills and habits and everyday functions.” She picked up a fork. “They’re the reason I know how to feed myself and that I like Chinese food. I didn’t lose that knowledge. I lost my episodic memory, which is the sequence of events I’ve experienced in my life prior to the blow to my head.”
“Exactly. You catch on quickly.”
“Though I don’t remember it, I have a feeling I already knew all that.” She waved her fork toward the thick folder she’d left on the bed. “I’m a member of Mensa. No matter how stupid I feel right now, it’s clear I’m an intelligent person.” After eating a bite of cashew chicken, she looked up at him. “I read about where I grew up and went to school. I understand I taught biology courses at Trimountaine University only a few miles from here. But I don’t know the small details that make me a unique individual. The Riley Adair in that file is a stick figure, not a fleshed-out person.”
“I’m confident those memories will slowly begin to return, and you’ll start to understand what a special woman you are.”
He gave her a slow smile that made her stomach flutter again.
“But, and that’s a big but. You need to give your brain a chance to heal.”
She pulled her thoughts away from how damn good-looking he was and focused. “The crack in my head doesn’t need surgery?”
“No, but you won’t be able to run any marathons in the near future. The skull fracture should heal on its own, but it will take time. You can get a second opinion from a specialist, of course.”
“That’s good news since I don’t want to run a marathon, and I trust your assessment.” Her head ached, and after only a few more bites, she lost her appetite. Dropping the fork onto her plate, she pushed it away. “Who are my friends, Noah? Are they worried that I’ve disappeared without any word? Are my colleagues wondering why I haven’t shown up for class? What about my grandfather in Iowa? Does he know what happened to me?”
Noah stopped eating, and his direct gaze softened. “Did you not get to the end of the file?”
“No, I was up to where Trimountaine University, the small liberal arts college where I taught biology for the past three years, hired me fresh out of grad school at Yale.” She clenched her fists on the table. “I have one hell of an impressive resume, but I can’t remember anything I studied. Do you know how frustrating that is?”
“I can imagine.” He cleared his throat. “Luna mentioned your next of kin is your grandfather, but that he’s been in an assisted living facility here in Boston for several years, suffering from Alzheimer’s. I can only assume that was the impetus that spurred your research into dementia.”
Her stomach tightened, and she wished she hadn’t eaten the few bites she’d managed. “So, he probably wouldn’t know me any better than I remember him. God.” She let out a long breath, and the surge of nausea subsided. “I really found a way to reverse the symptoms of dementia?”
“Your research assistant said you’d made a significant breakthrough. I’m not sure what stage of development you were at, but obviously any trials were advanced enough to make someone want that research pretty damn badly. What’s strange is I’ve heard nothing in the medical community about your project.”
“Who were they, those two men who kidnapped me? How did they learn about my work if I hadn’t taken it public?”
Noah went back to e
ating as he studied her with an assessing eye. “From what we’ve been able to learn, they were muscle for hire, employed by one of the big pharma companies, Vortex. I’ve no idea how they found out about your work.”
“This assistant of mine . . . what did he say?”
“Charles Brasher. Only that you were keeping your progress under wraps for now.”
Trying to process what he’d told her made her head ache. When he touched her arm and gave her a sympathetic smile, she quit trying to understand why her kidnapping had happened and focused on who. “Have the police arrested the person responsible?”
“Not enough evidence yet.”
A shiver shook her. “Do they at least know who did it?”
The hand he’d placed on her arm tightened before he let her go. “The authorities haven’t shared their progress with us, but Wolf has been working to determine who, exactly, employed those two thugs. It may have been a cooperative effort, since the house where they held you is used by more than one of the major Vortex shareholders.”
She picturing a dozen conspirers sitting around a table, discussing how best to torture her. “Peachy.”
“Or it could have been a single individual who panicked when word about your research leaked out. We’re pretty certain, Andrew Murdock, the CEO of the company was involved.”
A cold chill snaked down her spine. “They might send someone after me again?”
His gaze was straightforward. Sympathetic. Trustworthy. A hint of something that looked a little like admiration darkened those sexy brown eyes of his.
“Wolf made it clear to the board of directors that we’ll take down the entire corporation if anyone touches you. And since he also spread the word you were injured so badly your memory was compromised, I think they’ll lay low. We’re confident the people who hired those two assholes are convinced the risk of you moving forward with your research in the near future is minimal.”
“What a horrible waste.” She pressed her palms flat against the table, noting the half-healed burns that would undoubtedly leave scars. “Did they want to destroy any trace of my work so their company can keep selling drugs to millions of patients suffering with dementia?”
“Maybe. Or they hoped to apply for some kind of patent on the process to cash in on your success. Charles wasn’t very specific about what your research entailed. He did mention it was based on targeting a specific gene in the immune system.”
“The grad student who worked with me? How does he figure into all this?”
“You called campus security when the break-in at your lab happened. Then you texted Charles Brasher, I assume because he was the person most familiar with your work. He contacted us after you disappeared.”
“I’m happy he did, but how did he know to call you? I get the feeling Counterstrike isn’t in the Yellow Pages.”
“No, we keep a pretty low profile. His uncle is a cop, and he’d heard of our organization.”
Riley chewed on her lower lip. “I imagine I’ll meet Charles soon enough. I can’t hide out here forever, even if the idea is tempting.”
Noah finished his meal and pushed back his plate. “About that. We’ve kept you here at our headquarters to make certain you’re no longer in danger. Also, I wanted to personally monitor your recovery for a few days. At this point, however, I feel you can safely go home, check in with your regular doctor, and set up some therapy appointments. I’ll send my chart on your condition along with you.”
“Therapy for my knee or my mental problems?” The comfort she was feeling in his company disintegrated. Noah and his teammates had saved her life, but they weren’t part of her world, even if they were the only people she felt like she knew.
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his warm palm. “Both. You’ll want to have your head wound closely monitored, and your knee will recover faster with physical therapy. As for your memory loss, talking to a professional may help with your anxiety.”
She turned her hand over and clasped his fingers in a tight hold. “Tell me the truth, Noah. Do you honestly think I’ll recover my memories?”
“I really do. Maybe not the ones from the time of your abduction and torture, which isn’t such a bad thing, but your older memories will undoubtedly return as your brain heals. Maybe I shouldn’t make promises, but—”
“Tell me what you think as my friend, not as a doctor worried about getting sued.” Her voice broke. “Because that’s how I see you, as a friend.”
He looked her square in the eyes. “In a month, I expect you’ll be almost as good as new.”
She sagged backward against the chair. “God, I hope so.”
“Are you going to eat any more of that?” When she shook her head, he stood and moved to her side to help her up. Sliding an arm around her, he held her close as she limped to the bed. “I am your friend, Riley, and I’d like to stay in touch.”
Reluctantly, she slipped out from beneath his arm and sat on the edge of the mattress. His words made her feel a little less alone, and she hoped he meant them. Part of her feared she was coming to rely on Noah in the same way victims latched onto their captors, in a modified version of Stockholm Syndrome. The fact that she could objectively analyze her condition gave her some hope that she wasn’t a total nutcase.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I can’t cling to you. I have to make an effort to get my old life back. I’m also wondering why I know what Stockholm Syndrome is.”
He laughed out loud. “Maybe I shouldn’t find that funny, but I do. I know you’re struggling right now, but your humor still shines through.” He patted her shoulder. “Which is why I’m happy to stay in touch. I like you, Riley, and I have a feeling we’re a lot alike in many ways.”
“I like you, too.” She swung her legs up onto the bed and settled back against the pillows before changing the subject. “I’m surprised the cops haven’t been here to question me. Surely there’s an open case on my disappearance?”
“I spoke to a couple of detectives and made it clear you weren’t to be bothered until you were feeling stronger. Since you don’t have any memory of the attack, they were willing to be patient.”
“What, no FBI agents knocking on my door? Don’t I rate?”
His lips curved in a half smile. “I guess not. The local cops said the Feds were happy to let Boston PD handle the investigation.”
“So, I’ll need to add them to my to-do list. When are you going to spring me?”
“There’s no reason you can’t go home in the morning, after you’ve had a decent night’s sleep. You may need some help, however. If your place has stairs—”
“I don’t have a clue if it does or not. I guess I’ll find out when I get there.”
“As long as we don’t have a work emergency, I plan to drive you home and get you settled, maybe pick up some groceries. I’m not going to simply desert you.”
“I appreciate your help.” She took a breath and tried not to sound so needy. “I should make a few phone calls. I’m sure the university is wondering what happened to me, unless Charles spread the word about the attack. Thank you, Noah. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for all you’ve done.”
“There’s no need.” After holding her gaze for several long moments, he turned away and packed the leftover food into the paper bag. “Sleep well, Riley.”
“You, too. Good night.” After he left, she stared at the closed door and wondered if he had a girlfriend. No wedding ring, not that that necessarily meant he wasn’t married. He just didn’t seem like he had a wife waiting at home for him since he’d been on call for her twenty-four seven since they’d extracted her from the estate in Georgia.
Or maybe she was only wishful thinking. The man was certainly kind. He was also gorgeous. And those eyes . . . Her female parts clenched. There’d been a couple of times when she’d felt like he was looking at her the way a man looked at a woman, instead of studying her like she was a particularly complex medical
puzzle.
“He’s probably just being nice,” she muttered. No one in his right mind would be attracted to her, looking the way she did right now. And she was a complete fool for thinking of him as anything other than her doctor.
“Maybe I’m dating someone.” Her words dropped into the silent room.
There was one way to find out. Picking up the folder, she finished reading through the information. No mention of any personal relationships whatsoever. Was that because she kept her private life private or because she didn’t have any strong ties outside work? There were a few photos of her with other Trimountaine faculty at various functions, but none of the people pictured triggered any memories.
There was also a story about a local animal shelter taking dogs and cats to visit residents of an assisted living facility. Professor Riley Adair was instrumental in starting this new program, which is bringing so much joy to the residents of Harbor House. The photo included with the article showed beaming elderly people interacting with the animals. She zeroed in on one man. His face was creased with wrinkles, and he wore a ballcap with a Cubs logo on it. He was the man she’d remembered, though much older in this picture. One arthritic hand rested on what looked like a mixed-breed puppy sitting on his lap.
Riley rubbed her thumb across the newspaper article and let out a sigh. She might not remember him right now, but she fully intended to go visit this man who obviously meant a great deal to her. She shut the file and set it on the nightstand. If the contents were to be trusted, he was the only male in her life.
Maybe her memory loss was an opportunity to start over. Maybe it was a wake-up call to tell her she needed to care more about people going forward, not just her work. And if one incredibly kind and handsome doctor played a part in her new beginning, she certainly wouldn’t complain.
Chapter Four
“These estates are pretty impressive.” Noah drove slowly through the upscale West Cambridge neighborhood. Large homes, mostly Colonial in style, were set back from the street with wide expanses of lawn and formal landscaping.
Lethal Memory (A Counterstrike Novel Book 2) Page 4
