“Hey, there,” she murmured.
Braden nodded. “Hey, there. You’re the person Ty hired to help with food, right?”
Lisa’s stomach lurched. Certainly, she just hadn’t heard him correctly. “I’m—I’m who?”
He squeezed the skin between his eyes. “I’m sorry—I can’t remember your name.”
“Lisa.” The words sounded dull to her own ears. What was going on here? Her mind swirled as facts collided in her.
“Lisa, that’s right. Thanks for coming by. I wasn’t sure if you would after last time.”
“Last time?” Did he mean when they’d kissed? Something fierce and prickly squeezed her heart so hard that her chest ached.
“When I put you in that chokehold. I apologize for that.”
“When you put me in the chokehold?” Lisa’s pulse throbbed harder. What was going on? This conversation made no sense. Was it a joke?
“Yeah, the last couple of days have been a blur. I feel like I got run over last night.” He dragged his hand over his face again.
“Run over, huh?” Braden didn’t remember any of their time together yesterday, she realized. Nothing.
What had he said earlier?
That he forgot traumatic things?
Was being with Lisa really that traumatic? Maybe it was.
Her heart raced as she stood there. No, this morning wasn’t going anything like Lisa had hoped it would. Should she remind Braden about the connection they shared?
No, she decided. That would be awkward. And hearing about what a great connection they had would be different than actually remembering the experience for himself. He had to remember. It was the only way.
Braden shifted, still standing there and looking at her like she was a stranger. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, I . . . uh, I brought you some breakfast.” She thrust the basket into his hands, hating how awkward this felt.
He took it from her and glanced inside. “Oh, that was nice of you. Thank you.”
“Listen, could I use your restroom for a minute?” Lisa needed to compose herself and maybe splash some water in her face before she passed out.
“Of course.”
She skirted by him, feeling his body heat as she passed. She smelled his aftershave. Remembered his touch.
Lisa had been hoping too much when she’d thought that maybe they could have something. She’d been a fool to think so. No, she was back in sidekick status. The overweight best friend. The one guys acted chummy with, only because they wanted to date her friends. They were never interested in Lisa, never saw her as anything but a buddy. A pal.
Story of her life.
Maybe it was better this way.
She went straight to the bathroom, started the water, and splashed it in her face.
What was she going to do?
She had no idea right now.
Braden snapped his head toward the sound in the hallway. Lisa stepped out of the bathroom, a tight smile on her face. It was almost like there was something she wasn’t saying . . .
Had he missed something? Was she still tense from when he’d put her in a chokehold? He couldn’t blame her.
“Thanks for letting me use the bathroom,” she said, rubbing her hands on her jeans before throwing her thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll be going now.”
“Thanks for the muffins.”
She swallowed so hard that Braden could see the muscles in her neck tighten. “Enjoy.”
As soon as she was gone, something felt empty inside Braden . . . a little lonelier.
It was just his brain playing tricks on him. His head had been pounding all morning.
He grabbed a muffin and sagged against the counter. Had something happened last night?
He didn’t know. All he remembered was waking up in bed this morning. He’d just assumed he’d slept so soundly that he’d blocked everything else out.
Yet, logically, he knew there were big chunks of time missing. He remembered meeting Lisa after he’d first arrived here. He remembered wandering the island roads. Staring at the ocean. He vaguely even remembered going to a restaurant.
But that was it. He had no other memories of Lisa.
Should he?
As he glanced at the muffin, his gaze skimmed his hands.
His bruised hands.
He stretched out his fingers and examined the wounds there.
What had happened last night to injure his hands like this?
That familiar sense of brokenness echoed in his gut.
His mind wanted to believe everything was okay. But his gut told him it wasn’t. In fact, his gut told him that things were far from okay.
Chapter Seventeen
Lisa bypassed going home. Instead, she went to Skye’s place—a retro trailer her friend kept parked at an area campground. Lisa rapped on the door. To her relief, Skye answered a couple minutes later.
Lisa had halfway figured her friend would be at Austin’s already since the two were officially attached at the hip.
“Lisa?” Skye squinted, as if confused, and pulled her olive-colored duster sweater around her. Her hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun. Her friend had obviously just woken up. She was one of those rare people who could still look gorgeous with messy hair, sleepy eyes, and dumpy clothes.
“Can we talk?”
“Yes, of course. Come in.” Skye opened her door wider.
Lisa stepped into the trailer, and they took a seat at the little booth that served as a kitchen table during the day. The scent of lavender essential oil filled the colorful space, a space that had always reminded Lisa a bit of a gypsy abode.
Skye had decorated with teal and colorful tiles and handmade pillows.
The space was home and fit Skye perfectly.
“Can I get you some tea?” Skye asked.
Lisa shook her head. “No, I’m okay. Thanks.”
Instead, she twisted her hands together as she remembered her earlier conversation with Braden. “I’m in trouble, Skye.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I’m falling in love with someone who might be out of his mind.”
Skye shrugged, like she’d been expecting to be handed a four-course meal and had been given an apple instead. “Well, it would be a great story to tell. Braden, right? I saw it coming. He’s handsome and maybe a little rough but nothing you can’t handle.”
“I kissed him.”
“You kissed him?” Skye leaned across the booth with wide, surprised eyes.
Lisa nodded, wishing she could relish the memory. But it was too late. She and Braden’s time together felt tarnished. “It was so incredibly sweet and tender . . .”
A flash of his lips meeting hers amidst apple pie and a messy kitchen filled her with warmth. But as today’s events smacked into yesterday’s moments like a runaway train, the gooey feelings turned ice cold.
“I’m so happy for you, Lisa.”
Lisa needed to put the kibosh on her congratulations—and quickly. “He’s forgotten all of it, Skye. He said his doctor told him his brain forgets unpleasant things. I stopped by this morning, just like I told Braden I would, and he had no clue what happened between us. No clue. Apparently, our kiss was traumatic.”
Skye frowned. “Lisa, just because he doesn’t remember doesn’t mean the kiss was traumatic.”
“Well, he seemed to enjoy it at the time, but . . . I just don’t know, Skye. It’s like I reached the top of this beautiful mountain that has glorious views—only to fall to a violent death.”
Skye winced as if the description physically hurt her. “Are you going to tell him it happened?”
“I don’t know that either. I’d prefer that Braden remember it rather than me trying to tell him it was awesome but possibly traumatic for him.”
Skye frowned and shook her head skeptically. “I doubt it was traumatic for him.”
“What am I getting myself into, Skye? He has a brain injury, which apparently can cause him to be delusional and
violent. I should be running far away. This is my chance to do just that. He doesn’t remember a thing so, as far as he’s concerned, we never happened.”
“Why aren’t you running then?”
“Because . . . I don’t think that’s who he is. I realize I don’t know him well. But my gut tells me that the kind but tough man who’s helped me out here is the real Braden. Does that sound crazy?”
“No, it doesn’t. But let’s say Braden does remember—you’ll still need to be careful. I mean, what’s the prognosis? Will he be like this forever? Will it pass?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. It’s strange but . . . he seems better when he’s with me. When he gets the tremors and I touch him, he calms down.”
Skye’s expression turned dramatically dreamy. “That sounds really beautiful, Lisa.”
“Or maybe I’m just a romantic. A hopeless romantic who’s watched too many happy ever afters on TV. Maybe love—and I’m not saying I love him. It’s too soon—but maybe love really can’t conquer all.”
“Maybe not. But I have to think it can conquer most things. It’s helped me to conquer demons in my past, and my past has had some pretty dark moments.” Skye leaned closer. “So what are you going to do?”
“I have to figure that out.” Lisa stared into the distance. “Pray for wisdom, okay? Because I don’t want to mess up here. Not when the results could have lasting effects. Not just for me. But possibly for Braden.”
Lisa wiped beneath her eyes. Where had the moisture come from? From disappointment, she realized. Painful, raw disappointment.
“Oh, Lisa.”
“It’s ridiculous. I’ve only known the man for three days. I shouldn’t feel like this.” She fanned her face, willing her tears to stop.
“Feel like what?”
“Heartbroken.” Lisa’s throat burned as she said the words. “Like I said, it’s ridiculous. I know it is.”
“It’s not ridiculous if you guys had a connection—a strong, unique connection. Anyone would mourn the loss of something like that.”
Just then, Lisa’s phone rang. She glanced down and saw Mac’s number on the screen. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“Hey, Lisa. Listen, could you swing by the station for a minute? I went by the restaurant and you weren’t there.”
“Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?” Had he figured out who shot her window?
“I think so. I just have a few questions for you.”
She sucked in a long, deep breath and tried to pull herself together. “I’ll be right there.”
It was a good thing she had nothing else to do today.
Lisa felt uneasy as she stepped into the chief’s office at the police station. She spotted Mac riffling through some papers in the corner filing cabinet and lightly knocked on the door to let him know she was here.
Mac turned, but his smile slipped when he spotted her, replaced with hesitation of some sort. “Lisa. Thanks for coming. Have a seat.”
After that reaction, the bad feeling in her gut grew.
There had to be more to this story. Mac could have told her the basic facts over the phone. But for some reason he’d wanted her to come in so they could talk face-to-face.
Mac shut the door before sitting behind his desk. He laced his hands together and paused, as if gathering his thoughts. “John Linksi was found beaten this morning.”
Lisa’s eyes widened, unsure if she’d heard correctly. “What?”
Mac nodded in confirmation. “He was found on the side of the road, not terribly far from your restaurant.”
“I . . . I see. I’m sorry to hear that. How is he?”
“He’s in critical condition and has been taken up to the hospital in Norfolk. His injuries were severe enough to warrant the transfer.”
“Wow.” Lisa didn’t like the man, but she would have never wished this on him.
Mac smoothed the curling edge of the desk calendar beneath his elbows. “He hasn’t woken up yet, so he can’t tell us what happened. That’s why I asked you to come in.”
She shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. There was more to this story, but Lisa wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. “I don’t understand . . .”
“Obviously we’re looking into people who had bad feelings toward the man.”
Lisa sucked in a quick breath at the implications of his statement. “You think I did it?”
Mac chuckled, breaking the tension in the room. “No, I don’t think you did it. But you have had some confrontations with the man recently, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but I would never do something like this.”
“Calm down, calm down.” He patted the air, his voice placating. “I didn’t bring you in as a suspect.”
“Then why did you bring me in?”
“Like I said, I want to ask some questions.”
“I don’t understand . . .” If she didn’t do it, then what would she know? This didn’t make sense.
Mac shifted in his seat, that heaviness returning to him. “Someone identified another man walking along the street last night around the same time John was beaten up.”
Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly—but prematurely. The optimist in her wanted to emerge, yet she could sense bad news was coming. “That’s great. You do have a suspect then. John, despite his faults, deserves justice.”
Mac’s gaze locked with hers, and everything around her seemed to disappear. “Lisa, what do you know about this man you’ve been spending time with lately?”
“The man I’ve been spending time with? You mean Braden?” Things tried to click in her mind, but she didn’t want them to. No, an inkling of the bigger picture showed her something she didn’t want to face.
“Yes, Braden. What do you know about him?”
The sour feeling in her stomach grew. “He was Special Forces. He has some memory problems and a brain injury because of a war injury. But he’s . . . he’s harmless.”
“You don’t think he could hurt someone?”
“Oh, he could hurt someone. But that doesn’t mean he would.” Lisa could feel the hole she was digging herself in. The problem was, she was already in too deep to pull herself out.
“You’ve never been threatened by him?”
The first night they met flashed back into her head. Had Lisa told Mac about that? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t lie. “Well, yes. But it was a misunderstanding—”
“What time did Braden leave your place last night, Lisa?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment, wishing she didn’t have to answer. Instead, she begrudgingly said, “11:30.”
“Have you talked to him today?”
“I have.”
“How did he seem?”
There was no use trying to keep the information from Mac. Hiding it wouldn’t be beneficial to anyone—even if her heart felt like it was breaking. “He . . . he had a memory lapse. He only remembers the first day we met but nothing after that.”
Mac let out a subtle grunt. “Do you know what causes these memory lapses?”
“Trauma.”
“Like a fight?”
Lisa licked her dry lips—lips that matched her throat and maybe even her heart. “Maybe.”
“Did he know that John had been giving you a hard time?”
Their confrontation at the restaurant flashed back into Lisa’s mind, and she nodded. “Yeah, he did.”
Mac straightened. “Okay, that’s everything I need to know. Thanks for your help.”
“Are you going to bring Braden in?”
“I don’t have much choice. I’m sorry, Lisa. I know it’s not what you want to hear. But it’s the right thing to do. And doing the right thing is my job.”
Chapter Eighteen
Braden stared at the police chief, certain he hadn’t heard the man correctly. “You think I did what?”
Mac shifted in front of him as they stood just inside the front door at Ty’s house. “We’re investigating the beating of a man named John Linksi
.”
“Why would I beat this man up? I don’t even recognize his name.” Alarm coursed through Braden. With his memory issues, he had difficulty defending himself. Losing large chunks of time left him feeling helpless—and he hated feeling helpless.
Mac’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t remember him coming into the Crazy Chefette and threatening Lisa Garth?”
Braden’s eyes widened at the man’s words, at the memory of the sweet, petite woman who’d left muffins. “Lisa Garth? The woman who stopped by this morning with breakfast?”
An unreadable expression came across Mac’s face. “I believe that’s correct. I can’t verify the breakfast part of the equation. You really don’t remember anything other than that about Ms. Garth?”
Braden shrugged. “No. Should I?”
“I can’t answer that question either. But she did confirm that John Linksi came into her restaurant two nights ago, and you stepped in to protect her.”
“Okay . . . what’s the problem?” Braden knew there was something he was missing, and he hated it. He hated these gaps in his memory.
“Mr. Linksi was found nearly beaten to death on the side of the road last night. Another witness places you on the road around that same time.”
Braden shook his head. No, not again. His body and mind were failing him. Acting out of his control. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t recall any of that.”
“You have memory issues, is that correct?”
“I had a head injury that happened while I was doing a mission over in Iraq. A bomb exploded, and the force of it threw me back so fast and hard that my skull cracked. I’ve been through therapy, and now I’m on medication to help me.”
“Do you remember last night?”
Braden wanted to lie. But he couldn’t. Besides, lies always caught up with a person and were never a good idea. “Actually . . . I don’t. Sometimes I black out.”
“Mr. Dillinger, could I see your hands?”
His stomach sank as dread pooled inside him. “I didn’t do this.”
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