DIAGNOSIS: ATTRACTION (2 page)

She made a small needy sound, and he knew that she was picturing the same thing as he was. Part of his mind was shocked and aghast at how far he was going with this fantasy. The other part ached to push her back onto the bed and roll on top of her so he could press his body to hers. Only first he needed to drag off his shirt and pants and get rid of her hospital gown.

That last frantic image was what finally made him come to his senses and pull away, breaking the physical contact and, at the same time, the mental connection.

He stood beside the bed, dragging in lungsful of air, feeling dizzy and disoriented and still achingly aroused.

And she was staring at him, looking like a woman who was ready for sex. When she reached out her hand toward him, he forced himself to step farther back.

He cursed under his breath, ordering himself not to think about making love with her, as he clawed his way toward rational behavior. For a few moments, he’d felt an overwhelming connection with Elizabeth—even though he was sure he’d never met her before. But he did know that she was a patient, and thinking about anything physical between them was completely out of bounds. It was morally wrong, and it could get him in big trouble, come to that.

Which left him trying to understand what had happened between the two of them in those seconds when they were touching. Both the flood of memories from her mind and the sudden intense sexual attraction that had threatened to wipe any reasonable thoughts from his mind.

He shook his head as he gazed down on her. She sat on the bed, looking stunned, her blue eyes wide, her breath coming in little gasps as she clenched and unclenched her fingers on the sheet.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say.

“Are you?”

“Of course. That was completely inappropriate.”

“I think it took both of us by surprise,” she said, making an excuse.

“You’re a patient.”

Ignoring the observation, she said, “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Touching you made me recall things I couldn’t remember for myself. And I got inside your mind, too. I didn’t know a thing about you before we touched. Now I know you always went in for dangerous sports. Like mountain climbing. Spelunking. And ice camping.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“They made me feel alive,” he said, unaccountably admitting something to this woman that he had always kept to himself.

“And recently you were in Africa. In the middle of a nasty little war. They were shooting at you, and the guy next to you was killed. You stayed hidden, with him on top of you, soaking your clothes with his blood, until it got dark and you could sneak away.”

He answered with a small wordless nod. It was something he’d tried to forget, and she’d pulled it from his memories.

“You went there to help people, and you saved a lot of lives. But you never knew quite how to connect with anyone.” She gulped. “Just like me.”

The admission jolted him. “What do you mean?”

She kept her gaze fixed on him. “You were in my head. You know I’m like you, with that feeling of not being able to...relate to people on the deep level you crave. Like everybody else has a secret handshake, only nobody ever taught it to you.”

He’d never thought of it quite that way, but he nodded, because she had spoken the truth. All his adult life—all his life, really—he’d been searching for something he was sure he could not find. Something other people had, but he lacked. Until now, with this woman. But that couldn’t be possible—not after all the years of being alone.

“Why you?” he whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“Because you can’t remember your past?”

“What would that have to do with it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“But touching you brought back memories I couldn’t reach a few minutes ago,” she said again.

He nodded.

“Let’s take it from the opposite angle. Why you?” she murmured.

“I have no idea.”

Neither one of them seemed capable of looking away from the other. But he took another step from her, because he was so off-kilter that he wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe something crazy like reach for her again, because touching her had been like every aching fantasy he’d ever experienced.

She moistened her lips. “What exactly happened?”

“I don’t know. But I found out that your name is Elizabeth.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “I have amnesia, but when you touched me, you brought some of my memories back.”

“Yes.”

“Did that ever happen to you before?” she asked.

“No. To you?”

“No.” She laughed again. “At least I don’t think so. The only personal things I remember are what you gave me.”

There was no logic to what she’d just said. And she might have been lying. But he didn’t think so.

He saw the challenge in her eyes and heard it in her voice. “We could try it again. Maybe you can bring back more of me.”

“I can’t.”

“Even when I’m alone and desperate?” she asked in a low voice.

Her words and the pleading look in her eyes made his throat tighten. More than that, when he touched her, he sensed that she was a good person. She didn’t deserve what had happened to her, although he knew objectively that being good or bad didn’t have anything to do with what people endured.

Like the guy next to him getting shot. Jerry had been a good person, too. But anyone could lead an exemplary life and end up being killed by a stray bullet that came through the living-room wall.

Dr. Delano pushed the disturbing images out of his mind and managed to say, “It wasn’t just memories. At least for me. There was another aspect to it.”

He saw her flush. “Not just memories,” she agreed, then looked down at her hands. “Sexual arousal,” she whispered.

“But that was completely inappropriate. I’m your doctor. There can’t be anything personal between us.”

She took her lower lip between her teeth. “Even if your touching me makes me remember? I mean, isn’t that...medically beneficial?”

“I’m afraid I can’t stretch the definition that far.”

She played with the edge of the sheet again, pleating it between her thumb and finger. “That last scene—where the guy dragged me out of the car. I don’t think he was trying to help me. He looked relieved to have caught up with me—but not in a good way.”

“I think that’s right.”

“I think he was following me, and I was trying to get away. That’s why I crashed into a lamppost. I was desperate to escape from him and the other guy—the one who was driving.”

“Do you remember it that way?”

Frustration flared in her eyes. “Not on my own. I think that’s what you picked up from me, right?”

He nodded.

“So, odd as it sounds, it must be true, because you saw what I couldn’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Probably it would be a good idea to avoid running into him again. If I knew who he was and why he wanted to hurt me.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You sound like a computerized therapy program, agreeing with everything I’m saying but not adding anything—besides what you pulled out of my head.”

He felt his chest constrict. “I’m sorry.”

“How am I going to stay out of that guy’s clutches when I don’t even know who I am or who he is?”

He wanted to help her, but his hands were tied because of the professional demeanor that he was forced to maintain. In the end, all he could say was, “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

He stopped talking when he realized Elizabeth was staring at someone standing in the doorway behind him.

Chapter Two

Matt turned to see that Polly Kramer, one of the nurses, had come into the room behind him.

“Dr. Delano.”

“Yes,” he answered, relieved that someone else had intervened to break up the intensity of the encounter between him and Elizabeth but also wondering how much of the conversation the nurse had heard.

She must have picked up on something, perhaps the tone of their voices, because she asked, “Is there some problem?”

He was wondering what to say when Elizabeth answered from the bed. “Basically, still my memory.” She cleared her throat. “But while Dr. Delano was examining me, a name popped into my head. I think it’s my real name.”

The woman’s face lit up. “Why, that’s marvelous. What is it?”

“Elizabeth.” She waited a beat. “I only got the first name.”

“But that’s a start.”

“I was hoping that Dr. Delano could help me dredge up some other facts about myself.”

Kramer looked at him. “Can you help her?”

“I’m afraid not. The name came to her. It wasn’t anything I did,” he protested, not sure that he was actually telling the truth but totally unwilling to explain. He’d done something, but he’d only touched her, and he wasn’t going to do it again.

The nurse nodded, then changed the subject. “Is Elizabeth ready to be discharged?”

“If I knew where to send her,” Matt muttered. “Nobody’s come forward looking for her?”

“I’m afraid not.”

His gaze flicked to the woman on the bed, and they were probably both thinking, given her memory of the aftermath of the crash, that might be an advantage.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Elizabeth asked.

“I might,” Nurse Kramer murmured, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Matthew waited for her to say what was on her mind.

After a long pause, the nurse said, “I have a spare room that I haven’t used since my daughter got married and moved away. I was thinking that...Elizabeth might want to stay with me until she remembers who she is.”

* * *

I
N
HIS
D
ULANEY
V
ALLEY
mansion, Derek Lang leaned back in the comfortable leather chair behind his desk. He was a tall man, and the expensive chair was specially designed with a comfortable headrest. His dark hair was tamed by a four-hundred-dollar haircut. His well-muscled frame was clothed in a thousand-dollar suit. And he was currently having a facial massage administered by Susanna, one of the gorgeous young women he kept around the house. He liked them to have useful skills, in addition to being good in bed. And Susanna was a perfect example.

When she finished and stepped away, he picked up a hand mirror and inspected his face. At forty-five he still looked fit—because he took good care of himself with daily sessions in the gym on the weight machines and ellipticals. And he’d also had some nips and tucks by one of the most expensive plastic surgeons in the city.

“Thank you, honey,” he murmured.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Lang.”

He gave her a long look as he thought about asking her to take off her halter top and miniskirt. Per his instructions, she wouldn’t be wearing anything under either one, and she could stand in front of him while he ran his hands over her. Then he could pursue a couple of interesting alternatives. Like having her kneel in front of him. Or having her sit with her legs open at the edge of the desk.

Enjoying her services was a tempting prospect, but he had some urgent business to take care of. He flicked his eyes to her face, knowing she was following his thoughts and waiting for him to make a decision. He liked the power he had over her and everyone else who worked for him—either voluntarily or involuntarily. Susanna was one of the latter, of course.

He repressed a sigh. Business before pleasure. “Tell Southwell to come in.”

“Yes, sir.”

As she turned away, he patted her butt, then pulled his chair up to the desk. Moments later one of his best men entered and stood respectfully in front of the desk.

Gary Southwell had been a high-school football star, and Derek had recruited Gary at the end of his senior year because of his bulk and menacing appearance. Since appearance wasn’t enough, Derek had Gary specially trained both in martial arts and on the firing range.

The man was adept at hand-to-hand combat and was an excellent shot. And he was grateful for the good salary he earned, the comfortable accommodations and the women he could shag anytime he wanted. All of that made him loyal to a fault. And anxious to please.

“Do we have a report on the Elizabeth Forester situation? Is she still in the hospital?” Derek asked. His men had been keeping tabs on her for weeks and closing in for the kill when she had wrecked her car, drawing too much attention from witnesses. Derek didn’t like it when his plans went sour.

“She’s still in the hospital,” Southwell answered. “Her physical condition is okay, but they’re keeping her because she’s lost her memory.”

“You think that’s true?”

Southwell shrugged.

“If it is, I wonder if it’s because she’d rather not remember,” Derek mused.

“That could be part of it,” Southwell agreed. “And it’s good for us, isn’t it?”

“At the moment, but how long is that going to last?” Derek Lang asked.

“No way of knowing.”

“If the memory loss were permanent, that would solve our problem. But I don’t want her suddenly remembering why she’s been so busy over the past few weeks and then calling in the cops.”

“She didn’t do it before.”

“Because she knew that was dangerous, but getting hit on the head could have affected her judgment which could make her reckless now.”

Southwell nodded.

“You went to her house after the accident,” Derek said. “Anything I should know about?”

“We tore the place apart and didn’t find anything on paper, but there were computer files with information you wouldn’t want anyone to read.”

Derek sat forward. “And?”

“We took out her hard drive and smashed it.”

“Good. But that’s not enough. We have to shut the woman up for good.”

Southwell waited for instructions.

“I understand why Patterson couldn’t get to her earlier,” Derek said, thinking aloud. “There were too many people around the crash scene, asking her questions, trying to figure out who she was. Wait until the shift change at the hospital. They don’t have as many people on at night.”

“Got it.”

He considered his options. “I don’t want you to take care of her there. I mean, she’s in a hospital, and we could get into trouble with the cause of death. Bring her to me. I’d like to ask her some questions about why she’s been nosing around in my business, starting with what put her on to me in the first place. Maybe I can think of something that will jog her memory.”

“Yes, sir.”

Southwell left, and Derek leaned back in his chair, thinking of the methods he’d use in his basement interrogation room. In the movies, tough guys held out against torture. In reality, everybody ended up spilling their guts. And he was pretty sure that with a woman like Elizabeth Forester, it wouldn’t take long. After he got what he needed, he’d have some fun with her before he killed her.

* * *

E
LIZABETH
’
S
HEART
LEAPED
at the offer from Mrs. Kramer, but she still forced herself to ask, “Are you sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?”

“Of course not, dear.”

“Thank you.”

The woman had just solved one of her biggest problems—by offering a place to stay. But there was still the basic problem, with totally unexpected complications.

She’d been lying in this hospital bed trying to dredge up a memory—any memory—until the man standing across the room had put a hand on her, and everything had changed. At least for the few moments when they’d been touching.

She had a little sliver of herself back, courtesy of Dr. Delano’s touch. Now she recalled the first day of nursery school. Playing field hockey. What had seemed like a college classroom.

Of course there was the little problem of the sexual arousal that had flared between them. His and hers. But she understood that he was a man with high moral standards, and he wasn’t going to let himself get dragged into an inappropriate relationship with a female patient, which was why he’d flat-out refused to touch her again.

He’d opened a door in her mind just a crack and slammed it shut again. She’d alternated between being angry that he wouldn’t help her and wanting to plead with him to give her more of herself back. But she’d understood where he was coming from and had kept from embarrassing herself any further.

Then that nice nurse who had taken care of her earlier had showed up and thrown her a lifeline to deal with her present day-to-day situation.

“I’d be very grateful to stay with you, but I insist on paying you—as soon as I find out who I am. I mean, assuming I’m not indigent or something.”

“You’re too well cared for to be indigent,” the doctor said. “It’s obvious that you were living at least a middle-class lifestyle.”

“Okay.” She looked from him to the nurse, wanting to be absolutely sure the woman had thought through her offer. “You’re certain it’s all right?”

“I’d love the company.”

The doctor left, and the arrangement was settled quickly. Probably the hospital was anxious to get rid of a patient who couldn’t produce an insurance card, even if she was living a middle-class lifestyle.

“I’m going off shift in half an hour,” Mrs. Kramer said. “Once you get dressed, I’ll get a wheelchair and take you down. I can meet you in the waiting area near the elevator.”

Climbing out of bed, Elizabeth stood for a moment holding on to the rail. She’d been lying down too long, and her legs felt rubbery. Or maybe that was the result of having a concussion.

When she felt steadier on her feet, she crossed to the small bathroom and turned on the light. She’d deliberately avoided looking at herself until she was ready. Now she raised her gaze to the mirror and stared at the woman she saw there. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the face that stared back might as well have belonged to a stranger.

Disappointed and unsettled, she stood for a moment, composing herself. Trying not to look in the mirror again, she washed her face at the sink and brushed her teeth with the toothbrush the hospital had provided.

Doggedly she focused on the simple tasks in order to keep from thinking about anything more stressful—like how she was going to figure out who she was and why she had crashed her car. The easy answer was that she’d been speeding. As she pictured herself driving, she realized she knew the part of town where they’d told her the accident had occurred.

That stopped her. She’d come up with another memory—this time on her own. Well, not a memory of anything personal.

The observation about Baltimore—that was the city she was in—brought up another question: What else did she know? Maybe not about Elizabeth Doe specifically but about the world around her.

She stopped and asked herself some questions she imagined would be standard for someone in her situation. She couldn’t dredge up the correct date. But she knew who was president. And she knew... She struggled for another concrete fact and came up with the conviction that she could make scrambled eggs that tasted a lot better than what the hospital had served her this morning.

“Your clothes are in the closet,” Nurse Kramer said through the bathroom door. “Do you need help?”

“I think I can do it myself,” she said, because she wasn’t going to depend on other people if there was a chance for independence—even in small things.

By the time she stepped back into the room, Mrs. Kramer had gone back to her duties and Dr. Delano wasn’t there, either. She felt a stab of disappointment but brushed it aside. Probably he was wishing that some other doctor had examined her. And staying as far away as possible from her was probably the way to go, from his point of view.

After crossing to the closet, she took out the clothes that someone had hung up for her. Dark slacks. A white shirt and a dark jacket. A very buttoned-up look, except that the outfit was a little scuffed around the edges from the accident.

She looked at the labels of the garments. They were from good department stores. Not top-of-the-line but good enough. Another piece of information that she found interesting.

She’d been wearing knee-high stockings and black pumps with a wedge heel. Not the shoes she’d wear if she had wanted to impress someone. These were no-nonsense footwear. Did that mean she walked a lot as part of her job? Or maybe she had bad feet.

There was also underwear on the hanger, and that was more interesting than the exterior clothing. She’d been wearing a very sexy white lace bra and matching bikini panties. Apparently she liked to indulge in very feminine underwear. She took everything back into the bathroom, then decided that she might as well take a shower before she left. It would feel good to get clean. Too bad she didn’t have a change of underwear.

She thought about her name as she stood under the shower.
Elizabeth.
A very formal name. Did people call her Beth? Betty? Liz? Or any of the other variations of the name? She didn’t know.

But she noted that she’d washed her hair before soaping her body, and it had been in the back of her mind that she’d better do that first—in case the hot water went off and she was caught with shampoo in her hair.

An interesting priority. Did it mean she lived in a house or an apartment where there was a problem with the hot-water heater? Or had she traveled abroad like Dr. Delano?

She clenched her hand around a bar of soap, annoyed with herself for switching her thoughts back to him. He’d made it clear that there couldn’t be anything personal between the two of them, and she understood that. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t stop thinking of him as her lifeline to her own past.

After turning off the water and stepping out of the shower, she reached for a towel and began to dry herself. There was no hair dryer, so she worked extra hard on her hair, rubbing it into fluffy ringlets.