Identity Unknown (3 page)

* * *

Audrey arrived at the station at 6 a.m. and uploaded the fingerprints she'd taken from their mysterious John Doe and his photo off her phone into the FBI's national criminal information center as well as the violent criminal apprehension program for missing persons.

Nothing turned up.

The man could be a Canadian, since the border between the two countries was only a few miles across the ocean. She sent his prints and his photo to the criminal investigation division of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Canada's federal policing agency. She provided her cell phone number so they could contact her directly.

Then she headed back to the medical center to relieve the sheriff. She met Deputy Paulson outside John Doe's room. “How did it go?”

“All quiet,” he replied. “Sheriff's inside.”

She entered, half hoping John Doe had awakened. He still slept. His face looked relaxed. His dark hair fell over his forehead, covering one eye. Beside him sat the sheriff with his arms folded over his massive chest, his chin tipped down and his eyes closed. Audrey hesitated, debating stepping back out.

“You're here early,” the sheriff said softly, lifting his head.

She straightened and came fully into the room. “No hits on NCIC or ViCAP. I sent his info to the RCMP.”

“Good thinking.” He stood and stretched. “I'm going to grab some coffee. You want some?”

“No, thank you,” she replied. His praise eased the worry from the night before that she wasn't doing a good job. Her spine straightened as she moved aside to let him pass.

She went to the window. Frost laced the edges of the glass. She stared at the tree line flanking the west side of the building. The green pine trees were sprinkled with a soft layer of new snow that had fallen during the night. Today, the sun peeked out from behind gray clouds. With 80 percent of the state of Maine forested, there were many hiding places for the masked man to lose himself in. Was he out in the woods now, waiting for another opportunity to strike?

A noise behind her sent a jolt of adrenaline straight to her heart. She spun to find John Doe springing from the bed and landing on the balls of his feet to face her. He ripped out his IV line. It fell to the floor, and the heart monitor sounded an alarm.

Audrey quickly shut off the shrill noise.

The hospital gown they'd put on him stretched across his wide shoulders as his hands went up in a defensive position. Words flowed from his mouth, but she had no idea what he was saying.

She held her hands palms up. Adrenaline flooded her veins. She didn't want to have to take the guy down, but if he didn't calm himself, she'd do it. “Hey, take it easy. You're in the hospital.”

More words in a language she didn't understand came at her.

“I don't know what you're saying,” she said. “Please speak English.”

His panicked dark eyes swept over her and the room. Looking for an escape?

The door behind him opened. A young nurse rushed in, followed by the sheriff, carrying his coffee in one hand. John Doe whirled to confront a new threat.

“Don't!” Audrey shouted, afraid either man would attack the other. “He's okay. It's okay. Everyone's okay.”

The sheriff held up his free hand. “Whoa, there, son. No one is here to hurt you. My name is Sheriff Crump. You're safe now.” To the nurse, the sheriff said, “We've got this.”

She clearly wasn't reassured, as her scared gaze zinged from the sheriff to the patient and back again. “He shouldn't be up. He's bleeding where his IV line was. I should check on his wounds.”

Audrey glanced at the smear of blood on the unknown man's arm. The amount wasn't life threatening, just messy.

“You can come back in a bit,” David said in a tone that left no room for argument. “I need to question the man.”

With a frown, the nurse retreated, leaving them alone with the mysterious man. John Doe let out a string of words that made no sense to Audrey. Worry churned in her gut. What was going on? Obviously he was a foreigner, but from where? She couldn't place the language.

The sheriff cocked his head, his gaze going to Audrey. She shrugged, at a loss for how to communicate with the patient. The sharp sense of helplessness was too familiar. She hated the feeling. She'd felt this way the night her father hadn't returned from the sea. Only then it had been more intense. Now it was enough to make her jittery.

“I can understand a few words,” the sheriff said. “I think he's speaking in Cree. One of the professors I worked with at the university taught a class in Native American studies and had a segment on languages. Cree has a very distinct dialect.” He turned his attention back to John Doe. “Does that sound right?”

Confusion played over the man's face. He took a shuddering breath and then spoke in English. “I don't know. I can hear the words in my head, but they mean nothing to me. Where am I?”

“You're in Calico Bay,” Audrey supplied. “Were you on a boat?”

John Doe backed up so he could see both Audrey and the sheriff. “I don't know. I don't remember. Calico Bay?”

“Downeast Maine,” the sheriff supplied. “The northern tip of the state.”

The man kept his gaze on Audrey. “I've seen you before. Where?”

“You woke up for a moment on the beach and again last night while I was here.”

John ran a hand through his dark hair. He stilled when his fingers touched the bandage near his left temple. “What happened?”

“We were hoping you could tell us,” the sheriff said. “There've been three attempts on your life since you washed ashore on our beach. Why is someone trying to kill you?”

The man frowned and paced a few steps. “I don't know.”

Audrey fought the urge to tell him it would be all right. She didn't know if it would, and she wasn't sure he'd appreciate the platitude.

He staggered to the bed and sat, dropping his head into his hands. “I can't remember anything. Every time I try to recall, my head feels like it's going to explode.”

Her heart ached to see his distress. The need to comfort prodded her to take a step closer. The sheriff arched a disapproving eyebrow at her. She halted. Her great-uncle had warned her often enough not to become emotionally involved in cases. She needed a clear, objective head. And if she wanted to be sheriff one day, she had to remain detached and professional at all times.

The patient rolled his shoulders then lifted his gaze to Audrey. “Only your face seems familiar. Nothing else.”

The defenselessness on his handsome face tugged at her. She swallowed. Her heart beat erratically. No way was she going to repeat his delirious proclamation that she reminded him of a Christmas ornament. “On the beach you muttered the word
betrayed
. Ring any bells?”

His mouth gaped and he shook his head.

She tapped her fingers against her utility belt. “You can't remember your name?”

He stared at her, the panic returning to his eyes. “No. I can't remember my name. Or who I am. Or where I'm from. I don't know what I meant by
betrayed
.” He let out a shuddering breath. “Or why someone wants me dead.”

THREE

H
e couldn't remember his name.

Sitting on the hospital bed under the scrutiny of the deputy and the sheriff made him feel vulnerable. An antsy sort of energy buzzed through him. He might not know his name, but he knew in his gut he didn't do vulnerable.

His body ached everywhere. His head pounded like a jackhammer going to town inside his skull. His mouth felt like cotton. An encompassing terror gripped him. A shiver racked his body. Cold. So very cold. How could he not know who he was? Or recall his past?

Why did someone want him dead?

His heart slammed against his ribs. A looming sense of dread and foreboding threatened to pull him back into darkness. He hung on to the edge of the bed and fought the tug. He needed to stay awake. Some innate knowledge told him he needed to keep a clear head if he were to survive. He grabbed the water pitcher on the bedside tray and poured a glass. He drank it down and then another.

“Then we'll call you John.”

“What?” He stared at the blonde, blue-eyed deputy. Her hair was pulled back away from her face and secured behind her head in a knot. She wore little makeup. She didn't need any. She was absolutely stunning with her high cheekbones, delicately carved beneath smooth, unblemished skin and full lips. He forced himself to concentrate on what she'd just stated. “Is my name John?”

It didn't ring any bells. And every time he tried to concentrate, to conjure up a memory, his head felt like someone was taking a pickax to his skull, bringing on a blinding pain that was nearly incapacitating. Only keeping his focus on the beautiful woman's face kept him from keeling over.

She smiled and her eyes filled with compassion. “John as in John Doe. I don't know your name. You weren't carrying identification.”

That explained why they didn't know his name. “Where did you find me?”

“The tide deposited you on the public beach early yesterday morning,” the man who wore the gold sheriff's badge replied. Sheriff Crump, he'd said. He sipped from his coffee and eyed John with a mix of wary suspicion and empathy.

He'd washed up on the beach like driftwood, which accounted for the bone-deep chill he felt even though the room was heated. Had he been on a boat and fallen overboard? Something else the sheriff said finally registered like a punch to the gut. “You said someone tried to kill me
after
you found me?”

“Yes.” The woman told him of the attempts made on his life.

Pressure built in his chest, and his head throbbed. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, hoping to ease the tension that was taking root in the muscles. “I'm sorry about the ambulance. And your patrol car. I'd offer to reimburse you for both, but I've no idea if I have the means to do so.” The enormity of the situation weighed him down. “This is all so surreal, like I've walked into a bad horror flick. Has the doctor said how long my mind will be blank?”

“I haven't talked to her yet. We should let her know you've regained consciousness.” The deputy reached for the call button.

The deputy smelled like sunshine on a spring day. He breathed in deep, letting an image of a grassy meadow form. Was it a memory or just a generic thought made up of a lifetime of images that had no emotional attachment?

As she moved away, he asked, “What's your name?”

“Deputy Martin,” she replied in a brisk tone. She was tall and he'd guess shapely beneath the bulk of her uniform. He'd like to see her with her hair down and wearing a dress that showed off her long legs.

Whoa. Where had that thought come from?

Better to keep his mind on staying alive and not on some errant attraction to the woman who had rescued him from certain death. Pushing the attraction aside, he went with gratefulness. “Thank you, Deputy Martin, for saving my life.”

He wished he could do something more for her, but he had no idea what. He had no clothes, no identification and no money. He was trapped in this hospital room until he either remembered who he was or someone claimed him.

Or the man who wanted him dead got to him first.

Anger at the unknown man and dread that he might succeed heated his blood but did nothing to chase away the chill that had settled in his core. Was he married? His heart contracted in his chest. Did he have a family worried about him somewhere? He glanced at his left hand. No wedding band. A sign that he was single or just that he didn't wear a ring? His pulse thrummed in his veins. Frustration drilled into his skull. What kind of man was he?

Why couldn't he remember?

The door opened, and an attractive female doctor wearing a white lab coat walked in. John gauged her age around fifty. Her blond hair was pulled back in a low bun, and she viewed him with bright blue eyes. His gaze darted from the doctor to the deputy. The similarities between the two left little doubt they were related. Mother and daughter?

“Good morning,” the doctor said as she hustled forward. “I see you ripped out your IV. Are you in pain?”

He was, but he didn't want meds. “I'm fine. I can handle it.”

Her mouth twisted. “Right. You gave us all quite a scare, on many levels. I'm Dr. Martin. What is your name?”

John grimaced. “I don't know. I've lost my mind.”

Dr. Martin's eyes widened for a fraction of a second. “You sustained a rather dramatic blow to the head as well as some hypothermia. You have a linear skull fracture that will heal with time. I saw no evidence of a brain bleed. You certainly have a concussion, so you'll need to be monitored for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Most likely the severity of the inciting event coupled with the force of the hit to your temple region caused your memory loss. Retrograde amnesia isn't uncommon. What can you remember?”

“Nothing before waking up here.” John darted a glance at the deputy. She'd said he'd awakened last night and that was why she seemed familiar. But he had a feeling she was holding back, not telling him everything. Why would she do that?

The doctor listened to his heart and his lungs, then checked his pupils. “You seem to be in good order. I have no doubt your memories will return. Just be aware that they may come in spits and spurts and be disjointed. Like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Eventually your memories will slide into place, and you'll be back to your old self.”

Foreboding prickled his flesh. Whoever he'd been was someone worth killing. What had he been mixed up in? Something illegal? Was he a criminal? “I shouldn't stay here. Whoever broke in last night might return. I don't want to put anyone at risk.”

Deputy Martin's gaze zeroed on the sheriff. “The captain's place. I could take him there.”

The sheriff shook his head. “No. The safest place for him, and our town, is a jail cell.”

“What!” The deputy shook her head. “No way. We can't lock him up without any evidence of wrongdoing. That would be setting us up for a lawsuit.”

The sheriff arched an eyebrow. “Not if putting him in a cell is for his own safety. I know the law, Audrey.”

Ah, so that was the pretty deputy's name. John liked the sound of it. He rolled the name around his brain and tried to remember if he'd known her before his memories had been wiped clean, but his mind remained empty, like a void in space. At least thinking about Audrey didn't induce any pain in his head.

Audrey's shoulders dropped slightly, and her mouth pressed into a straight line. “You don't think I can handle this situation?”

The distress in her voice had John tensing. He wasn't sure what was at play between these people, but clearly she had a chip on her shoulder. A strange protective urge surfaced. His hand clenched a fistful of sheet. He didn't know why he wanted to defend this woman. He wasn't sure if she deserved to be defended or not. Maybe she couldn't handle his situation. Maybe she could. But the one thing he did know was he didn't want to cause her harm.

“I didn't say that.” The sheriff's tone suggested they'd discussed this conversational land mine before. “But you have to admit, this isn't something we deal with often here in our little corner of the world.”

Audrey opened her mouth to reply, but the doctor held up a hand. “David, Audrey, take your discussion outside, please. This is upsetting to the patient.”

“No, wait,” John was quick to say. “The sheriff's right. The best place for me is somewhere I won't pose a threat to innocent bystanders.” Or a pretty deputy sheriff.

Audrey's eyebrows pinched together as she turned her baby blues on him. “You won't be comfortable there. You're recovering from a nearly fatal head wound, not to mention nearly drowning and freezing to death in the ocean.”

“Better I'm uncomfortable than anyone getting hurt.”

Her gaze narrowed. “That's very self-sacrificing.”

“Or very self-serving,” John countered. “I have no desire to die. If being locked up keeps me alive until my memory returns, then so be it.”

“That's settled,” the sheriff intoned. “Carol, when you're ready to release Mr. Doe, I'll take him to the sheriff's station.”

Carol's gaze darkened with concern. “If you're sure.”

“I am,” the sheriff confirmed. “It's best for everyone this way.”

Audrey made a distinct harrumph noise but didn't comment.

“I'll have the nurse bring our patient's clothing while I process his discharge papers,” the doctor told them. “He'll need careful monitoring to make sure his concussion doesn't worsen. If he loses consciousness again or throws up or complains of dizziness, call me right away.”

“We will.” The sheriff held the door open for the doctor. “I'll be outside,” he said to Audrey before he followed the doctor out of the room.

“That went well,” Audrey said on a huff. She offered him a stiff smile. “Sorry you had to witness that little drama.”

“What was that about?” he asked. “Are you new to the job?” That had to play into the dynamics between the deputy and sheriff.

She lifted her chin. “Sort of. I did a year on patrol in Bangor before returning home to Calico Bay.”

“And how long ago did you return?”

“Less than a year.”

Okay. She was inexperienced. The sheriff was being cautious on many levels. John could appreciate that. He'd be the same if he had a fairly new recruit under him.

The thought stopped him. Recruit? What did that mean? Was he in law enforcement? Or was the thought just a random scenario that had nothing to do with his life prior to waking up in the hospital?

The throbbing in his head intensified. His stomach cramped.

“Hey, you better lie down,” Audrey said, moving quickly to his side. “You're not looking so good.”

“Headache,” he said as he scooted back to rest his head on the pillow. “I don't remember the last time I had food.”

“You don't want the hospital's grub,” Audrey warned. She withdrew a protein bar from the side pocket of her pants. “This will tide you over until we can get you some real food.”

Grateful for the snack, he took the bar, ripped open the top and consumed it in three bites and washed it down with another glass of water. The bar hit his stomach with a thud, but it stopped the cramping. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” she said. She rested her hands on her utility belt. “What kind of seafood do you like? It's the season for crab and monkfish now. But mussels are available, as are scallops.”

His mouth watered at the thought of some good seafood, but no memory surfaced to support the visceral reaction. “Any of that sounds delicious. You're related to the doctor.”

A wry smile curved her lips. “Caught that, did you? She's my mom, and the sheriff's my great-uncle.”

“Good to know.”

She shrugged. “You were bound to find out eventually.”

“I'm not judging. You get flack for being related?”

“Some. But mostly there are those in town who don't think a woman should be on duty. The world is slow to change here in Calico Bay.”

He could imagine that was hard for her. She struck him as independent and capable with a soft side that she kept close to the vest. “You said you returned here?”

“Born and raised until I went to college and the police academy.”

He admired her commitment to her roots. Did he have roots? He searched his brain until the pain made him back off.

A brunette dressed in scrubs entered the room carrying two bags. “Your clothes.” She set the bags on the end of the bed. “Hello, Audrey.”

“Morning, Sarah. How's Rich?”

Sarah's face softened. “He's good. He'll be four next week.”

“Wow. I hadn't realized.” A curious sadness entered Audrey's eyes. “I'll stop by to wish him happy birthday.”

“He'd like that. Thank you.” Sarah turned to John, her green eyes sharpening with attentiveness. “Do you need help dressing?”

“No. I can manage on my own.”

Disappointment shot through Sarah's gaze. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” He was glad when she exited. He met the deputy's gaze. She didn't look pleased. “What's Sarah's story?”

“She's a widow, if that's what you're asking,” Audrey replied in a tense voice.

“Okay, it wasn't. I'm more interested in why you looked so sad when you were talking about Rich, who I assume is her son.”

Surprise flashed in Audrey's eyes. “Oh. Yes, Rich is her little boy. He's such a sweetie.” That sadness was back. “Ben, Sarah's husband, worked on a fishing boat. About two years ago there was an accident, and he was killed.”

Sympathy twisted in his gut. “That's too bad. I've watched those fishing reality shows, and that life seems brutal.”

Audrey's eyebrows hiked up and anticipation blossomed in her gaze, no doubt hoping his memories were returning. “You remember the show?”