Lost Identity (20 page)

“No.” Trish shook her head. “I can’t take that kind of spotlight.”

“Of course you can. Everyone wants to wish you well.” Her tone was so false it turned Trish’s stomach.

“I’ve lost my memory, Darlene, not my mind,” Trish said coldly. “Your guests are here to be entertained by my presence. You know it and I know it. You gave the party in the hopes of catching me off guard, and I agreed to come because I hoped that something or someone would trigger my lost memory. Unfortunately, we’re both doomed to disappointment it seems.”

“You can’t leave now,” Darlene flared, angrily.

“Watch me.” Trish brushed past Darlene before she could protest.

“I guess you told her,” Janelle said as they headed back to the table. “Well, anyway, the evening isn’t a bust. I saw you and Andrew dancing. Wow, the sizzle sparking off you two could start a fire. You must really like the guy. Is this serious?”

“How can I be serious about anyone?” she answered honestly. “Especially someone I don’t want to hurt.”

“Well, Curtis seems willing to pick up where you guys left off.” She eyed Trish. “Maybe you shouldn’t burn all your bridges with him.”

“They’re already burnt,” Trish said flatly, and was relieved to see Andrew sitting alone at the table.

“I guess I’d better go find Curtis. He’s probably at the bar,” said Janelle with a sigh. “Why is it some women have fellows to throw away and the rest of us have to be content with the leavings?” There was bitter edge to her voice that Trish had never heard before.

When Andrew rose to hold Trish’s chair, she shook her head. “Let’s go.”

“Good idea.” He kept a guiding hand on her arm as they began to weave their way out of the crowded room. They were unable to avoid the many guests who tried to stop her for a chat.

“Patricia, how lovely to see you.”

“We must get together soon.”

“It’s a terrible time for you, we know.”

None of the smiling, concerned, or curious faces brought even a flicker of recognition. Trish’s smile was stiff and forced until they finally made their way to the front entrance.

They hurried outside and were waiting for their lim
ousine when two men in business suits approached them.

Trish instantly recognized one of them. Lieutenant O’Donnel looked out of place in his wrinkled trousers and sports jacket, and the expression on his face was not one of joviality.

When the detective saw Trish, he said something quickly to a younger and taller man who hurried inside the building while O’Donnel came over to Trish and Andrew.

He gave them both a reserved nod. “I understand that there’s a celebration going on, honoring your safe return, Ms. Radcliffe.”

She nodded, puzzled. “Were you invited, Lieutenant?”

“Oh, no, this is official business. We came to talk with Mrs. Perry Reynolds. We have some news about her husband.”

Trish swallowed hard. His expression didn’t indicate anything positive. Her voice was thin and shaky as she asked, “What kind of news?”

He kept his sharp eyes fixed on her face. “It seems that the coast guard found a small cruiser floating aimlessly on the current, several hundred miles out to sea. They towed it back to shore and made a startling discovery.”

As if some awareness deep in her subconscious knew what he was going to say, Trish leaned against Andrew for support.

“The body of Perry Reynolds was found floating in the water-logged cabin. Only he didn’t drown. He was killed by a bullet through the head.”

Chapter Thirteen

Trish stared at Lieutenant O’Donnel like someone suddenly gone deaf and dumb. Her mind denied the relevancy of his words, and something deep and powerful within her refused to relate to their meaning. A protective mental barrier fell into place, separating her from the destructive shock.

Andrew was the one who reacted. “You mean he committed suicide?”

“That seems unlikely, since we didn’t find a gun in the cabin.” His steady eyes never left Trish’s face. “We did find some other things, though. Why don’t we go down to the station and have a little chat, Ms. Radcliffe? I’m sure you’ll want to hear all the particulars.”

She fought to suppress a shiver.
Why was he looking at her like that?
The reality of the situation suddenly hit her like an Arctic chill.
Perry Reynolds was dead and the detective believed she already knew it.
With a choked sob, Trish pressed her hands tightly against the side of her head.

Andrew tightened his arm around her waist and glared at O’Donnel. “She needs time to absorb the shock. Maybe tomorrow—”

He shook his head. “No. In a situation like this, time is not a luxury. She’ll have to answer some questions for us tonight.”

“She doesn’t have any answers,” Andrew flared. “Can’t you guys get it through your thick skulls that she can’t remember. That’s what amnesia is,” he added sarcastically.

O’Donnel didn’t even blink at the implied insult. He just nodded. “Maybe something will jog Ms. Radcliffe’s memory. In any case, we’ll have to try and find some answers.”

Andrew knew from his tone that there wasn’t any use arguing. He glanced at Trish’s glazed expression and cursed the insensitivity of the law. Their limousine was already waiting at the curb, so Andrew said, “All right,” and propelled Trish toward the limo. “What station?”

“Why don’t I ride along with you and leave my car for my partner who will be bringing Mrs. Reynolds along?”

The suggestion was more an order than a request, and the lieutenant’s polite tone didn’t fool Andrew one bit. If they turned down O’Donnel’s suggestion, he might have ordered Trish in the police cruiser and ended the argument right then and there.

The three of them sat in silence for most of the trip back to Manhattan. If O’Donnel was impressed by the luxurious limousine, he didn’t show it. Most of the time, he sat with his hands folded on his generous middle, and let his gaze shift from Trish’s stunned expression to Andrew’s glaring frown.

As they neared the police station, warmth began to flow back into Trish’s chilled body, and a blessed de
tachment from the horror of the moment was replaced by a sense of panic.

“It’s going to be all right,” Andrew soothed as the hand he held suddenly began to tremble.

She scarcely heard him. Her ears were filled with an inner tumult.
You have to remember. You have to remember.

At the station, O’Donnel quickly escorted them into a small interrogation room. Trish paid little attention to the surroundings. She heard Andrew protesting the manner of the interrogation, but O’Donnel referred to the situation as “a little chat.”

“You can stay with her as long as you keep your mouth shut,” O’Donnel told Andrew in a tone that brooked no argument.

Trish sat down in a wooden chair beside Andrew and struggled to maintain an inner equilibrium that was tilting like an off-balance gyroscope.

O’Donnel began asking her the same kinds of questions that he’d asked before, and she gave the same answers.

“When was the last time you saw Perry Reynolds?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Was he with you the day of the storm?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you kill him?” The question came at her with the swiftness of a dagger.

Her breath caught. The floor seemed to waver beneath her chair as she whispered the same answer in choked horror, “I don’t remember.”

“That’s it!” Andrew was on his feet. “You can do your badgering when she has legal counsel, and not before. We’re out of here.” He tried to urge Trish to
her feet, but she just sat there, her eyes fixed on O’Donnel.

“Why did you ask me that?”

The detective hesitated. “Maybe your friend is right. We should save this until you have legal representation, Ms. Radcliffe.”

“Please, I have to know. Tell me everything. What makes you think I could have…been responsible?”

Andrew wanted to protest but her insistence was so compelling that he could only sit back down and capture her hand again in his. He knew that she was fighting to recover any tiny piece of herself, even if the truth threatened to destroy her. Being devoid of any past memories was already a dire sentence to endure.

O’Donnel folded his hands on the table. “We found a woman’s purse in the cabin.”

Her lips were stiff. “Mine?”

He nodded.

“Are you sure? I mean, women’s purses are all alike. It could belong to someone else,” she protested.

“This one contains your wallet and identification. Would you like to see it?”

She shook her head. Why bother? It wouldn’t be any more familiar than any of the other things that supposedly belonged to her.

“Do you own a gun, Ms. Radcliffe?”

She sighed. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll check for a registration, of course.”

Andrew’s stomach took a sickening plunge. If Trish did own a registered gun and the bullet that killed Perry was of the same caliber, Lieutenant O’Donnel would have the evidence he needed. Andrew didn’t believe for one moment that Trish would kill anyone,
but the circumstantial evidence mounting against her was frightening.

“Trish, let’s get out of here.” Every moment they stayed could stiffen any charges they might want to make against her.

“Maybe you should seek legal counsel before we talk again,” O’Donnel conceded, making no objection to Andrew’s rush to get Trish out of the room. “Stay close where we can reach you.”

Andrew propelled her down the hall, and had just reached the front desk when Darlene came in, escorted by the other policemen who had been with O’Donnel earlier.

When Darlene saw Trish, she screamed and jabbed her finger at her. “Why did you kill him? Wasn’t the money enough for you? He was going to end the whole thing. That was it, wasn’t it? You’d rather kill him than give him up.”

Andrew maneuvered Trish past the nearly hysterical woman. Her vile accusations followed them out the door, filling the night air with her fury.

Only Andrew’s support kept Trish moving down the steps to the waiting limousine. Before the driver could get out of the front seat and make it around the car, Andrew had the door open and was urging Trish inside. The chauffeur shot an anxious glance at Trish as she huddled in the back seat.

“Where to, sir?” he asked Andrew as he prepared to shut the door after them.

Andrew hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he should take Trish home or find some place where she could collect herself. He could tell that Trish was only holding on to her emotions by a force of will. Darlene’s verbal
attack had added another dimension to O’Donnel’s accusing interrogation.

“Let’s take a turn through the park while we decide,” Andrew told the driver.

“No,” Trish objected forcibly. A trapped feeling sent panic racing through her. Suddenly the interior of the car was too confining. None of her nightmares had been as terrifying as the fears that were swelling up inside of her. She wanted to run and hide from everything and everyone. Undefined images whirled in her head, and she heard O’Donnel’s voice ricocheting from one side of her skull to the other, beating her with questions she couldn’t answer. She reached for the door handle. “Let me out!”

Andrew pulled her back and barked at the driver. “Home.”

Home…home…home.
The word was like a foreign sound to her, having no meaning and no context. She had been told where she lived, where she belonged, but none of the beliefs were hers. She had accepted what everyone told her as the truth. Now two people were telling her that she had murdered someone. How could she defend herself when she wasn’t even sure that what they were saying was not the truth?

Andrew circled his arms around her in a protective embrace. He could sense the wild beating of her heart as fear sent adrenaline racing through her. Without saying anything he tried to honor her feelings. This was not the time for spouting empty platitudes that everything was all right. Hell, things couldn’t be worse, he silently swore. He was ready to go to battle with someone, but who? The only thing he was sure about was that Trish had every right to be afraid for her own life.

Letting her head rest against Andrew’s chest, Trish closed her eyes and swallowed back choked whimpers. The regular rhythm of his breathing was strangely reassuring and by the time the limousine pulled up in front of her building, her panic had slightly subsided.

Andrew’s admiration for her deepened when he saw her assume an air of composure as she nodded at the doorman and they entered the foyer. As they walked toward the elevators, he debated with himself whether he should insist on staying with her until Janelle got home. He was startled when Trish stopped short in the middle of the foyer, almost as if she’d run into an invisible wall.

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

Without answering, she turned and walked right back outside. He was at her side in a second. “What is it?”

She looked at him, clear-eyed and steady. “I want to go home with you.”

After the emotional shock she had endured, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. He smiled in relief. “Sounds like a good idea. Do you want to pack a bag first?”

“No.”

He didn’t argue, but slipped his arm through hers as they walked to where he had parked his car. They could have been two people out for an early stroll, all dressed up for a dinner party. He glanced at her calm profile, and in some ways there was something about her stiff, controlled manner that was more disturbing than the panic she’d displayed in the limo. Was she retreating into some protective state where he might not be able to reach her? Maybe it would be a good idea to call Dr. Duboise in the morning. After what
had just happened, the doctor might want him to bring her to Havengate for a special session.

Trish sat close beside him as they drove to the cottage. He turned the radio to soft music, the kind they had danced to just a few hours earlier. Remembering the sensuous way they had moved together, and the inviting curves of her body nestled against his, he knew that having her stay the night with him was going to present some challenges. He had cared tenderly for her when she first came into his life, and his feelings for her had deepened and expanded. No telling how rough the road was that lay ahead, but any sacrifice would be worth it if he could keep her happily in his life.