Lost Identity (21 page)

As they climbed the stairs to the deck, she said in a strained voice, “I think I’ll just stay out here a bit.”

“All right.” He couldn’t even imagine what was going through her mind, but he accepted her need to be alone. “I’ll put on some coffee.”

She could hear him moving around the house as she leaned against the railing and looked out at the rippling sheen of moonlight on the water. A rhythmic surf, ebbing and flowing against the beach below, lent a soothing touch to her jangled nerves. Somewhere a night bird made a soft piping cheep as if calling to a mate.

The soft night sounds allowed Trish to withdraw to some protective corner of her mind where she could handle the devastating news that O’Donnel had laid on her. Perry Reynolds was dead. He’d died from a bullet to his head. Her purse had been found in the cabin with his body, and Lieutenant O’Donnel believed that she’d killed her business partner.

This wasn’t happening, she told herself, struggling
to deny the harsh reality enveloping her. She wanted to flee and hide herself away, but where could she go? There was no escape from the shackles of her lost memory.

The only image that had broken through the blank curtain of her memory was the fleeting image of a gray-haired man whom they said was her business partner. Why? Why was he the one person she remembered. Was it because she already knew that Perry Reynolds was dead?

Andrew had just finished making some fresh coffee when the phone rang. He picked up the receiver, and, for some reason, wasn’t surprised to hear Curtis’s angry voice.

“Is Patricia there with you?”

“Yes.” Andrew waited for the expected explosive response.

“I want to speak with her.”

“I’m sorry, she’s taking a little quiet time for herself right now.”

“Do I have to drive all the way to your place tonight to see her?” he demanded in a haughty tone.

“I wouldn’t advise it. It’s quite late to make that trip for nothing,” Andrew said evenly. “Trish has made it clear that at the moment she doesn’t want to see any of you.”

“Don’t you realize that you’re jeopardizing a very perilous situation?” he snapped. “There are important decisions that have to be made. I should think that you’d be eager to help protect Patricia in this situation.”

“I am. And that’s why you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to disturb her. Good night.” He hung up the phone with a punctuating bang.

When Andrew went out on the deck, Trish resisted the temptation to forget about everything but being here with him. She turned around as he joined her at the railing, and in a soft voice pleaded, “You’re the only one I can trust, Andrew. Tell me what to believe.”

He was taken back for a moment. How much of the confusion in his own mind should he share?

“Please, be honest with me.”

He took a deep breath. “All right, I can do that. First of all, you have to believe in yourself. Trust your gut feelings. Don’t let anyone dictate to you what you believe or don’t believe.”

“How can I do that when I have to depend on other people to tell me who I am?”

“That’s not true. Deep down, you know who you are. That’s what you need to trust.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Of course, you can. Despite the fact that your memory has failed you, you can’t be anybody else but you. You’re this lovely woman standing beside me right this moment. Complete. Whole.”

Her lips trembled as she looked out upon the ocean that stretched into the dark rim of the horizon. “The only time I feel whole and complete is when I’m with you.”

“That’s because I know without a doubt that you are the true victim in this situation.”

She shivered as she pictured a small white boat rocking aimlessly with the current. “What do you think happened? Why did I end up here on this beach when I must have been with Perry on the boat during the storm?”

“We don’t know, for sure, that you were there,” he
said quickly, even though he had failed to come up with any other scenario in his own mind. She’d been terrified when he found her on the beach, and her hysterical amnesia must have had its basis in what had happened during the storm. If she had been on the boat with Perry, she might have made it to shore in the condition he found her.

As if reading his mind, she said in a leaden tone. “Nothing else makes sense, does it? Do you think I killed him?”

“Do you think you did?”

“Don’t play Dr. Duboise with me,” she flared. “Always asking a question instead of answering mine.”

“All right,” he chuckled, surprised and pleased at her sudden display of spunk. “No, I don’t think you shot Perry Reynolds. I doubt that you even know how to handle a gun. If I handed you one right now, you probably wouldn’t even know how to release the safety catch.”

A spurt of hope shot through her, and then just as quickly died. “Maybe I did know how to use a gun once, but I’ve forgotten just like everything else.”

“That’s not likely. Remember, Dr. Duboise explained that you could lose personal memories in hysterical amnesia without any functional knowledge being lost? You remembered how to drive a car, use a computer and a dozen other things like that. If you knew how to handle a gun once, you still would.”

“O’Donnel would never believe I was telling the truth.”

“Probably not, but
you
would know whether or not handling a gun is familiar. And that’s what’s important. You have to honor your feelings. Deep down you
know what is true, and you’re going to have to hold on to that, Trish.” His voice softened as he added, “There’s one more thing.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t want you to trust anybody, except me.”

“I don’t think that will be too difficult. Of course, I would like a little proof of your sincerity.”

“Like what?”

“You’ll think of something.” Impulsively, she leaned into him as her hands slipped up around his neck.

The way she was searching his face, he knew that if he rejected the love she offered, all the words about his being there for her would count for nothing. Even though one kiss could open a flood of desire that neither of them would be able to close, he couldn’t turn away. She wanted him, and he wanted her, and at the moment all his reasons for holding back faded. Whatever the future or the past held, he was committed to loving her, and she needed to know that.

He brushed a kiss to her forehead, and then lowered his lips to find hers. Trish trembled in his arms, matching the rising hunger of his desire as his hands slipped from her waist to draw her closer. There was no need for words as they delighted in the rising passion that crowded out every thought but the promised pleasure that awaited them.

“Shall we go inside?” she asked breathlessly.

“The coffee will get cold.”

She gave a soft laugh as he led her inside to the bedroom that had been her refuge and comfort.

As they lay together, all ugliness in the world faded away, and she marveled at the suspended bliss his kisses and touch created in her. His tender caresses
and softly spoken endearments healed her spirit, and the incredible sensations of making love gave her back a confidence that she had nearly lost.

As Andrew traced the lines and curves of her sweet naked loveliness, he was filled with the wonder of having found a woman who was totally without pretense. Every response she made to his touch was honest and in harmony with his needs. The explosive fulfillment of their desire was one that neither of them had experienced before.

Content and satiated with love, they lay quietly in each other’s arms, and neither the past nor the future had any reality or any relevancy. They were lovers who had found each other, and for the moment they jealously clung to the reprieve that had been given them.

Chapter Fourteen

Andrew awoke early, even before the first blush of gray light touched the ocean with the shiny patina of a new day. Trish was curled up beside him, and for a long moment, he lay still, savoring the warmth of her soft body. She was breathing quietly in a relaxed sleep. He wanted to kiss her and let his fingers trail through her soft hair, but he resisted. The night they’d spent together had held a promise for both of them, but he knew that once she awakened, all of the torment would come rushing back. Better let her sleep, he schooled himself.

But as he slipped quietly out of bed, she stirred, opened a sleepy eye and mumbled, “Is it morning?”

“No.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Go ahead and sleep, love.”

She sighed, closed her eyes, and her lips parted in a contented softness. He was tempted to crawl back in bed with her, but he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied just to hold her in his arms while she slept.

Since it was too early for his morning walk on the beach, he decided to make a trip to an all-night market. A quick check of the fridge had been disheartening. What kind of a breakfast could they make out of one
stale bagel? He didn’t know what lay ahead for the rest of the day, but he knew they needed a good breakfast to handle it.

As he drove, he tried to order his thoughts. It was a sure bet that the police weren’t going to leave Patricia Radcliffe alone. The inquiry into Perry’s death had just begun, and she was already at the center of their attention. If she didn’t cooperate they would treat her as a hostile suspect.

The first thing he needed to do was telephone Dr. Duboise. Andrew was certain that when he told the doctor about the latest developments, he would want to see Trish as soon as possible, hopefully later in the morning. As for his own work, somehow he’d have to put everything on hold and hope that his boss would be cooperative.

T
RISH AWOKE SUDDENLY
with a pungent odor filling her nostrils. She pushed herself up from the pillow, and struggled out of the bed, wearing only one of Andrew’s T-shirts. As her nose filled up with an acrid odor, she gasped for air.

Gas!

The whole bedroom was filled with it. She could hear the hiss of escaping gas from the kitchen.
I have to get out, now!
In a few minutes the whole house would be filled. Her legs would barely hold her as she lurched across the floor to the front room. Already her head felt as if it were floating away. An enveloping wave of feebleness sent her down to her knees, and she knew that in another moment she would be lying flat on the floor, unable to get up.

She edged across the floor on her hands and knees until she reached a fireplace stand that held a brass
poker, and with a last miraculous surge of strength, she took the poker, rose up on her knees and broke the nearest window flanking the fireplace. She closed her eyes against shattered glass flying in the air and crumbled to the floor as unconsciousness like a black rolling wave overtook her.

A
NDREW SAW THE BROKEN
window as soon as he bounded up the deck steps. “What in the—?” Then he smelled the odor of gas escaping from the house.

“Trish! Trish!” he shouted as he opened the front door. He coughed from the onslaught of gas, and his eyes smarted from the biting fumes.

Stepping inside, he saw with horror Trish’s unconscious body lying in a pool of broken glass. Coughing and gagging, he carried her out of house and laid her down a safe distance away. She was unconscious but still breathing. Jerking his cell phone out of its carrier on his belt, he dialed 911.

He knew he was shouting at the operator but he couldn’t stop himself. “Send an ambulance. My house is filled with gas and I have someone who’s unconscious.” He gave directions to his bungalow and pleaded, “Hurry, hurry.”

He stayed on the line and answered the woman’s questions as rationally as his total terror would allow. It seemed like an excruciating eternity before the paramedics arrived. He tried to stay out of the way as an efficient team examined Trish and quickly loaded her on a gurney. The driver motioned for Andrew to get into the ambulance with Trish, and quickly slammed the door as the two paramedics worked over her.

The emergency office must have alerted the gas company because Andrew glimpsed the utilities truck
arriving just as the ambulance was leaving. They took Trish to the nearest hospital, a small facility about ten minutes away, and even before they arrived at the emergency entrance, she was responding to the oxygen mask placed over her nose and mouth.

As she opened her eyes, her bewildered gaze swept around the ambulance. Andrew was close enough to touch her, and with as much reassurance in his voice as his tumbling insides would allow, he said, “I’m here, darling. It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

At the hospital they whisked Trish into the emergency room, leaving Andrew standing helplessly in the middle of the reception area until an intake nurse motioned him over to the admittance desk.

“We’ll need some information,” she said, a tired smile reflected in her eyes. She handed him a clipboard with some papers clipped to it. “Fill out as much as you can.”

The first form was just routine information, which Andrew handled as best he could. He stared at the second sheet, asking him to fill out a report about what had happened to cause the patient to require emergency treatment.

He stared at the form. He was clueless about what had happened. Trish had been asleep when he left. Had a gas line broken and the smell alerted her? There was no gas smell in the house before he’d left for the store.

He ran an agitated hand through his hair. The sun still hadn’t come up by the time he got back to the house, so he couldn’t have been gone very long. He couldn’t add up what had happened to make any kind of sense. He left the second form blank and handed the clipboard back to the nurse.

“When can I see her?” Andrew demanded in an impatient tone.

“Why don’t you have a seat. As soon as I have some information, I’ll let you know.”

He could tell from the nurse’s set jaw that there was no use in arguing.

Andrew sat slumped in an uncomfortable chair for nearly an hour before a young intern suddenly appeared before him. Instantly Andrew stiffened as his eyes searched the young man’s face for some clue as to what he was going to say.

“Ms. Radcliffe has been taken to a private room, and you can see her now.”