DIAGNOSIS: ATTRACTION Page 4

  “I believe I do.”

  “Then I’ll make us chili.”

  “Do you need a recipe?”

  She thought about what would be involved in making the dish. “No, I can do it.”

  “You like to cook?”

  “I think so.”

  “One more thing you know,” Mrs. Kramer said.

  Elizabeth nodded. It was like playing a game where she didn’t quite know the rules. But some of them came back to her—basically what she considered ordinary things. Or general things. The part that dealt specifically with her own life remained a mystery.

  As they drove to Polly Kramer’s house, Elizabeth kept looking behind her.

  “Is something wrong, dear?” the older woman asked.

  “I can’t shake the idea that somebody is following me.”

  “Do you see anyone you recognize?”

  She sighed. “No. I’m just nervous about it.” She didn’t want to say why. That, when she’d touched Matthew Delano, she had had a memory of someone following her and that trying to get away had caused her automobile accident.

  They pulled into Polly Kramer’s driveway.

  She lived in a redbrick rancher in a close-in suburb, probably built in the 1950s, Elizabeth thought, wondering how she’d placed it in time. There was a low chain-link fence around a half-acre yard and a carport instead of a garage.

  “My husband and I bought this house forty years ago,” Polly said as they pulled into the driveway.

  “Is he home?” Elizabeth asked, looking around for another car.

  “He died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s one of the reasons I’d love to have some company. The house isn’t all that big, but sometimes I feel like I’m rattling around inside.”

  “I understand,” Elizabeth said automatically. Because of personal knowledge of loss? she wondered. Or because she was good at getting in touch with people’s emotions? Which would be strange if she basically felt disconnected from everybody.

  “Dan was an engineer. He made a good living and had a nice pension, and I still collect most of it. Plus we paid off the mortgage years ago. I don’t really have to work at the hospital, but I like the contact with people. So don’t worry about my paying for a few things you need. We’ll get it sorted out later.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth answered, overwhelmed by the kindness of this woman she barely knew. Was Elizabeth the type of person who would do the same thing for a stranger? And was that how she’d gotten in trouble? The question stopped her, and she thought she caught the edge of a memory, but she wasn’t able to pull it into her mind.

  “You come in and get settled,” Polly was saying. “You probably want to rest awhile, and there’s no need to start dinner for a couple hours.”

  Elizabeth nodded. In fact, the brief shopping trip had taken a lot out of her.

  Polly showed her through a living room, furnished in a comfortable contemporary style, to a pleasant bedroom in the back of the house. “I keep the sheets fresh,” she said. “Go on and lie down for a bit.”

  “You’re sure you don’t need help putting the groceries away?”

  “We only got a few things. You just relax.”

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth took off her slacks, jacket and shoes, and laid down, thinking she’d get up in a few minutes.

  * * *

  MATTHEW DELANO COULDN’T shake the feeling of guilt that hung over him as he finished making his rounds, then went down to his office on the first floor, where he entered some information into the computerized patients’ charts. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he saw patients in the hospital clinic, but he had the afternoon free today. And he couldn’t stop thinking about Elizabeth Doe.

  She was in trouble, and he’d walked away from her because he was uncomfortable with the sexual heat that had flared between them when he had touched her. But he felt like a bastard for abandoning her when she wasn’t in any kind of shape to fend for herself.

  He told himself ethics cut both ways. What if something terrible happened to her that he could have prevented by helping her bring back the memories she needed?

  He was silently debating what to do when a knock on his office door interrupted him.

  “Come in,” he called.

  A man wearing dark slacks and a navy blazer over a white dress shirt stepped into Matt’s office. The stranger looked to be in his late twenties, and he had broad shoulders, a muscular build and large dangerous-looking hands. His face wasn’t particularly remarkable, although perhaps he had broken his nose sometime in the past.

  The overall impression he gave was negative, although Matt couldn’t exactly explain why. Just as he’d gotten the feeling that Elizabeth Doe was a good person, he sensed that this guy was “bad.” There was something behind his eyes that told Matt his mood could turn deadly in an instant.

  “Dr. Delano?”

  “Yes,” he said, still sizing up the man.

  “I’m Bob Wilson. I understand you saw a patient with amnesia?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss my patients.”

  “Yes, of course. I understand completely. But I think she might be my sister.”

  “Why?”

  “She told me that she was coming over yesterday, but she never showed up.”

  “And you haven’t heard from her?”

  “No.”

  “The woman I treated was listed as Jane Doe. What’s your sister’s name?”

  “Elizabeth Simmons.”

  He hoped he didn’t show any reaction. The Elizabeth part was right, but was that really her last name? And why did he doubt this guy? “Do you have her picture?”

  “Of course.” The man opened his wallet and took out a photograph that looked like it might have been taken for a college yearbook.

  “Yes, that’s her,” he reluctantly said. There was no way out of the admission because, if he lied about it, it was easily exposed since his having treated her was a matter of record.

  Wilson’s face lit up, but not in a way Matt liked.

  “Thank God. Do you know where she’s gone?”

  This lie was easy. “Sorry.”

  “You’re sure you have no idea?”

  “Sorry,” he said again. “I can’t help you. I’d left the floor before she was discharged.”

  The man’s expression turned hard. “If you do hear about her, I’d like you to call me.” He took out a business card that read Bob Wilson and handed it over. There was a phone number on the card but nothing else besides the name.

  “What do you do, Mr. Wilson?”

  “I’m in sales.”

  “Why don’t you have that on your card?”

  “I’m between jobs.”

  Matt wanted to ask, “Then why have a card?” but he kept the question to himself.

  Wilson gave Matt a penetrating look, and Matt had the feeling that he wanted to say, “You’re in big trouble if you don’t call.”

  But he said nothing more.

  * * *

  THE RINGING OF THE phone woke Elizabeth, and when she looked outside, it was getting dark.

  She dressed in her new clothes, then hurried into the living room, hoping it might be Matthew Delano on the phone. But it sounded like Polly was talking to someone else. She had a pad of paper and a pencil in her hand and was writing something down.

  When she hung up, she looked at Elizabeth. “A man came to the nursing station asking about you.”

  “Who?”

  “He said his name was Bob Wilson and that he was your brother.”

  “Bob Wilson,” she repeated, saying the name a couple of times aloud.

  “Does that mean anything to you?”

  “No, but th
at’s not surprising. I mean, nothing has come back to me except—” She stopped abruptly.

  “Except what?”

  “Except the part about my name,” she said, unwilling to relate that, when Matthew Delano had touched her, a whole slew of memories had come flashing back to her. But telling Polly about that would sound strange. Really, Elizabeth wouldn’t have believed it herself if it hadn’t happened to her.

  And she didn’t want to make her benefactor think that Elizabeth Doe had lost her marbles as well as her memory. “This Bob Wilson person spoke to someone at the hospital?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Cynthia Price. She’s one of the other nurses on the floor. She heard me and Dr. Delano talking about my taking you home.”

  Elizabeth felt her stomach knot. “But she didn’t tell him where I’d gone?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I asked her not to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Dr. Delano and I both agreed that you’re in some kind of trouble, and it’s best to find out what it is before revealing your location.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed, a feeling of relief settling over her.

  In the next second, it popped into her head that the normal thing to do in this situation would be to call the police, but she dismissed that idea as soon as it surfaced. It simply didn’t feel right. Which was a hunch she didn’t much like.

  She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her upper arms.

  “You look worried,” Polly said.

  “I can’t help wondering if Cynthia told him where I was.”

  “I understand, but she’s very reliable. Why don’t you start dinner? I’ve got something I need to take care of.”

  “If you’ll show me around your kitchen first.”

  Polly led her to the back of the house, where she gave her a quick tour and got out some of the supplies that Elizabeth was going to need, including a big pot.

  “You know how to use an electric stove?”

  “You have to wait a moment for the heat to go up or down.”

  “That’s right. Will you be okay for a while?” Polly asked.

  “I think so.”

  Mrs. Kramer left, and Elizabeth put the pot on the stove, then used the knife and cutting board to chop the onions.

  She put them into the pot with the ground beef and began to sauté them, soothed by the simple act of meal preparation. It was familiar, routine work, but it was also reassuring doing something useful and comforting that she had no problem remembering how to do.

  When the meat began to stick to the bottom of the pot, she turned down the heat and added a little water, stirring as she watched it change from red to brown.

  Should she add the spices while the meat and onions were browning or wait until she got the salsa into the pot?

  She let the task of cooking dinner completely absorb her, breathing in the smell of the chili when she had all the ingredients in the pot, including a can of tomato sauce she found in the pantry because she needed to supplement the salsa. She was just tasting the seasonings when the doorbell rang.

  Elizabeth went rigid, then glanced toward the back door. That guy who’d come to the hospital had found out where she was, and she had to get away before he came in here.

  Chapter Four

  When Polly opened the front door, Matt stepped into the living room. “Thanks for calling me.”

  “I didn’t mean to drag you over, but thanks for coming,” the nurse said.

  “I was telling myself it was unethical to keep seeing Elizabeth. Now I think it’s unethical not to, if I think she’s in trouble.”

  Mrs. Kramer nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In the kitchen. Cooking dinner. I thought it would give her something to do.”

  Matt took an appreciative sniff. “Smells good. Did you have to help her, or did she remember how to fix a meal?”

  “I just showed her around the kitchen, and she got busy all by herself.”

  “Good.”

  They walked to the back of the house and stopped short when they saw the kitchen was empty, a simmering pot was on the stove, and the back door was open.

  “Where is she?” Matt asked, feeling his stomach knot.

  “She was right here,” Polly murmured.

  Matt looked toward the open back door and cursed under his breath. “Did you say something that would frighten her?”

  “I told her a man who called himself Bob Wilson had been asking for her at the nurses’ station. That was before I called you, and you said the same guy had been to your office.”

  Matt clenched his fists as he walked to the back door and looked out at the darkened yard. “She must have heard the doorbell, assumed the worst and ran. You look through the house in case she changed her mind and ducked back inside. I’ll look outside.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have warned her that you were coming over,” Polly said.

  “We’ll find her,” he said, to reassure himself and Mrs. Kramer. As he stepped onto the cracked patio, a security light came on.

  “Elizabeth. Elizabeth, it’s me. Matt Delano,” he called.

  When she didn’t answer, he looked around. Polly’s yard butted against the property in back of her and to the sides. Elizabeth would have to climb over several fences to get far. His gaze landed on the metal storage shed just inside the range of the security light.

  Quickly he hurried to the door and thrust it open, although he didn’t charge inside, because his experiences in Africa had taught him not to rush into an enclosed space if he didn’t know who might be in there. Lucky for him. He jumped back as a baseball bat came swooshing down. It missed his head by less than an inch.

  The woman holding the weapon stared at him. “Oh, Lord, Matthew. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Polly told you someone called the nurses’ station, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think the same guy came to my office after he tried to get information from the staff. He said you were Elizabeth Simmons.”

  “That doesn’t sound right. I mean the last name.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged, looking so lost and helpless that his heart turned over. But she wasn’t exactly helpless. Instinct had told her to run when she’d heard the doorbell ring. And she’d been prepared to defend herself.

  He had vowed not to touch her again, yet the desperate look on her face drew him forward. Unable to stop himself, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms, holding her close as he stepped into the shed.

  “She’s not inside. Did you find her?” Polly’s voice called from behind him.

  “Yes. She’s fine. She’s in here. We’ll be right there,” he managed to say, amazed that he sounded so rational when his brain and his senses were already on overload.

  He said they were coming back, but he didn’t move, only absorbed the reality of Elizabeth’s body molded against his.

  He had been trying to stay away from her. Now he knew that was an impossible goal. Not when they already meant more to each other than anyone had ever meant to either one of them. It was a crazy evaluation. How could two people who had just met mean everything to each other? But he knew it was true as he wrapped her more tightly in his arms.

  In the hospital he’d barely touched her—just his hand on her arm at first—and the memories had come. Then holding her closer had been enough to trigger additional memories and so much more. Now they were alone in a dark, private space where it was impossible to pull away from each other. At least that was the way it felt.

  Her own arms came up and locked around his waist, holding him close, and he was lost to ever
ything except the woman in his arms. Her sweet scent, the feel of her silky skin, the crush of her body against his.

  The same thing happened as before. Memories flooded through him. Her memories. And he knew she was picking up things from him—things that he had tried hard to forget. He was traveling through the backcountry, and he had come to a village that looked deserted. But the smell rising from the huts told him a different story.

  He forced himself to look in one, seeing the mangled bodies of a mother, a father and three children piled on the floor. He backed out, retching, unable to understand why anyone had felt compelled to slaughter innocent civilians who were just trying to live their lives as best they could. Had the rebels done it or the government? He didn’t even know.

  He thrust away the horrible images and slammed into one of Elizabeth’s memories. An early recollection that had always torn at her. She was in an elementary-school classroom. He saw bright pictures on the wall, pictures painted by the students. And words that might be the spelling lesson for the week.

  She was sitting in a chair, watching as other children leaped up and ran to their parents. It must be some sort of special school day, and everyone was hugging and interacting. But Elizabeth sat in her seat, and her mother was standing near the door. Finally Elizabeth got up and ran to the woman, the way the other children had done. But it wasn’t the same. Elizabeth knew it wasn’t the same, and so did her mother. They were separated in ways that Elizabeth didn’t understand. She wanted desperately to bridge that gap, but she didn’t know how.

  The scene was an echo of his own memories. His parents had been well-off. They’d wanted the best for their son—and they’d given Matt everything they could. Even love. And Matt had tried to respond, but he simply couldn’t give them what they craved from him. What he craved, if he were honest about it.

  And now he suddenly had what he had always been searching for, from a woman who was a stranger.

  In her memory, he saw another scene. She was an adult now, bending over a bed, comforting a young and beautiful Asian woman who turned her head away and wouldn’t look her in the eye.