Dangerous Memories

“The least I can do is fix you a bite of breakfast.” Half-afraid he would say no, Leah pushed out of the swing. With an eye on Hunter, she stepped over, picked up the bat, then walked purposely toward the front door, leaving him little choice but to follow.

“You don’t have to do this,” he protested, his gaze sliding warily to the bat. But even as he protested, he took a step toward her.

“Don’t be silly.” She motioned for him to follow her.

The look of relief on his face pricked her conscience again, but she ignored it. Once inside, she leaned the bat against the wall, then led him through the parlor and down a short hallway.

“As long as you’re here,” she told him when they entered the kitchen, “maybe you’d like to take a hot shower—clean up a bit—while I cook breakfast?” She turned to see him inspecting the large kitchen and breakfast area.

“I could definitely use a shower,” he muttered, his gaze settling on her face. “But I really couldn’t impose on you like that.”

“We are friends,” she emphasized. “And it’s not imposing if I invite you. I might even be able to rustle up a clean change of clothes for you as well. Last time my uncle came for a visit, he left a few of his things in the closet.”

While it was true that she had an uncle—a great-uncle—the jeans and shirts had actually belonged to Hunter. When she returned from Orlando, she’d packed them away in a box with intentions of giving them to Goodwill. Only problem was, she never seemed able to remember to put the box in her car.

Leah turned away quickly for fear he would somehow be able to see that she’d lied yet again, and she walked over to the phone sitting on the kitchen counter. “Right now, I need to make a phone call and let the hospital know that I won’t be coming in today.”

“You work at a hospital?”

Leah punched out the numbers of the floor she worked on. “I’m a nurse.”

Her call was answered on the third ring, and in a matter-of-fact tone she explained that she needed to take a sick day.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Hunter said when she hung up the receiver. “Not on my account.”

If only you knew, she thought, and taking a deep breath for courage, she turned and faced him. “It’s no problem. Really it’s not. It seems like forever that I’ve seen you and I could use a day off.” She motioned toward the breakfast table. “Why don’t you have a seat and wait right here while I get you those clothes. Feel free to pour yourself a cup of coffee. It’s decaf.” She turned and headed toward the door leading to the bedrooms. “Coffee mugs are on the counter,” she called out over her shoulder.

When Leah reached her bedroom, she glanced over her shoulder again, just to make sure he hadn’t followed, then she headed straight for the dresser. Sitting on top was an eight-by-ten framed photograph of the two of them taken on their wedding day. She hadn’t hired a professional photographer, and the picture was only an enlarged snapshot taken by a friend, but she’d worn a short veil to go along with the white-lace dress she’d bought, and Hunter had rented a tuxedo for the occasion. One look at that picture, and he’d know that they had been more than just friends.

Leah glanced over her shoulder again, just to make sure that she was alone, then she removed the framed picture and placed it in the bottom drawer of the dresser beneath a stack of out-of-season sweaters. After a quick inspection of the room to make sure there was nothing else incriminating, she headed for the closet. In the bottom of the closet near the back was the small cardboard box that contained the remainder of Hunter’s clothes.

After a brief stop in the guest bathroom, Leah returned to the kitchen. Hunter was seated at the breakfast table, staring out the bay window. His hands were wrapped around a steaming coffee mug.

Just beyond the bay window in the tiny backyard, her grandmother had created a lovely garden oasis surrounded by a wall of camellias, azaleas and a host of other evergreens that thrived in the Uptown neighborhood. In the midst of it all was a small goldfish pond, complete with lily pads, and edged by palmetto palms. A water fountain shaped like a fish rose in the center of the pond, and a water spray flowed continuously from the mouth of the fish.

A heavy feeling that had nothing to do with pregnancy settled in Leah’s stomach. Hunter had loved that particular view, and seeing him sitting there, staring out the window was déjà vu. He’d once told her that all that lush greenery had a soothing, calming effect and was a stark contrast to the depressing shades of gray he was used to seeing. He’d said that the only green to be found in New York City was in Central Park.

When Hunter pulled his gaze from the window and stared up at her, the uneasy, jittery feeling she’d had when she’d first seen him on the porch returned with a vengeance. She quickly placed a pair of jeans and a folded knit shirt on the table. “These should fit you,” she said as she backed away. “Sorry there’s no underwear, but even if there was—I mean, even if my uncle had left some, I figured you wouldn’t want to wear someone else’s.”

She was babbling, she realized, babbling because being in such proximity to him, along with the lies she’d already told, was making her nervous. But who wouldn’t be nervous, given the circumstances?

Taking a deep breath, Leah motioned toward the doorway that led to the guest bathroom. “Just down that hallway to the right is a bathroom you can use when you’re ready. I laid out a couple of clean towels and a washcloth. I also left a new razor and toothbrush on the countertop next to the sink.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “Why are you doing this? There’s no way I can repay you.”

Leah felt her cheeks burn with guilt. Unable to face him, she quickly turned away. “What are friends for?” she murmured, almost choking on the words as she busied herself with preparations for breakfast. “Friends” didn’t begin to describe their relationship, but until she knew more about what had happened to him and why, being friends was a lot safer.

Hunter Davis.

As Hunter entered the bathroom, he mulled over his name. Not wanting any unwelcome surprises, he locked the door behind him, and then glanced around the small room. The name felt right, felt as if it fit and was a hell of a lot better than just plain John Doe. But he didn’t remember it. Even knowing his name hadn’t produced the breakthrough that he’d hoped for. His mind was still a blank.

He eyed the jeans and shirt that the woman named Leah had given him and wondered if, like his name, they would fit. Anything had to be better than the hospital scrubs he’d worn for the past three days. Like him, the scrubs were beginning to smell a little too ripe.

Hunter closed his eyes and breathed deeply and slowly. Leah…Leah Johnson…Leah Johnson… He silently repeated the woman’s name.

Nothing. No revelation, no sudden memories. Nothing.

With a frustrated sigh, he picked up the toothbrush and tore off the packaging. When he’d finished brushing his teeth, he used a bar of soap to lather his face and shaved.

His insides quivered with frustration as he rinsed then dried his face. Throwing the towel on the countertop, he stepped over to the shower, jerked back the shower curtain, and turned on the water. Then he took off his watch and slipped off the shoes. After he stripped off the hospital scrubs, he kicked them into the corner.

There was no doubt that Leah Johnson was the woman in his flashbacks. She was even more beautiful face-to-face, and the extra pounds made her look even more womanly, more sexy.

Friends…

She’d said they were just “really good friends.” So if they were only friends, why would her face be the one he remembered? Even more puzzling, why the ache in his gut when he’d first seen her in the flesh, and why the overwhelming urge to crush her into his arms and taste her lips.

With a shake of his head, Hunter stepped into the shower. “Depends on her definition of ‘friends,’” he muttered. Just how good of friends were they? According to the visions he kept having, “friend” was far too tame to describe the relationship between them. Besides, he couldn’t imagine why he would be “just friends” with a woman as beautiful as she was…unless he was married.

Married. “Damn,” he grunted. It had never even occurred to him to ask her if he was married. Surely she would have said so if he was, wouldn’t she? And she hadn’t said so. Besides, if he was married, it stood to reason that he would have had flashes of his wife’s face, instead of just his friend’s face. And if he was married, why would he have come to New Orleans alone, instead of staying in New York? She’d said he’d come for an extended vacation, but that brought up yet another question. If he lived in New York and had just come for a vacation, why was it this address he remembered?

Too many questions and not enough answers, he decided as he turned his face into the spray. The water was steamy hot, and Hunter savored the feel of it against his skin.

It had been three days since he’d had a real shower. With almost no money, he’d been unable to afford even the shabbiest of motel rooms, neither for sleeping nor for cleaning up. Instead, he’d had to make do with washing up in public rest rooms along the way.

What he really needed was a hot whirlpool to soothe his aching right leg. It had been broken in two places when he’d been thrown from his car. According to the doctor who had treated him, it had healed nicely, but it still ached when he walked a lot. And he’d walked a lot during the past three days.

In addition to his leg aching like hell, the two nights he’d spent with hardly any sleep had exhausted him. By the time he’d found the address that kept flashing in and out of his head, it had been past midnight, far too late to be knocking on anyone’s door, especially someone he wasn’t sure he even knew.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the porch. He’d only meant to sit there and wait until morning, until a decent hour to knock on the door. He’d chosen the spot near the steps to wait because he’d needed cover from the prying eyes of neighbors and any patrol cars that might pass by. After everything he’d been through, the last thing he’d wanted was to be picked up by the police, and the huge bush near the steps was wide enough and tall enough to provide just the right amount of cover.

Hunter wrinkled his nose and sniffed. The bathroom door was closed and the shower was running full blast, but he could swear he smelled bacon frying.

She’d said she would fix him breakfast, and Hunter’s mouth watered at just the thought of food.

Not only had it been three days since he’d showered, but the last meal he could remember eating was the egg sandwich he’d had yesterday morning. Unfortunately, it had been the last of his money as well.

At the thought of the money, Hunter swallowed hard and lathered his upper body. Then, using the washcloth, he scrubbed with a vengeance, as if doing so would scrub away the thoughts of how he’d gotten the money.

Stolen money.

Jumping the hospital guard outside his room and knocking him unconscious had been bad enough, but stealing the man’s wallet, his watch and his shoes was even worse. Hunter heaved a sigh. Desperate measures called for desperate actions, and he had been desperate…desperate to escape. Besides, it hadn’t been much money, just barely enough to eat on during the three days he’d been hitchhiking. The shoes weren’t that great, either. They were too tight for one thing. But wearing tight shoes beat the hell out of going barefoot. As for the watch, it wasn’t as if it was gold or anything. It probably didn’t cost more than twenty dollars at most.

Even with all his excuses for doing what he’d done, he felt badly about it. Even before Leah had told him he was a cop, stealing from the guard had bothered him enough to realize that, whatever he was, he was no thief. And somehow, some way, he fully intended to repay every penny he’d taken, including enough to buy the man a new pair of shoes and a new watch. But first he needed to figure out why there had been a guard posted outside his hospital room…and why the hospital had been holding him prisoner.

Hunter turned off the shower, grabbed the towel Leah had left for him and vigorously dried himself. He’d been lucky. When he’d gone in search of something to wear other than the skimpy hospital gown, he’d come upon an unattended cart of sheets, towels and blankets not far from his hospital room. On the cart, secured in a clear plastic bag, were clean scrubs. He’d snatched the bag, and just as he ducked into an empty room to change, he heard the footsteps of the attendant returning to distribute the contents of the cart. Wearing the scrubs and the security guard’s shoes, he’d been able to walk right out without a hassle.

Once outside, he’d only had to walk a couple of blocks before he spotted an all-night café. Judging by all the eighteen-wheelers in the parking lot, the café was also a popular truck stop. Thanks to the generosity of one wizened old trucker, he’d been able to hitch a ride all the way to Alabama.

Hunter pulled on the jeans and shirt. He’d had a lot of time to think on the road, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that there was more to his situation than just the accident, more than just having amnesia. And despite Leah’s statement about them being “just friends,” Hunter’s gut feeling told him that there was a good possibility that she knew more than she was telling. With every fiber of his being, he was certain that she was the key that could unlock his memory, the key to the whole puzzle.

But could he trust her? Should he trust her? After what he’d been through, he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone.

No fingerprints on record.

“Impossible,” Leah muttered as she cracked an egg and dropped the yoke and egg white into the skillet of heated oil. The oil popped and crackled as the egg cooked, and Leah tilted her head to one side when she heard the water pipes in the old house groaning, an indication that Hunter had cut off the shower.

She returned her attention to the egg, and in one smooth motion, flipped it over.

No fingerprints.

Definitely impossible…unless…unless he’d lied about the police not being able to find a match. But what reason would he have to lie?

Leah shook her head. No reason. To be fair, there could be another explanation. The police could have lied to him, just as they had lied to her.

Again though, why? What she needed were answers. But she didn’t have a clue as to how to get them or even where to begin. For all she knew, Hunter could have lied about everything from the very beginning. About being a cop. About his medical leave.

“No!” she muttered with a determined shake of her head, denying the possibility of such a thing. There had to be something else, some other reason for all that had happened.

Suddenly, Leah grew stone still, the spatula in her hand poised just above the skillet. She couldn’t explain it, but without looking, she knew the exact moment Hunter entered the kitchen.

She cleared her throat, mostly to swallow the lump that had formed in it. “You timed that just about right,” she said, scooping the egg from the skillet and sliding it onto a plate next to the first one she’d cooked.

Only then did she glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, he was standing just inside the doorway.

He’d shaved, she noted. The clothes she’d given him didn’t fit quite as well as they had the last time she’d seen him wear them. He’d lost weight, just enough so that the jeans no longer hugged him like a second skin, and the knit shirt was loose instead of molded to his body.

Leah frowned. Though he’d combed his hair, it was still damp from the shower. She should have thought to tell him where she kept the hair dryer.

The sight of Hunter standing there with wet hair reminded her of the first time she’d seen him, and like an old-time movie reel, a kaleidoscope of images played through her mind.

It had been the end of February, the week before Mardi Gras Day, and she’d worked a night shift at the hospital. Though it wasn’t something she normally did, after she left the hospital, she’d let her friend, Christine, persuade her to meet a couple of their co-workers at Café Du Monde in the Quarter for coffee and beignets. Surprisingly the outdoor coffeehouse hadn’t been overly crowded from the influx of tourists in town for Mardi Gras festivities. Leah had decided that most of the visitors were probably still in their hotel rooms sleeping off their previous night of debauchery and carousing.

The sky had been overcast with dark clouds, the damp air of the Mississippi River chilly and breezy. She’d just seated herself with her friends, when it suddenly began to rain. She’d glanced up, and that’s when she’d seen him. He’d been running across the street to take shelter beneath the deep overhang around the outdoor coffeehouse. In his path was a bedraggled bag lady struggling with her shopping cart full of junk that she’d collected.

Then, something amazing had happened, something rarely seen in the Quarter. Though it meant getting soaked, he had stopped long enough to help the old woman push her cart up out of the street onto the sidewalk that ran in front of the coffeehouse. Then he’d pushed it beneath the shelter of the overhang. By the time he’d sat down at a nearby table, he’d been soaking wet.

“Is something wrong?”

Hunter’s question jerked her back to the present. “No—nothing’s wrong,” she told him. She motioned toward the plate of food on the cabinet. “I hope you like your eggs fried.” She already knew he did, but did he remember that he did?

Hunter shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” He stepped farther into the room.

With the spatula, she motioned toward the refrigerator. “There’s orange juice and apple juice in the fridge. Pour yourself a glass of whichever you want and be seated.” She grabbed a mitt and opened the oven door. “Yep, perfect timing,” she reiterated. “Even the biscuits are ready.” A couple of minutes later, she placed the plate of food on the table in front of him. On the plate were the two fried eggs, grits, bacon and a couple of the hot biscuits that she’d buttered as soon as she’d removed them from the oven.

“This looks great,” he told her.

“I’m afraid that the only kind of jelly I have is fig preserves,” she said. “Is that okay?”

Before she realized his intentions, he grabbed her wrist. “You tell me.”

Chapter 3

Leah swallowed hard. Hunter’s manacle grip was anything but gentle, but it was the hard, cold look in his eyes that sent a shiver of fear racing up her spine. “Tell you?” she cried. “Tell you what?” She tugged on her wrist, but his grip tightened.

“If, as you claim, we’re such good friends,” he sneered, “then you would damn well know my likes and dislikes, wouldn’t you?”

Leah tensed and desperation clawed at her insides. She’d been a fool, a lovesick fool. Only a complete idiot would let herself get caught alone with a man with no memory of a past that was questionable.

Stay calm and think. Use your brain. If it came down to a physical confrontation, she’d lose, hands down. Even though Hunter had lost weight, he still outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds. The only thing to do was try to bluff her way out of the situation.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing—” She looked pointedly at his hand around her wrist. “Whatever it is, stop it,” she demanded. “And let go of my arm. Now, please.”

For long seconds he simply stared at her as an array of expressions crossed his face. First confusion, then, when he glanced down at his hand wrapped around her wrist, he paled and confusion changed to shock.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, immediately releasing her. Propping both elbows on the table, he dropped his head forward, and supporting his head with the heels of his hands, he squeezed his eyes closed. “Sorry.” He slowly shook his head from side to side. “I didn’t mean to—it’s just that—” He dropped his hands and looked up at her, his eyes reflecting his genuine remorse. “Everything’s so damn confusing. I don’t know what to think, who to trust, how to act.”

Leah was still wary, but her heart ached for him as she watched him struggle for composure. “It’s okay,” she told him gently. “I guess I’m a bit jumpy, too. It’s not every day that a long-lost friend shows up on my doorstep. In hospital scrubs, knowing my name.” Though she was serious about being jumpy, the last was said in an effort to relieve the tension, an effort that fell flat if his expression was any gauge.

He shook his head. “No—you don’t understand. I need some answers.”

“Well, of course you do,” she said.

At her placating tone, warning bells went off in Hunter’s head, and he threw her a wary look.

“Considering your condition it’s only natural that you want answers,” she continued.

Her tone and expression were full of what seemed like genuine concern, but beneath it all, he sensed fear as well. Was she simply telling him what she thought he wanted to hear? Was the concern reflected in her eyes real or fake?

“Yeah, I want answers,” he finally agreed. “But there’s more to it than just the amnesia.” The not knowing about his past was driving him crazy, and while it was true that he needed answers, even worse than not knowing about himself was the issue of not knowing who to trust. Once again he had to ask himself if he could trust her.

Hunter stared deep into her eyes as if doing so would tell him whether she was trustworthy. He wanted to trust her, and the last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him.

At some point, you have to trust someone. Either that or end up running for the rest of your life.

There was no way he could keep running and, to give her credit, so far she’d done nothing suspicious, nothing but try to help…the food, the clothes…

Hunter swallowed hard. “You know that hospital I told you about?”

Leah nodded.

“They didn’t just release me. I was being held there against my will, and I had to escape.”

Leah backed away from him. First the amnesia, and now he was delusional as well, unless… It had been her experience that the only people they locked up in hospitals were mental patients.

Stay calm. Don’t panic. She forced a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure it seemed like that to you, but—”

His eyes suddenly blazed with fury. “Not just seemed, dammit!” He slammed his fist against the top of the table so hard the dishes rattled. “I’m telling you that I was being kept a prisoner.”

Leah threw up her hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay.” She forced calmness in her voice that she didn’t feel. “Just take it easy.”

Hunter sighed heavily. “Sorry.” His face was bleak with regret. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

Leah’s tensed muscles relaxed somewhat and she felt her professional instincts kick in. In an even, soothing voice, she said, “Maybe if you talk about it, I might understand better. Why don’t you tell me about it—about your stay at the hospital—and the reasons you think you were being held prisoner.”

After a moment, he finally nodded.

Keeping an eagle eye on Hunter, Leah sidestepped over to the cabinet. “Just let me get something to drink.” Without waiting for a response, she poured a glass of apple juice, then seated herself across the table from him. She motioned toward his plate. “Your food’s getting cold. Eat first. Then talk.”

When something that resembled a grin tugged at the corners of his lips, Leah relaxed even more.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled and gave her a two-fingered salute. “Aren’t you eating, too?”

Leah shook her head. “I ate earlier,” she lied. Truth was, she was far too nervous and her emotions in too much chaos to eat, even if she wanted to.

Before Leah had finished even half her juice, Hunter had polished off every bite of food on his plate.

“That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he told her. “From the bottom of my heart and my stomach, thank you.”