Identity Crisis

“What do you mean nothing to indicate a cause for her amnesia?” Gage straightened—his interest piqued, in spite of himself.

The doctor shrugged. “Retrograde amnesia is often the result of a traumatic event combined with a head injury. Mallory has some short-term memory still intact, which even more strongly indicates a traumatic psychological event. However, without knowing what the source of the potential trauma could be, there really isn’t anything we can do. We’ve already performed a CT scan of her head and didn’t find any bleeding. When her brain can handle her memory, I’m sure it will return.”

Gage rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “So now what? Does she need to stay here? Get more tests?”

“No, that’s not necessary. We’ve ruled out a head bleed. More tests aren’t going to give any input into the source of her amnesia. I’d recommend she be released home, with instructions to follow up with her primary-care doctor in a week. But she really shouldn’t be left alone. At least, not until her memory begins to return.”

“I’m sure her sister will keep her company.” Gage sighed again. Once he managed to find her.

He hoped, prayed, Alyssa hadn’t found someone new. Someone from her church, who went to every single Bible study group meeting no matter what. Someone who may have already replaced him in her heart.

“Good. We’ll finish that discharge paperwork.”

Gage fell silent after the doctor left the room. He was surprised to find he felt sorry for Mallory. In her current, injured state, he found her less irritating. Although the situation frustrated him to no end. Where was Alyssa?

“A sister? I have a sister?”

He lifted his gaze to meet her abruptly hopeful one. His annoyance faded a bit. “Yeah. Your parents are gone, but you do have a sister. Alyssa is your twin and she’s an amazing person.”

Mallory’s gaze turned curious. “Wow. Sounds like you care about her.”

“Yes, I do. Very much,” he answered honestly.

“Alyssa.” She repeated the name, wrinkling her forehead in concentration. “It’s so wrong not to remember a twin sister. But the name seems right. Mallory and Alyssa. We’re close?”

“Yes, you’re close,” Gage admitted, because it was true. Despite their differences, the twins always stood by each other no matter what.

“Where is she?” Mallory looked perplexed. “If we’re close, why isn’t she here?”

“Good question.” He reached for his cell phone and redialed. After several long rings there was no answer. He didn’t bother leaving another message. “We’ll have to stop over there tomorrow. For now, we’ll go back to your place. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“The sofa?” Her blue eyes, so much like Alyssa’s, widened in horror. “I’d rather you slept in your car. What part of this don’t you understand? I don’t know you!”

Her barely restrained annoyance gave more credence to her story than anything else could have. She looked at him as if she detested the sight of him. And maybe she did. He couldn’t figure Mallory out. Had never really wanted to.

With a frown, Gage stood. Mallory was more tolerable with amnesia, but he still longed to drop her off as soon as possible. Unfortunately, he was stuck with her until he could find her twin.

So where on earth was Alyssa?

TWO

Even after the hospital staff finally left her alone, she couldn’t relax. Her pulse skipped erratically in her chest. Panic clawed up and over her back. Why couldn’t she remember?

She fought for control against the invisible demons that snarled in her mind, holding her memory hostage. Logic told her she was in the hospital, but nothing looked familiar. The room was little more than a cubicle, three walls but no real door, just a privacy curtain drawn across the opening. She clutched the blanket tighter. She felt exposed. The flimsy curtain wouldn’t protect her. Anyone could come in at any time. Anyone.

Like the tall, ruggedly handsome stranger waiting to take her home.

Run! Run! The urge to flee merged with panic. Something was wrong. Very, very, wrong. Certainty seeped into her bones, injecting her with the strength to move. She scrambled from the bed, wincing as her swollen and sprained ankle zinged when her foot hit the floor, and reached for her clothes. Maybe she didn’t feel entirely safe around the large, sandy-haired man with the square jaw and golden-brown eyes, but she wasn’t afraid of him, either. She grasped the slight distinction eagerly.

Her mind felt as if she were swimming through fog with no shore in sight. She pulled on her jeans, pausing when she noticed two small dark stains. Dried blood? From her head? She put a hand to the bruise above her forehead. No. Her throat closed and she gagged. From someone else. She wildly kicked the jeans off, chest heaving from the effort, pain searing her ankle. The denim landed halfway across the room. Frantic, she rifled through the linens on the cart next to the bed. What could she wear? Scrubs maybe?

“Are you ready?” The deep male voice from the other side of the curtain startled her. She stumbled against the bed, clumsily covering herself with the blanket from the bed.

“No! Stay out!” She stayed where she was until convinced he wasn’t coming in. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths, fighting a wave of dizziness. Come on, get a grip. Steeling her resolve, she forced herself to limp across the room to fetch the dreaded clothes. With an effort she donned the midriff-baring T-shirt and hip-hugging jeans.

The name Mallory seemed right but the clothes felt foreign. Wearing such tightly fitting jeans and T-shirt was embarrassing. Why did she wear them? Didn’t she care if others stared? Mallory gave her head a shake, and then winced as the pickax hammering in her head intensified.

This wasn’t the time to worry about her clothes. Focus. She needed to focus. Urgency propelled her forward. With a suppressed shiver she pulled on the lightweight denim jacket. The bottom of the jacket barely met the waistband on her jeans. She tugged on it, as if she could will it longer, and then gave up. Close enough.

She picked up the huge, gaudy purse, slung it over her shoulder and yanked the curtain aside with a snap. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

His gaze raked over her and she fought the urge to tug once more on the short hem of her T-shirt. His amber eyes held no clue to his thoughts. “Great.”

He led the way through the emergency room, keeping his pace slow so she could keep up with her bum ankle. She swept a glance over the occupants of the waiting room, her attention snagged by a hacking cough. Despite her desire to leave as quickly as possible, her steps slowed to a stop.

An elderly woman sat huddled in a corner, her lips as blue as her hair. Mallory abruptly changed course, heading toward the woman, who held a crumpled, blood-stained tissue in the palm of her hand. The poor woman looked as if she was ready to take her last breath.

“Get a doctor over here, now!” Mallory called out to a passing nurse. “This woman’s on the verge of respiratory arrest.”

The harried nurse sputtered an argument but then noticed the same bluish tinge to the woman’s lips that had drawn Mallory’s attention. “I’ll get an oxygen tank.”

Seconds later, the nurse hurried over wheeling an oxygen tank. She cranked up the dial and placed an oxygen mask over the elderly woman’s face. “Take a deep breath, Mrs. Sullivan. We’re going to get you into a room right now.” The nurse touched a button on a device hanging from a lanyard around her neck that must have functioned like some sort of intercom. “Steve, I need a wheelchair brought into the waiting room, stat.”

Mallory watched as one of the orderlies brought over a wheelchair. Soon, the elderly woman was escorted back. Satisfied, she turned back toward the entrance.

Only to find the tall stranger staring at her in shocked surprise. “What was that about?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did you know she was going into respiratory arrest?” His gaze was suspicious and faintly accusing.

Good question. How had she known? “I’m not sure.”

He stared at her again, seemingly at a loss for words. She couldn’t understand his reaction, especially when he abruptly turned and continued walking through the door.

She quickened her gimpy pace, following him through the doors to the parking lot. “Wait! I can’t move that fast!”

He spun around and came back toward her, his face pulled into a grimace. “Sorry,” he muttered, although somehow she suspected that deep down he really wasn’t.

Mallory didn’t know why she annoyed him, but worse, she couldn’t remember his name. Had he even told her? She couldn’t remember. Her head hurt so badly she could barely concentrate.

And suddenly, the nearly invisible thread of control snapped. “Look, Mr. Whatever-Your-Name is, I don’t know what your problem is and I don’t care. Have you forgotten your promise to take me home? Or are you going to leave me stranded here without a ride?”

“I said I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and she couldn’t help noticing the deep grooves of fatigue bracketing the sides of his mouth. Maybe it wasn’t personal. Maybe he was just tired. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you stranded.”

He seemed to be making an effort to remain calm, adjusting his stride to meet hers, as they headed across the parking lot. He opened the door of a pickup truck and gestured for her to get in. Her tight jeans hindered her movement as she tried to jump into the truck seat.

“Do you need help?”

“No.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she struggled to leverage herself up and into the truck. He waited patiently then closed the door gently but firmly once she was safely inside.

She let out a tiny breath of relief when he climbed in beside her. She couldn’t explain why she wanted to get away from the hospital, but the need to escape couldn’t be ignored. She placed her palms on her thighs, trying to hide the bloodstains. If he saw them, he’d have questions, and unfortunately she didn’t have any answers.

She wished more than anything that she didn’t have to depend on him to take her home. His shoulders strained at the seams of his white cotton shirt as he started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. The cuffs of his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. Dark hair sprinkled his skin. She fought the absurd urge to touch him.

“Gage.”

She tore her glance from the mesmerizing strength of his arms. “Excuse me?”

“My name is Gage Drummond. Alyssa and I are—close friends.”

Mallory lobbed the name through the spacious portion of her brain where her memory should have been. Gage was a nice name. “Yes. So you said.”

He kept his eyes glued to the road. “Alyssa is a nurse. She works in the emergency department of Trinity Medical Center.”

“I see.” Mallory filed away that small tidbit of information. She had a twin sister who was a nurse and her boyfriend’s name was Gage. Comforting, to a certain extent, to know she wasn’t completely alone in the world. “Am I a nurse, too?”

“No.” His response was terse. “You’re an interior designer, working for a large architectural firm. You create color schemes for offices, hospitals, that sort of thing. So don’t you think it’s odd that you knew that woman was about to go into respiratory arrest?”

“Her lips were blue,” she said, even though a blanket of unease settled over her, worse than the one she’d felt earlier when she’d woken up in the hospital with a fog-filled brain. The minute she’d noticed the elderly woman in the corner, she’d known something was wrong. Respiratory arrest was when someone stopped breathing. Despite Gage’s claim she was a designer, she must have had some exposure to hospitals. Maybe she’d tried to follow her sister into nursing, but then dropped out? Why on earth couldn’t she remember? Mallory licked suddenly dry lips and tried to shrug. “Everyone knows blue lips are a bad sign.”

Gage’s laugh didn’t hold any mirth. “Yeah, maybe. Or this is part of some weird way of changing yourself into someone I’d like. Don’t bother trying to flirt with me again. I happen to love Alyssa.”

Mallory gaped at him in shock. “What are you talking about?” His comment floored her. Why would she try to flirt with him? Before he became involved with Alyssa? Or after? She felt a little sick that she might have treated her sister that way.

“Never mind,” he said, as if he regretted bringing the subject up in the first place.

Ignoring the pounding in her head, she lifted her chin. “Rest assured I’m not interested in flirting with you.”

“Good.”

Silence hung heavy between them. Mallory shifted her attention to the scenery outside her window, at least the part she could see through the darkness. Arguing with the stranger had temporarily held fear at bay, but without something to occupy her brain, the sense of doom clung, lining her clothes, abrading her skin.

The night swallowed them, yet she felt safer inside the truck next to Gage than she had inside the busy, well-lit emergency department. Why? Why did she feel safer with a stranger? Peering through the window, she sought the source of her earlier apprehension. Was someone out there, looking for her? Whose blood stained her clothes?

Her blank memory didn’t supply any answers. Outside, there was the faintest hue of light near the horizon, telling her dawn wasn’t too far off. Yet dozens of stars still littered the sky. Leafy green trees and mild temperatures told her the season was summer. The seemingly calm and peaceful landscape was at odds with her inner angst.

Where, exactly, were they? Why wouldn’t this haze over her mind go away? She focused on several street signs, seeking even one that seemed familiar. All the while, she was keenly aware of the stranger’s disapproving presence beside her.

Not a stranger. Gage. Gage Drummond. She forced herself to use his name. They weren’t strangers just because she couldn’t remember him. He obviously knew her, at least enough to offer a ride in the middle of the night. But enough to protect her from harm? That she wasn’t sure of. How could she have tried to flirt with him?

She risked a glance at him from beneath her lashes. There was no denying Gage was a very attractive man. Obviously, her sister was a very lucky woman. Her gaze clung to his hand, so strong, so capable on the steering wheel. His arms were firmly muscled and tan as if he spent a lot of time in the sun. She clenched her hands in her lap to keep from reaching out to touch him.

Gage and Alyssa were close, but where was Alyssa now? She found it odd how he didn’t seem to have a clue where to find her. How often did a guy lose his girlfriend? Maybe he wasn’t being entirely truthful. Maybe her sister’s relationship with this man was on the rocks. Mallory swallowed hard. Harboring a secret attraction for her sister’s boyfriend made her a horrible sister. She had to stop thinking about him, right now. So what if Gage exuded a confident strength she was drawn to? A strength she longed to lean upon?

Gage wasn’t anything to her. She didn’t even remember him. Rocky relationship or not, he belonged to Alyssa. Besides, he couldn’t have made his feelings toward her more clear.

Forget about him. Even if Gage didn’t know where her sister was, his feelings were obviously tangled into knots over it. And since she was dependent on him, she decided it was time to make amends. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For whatever I did to put a wedge between you and Alyssa.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “There is no wedge between me and Alyssa. And Mallory doesn’t apologize. Ever.”

She didn’t need her memory to know she couldn’t win this one. She threw her hand up then lightly tapped the side of her temple. “Silly me, I forgot.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. “Consider my apology rescinded.”

A few minutes later, Gage pulled up in front of a fancy-looking building in the heart of the city. She tensed and stared. Was this some sort of test? Did she really live here?

“Where are we?” She hated having to ask.

“Your place. Do you have your keys?” Gage asked, pausing in the act of opening his door.

“No. I meant what city?”

“Milwaukee, Wisconsin.” He held out his hand patiently. “I need your keys.”

Milwaukee didn’t sound dangerous, but the sense of urgency wouldn’t leave her alone. Mallory pulled open her large, gaudy purse and searched for the keys. She’d already gone through her wallet and found the pitiful amount of cash and her driver’s license. There was also a package of tissues, a glittery hair clip, enough cosmetics to stock several counters at the department store and a hairbrush. No cell phone, which she thought odd. Why wouldn’t she have a cell phone? Finally, her fingers closed around a ring of keys. Feeling relieved, she pulled them out and dangled them in front of him.

Gage grabbed them and jumped out of the truck. She slid out of the passenger side, favoring her ankle as she landed on the sidewalk. She followed him, moving at a much slower pace. The back of her neck tingled when she watched him use her key to gain access to the secured building. He held the door open for her, and Mallory felt admiration for his polite gestures. But before she crossed the threshold, she couldn’t resist a furtive glance over her shoulder. No one lurked behind them. At least not that she could see.

But she kept wondering if someone was out there. Following her. Watching her.

Trying to control a flash of anxiety, she turned her attention to the building where she lived. The place was fancy, all chrome and glass with a decor that reeked of money. Had she designed the color scheme for this building? She guessed the condos inside were not of the traditional postage-stamp variety.

Gage waited, one strong arm holding open the elevator door for her. The elevator was surrounded by glass windows, providing a breathtaking view of the city lights. Yet she couldn’t help feeling exposed, knowing that anyone outside could easily see them standing inside.

She tried to ignore the increasing paranoia. Was that a common reaction for people who had amnesia? Maybe.

When Gage reached over and pushed the button for the fifteenth floor, she was hit by a sense of familiarity. As if she’d done the same thing herself.

Her head ached with the strain of trying to remember. The sense of urgency grew stronger, and she tapped her foot as the elevator slid upward. The flashes of familiarity were encouraging. Maybe her memory would return after she’d gotten into more familiar surroundings. When the elevator doors opened on the fifteenth floor, she eagerly stepped out.

Oddly enough, there was only one door. Did she live in some sort of penthouse? Silently he used her key to gain access. Warily she stepped inside. The condo was huge, decorated with red furniture, black and red kitchen cabinets and white walls. Large windows lined one entire wall, giving her a breathtaking view of Lake Michigan.

“Wow.” Drawn by the cool, calm water, where the sun was just beginning to creep up the horizon, she hobbled to the window. The lake was a balm to her frayed nerves. “I have spectacular taste,” she murmured, impressed with the view.

Gage grunted, hovering in the entrance, as if uncomfortable in her private space. “You obviously like a lot of bold colors.”

Bold colors were an understatement. She wasn’t about to admit that the deep red, blue and black interior had almost made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. She must have liked the furnishings at some point in time. She swept a gaze over the room, noting a short hallway off to the left where she assumed her bedroom and bathroom were located.

“Have anything to drink around here?” Gage asked.

She glanced at him, raising a brow. “How would I know? I’ll have to look.”

When she limped in the direction of her kitchen, he frowned and glanced at her swollen ankle as if he could tell the pain was getting worse with each step. “Stay put, you should rest that ankle. I’ll do it.” He walked toward the fridge and opened the door. She paused, nearly shedding her jacket but then swiftly reconsidering, remembering the midriff-baring T-shirt. Better to stay covered up.

Feeling awkward in her own surroundings, she watched as Gage rummaged around and finally withdrew a jug of orange juice.

“Want some?” He held the container and two glasses. The expression on his face was carefully polite. His cinnamon-colored eyes looked directly into hers.

She dragged her gaze away with an effort. “Sure. I need to take the anti-inflammatory that the doctor prescribed.” She pulled the pill bottle out of her purse. “He assured me it’s only a sprain, but my ankle really hurts.”

The inane conversation didn’t bring the normalcy she desired. She was home, but something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones. There was nothing homey about this condo. Frankly, she couldn’t imagine living there.

He poured her a glass of juice and she stepped closer, wary of invading his space. Silly, considering they were in her condo. She tossed the pills back and quickly took a sip of juice. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat.

“Anything look familiar?” Gage cocked an eyebrow over the rim of his glass.

“No.” She downed the rest of the juice in a big gulp then set the glass down with a thud. The condo should be a safe haven, but a strong sense of disquiet kept her off balance. She fingered the bloodstains on her jeans and then wrapped her arms around her body, warding off a chill.

What would Gage say if she wrapped her arms around his lean waist, asking him to hold her? He was a stranger, but so far he was the only person who made her feel safe. The condo wasn’t much better than the hospital. Would she ever feel safe again? She glanced at Gage, noted the restlessness in his eyes. She didn’t want him to leave, yet he just as clearly didn’t want to stick around.

For a moment panic surged at the thought of being left here alone. She reached out to touch his arm, a solid anchor for her shaky, trembling foundation. “Gage—”

A sizzle of awareness leaped between them. Gage jerked from her touch, sending a wave of juice sloshing to the floor.

Mallory snatched her hand away, her fingers tingling from the solid warmth of his skin.

“I have to go. I’ll check on you later.” Gage hastily set his half-full glass down on the counter. Stepping over the mess, he gave her a wide berth as he headed for the door.

Mallory couldn’t think of a single thing to say as he left the condo. She didn’t understand the urge to beg him not to go. He might be a close friend of her twin, but he was still a stranger. Her knees gave way as she sank onto the nearest chair. Loneliness surrounded her, magnifying her dread.

She didn’t want to stay here, but where could she go? What could she do? Run after Gage? Beg him to take her home with him? Throw herself into his arms?

She buried her face in her hands, full of self-loathing. What kind of person was she? And what sort of mess had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Gage’s hands shook, making it difficult to slide the truck key into the ignition. Finally he jammed the metal home and started the truck with a twist of his wrist. He floored the accelerator, speeding away from Mallory’s high-rise condo as if his life depended on putting distance between them.

His heart nearly hammered its way out of his chest. What was wrong with him? He must have accidently touched Mallory a dozen times in passing and never once experienced the jolt of electricity like the one that just zapped him. He rubbed a shaky hand over the stubble on his chin. He must be losing his mind. Alyssa was the twin he was attracted to. Not Mallory.

Calmer now, he realized he’d reacted that way only because he missed Alyssa. She’d broken things off, but he wanted to win her back. Somehow he’d transposed his feelings for Alyssa onto Mallory. Because Mallory with amnesia wasn’t acting like Mallory. Twisted logic? Maybe. But he couldn’t come up with anything else that made sense.