What She Forgot Page 3

  “Hello,” the woman said pleasantly. “Up for a little visit?”

  Andrea shrugged, immediately on guard. But the woman’s smile was infectious, and Andrea soon found her uneasiness fading. The woman was tall, at least five-eight or five-nine, and very slender, with short, glossy black hair and dark brown eyes that tipped slightly at the corners. She wore faded jeans, a yellow T-shirt and a pair of running shoes that had definitely seen better days.

  “I’m Madison Stoner,” she said. “It seems we have a mutual acquaintance.”

  Andrea looked at her in surprise. “You mean Sergeant Stoner? Are you his wife?”

  The brown eyes twinkled. “No, thank God. I’m his sister, which might have just as many disadvantages, come to think of it.” She set her macramé bag in the chair and came to stand beside Andrea’s bed. Not too close, though. She was careful to keep an unthreatening distance, Andrea noted.

  “You’re the psychiatrist he told me about,” she said with sudden insight.

  Dr. Stoner gave her a mock frown. “Am I that transparent?”

  Was she? Andrea wasn’t sure how she’d identified the woman so quickly. How she had associated that calm voice and nonjudgmental expression with those of a psychiatrist.

  She’ll lock you in the dark room if you’re not careful. “I don’t know what your brother told you, but I’m not crazy,” Andrea said, moistening her dry lips. “I just can’t remember.”

  Dr. Stoner smiled sympathetically. “Yes, I know. That must be pretty scary.”

  Scary? Her amnesia was terrifying, but Andrea knew remembering would be worse. Remembering would be the death of her.

  She couldn’t afford to let Dr. Stoner help her regain her memory, and she couldn’t let Sergeant Stoner suspect her resistance. It was all so tricky, this deception. So nerve-racking. Andrea felt the onslaught of a terrific headache. She massaged her temples with her fingertips.

  “Are you in pain, Andrea?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “You sure? I could ring for the nurse.”

  “No, I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “I won’t stay long,” Dr. Stoner assured her with another warm smile. “But as long as I’m here, we might as well get acquainted. Do you mind if I sit?”

  “Of course not.”

  Dr. Stoner tossed her purse onto the floor and sat. “So.” She crossed her long legs and smiled at Andrea. “What do you think of my brother?”

  The question was so unexpected that Andrea found herself blurting out the truth. “He’s very good-looking.”

  Madison laughed. “You aren’t the first woman to have noticed that. He’s quite the lady-killer, my brother.”

  Andrea wondered what Sergeant Stoner would say if he could hear the way his sister talked about him to a complete stranger. Dr. Stoner wasn’t like any psychiatrist Andrea had ever known, but then, she had no idea how many she had known.

  She fingered her wedding band. “Is…he married?”

  “Troy? Please. He has an aversion to commitment. But then, all the Stoners seem to suffer from that affliction. None of my other brothers are married, either.”

  “How many brothers do you have?”

  “Three. Ray’s the oldest, then Mitch, and then Troy. They’re all cops, and so is my dad. Or he was, until he retired last month. Can you imagine what my social life has been like?” She laughed without rancor, and her brown eyes tilted even more.

  “An entire family of cops,” Andrea murmured. The notion intrigued her for some reason.

  “Oh, you have no idea. My family’s fascination with law enforcement goes back a long way. Both of my grandfathers were police officers, and one of my great-grandmothers was a county sheriff,” she said with obvious pride.

  “Why didn’t you go into law enforcement?” Andrea asked.

  A wistful smile touched Dr. Stoner’s lips. “I almost did. Up until I went to college, I had every intention of following in the Stoner tradition.”

  “What happened?”

  The smile disappeared. “Oh…that’s a long story. Anyway, I’ve found being a psychiatrist has its distinct advantages in my family. My brothers usually steer clear of me because they’re afraid I’ll try to psychoanalyze them. No cop can stand that.”

  Andrea glanced at Dr. Stoner’s hands folded in her lap. Her fingers were long and graceful, like those of a pianist, and unadorned with rings. “You aren’t married, either, then?”

  “No. But I see that you wear a wedding band. It’s very beautiful,” Dr. Stoner said.

  The transition was made so skillfully, Andrea was hardly aware of it. She lifted her hand and studied the diamonds.

  “You don’t remember your husband, do you?” Dr. Stoner asked softly. “That must be very troubling.”

  If you only knew.

  “Have you had any flashes of memory at all?”

  A dark room. A knife. Someone named Mayela. What did it all mean? “I don’t think so,” Andrea said. “At least nothing that makes any sense.”

  “It probably won’t for a while. Everything will seem hazy at first, but then your memories will become clearer and clearer until eventually, everything will click back into place.”

  “You make it sound like a puzzle.”

  “It is, in a way. Almost all of the pieces are missing right now, but as you find each piece, the bigger picture will start to take shape.”

  “How do I find the missing pieces?” Andrea asked fearfully.

  “You may not have to. They may find you. But if they don’t, there are certain procedures that might help you.”

  “Such as?”

  “Regressive hypnosis, for one thing.”

  “Hypnosis?” Why was that idea so terrifying? Because she was afraid to remember what had happened? What she might have done? Andrea shivered.

  “Does the idea of hypnosis disturb you, Andrea?”

  “No, it’s just…”

  Dr. Stoner smiled. “I understand. Everything is very confusing for you right now. But try not to worry. I’m willing to bet your memory will return on its own in a few days. All you need is a little time.”

  But how much time did she have? Andrea wondered. How much time before they found her?

  Who’s they? her mind screamed in frustration.

  Dr. Stoner picked up her purse and stood. “I can see you’re getting tired. Why don’t I let you get some rest and we’ll talk again later. That is, if you want me to come back.” When Andrea hesitated, she said, “It wouldn’t have to be as a psychiatrist, you know. I could come back as a friend.”

  Sudden tears filled Andrea’s eyes. The loneliness and fear were suddenly overwhelming. A deep despair settled over her. “I’d like that,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I think I could use a friend right now.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Forty-eight hours had passed, and still no missing-persons report had come in on anyone fitting Andrea’s description. Lieutenant Lucas seemed particularly put out by this turn of events.

  “We need to get this thing cleared up, Stoner. I don’t like loose ends.”

  “I’m all over it, sir,” Troy assured his superior on Wednesday morning. “I’ve got the lab reports right here, but unfortunately they’re not all that useful at the moment. We don’t have any unsolved homicides in the last two days with type O-positive blood, so for the moment, that’s a dead end. Her dress, however, is by a fairly unknown but pricey designer whose label is only carried in two stores here in Houston. I’m going in to talk with the managers this afternoon.”

  “What about her jewelry?”

  “I’ve taken the bracelet around to a few upscale jewelry stores that specialize in custom pieces, but no luck so far.”

  “She was also wearing a wedding band, right? Any leads on that?”

  Troy looked away. “Uh, no. Actually she’s still wearing the ring. She got pretty upset when the nurse tried to remove it, so under the circumstances, her doctor felt it best to let her wear it. He thinks her ring ma
y be the one thing that can trigger her memory.”

  Lucas scowled. “Might be an inscription inside, though. Have you thought about that?”

  Of course Troy had thought about that. To My Beloved Wife…

  He shrugged. “When her doctor says the time is right, I’ll ask her to take off the ring.”

  Lucas nodded. “Well, stay on it. I want this thing cleaned up.” He dropped a stack of folders on Troy’s desk. “We’ve got bigger problems than some chick who can’t remember her own address.”

  Troy didn’t figure it necessary to point out the fact that that same “chick” might have been involved in a crime. That there might be a little more going on with Andrea whatever-her-name-turned-out-to-be than just memory loss.

  But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want Lieutenant Lucas thinking he might have a little more interest in this case than was warranted. He didn’t want Lucas remembering the rumors about Troy’s involvement with a certain murder suspect named Cassandra Markham, and he sure as hell didn’t want Lucas remembering how that involvement had almost cost Troy his badge. Not to mention his life.

  Five years ago, right after Troy had first made detective, the Markham case had been his first major homicide investigation. Cassandra Markham had been the chief suspect in her husband’s murder, but her sweet smile, her youth and naiveté had convinced Troy she was innocent.

  His brother Gary had just been killed a month earlier, and looking back, Troy guessed he’d been vulnerable. And gullible. He’d fallen in love with Cassandra Markham, and she’d played him for the fool he was. He’d learned the hard way that looks, more often than not, were deceiving, and he’d vowed he would never make that same mistake again.

  And yet here he was, attracted to another suspect.

  But he was older now and wiser, and a hell of a lot more cynical. It would take more than killer blue eyes and soft blond hair to turn his head this time.

  * * *

  BY THE END of the third day, Andrea was becoming accustomed to her memory loss. She no longer awakened frightened and disoriented, and she found herself looking forward to Sergeant Stoner’s visits in a way she didn’t understand. She instinctively knew he could be dangerous to her, and yet the effect he had on her was undeniable.

  Of course, there was no way she could ever let Sergeant Stoner—Troy, as she had begun to think of him—know of her feelings. He’d remained so aloof, so impersonal with her that she knew he only thought of her as a suspect.

  And therein lay the danger. He thought of her as a suspect. Someone who may have committed a terrible crime. If he had even an inkling of her feelings for him, he would question her motives even more. He would begin to wonder what kind of woman would be married to one man and attracted to another.

  A woman who couldn’t be trusted, that’s who.

  And she needed him to trust her. If she were to have any chance at all, she had to somehow make him believe in her.

  She got up and padded to the mirror, gazing critically at her reflection. She looked much better today, with her hair clean and combed, and a touch of makeup complementing her features. Madison—as Dr. Stoner had insisted she call her—had dropped by earlier this morning and brought Andrea a pale blue silk nightgown along with an assortment of toiletries and cosmetics. Andrea had been overwhelmed by the generosity and thoughtfulness of the gift. It was amazing what getting out of a hospital gown could do for one’s spirits.

  But as she walked to the window and stared out at the early-afternoon rain, her spirits once again sagged. Did she have a family out there somewhere, loved ones who were waiting anxiously for some word of her whereabouts? Why hadn’t they come forward, then? Why hadn’t they been looking for her? Was there no one out there who missed her? Who cared about her?

  Loneliness tugged at her heart, the emotion all too familiar. Instinctively she knew she’d experienced this feeling before. The sensation settled around her like an old, comfortable shawl. She’d learned to deal with her loneliness years ago, hadn’t she? When she’d lost her mother and father. When she’d been sent to that dark room—

  The door of her hospital room opened, and Andrea swung around. It was the first time she’d faced Troy, standing up, and she wished that it made her feel less vulnerable to him, but the impact was the same. Her heart beat an excited staccato inside her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  She lifted her chin, swinging her long hair over one shoulder in a move she hoped appeared casual. “It’s okay. Come in.”

  He let the door close behind him, but his eyes never left her. Suddenly she realized he was seeing the differences in her, too. The blue silk nightgown, the combed hair, the makeup. His gaze was oddly intense.

  She picked up a fold of the nightgown. “Your sister came by this morning and brought me a CARE package. I feel like a new woman.”

  “Madison’s thoughtful that way.” His gaze lingered just a fraction too long on the delicate lace neckline of her gown.

  “She’s very nice,” Andrea agreed, wondering if her voice sounded as breathless to him as it did to her. “You were right. I like her a lot.”

  “Good. I’m hoping she’ll be able to help you. In the meantime, I may have a lead.”

  A fist of panic closed over Andrea’s throat. Her hand crept to the tender skin on her arm, where the bruise was now almost invisible. “What kind of lead?”

  “Your dress.” His gaze dropped for a fraction of a second to the nightgown she wore. “The label is from a designer whose line is carried in only two stores in Houston. Alaina’s in the Village and Zoê’s on Post Oak near the Pavilion. Both shops are fairly small but very exclusive. Do either of those names ring a bell for you?”

  Andrea closed her eyes, searching her mind. Her dress was a designer original from an expensive shop, and she knew that the heavy, ornate bracelet the police had taken from her the first night in the hospital was solid gold, worth a small fortune, as was the diamond wedding band that sparkled on her finger. Her nails bore the evidence of a professional manicure, and her long hair was so precisely cut that every strand fell into place by a simple shake of her head.

  And yet…she didn’t feel rich. She didn’t feel pampered. Far from it. Andrea had the distinct impression that she had worked very hard all of her life. That at times mere survival had been an extraordinary struggle.

  So where did her expensive jewelry and clothing come from? A wealthy husband?

  The memory came so blindingly fast that Andrea had no time to prepare herself. She saw him so clearly, an older man with gray hair and a careworn face. I’m a rich man, Andrea. As my wife, you will be entitled to certain privileges, anything your heart desires….

  You little gold digger! Who do you think you’re fooling? I’ll see you in hell before you get a penny of his money!

  I want you to know that I’ve changed my will, Andrea. When my time comes, you will be well taken care of.

  I hate you. I want you dead!

  In her mind’s eye, Andrea saw the gray-haired man fall to the floor, blood gushing from the stab wounds in his chest.

  Andrea’s knees buckled as she followed her vision to the floor.

  * * *

  SHE WEIGHED no more than a dream. Troy lifted her easily and carried her to the bed. As he bent over to lay her on top of the sheets, a strand of her hair curled around his arm, and once again the image of a spiderweb formed in his mind. But he shook it off and reached for the call button.

  The nurse, an enormous Hispanic woman with hips the size of a battleship, stormed in and hustled Troy out of the way. She quickly felt Andrea’s pulse and took her vital signs, all the while muttering in Spanish under her breath, something that Troy thought translated roughly to, “Stupid cops. Stupid men. God give me strength.”

  She removed the stethoscope from her ears and glanced at Troy. “She fainted.” Her voice was distinctly accusing. “What did you do to her?”

  “Noth
ing.”

  “She faint for no reason? I don’t think so. Women don’t faint for no reason. Men maybe, not women.”

  “I didn’t do anything to her,” Troy said. “We were just talking.”

  The nurse’s dark eyes narrowed on him. “Cops like to talk too damn much, I think. Now, get out of my way,” she said as Troy started toward the bed. She lifted both hands as if to shove him back, and Troy retreated a safe distance away.

  “Is she going to be all right?”

  “Maybe, if you let her rest.” She pulled the sheet over Andrea and tucked it about her shoulders.

  “I’m just trying to do my job,” he said defensively.

  She gave him a “Humph” that told him exactly what she thought of his job.

  Andrea moaned and her eyes fluttered open. The nurse’s expression immediately softened. It was amazing how quickly Andrea had managed to assemble her troops. She’d come into the hospital covered in someone else’s blood, and Troy was suddenly the villain of the piece.

  “What happened?” she murmured.

  “You fainted,” the nurse said gently as she lifted Andrea’s wrist and felt her pulse again. “Almost back to normal.”

  Andrea’s brows drew together. “I…fainted?”

  “Yeah,” Troy said, coming to stand by her bedside. “You gave me quite a scare.”

  Andrea’s gaze flew to his, as if she’d forgotten his presence. He said quickly, “You seemed to have remembered something that upset you.”

  She lifted a hand to her forehead. “I just felt so weak suddenly. So dizzy…”

  “I think it was more than that,” Troy insisted.

  The nurse shot him a warning glance. “She needs her rest.”

  “If I go now, I’ll just have to come back later. Wouldn’t you rather get our talk over with?” he asked Andrea.

  “I don’t remember anything. What more is there to say?” She turned her head toward the window.

  “Oh, I think we’ll find something to talk about.”