Identity Crisis. Laura Scott

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ