Identity Unknown. Terri Reed

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       THREE

      He couldn’t remember his name.

      Sitting on the hospital bed under the scrutiny of the deputy and the sheriff made him feel vulnerable. An antsy sort of energy buzzed through him. He might not know his name, but he knew in his gut he didn’t do vulnerable.

      His body ached everywhere. His head pounded like a jackhammer going to town inside his skull. His mouth felt like cotton. An encompassing terror gripped him. A shiver racked his body. Cold. So very cold. How could he not know who he was? Or recall his past?

      Why did someone want him dead?

      His heart slammed against his ribs. A looming sense of dread and foreboding threatened to pull him back into darkness. He hung on to the edge of the bed and fought the tug. He needed to stay awake. Some innate knowledge told him he needed to keep a clear head if he were to survive. He grabbed the water pitcher on the bedside tray and poured a glass. He drank it down and then another.

      “Then we’ll call you John.”

      “What?” He stared at the blonde, blue-eyed deputy. Her hair was pulled back away from her face and secured behind her head in a knot. She wore little makeup. She didn’t need any. She was absolutely stunning with her high cheekbones, delicately carved beneath smooth, unblemished skin and full lips. He forced himself to concentrate on what she’d just stated. “Is my name John?”

      It didn’t ring any bells. And every time he tried to concentrate, to conjure up a memory, his head felt like someone was taking a pickax to his skull, bringing on a blinding pain that was nearly incapacitating. Only keeping his focus on the beautiful woman’s face kept him from keeling over.

      She smiled and her eyes filled with compassion. “John as in John Doe. I don’t know your name. You weren’t carrying identification.”

      That explained why they didn’t know his name. “Where did you find me?”

      “The tide deposited you on the public beach early yesterday morning,” the man who wore the gold sheriff’s badge replied. Sheriff Crump, he’d said. He sipped from his coffee and eyed John with a mix of wary suspicion and empathy.

      He’d washed up on the beach like driftwood, which accounted for the bone-deep chill he felt even though the room was heated. Had he been on a boat and fallen overboard? Something else the sheriff said finally registered like a punch to the gut. “You said someone tried to kill me after you found me?”

      “Yes.” The woman told him of the attempts made on his life.

      Pressure built in his chest, and his head throbbed. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, hoping to ease the tension that was taking root in the muscles. “I’m sorry about the ambulance. And your patrol car. I’d offer to reimburse you for both, but I’ve no idea if I have the means to do so.” The enormity of the situation weighed him down. “This is all so surreal, like I’ve walked into a bad horror flick. Has the doctor said how long my mind will be blank?”

      “I haven’t talked to her yet. We should let her know you’ve regained consciousness.” The deputy reached for the call button.

      The deputy smelled like sunshine on a spring day. He breathed in deep, letting an image of a grassy meadow form. Was it a memory or just a generic thought made up of a lifetime of images that had no emotional attachment?

      As she moved away, he asked, “What’s your name?”

      “Deputy Martin,” she replied in a brisk tone. She was tall and he’d guess shapely beneath the bulk of her uniform. He’d like to see her with her hair down and wearing a dress that showed off her long legs.

      Whoa. Where had that thought come from?

      Better to keep his mind on staying alive and not on some errant attraction to the woman who had rescued him from certain death. Pushing the attraction aside, he went with gratefulness. “Thank you, Deputy Martin, for saving my life.”

      He wished he could do something more for her, but he had no idea what. He had no clothes, no identification and no money. He was trapped in this hospital room until he either remembered who he was or someone claimed him.

      Or the man who wanted him dead got to him first.

      Anger at the unknown man and dread that he might succeed heated his blood but did nothing to chase away the chill that had settled in his core. Was he married? His heart contracted in his chest. Did he have a family worried about him somewhere? He glanced at his left hand. No wedding band. A sign that he was single or just that he didn’t wear a ring? His pulse thrummed in his veins. Frustration drilled into his skull. What kind of man was he?

      Why couldn’t he remember?

      The door opened, and an attractive female doctor wearing a white lab coat walked in. John gauged her age around fifty. Her blond hair was pulled back in a low bun, and she viewed him with bright blue eyes. His gaze darted from the doctor to the deputy. The similarities between the two left little doubt they were related. Mother and daughter?

      “Good morning,” СКАЧАТЬ