Memory Reload. Rosemary Heim

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СКАЧАТЬ answer brushed over his inner arm, raising gooseflesh.

      He smoothed the silken mass of her hair back over her shoulder and probed her neck and shoulders. None of his prodding elicited a flinch of pain. He broke the physical contact with her and leaned back in his chair. A silent sigh of relief escaped his lips. “What about a headache?”

      “Only when I strain to remember.”

      “What about your ID? You must have something on you with a name.”

      Early-morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen window, gleaming in her midnight hair as she shook her head. “No. There’s nothing. No pockets except this one.”

      He followed her gesture toward her breast. The outline of the slip of paper he’d given her looked harsh against the roundness of her breast. His mouth went dry as cotton.

      This was getting out of hand. He had to get his reactions to her under control before his libido completely took over. If he didn’t, he’d be useless to both of them. He swallowed and forced his attention back to her face.

      “What about the camera bag?” He downed the rest of his lemonade and refilled the glass.

      “I looked. There’s nothing.”

      “Everything looked normal?”

      She nodded.

      Ryan tugged at his earlobe. There had to be something, some clue to her identity. Maybe she hadn’t noticed it because it looked normal. People sometimes missed the obvious because they were so intent on finding the obscure. Hide in plain sight.

      Or maybe it was all there in the bag and she didn’t want her little game to end just yet.

      “Do you mind if I look?” He held out his right hand, testing her, wondering if she’d let him search the bag.

      She leaned over, lifted the bag by the handle and set it in her lap. Her long fingers rubbed the bag, her fingertips pressing into the nylon as they slid over the surface. It was an odd gesture. Almost that of a child reluctant to give up a cherished security blanket. She hesitated, gnawing on her lower lip for a moment before handing the bag to him.

      The weight of it caught him off guard. She’d been handling the bag with such ease there’d been no indication of its heft.

      He pushed his chair back and stood. After clearing the small table, he set the camera case on the sunny yellow Formica top. He slanted a glance at her. “What’ve you got in here?”

      “Cameras, lenses, film. Pretty much what you’d expect.”

      “I guess that depends on what you expect.” He lifted it and let it drop back on the table with a soft thunk. “It seems mighty heavy.”

      “No more than usual.” She shrugged.

      Ryan hesitated. Had she just slipped? Or was this a spontaneous memory breaking through the amnesia? When she didn’t say any more, he shifted back to the camera bag. He began his search with the outside pockets, snapping open each quick-release catch and pulling out the contents. He checked each item before laying it on the table. Packets of lens tissues, a shutter-release cable, several cases holding filters, a small cloth coin-purse. He spilled its contents onto the table, revealing a few coins and several small bills.

      Once the pockets were emptied, he ran his hands over the interiors, double-checking for any items that may have escaped his initial notice.

      He shifted a little, positioning himself so he could watch her reactions as he opened the body of the case. The zipper slipped over its teeth with surprising silence. The ticking of the kitchen clock sounded louder in the quiet room. As he folded back the cover he forgot about watching her, doing a classic double take when he saw the contents.

      This was not a tourist’s camera bag.

      He’d seen one camera when he came across her on the beach. It was inside the case, along with a second camera body, each nestled in a cushioned compartment. Several lenses and a shrink-wrapped block of film boxes filled other sections. Individual film canisters were held in place across the inside top of the bag with elastic loops. One by one, he transferred the items from the camera bag to the table.

      Underneath the block of film he found a small black beanbag. He held it up and raised a questioning eyebrow.

      “It comes in handy as a cushion when I need to prop the camera against an uneven surface,” she answered without hesitating.

      He nodded, then pulled out the next items. Two disposable cameras. Again, he looked at her.

      A smile lifted the corners of her full lips. “They’re great for scouting. You’d be amazed at how good some of the shots are. There should be a notebook in there, too.”

      “Here it is.” He pulled the small spiral-bound pad out from between two of the cushioned dividers and flipped through the pages before setting it aside. “No flash attachment or motor drive?”

      “Not necessary and too noisy, in that order.”

      He nodded, his gaze steady on hers.

      A frown creased her forehead. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

      “I think we can safely say we know one thing about you.”

      “What? What do you know?”

      Her answers had been automatic, not rehearsed. The difference was subtle but discernible if you knew what to listen for. And Ryan knew. “You’re a professional photographer.”

      She rubbed her temples. “A lot of people carry camera bags. That doesn’t make them photographers.”

      “True, but this is high-end equipment. Pretty pricey. Except for the disposables, it’s not exactly standard vacation supplies. I’ve only met one other person who carries this kind of stuff with her and she’s a pro.”

      “Maybe I’m just rich and waste a lot of money on a hobby.” She picked up one of the cameras and fiddled with the settings.

      Ryan shook his head. “Maybe so, but I don’t really think that’s it. You hold that camera with…authority. When I found you on the beach, you were completely absorbed with what you were shooting. You knew what you were doing, exactly how long it’d take you. Then, of course, there’s your answers.”

      “My answers.”

      “Uh-huh. They come instinctively. You know what you’re talking about.”

      “Oh.” Her lips shaped the word more than said it. “Then why can’t I tell you my name? Shouldn’t that be instinctive?”

      “Well now, ya got me there. Can’t claim to know much about amnesia, but if you’re running from some kind of danger…” He lifted his shoulders. “Guess your name might be one of the things your mind would want to keep hidden. First thing we do is see if we can get you in to see a doctor.”

      “Is that really necessary? There’s nothing wrong with me, physically. What can a doctor do?”

      “Won’t know ’til we ask. Is there СКАЧАТЬ