A Stranger She Can Trust. Regan Black

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Every conversation she had created more questions about who she was and what might be hardwired into her. Did she have passions and release valves? Generations of family she’d followed into her career at the museum? She liked music, but she didn’t think she played an instrument. She’d had a great time at the zoo with both the animals and people watching. Did that mean she worked with the public?

      “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head.” Carson pointed his fork at her plate. “Focus on the food, just the food for now.”

      She did as he asked, simply in honor of the way he’d upended his life for her. “Is this the house where you grew up?”

      He shook his head. “My parents are too glued to their empty nest to vacate. They finally remodeled after my youngest sister moved out. I got to pitch in because they used a friend of mine in the fire department for the interior updates. They claim the house is now fortified and ready for grandkids to wreck it.”

      “Are there grandkids?”

      “Two so far, courtesy of Renee and her husband. She’s the one who brought over the oil.”

      “Oh, I should thank her for that.”

      Carson chuckled. “Trust me, the fact that I asked for it is all the encouragement and praise she needs.”

      Melissa grinned at him. “You work with a construction company in addition to shifts at the club and your job as a paramedic?”

      He nodded, and something niggled at the edge of her mind, as if that movement should have been familiar.

      “You could say the release valve for me is demo day on a construction site.”

      She studied his face and hands, remembered the strength in his arms when he’d held her during her meltdown in the truck. “I can see that.”

      “Can you?”

      She grinned, as curious about her observation as he seemed to be. “Nothing more objective than a stranger,” she quipped. “Good grief. That sounds like something I heard as a kid.”

      “I think your parents must be unique people.”

      She’d hoped he would toss out more theories so she could see if they fit, but he dug into his meal instead. She did the same, although the silence was companionable and comforting.

      “Your eye is looking better,” he said as they took care of the dishes together. “Not as puffy and definitely not as colorful. Renee won’t let me live it down.”

      When they finished the meal, Melissa covered the lasagna pan with foil and slid it into the refrigerator while Carson loaded the dishwasher. “Your sister has a gift,” she said, pressing a hand to her stomach. “That was divine.”

      “Agreed.” At the sink, Carson dried his hands and folded the towel over one of the hooks at the end of the counter. “Is your headache gone?”

      “Yes, thanks to you.”

      “See? There’s one more reason I’m sure you’re not the problem child in this equation.”

      The remark caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”

      “You’re thoughtful, kind and quick to show gratitude.”

      “Are you saying that in some subtle effort to encourage my memory?”

      He shook his head. “I only want to reinforce that you’re in a safe place when your memory returns.”

      She appreciated the gesture and his efforts, so much that she had to blink back a rush of tears. Crying didn’t seem like something she normally indulged in, and it felt as if she’d hit her quota outside what they’d been told was her apartment.

      “Feel like a movie?” he asked.

      “Sure. As long as you choose.”

      “Can’t remember any favorites?” he queried with an easy smile.

      “Not so far.” The idea of watching a movie made her feel lighthearted, as if it was some kind of rare treat. That didn’t make much sense if she had her own place, but whatever. She had to let her mind come back online at its own pace.

      Carson chose a romantic comedy his sisters loved. The blend of action, romance, laughter and fun held her attention. She relaxed, curled into the corner of his big couch and just let the story wash over her. When the credits rolled, she was smiling and full of good feelings with only the smallest twinge of a headache behind her eyes. “That was a great idea.”

      “I’m glad.” He walked over, ejected the DVD and returned it to the case.

      His entertainment system switched over to the television broadcast, and she recognized the anchors on the news. Considering that small revelation progress, she begged Carson to let her watch for a few minutes. Suddenly her face filled the screen along with her name. Melissa froze as a picture of Noelle Anson followed, along with overhead views of the place where the body was found. The view changed again, showing a reporter standing outside a hospital where Noelle’s coworkers had created a makeshift memorial.

      She heard Carson’s voice, muffled and distant, then closer. The reporter’s voice died and the television screen went black. Carson held her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Melissa! Melissa, breathe.”

      Had she stopped breathing? His hands were on her arms, rubbing briskly. She was so cold and trembling again.

      “Breathe. Slow and easy,” he said over and over. “Look at me now. Come on.”

      She followed the sound of his voice, struggled to cooperate with his requests. Her eyes locked with his, registering the abject worry in his hazel eyes. “What is wrong with me?”

      “Trauma. It leaves a ton of wreckage.”

      She heard the experience and pure sympathy in his voice. If he could get over what happened to his ambulance partner, she could fight back from this abyss to help her friend.

      “Did they say they were looking for leads?”

      “Yes.”

      “Looking for information on me?”

      “They said they were looking for people who saw you together last night.”

      She had a sudden fear that this mess would cost her the museum job. On instinct alone she knew that kind of fallout would be awful for her. On the heels of that, she felt dreadful that she’d apparently lost a good friend and was selfish enough to worry about her work rather than a woman’s life. “I’m a terrible person,” she muttered.

      “You didn’t hurt your friend.”

      “I want to believe you. I almost do. But my friend is dead, and inside—” she tapped her fingers over her heart “—I’m actually worried about my job.” She couldn’t look at him. It was bad enough to say it all out loud. She couldn’t bear to see the judgment in his eyes.

      Carson tipped up her face so she had to СКАЧАТЬ