Collecting Evidence. Rita Herron

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       Chapter Three

      God, Aspen was even more beautiful that he’d remembered. Seeing her sitting on the floor with those kids triggered childhood memories of his mother doing the same with him and his siblings.

      And served as a reminder that Aspen had intended to help children before her life had been interrupted by a murder.

      Her long dark hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder, her chocolate colored eyes huge and so sultry that once again he lost himself in the beautiful depths.

      They were also pensive, pained by her loss.

      Damn, he could almost feel the turmoil inside her, the need to replace her missing past with the truth. Yet she instinctively knew the truth wouldn’t be pretty, and she was frightened.

      “Detective?” Her voice was pleading, searching his for answers. Answers that he didn’t have.

      He studied her for any sign of recognition, for any glimmer that she would welcome him back in her life. That she knew that he could be trusted to stay by her side.

      But he saw no indication that she knew who he was…or that she’d ever melted beneath his hands and mouth like a wanton lover.

      Instead she looked at him as if he was a perfect stranger.

      That hurt. He wanted her to know him, to recall what they’d had together, to want his touch as much as he craved hers.

      Her face flushed slightly as he clung to her hand, and the trembling in her petite body and flushed expression in her eyes offered him a seed of hope. Even if she didn’t remember him, there was something there, a simmering, immediate attraction, just as the first time they’d touched and fallen into bed.

      She was serving cocktails in that casino in Vegas, wearing a short little black skirt with a cropped T-shirt that hugged her breasts and exposed the smooth brown flesh of her flat stomach. Her voice had purred like a kitten, her movements fluid and seductive, her body so tempting that he had had to caress her bare skin.

      That body he knew so well. One he’d tasted and explored and memorized.

      One he’d wanted so often over the past few months that he’d fantasized about having her again and again.

      Somewhere in the building, a baby cried out, and he thought of Jack. Along with relief that she was physically okay and the instantaneous heat that ripped through him at the sight of her, anger churned through his gut.

      Dammit, if Jack was his, why hadn’t she told him?

      Finally, she retreated and pulled away, wiping her palm on the side of her skirt. “Sister Margaret said you know where my family is.”

      A slight tremor laced her voice, and he tried to place himself in her shoes, to understand what it must be like to be lost and alone with no memory of what had happened, but obviously aware she was in danger.

      “Yes, your cousin Emma is waiting at the Ute reservation. That’s where you live. She’s been searching for you ever since you disappeared.”

      A frown creased the delicate skin above her huge almond-shaped eyes. “How could I forget my own cousin?”

      The doctor’s advice trilled in his head like a warning bell, and Dylan forced an understanding smile. “You suffered a head injury,” he said, hating the distress lining her face. “Sister Margaret said in time you may remember everything.”

      She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist.

      “Sister Margaret also said a man broke into your room. Did you get a look at your attacker?”

      She shook her head. “No, it was too dark. All I saw was his shadow. Then he attacked me, and I fought back and screamed.” Her voice broke, her breathing rattling out as if she was reliving that horrible event. “Then the sisters and other women ran in, and he jumped out the window and got away.”

      A fresh bruise darkened her cheek, and he gritted his teeth to keep from touching it and pulling her into his arms to comfort her. She looked so small and fragile and…vulnerable. “What else do you remember?”

      She chewed her bottom lip. “He had a knife in a leather pouch attached to his belt.”

      Dylan’s blood ran cold. “How tall was he?”

      She hesitated, rubbing her head in thought. “I don’t know. It was just a shadow.”

      “Did you notice a distinctive smell?”

      “Cigarettes,” she whispered. “And sweat.”

      Watts used to smoke but had supposedly given up the habit. But perhaps the man had picked it back up. “Did he say anything?”

      She shook her head. “No, he just grabbed me and shoved his hand over my mouth. Then I…I think I bit his hand.”

      Her feistiness might have saved her life. Twice now. “I’d like to look around that room and see if I find any evidence.”

      Sister Margaret nodded, and he went to the sedan to retrieve his crime kit. He flipped on a flashlight, waving it across the room in an arc as he searched the corners, the bed and floor.

      With a grunt, he knelt and with his gloved hand, retrieved a loose hair that had fallen on the floor. It might belong to one of the other women or children, but he’d check it out. The hair was longer than Boyd Perkins’s or Sherman Watts’s—but still, it might be a lead if there was a third perp.

      Continuing the search, he paused at the window, then used a pair of tweezers to pluck a small piece of fabric that had caught on a nail on the windowsill, and bagged it along with the hair to send for analysis.

      Maybe forensics would turn up something to help them nail the bastard and make sure the charges stuck when they finally tracked him down.

      Stewing over the circumstances, he carried the evidence bags to the car while Aspen said goodbye to the other women. Outside, he phoned Miguel to explain the situation.

      “Amnesia?” Miguel asked.

      “Yes. She didn’t recognize me. I’m hoping that seeing Emma and Jack will jog her memory.”

      “I’ll warn Emma about the doctor’s diagnosis,” Miguel said. “And tell her not to push, to give Aspen time.”