claims that he was recently a patient at your hospital. We’d like to start procedures to have a copy of his medical records transferred.”
“What’s the patient’s name and his patient number?”
“He says his name is Hunter Davis,” Leah told the woman. “But he doesn’t remember his patient number, and of course there’s no way we would know it. He said he had been at your hospital a number of months. He was a victim of an automobile accident and he also says that he was in a coma for a couple of weeks.”
“I’m sure you realize that I really can’t give out patient information without the number or proper authorization.”
Leah drummed her fingertips against the kitchen countertop. “Yes, I do realize that, but these are special circumstances. The man has amnesia.”
“Well, I suppose I could check with my supervisor. Can you hold a minute?”
“Yes, I’ll hold.”
While Leah waited, she kept her ears tuned to any noise that would indicate that Hunter had awakened.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, the phone clicked in her ear. “Ah—Ms. Johnson? You still there?”
“Yes,” Leah answered.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Johnson,” the woman said. “But we can’t help you.”
Leah’s fingers stilled. Though it was just a gut feeling, there was something in the carefully controlled tone of Virginia Cole’s voice that set off warning bells, a guarded reticence that hadn’t been present when Leah had first asked about Hunter.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely sure,” was the woman’s emphatic answer. “Sorry.”
But Leah wasn’t the type to give up easily, especially with so much at stake. “Well, can you at least tell me if any John Doe’s were admitted about that time?” she asked.
“No, I can’t,” the woman retorted in a flat tone that brooked no argument. Then, without further explanation or even so much as a goodbye, the woman promptly disconnected the call.
“Well, thanks for nothing,” Leah muttered to the dead line. But as she slowly hung up the receiver, her mind raced.
In spite of the woman’s refusal to cooperate, she had proof that he’d been there. How else could he have gotten the scrubs?
Leah turned away from the phone. There was an answer, but it wasn’t one she liked or wanted to dwell on. The only other way he could have gotten the scrubs was by stealing them. But even that answer only conjured up more questions. Why would he have bothered to steal someone’s scrubs in the first place unless he’d been in a position where he’d needed clothes? And the only reason he would have needed clothes was if he’d been a patient in a hospital.
Hunter didn’t want to wake up, but no matter how hard he tried to ignore the building pressure in his bladder, further sleep was impossible.
With his eyes still closed, he groaned and pushed himself to a sitting position. He reached up, rubbed his eyes, and finally opened them. Then, he went stone still.
“What the hell?” With a fierce scowl, he glanced around the unfamiliar, spacious bedroom that was decorated with lace and ruffles. Definitely a woman’s bedroom. But what woman?
His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and as he glanced around the room, searching for something, anything, that might give him a clue, his gaze found and rested on a framed photo on the bedside table.
In the photo were two women. One was an attractive older, woman who was probably in her seventies, but it was the other one, the younger woman, that snapped his memory into focus. And along with recognition of the woman, all the doubts and confusion he’d experienced over the past weeks surged through him with a vengeance.
Leah Johnson…the woman he’d seen in his flashbacks…his so-called friend.
Beside the photo was a clock radio, and the digital dial showed that it was 4:00 p.m.
Hunter shook his head in amazement. He’d slept like a dead man for over eight hours, a record for him. No wonder his bladder was about ready to burst.
He dragged himself to the edge of the bed, but when he stood, he did so cautiously. His leg was stiff. From experience, he knew that once he began moving around, it would loosen up.
On the floor beside the bed, exactly where he’d left them, were the jeans and shirt that Leah Johnson had provided. Hunter stepped into the jeans, snapped and zipped them, then pulled the knit shirt on over his head. As he approached the bedroom door, too many days of looking over his shoulder and expecting that any minute he’d get caught made him wary. He tilted his head and listened, but all he heard was the hum of the central air conditioner.
With a shake of his head and a sigh, he eased the door open. The most opportune time for someone to grab him would have been while he was sleeping. Since no one had, it stood to reason that no one was waiting for him to wake up so they could pounce on him.
The hallway was empty, and as he made his way to the bathroom, he listened for any sound that would tell him where Leah was in the house, or even if she was still there.
As he entered the bathroom, he heard the distinct rattle of dishes and caught a whiff of food. Realizing that she was in the kitchen made him aware of just how hungry he was. How long? he wondered. Just how long would she be willing to extend her hospitality? And if she didn’t, then what?
He could always try to contact the New York City Police Department, and he would…eventually. But without money or transportation, his options were limited. Besides, his gut feeling told him that the woman named Leah had all the answers he needed.
The toilet flushing was the first warning Leah had that Hunter was awake, and she tensed as she stirred the pot of soup on the stove top.
Though he hadn’t made a sound, when she ventured a glance over her shoulder, he was standing just inside the kitchen doorway. Deep lines of concentration creased his forehead.
He motioned toward the stove. “Whatever that is you’re cooking smells out of this world,” he said, stepping farther into the room.
In spite of her feelings of trepidation, a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “I call it ham-bone vegetable soup. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to have a bowl.”
An hour and two bowls of soup and a thick ham sandwich later, Hunter groaned, then shoved back from the table and stood. “My memory might be out of whack, but there’s nothing wrong with my appetite. That was good. But you should have stopped me after the first bowl.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed—”
The sharp rap coming from the front door interrupted Leah midsentence.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Hunter demanded.
Leah shook her head. “No, not really.” Trying to ignore the tense wild look in Hunter’s eyes, she tried placating him. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is.” She turned and headed toward the hallway. Before she’d taken two steps, Hunter grabbed her arm, then stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door.
“I don’t know how, but they might have tracked me down,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t let on that you’ve seen me or that I’m here… Please,” he added. “I’m trusting you. I can’t be locked up again, not without first finding out why.”
For several moments Leah stared at him. The wild look in Hunter’s eyes, along with his paranoia, was a stark reminder of just how little she knew about him. It also reminded her that there was a good chance that Hunter had been locked up because he was a mental patient.
Leah covered his hand with hers. “You’re safe here,” she told him. “You can trust me.” But even as she uttered the lie, guilt for the other lies she’d told