Heart Of A Hunter. Sylvie Kurtz

a car accident.” He tried to reach her on the level of facts, if not on the physical one that grounded him. “And your brain was a little shaken up. The doctor said it might take a while for you to get your memory back. Headaches, anxiety, dizziness. They’re all normal. They should all go away. And we’re going to do everything we can to help you.”

      The information Aurora had faxed him earlier in the day wasn’t reassuring. Given the location of the damage to Olivia’s brain, permanent memory impairment was a possibility. What if Olivia never remembered the life they’d shared? What if she never loved him again? What if this Olivia left him for good?

      He gave a sharp shake of the head. No, he couldn’t accept that. “Dr. Iverson recommended a rehabilitation therapist who specializes in traumatic brain injuries. She’ll help you improve your motor skills and give you techniques to improve your concentration and manage the pain.” And if he was lucky, she’d perform a miracle and give him his Olivia back—the way she was before. “I’ve arranged for her to meet us at the house.”

      He turned his head toward Olivia. She wasn’t asleep. Her muscles were wound too tight; her breath came too fast and shallow to be restful. “Olivia?”

      She didn’t answer. The force of her fear stole his breath. And all he was doing was adding to it. His touch had once calmed her, aroused her, made her melt. Now, it sharpened her fear.

      As she’d slept earlier, he’d tried to get into her head. What would it be like to remember nothing? The depth of the dark emptiness had almost swallowed him whole. No shared past. No trust. No love. Only fear. Getting into the most evil of criminal minds couldn’t compare to the terror of having a lifetime erased.

      If he believed in prayer, he would pray now. But he didn’t. Hadn’t in a long time. The future—their future—had always seemed so bright. But now, caught between an Olivia who wasn’t Olivia and Kershaw’s need for vengeance, he couldn’t conjure up any of the dreams that usually saw him through his trips through the sewers of society for the scum that thrived there.

      Catch the scum. Get back to Olivia. That was the plan. Always.

      But the rules had changed and this was a whole new game.

      Sebastian ran a hand over his face. He was stuck here, waiting, just waiting like a paralyzed slug. The trail was getting cold. He couldn’t look for Kershaw. He couldn’t find the information he needed. He couldn’t seek the triggers to bring the whole damn thing to an end.

      And in the panic-stricken eyes of the woman who looked like Olivia, he could not find the wife who’d been his haven.

      Kershaw was God-knows-where. The team he’d requested was on its way, giving Kershaw time to do whatever evil his rotten mind plotted. Olivia wasn’t safe here—not even with him watching over her, not even with the guard outside the door. Every doctor, every nurse, every aide who walked through that door was a possible threat. He needed to get Olivia to the safety of the Aerie. And for that, he needed to earn a slice of her trust.

      He slid out of her bed and into the hard chair beside it. She would come back to him. She had to. In the meantime, she needed him even if she didn’t know him. He leaned forward, dangling his hands between his knees. Closing his eyes, he touched her the only way he could—with his voice. “Let me tell you about home…”

      THE NURSE HAD SHOOED Sebastian out of Olivia’s room while they got Olivia ready to go home. Leaving the stiff stranger in the bed was a relief, and he hated that it was. She was his wife; she deserved his understanding. How was he going to get through the weeks, maybe months, before she was well again without going crazy?

      Paula had dropped off a bag of clothes the night before and threatened to return early enough to spirit Olivia to Nashua rather than let her return to the Aerie. Sebastian hadn’t told Paula about Kershaw yet, but he would have to, and he dreaded the blowback that would create.

      First he had to get Olivia home, then he’d worry about Paula.

      Needing to do something other than dwell on Olivia or Paula or the way his life was crumbling like slag on the side of a mountain, he snagged the phone out of his pocket and checked messages. Three from Sutton—the reason why he’d turned off the ringer. And one from Cyril Granger. He checked his watch and bit back a grumble, then punched in the garage’s number anyway. At the sound of Cyril’s cigar-gruff voice, Sebastian gave silent thanks for early risers. “Sebastian Falconer.”

      â€œFalconer! I got the results you wanted.”

      Hand in pocket, Sebastian braced. “Shoot.”

      â€œLucky your wife had all that metal around her or she’d a been dead.”

      He’d made sure she had the safest car on the market—that was no accident. “What happened?”

      â€œAs far as I can tell, she probably hit the brakes for some reason. Maybe deer. Maybe snow. Maybe something else. Skidded and went over the embankment.”

      Sebastian couldn’t wrap his mind around the information. He’d been sure Kershaw had tampered with the car. “An accident?”

      â€œLooks that way.”

      â€œNo tampering?”

      â€œHere’s the interesting part. I couldn’t get the taste of smoke out of my mouth.”

      Sebastian frowned. “Smoke? From the crash?”

      â€œNo, that’s just it. It didn’t taste like engine smoke. It was more electrical. So I followed my nose and, sure enough, I found something.”

      â€œWhat?” Sebastian prodded as he ground tight steps the length of Olivia’s room.

      â€œSomeone swapped the brake switch fuse from a 5 amp to a 40 amp.”

      Sebastian stilled. “What does that mean?”

      â€œMeans that if she woulda gone five more minutes down the road, smoke woulda billowed up and blinded her. She woulda choked on it. Her eyes woulda watered. Then you coulda blamed the accident on tampering.”

      Five more minutes would have put her on Mountain Road—close enough to run into a sheer wall of granite or into Trotter’s Pond if she lost sight of the road.

      Kershaw.

      â€œCan you tell when the swap was made?” Sebastian asked.

      â€œNo way to tell for sure. Anytime between the last time she used the car and got into it again. It’d take about ten minutes for the wiring harness to catch fire.”

      And there was no way to ask Olivia when she’d used the car last. No way to ask her if she’d had any visitors. No way to put Kershaw at the scene, with the melting snow making any trace of him vanish. Because of the time limit on the wiring fire, the tampering had to have happened at the Aerie. And that was impossible. Not with all the security he had in place. “Thanks, Cyril. I’ll need a written report.”

      Cyril humphed. “Well, I got a busy day ahead’a me. It’s gonna be a coupla days.”

      â€œI’ll need pictures of the brake switch fuse and the burnt harness.”

      â€œAnson’s got himself a new digital camera. I’ll get him to take the pics.”

      Anson was Cyril’s college-aged son. “Great. Have him e-mail me the file.” He gave Cyril his e-mail address and punched out.

      The connection had barely closed before he entered another number.

      â€œMenard,” a sleepy voice said.

      â€œFalconer,” Sebastian