savored the last bites of her oatmeal. “I don’t think I have a sister.” Her eyebrows furrowed a moment. “Or a brother. Thinking about siblings makes me feel strange.” She tapped a finger over her heart. “Not sad, but not happy, either.”
He leaned back against the counter, his mug of fresh coffee steaming as he raised it to his lips. “Your injuries alone would play havoc with your emotions. Compound that with whatever ordeal has your memory locked down, and it’s not a surprise that you’re not sure how you’re feeling about any of this.”
“I feel like I can trust you, Carson.” She gave him a lopsided smile as she used his name. “I’m basing all my reactions on that one point.”
No pressure there. “I suppose you need to start somewhere.”
“Right.” She twisted the paper napkin in her hands. “Now that it’s daylight, could you take me for a drive around the city? Please?”
“Sure.” He took another gulp of coffee. “The cab driver said he picked you up near the Penn campus. We could start there and then head over to meet Grant at the club. He’ll want to see how you’re doing and share any information he’s found through his contacts.”
“All right.” She gathered up the dishes and put them on the counter, systematically scraping each dish into the trash, then setting it in the sink. “What kind of contacts?”
“He was a police officer and is still friends with people all over the city,” Carson explained as he loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. He urged her to have a seat while he finished the cleanup. “I’m sure he has people checking missing person reports or any reported domestic troubles.”
“That sounds smart.”
Hearing the catch in her voice, he glanced over his shoulder, then rushed to her side when she swayed. “You’re pale.” He’d thought it would help her to know Grant and others were working to figure out the mystery of her identity. “I’d feel better if you’d let a doctor look you over.”
“No.”
“Not a hospital, but what about an urgent care office?”
“No.” She lifted her hands to either side of her neck and he watched her dig her fingers into the series of muscle attachments along her spine. “I saw my reflection and I know I look like hell, but a doctor is out of the question. The idea makes my stomach curdle.”
“Arnica oil won’t help the memory issues,” he said.
“According to you, nothing but time will do that.” Her hands trembled when she lowered them, fisted them and shoved them into her jacket pockets once more. “I don’t know why. I just know I can’t ignore this instinct.”
“Okay.” Caught by his own argument, he held up his hands, palms out. “I promise I won’t force the issue without real cause.”
She arched an eyebrow. “That’s a blurry term.”
“Real cause as defined by arterial bleeding or broken bones.” Confident she wouldn’t fall off the counter stool, he went back and closed the dishwasher, then swiped a finger over his heart in an X. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” she said with that unbalanced grin. “I won’t even take that one back.”
Before they set out to drive around the city, he insisted on giving her an ice pack for the eye and lip while he sent Grant a text message outlining their plan. Next he sent a text to his sister Renee, asking where he could pick up some arnica oil. Naturally she was so excited about his interest, she offered to deliver the oil personally before she even asked why he needed it. Thank goodness he and his companion were heading out for a few hours. Even as he thought how typical his sister’s response was, he slid a glance at the woman at the counter, wondering who was out there worrying—or not worrying—about her welfare.
He hoped Grant learned someone was out there searching for her. She struck him as a good person, and when she smiled, he imagined how that expression would light up a family conversation. It would be criminal if she was as alone in the world as she felt right now.
Done with the ice, they stepped out of the house into a gorgeous spring morning that seemed infused with hope and upbeat energy. He caught her taking in every detail and visual cue as they walked to the garage. He could remind her not to tax herself, but what was the point? She was managing the situation better than he’d expected. Whoever she was, he’d bet this ability to adapt and roll with life’s ups and downs was part of her nature.
So what kind of hell had she survived that her brain resorted to amnesia as a self-preservation tactic?
Much as she’d done last night, she peered at the passing neighborhoods and buildings lining the streets as he drove across town. He took his time, avoiding the expressways, but nothing elicited a significant reaction as he meandered around and through the Penn campus. On a hunch, he circled the university hospital. She seemed to stick by that claim of trusting him, because she didn’t bother to remind him she refused testing or an evaluation.
He let her toy with the radio as he doubled back and headed for the club situated at the edge of the Delaware River, this time taking the expressway.
“It’s an interesting city,” she said, studying the view. “I wonder why it doesn’t feel like home.”
“Maybe you’re new.” Or maybe being attacked in her hometown had pushed her mind into a drastic safe place. “You might even be a tourist.”
“Hmm.” She sat quietly, her toe tapping in time with the music on the radio station she’d chosen.
Whoever she was with her memories intact, he was glad she preferred classic rock today. Carson changed his route, thinking about the idea of her being a tourist. It would explain no immediate outcry from friends or family.
He drove past the zoo and the famous steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, then looped back so they could cruise past Liberty Bell Park. Nothing seemed to break anything loose for her, so he gave up and aimed for the club. He’d hoped by now Grant would have found some sort of clue.
Carson’s cell phone rang, interrupting the song on the radio as they passed Independence Hall. Hearing the system tell him it was Grant Sullivan, Carson answered with the hands-free connection in the truck. “Hello, you’re on speaker,” he answered. “We’re only a few minutes away.”
“Good,” Grant said. “How are you both feeling?”
“Tired,” Carson admitted. He motioned for the woman beside him to speak up.
“Calmer,” she replied.
“Have you remembered anything yet?” Grant asked.
“Nothing but arnica oil,” she said.
“I’ll explain when we get there, Boss.”
“Great.” Grant didn’t sound too thrilled. “What’s your ETA?”
“Five minutes,” Carson replied.
“Even better.” Grant ended the call, and the music filled the cab once more.
“He knows something.” She’d pulled the matchbook from her pocket and traced the edges with her fingertips.
“If that’s true, it will only help you,” he said.
“Unless I’m the reason for my troubles,” she murmured as she turned away from the reflection in the side mirror.
“What are you talking about?”
“Maybe I’ve done something horrible. There’s a lump of dread right here, Carson, in the pit of my stomach. You said the brain takes drastic action in terrible situations. What if I’m the real problem?”
“I don’t believe that.” Carson drove down the pier and parked in one of the spaces reserved for deliveries near the kitchen door.