A Woman With A Mystery Part 8

He read the label. Xanax. The name of the drug meant nothing to him. No big surprise considering he never took anything stronger than aspirin and was unfamiliar with prescription drugs. "What are they for?"

"They relax me and make me feel better."

"What happens if you don't take them?"

She stared at him in obvious surprise. "I don't know. I-" She looked at the pill she'd spilled into her hand just before he'd stopped her. "Yesterday, I forgot the pills here at the house. Obviously they don't help my memory." She tried to laugh at her joke but instead tears welled up in her eyes.

He removed the baby-blue oblong pill from her hand, putting it back into the container and snapping the lid shut again. "I'd like to have a pharmacist take a look at these before you take any more."

She nodded, her eyes large and scared. "You don't think the pills-?" She picked up her cola and took a drink, her hands trembling.

"I don't know. Maybe I'm just being paranoid but I'd feel better if you didn't take them until I can have someone check them out-" He stopped. She was crying softly. "I'm sorry if I upset you."

"No," she said, hurriedly wiping at her tears. "You haven't upset me. Just the opposite. I can't tell you what it means to have someone believe me." She forced a smile. "Your paranoia is such a comfort, since for so long all I've had is my own."

He started to reach for her, to drag her from her chair and into his arms to hold her and comfort her as he would have a year ago. But he stopped himself, reminded that she didn't know him. Didn't remember the intimacies they'd shared. He was a stranger to her. A stranger who knew every curve, every hollow, every inch of her.

But she didn't know that either.

And it was that secret between them that made him walk to the window instead and look out again, rather than try to comfort her. He could more easily have comforted a total stranger than he could have Holly Barrows at that moment.

"Your gallery is closed for the holiday, right?" he asked, his back to her.

"Yes?"

"We'll go to my sister's. She has a large house with lots of room. She's going to be out of town until after the New Year." He wouldn't be putting Sh.e.l.ley in danger. The house had a good security system, unlike his apartment. And Sh.e.l.ley kept the freezer stocked.

He turned when she didn't answer and saw her look around her home, her studio, as if a.s.sessing how she could leave it, let alone go with a man she had only met a night before. A man she had little reason to trust.

He followed her gaze to the painting again. If anything, it was more frightening-and convincing-than when he'd first seen it.

"I think you'd better bring that along." He didn't want anyone else seeing the canvas. Especially the ghouls in the painting. If they existed. If she was really remembering them, it was best they didn't know to what extent.

Holly still hadn't moved, he realized. She sat, holding her gla.s.s in both hands, her gaze finally coming back to it and the dark liquid. "I have to ask you something. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. Or suspicious, but why do do you believe me?" you believe me?"

It was obvious she was having some doubts about coming with him. He'd hoped she would remember the two of them on her own. But he didn't have the time to wait for that now. He wanted out of here. He wanted her out of here.

"Do you recall where you were this time last year?" he asked. "From Christmas Eve through February twenty-sixth?"

Her head jerked up. She said nothing as her surprised gaze locked with his, but her face paled, and she gripped the gla.s.s, her hands shaking.

"My twin sister Sh.e.l.ley has a birthmark exactly like the one you described." He reached down and pulled up his pant leg. "So do I. And we both have the Rawlins' dimples."

She dropped the gla.s.s. It hit the hardwood floor, shattering like a gunshot, ice shooting out across the hardwood floor, the last of the cola puddling at her feet. But she didn't move. She stared at him as if seeing a ghost. No doubt the ghost of Christmas past.

Chapter Seven.

Holly stared at him dumbstruck. "You?" "You?" she cried, all the ramifications coming at mach-two speed. she cried, all the ramifications coming at mach-two speed.

He nodded.

"The baby?" If she'd really been with this man from Christmas Eve through February twenty-sixth then- "It's ours? ours?"

"So it seems." He didn't sound pleased about that. But who could blame him?

Her head swam. She gripped the arms of the chair trying to still the trembling in her hands, in her body. "I hired you not knowing you were the man who-How is that possible?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'd like to think you remembered me. Remembered...us."

Her gaze flew up to meet his. Heat rushed through her. This man knew knew her. Intimately. Her face flamed and she dropped her gaze. "I don't know what to say to you." her. Intimately. Her face flamed and she dropped her gaze. "I don't know what to say to you."

"You don't have to say anything," he said easily, his voice deep and almost familiar.

She felt a chill as something like a memory skittered across her bare skin. Fingers, warm, soothing, searching. Bodies welded together with desire and sweat-She looked away, shocked. It couldn't have been a memory. Couldn't have been her.

"How did we meet?" she asked, almost afraid to hear it for fear he'd picked her up in some bar. Or worse.

She stole a glance at him and reminded herself that she'd had a good feeling about the man who'd fathered her baby. Then she listened as he recounted a story about a woman coming out of a storm on Christmas Eve a year ago, how his pickup had almost hit her, and when he'd jumped out of his truck, he'd found her lying in the snow with no knowledge of who she was-just the conviction that someone was trying to kill her.

Holly closed her eyes. How could she have spent all that time with him and not remember? "And I was with you from Christmas Eve through February twenty-sixth?"

"Yes."

She took a breath. "We slept together."

"We were lovers," he said softly.

She opened her eyes. "Then it wasn't..."

"A one-night stand? Hardly." His gaze hardened. "We were in love."

The words reverberated through her. In love? She couldn't have been more surprised if he'd said he'd bought her from a wagonload of roving gypsies.

He must have seen her surprise. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing, and she realized she'd hurt him. "I was trying to find out who you were, but you seemed to have been dropped from the sky. Then I turned my back one day and you were gone with two hundred dollars of my money and some files from my office."

She stared at him, horrified. First she'd fallen into bed with this man, convinced him she loved him, then stolen from him like a common thief? Tears burned her eyes. Maybe Inez was right. Maybe she forgot because of the horrible things she'd done. Or maybe none of this was true. Just as the baby the nurse had handed her at the hospital hadn't been hers.

"Excuse me if I find this hard to believe...." She wouldn't have believed anything he'd told her and would have called him a liar to his face, but he knew the exact dates of the days she'd lost. And there was the baby. Not to mention that flash, that image of the two of them, bodies locked in pa.s.sion. It had felt like more than a memory as if the image was somehow branded not only in her brain, but on her skin. And there was the birthmark, the dimples.

And yet, she trusted none of it. "If we were in love, why would I steal from you and leave?" she challenged.

He shook his head, his gaze never leaving her face. "I was hoping you'd tell me me that." that."

She heard the bitterness in his voice. It was obvious he didn't trust her. Why should he? She'd hurt him. No, not her. "I don't know this other women you say you met this time last year."

"Unless you have a twin sister..."

"I'm sure you know I don't," she said, then continued with her train of thought. "Nor can I imagine doing the things you say I've done."

"Can't you?" he asked, his gaze refuting her claim. She felt herself blush under the heat of it.

"Then explain why you came to me again on Christmas Eve," he demanded. "Why you came to me for help a second time."

"I can't explain it," she said. "I just had this feeling I had had to hire you. I'm not sure any more what decisions are mine and which are-" She stopped, afraid to voice the fear that had haunted her for so long. to hire you. I'm not sure any more what decisions are mine and which are-" She stopped, afraid to voice the fear that had haunted her for so long.

He was watching her, waiting.

She swallowed, realizing she had nothing to lose at this point. "I feel as if someone is...making me do things, things I normally wouldn't do, things I can't even imagine doing, and then wiping the memory from my mind."

"Things you regret?"

"Yes," she said, then added quickly, "Not everything. Not the baby. Not-" She waved a hand through the air. "I just need to remember, to understand what has been happening to me." She fought back tears, hating the need to cry. Crying had done nothing to relieve the pain. Or to help.

She rubbed at her eyes and looked away from him, the doubts haunting her. She needed her pill. The thought surprised her. "The thing is, why would anyone go to the trouble of...making me do anything? anything?" she asked, more to herself than him. "What could they possibly have to gain?"

"A baby."

She turned to blink at him. "All of this for a baby?" she asked, incredulous.

He shrugged. "What else have they gained? It wouldn't be the first time somebody wanted a baby so desperately that they did something...heinous."

"Why my...our baby?" Her voice broke.

He shook his head. "It doesn't make any more sense to me than it does you. If someone wanted a baby that badly, they could hire a surrogate. Or adopt. Or just steal an infant from a shopping cart at the grocery store."

She shuddered at the thought. And yet her baby had been stolen by monsters and she'd seen it happen. Or had she?

"You think it's possible then?" she asked.

"That someone is manipulating you?"

She nodded.

"I think anything is possible at this point."

She felt a wave of relief wash over her. Followed by a jolt of sudden fear. "But what if-" She stopped, realizing what she was going to say as she remembered the feeling she'd had driving by his office Christmas Eve. She'd felt as if she had had to stop and hire him. Did that mean that she trusted him? That subconsciously, she'd known to go to him again because he was the one person who would help her? to stop and hire him. Did that mean that she trusted him? That subconsciously, she'd known to go to him again because he was the one person who would help her?

Or had the feeling been too too strong? Almost as if she didn't have a mind of her own? Almost as if someone had sent her to him? strong? Almost as if she didn't have a mind of her own? Almost as if someone had sent her to him?

The thought hit too close to what she'd come to suspect.

"Did anyone try to kill me while I was with you?" she asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

"No."

"Or try to find me?"

He frowned. "No."

"Didn't you find that strange?"

He seemed to study her. "Not at the time. I'm pretty good at what I do."

She suspected he was. But maybe he didn't realize who he was dealing with. Possibly, what what he was dealing with. he was dealing with.

"What if you were set up?" she asked. "We were set up? I could have been sent to you. Just as I might have been again this Christmas Eve." were set up? I could have been sent to you. Just as I might have been again this Christmas Eve."

"Nice present," he said with a lift of his brow.

"I'm serious. I felt as if I had had to contact you." She swallowed, the words sounding ludicrous even to her ears and yet they'd been words she'd said over and over again in her mind. "I'm not sure they aren't controlling me right now and there is nothing I can do to stop them." to contact you." She swallowed, the words sounding ludicrous even to her ears and yet they'd been words she'd said over and over again in her mind. "I'm not sure they aren't controlling me right now and there is nothing I can do to stop them."

"I think you're wrong about that," he said, surprising her. "I think you're starting to remember." He sounded so calm and rational. "First you remembered our baby. Then that Scotch you served me tonight. You picked the brand I drink. You had no way of knowing that except to have remembered it."

She stared at him, wanting desperately to grab hold of any line of hope he threw her.

"I think you're starting to remember me," he continued, his gaze as soft as his voice. "Remembering us. And that's why you came to me. Again."

She smiled in spite of herself. "I like your theory better than mine."

He returned her smile. He had a nice smile. Oh, how she wished she could remember him. Desperately wished it. Because he was asking her to put her trust in him, to put her life in his hands. And she knew if he was the enemy, then he was the worst possible one she could imagine. The father of her baby. A man who knew her better than she knew herself.

"Why didn't you tell me yesterday who you were?" She hadn't meant to make it sound so much like an accusation.

"You weren't ready to hear it yet," he said matter-of-factly.

She watched him go to the window to pull back the curtain a fraction of an inch and look out, wondering what he was looking for, worse, what he was thinking.

"I hate to imagine what you must think of me," she said. "I stole from you." She knew that was the least of it.

"You and I spent over two months together," he said without turning around. "I got to know you pretty well."

Even without the flashes of possible memory, she could well imagine, since their liaison had ended in a pregnancy. "How is that possible when I I didn't even know me?" didn't even know me?"

He turned to look at her, his gaze softening. "The woman I knew was kind, generous, funny, smart, strong, brave, and...very..." The intensity of his gaze could have burned her. "...pa.s.sionate."

He'd just described a stranger. In her twenty-eight years, she'd never known pa.s.sion. And yet when she looked into his eyes, she felt something. Just as she had when she'd thought she'd envisioned the two of them locked in each other's arms.

She watched his features soften, a hint of a smile turning up the corners of his lips. "I liked you a lot, all things considered," he said, lightening his tone.

"All things considered?"

"Considering you had no past and thought someone was trying to kill you."