Stealing Shadows - Hiding In The Shadows Part 3

"We get you up on your feet and moving." He smiled and rose from the

chair. "But not too fast.

Today, we'll have you gradually sit up, maybe try standing, and monitor

your reaction to that. We'll see how your stomach reacts to a bit of solid food. How's that to start?"

She managed a smile. "Okay."

"Good." He squeezed her hand and released it, then hesitated.

Seeing his face, she said warily, "What?"

"Well, since you might want to read the newspapers or watch television

to catch up on things, I think I should warn you about something."

"About what?"

"Your friend Miss. Leighton. She's been missing for about two weeks."

"Missing? You mean she she stopped coming to visit me?" There was

sympathy in his dark eyes. "I mean she disappeared. She was reported missing, and though her car was found abandoned some time later, she hasn't been seen since."

Faith was surprised by the rush of emotions she felt.

Confusion. Shock. Disappointment. Regret. And, finally, a terrible pain at the knowledge that she was now completely alone.

Dr. Burnett patted her hand, but seemed to realize that no soothing

words would make her feel better. He didn't offer any, just went away

quietly.

She lay there staring up at the white, blank ceiling, which was as empty as her mind.

He laughed at her, the sound rich with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Well, bow was I to know you couldn't boil water without ruining thepot?"

"I just forgot," she defended herself with spirit. "I had more importantthings on my mind."

He shook his head, fair hair gleaming like spun gold and a wryexpression on his handsome face. -To be honest, I'm glad there are a fewthings you don't do well. If you were Perfect, I wouldn't know how to cope.

She reached out a hand and touched his face, the backs of her fingersstroking downward in a quick caress. Her hands were strong andbeautiful, well kept, the neat oval nails polished a vivid red. She feltthe slight bristle of his evening beard, a scratchiness that wasfamiliar and pleasant, even erotic. It made her breath catch at the backof her throat, and her voice emerged more husky than she had expected.

"I may not be Perfect, but I'm starving. And since I ruined dinner, Ithought maybe we could go out. - "Only if you're buying, - he said,still humorous even though his eyes darkened in response to what heheard in her voice. "I refuse to buy dinner for a woman who ruined threepots and really stunk up my kitchen. 'You needed new pots anyway, shesaid, and danced away, laughing, when he lunged at her.

But she didn't try too hard to escape, and when his hands were on her,strong and sure and exciting, she let herself melt against him. Theirbodies fit together as though they'd been designed to, and his mouth onhers was still a shock of wild, overwhelming pleasure, instantlyseductive. But as always, the warning voice in her bead told her not toyield completely, to hold back something of herself because she knew howthis would end, she knew it. And as always, she ignored the warning andreached eagerly for what he offered.

A burst of heat raced through her and her heart began to pound, and whenhis hands slid down her back to curve over her bottom and hold her even tighter against him- Faith woke with a start, shaken yet also exultant.

There was a man in her life. Or had been.

She closed her eyes and tried to recapture the image of his face,pleased when it rose easily an vividly in her mind. That gleaming,spun-gold hair, a little longer than the current fashion, even a bits.h.a.ggy-and decidedly s.e.xy. Gray eyes steady and intelligent, goingsilvery with laughter. Firm, humorous mouth, determined jaw. Deep,strong voice.

And the way he'd looked at her ... Faith shivered and opened her eyes,realizing that her cheeks were hot and she was smiling helplessly, thatthe quiver deep inside her was something other than fear and panic. Sheswore she could smell the cologne he used, that pleasant scent mixedwith the sharper, clean fragrance of soap.

Then that sensory memory abandoned her, leaving only his face distinctin her mind. She held on to it- fiercely.

Her room was quiet but for the murmur of the television, tuned to CNN.She was almost sitting up, the head of the bed raised because she'd beenlooking through magazines before she'd suddenly fallen asleep.

She still did that sometimes, even though it had been almost a weeksince she'd come out of the coma. Days of painful transition, of movingfrom a patient who was bedridden and totally dependent on the nursingstaff to one slowly and cautiously reclaiming independence.

Small movements had required a great effort at first, and walking evenmore so. Her muscles were weak and slow to obey her, though dailyphysical therapy was gradually changing that. Her blood pressure hadstabilized, but her stomach still had trouble with solid foods.

The removal of the feeding tube had been surprisingly painless and wouldleave only a tiny scar, but having the catheter taken out had not beenpleasant.

Three days ago she had actually made it into the bathroom on her own,and had spent long minutes staring into the mirror at a face she didn'tknow. A thin, pale face, framed by mostly straight, dull red hair thatfell just below her shoulders. Her green eyes were very clear andstrong, but the remainder of her features struck her as less thanmemorable. Straight nose, generous mouth, determined chin.

Some might call her pretty, perhaps.

She had discovered that she was only a few inches over five feet, veryslender, and fine boned. She had small b.r.e.a.s.t.s and virtually nohips-minimal curves at best. She thought her legs were okay, or would beonce they began to hold her up for more than a few minutes at a time.

Yesterday morning she had taken a long, luxurious bath, and though anurse had had to help her dry her hair afterward because she'd used upall her strength, the results had been worth it. She felt much better.

As for her hair, the dull red had become a rich auburn, which made herpale face look luminous.

It was a face, she thought now, that in' lit attract a ig handsome manwith gleaming blond hair. A man with intelligent gray eyes and a way ofleveling them when he spoke that said he was accustomed to getting whathe wanted.

What was his name? And if they were so involved that physical intimacyhad been very much a part of the relationship, why had he never come tovisit her?

That bothered her. A lot.

But the flowers from Dinah Leighton continued to igh arrive once a week,even after her own disappearance.

Faith had gotten up the nerve to call the florist and had found that theorder had been paid ahead for another week.

Obviously, no one else cared enough even to acknowledge Faith's presencein the hospital-or her absence from the life she had led before theaccident.

Where was that blond man?

How could he be so vivid in her mind-her only real memory-if he had notbeen a recent part of her life?

A nurse came in carrying a stack of magazines. "I brought you a fewmore, honey." She was a motherly woman with a warm voice and gentlehands, an dover the last few days she had been the most helpful andencouraging of the nurses.

"Thanks, Kathy." She eyed the short, neat, unpolished nails of thenurse, then looked at her own still- ragged ones. "Kathy, do you happento have a nail file?"

"I'll get one for you." Kathy put the magazines on the bed and smiled ather with genuine pleasure.

"You're looking much better today, honey. And obviously feeling better."

Faith smiled at her. "I am, thanks."

"Dr. Burnett will be pleased. You're one of his favorites, you know."

Faith had to laugh. 'Because he wants to write that paper on me, and weboth know it. Not too many long-term-coma patients wake up."

"That's true," Kathy said soberly. "And those who do tend to be in muchworse shape than you are, honey.

With you, it's almost like you were just sleeping."

Faith didn't feel as though she had just been sleeping, but said only,"I know how lucky I am, believe me. And you and the other nurses havebeen terrific.

That makes a difference.

Kathy patted Faith's shoulder, said, "I'll go get that nail file," andleft the room.

It was easy enough to say the right words. Faith had been doing that fordays now. She had been positive and upbeat. She had listened closely tothe psychiatrist on staff and obediently followed her advice to takethings one step at a time. She had agreed with the nurses' cheerfulpredictions that her life would get back on track sooner rather thanlater. She had read newspapers and magazines and watched television tocatch up on current events. She had made herself smile at Dr. Burnettwhen he visited and had not mentioned the devastating panic that wasalways with her and how she often woke in the night terrified by theblankness inside herself. She had some knowledge now, but almost all ofit dated from the moment she'd opened her eyes in the hospital. Thenurses' faces were familiar, as were the doctors'. The layout of herfloor and that of the physical therapy rooms two stories above.

These things she knew.

And there was, absent from her mind until some- one asked her a directquestion, the sort of knowledge that came from a normal education. Shehad completed several crossword puzzles, and a game show she had found on television had shown her that she had some awareness of history andscience. Facts.

Dates. Occurrences.

Fairly useless trivia, for the most part.

But of memories, all she had, all she could claim as her own dating fromthat otherwise blank part of her life, were the dreams of a blond manshe thought she had loved.

There had been two other dreams before today, and they were brief andvery similar; just scenes from a relationship, casual and intimate. Eachtime, the scene had erupted into laughter and ended in lovemaking.

But she still didn't remember his name.

She hadn't mentioned the dreams to anyone. They were something all herown, a piece of herself not given to her by someone else, and she heldon to them as to an anchor.

'Here you go, Faith." Kathy returned to the room and handed her the nailfile. "Before you start working on those nails, how about a trip aroundthe floor?

Doctor's orders."

Faith was more than ready to move. Painful as it still was, at least itallowed her to concentrate on muscles and bones and balance, instead ofhaving to keep thinking and wondering.

"You bet," she said, and threw back the covers.

On November fourteenth, three weeks after waking up from her coma andnine weeks after the accident, Faith went home.

She was not fully recovered. She still got tired very easily, her sleepwas erratic and disturbed by dreams she remembered and nightmares shedidn't, and her emotional state was, to say the least, fragile.

Dr. Burnett drove her to her apartment, claiming it was on his way homebut fooling n.o.body. He had several times shown himself more than alittle protective of Faith.

Faith was more than happy to accept his escort.

She was nervous and panicky, afraid the place where she lived would 'atmemories. Terrified it would not.

She wore her own clothes, thanks to Dinah Leighton's foresight inpacking a bag for her and taking it to the hospital just a week afterthe accident, but though the slacks and sweater fit fairly well, she wasuncomfortable in them. Perhaps it was because she had spent so much timein a nightgown.

Her apartment was on the sixth floor of a nice but ordinary building ina suburb of Atlanta. No doorman or guard greeted them, but everythinglooked clean and in good repair, and the elevator worked smoothly.

Dr. Burnett came in with her, carrying her small overnight bag, which he set down by the door. "Why don't we take a look around?" he suggested,watching her. "I don't want to leave you until you're comfortable here."

Faith accepted the suggestion because she didn't want to be alone.

The apartment was ... nice. Ordinary. There was one bedroom; thequeen-size bra.s.s bed had a floral, ruffled comforter set, with lots ofpillows tossed against the shams. Curtains at the single window matchedthe comforter. There was a nightstand and a chair, both white wicker anda white laminated dresser with an oval wicker-framed mirror hangingabove it. The color scheme was white and pink.

Faith thought it an odd choice for a redhead, and rather girlish.

The one bathroom was small and standard, with white tiles and plainfixtures. The rugs, towels, and curtains on the window and shower boreanother floral pattern, this one with pink and purple predominating.

The kitchen was also standard, white cabinets and a neutral countertopblending perfectly with the vinyl floor. There was a small breakfasttable, again of white wicker and gla.s.s, with a cheap area rug underneathit. Little attempt had been made to personalize the s.p.a.ce as far asFaith could see. There were no place mats on the table, and except for acoffeemaker, nothing cluttered the countertops.

The living room struck her as having been recently decorated, and shehad the feeling-certainly not a memo that some picture in a magazine hadbeen the inspiration. The intended style might have been shabby chic,with distressed wood, lots of texture in materials, and antique-lookingaccessories.

It didn't quite work, though she couldn't have explained why.

"Nice place," Burnett said.

She nodded, even as she wondered why the little apartment felt stiflingto her. Was it the several locks on the door, an indication of someonewho had shut the world out herself in? Faith didn't know, but itdisturbed her.

She shrugged out of her jacket and left it over a chair, then returnedto the kitchen and checked the cabinets and the refrigerator. "Sloan wasas good as his word,- she noted, seeing the stock of foods.