One Forgotten Night Page 5

  “Maybe you had a lot of other, more valuable jewelry, and the perpetrator took it.”

  “Maybe. But wouldn’t it have been easier just to grab it all instead of picking through it?”

  “Sure it would. Like I said before, this break-in wasn’t a robbery. But it looks like you know a lot about jewelry.”

  He was right, Nina realized. She had assessed her jewelry with authority. Once again, just as when she looked at the glittering ice cubes in the restaurant, she felt that sense of haunting familiarity, that feeling that she was on the verge of remembering something important—and once again it faded away.

  “Come out here,” Mike said, moving into the living room. “I’ve got a few things to show you.” Nina saw that he had stacked the scattered magazines and books into piles. He led her to one pile and she knelt to examine it. There were issues of a magazine called Gemologists’ Quarterly and a number of books dealing with gemstones, from an ancient and well-worn paperback called Rocks and Minerals of the World to A Catalog of Gems in the Metropolitan Museum of Art to a textbook titled Advanced Gemology.

  “I’m no Sherlock Holmes,” said Mike, “but I’d say you’re some kind of expert in precious stones.”

  “Gemologist,” corrected Nina absently, and then she looked up, eyes alight with excitement. “My God, that’s right, I’m a gemologist! I recognize all these books, I know everything that’s in them.”

  Mike couldn’t help himself—the look of joy and hope on her face took his breath away. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. He dropped to his knees next to her and took her hands in his. “That’s great, Nina. Do you remember reading them? What about where you went to school?”

  Slowly the light in her face faded, replaced by puzzlement. She shook her head. “No. I—I remember the information, but I can’t remember anything else, I can’t—”

  Her voice broke. Mike felt her hands, still grasped in his, clench into fists, and a rush of tenderness almost overwhelmed him. Pulling her closer, comforting her, would be the easiest and most natural thing in the world. Instead he did the smart thing. He let her go, and she turned away. When she spoke again, her voice was angry. “Damn it, it’s my life, and I can’t remember!”

  Mike stood and looked down at her bent head, resisting an urge to stroke the tousled auburn hair. Now that he wasn’t looking into her eyes, wasn’t touching her, his wariness returned. If this is an act, he told himself, she’s another Meryl Streep. And if she’s trying to do a job on you, fella, it’s working. His lips tightened. He wasn’t going to get burned that way again.

  He walked to the desk and picked up a small book. “Here. You might find this useful.”

  Nina got to her feet—and suddenly the room fractured into shards of light. She saw a swirl of movement that resolved itself into a dark, shining swath of fur. An instant later she realized that the fur was a mink coat. A blond woman was wearing the coat, twirling in front of Nina. The woman’s hair was wound into a French twist, and she was smiling. Nina seemed to hear a light, musical voice say, “How do you like it?” Then once again came the flashes of light, and Nina blinked. She was in her living room, alone with Mike, who was staring at her.

  “Nina, did you hear me? What is it?”

  “Another memory, I guess. Like in the restaurant, when I sort of blacked out and saw those two men. The same thing just happened—a flash of light, and then I saw something. This time it was a blond woman. She was wearing a mink coat. And I think,” Nina added, straining to recall every detail of that fleeting vision, “yes, I’m pretty sure she was standing right in this room.”

  “Did you recognize her?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe it’ll come back to me.”

  Despite his suspicions Mike was moved by her sad, empty voice. “Sure it will,” he said.

  Nina trembled. Mike’s voice had held a familiar, cherishing note—it was the same voice he’d used to comfort her when she lay stunned in the street after the shooting. And she was shocked at just how good it felt when he spoke to her in that warm, caressing voice. The sound of it shivered across her flesh, raising goose bumps on the sensitive skin of her arms and neck. But in the next instant she brought herself back to reality: I can just imagine how he’d sound if he discovered that diary under the mattress.

  “Maybe this will make you feel better,” Mike said, and Nina saw that he was still holding out that little book. It was, she realized, an address book. It was open to the front page, labeled Important Numbers. There she had scrawled “Mom,” followed by an area code and phone number.

  “I already checked. It’s a Florida code.”

  “Thanks.” Nina held the book, staring down at the number through eyes blurred with unshed tears. Would her mother’s voice trigger a return of memory, or would the woman at the other end of the telephone line be just another stranger?

  “I don’t think I’m ready to call her just yet.” Nina’s voice was unsteady. “I feel a little off-balance. Maybe after I work on this mess for a while—” She nodded toward the disaster area that was her kitchen.

  “Sure, I understand. I’ll give you a hand.”

  She shot him a swift, surprised glance. “You’re going to help me clean up?”

  He grinned, a flash of white against his dark stubble, and those boyish dimples reappeared briefly. “Sure, why not? Besides, there could be a clue in your oatmeal, and I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  “Well, okay. As you can see, I need all the help I can get.” In more ways than one, she thought.

  “First, though, I’m going to see if I can save these guys,” Mike said, pointing at the four overturned houseplants.

  Nina went into the kitchen, found an apron and began cleaning up the worst of the mess: the food that had been carelessly strewn across the counters, the table and the floor. It looked as though someone had opened every container, searching for something that might have been hidden among the contents.

  As she worked she stole glances at Mike. He’d gone down on his knees and was gently restoring the plants to their pots, scooping up the discarded potting soil and patting it into place around their roots. Nina thought she heard him humming, and then realized that he was talking as he worked—to himself or to the plants, she wasn’t sure which. “Philodendron, huh?” she heard him mutter. “You guys’re pretty hard to kill. I think you’ll pull through.” She smiled. Real tough guy.

  He finished his horticultural first aid, watered the plants and arranged them around the room. “Hey,” he called out to Nina, “is this where they go?” Before she could answer he said, “Never mind, I know—you don’t remember. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep putting you on the spot. I’ll start over. Do these plants look all right?”

  “They look fine. Thanks. Now how about looking for clues in here—with the vacuum cleaner.” Mike groaned but lent a hand willingly enough, and for a time they worked side by side in companionable silence.

  “You’re going to have to restock your kitchen,” Mike remarked as he sealed a garbage bag on an assortment of pasta, cereal and crackers that he had swept up from the floor.

  “There are some frozen dinners in the freezer that haven’t been opened,” Nina said, “and some cans of soup and packages of tea and cocoa. But you’re right, I need to go to the store. Maybe tomorrow. If I can remember where the store is.”

  Mike snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. That brown BMW is yours—I found the insurance papers in your desk. Want to go down and take a look at it?”

  “Good idea. I could use a break,” Nina answered, grateful for the suggestion. Her head was beginning to ache, and she felt tired and drained.

  The fresh late-afternoon breeze felt good, though, and the gorgeous sports car would have boosted anyone’s spirits. She watched while Mike quickly and expertly examined the car.

  “Nothing in the glove compartment but the registration and insurance card,” he reported. “Nothing in the trunk but a spare tire and a set of jumper cables. The car
is spotless.”

  “No fast-food wrappers on the floor?” Nina said teasingly, just to see if she could make him grin.

  “Nope,” he answered. “Just a few lobster claws and champagne bottles.” And then he grinned again, dimples and all, and the grin did strange, unsettling things to Nina’s heartbeat. Better hope he doesn’t do that too often, she warned herself. I’ve got enough trouble without getting weak in the knees every time the cop who’s investigating me smiles.

  At Mike’s suggestion, Nina agreed to take the car for a short spin. He said that he wanted to be sure she remembered how to handle it. She couldn’t find any fault with his reasoning, but with him sitting next to her, quietly watching her every move as she pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic, she felt like a sixteen-year-old taking her first driving test.

  “Where do you want me to go?” she asked.

  “Nowhere in particular. Just drive around for a few minutes. Maybe being behind the wheel will trigger some memories.”

  But it didn’t. Nina had no trouble driving, and the car’s control panel seemed familiar, but she had no actual recollection of ever being in the BMW. Her sensation behind the wheel was much like what she had experienced when she looked at her gemology books: the knowledge was there, but she couldn’t remember acquiring it. The doctors had called this sort of knowledge “generalized memory.” It was very different from those vivid, sharp flashes in which she saw people and scenes but did not know who or where they were. Nina could only hope that eventually she would begin to recognize the images that appeared in those blinding visions.

  She drove aimlessly, and after a few turns she found herself on a ramp leading down to the riverside docks. She pulled into a parking area and looked out across the riverfront. The sun was beginning to go down; shadows stretched across the broad slate blue Delaware. Across the river the factories and warehouses of Camden glittered in the last of the day’s light. Mike cracked open the sunroof, and the evening air stirred their hair.

  “Feel any better?” he asked after a few moments.

  “It’s the strangest thing,” Nina said. “I remember bits and pieces of my life—the names of restaurants, and who’s president, and being a gemologist. But none of it seems to have anything to do with me.“ She drummed her hands on the steering wheel in frustration. “I feel as though my life before today didn’t really exist.”

  Mike laid one hand on hers, stilling their restless motion. “It did, Nina.” His voice and his touch were kind, but when she looked at him his expression was remote. She would have given anything at that moment to see warmth and reassurance in his eyes, but she sensed that he was holding back, reserving judgment. That’s right—it’s all part of the job to him, she thought bleakly. She started up the car and headed for home.

  Mike shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and gazed unseeingly out the window. He glanced at Nina. Her face was set and she was staring straight ahead as she drove. His thoughts raced around and around in a tormented circle: She can’t be faking. She’s hurting. Her amnesia is real, I’d bet my life on it. But what if she is faking, having a good laugh at my expense?

  Always, Mike ended up at the same bleak conclusion: Even if Nina were telling the absolute, unvarnished truth, he was dangerously close to stepping over the line with her. This should have been a simple open-and-shut investigation of a shooting, but his emotions were getting involved, and his control was slipping. He wanted to help her find herself, he wanted to protect her—and he had to find out if she was hiding something. And if she kept looking at him with those brave smiles and those sad eyes, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do.

  Nina was quiet until they were back in her apartment. Then she took a deep breath and said, “I think I’m ready to make that telephone call now. To my mother.”

  “Would you like me to leave the room?” Mike spoke gently, and Nina almost nodded, grateful for his understanding—he was giving her a choice, when he could probably have insisted on listening in on all of her calls. Then she realized that she did not want to be alone. Mike Novalis was a lot of things—suspicious, moody, infuriating—but Nina was sure that above all he was strong. And right now she needed some strength, even if it was only borrowed.

  “Please stay,” she whispered, and dialed the number.

  Her mother answered on the third ring, and Nina knew at once that she could not tell this woman what had happened to her. Her mother’s voice was faint and frail; it was the voice of someone who needed comfort and attention—not someone who could deal with an amnesiac daughter, a bullet wound and a police investigation.

  “How are you feeling?” Nina asked.

  “Oh, you know how it is. The doctors say there’s nothing at all wrong with me, but...” There followed a list of minor symptoms, as well as grievances about the neighbors’ loud bridge parties.

  “You said you had a problem, something you needed my help with,” Nina prompted.

  “Oh, yes, I’m so glad you remembered. I’m going to redecorate the living room. Do you think I should go with sea-foam green or teal blue?”

  Nina blinked. This was not what she had expected. “Uh, blue, I guess. Yes, definitely the blue.”

  “Well, I’ll think about it.” Her mother sounded dubious.

  Nina’s mind raced. There was so much she wanted to know—but how could she ask questions without alarming her mother? “Mom,” she ventured, “I was thinking about Dad this morning,” and then she paused. Would her mother put her father on the line?

  “Were you, dear?” Her mother’s voice was tender. “I’m glad. You know, I think about him all the time. He would have been so proud of the way you and your brother turned out. It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years.” Then, in a livelier tone, “I’m looking forward to having you both here at Christmas. I talked to Charley the other day, and he said that he and Lynn and the boys can’t wait to see you.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, too,” Nina murmured.

  “Maybe you’d like to bring someone down here with you?” her mother suggested. “If you’re seeing anyone, that is...”

  “No. No one special.” As far as I know.

  She said goodbye to her mother, promising to call again soon, and hung up the phone.

  “Any luck?” said Mike, behind her.

  “No,” Nina said, feeling flat and empty. “I didn’t recognize her voice. I could pass her on the street tomorrow and not know who she was. And my father’s dead.” Disappointment and loneliness and despair tore at her; she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Then strong, gentle hands took her shoulders. Mike turned her and drew her into the circle of his arms and held her while she wept.

  He had acted without thinking, responding instinctively to her distress. At first he had wanted only to comfort her as he might comfort a hurt child, but as he held her body to his, burying his face in her hair, thrilling to the delicious yielding firmness of her breasts against his chest, his desire swelled. His grip on her tightened—only a little, but enough to pull her hips tight against the taut, aching pressure in his jeans....

  She looked up, eyes wide and lips parted, and it took all of Mike’s strength for him to step back from her and look away. He walked over to the bookshelves and picked up a handful of the fallen books, shoving them onto the shelves at random. He was trying to appear calm, but mentally he was lashing himself. Are you out of your mind? Getting turned on—and letting her know it! If she’s innocent, she could have your badge for what you just did. And if she’s not, she could take a damn sight more than that away from you. Start thinking with your brain, not with what’s between your legs, you idiot!

  Nina felt dazed. The grief that had driven her into Mike’s arms was temporarily forgotten—her mind and senses were drugged by the surge of white-hot desire she’d felt when he pulled her close. He was across the room now, acting as though nothing had happened, and her legs were still shaking. But Nina knew that Mike had felt it, too; the touch of her hips
against his, brief though it was, had seared her with the awareness of his hardness, his body’s hunger for her. Nina felt an answering hunger. It’s only because you’re hurt, vulnerable, she told herself. You’re all mixed up—you don’t know what you’re doing. But it was hard to think clearly when what she most wanted to do was to run across the room to where he stood with his back turned to her, wrap her arms around his waist and ask him to hold her again. And this time to lower his mouth to hers and kiss her until she was breathless.

  “I think,” she began, and started over, sternly banishing the tremor from her voice, “I think I’ll take a shower.”

  “Fine,” he said without turning around, still mechanically shelving books. Even from across the room Nina could see that he was putting cookbooks in with mystery novels. “I’ll be here when you get out.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of, Nina thought as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Nina was willing to admit that the shower hadn’t been such a great idea, after all. She’d been looking for an excuse to get away from Mike Novalis for a little while so that her emotions could cool down. But the silky touch of the warm water as it flowed through her hair and cascaded down her body served only to make her thoughts more overheated than before. Every inch of her body seemed alive with tingling sensation, as though the brief embrace she and Mike had just shared had wakened some sleeping force within her that would not be quieted. As she soaped herself, she imagined Mike’s hands on her arms, her breasts, her thighs. What if he were here in the shower with her, slick and hard and ready? Even as she tried to drive the image from her mind, her body betrayed her: Her nipples hardened, an ache was building at the core of her womanhood—