Freefall (4 page)
The closely trimmed beard outlined his mouth and jaw in a way she’d always found dramatic—She stopped with a jolt and replayed that thought. Yes. Ever since grade school. She had looked at the posters of the Spanish Conquistadors in their shining armor and crisp beards, and even though their conquests had been rough for the natives, she couldn’t help the thrill that came over her at the sight. The sense of power, even danger.
Dressed in Teva sandals, worn cargo shorts, and a faded navy T-shirt, this man who looked more Hamlet than Cortez had elicited a real glimpse into her past. Could she know him? He stopped beside her perch and fixed her with a piercing indigo stare. No one would be so bold with a stranger. Hope flared.
“Jade?”
She deflated like a pricked balloon. “Yes?”
“I was told I’d find you here.”
She studied his brows, the slight lump on his nose, the chestnut hair cropped and either gelled or naturally unruly in the damp air.
Apprehension touched her spine. “Who told you?”
“Nica.”
Sam poured a second mai tai and reestablished his position on the wall. With his trusty thermos he’d gained confidence, mellowing into a better opinion of himself. Or maybe the appearance of a competitor awoke something fierce inside his soft shell. Should she be glad he was there?
“We need to talk.”
“So talk.”
He glanced at her companion. “I’ve got my truck. Let’s take a drive.”
“I don’t think so.” Her head spun. Her breath quickened.
“Malice,”
Nica had said. Was he there to see if she could identify him? He could claim to be anyone, and she wouldn’t know.
“What’s the matter?” His eyes glinted.
“Nothing.”
Everything
. Why couldn’t she think? Concussion. Brain injury. And if she’d been injured why hadn’t she gone to the police? The resistance had been so strong, yet now it seemed foolish in the extreme.
He frowned. “Look, Nica’s—”
“How do I know you know her? You could be anyone. You haven’t even given me a name.” Which at least Sam had done right off.
He took out his wallet and flipped it open. Pierce. His last name matched Nica’s. Cameron Pierce. Great picture. Who took a good driver’s license picture? That alone was suspicious. Except that the resemblance to his sister was striking, more obvious in the photo than in person, where his masculine presence superceded their similar features.
She looked up. “Even if that’s real, I’m not leaving with you. We can talk here.”
“You might find my questions sensitive.” Again he glanced at Sam.
“At Nica’s, then. I’ll meet you—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t want her upset.”
“Do you plan to be upsetting?”
“Nica’s way too trusting. She wouldn’t see through the Invisible Man.”
Under other circumstances she might enjoy his wit.
A couple of teenagers passed by them, toting their boards, and the breeze wafted their sea-soaked scent. Cameron must have seen her digging in her figurative heels, because he slipped his wallet into his pocket and said, “There’s not really a choice here.”
Au contraire
. She shifted position on the wall, adjusting the drape of the dress over her legs and sending the silent message that this location suited her fine. If she’d been the victim of an attack and had no recollection of whom to blame, everyone was suspect. The way he got under her skin could be nothing more than his arrogance, or it could be an internal warning.
Add to that the frenetic way her mind kept processing every detail of his face, physique, and manner…. Frustration took hold, then aggravation. Before she could voice it, his cell phone rang. He checked the source and turned away to take the call.
She glanced to her side, wondering if she should bolt.
Sam had developed a glaze. “Walk on the beach?” He grinned.
She’d underestimated Mr. Mango-Passion. The more buzzed he got, the better his chances seemed.
“I’m sorry, no.”
“You’re tough.” He nodded toward Nica’s brother. “I don’t feel so bad anymore.”
“You will in the morning.”
He laughed as though it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
“That was good. Quick and snappy.”
“ ‘Brevity is the soul of wit.’ ” The instant rejoinder sent a quiver of familiarity. She’d used that phrase before. Not just in conversation, but what? Instruction?
Sam’s mood shifted from amused to melancholy. He looked ready to beg, but Cameron finished his call and turned.
“Ready?”
Flanked by pathetic and pathological, she almost laughed. “For what?”
“I’m parked right over there.” He splayed his fingers toward someplace behind her.
“Saves you wandering around.”
He hung his thumbs from his cargo shorts. “Let me put it this way; I’m half owner of the house Nica calls home. I have eviction power.”
“One for and one against.”
His eyes took on the deepest ocean hue, the part where chance of survival would be negligible. “I’m persuasive.”
A brown gecko skittered across the path as the sky grayed around them, silhouetting a fringe of coconut palms. Her beautiful evening was drawing to a close and had been anything but peaceful. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish. You can ask all the questions you want, but I can’t tell you anything more than I told Nica. I wish I could.” She countered the plaintive note with a square-shouldered pose that said back off. She had enough to deal with.
Cameron Pierce was spectacularly slow on the uptake. He motioned toward his truck, and this time she turned enough to see a black Tacoma parked with the bed toward them, sea turtle decals on the rear window. Hardly a symbol of malevolence, but still.
She didn’t recognize the vehicle, but that meant nothing; she didn’t recognize herself in the mirror. Even without her vague, sustained anxiety, common sense would keep her from accepting the ride. She shook her head.
“If I were a predator, I wouldn’t have wasted time arguing.”
“Maybe I know karate.”
“Maybe you don’t.”
He didn’t seem the predator type, but her senses were raw, her mind washed clean of any recollection that might identify him. She had nothing but her impressions to go by.
Sam burped discreetly, watching without interfering. While he didn’t mind begging, she must not be worth fighting for. Maybe he’d assessed his chances in a clash with Cameron Pierce as nil. Nica’s brother exuded a confidence one either respected or resented, but couldn’t ignore.
So he took her by surprise when he heaved a sigh and said, “Okay. I’ll walk you back to Nica’s.” She hadn’t expected a concession from the conqueror god with the clipped beard and haughty countenance. But then, how accurate were her perceptions? Maybe Sam was the psychopath and Cameron—
“Walk, amble, before it gets dark… .” He swept his hand in the direction they should go.
By whatever means her mind currently operated, she decided to accept his graceless offer. If they stayed in the open, where she had room to run and scre—
She felt the vibration in her throat, chords stretched, tissue inflamed. Her fingers went to her throat. Something flickered like a minnow gleaming for a second in a sunlit stream. Another flick and it was gone. But it had been there and left a residue of fear.
She had expected to remember something by now, but there’d been nothing until Nica’s brother triggered, if not memories, at least the sensation of memory. And even though the sensation seemed closest to fear, she clung to it—nature abhorring a vacuum. For that reason more than anything else, she got up and started back the way she’d come.
Cameron fell into step, slowing when they neared his truck, then picking it up when she stalked past. “Let me get this straight,” he said.
“You don’t know who you are or how you got here.”
“Yet.”
“You have no ID, no money, nothing but a swelling on the brain.”
“Are you saying I have a big head?”
He slid her a sidelong glance, acknowledging her attempt at humor without finding it humorous. Sam was a better audience. Again a sensation of déja` vu.
“You have no idea what happened?”
A pang squeezed her. “I must have had an accident.”
“But you haven’t reported it.”
How could she explain her unease without raising his suspicions?
“Getting lost isn’t a crime.”
“And yet no one’s reported you missing.”
She stopped. “How do you know?”
“I asked.”
Her jaw fell slack. “You went to the police?”
His eyes turned flinty. “Is that a problem?”
Was it? She didn’t know. She could have gone to the authorities herself, but hadn’t. Nica had respected that. Her brother must not be so inclined. “My situation is not your business.”
“Your situation involves my sister.”
And that obviously gave him carte blanche.
“I asked the local authorities if there’d been any recent missingperson reports.”
And there hadn’t. She didn’t know how to feel about that. “You told them about me?”
“Nica asked me not to.”
She started walking again. Nica at least had sway with him, and he was possibly not as unreasonable as he seemed. “No report,” she mused. “Then there must be no one here to miss me.”
“I wouldn’t lay long odds on that.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not the type to travel alone.”
She turned. “And you would know this because …”
“It’s my job.”
“You’re a fortune-teller?”
The corners of his mouth quirked. “I investigate fraud.”
“What kind?”
“Insurance. Criminal schemes. False claims.”
“You think I’m faking?”
“It’s possible.”
Honest. Direct. Irritating. Who could ask for anything more?
“And how would I file a claim? What name would I use?” Her steps had quickened with her agitation. “What social security number?”
“You’ve considered the angles.”
She shook her head. “You’re like a hypochondriac physician. You see fraud in every face. But believe me, I’d rather know—” Would she? What if she’d blocked her memories because they were too painful, or too frightening? And why was she trying to explain? He was a man who uncloaked liars for a living.
“What are you after? Drugs?”
Something to kill the headache would be welcome.
“Nica doesn’t have—”
“I don’t use drugs.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I … know.” She felt it. His question insulted her. There was no lick of desire, no craving. Her body knew what her mind had forgotten.
“You think Nica’s an easy mark?”
“What?”
“Who told you to go there?”
Nica must have told him what happened. If he didn’t believe his sister, what explanation would convince him? She shut her mouth and walked in silence a few moments before glancing sideways. “Why don’t you just save us both the hassle and tell me what you want.”
And if he wanted her out? She felt suddenly weary. She’d spent one night at Nica’s recuperating. For that she was thankful. But where would she go? Who else would show the kindness his sister had by not forcing her into actions that felt wrong—like getting help?
Cameron said, “I’ll tell you what I don’t want; Nica hurt. Or taken advantage of, or made a fool of.”
“You don’t have much faith in her.”
He hadn’t expected that, and by his frown didn’t like it. But he also didn’t refute it.
She considered the woman whose face was even now the first coherent memory she could conjure up—heart shaped, with a perfect point to her chin that must similarly give her brother’s beard that protruding hauteur. Her eyes, in direct contrast to his, held a sincerity that, to Jade’s traumatized mind, showed compassion and generosity. Maybe to Cameron it looked weak or gullible. Maybe it was.
“I appreciate everything Nica’s done. And as soon as I remember, when I know anything about who I am …” She didn’t know how to finish.
I’ll go back to my life? I’ll finish my vacation? I’ll know what I was doing in the mountains of Kauai…?
In the deepening twilight, she kicked a bone-white lump of surftossed coral at the edge of the narrow highway, feeling as out of place as it looked on the pavement. They paused long enough to note a lack of traffic either way, then crossed.
“You remember nothing?” he prodded again.
Only the glimpses he’d provoked. “It’s pretty much a void.”
“And you’ve done nothing about it.”
“It’s only been a day. I’m sure the bump will heal.” Right. No problem. She could wake tomorrow with everything restored.
“And if it doesn’t heal?”
How could she answer that? With what could she predict a future when her past was wiped clean. Who would she call? Where would she go?
“You’ll hide at Nica’s until you’re old and gray?”
She frowned. “Thank you for the grim prognosis.”
“I don’t pretend to understand your
injury
.”
“Just my motives and character.”
He sighed. “There are things you don’t know.”
She spread her hands. “Revelation.”
They entered the dusky yard lit with tiki-style lanterns that shed a benevolent glow on the fronds and foliage of Nica’s garden and the pathways in between. While the yards around hers were mostly mosslike lawns, Nica’s dense, blooming plants created a heady aroma.
Cameron frowned. “Nica is …” But then he caught sight of her seated on a stone bench. Instantly his manner changed. “What’s wrong, Nica?”
She looked down at her hands. “I found it in the street.”
Cameron turned to the woman called Jade.
Though he’d alluded to Nica’s temperament, he didn’t want to play it out in front of a stranger. He hadn’t learned enough on the walk back to make any kind of decision about her, so he said, “Go ahead in. We’ll talk more later.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go to bed. My head is splitting.” The furrow in her brow punctuated the point.
That meant another night for her at Nica’s, but he hadn’t decided against that so he nodded, then squatted down beside his sister. The chick was hardly into its feathers. No blood. No telling what had ended its brief existence. He sighed. Telling her it was just a fowl, one of the multitudes that ran wild all over the island and died every day, would not ease her sorrow over this one.
