Bombshell: A BWWM Billionaire Amnesia Romance Suspense Novel (13 page)

Chapter Twenty Two

The girl lying in the hospital bed came out of her coma. First her eyes fluttered open, and she realized she was smiling about something.
Why am I happy?
Something was itching on her forehead. She brought a hand up to rub it, but something was blocking her from moving it freely. She opened her eyes wider and tried to figure out where she was.

“Good morning. I’m here to take some blood,” she said.

The girl in the bed knew that she was in a hospital. She held out her arm.

The phlebotomist held up the vial.  “You’re Mona Lisa Van Dyke? Is that correct?”

The girl in the bed shook her head.

“No, I’m Jana Peters.”

The young Filipina wrinkled her nose. “You are? I don’t think so. Look, here’s your chart—it’s got your picture and everything. You’re Mona Lisa Van Dyke, age twenty-four—see?”

Jana Peters cocked her head; this was interesting. She stared at the chart. There it was in black and white—her name, her birthdate, a copy of her driver’s license with her picture. This was so weird. Even the birthday was incorrect. She wasn’t twenty-four, she was twenty-five. And she wasn’t born June 15th, she was born September 29th.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not right. What happened to me? Why am I here? Is this Linton General?”

“I don’t know what happened to you, miss. I’m just supposed to take your blood samples. But, if you’re not the right patient, then I go.”

Jana Peters reached a hand out to stop her. “Please tell me what hospital I’m in. I need to call my friend Holly to come pick me up.”

“You’re at Scripps, Mercy.”

“In Litton?

“No, I’ve never heard of Litton before, you’re in Manahawkin.”

After the women left, Jana Peters got up to use the bathroom, as she wondered where the hell Manahawkin was. After washing and drying her hands she went back into her private room and started searching for her purse. If she could find her ID, then they’d believe her. She found a purse, next to her bed, inside a wicker basket. But it wasn’t her purse, she’d never seen it before. Clearly, they put her in the wrong person’s room.

She cleared her throat, pushing away her reluctance about going through someone else’s purse. If she could prove that they’d made some kind of a mix-up, then it would be justified.

She picked up the purse and sighed. It was buttery soft. She held it to her nose and breathed in the sent. Real leather. She’d always dreamed of having a real leather purse. She turned it around, and her heart thudded.

Oh my God. I’m holding a Badgley Mischka purse in my hands. I’ve been switched with a rich person.
She gaped at the purse, turning it around and looking at all sides. It was fantastic, and easily cost thousands. Listening for sounds of other people, she herd none. She pulled opened the other woman’s purse and looked inside.

Inside, she opened the wallet, and gasped. There was that same picture again. A picture of her. She peered at the name. Mona Lisa Van Dyke, 51 Reed Channel Road, New Jersey.

New Jersey?

Still staring in disbelief at her face on someone else’s driver’s license, she sat back on the bed. It was all too weird. That was definitely her—down to the scar across her right eyebrow, the one her dear daddy had given her as a going-away present, the last time she’d performed in front of an audience.

Her mind reeled as another memory flashed. She’d been on a stage recently. That’s right. The talent show. She was back at the nightclub in Misty Falls, singing Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend. For the first time in her life, she’d been able to perform without any stage freight. Just the opposite, she’d been killing it. The audience has loved her. Did she win?

She tried to remember the performance. She was dancing her way through the floor. There’d been a man in the audience. She’d been drawn to him. Those eyes, the way he looked at her.

Then another memory flashed. That same man not at a table while she stood above him, but in a bedroom, below her, between her legs, bringing her to ecstasy.
No. That can’t be right.
I remember him from the show – that’s all. She closed her eyes and tried to return to that moment. She was leaning towards him, poking him playfully in the chest. He was smiling at her. And then she was off, singing for the others in the audience—killing it, winning the prize.

Another memory flashed hard against her brain. Her breath quickened at the vision of Harold yelling at her, calling her those horrible names. She remembered being frozen to the spot—so afraid, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t run. He was going to get her, kill her for sure this time, and she had no way of stopping him.

Jana Peters closed her eyes tight, trying to force away the memory. But instead, more memories flooded back in a rush. The handsome man pounded on Harold. Then he was dragging her out of the bar, into this car. Harold was shooting at them, at her. But he missed—and the man took her to his cabin—no, not a cabin—a chalet. And he had friends, no, not friends—employees—people who did things for him—because he was rich.

Jana Peters touched her throat with her hand as she tried to still her beating heart. It was all too much. She’d been rescued by a knight in shining armor, a rich knight in shining armor. Now she was in New Jersey – another state. He’d taken her away from where Harold couldn’t touch her. She was safe. She lay back in the bed and tried to take it all in. Somehow, she’d lucked out. She’d better forget all about Jana Peters, because at the moment, being Mona Lisa Van Dyke had a lot more appeal.

She tried again to remember everything about being with that man. Damn, why couldn’t she remember his name? Then she remembered the chart. She got up carefully, not wanting to set off any alarms, and walked to the foot of the bed. She lifted the chart and read another section. Responsible party: Merrick Flynn, fiancé.

She gasped. Fiancé? They were engaged already? But it had only been a few days. How was that possible?

She tried to remember their first kiss, or when he had proposed, but she was drawing a blank. But, even as those other memories alluded her, a powerful memory returned. Merrick Flynn, lifting her naked, wet body out of a bathtub, laying her on a giant bed, and parting her legs with his lips.

She groaned as more memories returned. She didn’t need to see it in her mind because she could feel it in her body. His lips, his fingers. And then he was inside her, filling her, stretching her, loving her so deeply he had to be real. Moisture flooded between her legs, and her sex convulsed with need. Her hand moved from her neck to her hospital gown and her fingers slipped inside and batted a hardening nipple, as her mouth fell open. Her breath quickened as she remembered every sensation, every moment of bliss. At the sound of approaching voices, she pulled her tongue back in her mouth and put her arms up above the sheet.

The phlebotomist returned with a nurse. The nurse picked up the chart from the end of the bed and examined it.

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

Jana Peters didn’t hesitate. Memorization was one of her skills. “Mona Lisa Van Dyke,” she said.

“And your address?”

“51 Reed Channel Road, Atlantic City, New Jersey.”

“And your date of birth?”

“Nine twenty-nine eighty-seven.”

The senior nurse scowled at the dumbfounded phlebotomist, who shrugged her shoulders and shot Jana a hostile glare before taking her leave.

The nurse was apologetic. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Ms. Van Dyke. I’ll let the doctor know you’ve come around. Are you hungry?”

“I’m starving.”

“Fine, then I’ll order you some dinner. Please try not to lie down on the back of your head—it’s still healing.”

Chapter Twenty Three

Merrick walked into the parking lot of Scripps, Mercy, and spotted the FBI agent immediately as she was parked in the red zone and standing next to the open passenger door of her sedan, motioning him to get inside.

Relived that he wasn’t being placed into the back seat of the FBI agent’s car, Merrick’s got inside and waited for her to join him. When she took her seat and refrained from starting the car, he expelled a breath and said. “So, how can I help you, Agent Carson?”

“I understand you hired a Private Investigator to look into to Sheriff Buck of Placid County. I’m curious as to why?”

Merrick’s first thought was that his cousin Giovanni had a big mouth, but then he realized who he was talking to. The FBI had reach.

“Yes,” he answered, “I wanted to know more about him?”

“Why?”

“He put some bullets in my car the other night. I wanted to make sure I knew where to send the body work bill.”

“Last Friday night at the Double XX near Misty Falls?”

“Yep, that would be the time and place.”

“But, why hire a Detective Agency – if you already know who he is, why not send the bill straight to the Sheriff’s station?”

Merrick was tired of playing games. “Look, I’ve got a friend up there in a coma – can you cut to the chase? What do you want?”

The FBI agent pulled a fed file from the side of her seat and opened it. “We’re looking for this girl,” she said. “Have you seen her?”

Merrick held the picture of Bombshell in front of him. It was a slightly grainy photograph, clearly shot at night. Her shoulders were slumped and her face was hidden by her hair, but even with all the photographic imperfections, he could still sense the fear in her posture. She was taking out a heavy bag of what looked like trash, and walking across what looked like a covered driveway between a house and a garage.

Merrick wanted to say No, in case Bombshell was in some kind of trouble with the law, but he doubted that Special Agent Carson had played all of her cards.

“Why do you think I’d know about some girl?”

“Because, she’s apparently the Sheriff’s girlfriend, and he shot bullets into your car.”

Hearing confirmation that Bombshell had been with that man, had a relationship with him, made Merrick’s fist tighten in his lap. “Alright, yes, I’ve seen her.”

“Can you tell me where she now?”

“Upstairs, but she’s still in a coma.”

“That’s too bad. What’s her name?”

Merrick blinked. “You mean, you don’t know her name?”

“No, we haven’t been able to find her identity. She’d only been seen with the Sheriff for about two weeks, before she disappeared. It’s good to know that she’s alive. Did he put her in the hospital? Can you tell me why she’s in a coma?”

“Yeah, he did. I mean, not at first. When he shot at our car, he broke the window near where she was sitting, and a piece of glass got lodged in her head. They took it out – I mean a doctor took it out, but he missed a sliver and … well,” Merrick had to stop and compose himself. “It could have killed her, so they operated. That’s why she’s in a coma now.”

“Sorry, to hear that. What’s the prognosis?”

“Good, at least they’re hopeful. Look, you don’t think she has anything to do with that guy, do you?”

“I don’t know – I do need to speak with her, however. What’s her name, I’d like to speak with her doctors.”

Merrick reluctantly gave the Special Agent her name. He hoped he wouldn’t be getting Tony in trouble when they realized that her identification was all fake. He didn’t know her real name, otherwise he would have gladly given it. He tried to press the Special Agent for details about their case against the Sheriff, but she wouldn’t tell him squat. Only that he was corrupt and dangerous and that Merrick and his Private Investigator needed to cease and desist all of their investigations and stay out of the FBI’s way.

Merrick took the stairs two at a time, wanting to make sure she was still okay. If they intended to question her, then maybe she did know something. Was she safe, even here? He wanted to get her out of the hospital.

After the FBI agent left, Merrick took the stairs to the sixth floor, to burn off some of the nervous energy. The fact that the FBI was looking into the Sheriff, made Merrick sick. He wasn’t just some lunatic, he was on the FBI’s short list of people to stay away from. What if he’d been involved in something big – what if he’d got Bombshell wrapped up in it. If the FBI was that dead set on questioning her, maybe she knew something that could put her in danger. Maybe that’s why the Sheriff had come after her? Was she safe? Even two states away? He wanted to get her out of the hospital as soon as possible. But, mostly he wanted to be the first one to talk to her, before the FBI showed up.

When he got upstairs, the nurses stopped him before he took two steps into the ward.

“Sir, where are you going?”

Merrick cursed under his breath.

“To see my fiancée,” he said without stopping.

A large nurse, moved faster than Merrick could imagine and blocked his path. “I’m sorry, sir, this is not an open ward. No visitors allowed without a doctor present.”

“Well, then, you’re in luck,” said a woman’s voice.

Merrick turned around to see a striking middle-aged woman wearing a short skirt and a low-cut blouse under a well-cut gray suit. “Merrick Flynn, I presume,” she said, extending her hand and smiling broadly.

“Doctor Garcia?” Merrick said. The moment he said “Doctor,” the nurse stood aside. She ran over to the desk and grabbed a sign-in sheet.

“Please sign-in, Doctor Garcia, I’ll let Doctor Armavir know that you’ve arrived.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that very much. May I take Mr. Flynn with me to see the patient?”

Yes, Doctor,” said the nurse. She got on the phone, and Doctor Garcia started down the hall. “Oh, I forgot to get a number.”

“That’s alright, I know where she is.”

Merrick’s heart expanded inside his chest, when he saw that her eyes were open and she was sitting up in the bed, eating off a tray. He hadn’t realized how frightened he was that she might not ever wake up. Her hair had been smoothed down, since he’d last seen her, and there was lipstick on her lips. Her face showed alarm at first—but then calmed down. Her lips almost seemed to quiver. Her voice cracked. “Merrick?”

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s me,” Merrick said, running to her side and taking her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“I want to go home,” she said as she looked into his eyes like he was the only man in the world.

Merrick’s heart squeezed. What did she mean? Did she mean a home with him, or did she want to go back to Misty Falls?

“To the mountain home, or to the beach home?”

“Wherever you live,” she said.

Her response struck him as odd. But, he let it slide.

“Bombshell, I want to introduce you to someone. This is Doctor Garcia—she’s here to help you with your amnesia.”

Her eyebrows disappeared under her bangs, then relaxed.

“I have amnesia?” she said. “Oh dear, I forgot all about that,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.

Everyone laughed. Then Doctor Garcia moved Merrick aside and pulled up a chair next to her new patient.

“I’m glad that you can take this with a sense of humor dear, but it’s important that you understand, losing so much of your past is not a laughing matter.”

Merrick saw his girl’s face grow serious. She nodded, ready to cooperate.

“Why don’t you give us a little alone time?” the doctor said.

“Alright,” Merrick said. He stepped out into the hall, but stayed close by to eavesdrop. After his unsettling conversation with the FBI, he wasn’t ready to leave his girl alone with anyone.

The psychologist was speaking and Merrick strained to hear. “So, tell me, honey, if I asked you to go back to your farthest memory – what would it be?”

Merrick held his breath as he waited for her answer. Maybe getting the glass out of her head had restored all of her memory. Would she still want him?

She was saying something, but he couldn’t understand. He moved closer to the edge of the room and craned his neck. When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he almost had a heart attack. Fingers racing to the phone he pressed the button to stop the call and held his breath, wondering if they’d heard.

“Excuse me a minute,” the psychologist said.

Merrick didn’t hesitate. He turned and bolted for the next room. The door was ajar, so he ran inside, and hearing feet coming down the hall outside, flattened himself against the wall. The footsteps stopped, then receded, and when he heard the door to Bombshell’s room click shut, he let out a breath, relieved.

“Did you bring my jello?” said a high pitched and raspy voice.

Merrick grabbed his chest and spun around. He’d walked into someone’s room. The older woman had propped herself on her bed, and stared at him.

“Jello? Did you bring my jello?”

Merrick realized she must assume he was hospital staff.

“No, but I’ll get you some,” Merrick said. He left the room and hurrying back to the entrance. He rushed past the front desk, then doubled back.

“What is it now?” said the nurse asked.

“The lady next to my fiancé, she wants her jello,” Merrick said, then walked out of the ward, and into the waiting room. He pulled out his phone and checked to see who had called him at exactly the wrong moment. It was Charlie and Joann’s telephone number from Misty Falls. He considered, ignoring it, considering how strained things had been with Joann– but, he changed his mind. He was tired of avoiding people and things.

Chapter Twenty Four

Joann answered on the first ring. “Merrick Flynn,” she said in a hard, unhappy voice. Merrick pushed a hand through his hair.
Now what?

“What is it?” he said, sounding more annoyed then he intended, but this day was starting to get on his last nerve.

“I have a bone to pick with you. Do you realize what you’ve done to that poor girl?”

Merrick stared at the phone. “I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”

“The girl you kidnapped, the girl you whisked away from danger, leaving her friends and relatives behind to pick up the damn pieces.”

“What?” Merrick wasn’t processing what she was saying.

“I’ve got a goddamn Missing Person’s flyer here with her picture on it, would you like me to read it to you?”

Merrick’s jaw tightened.

Merrick could hear Joann taking in a deep breath before speaking in a newscaster’s voice, “Missing—Jana Peters—twenty-six years old. Are you with me so far?”

So, there was someone missing, people go missing in every city, every day. What did it have to do with him?

“Are you listening?” Joann said.

“Joann, please don’t address me in that fashion,” Merrick said, his dander flying up.

“Sorry,” she said, clearly without meaning it. “Shall I continue?”

“Yes, please.” A small throbbing began behind Merrick’s right eye. He dropped his hand holding the phone for a moment and rubbed his temple. He could hear Joann speaking, so he put the phone back to his ear.

“…last seen … tall white male driving white SUV, partial plates…. Need I go on?”

Merrick squeezed his eyes shut.
Shit, shit, shit.
He couldn’t deal with this right now.

“I’m sorry, Joann,” he said. “I can’t talk right now, text me the flyer.” He hung up, and a few seconds later, his phone pinged. He checked to make sure he’d received an attachment, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it. Not yet. Instead, he forwarded the text to Tony.

A moment later, his phone buzzed. He answered it.

“Bro, holy shit,” Tony said.

“I know, Tony, I know. I feel like an idiot not considering that she’d have friends or relatives looking for her. And now that the FBI is wanting to talk to her.”

“Say, what?”

“Yeah,” Merrick said. “Apparently, she’d been seen coming out of his house, and for some reason the FBI is investigating him. They showed me a surveillance photos of her, and asked me if I’d seen her. They didn’t know who she was. I told the agent that she was Mona Lisa Van Dyke and upstairs in a coma.

“You mean the FBI will find out we gave her fake ID? Way to go, slick,” Tony said, sarcastically. “What are we looking at, 10 to 20?”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that.” Merrick said. The two men were silent for a beat. “Listen, Tony, I’m calling the FBI agent back, we’re not going to get in trouble – because we’re cooperating. I’m going to tell her about the flyer.”

They hung up and Merrick called the agent’s number.

“Is she out of the coma?”

“Yes, actually, she is.”

“I’d like to talk to her, but I’m headed out of town. But, I’ll be back tomorrow after noon. Where will she be around two?

“I’m not sure,” Merrick said.