Forget Me Not (3 page)

Then again, did the CO have any idea what kind of scars were on Gabe's torso? He curled the fingers of his left hand toward his palm, hiding the fingernails that were just growing back.

"Do you remember anything about die night you disappeared, Lieutenant?"

Gabe had known the question was coming. Of all the puzzles he presented, this one troubled his interrogators the most. Where the hell had he been for the past year? The Navy had just declared him dead.

Gabe let out a breath and cleared his mind, desperate for even a glimmer of that mission, something to restore his commander's faith in him. For a second, an image formed— light blazing in me darkness—but then it receded, lost in the gaping hole of the past three years. He shook his head, ashamed to meet his commander's eyes.

Lovitt leaned forward and squeezed his wrist. "I don't want you worrying about your career, Lieutenant. I want you to concentrate on getting healthy, getting back on your feet. It's a goddamn miracle you're here with us today."

"Thank you, sir," Gabe muttered. He appreciated Lovitt's show of support, but he heard plainly the underlying message: Lovitt didn't expect Gabe to recover. He didn't think Gabe would ever be a SEAL again. The realization made Gabe's stomach hurt.

"I hear they're releasing you tomorrow," the CO said, standing up.

"Yes, sir." His innards cramped at the reminder. He was going home, even though he didn't know where home was. He last remembered living in the BOQ—Bachelor Officers Quarters. Now he had a wife and kid. No doubt he lived with them, though he had no idea where.

The only family he remembered were his brothers in Echo Platoon. "Are the guys around, sir? Westy, Bear, and ... the new guy, Luther?"

Lovitt gave him a wry smile. "Luther's now a lieutenant, junior grade," he said patiently. "The men are working coastal patrol. I've radioed in the news of your reappearance, and Master Chief León is flying in as we speak. I imagine he'll be by to see you before you're released."

Gabe nodded, relief flooding through him. "Thank you, sir." Master Chief was exactly the man to have around at a time like this. Unlike the CO, he wouldn't undermine Gabe's confidence. He'd bully Gabe into remembering the past three years, suggest he get his ass back on the job, double time. Gabe looked desperately forward to his visit.

"Well." Lovitt clicked the heels of his spotless white shoes together. "Take it easy, Renault Your wife'll take good care of you. She's a lucky woman to have you back."

Gabe couldn't bring himself to answer to that one. He'd seen what his captors had done to him. He couldn't imagine any woman wanting him, period.

"I'll leave you to rest." Lovitt turned toward the door.

"Good night, sir. Thank you for the flowers," he called, though he couldn't bring himself to even glance at them. Lilies. Christ, weren't those for funerals?

As the door thudded shut, Gabe collapsed against the pillow and cursed at length. His commander had pretty much eliminated him already. If he didn't recover his memory, and fast, he'd lose his job. He'd lose his identity. And then what?

With insidious depression, Gabe considered what he'd been before he'd been a SEAL—little more than a hoodlum, really. Becoming a SEAL had taught him self-respect, self-control. It had given him purpose and direction. It had given him the best years of his life. Before the SEALs, he was just a kid prowling around looking for trouble and picking fights to relieve the deep-down anger inside of him.

If he wasn't a SEAL, then what was he, a husband and a father? How had that happened?

He was the last man in the world any woman should marry. Not that he didn't like women. Hell no, he loved their bodies, loved the powerful way they made him feel. But he didn't know the first thing about intimacy. He didn't like it when soft, tender feelings stole over him. Feelings like that had a way of turning on a man, twisting his guts inside out, and he couldn't afford that. It'd taken him ten years of his adult life just to get his head on straight He couldn't afford to let a woman mess him up again. So what was he doing married, with a kid already?

A knock sounded at the door.

Jesus, God. He was about to find out

C
ome in." Gabe sat up, his heart beating erratically. The door swung inward. Gabe saw the khaki sleeve of the doctor's arm as he held it ajar. Hospital sounds rushed in—the beeping of monitors, a doctor being paged, elevator doors opening. But several seconds elapsed before anyone entered.

Then a woman stepped inside. The adrenaline that jolted Gabe's system made him clutch the rails on the side of his bed. His gaze locked with hers across the room. God in heaven, no wonder he was married. One look at her and he never wanted it to end.

Honey-colored eyes regarded him from a heart-shaped face. Her lashes and eyebrows were subtly darker than the gold hair tumbling down her back. Her chin had a tiny cleft in the center. She wore a stretchy white top that clung to her neat breasts and shorts that accentuated slim, muscular thighs.

"Gabe?" she whispered, as if she didn't recognize him either.

He nodded his head, about to say the name they'd given him—
Helen.
Helen was the perfect name for her. But then another woman stepped into the room, and he thought—wait, maybe this is Helen.

Only she was just a girl, taller and stockier than the woman. Her hair was dyed black. Her eyes, which were a dark green version of the first woman's, betrayed their relationship.

Hold up. The kid was in her early teens. If she was his, he'd remember her. He'd never been more confused in his life.

Jerking his gaze back to the first woman, he felt his panic subside. She was unquestionably the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The trials he'd suffered this past week paled in the face of this unexpected reward. Maybe he was up to being a husband, after all.

Helen suffered the urge to turn tail and flee. Thankfully, Mallory was right behind her, blocking the only exit.

Gabe dominated the room. After any extended absence it took days to get used to him again. Not that he was a giant at six feet one inch, but his magnetism filled the room. His vitality took up an enormous amount of space, making the hospital bed look like a baby carriage.

She inched toward him. Gabe was staring at her as if he'd been hit by a stun gun. His expression was so open, so unguarded, that she hesitated. Was it even him, or was this some kind of mix-up?

She inspected him carefully. Wearing a hospital gown, he looked different anyway, but the breadth of his shoulders was familiar, as were the arms sticking out of the arm holes. Despite the lean muscle on,him, he looked thinner than she'd ever seen him. The hollows under his cheekbones sharpened his already precise features.

It was definitely Gabe. The angles and planes of his face were the same, but the eyes cinched it A peculiar shade of yellow-green, they gleamed with the same intelligence and intensity that had drawn her to him, three years ago. She steeled herself to resist him now.

"Hey," she said, her voice strangely husky. "How are you?"

He gave her a familiar, crooked smile. "I've been told I should be dead, so I guess this is better."

Yep, same quirky sense of humor. It was definitely Gabe. His rough-edged baritone made the hairs on her nape prickle.

He was staring at her with such open fascination that she felt a blush coming. At the same time her scalp tightened, for she realized the doctor hadn't been exaggerating. "You really don't remember me, do you?"

"No." He stared and shook his head. Not remembering didn't seem to bother him too much.

With that elevator-dropping feeling in her stomach, Helen reached for Mallory and dragged her closer. "This is Mallory," she said. "You've been her dad since she was ten."

His focus shifted from her to her daughter and uncertainty usurped his amazement Helen had never seen uncertainty on his face before. "Hi," he said, sticking out an awkward hand.

Mallory ignored the hand, leaned over the bed rail, and threw her arms around him. "Hi, Dad," she choked.

Clearly nonplussed, Gabe looked to Helen for help, but she was too surprised herself to save him. Mallory had given up a long time ago on being affectionate with Gabe. Why bother? It had gotten her nowhere. But this burst of emotion seemed genuine. She was hugging her dad for all she was worth and she wasn't in any hurry to let go, either As much as he'd ignored her, she was thrilled to have him back.

Her daughter straightened, dashing a tear from her cheek. To Helen's distress, Gabe's look of panic had turned to one of expectation.

He wanted a hug from her, too. She braced herself, knowing her body would betray her. The attraction was still there. Perhaps it would always be there.

She stepped forward, looping her arms around him lightly. Gabe, on the other hand, pulled her close, his arms like giant manacles. Burying his nose in her damp hair, he breathed her scent—she heard his indrawn breath in her ear. His body blazed with heat as it always had. He smelled like Ivory soap, rubbing alcohol, and a clean, familiar scent that made her head spin.

Dismayed by how good it felt to be held again, Helen struggled free. "Welcome home," she said, disentangling herself.

Comprehension flared in his eyes. All at once, he looked more like the old Gabe, cautious and secretive. "Yeah, well." He ran his fingers through his nutmeg-colored hair—it was longer than he usually wore it. "It'd be a lot nicer if I could remember."

"The doctor says it's temporary." Helen turned to the door, grateful that Commander Shafer was still there, eyeing the threesome with speculative, blue eyes. "How long before he gets his memory back?" she asked, inviting him to join them.

The commander strode to the foot of Gabe's bed. "That's not something I can say for certain," he replied, frustrating her further. "There's no set time, really. If it's just PTSD he's suffering from, his amnesia set in recently, most likely as soon as the danger was over. Why he's forgotten up to two years prior to his captivity-remains a puzzle. It may indicate some kind of permanent memory loss due to a blow he took to the side of his face. There is trace evidence of damage to the frontal lobe. But the sooner he returns to a normal environment, the more likely something will jog his memories. Once that happens, we'll go from there. We'd like to release him tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she repeated. No, no, she needed more time to plot her future, to determine the best time for extraction.

"There'll be intensive therapy, of course," Commander Shafer added. "Dr. Terrien in Psychology will take your husband's treatment from here. He's already consulted him once," he added, nodding at Gabe. "Your husband will see him at his Oceana Clinic, which I understand is closer to your home. His first appointment is"—he glanced at the chart on the foot of Gabe's bed—"Wednesday at fourteen hundred."

Helen swung a look at Gabe, certain he would protest the need for therapy. In the past, he'd avoided psych evals like the plague.

Gabe regarded her earnestly. "Is that okay with you?" he asked.

She didn't see what she had to do with it. "Sure," she said, shrugging.

"You'll have to drive him to Oceana," Dr. Shafer explained. "In addition to the PTSD, he suffers from chronic fatigue syndrome—a result of sleep deprivation. Even with the meds he'll take to stay awake during the day, he really shouldn't drive. As for the memories, they're likely to return in bits and pieces called flashbacks. These can be prompted by a trigger or return to him in his dreams. He'll probably have trouble sleeping at night, so I've prescribed some sleeping pills, as well."

Helen pictured Gabe prowling through the house at night and shivered.

"Dr. Terrien will have more advice to give you the day after tomorrow," the doctor added.

She took a deep breath. "Okay," she said, rubbing her forehead. "I'm sorry: What time is that appointment?'

"Fourteen hundred."

Two o'clock. She'd have to leave work early to take Gabe to his appointment Wednesday.

Commander Shafer prepared to withdraw. "It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Renault, Mallory." He shook hands with both of them. "I'll leave you three to visit, and I'll see you tomorrow when you come—say, oh nine hundred? We'll need you to sign some papers then."

"Okay," she said again, though it was achingly apparent that her own life was definitely over, just as she'd known it would be.

The door snicked shut behind the doctor, and the three of them were left alone.

Gabe gave her a searching look.

Helen avoided it and looked around the room instead.

"Someone brought you flowers?" she asked, seeing a big bouquet of lilies on the bureau.

"Commander Lovitt," Gabe said with a faint twist of his lips. "He was just here to see me."

"That was nice of him."

"Master Chief's flying in tonight. I should see him soon."

Good, Helen thought. The more support from his team the better. It took some of the weight off her. "They had you on IV," she noted, seeing the empty sack beside his bed.

"Yeah, I've been on sugar water and antibiotics for a week. Today I graduated to toast" He gave her his crooked smile again and looked down at his feet almost shyly.

Helen noticed with a start that one of his teeth was missing. It ruined the perfect symmetry of his smile and gave him a roguish look instead. "You've been in the hospital for a week?" she asked, just processing the information he' d given her. "How come no one called me till tonight?"

"I was overseas. I had a fever and I slept for days. They had to match me to my dental records, which were apparently misfiled or something. No one believed me when I told them who I was."

"We thought you were dead," she blurted. The words slipped out of her before she could stop them.

He gave her a wounded look—another expression she'd never seen on him before. Studying him more closely, she saw other changes, too. There were several fine scars around his mouth and on his brow ridge that hadn't been there before. He'd been punched in the face, numerous times.

Dear Lord.
"Is there..." She swallowed hard. "Is anything wrong with you besides your memory?" she dared to ask.