Unforgettable (3 page)

She had to swallow h
ard to keep th
e coffee where it belonged. It took several gulps of sea air to banish the noxious odor. “What Dodger smells is coming through the pinhole? His nose is that good?”

The man capped the vial and stuffed it into his pocket. “Dodger has a great nose, and he runs like the wind.”

The unmistakable pride in his voice told her just how wrong she had been. This man meant her no harm. She’d overreacted to his rough appearance.

It was an astounding miracle they’d been here to save her. She looked more closely at the embankment. Dodger had managed it with ease, but she couldn’t believe one man had been able to bring her up the slope. “How did you get me up here?”

He shrugged, his eyes now on the ocean. “Carried you.” He made it sound easy. Granted, he was strong, but the face of the ravine was littered with boulders and loose rocks. She ventured a look at him, again noticing the cuts and livid bruises. He’d risked his own life to help her, and she was acting like an idiot, thinking he was a killer or something. She turned to him, wondering how you could ever really thank someone for
saving your life. She reached out to touch his arm, but he quickly moved away.

“
It must have been murder getting me up the embankment,” she said, flustered by his reaction. She had the distinct impression that he didn’t like her. “I don’t know what to say. What can I do to thank you?”

He took another step away from her. “Don’t thank me.”

“You saved my life and I don’t even know your name.”

“I’m Greg Braxton.”

Greg. It fit him perfectly. It was solid and abrupt sounding, yet craggy like the rocks nearby. Suddenly, she couldn’t help wishing he liked her. She risked another look into his intense blue eyes and saw him staring at her expectantly, obviously waiting for her to tell him her name.

“I’m
…
”
Her name was on the tip of her tongue. It just wouldn’t come out. She tried again. “I’m
…
”
She closed her eyes for a second.
Come on, you know your name. Come on.
“I have a little headache. It’s got me really confused. I can’t seem to remember my own na
me. Or what I was doing here…
or anything.”

“Don’t worry about it.” There was a low, hard edge to his voice that disturbed her. “Sometimes people have trouble remembering things after an accident. It’ll come back to you. Until it does, let’s call you Lucky. After all, you are lucky to be alive. Damn lucky.”

She stared at the beach. Waves pummeled the rocks with awesome force, shooting skyward in billowing clouds of spray that coated rocks halfway up the bluff with glistening foam. That he had managed to bring her up the steep face of the ravine was nothing short of a miracle.

Lucky. It sounded so simple. A toss of the dice. A winning lottery number. A player who draws an ace. But she had been luckier than anyone could imagine. She had su
rvived a sure-
death crash.

“Are you positive you’re all right?” Greg asked again, and
she suddenly realized that she had no idea how long she had been staring down at what was left of the car.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing but a tiny lump on my head with a small cut that’s giving me a little headache.”

He frowned, obviously not believing her. “I’ll go into Hana and get an ambulance. You rest over there in the shade. Don’t be surprised if it takes a while. After last night’s rain, the road’s going to be washed out in places.”

She choked back a sob, panicking at the thought of being left alone. “Let me come with you.”

He shook his head, ruffling the glossy black hair that fell across his forehead. “I’m on a motorcycle.”

“Please. My headache isn’t that bad.” The thought of being left behind was far worse than the monotonous hum in her ears or the killer headache. She touched Greg’s arm, her fingers curling around his biceps. “Please. You could take me right to a doctor.”

A full second passed as he gazed down at her hand. Finally, he said, “Okay, Lucky. Maybe that’s best.” He kept looking at her hand and frowning. She pulled it away.

When they reached the tent, he yanked a piece of orange nylon out of a backpack and shook it out. The black letters on it read “Disaster Dog Trainee.”

“What’s that for?” she asked, watching him use Velcro strips to fasten it on Dodger’s back.

“Like a guide dog, a disaster dog can go into buildings where other animals aren’t allowed. This will get Dodger into the clinic at Hana.”

He motioned for her to follow him, and they picked their way up the slope. Raindrops still clung to the fragrant grasses and the wildflowers that sprouted from between the rocks. Rivulets of water trickled from the crevices, wending their way to the sea. They reached a muddy road that was nothing more than dirt ruts and bits of crushed lava. Parked at one side was a huge motorcycle wrapped in plastic sheeting.

Stately trees bordered the side of the road opposite the ocean.
Lush banks of ferns, some almost as tall as the trees, others so wispy they might float away, sheltered sprays of orchids no larger than thimbles. The lilting calls of birds rode the rain-scented air. From deep in the foliage she heard the rush of water. A stream or perhaps a waterfall. She wasn’t certain; the buzz in her head still had her off-kilter.

Greg pulled the plastic off the Harley, then slung one powerful leg over the machine. It roared to life, a deafening sound that masked the ungodly noise in her head. She tried to gauge what he was thinking as he looked at her, but his eyes were as blue as the sea and just as unreadable.

“Get on.” Greg pulled a pair of aviator sunglasses off the handlebar and cleaned them with his shirt.

Lucky climbed behind him and the motorcycle shot forward, mud flying up and splattering her bare legs. She threw her arms around his waist. Trees rushed by, ferns whipped past in a gust of wind that sent her hair streaming behind her like a banner. They passed one waterfall that cascaded down over
huge boulders covered with fern
s, and minutes later another. She couldn’t hear the water above the noise of the bike, but the fine spray misted her skin.

He swerved constantly to avoid rain-filled potholes, making her stomach chum. Dodger wasn’t having any problem though. He loped along beside them so grace
ful
ly that she would have smiled except her head ached too much.

She rested her cheek against the solid wall of Greg’s back and closed her eyes, barely aware that her body was fused against his. It felt reassuring to be so close to someone, to rely on his strength for a moment. Greg was lean, yet ridged with muscles. Beneath her arms his body tightened, and she realized how hard she was squeezing him. She relaxed, her head still against his powerful torso and listened to the thud-thud of his heart.

Her stomach had settled and she was thinking more clearly. She needed sleep, then she’d remember who she was and what she was doing in the middle of nowhere. She kept her eyes
closed, her head pressed against Greg’s shoulder blades, and let the drone of the motorcycle block any conscious thought.

Lucky wasn’t sure how long they had been traveling when Greg slowed down. Opening her eyes, she saw a cluster of palms bent sideways in the breeze, their fronds sounding like flags whipping in the wind. A sign nearby read “Hotel Hana Maui.”

“I’ll bet you’re staying here,” Greg said over his shoulder.

“Why?” The bungalows facing the tranquil cove and the green expanse of hillside where cattle were grazing could have sold a million rolls of Kodak. But it didn’t look the least bit familiar, nor did the wooden cross on the hill facing the sea. Surely if she’d seen a cross without a church or a graveyard nearby, she would have remembered it.

“You were driving a car with a rental sticker. Just about the only place to stay around here is this hotel. Do you feel well enough to stop and see if we can find your friends? They might want to fly you directly to Honolulu to see a doctor. The clinic here’s pretty small.”

“Oh, yes. Let’s find them.” She could stand this miserable headache a bit longer if she could find her friends. Anything was better than not knowing her own name and feeling so alone.

Greg brought the Harley to a stop, then helped her off. She walked beside him with Dodger at her heels. Dark splotches danced across her field of vision, zooming forward until the tranquil cove disappeared, then retreating until they were nothing more than dark pinpricks. Suddenly the spots were back— larger and darker than before. She reached for Greg’s arm to steady herself.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” she managed to answer.

The open-air lobby was strewn with palm fronds blown in by the storm. A maid was mopping puddles off the slate floor. Nearby a crimson parrot swung on his perch, chanting, “Heavenly Hana, heavenly Hana, heavenly Hana.”

The woman at the reception desk had an orchid behind one ear, a swath of jet-black hair that hung over one shoulder like a panel of silk, and a warm smile for Greg.
“Pehea oe.
Some storm, wasn’t it?”

Pehea oe?
Lucky wondered if her brain had scrambled the word. It sounded like a greeting, but she didn’t recognize it.

“Yeah, a killer storm,” Greg replied. “Any of your guests missing?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Why?”

Greg turned to Lucky, and she realized that she was clutching his arm so hard that her nails were biting into his skin.
“
She was in an accident out past Lindbergh’s grave.”

The receptionist looked at her as if she’d been bo
rn
without the most critical part of her anatomy—her brain.
“
What was she doing way out there?”

The conversation was taking place as if she were a deaf mute. She wanted to speak, but her aching head prevented her. Not only was there a roar in her ears like the rush of the ocean, the room was spinning, the slate floor tilting upward. She needed all her energy just to stand upright and listen.

“I don’t know why she drove out there. Is she one of your guests?”

“No.” The woman shook her head. “I’ve never seen her.” The phone rang and the receptionist moved to answer it. Behind the bamboo counter was a matching bamboo-framed mirror that captured Greg’s reflection. She must be getting used to him, Lucky decided. He was beginning to look better, not scary at all.

She noticed another woman had come up to the counter and was standing next to Greg. The woman was a hard,
wild-looking person with frizzy blonde hair and a tiger-print dress. Who would bleach her hair platinum like that?

Lucky squinted, taking a closer look. She shuddered, her entire body quaking.
Couldn’t be.
A sob lodged in her throat. She shook Greg’s arm, still staring at the mean, hideous woman in the mirror.

“That’s not me!” She pointed to her reflection. “I swear, that’s not me!”

Greg put his hands on her shoulders. She knew she was screaming now, her cries ricocheting through the lobby, but she couldn’t stop. “That’s not me! That’s somebody else! You’ve got to believe me!”

A wave of dizziness crashed over her. The world pitched precariously from side to side like a ship in a hurricane. Then everything skidded to a halt. Her breathing stopped; her heart no longer pounded in her ears. All sound ceased. For a moment she was conscious of Greg’s lips moving and knew he was speaking to her, but the pain in her head blocked his voice. Darkness enveloped her like a vision of hell.

3

C
ody Braxton looked up from the duty roster as someone knocked on his office door. His dispatcher stood at the threshold, frowning.

“
Chief, the Hana Clinic just called for the S and R chopper.”

Cody nodded, wondering why he’d bothered to tell him. Technically, Search and Rescue was part of the Maui Police Department. They were required to report their operations to him, but the unit was staffed by trained volunteers who knew exactly what they were doing. The police merely filled out incident reports.

“Have a car meet the helicopter at the hospital and get the details.” He knew he sounded impatient, but he had the twins’ soccer game in an hour and he still had a mountain of paperwork to process. That’s what being chief of police on Maui amounted to—paper pushing.

The dispatcher cleared his throat. “It’s your brother, chief. He rescued the victim last night.”

The dispatcher walked away, leaving Cody to stare at his back. So that’s why he’d been told. Everyone knew Greg hadn’t
spoken to him in over two years. Once they’d been inseparable
,
and Cody missed his older brother more than he ever could have imagined.

Cody rarely wrote up S and R reports, but he realized if he took this one, he would see his brother again. He checked his watch. If he met the helicopter and wrote up the IR, he would miss the soccer game. He hated not seeing his boys play. He hated missing an opportunity to talk to Greg even more.

Without thinking, he lifted the receiver and called Sarah. He always let her know if he was going to be late. She answered after several rings, the twins shouting in the background. He imagined Sarah in the kitchen, the baby crawling across the floor, the boys squabbling as usual.

“Greg rescued some woman last night near Hana.”

“Search and Rescue had to go out in that terrible storm?”

“I’m not sure.” Cody glanced up at the wall map of Maui. The big green dot was the central police station in Kahului, where he worked. Two small blue dots marked the substations in Lahaina and Hana. Whenever S and R went out, the dispatcher was required to post a flag, but there was no red flag on the Hana side of the island.

It was rarely necessary for the police to assist the S and R unit. Most calls pertained to tourists lost in the rain forest or hikers injured while climbing Haleakala. But last night’s electrical storm had been highly unusual for the tropics where lightning was rare. None of the rescue choppers would have flown teams to the treacherous back side of the island in such a storm.

“I guess it wasn’t an official Search and Rescue operation.”

“Greg was out there alone, wasn’t he?”

“Probably.” More and more lately, Cody had heard reports that Greg was wandering the wilderness that made up much of the island. He still headed the Marine Research Institute, of course, but he seemed to have lost his enthusiasm for the job. For life. “I have to see him.”

“I understand,” Sarah replied. “I’ll tell the twins you’ll be late for the game.”

He hung up, saying, “I love you.” He made certain to tell Sarah that at least once each day. He wouldn’t chance losing her a second time.

C
ody drove through the busy streets of Lehui. The flip side of paradise, he thought. Commercial laundries. Uniform shops. Honeycombs of low-end housing. He could have been anywhere in Kansas, not within a mile of the beach. Some people would have found the town depressing, but not Cody. This was his town, his island. He’d tried living on the mainland, and he had hated it. Give him the flip side of paradise any day.

He pulled into the Lehui Hospital parking lot and was waiting out back when the S and R helicopter touched down. No one was surprised to see him. Being chief of po
lice wasn’t much more than a titl
e. He still went out on calls like the rest of the men.

A greyhound wearing an orange disaster vest was the first one off the chopper. The tan-colored dog hopped out and stood at attention. That had to be Greg’s dog, the one he’d heard so much about. His brother had always been good with animals. It was people who gave him trouble. Cody supposed it all went back to Aunt Sis. If only she hadn’t been so hard on Greg. If only Greg had been less stubborn.

You couldn’t change the past. That was for sure. You had to live with it.

Two Med Techs removed a gu
rn
ey, then Greg climbed out. Something in Cody’s gut clenched, and he felt the dampness under his armpits. Two years; not one word. Greg couldn’t refuse to talk to him now. He was too much of a professional not to give the police a full report.

Cody hung back, concealed by the crimson bougainvillea, the warm, never ceasing trade winds rippling through the leaves, watching his brother. Greg still had that solid running back’s
build, all lethal force and speed even though he would be thirty-seven in another month. He still had the gloss black hair that reminded Cody of their mother. He still had that ste
rn
, uncompromising expression—thanks to Aunt Sis.

Greg bent to say s
omething to the woman on the gurn
ey. Cody was too far away to hear what they were saying, but Greg’s expression softened for a moment. Then he looked up and spotted Cody.

The men rolled the gu
rn
ey toward the emergency entrance, and Cody greeted them, smiling as he always did, asking about their families. Greg kept walking behind the men wheeling in a blonde with a mane of wild curls. He didn’t bother to give Cody a second glance.

They shouldered their way through the double doors two steps behind the gu
rn
ey. The ER had the usual assortment of broken bones, stomach aches, and
mokes,
island toughs, who’d consumed too much
okolehao
last night. No doubt the home brew made from ti roots had given them whopping headaches and alarming heart palpitations. Maybe they’d learn a lesson.

“What happened to her?” Cody asked Greg as they stopped at th
e registration desk with the gurn
ey.

Greg’s eyes never left the woman, and for a moment, Cody thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Last night her car went off the road out beyond Lindbergh’s grave. I found her.”

“Christ! In that killer storm?”

Greg nodded and looked him directly in the eye. It took all Cody’s willpower not to back away. Even at the funeral Greg hadn’t spared him one glance. Two years hadn’t changed his brother’s eyes, though. They were still searing blue, all hellfire and brimstone.

“Better send the chopper back to the beach and lower one of the guys to check the rental car for her purse,” Greg told him.

“Lower?” he echoed, feeling the fool for not having read between the lines. When his brother said “off the road,” Cody had envisioned the woman’s car in one of the dozens of creeks
that made the Hana road famous. Now he knew better. The blonde’s car had gone off one of the treacherous cliffs the islanders called
palis.

Greg had brought her up alone, and it hadn’t been easy, judging by the cuts and bruises on his body.
I’ll be damned.
He didn’t know why he was so surprised. Greg often managed to do the impossible.

“I never should have moved her,” Greg said, and Cody could see his brother was more than a little shaken. He had to be; he was talking to him as if the past had never happened. “With the storm, I couldn’t get anyone out there to help. I thought a flash flood would rip through that ravine and drown her.”

“Those ravines are usually death traps in a storm.”

“Not this time. The water went around the car.” Greg glanced at the woman who was still waiting to be admitted. “I think I made her injuries worse. She can’t remember a damn thing—not even her name. You should have seen her at the Hana Maui Hotel. She went ba
llistic when she saw her reflec
tion. She doesn’t even recognize her own face.”

“Look. It was a judgment call. You did the best you could.” Cody tried his winning smile, but Greg didn’t respond.

“Shit, no. I screwed up big time. She said she was okay, and I let her ride into Hana with me. I thought all she had was a bump on the head and a small cut.” Greg shook his head derisively. “Take a few pictures of her. You may have to show them around.”

Cody didn’t agree, figuring the woman was a tourist. She was probably vacationing with someone who would call the police station any minute, frantic.

Still, he went out to get the Polaroid every island cop kept in the trunk. The last time he’d used the camera, he’d taken a picture of the damage Mrs. Grohe’s goat had done to her neighbor’s onion patch. The animal had broken through the fence and eaten dozens of expensive Maui onions being raised for shipment to the mainland. That was life in paradise. Nothing
much more exciting than goats with onion breath ever happened here.

He went back inside and found Greg following the gu
rn
ey down the corridor to the x-ray unit, talking to the blonde. Cody stopped the attendants and hurriedly snapped a few shots. Despite the cheap dress and mud-splattered legs, the woman wasn’t bad looking. Great eyes. Killer body. Tangled blonde hair styled like a Brillo pad in a wind tunnel. One thing was for sure: Anyone who had seen this woman would remember her.

L
ucky awoke slowly and moved her head, noticing she was in a hospital room. The skull-splitting headache was gone, replaced by a dull throb at the base of her skull. Now she was more aware of her body. It ached as if she’d gone over Niagara in a barrel. No doubt being poked and prodded hadn’t helped. Blood samples. X-rays. An EEG. A Cat scan. The MRI. They’d shaved a patch on the back of her head, and it had taken two stitches to close the small cut.

Finally, they’d let her go to sleep. How long had she been out? She sucked in a calming breath. It was dark inside the room; she must have been asleep for hours. You’re better, she told herself. The headache is gone. Now, what’s your name?

Something stirred in her brain, something so elusive that it vanished in an instant. It was there, though. Her name was there, locked inside her head. She beat her fist against the mattress. Why?
Why?
Why couldn’t she remember?

Never forget. I love you.

The words came out of nowhere like a hushed whisper on the wind. For a moment she thought she had actually heard something, then she realized the message had come from that dark void of nothingness inside her head. Still, it was a comforting thought. Somebody loved her.

She checked her hand for a ring. Nothing.

She must have a family, friends. A boyfriend. Someone
would miss her, and when they did, they’d come for her. She’d be kissed and hugged and cried over. Then she remembered that horrid-looking woman standing beside Greg Braxton.
Oh, Lord! That can’t be me.

But if that wasn’t her, who was it?

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing an image of herself, of how she really looked, to present itself. Nothing appeared except utter darkness. A shiver rippled through her, followed by a disturbing thought. Something terrible had happened to her.

Tears seeped from between her lashes. “Don’t you dare,” she said out loud, willing herself not to cry. “Don’t
…
you
…
dare.”

“
Dare what?
”
The voice came out of the dark.

Her eyes flew open. “Greg?” She fluttered her lashes to get rid of the tears.

“Yes. You’re awake.” He flicked on the light. He’d been sitting so still she hadn’t realized anyone was in the room.

He came up to the bed and she almost gasped. He had shaved and was wearing a clean shirt and cotton slacks with a stiletto-sharp crease. From his square jaw to his high, tanned cheekbones to the intriguing cleft in his chin, Greg Braxton was awesomely male. Big. Rugged.

Here was a man accustomed to giving orders, to being in charge. Judging from the way he’d behaved when she’d fainted in the hotel lobby, then come to a few minutes later, he expected people to do what he told them. She doubted anyone on earth could have gotten her to this hospital any faster.

She recalled the ugly tramp she’d seen in the mirror, the reflection that had sent her into a tailspin. Oh, God, she didn’t want to be that woman and have Greg look at her.

“Feeling better, Lucky?”

“I’m okay,” she responded, ashamed of all the trouble she’d caused him. She wanted him to go home. He’d done more than enough. “Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

He shook his head; his gleaming black hair shifted across his forehead. “Dodger’s the only family I have.”

“What about that policeman with the camera? One of the nurses said he was your brother.”

Dodger’s cool nose nudged her hand. She hadn’t noticed him before, but now his soulful eyes gazed at her, silently asking if she was all right. Tears flooded her eyes. A man and his dog had risked their lives to save hers.

She stroked Dodger’s head. “How can I ever repay you two?”

Greg’s eyes met hers. “It isn’t necessary. It’s what we do.”