“You think I might be in danger?” Lydia asked.

Jesse kept his gaze on the road as he drove her home. “I hope not, but it’s a possibility if the bomber thinks you can ID him.”

“I can’t. Yet. But what if I did see him and I can’t remember?”

“You suffered a head trauma,” he reminded her. “Not remembering, especially right away, isn’t uncommon. Don’t force yourself.”

“Are you sure you work for the police? I would have thought you’d have wanted me to remember right now.”

“I know you. Force won’t work.” He threw her half a grin.

“I’ve been trying, and I can remember a few bits, like how I felt when I heard the laugh track. After that, nothing much else. Lunch was starting,” she said, shifting toward him. “I just thought of that.”

He glanced at her smile, which lit her whole face. “See? It will come.”

Jesse pulled into her driveway, the same house he had picked her up at as a teenager. A memory flashed into his mind—of eons ago when he was a different person.