NINETY

I awoke in the bedroom I knew, inside the duplex I loved, reaching for the man I adored.

Sadly, the bed was empty—even Java and Frothy had abandoned me. But the stimulating aroma of fresh-brewed coffee told me that Mike was in the kitchen, feeding the fur balls and anticipating my need for a caffeinated pick-me-up after all our nocturnal activities.

I threw off the blankets and discovered they were my only defense against the chill of the autumn morning. I quickly covered myself with a robe and hurried downstairs.

I was hoping for a strong embrace and slow, sexy kiss from Mike but was doomed to disappointment. My fiancé was sitting at the kitchen table with a rough-looking guy in a flannel shirt, worn jeans, and work boots. The young man was solidly built with a shaved head and an outer-boroughs accent.

“Hey, Coffee Lady,” the stranger called, smiling warmly.

“I know you, don’t I?” I said. “You came to my hospital room, right?”

My question was said in a friendly manner—but the young man’s face fell completely. I moved my gaze to Mike. He looked even worse.

“You don’t remember Franco?” he asked, voice tight.

“No, I’m sorry. He’s your sergeant, right? Sergeant Emmanuel Franco, isn’t it? Nice to meet you.”

Franco hesitated. He glanced at Mike, then back to me. “You and I have met before, Clare, many times. We’re good friends.”

Oh, no, I thought, dread gripping me. I looked at Mike.

His expression was close to stark fear. “Clare, do you remember me?”

“Yes! Of course! I remember everything about you—how we met and became friends, how you proposed. I remember everything. But I’m drawing a blank with Sergeant Franco. Why is that?!”

“What about your daughter?” Franco quickly asked. “What do you remember about Joy?”

I sat down at the table, closed my eyes. “She’s still a little girl to me. But I know years have passed. This will sound far too simple, but it’s like . . . I lost my front door key. I know I had it, but I can’t remember where I put it!”

“Calm down, Clare. It’s okay.”

Mike got up, found me a mug, and poured me some fresh coffee. I drank it down like an ailing patient desperate for a magic cure. Suddenly, I realized I was wearing a robe and not much else.

“Do you two want to talk in private?” I asked. “I could go back upstairs—”

“Stay,” Mike insisted. “Franco has been taking a hard look at Dr. Lorca. I think you should hear what he’s found. Go ahead, tell her.”

Franco nodded. “I started by looking at the other cases of sudden amnesia that Lorca treated, specifically Dana Tanner. Turns out, Lorca ordered one particular blood test, and then pulled the test results from her file. No biggie. It happens, I guess, but—”

Franco rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Last evening, Tony DeMarco flirted with a nurse in the records department of a different hospital. He got a date and a peek at the files from another of Lorca’s amnesia cases. Turns out, that same test was administered, and the results were also missing.”

“Tell us more about this blood test,” Mike said.

“It’s a version of the Serum Serotonin Level test administered to detect a tumor or chemical depression. Not to treat amnesia.”

My skin prickled under my robe. “Did he give that test to me, Sergeant?”

“We’ll know soon enough. We’re getting a warrant to grab your records along with a number of the other women who’ve reported similar symptoms. Those records will be reviewed by one of the medical forensic specialists who work with our OD Squad. If Lorca is trying to hide something, our guy will find it. Me and DeMarco have a theory but no facts to back it up yet.”

“Don’t make me guess, Sergeant. Tell me your theory now.”

Franco and Mike exchanged another look. Mike nodded once.

“Tony and me, we think Lorca is hiding the presence of some kind of drug, and we think that drug was used on you.”

“I was drugged?!”

“That’s what it looks like,” Franco said. “Hey, Coffee Lady, don’t look so upset. If it’s true, that’s good news. At least you’ll know you’re not a head case.”