Nikki yawned and pushed away the tray. She’d managed to eat the gruel and rubbery, green gelatin, and sip the cranberry juice Cassie had brought her.
They’d given her apple juice, and it had taken her only one mouthful to know she didn’t like it. She finished her replacement drink, put the cup on the tray, and picked up the remote that would lower the head of the bed. She was tired, and before the doctor came back for round three, she wanted to rest her eyes. Who am I kidding? If I close my eyes, maybe the angel will come back. God, I wish he were real. I could use a hug right about now.
So far, the morning had been hectic. Dr. Marion had started by sending her for a series of x-rays and other tests. She’d been poked, prodded, and photographed. Then, the physiotherapist had put her through a series of muscle strengthening exercises.
She’d returned to her room seated in a wheelchair for round two. Dr. James, the hospital psychiatrist, conducted a battery of tests. Most of them had been the standard IQ tests one would expect, given her situation: Raven’s Progressive Matrices that evaluated pattern completion and the Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale to test her verbal comprehension, perceptual reasoning, working memory, and processing speed. He’d also given her the Rorschach Inkblot Test. It was considered a personality test. Maybe once he’d tabulated the scores he could tell her a bit about herself. Anything would be helpful.
Dr. James had wanted to do something more, but she’d adamantly refused. She’d been exhausted and had requested the orderlies put her back to bed. She had tons of questions and no answers, but at the moment she just needed rest.
She felt as if she’d barely drifted off when the door opened.
Dr. James walked into the room, a large manila folder tucked under his arm.
“Did you have a nice nap?” He placed the folder on the bedside table.
She must have slept a bit after all since her breakfast tray was gone, but the angel hadn’t come. Somewhat depressed, she reached for the remote and raised the head of her bed, not completely upright since her back was sore.
“I guess I must have.” She sighed. “Did you have time to calculate my results?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“What’s the verdict? How brain dead am I?”
He laughed. “You’re not brain dead at all, Mrs. Hart. As far as I can tell, your brain is working fine. You’re quite normal, not that any of us ever thought otherwise. You’re a remarkable young woman who has beaten all the odds. Time is on your side. You need to be patient and not get upset if memories don’t come back as quickly as you’d like. Do you feel like looking at some photographs?”
“Call me Nikki. What kind of photographs?”
She was afraid he might show her pictures of the accident where she’d been injured. Her concern must have shown on her face because he frowned.
Dr. James was in his late fifties and reminded her of a television character she couldn’t quite place. He had a head full of white hair, cut normally for a man his age, and wore wire-framed glasses. His complexion was clean-shaven and ruddy. His clear, blue eyes conveyed trust and sympathy.
“Pictures from your childhood and significant events in your life, what many people call milestones. If the pictures upset you, I’ll put them away, and we’ll talk about something else.”
She nodded, curiosity getting the better of her. She needed to know about herself—the good, the bad, and the ugly—the sooner the better. She wasn’t a patient woman. She smiled, realizing she’d just added to her pitiful pile of information concerning herself.
Dr. James opened the file and placed the photographs on her tray. She reached for the top half-dozen. They were pictures of herself at various ages. She set them down and picked up a photo of a younger Nadia and a man she assumed must be her father. Her mother had aged well. Her father was tall, heavyset, and bald. He had heavy eyebrows and deep-set, dark eyes. He was a man who commanded obedience, and since he was obviously rich, judging from what she’d seen in the photographs, he probably got it. Dressed in a tuxedo, smiling for the camera, something about him made her uncomfortable, and she shuddered. His body shape and the baldness disconcerted her. Her hand trembled slightly, and she dropped the picture on the pile and reached for another.
“What is it, Nikki? You seem upset. Do you want to stop?”
“No, it’s nothing,” she lied, preferring to keep this reaction to her father to herself for now.
She stopped flipping through the photos when she came to the wedding picture. The couple looked happy. Sam—that’s what Dr. James called him—had been a handsome man, distinguished with olive skin, dark hair peppered with gray, and deep brown eyes, although there seemed to be something furtive about him. It was in the eyes—they seemed cold, full of mystery. What had Shakespeare said? The eyes are the window to your soul. His age surprised her. Somehow she’d thought she’d have married a man closer to her own age. Sam was old enough to be her father. The thought troubled her, and she returned to the pile of pictures.
These were of her immediate family—a baby boy and a baby girl. There was a picture of her and Sam, and she appeared to be in the early stages of pregnancy. The picture evoked a sadness she didn’t understand, the same feeling she got when she looked at Cassie. The last picture was on a Christmas card. Dr. James told her it had been taken last year.
Tears slowly trickled down her cheeks. The people in the picture looked like a happy family, but they were strangers. How could she not remember the man she must have loved and her own children? The doctor had assured her there’d been no brain damage, but surely losing all your memories couldn’t be normal? Who forgot her own flesh and blood?
“Sam and Danny were killed in the incident when you were injured.”
Incident? What a strange word to use.
The doctor didn’t explain what the incident had been or how they’d died. Judging by the severity of her injuries—all on the left side of her body—she concluded they’d been in a car accident, and she must have been driving. They’d been killed, and she’d been injured. Thank goodness the little girl had been spared. Why didn’t he call it an accident? Had it been her fault? She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
She looked down at the photograph again, and guilt threatened to drown her. Her son, a baby she had probably nursed, yet all she felt was sadness that a young life had been wiped out so early. She looked at her husband, and numbness filled her. She should be upset, crying for the loss of two people she’d loved, but how did you mourn someone you didn’t know?
Nikki scrutinized the image, willing her memory to connect. Danny resembled his father. He had the same proud, stubborn tilt to his head.
He must have been a hellion.
Her gaze was drawn to the little girl sitting on her father’s knee. The child, blond and dark-eyed, resembled her grandmother Nadia. Amanda, that was the name Dr. James called her, wore a frilly, pink dress. In her hand she held a baby-boy doll with beige wool hair. The toy wore an Angels’ baseball uniform. The doll and its uniform were the only familiar things in the picture. The smell of baby powder came to mind.
This morning, she’d learned a bit more about herself. She was an accomplished artist. When Dr. James had jokingly asked her if she’d care to prove it to herself, she’d grabbed his pad and pencil and had drawn a picture of her faceless angel, complete with wings and halo. The picture sat on the bedside table. Now, she knew she’d been afraid of her father, too.
The door opened and Dr. Marion entered.
“Good afternoon. I heard you ate your breakfast. Cassie tells me you’re not a fan of apple juice, but apparently cranberry is fine. We need to stay with fluids and a light diet for at least another twenty-four hours. How do you feel? Any pain?”
“Nothing I can’t deal with. Cassie said I might go down to physio again later this afternoon. She mentioned a whirlpool. It sounds heavenly. I think we agree I’ve been in this bed long enough.”
Her speech was still slow, but the words were clear, and if her voice continued to be unfamiliar, it was just one more thing to add to the list.
“Don’t worry. We won’t be kicking you out any time soon. If you’re very good, I might toss in a shampoo and massage.” She chuckled. “Hello, Eli. It’s nice to see you again,” she acknowledged the white-haired man sitting beside the bed. “How’s she doing?”
“Remarkably well, Irene. Both sides of the brain appear to be functioning normally. I’ve asked the physiotherapist to evaluate her skeleton-muscular system functions. I can tell you her right hand’s fine motor skills are excellent. Take a look at this. She produced it in a matter of minutes.”
He handed her the sketch Nikki had made. Dr. Marion stared at the drawing, obviously surprised by what she saw.
“Is something wrong?” Nikki asked.
“No, Nikki, nothing’s wrong. It’s an incredible portrait. I’m just awed by your talent. Who is it?”
She giggled nervously. “My mother was sitting over there yesterday with rosary beads. I must have a strong religious upbringing because that’s my guardian angel. He came to me when the pain was unbearable. There was a different one last night. I suppose most artists have wild imaginations.”
The speech was the longest she’d made, and while her words were halting, she hadn’t had trouble finding the right ones to say. It made her feel better about her condition.
Dr. Marion smiled. “I don’t know much about angels, but there was a man in your room last night. There’s another outside in the hall right now. Your father hired them from Sentinel Security to make sure no one bothers you. News that you’re awake and on the mend made the paper this morning.”
Nikki frowned. Knowing that a man, a stranger, really had sat with her all night unnerved her.
“Why would anything about me make the news?”
“Your family’s wealthy, and you’re a well-respected artist. Anything concerning you or your family is news. You’ve had a regular visitor who sits and talks to you. It’s hard to tell without a face, but you’ve captured his shape quite nicely.”
“Who is he?” Nikki asked.
“His name is Jason Spark. He’s the lawman who found you, after the . . . ” The doctor paused, and Nikki could see she was choosing her words carefully.
He’s a lawman?
Jason was the name the security guard had mentioned last night. Her heart beat faster at the thought that she might see him again, but then happiness gave way to worry and fear.
Why would the lawman who found me be so interested in my recovery? What did I do?
“The incident,” Dr. Marion continued as if she hadn’t stopped talking. “He’s been in to see you at least once a week. In fact, I called him yesterday, and he’ll probably be in again later today.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “Why would I remember a stranger when I can’t recall my own children, my husband, my parents—the people I loved and who loved me? And why so much interest on his part?”
“Nikki, don’t get upset.” Dr. James laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We don’t know a lot about the way the brain works when a person is in hypovolemic shock—when a person has lost as much blood as you did.” He reached for the sketch. “If your eyes were open when this man found you, your brain could’ve stored his image in your subconscious, away from your regular memories. You’ve mentioned dreams and nightmares. It’s quite possible that’s where the memory of this man resides.”
“Jason Spark found you,” Dr. Marion added, “at the worst possible moment of your life. In fact, like many of us, he thought you’d die. You survived. He has questions about the incident. Is it any wonder he’s interested in following your progress?”
Nikki swallowed nervously. “But I don’t remember anything.”
“He knows that, now.” Dr. Marion turned to Dr. James. “Have you finished with her for now? They’re ready for her downstairs to do the muscle-skeleton response tests.”
“I’m done for today.” He turned to Nikki. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but let the memories come of their own accord. Don’t force them. You’re making new ones all the time, and something may trigger an old one when you least expect it. It’s happened already. You don’t like apple juice. It isn’t much, but it’s a memory, and it’s yours.”
He stood and left the room, leaving her alone with Dr. Marion. Cassie entered and began rearranging Nikki’s bed.
“What are you doing?” Nikki asked. “I thought I’d use the wheelchair again.” She looked to Dr. Marion for an explanation.
“You mentioned your back was sore, so this will be more comfortable. I don’t want you to overdo anything.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers. I want the truth—the whole truth. Why is my back sore? What haven’t you told me?”
Nikki realized she’d just spoken strongly and without hesitation.
“You’re angry and stubborn. Good. I guess you should know it all if you feel that strongly about it.” Dr. Marion put the clipboard she was carrying down on the bed. “I’ll go down with you and explain as I go. We can’t keep the physiotherapist waiting all day. Do you want the bed or the chair?”
“I’ll stay in the bed,” Nikki answered, knowing she’d have to wait for the orderlies if she opted for the chair. In her condition, Cassie couldn’t lift her out of the bed alone.
Cassie hung the IV bag on the pole attached to the bed and opened the door for the doctor and her patient.
“Where are we going?” asked the man in the hall.
“X-ray. We’ll use the staff elevator. She won’t be seen.”
“So start by explaining why I need around the clock security as if I were the First Lady.” Nikki spoke up loud enough for the doctor to hear. “Who are you hiding me from? The police? Did I do something wrong? Did I kill my family? Is that why that lawman is here? Is he waiting to arrest me?”
Dr. Marion stopped, her mouth agape, her eyes wide. “Is that what you think?”
“I think I was involved in a very bad accident that claimed the lives of my husband and my son. All the damage is on my left side. Was I driving?”
“Nikki, you weren’t in a car accident. You had absolutely nothing to do with their deaths.”
“Then how did I get hurt? How did they die?”
“It’s best if I let Jason Spark explain the details to you. I wouldn’t want to say or do anything to compromise his investigation. Simply put, your home was invaded, your husband and son murdered, and you sustained serious injuries.”
Nikki gasped. Murdered! It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. Dr. Marion’s words filled her with dread. Images of horrific scenes from slasher movies flitted through her mind.
“As you know, your hand is in a cast and we had to repair your face. You were stabbed twice in the back, one nicking your spine, which is why your back is sore, the other puncturing your lung. Unfortunately, you were five and a half months pregnant. The child was too small to survive more than a few minutes.”
Tears continued to crawl down Nikki’s cheeks. That’s why seeing Cassie depressed her. Subconsciously she must know she’d lost her child.
“Can I have more children?”
“As far as I know, you can, but you have a long recovery period ahead of you.”
• • •
Nikki sat in the chair by the window looking out over the city. In the distance she saw the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge. The supper tray sat on the table nearby. She’d tried her best to eat, but she had no appetite. The sky was leaden with heavy gray clouds that matched her mood. She felt miserable. While she didn’t know the details of the incident, she felt as if she’d somehow failed her family. They were all dead—even an innocent infant—why had she survived? The little girl—it seemed odd to think of her as her daughter—must have been elsewhere, or she’d probably have been killed too. The lawman only visited because he needed answers, answers she couldn’t supply. Without her memory, she was useless.
She’d spoken with Irene, as Dr. Marion had asked her to call her, after she’d gotten back from physio. She’d asked her once again for details about the case, but the doctor had been adamant that Nikki wait for Jason Spark. Irene insisted the depression and survivor’s guilt she felt were normal under the circumstances. Knowing there was a name for her feelings didn’t make them any less painful.
Irene had also mentioned people who’d had near-death experiences like hers often underwent personality changes. She shouldn’t feel badly because she didn’t remember her feelings for her husband and son. In her new reality, she’d never known them. Meanwhile she had a daughter who was alive and needed her. She should focus on her and dismiss the rest. If memories of Sam and Danny were going to return, even partially, they’d do so on their own.
Nikki scrutinized the family picture she held in her right hand. The little girl with the doll, Amanda, was all she had left. The doctor had called her Mandy, and the nickname suited the bright-eyed child far more than the formal one did. Like her own name. She liked Nikki—Nicole, not so much.
She looked down at the pad of paper on the table beside her. She’d tried to draw her son doing something kids did, but she’d been unable to finish the picture. The child wasn’t real for her. He was a two-dimensional image in the photograph—not a boy who played ball, ran, swam, or rode a bike. Instead, she’d drawn her angel and a horrific demon, possibly one of those who haunted her nightmares. She tore the page from the pad and crumpled it into a ball before tossing the offending image in the garbage. The devil was bald—bald like her father, and just thinking of the man brought back the unease she’d felt earlier.
The door opened. She turned to see who’d come in this time. She wanted to be alone, and she was bone-tired. If she had to endure another test, another needle, or any more exercise, she’d scream. She turned to face her visitor. The words she’d planned to speak froze in her throat.
The man hesitated and stopped in the open doorway. He wore a navy nylon jacket, a tan shirt, and dark jeans. His feet were stuffed into brown leather loafers that matched the belt with the brass buckle around his waist. He was clean-shaven, but his hair was a bit too long and curled at the collar. He looked at her with eyes filled with compassion and another emotion she couldn’t quite place. The edge of the shoulder holster was visible where the jacket had fallen open. She didn’t recognize him, but there was an unsettling familiarity about him.
“Mrs. Hart, I’m Special Agent Jason Spark. Dr. Marion says you’ve had a rough day. I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but can I come in?”
He looked at her as if he expected her to deny his request, and for a moment the thought did cross her mind. This was the man who’d found her—the man who could tell her what had happened. Unable to speak, she nodded slowly.
He closed the door behind him and walked over to her. He took the chair beside her, flipped it around, and straddled it. He was a large man, attractive in a rugged sort of way, not Hollywood handsome by any means, but the dimple in his cheek gave him an innocence the rest of his face belied. She could swear the emotion is his startling gray-blue eyes was guilt. Why would he feel guilty? He ran his hand through his sandy, blond hair, a gesture she assumed he used to cover his discomfort.
“I’d hoped to give you a few days to acclimatize yourself before talking about the case, but the doctor tells me you’ve asked about it. I know about the amnesia, so I’m going to be as specific as I can. Dr. Marion says a word could trigger a memory, and God knows we need all the information we can get on this. We have a lot more questions than answers.”
Nikki furrowed her brow. “Why is the FBI involved in this? Wouldn’t the California State Police be in charge of the case or have there been other incidents like it?” Using the doctor’s term made her feel more comfortable. She could disassociate herself from an incident, and it would make what she was about to hear easier to bear.
“My brother is the sheriff in Larosa. I was on leave and agreed to help out while he was on his honeymoon. I answered the 911 call.”
“What 911 call?”
“The one you made. The one that probably saved your daughter’s life.”
“Oh my God! She was in the house?” The thought of a child seeing her father and brother killed made her stomach roil.
“Yes. The deputy found her asleep upstairs. Don’t worry. She didn’t see anything. Buck took her out of the house before she could.”
“I see.” She relaxed. “You said you were covering for your brother, but that doesn’t explain why the case is yours.”
“Whenever there’s a violent crime like this one, the FBI is called in to assist the local authorities with the investigation. Since I found you, I asked to be assigned to the case. At the moment, we’re looking at new evidence, and I hope to have information for you tomorrow.”
“What new evidence?”
“We think we may know who committed the crime.”
“Then you’ll arrest them, right? Make them pay for what they’ve done?”
“It’s not as simple as that. This particular man has been eluding police for years. He disappears once he fulfills his contract, and he covers his tracks well.”
“Contract? Are you telling me someone was hired to do this?
“Let me explain what we know happened. Stop me if you remember anything or have any questions.”
“You’ll tell me everything, no matter how bad it is?”
Jason nodded.
“Before the crime occurred, you put Mandy to bed in a sleeping bag under the guest room bed.”
“Under the bed?” Her disbelief came across clearly. “What on Earth for?”
“We asked her that. Apparently, she’s afraid of the dark. She was practicing for a sleepover.”
Nikki recalled her discomfort when she’d awakened in the dark room last night. Poor kid. What a thing to inherit.
“Go on, please.”
“We don’t know a lot about what happened between that time and when you made the 911 call. What we do know, is that your husband’s clinic stayed open late and that’s where the suspects caught up with him. They stole the money and drugs on premises, killed his nurse, beat your husband, and eventually put him in the back seat of the car. He was killed in your garage after giving up information about the safe in the den.”
“So this was about money and drugs?” Tears brimmed her eyes. What a terrible waste. Why hadn’t Sam just given them what they wanted?
“Not entirely. I found you and your son on the kitchen floor.”
Jason described the crime scene in detail, but while she could picture it vividly in her mind, nothing he said triggered any memories. The words on the wall chilled her. At least the boy and the nurse, unlike her husband, had died quickly. Agent Spark had been rather vague about her beating, but she didn’t want to hear those details. Irene had explained the damage she’d suffered. Knowing how it had occurred served no useful purpose. Tears ran unheeded down her cheeks.
“There were two dozen red roses in that crystal vase.”
“I don’t like roses,” Nikki stated with conviction, her distress increased by the overpowering image of red petals turning to drops of blood. “Their scent nauseates me. I see red roses in my nightmares.”
“Your husband ordered them and had them delivered earlier in the day. You might not like roses now, but you must have before . . . Do you see anything else in those nightmares?” Jason asked, and she could hear the eager curiosity in his voice. He’d avoided looking at her while he’d described the crime scene, but now his intense gaze pierced her, and that annoyed her. If she knew anything, did he really think she’d hold out on him?
“No, Agent Spark, I don’t. In fact, until just now, I didn’t remember even seeing roses.” The last thing she was going to do was mention the disjointed images she got of angels and demons.
He nodded. “Last night, an FBI agent in Sacramento confirmed two bodies found in Auburn National Park are those of two of our suspects. We thought it might have been a disagreement that turned ugly, but now we have different theory to pursue. This afternoon, I met with the FBI task force specifically assigned to this case. We’ve been joined by an Interpol agent who may have provided us with our first real lead. If what he says is true, then the man who orchestrated all this hasn’t finished his job. He’ll keep at it until it’s over. Thanks to the news, he knows you’re here, and he’ll come after you. We’ve placed Mandy in protective custody, and I want to move you to a safer location tomorrow.”
Nikki sat up straighter, stiffening her spine, ignoring the twinge of pain the action caused. She didn’t like his bossy tone. No one was going to tell her what to do. “Whoa! I agree with placing Mandy in custody, but I’m not going anywhere. Dr. Marion explained the extent of my injuries earlier. Hell, I’m not even eating solid food, so I’m damned sure I’m not ready to leave the hospital. I understand there are security guards here. I’m sure I’ll be safe enough until I’m ready to be released.”
“Mrs. Hart, be reasonable.” She heard the exasperation in his voice, saw the muscle jump in his tense jaw. “This man is a cunning, vicious assassin with over fifty notches on his belt.”
“Then you’d better make sure nothing happens to my daughter or I’ll hold you personally responsible.” She watched the color leach from his face. “You said you need to confirm information. Until you do, I’m not leaving. Now, I’d like you to go. I’m tired. Post fifty men outside tonight if you need to, but I’m staying put.”
“I’ll be back first thing in the morning, hopefully with the proof you need. For tonight, we’ll increase security. I knew I’d have to fight your father on this. I didn’t expect I’d have to fight you, too.”
“What did you think? That I’d meekly go along with some cock and bull plan for my supposed safety when you didn’t even have any proof that I was in danger from that individual? Hell, you haven’t even given me a motive for this contract. The only thing I’ve learned from you is that Sam was a doctor and how he and Danny died. You said they took money, drugs, all of my jewelry—cut my damn finger off to get a ring I think is gaudy and ugly as sin, but you haven’t told me why. What was the motive? Every crime has a motive. Why come after us? Answer those questions, Agent Spark, and I’ll consider your request. Goodnight.”
She turned away and looked out the window. She saw him stand and walk out of the room. Moments later, a large bald-headed man entered the room.
“Good evening, Mrs. Hart. I’m Troy McDerban.”
She recognized his voice. This was the man she’d mistaken for an angel or the night nurse.
“Can you call the nurse, please? I want to go to bed.”