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Or was that just more mixed memories?
"What the hell did you do with your clothes? They weren't in the car," he said.
I shrugged, not knowing and not caring. "Where did you find my car?"
"About an hour out of Dunedan. The local cops have already hauled it back into town."
Which was not helpful, given I had no idea what or where Dunedan was. "And where are we now?"
"About a hundred miles southeast of that point."
Which was a hell of a long way to walk in the time I'd apparently been missing. "Then how did I get here?"
His gaze ran down my battered body. "Looking at the mess your feet are in, the answer is pretty obvious. And you've got a nice sunburn going."
He peeled off his shirt and handed it to me. His body was well toned, but it wasn't the body of someone who trained regularly. For some reason, that struck me as odd. I put on his shirt on and did up the buttons. It was long enough to cover my butt, which was probably a good thing if I was going back to civilization. Humans tended to get antsy about nakedness.
"Now, let's get you to - "
"No hospital," I interrupted. "I hate hospitals."
His eyebrows raised even further. "Dunedan hasn't got a hospital. Can't you remember anything?"
"No. Not who you are, not who I am, not where I am." I paused. "Why can't I shift shape?"
He frowned. "I have no idea. You could before the accident."
I had a sudden vision of a truck grille and a black car that rolled over and over and over, until it resembled nothing more than mashed metal. Felt the panic and fear rising, until it closed my throat and I was all but gasping for air. But it wasn't a truck I'd hit. It had been a roo. It had been flesh, not metal, that had caused this damage.
But not the damage to the other car, the black car. God, what had happened ...?
Again the thought faded, but the terror remained, thick and agonizing.
"Hanna, snap out of it." The voice was sharp, filled with concern, briefly sounding so warm and familiar that tears stung my eyes.
I wanted, so wanted, whoever that voice reminded me of, but for all I knew, that person was standing right beside me, grabbing my arm and desperately trying to comfort me. Maybe it was just my memories that were faulty, that were wanting something or someone who might not even be real.
No, no, no, that inner voice whispered. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
I had to trust that instinct. I certainly couldn't trust anything or anyone else right now. Maybe not even that man who said he was my brother.
But until I knew more about me - and more about what was going on - I just had to play along. It was either that or return to the emptiness and the heat of the red sands, and that path could lead only to death.
"I'm okay," I said, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to calm the turmoil still raging inside. "Really, I'm okay."
"Yeah." He didn't sound convinced, and he didn't let go of my arm. In fact, he looked like he expected me to keel over at any minute. "Why don't we just get you back home, and I'll call in the doc to have a look at you."
He guided me toward the plane, his grip on my arm gentle and firm.
"I thought you said Dunedan didn't have a hospital."
"It doesn't, but it has a doctor. Has to. It's a tourist town."
I guess so. I grabbed the guide rail and climbed the steep steps into the plane. There were only two seats in the back. I took the one away from the window and wasn't entirely sure why I felt safer doing that.
"Nice to see you in one piece, little lady," the pilot said, handing me a bottle of water. He was a rough-looking man with a bulbous nose and scraggly gray beard. "The laddie here was extremely worried about you."
I glanced up at the laddie in question and raised an eyebrow. He took the hint and said, "Hanna, this is Frank. He runs the local pub and owns the plane."
