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“Most of the time, but you were more interested in politics, the problems of gangs in the inner city, corruption in the police department, political stuff.” He watched her carefully as he sipped the thick coffee.
“Who was my boss at the paper?”
“A woman named Peggy Henderson…no—Hendricks, I think her name was.”
“You don’t know?” she asked, incredulous.
He lifted a muscular shoulder. “Never met her.” When she gazed at him skeptically, he snorted. “As I said, you and I, we haven’t known each other all that long.” Again, that soul-searing look.
“What about my family?” she asked, her fingers twisting in the sheets. He was giving her more information than she could handle.
“Your father’s based in Seattle, owns his own import/export business. But he’s out of town a lot. In the Orient. You have a sister back east and one in Montana somewhere, I think, and your mother lives in L.A.”
“My folks are divorced?” Lord, why wasn’t any of this registering? she wondered. Why couldn’t she conjure up her mother’s smile, her father’s face, the color of her sisters’ hair?
“Dr. Padillo didn’t want you to rush things,” Trent said evenly. “He thinks it’s best if your memory returns on your own.”
“And you disagree?”
“I don’t know what to think, but I’m sure the best thing for you would be to get you home, back to the States, where an American doctor, maybe even a psychiatrist or neurosurgeon, could look at you.”
Her throat closed. “Could my amnesia be permanent?” she asked, her heart nearly stopping. The thought of living the rest of her life with no recollection of her childhood, the homes she’d grown up in, the family she’d loved, was devastating. A black tide of desperation threatened to draw her into its inky depths.
A shadow crossed his eyes. “I don’t know. But the sooner we get home, the better.” This side of Trent was new, as if he were suddenly concerned for her emotional well-being. “Tomorrow Padillo’s springing you. I’ll pick up everything at the hotel, meet you here, and we’ll take the first flight back to Seattle.”
“I’d like to call someone.”
He froze. “Who?”
“My editor, for starters. Then my mother, I guess.” Was it her imagination or did his spine stiffen slightly?
“If the doctor agrees.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“As I said, I’m no medicine man. But I’ll see if I can get a portable phone down here. If not, you can use the pay booth at the end of the hall.”
“Now?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Well, I do.” She forced herself upright, ignored the dull ache in her hip and leg, and slid over the edge of the bed. As she set weight on her right ankle, she winced, but the pain wasn’t as intense as she’d expected. She didn’t know the layout of the hospital, but she hoped to find Mrs. Martínez’s room. If she couldn’t get the information about the girl from the hotel from Nurse Vásquez, she’d check with Mrs. Martínez. There were more ways than one to skin a cat.
“Get back in the bed,” Trent ordered.
“Not yet.”
“Nikki, please—”
“Help me to the bathroom,” she said, tossing her hair off her face and grabbing the light cotton robe that was thrown across the foot of the bed. It was hospital issue and not the least bit flattering, but at least it covered the gaps left by the hospital gown. Balancing most of her weight on her left foot, she shoved her hands down the sleeves and tied a knot in the loose belt. “Come on, husband.”
For a second he seemed about to refuse. “This is crazy.”
“The nurse told me that whenever I felt like getting out of bed, I should. And I feel like it now.”
Grumbling about hardheaded women without a lick of sense, Trent bent a little so that she could place her arm around his neck. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist and nearly supported all her weight himself. “Okay, let’s go.”
She was a little unsteady at first, but managed the few steps out of the room to the bathroom down the hall. She tried to ignore the warm impressions of Trent’s fingers at her waist and concentrated on taking each tenuous step. The walking got easier and she became more confident.
