Chapter 1 #2
He’d just pushed the door open when Dr. Meyers stayed him with a hand.
“Mr. Montgomery. You’ve taken steps to provide medical and psychological supervision?
As you’re now aware, our patient suffered a traumatic nervous collapse.
She needs time, not just to recuperate physically from the delivery, but she’ll require specialized care to address her memory loss as we—”
“Dr. Meyers,” Alexander said, cutting him off. He wasn’t an idiot. He motioned Evan forward. “May I introduce Dr. Evan Childress.” No other explanation was necessary.
Dr. Evan Childress was a world-renowned psychiatrist. He’d consulted for Art Fisher and JDL over the years.
On the plane ride over from New York, Evan had studied Amanda’s most recent medical records while Alexander sat white-knuckled on the G5, his new company’s private jet.
He hated flying but it was an unfortunate necessity in this life they’d found themselves living.
After what had seemed an inordinately long time, Evan had looked up and informed Alexander of Amanda’s condition, equating her diagnosis to what he’d called psychogenic amnesia.
“When you just can’t deal with pain, Alex, the psyche effectively does it for you.
” It was only one of many times throughout the past nine months Alexander had felt a tightening in his chest, which he assumed was a very real reaction to his failure to protect his family.
He’d winced, flexing his hand as the pain abated.
Evan had prepared him for one of three reactions Amanda could have.
The first that she would recognize him instantly and her memory would return.
The second, she would instinctively recognize him, but her memory wouldn’t come back right away.
She might intuitively trust him, for example, but not know why.
The last possibility Evan suggested was that Amanda wouldn’t recognize him on any level, and that she would never remember their lives together.
Not wanting to waste another moment before finding out which reaction she was going to have, Alexander nodded, pushed past Dr. Meyers, and walked into Amanda’s room.
Four days ago, she’d endured what he’d been told was a terribly difficult delivery.
It had been followed by a breakdown of epic proportions that necessitated she be sedated.
Alexander glanced at the dial of his Breitling Navitimer.
He’d missed her by three days. His breath caught as he laid eyes on her for the first time in what felt like the quarter millennium of time that had separated them.
The relief he felt was almost overwhelming, surpassed only by regret.
He flexed his hand as that familiar sharp pain presented.
It lasted at most a second, but long enough to divert him from losing control of his emotions.
Helen, the private nurse Stan had hired, sat at Amanda’s bedside.
While Evan spoke with her, Alexander started unbuckling the restraints around his wife’s wrists.
The first fell against the rail, revealing deep purple and yellow bruising.
His fingers gently brushed her skin, then gripped—Jesus, he had to force himself to let go—so affected by being able to touch her.
She made a sound and tried to roll over as he started on the second of her manacles. Then her eyes shot open. “Who…where…” She sounded worse than she looked. And she looked like a disaster.
“Shh.” His hand cupped the side of her precious, beautiful face as he tried to soothe her. “You’ve been discharged, Amanda. I’m taking you home.” Her free hand started frantically scratching the leather around her other wrist. He knew what it felt like to be trapped so he let her help.
“My son,” she said as she tried to sit up.
“He’ll be here in a minute,” Alexander told her as he helped her sit upright.
She grabbed his hand, big cornflower-blue eyes wincing in pain as she begged, “Take them off—please.” She covered her face as fat tears fell, but he didn’t know what she was talking about.
He looked around the room, and then down at the end of the bed.
Jesus Christ. They had her ankles locked down.
He was so angry he almost ripped the bindings holding them to the bedrail.
Once she was completely free, he lifted her out of her prison, giving her a reassuring squeeze once she was safely cradled in his arms.
“Bloody hell, sweetheart,” he whispered as he started for the door. “I’m sorry.”
“My daughter’s British,” Amanda told him drowsily.
“I know,” he said grimly, realizing his wife didn’t remember him. Was it option three?
Alexander stopped at the desk again. His son had been brought up from the nursery. They checked his bracelet against Amanda’s. Satisfied they had a match, the nurse placed him in Stephen’s outstretched arms.
Amanda stiffened suddenly. “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home, Amanda,” he reminded her.
“Zander! My baby! I have to get my baby!”
“He’s right here.” Alexander turned her so she could see him. “See?”
Her eyes filled with tears again. “Thank you.”
He wanted to cry with her. He didn’t; and considering how grievous the past 278 days—not that he was counting—had been, he thought it a win. She sighed and put her head back down against his chest.
It was close to four in the morning by the time they arrived at Amanda’s.
She’d slept in Alexander’s arms the entire ride over.
Burrowed herself into the crook of his neck, just as she always had.
It buoyed his hopes that perhaps she instinctively remembered him.
And it felt amazing. He couldn’t hold her tight enough and rocked her—bloody hell—just because he could.
Sam, Amanda’s best friend, was waiting outside the front doors. They’d never met, but Amanda had talked about her frequently enough—to both him and Stephen—that Alexander knew it was her immediately.
Stephen had been present for a lot of Amanda’s stories about “the future,” most of which included Sam.
At first, Alexander had been furious that his wife spoke so often of another man.
When he finally voiced his anger, Amanda had used one of her favorite phrases, “Really, Alexander?” She’d rolled her eyes, too, before telling him that Sam was short for Samantha.
He smiled thinking of it. Now, Sam only nodded upon seeing them arrive, rubbed Amanda’s cheek, and said, “Follow me.”
Putting Amanda in her own bed was difficult but necessary. After speaking with Evan and Helen, he reluctantly left Amanda in their care. Time to find his daughter. But before he could do anything more, Sam cornered him in the hall as the door snicked shut behind him.
Alexander recognized that Samantha Gilchrist was as beautiful as his wife.
And from what he’d gathered, and he’d gathered a bloody lot, she was smart and talented, too, in her own right.
He knew that Sam and Amanda had met at a private girls’ boarding school and had later attended the same college together.
Amanda followed the fine arts of dance and music while Sam studied law and journalism.
“She thinks you’re dead,” Sam said expressionlessly.
“I’m not.” Alexander wasn’t surprised by her tone or lack of emotion.
Amanda had often said Sam warmed up slowly, if at all—the result of something that had happened to her back in college, apparently.
Amanda had seemed so torn up about it that Alexander pressed for more information.
Eventually, Amanda divulged—begrudgingly, and quite sparingly—that Samantha had been taken advantage of, attacked in some manner by a man who was a classmate of theirs, though beyond that she’d never expounded.
At the time, he’d been furious on behalf of his wife’s closest friend, but Amanda had smiled softly and patted his hand, telling him that it was okay now, that it was well in the past—then she’d chuckled at her own unintended joke.
Samantha, she said, was shrewd, yes, but if you were lucky enough to gain her trust, her friendship and love were a gift like none other.
“Obviously. You missed her by—”
“Three days, Samantha. Story of our lives. Always just this side of too late.”
“Don’t be pathetic,” she shot back. “You’re here. I’m not sure how and I’m not sure I want to know. Hearing Amanda’s side of the story was absurd enough.” A look crossed her face. “If anyone finds out—”
“We’ve covered our tracks. Destroyed everything we can. Dr. Childress has already convinced me that it’s in Amanda’s best interest to let her draw her own conclusions.”
“He knows?” Her expression was incredulous.
“Yes.” Alexander didn’t find it necessary to expound at the moment.
If ever. To her point, however, there were a handful of people who were indeed aware of how he and Amanda had met, and also how he had lost her and his daughter.
He couldn’t be expected to keep something like that to himself—Amanda clearly hadn’t.
“So, until she remembers? If she remembers?”
“Until she remembers,” Alexander said pointedly, “I’m the new owner of JDL Security.
” On the ride home from the hospital, he’d decided to change the name to Calder Defense, the first three letters of Callie’s name and the last three of Zander’s.
“Amanda’s a client and my brother’s her new detail.
” Which granted Alexander access to her and his children’s lives, he’d decided, even if the cover was a bit of a stretch.
He was relying on his wife’s love of family, immediate and extended, and knew this was right up her alley.
“Wait,” Samantha said, putting up her hand. “You bought JDL?”
“Yes. And all its subsidiaries.”
“Your fortune traveled with you?” Sam asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.
If she only knew how long his men had worked to bury everything deep within the cliffs.