Chapter One #2
She parked in her drive, next to Mrs. Perry’s Taurus, powered the window down and just sat for a while, absorbing the feeling of home.
Leaves, tinged with the first hues of fall, danced across the well-manicured lawn.
It was only September, but most yards, including her own, were decorated for Halloween.
Pumpkins, scarecrows and the usual cornstalks and hay bales embellished the small plots of dormant grass.
A few painted wood ghosts, witches and black cats were scattered around, some bordered by freshly planted mums and pansies.
Warmth welled inside her, chasing away the lingering coldness of an ER shift.
This was a wonderful neighborhood. They were so lucky to live here.
Nicholas would have lots of friends to play with when he was older.
Next door, the Petreys’ little boy, who’d had his first birthday last month, would go to preschool with Nicholas.
Ami was glad for that. The Petreys were nice people; the father, a doctor like Robert, the mother, a schoolteacher.
The perfect family. Ami surveyed the houses on her right, then her left for as far as she could see.
They were all perfect families, living in a perfect neighborhood.
That reality sent a new chill racing up her spine, where it camped at the base of her skull, a precursor to the dread now filling her.
Everything was perfect…except her. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be.
Her past was a big black hole that left her permanently flawed.
The image of Natan Olment imposed itself amid her depressing thoughts.
“Stop obsessing, Ami,” she scolded as she got out of the car and started up the walk. “This day is over, you’re home, put it behind you.”
She slipped her key into the door, unlocked it and stepped inside. “Hello,” she called. “I’m home.” At last, she thought with a sigh.
Ami could hear Nicholas squealing with delight even before Mrs. Perry rounded the corner into the entry hall, sixteen-month-old Nicholas toddling along beside her, his arms outstretched for his mommy.
Ami didn’t feel whole until he was in her arms. She hugged him as tightly as she dared and inhaled the sweet baby scents of lotion and powder.
“He’s had his dinner and his bath,” Mrs. Perry reported as she did every day she cared for Nicholas. “I hope you had a nice day, Miss Donovan.”
Ami kept her pleasant smile in place in spite of a jab of irritation. She preferred to give Nicholas his bath. She’d told Mrs. Perry that time and again, to no avail. “It was fine, Mrs. Perry. And how were things here?”
“Oh, we had a marvelous day.”
The woman literally beamed, the sincerity of it banishing Ami’s irritation.
How could she be angry with a woman who took such joy in caring for Nicholas?
She and Robert were very fortunate to have found her.
Most of the children on this street went to day-care centers—good ones, but centers nonetheless.
Nicholas received one-on-one care from the grandmotherly type.
A friend of Robert’s whose child had just entered elementary school had highly recommended her.
Her other references had been impeccable, as well. She was perfect.
“We took a stroll in the park,” Mrs. Perry continued. “We watched Sesame Street, then read Dr. Seuss until nap time.”
Ami adopted a wowed expression for her son. “My, my, young man.” She kissed his chubby cheek. “It sounds like you’ve had a full day. Do you have any fun left in you for Mommy?” His answering gurgle and chorus of da-da warmed her heart.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Mrs. Perry gathered her purse and all-weather jacket from the hall closet. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Donovan.”
“You, too. Thank you, Mrs. Perry.”
Ami waited until the older woman had settled into her car before she closed the door. She smiled at Nicholas who was engrossed with the ID badge pinned to her nurse’s smock. “How about another bath?”
Nicholas’s dark eyes brightened at the prospect. He grinned, a wide, gap-toothed gesture, then babbled da-da again.
“Want to play in the water?” His eager bounce in her arms was all the encouragement she needed. “We just won’t tell, Mrs. Perry,” Ami whispered. “It’ll be our secret. And while we’re at it, let’s practice ma-ma.”
LATER, Ami stood next to Nicholas’s crib and watched him sleep.
She glanced at the Winnie the Pooh clock.
Seven already and Robert still wasn’t home.
He’d probably had a last-minute consultation that ran longer than he expected, or maybe an emergency at the hospital.
Psychiatric patients were even more prone to full moon dementia, she supposed.
Her attention refocused on her sleeping child.
She trailed a finger over one silky, rose-colored cheek.
Her heart squeezed. She loved him so much.
He was the only part of the real her. The one she couldn’t remember.
Ami studied his features for a time. The thick, dark hair.
The long, almost feminine lashes splayed against his olive skin.
Those equally dark eyes, which were almost black.
“Where did you get those?” she murmured softly.
Her own hair was a light brown with so many gold streaks that it looked more blond than brown.
And her eyes were blue. Ami closed her eyes and tried to imagine a man with Nicholas’s features, but she could only call to mind the shadowy image that haunted her dreams far too often.
She sighed and peered down at her baby. “Doesn’t matter,” she answered herself. “You’re my son. No matter who your father was, you’re all mine now.”
By ten-thirty Ami had grown seriously worried. Robert always called when he was going to be this late.
She clicked off the television. The newscaster had reported this morning’s shooting as an assassination attempt on American Economic Advisor Frank Lowden.
Mr. Olment had inadvertently stepped into the path of the bullet intended for Mr. Lowden.
The images the cameras had captured made Ami shiver.
Why did they have to show such graphic scenes on television? She frowned. Where was Robert?
Feeling more alone than she had in a very long time, she reached for the telephone to call his cellular number, but a sound downstairs stopped her.
She held her breath and listened, her fingers still clutching the cordless receiver, an uncharacteristic hint of fear trickling through her.
This was a secure neighborhood. She never worried about intruders.
The front door opened, then closed. She tensed, ready to dial 9-1-1. The sound of the dead bolt being set into place and the clink of keys hitting the hall table announced that Robert was home.
Ami exhaled the breath she’d been holding and dropped the receiver back into its cradle. The familiar rhythm of Robert’s footfalls on the stairs chased away any lingering anxiety. She shook her head at how foolishly she was behaving. What was wrong with her tonight?
The episode with Mr. Olment in the ER, she admitted. It had shaken her far too deeply. She turned on her bedside lamp and sat up. Discussing her feelings with Robert never failed to help. He would be able to explain everything. He always did. He was her knight in tailored Armani.
“You’re still up,” he commented, surprise as well as concern marring his handsome brow as he strode through the door. He draped his suit jacket over the nearest chair and tugged at his tie, his expectant gaze searching hers.
“I was worried.” She clasped her arms around her bent legs, propped her chin on her knees and waited for him to realize he hadn’t called.
A frown pulled his lips downward. “Why would—?” He swore, something he rarely did.
“I didn’t call,” he realized out loud. He sat on the edge of the bed, next to her, and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I am so sorry, baby. It was an emergency meeting of the board. They’re stressing over that lawsuit against Jacobs.
I didn’t have time to think of anything else. I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
She kissed his nose. “Forgiven.” Then she fixed him with a firm look. “But don’t ever do it again.”
A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Shall I make it up to you tonight?” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “It might be late, but I’m not that tired.”
She studied his teasing gray eyes, worry twisting unreasonably in her stomach.
She did care so for this man. She just wasn’t quite sure that what she felt was love, which was why she still hadn’t agreed to become Mrs. Robert Allen.
But she did care deeply for him. “Maybe,” she offered in an attempt to hang on to the playful moment a little bit longer. “But first we have to talk.”
He arched a skeptical brow. “Talk?” He stood and pulled his shirt from his slacks, then began to unbutton it. “This sounds serious. Did Josh Cowden leave his bicycle in the driveway again?”
Ami patted the spot he’d vacated. “Sit. This is serious.”
His fingers stilled in their work, his expression instantly turning as solemn as her own. “Has something happened?” He eased back down onto the mattress. “Is Nicholas all right?”
“He’s fine. It’s not that kind of serious.”
His sigh of relief was audible.
Ami moistened her lips and tried to decide how to tell him what had happened and how she felt without sounding hormonal or totally paranoid. “There’s some kind of international financial summit in town, did you know that?”
He lifted one shoulder and dropped it in a halfhearted shrug. “I may have heard something about it. But I didn’t have time to more than glance at the news this morning.” His gaze searched hers, his frown deepening. “Why?”
“There was an assassination attempt.” She splayed her palms, as uncertain of the exact details as the newscaster who’d reported them. “The man who was shot came in on my ER shift.”
Robert dragged the undone tie from around his neck. “Who was he?”
“Natan Olment. He’s an aide to the Israeli prime minister. According to the news, he stepped in front of the intended target just as the shot was fired.”
“Bad timing for him.” Robert’s tie dropped silently to the carpeted floor. “Did he survive?”
She nodded. “He’s in ICU in stable condition. But something strange happened in the ER.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me,” he urged. His shirt hit the floor next.
Ami took a moment of reprieve to appreciate his well-defined torso.
He was a wonderful man, and very nice to look at, blond hair, kind gray eyes.
Why hadn’t she said yes months ago? What was it that made her hesitate when he had done so very much for her?
He’d been there for her every step of the way, even when she’d longed for a career after Nicholas’s birth.
Robert had been the one to notice her unusual grasp of medical terminology.
A battery of tests had quickly revealed an undeniable education from her previous life in the medical field.
He helped her get licensed as well as to obtain the position she now held.
“Ami,” he prompted firmly. “Tell me what happened.”
“Just before we sent him up to the OR, I was adding another IV line and he…” Her mind quickly replayed every frantic moment like a video on fast forward.
“He looked straight at me and just went ballistic.” She shook her head, still finding the whole episode unbelievable.
She knew how it sounded, but she was there, she also knew what she saw.
“He was screaming something at me. Something none of us could understand, of course.” She took a breath and forced herself to calm.
“Even with two bullets in his chest, he tried to get away.” She looked straight into Robert’s eyes.
“He tried to get away from me. He seemed scared to death.”
“Drugs?” Robert suggested.
“That’s the really weird part, his tox screen was clean.”
Robert took her hands in his. “Look,” he said gently. “Just because the guy freaked, doesn’t mean it had anything to do with you. He was probably suffering from trauma-induced hallucinations. You’ve seen it happen before.”
This was true, but today was different somehow. She just couldn’t seem to make him understand that. Ami squeezed his hands, holding on with all her might. “You don’t think it could’ve had anything to do with…before?”
He smiled patiently, the expression full of the assurance she needed so desperately. “Of course not. It was just a coincidence that his attention focused on you when the episode started.”
Still not fully convinced, she went on. “It was like he knew me. And whatever he knew wasn’t good.”
“Ami.” Robert slipped into his therapist mode.
The tone of his voice not quite so patient as before, his posture a little stiffer, his expression closed, free of emotion.
She remembered it all well from when they’d first met.
Before he’d turned her case over to someone else so that the two of them could pursue a personal relationship.
“You have focal retrograde amnesia. You’re always going to wonder whenever anyone looks at you just the right way if they somehow know you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
She let go a heavy breath. “Then why does it feel so…wrong?”
“Because you keep hoping someone will simply walk up to you and fill in all the blanks.” He shook his head slowly, sympathy filling those gray eyes now despite the irritation she knew he must feel. They’d had this discussion a hundred times. “It’s not going to happen. You have to accept that.”
She looked away. “I know. It’s like I sprang forth fully grown just two years ago.” She thought of her sweet baby. “And four weeks’ pregnant.”
“But you know that’s not the case.” He took her face in his hands, his hold tender, certain. “You came from somewhere, we just may never know where. And that doesn’t matter to me, but it matters to you. That’s why you’re reading too much into an injured man’s hallucinations.”
“Maybe I am,” she relented. “It just felt so real. The whole trauma team noticed it.”
Robert pressed a kiss to her forehead, then looked deeply into her eyes. “Your past is gone, Ami. None of the therapy we tried worked, and we tried it all. That past isn’t coming back.”
She wound her arms around his neck and relished the security of having him near. “You’re right. I know.”
“You’re Ami Donovan,” he murmured close to her ear, the words, his voice, soothing. “Whoever you were before is gone for good.”