Passion (In Wilde Country 2)

“I’m afraid that’s correct.”

“Have they interviewed Ariel?”

“They tried, but she doesn’t remember anything.”

“Not even that she’d just gotten off a bus?”

“Nothing.”

Matteo’s blood seemed to chill. Ariel had run away from Pastore. She’d chosen to travel by bus. She’d been hit by a car the minute she stepped outside the terminal…

He took out his wallet, removed a business card.

“How’s this?” he said briskly. “I’ll give you my card. If the police want to talk with Ariel again, they can contact me.”

Stafford took the card, but he looked hesitant. Matteo offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“It’s all perfectly appropriate, legally,” he said, and hoped to hell it was, “if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Right. You’re a lawyer.” Stafford paused. “Ms. Bennett’s lawyer.”

“Yes.”

Stafford went on watching him, as if trying to read his mind. Then he stepped closer.

“Mr. Bellini. Is there something going on that I should know about?”

Matteo stared at the doctor. Wasn’t there some old Sicilian proverb about tossing the dice and letting fate take over?

If there wasn’t, there should have been, he decided, and went for broke.

“There’s something going on,” he said bluntly, “but it’s best for all of us if you don’t know about it.”

The neurologist didn’t answer. Then, just as Matteo began silently calling himself a fool, Stafford stepped back, his expression bland.

“Well,” he said briskly, “get that power of attorney document to me when you can. And if we’re going to discharge Ms. Bennett to your care, we should do it right away. The weather certainly isn’t getting any better.”

Matteo let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“I’ll write you a couple of prescriptions. Painkillers, an antibiotic she should take while her wounds heal. A nurse will get her ready to leave. I don’t suppose you brought any of her clothes along. Hers were pretty well shredded.”

“Sorry, no, I didn’t.”

“Not a problem.” Stafford started toward Ariel’s room, then turned back to Matteo. “Go easy with her, Mr. Bellini. Her emotional condition is fragile.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“If she starts to remember things, she may need your reassurance. It can be upsetting for amnesia patients to suddenly find details and facts about themselves rushing into their heads.”

“You mean, she’ll remember everything at once?”

“It’s unpredictable. She may do that, or she may suddenly get what I think of as memory blips. That, I suspect, is the more likely projection. However it happens, let her move at her own pace. Try not to prompt her, or question her. A patient once described the return of his memory as standing on the shore of a sea when suddenly a great wave rolled in and began to pull the sand out from under him.”

Matteo nodded. “Okay.”

“In this case especially, where there seem to be some negative memories involved, perhaps even some that are traumatizing… I’d urge you not to reveal them to her unless it becomes vital. Again, her emotional state is delicate. Too much negative feed-in at one time could be harmful.”

“I’ll be careful, Doctor. Anything else?”

Stafford gave the question a few seconds thought.

“I assume you have her insurance information?”

Such a mundane, grounded-in-reality query. Matteo laughed.

“I have a checkbook and credit cards. I’m sure they’ll do just fine.”

The doctor permitted himself a small smile. “I’m sure they will.” He cleared his throat. “All right, then. I’ll phone the cashier’s office. After you’ve settled the bill, bring your car around to the rear. I’ll have Ms. Bennett brought out through the emergency room doors.”

The men shook hands. When Matteo started to draw his hand back, Stafford held on for an extra few seconds.

“I’m a man of science, Mr. Bellini, and I don’t put much credence in instinct. Nevertheless, I’m trusting to it now because instinct tells me I’m doing the proper thing. I hope I’m right.”

That made two of them, Matteo thought, but he wasn’t fool enough to say so.

CHAPTER SIX

Adrenaline was a wonderful thing.

It could protect a young boy from the pain of a beating at the hands of his teachers; it could neutralize the emotions a man felt on learning his father had a second family.

Adrenaline could keep reality at bay.

Matteo’s adrenaline had kept him moving for the last several hours. It was still pumping as he arranged for Ariel’s discharge and moved his car from the front of the hospital to the rear.

It was snowing more heavily. Driving would be iffy. Flying might be impossible, and he had to do one or the other to get Ariel to…

To where?

Where was he going to take her? What was he going to do with her once he got her there?

The emergency room doors swished open.

A man in green scrubs pushed a wheelchair out of the building. Ariel sat in it, huddled in a blanket. Only her face showed, bruised and swollen and stitched, and just that quickly, the adrenaline flow screeched to a stop, leaving Matteo slack-jawed.

What was he doing?

Forget all the crap about fate and rolls of the dice. Forget Ariel begging for his help. Forget that she didn’t remember anything, not even who she was.

What he was doing was sickeningly obvious.

He was committing enough illegal actions to get him disbarred. Not just disbarred. Disgraced. Dishonored…

The aide started pushing the wheelchair down the ramp.

“Hey,” Matteo yelled, “wait!”

Was the guy deaf? He just kept coming. The wheelchair was almost at the foot of the ramp. The snow was coming down harder.

“Hey. Hey, hold up there!”

This time, the aide paused. “Doc said to deliver the lady to you.”

“Yes. I know. But—”

“Well, I’m deliverin’ her.”

“Right. I get that. But—”

Ariel shifted in the chair. She sat up straight and tilted her face up to the sky.

“Snow,” she whispered. Her eyes sought Matteo’s. “It’s snowing,” she said, with the wonder of a child on Christmas morning.

So much for illegalities.

Matteo went up the ramp, scooped Ariel into his arms, settled her in the passenger seat of the car and buckled her seat belt, carefully avoiding the cast on her wrist.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said.

Then he got behind the wheel, stepped hard on the gas, and took off.

* * *

He drove fast, this man called Matteo, or at least that was how it seemed to Ariel.

She probably wasn’t the best judge of what did and didn’t constitute fast driving.

The fact was, she couldn’t recall riding in a car or driving one.

No. Not true. She remembered arriving at the hospital in an ambulance. Other than that, she really couldn’t recall much of anything, and no, she wasn’t going to go there because she knew what would happen, that panic would suck the

breath from her lungs.

Not being able to remember anything, anything about yourself was more than terrifying, it was—it was as if you’d died but you didn’t yet know it.

“Are you warm enough?”

She turned toward him. Matteo. Was he of Spanish origin? Italian? His name was surely not American, and he was dark-haired, but he had green eyes. Amazingly green eyes.

“Ariel?”

Smile, she told herself, but her lips were so dry she couldn’t really pull them back against her teeth.

“Yes,” she said quickly. Too quickly. She knew it instantly; she heard the wobble in her voice, heard the lie. I’m-m f-fine.”

Big improvement. Her voice didn’t just wobble this time. Her teeth chattered.

“I know it’s cold in here,” he said. “I’ve turned the heat up all the way. Just give it a few minutes.”

She nodded and burrowed deeper into the blanket. She wasn’t just cold, she was freezing, but she suspected it wasn’t because of the temperature. She’d been ice-cold since the accident, well, since coming to consciousness in the hospital after the accident. One of the nurses had even commented on it, trying to turn the coldness of her hands and feet into a little joke that she suspected had been meant to try and inject some normalcy into an abnormal situation.

“Cold hands, warm heart,” the nurse had said, and at Ariel’s blank look, she’d added, “It’s an old saying.”

Maybe, but Ariel suspected the coldness was the result of fear. Bone-deep fear.

In fact, that was the one and only thing she did know about herself.

She was terrified.

And she had no idea of who or what or why.

Once they’d moved her out of Emergency and into a regular room, she’d felt her heart jump each time the door swung open. Doctors, nurses, aides and techs came and went, and each instance brought with it a breathless, dizzying moment of sheer panic, as if she were waiting, just waiting for someone who wasn’t a doctor or nurse, aide or technician to come through the door and—

And what?

She was scared half to death, and she didn’t even know the reason.

She gave a strangled laugh, saw the man named Matteo glance at her, and she quickly changed the laugh into a cough.

She didn’t know him, either. She’d had his name on a card in her pocket, the emergency room people had told her, and he’d come after Dr. Stafford had contacted him, but really, what did that mean? He could be anybody, even the faceless enemy she feared, but she didn’t think so. Something about him said he was a good person. His face. His eyes. Even the way he touched her and besides, what choice did she have?