Silent Night Threat. Michelle Karl

a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “Yes, dear, but I’m afraid no one was able to reach him. We tried the second emergency number for the specialized NASA physician and got through. We’ve been instructed to have you contact him as soon as you’re able.”

      A knock on the door brought a second nurse into the room. “Dr. Olsen? There are officers here who’d like to take the patient’s statement, now that she’s stable.”

      “Police?” She glanced at Chris. “Why do I need to talk to the police if you’re FBI?”

      He held up his phone. “My job is to find you and, as of thirty minutes ago, continue to investigate your disappearance. The local authorities will go after the guy who ran us off the road and help figure out where that gun came from. We’ll be working together but best to bring them up to speed on an event like this with a direct statement so they can be on the lookout.”

      Natasha wrapped her arms around her middle as the police officers shuffled into the room and made the appropriate introductions. One of the nurses raised the front half of the hospital bed so Natasha could speak to the officers without physical strain, which she appreciated—she already felt mentally exhausted, like her brain was attempting memory gymnastics but kept missing the landing mat. She told Officers Kirby and Lee about waking up by the side of the road with a gun in her hand, and Dr. Olsen confirmed the relevant medical details regarding her memory loss. She recounted her and Chris’s harrowing escape from the drone and provided what details she could about the vehicle that had knocked them off the road.

      “And you have no idea why anyone would try to kill you?” Officer Kirby looked unconvinced, his eyebrows high enough that they were almost hidden under his cap. “No known enemies?”

      “I’m a scientist,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “An astronaut. I’ve never considered myself a high-value assassination target.”

      “You should,” Chris interjected. “You’re a highly trained specialist working toward national interests.”

      Officer Kirby cleared his throat, seemingly unappreciative of Chris’s commentary. “And how did you come to have a firearm in your possession?”

      “I already told you I don’t know. I don’t remember. I’m not a gun owner.”

      “So you do remember things about yourself.”

      “I don’t—” A sharp pain tore through her head, and she lay back, closing her eyes. She remembered some things and not others, and she had no idea why or how. She heard Dr. Olsen tapping his pen against his clipboard again.

      “I think that’s enough questions for today,” the doctor said, his tone stern. “Miss Stark requires rest. Her brain should recover all the missing information eventually, but you’ll do neither yourselves nor your investigation any good if you push for details that she’s presently unable to access.”

      Officer Lee pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to Natasha, then handed a second card to Chris. Natasha took hers and ran her fingers along the edges. “Call us as soon as you remember anything,” the officer said with a tight but genuine smile.

      “Wait,” Natasha said as the officers made to exit the room. They paused. “The gun. Did you find it?” Kirby and Lee exchanged a look that caused Natasha’s stomach to flip-flop.

      “Yes,” Officer Lee finally said. “And there’s one round missing from the chamber. Your clothes have been claimed by law enforcement and are being tested for gunshot residue.”

      “Her clothes?” Chris stepped to Natasha’s side and placed his hand on the edge of the hospital bed as if trying to protect her from the officer’s words. “Why? We’re the ones who were used as target practice.”

      “So you’ve said,” Officer Kirby chimed in, pushing past his partner. “But it was your job to find her, yes? You’ve found her. Investigate why she went missing if you have to, but don’t question how we choose to pursue our own investigations related to the incident. We have a firearm that’s been discharged, a woman with no memory and no additional witnesses to this reported drone attack. Ms. Stark claims to have nothing to do with the firearm, and this way we can make sure of that. Wouldn’t you prefer to know for certain that the gun isn’t yours, Ms. Stark?”

      Of course she wanted to know that for certain, but she also had a bad feeling that if the tests proved otherwise, she’d be in a world of trouble. “What happens if you find residue on my clothes?”

      Officer Kirby scowled and began to speak, but Officer Lee cut in first. “It will be inconclusive,” she said. “It only means the weapon was discharged within a few feet of you, not that you fired it yourself. Either way, maybe it will help put some pieces together in your own mind.”

      “The FBI will be pursuing the threat against Ms. Stark, specifically looking into the tech that took shots at us,” Chris added. “How far will your own investigation go?”

      Officer Lee shrugged. “We’ll try to reconstruct the accident, wait for what the tests say and put out a BOLO for the vehicle you described, but that’s really all we can do at present. My captain has ordered us to cooperate with the FBI, so we won’t step on your toes on purpose.” She nodded at Natasha. “I hope you get your memories back and feel better in time for Christmas, Ms. Stark. My son loves spaceships and also wants to be an astronaut when he grows up. Our entire family watched the live stream when the Orion returned.”

      Warmth blossomed in Natasha’s cheeks as the officer smiled at her, and she wished she could remember more about the event Officer Lee described. “Thank you so much.”

      As the nurse ushered the officers out of the room, Chris sighed and tented his fingers, pressing them against his mouth. Something inside Natasha wanted to reach out and offer comfort, even though she had no idea why she’d want to comfort him, a complete stranger. No matter how appealing she found him. Now that she had a moment to look at him without being in the midst of panic, she had to consciously keep her mouth from falling open. He had olive skin and deep brown eyes, a square jaw and full, bow-shaped lips that she couldn’t help but envy. His nearly black hair was cut short enough to not require serious maintenance but long enough to make the messy bed-head style he wore look natural. Her eyes followed the curve of his profile as he stared after the retreating forms of the police officers. His presence felt so familiar, but when she tried to rack her brain for memories, all she got in return was a fuzzy, dull ache. He seemed to sense her watching him and turned to regard her with a questioning glance. Her heart jumped as if he’d defibrillated it.

      She couldn’t help it. She needed to know. “How do we know each other?”

      His complexion paled. “Excuse me?”

      “You asked me if I recognized you, after you found me. I feel like I know you, but obviously...”

      “You can’t remember.” He dropped his hands and shoved them in his pockets. His shoulders rose, and he stared at the floor as if trying to come up with an answer. “Natasha, the thing is—”

      “Sorry, I need to interrupt for a moment.” Dr. Olsen pulled several sheets of paper from his clipboard and handed them to Natasha. “These are prescriptions for painkillers and a list of recommendations as we discussed earlier in regard to managing your injuries. Please take them to your physician at NASA. Will they be arranging transportation, or will you be making your way over on your own? As long as you go there directly, I’ll consent to your release.”

      More doctors, more tests, more paper hospital gowns? She didn’t like it, but the more people with ideas about getting her memory back, the better. “Can someone call them for me?”

      “We can’t—”

      “I’ll call,” said Chris. “She’s my responsibility. I’ll make sure she gets there safely.”

      She smiled at him in gratitude, but after what they’d both gone through, she also couldn’t help but wonder whether going anywhere with him was safe—after all, no one had been shooting