Killer Amnesia. Sherri Shackelford

      Her whispered confession tugged at his conscience. “There’s a security guard, Tim, who we keep on call for...unique situations.” Usually for the unruly drunks being treated after a bar fight. He glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. “I’ve got some paperwork to fill out. I might as well wait around for him. I’ll be just outside the door if you need anything.”

      He desperately craved some shut-eye, but her vulnerability kept him rooted in place. There was no harm in sticking around a little while longer.

      “I appreciate the offer.” She managed a wobbly half smile. “But it’s late. You should go home to your family.”

      “Don’t worry. There’s no one waiting up for me.” He mentally chastised himself for the lapse. Why had he offered up that information? “Try and get some sleep.”

      She leaned to the side, pulling her legs to rest on the bed. After adjusting her pillow, she tucked one hand beneath her cheek. “Thank you for saving me tonight.”

      The blanket was trapped beneath her injured arm. He carefully dislodged the edge and draped the material around her shoulders. Avoiding her gaze, he shuffled back a few steps. His fingers itched to brush the hair from her forehead, but he caught himself just in time. What was wrong with him? Lack of sleep was turning him sentimental.

      He wasn’t a nurturing person. He never had been. Maybe if he’d been raised differently...or maybe not. Maybe he simply wasn’t wired that way.

      “I’d do the same for anyone,” he said, wincing at the harsh edge in his tone. “It’s part of the job.”

      There was no need to make this personal. His involvement was already drifting into a gray area. Bishop was the first responder on scene. The investigation wasn’t Liam’s responsibility unless the sheriff said otherwise.

      She offered another smile that sent heat curling through his stomach.

      “I’m sorry for all the trouble,” she said, her hand muffling a yawn. “I’m sure this wasn’t how you planned to spend your evening.”

      She was grateful to him, but gratitude went only so far. He wasn’t the sort of guy who women introduced to mom and dad. His past was a hinderance.

      Marrying someone meant marrying their family, as well, and no one wanted to marry into the mess that was his family tree.

      He stared at the tops of his scuffed boots. “Deputy Bishop will update you on the case when he has more information.”

      A muscle twitched in his jaw. He wasn’t abandoning her. He’d keep an eye on Bishop’s handling of the investigation. He always did.

      When she awkwardly reached to adjust the blanket, he kept his hands at his sides.

      “Will I see you again?” she asked quietly.

      “Probably not.”

      If the doctor was right, she’d most likely wake with total recall. Once she remembered who wanted to harm her, even Bishop couldn’t botch the case, saving Liam from any further involvement.

      “Good night, Emma.”

      “Good night,” she managed to say over another sleepy yawn.

       No loose ends. No regrets.

      Why, then, did he feel as though it was already too late for both of them?

      Emma startled awake and glanced at the clock in sleepy confusion. Just before 6:00 a.m. Which meant...she bolted upright. Today was Sunday already. After the accident on Friday evening, Saturday had passed in a blur. She’d slept nearly the entire day and night.

      Her impressions of the time were hazy. Nurses had told her to rest, but each time she’d dozed, she’d returned to the nightmare of the crash and the water rising around her. They’d finally convinced her to take something to sleep, and she’d spent the rest of the evening in blissful oblivion.

      They were planning on sending her home today—whatever that meant—and she was terrified.

      She’d been avoiding the shadowy recesses of her brain, fearful of the accompanying panic. Daybreak had brought a reckoning. She’d have to re-create her past brushstroke by brushstroke, no matter what lay hidden in the shadows.

      Lightning temporarily illuminated the room, a harbinger of the windowpane-rattling clap of thunder.

      She thought of Deputy McCourt, and despair jolted through her. She trusted him more than the other deputy, the one who’d left her in the watery nightmare, but Liam had been emphatic about his limited involvement in the case.

      She’d have to rely on herself, and that meant finding out who wanted her dead.

      Trembling with anticipation, she tossed off the blankets. She was wide awake and desperate for coffee. Maybe she’d take the opportunity to walk the corridors and stretch her legs. A stack of folded clothing rested on the chair beside her bed.

      Her shoulder was stiff and sore, but she didn’t need the sling. One of the hospital staff had washed her sleeveless blue shell top, thin navy cardigan and jeans. Her tennis shoes were stiff from the dried rain, but she managed to untangle the laces and slide them on.

      She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and started. Approaching the glass, she touched her cheek with quaking fingers. Her heartbeat picked up rhythm and her breathing grew shallow. She’d seen her face in the mirror before, but she was still growing accustomed to the sight. As though she was looking at someone else through the reflection.

      Wrenching her gaze away, she sucked in a deep, calming breath.

      She had to get out of this room—out of her head—if only for a moment.

      Tim, the security guard, was sprawled on a chair outside her room with his arms crossed and his chin tucked against his chest as he snored softly. Emma grimaced. Not exactly the protection she was offered, but given the state of her memory, she understood the skepticism about her claims.

      Deputy Bishop had spoken to her only briefly. He’d dropped off the personal possessions from her car and asked a few perfunctory questions about her recollection of events.

      She hadn’t been sorry to see him go.

      An empty cup of coffee rested near Tim’s foot, and her annoyance dissipated. He’d kept watch over her two nights in a row. No wonder he was tired. She’d make some noise on her return to wake him.

      A fresh-faced nurse in navy scrubs decorated with cartoon kittens directed her to an employee break room at the far end of the building—the only source of coffee that didn’t involve anxious grandparents waiting on an expectant mother in labor and delivery. The hospital was too small for a cafeteria.

      Following the nurse’s directions, she maneuvered through the overlapping plastic sheeting separating the renovations from the occupied areas of the hospital. There were four additional patient rooms, two on either side of the corridor. The first door was propped open, and she caught sight of the gutted space with bare Sheetrock walls and colorful wires dangling from the ceiling.

      The combined scents of paint and sawdust triggered a sense of familiarity, sparking a memory that was just out of reach.

      She pressed her fists against her temples, willing the image to take shape.

       Nothing.

      Her head pounded from the futile effort, and she dropped her hands to her sides. Her brain might as well be this deserted wing of this hospital—empty, under construction and full of obstacles.

      She took a step, and her toe caught on a stack of ceiling tiles. Yelping, she stumbled to the side, then stifled her amplified reaction with a hand to her mouth. Her ordeal on Friday had left her nervous about being alone in a deserted corridor, and for good reason.

      Except