Slow Burn. Jamie Denton

smile was thin as she swiped at the tears with her good hand. “That’s very sweet of you, Cale. But it still doesn’t solve my problem. Besides, what if Mrs. Sutter decided to check on me.”

      He had his doubts on that score. “So what if she does? In any case, it’ll never happen. The heavy case-load of the social system in this county prohibits extravagances. The social workers spend their time on only the most severe cases, and, Maggie, you hardly qualify as a severe case.”

      He reached across the bed and grabbed her hand again. He wanted to do more than hold her hand, he wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her close, promise her everything would be okay in the end. It didn’t matter that her future was uncertain. The urge to comfort her was strong, just as strong as the need to feel her soft curves pressed against him.

      He smoothed his thumb over her slender fingers. “You call Mrs. Sutter and tell her you’ve got a place to go tomorrow when they release you, and that’ll be the end of it. You can stay at my place for as long as you need.”

      She snatched her hand away. “No—”

      “Just until you get your memory back.” He moved from the chair and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. He braced his hands on the mattress to bracket her hips, his body stirring at the closeness. Momentarily distracted by the shape of her mouth, he simply stared.

      “I couldn’t,” she said, but she didn’t sound convincing.

      “Yes, you can. Look, aren’t your doctors saying it could only be a few days until your memory returns? Do you really want to go to a long-term care facility?”

      She shook her head, and a hank of fiery hair fell over her shoulder. The wavy ends teased the slope of her breasts beneath the cotton hospital gown. “Or maybe a few weeks, or months, or even never. You’ve already been so kind to me, Cale. I won’t ask any more of you.”

      “You aren’t asking,” he argued. “I’m offering.”

      He understood her fear, or at least he liked to think he did. The truth wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like not to know where he came from or the members of his own family. Of course, when his brothers learned he’d brought home a total stranger, they’d be convinced he’d taken leave of his common sense for sure this time.

      Where Maggie was concerned, they were probably right. Didn’t he have enough disastrous relationships in his past to prove their arguments? Okay, so maybe there was some truth here. But, none of those women was Maggie. She genuinely needed his help. He wasn’t offering a permanent solution, only a temporary one.

      “Cases that last that long are the exception, Maggie, not the rule,” he said gently.

      “I don’t know…”

      “Come stay with me, just until we can figure out where you really belong. I’ve got a quiet little place near the beach and a bedroom to spare. You’ll be perfectly safe there, and it’s a hell of a lot better than some sterile environment where you’ll just be another name on a chart.”

      “I might not even live in L.A.,” she argued. “Or California for that matter. Maybe I was just passing through and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe I was visiting someone.”

      “Then why hasn’t anyone else come to see you? And why wasn’t anyone else at the scene when we found you?”

      She dropped her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes, but not before he saw defeat pass through them.

      “It’ll give you a quiet, peaceful place to recuperate and when I’m off duty, maybe I can help you find out who you really are.”

      She opened her eyes. “But…how can I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re a complete stranger. I don’t even know you.”

      “You don’t even know yourself at this point,” he said dryly.

      “Exactly.” She sat up again. “What if I’m a serial killer or something equally horrible? How do you know I won’t rob you blind? You wouldn’t even know who to tell the police to arrest.”

      Cale chuckled. “The perfect crime.”

      “It’s not funny.”

      Lifting his hand, he gently smoothed his knuckles over her satiny cheek. “What other choice do you have, Maggie? It’s either me or a state facility.”

      “You’re not giving me much by way of options, are you?”

      “You don’t have a lot of options,” he said truthfully, lowering his hand. “It’s me or the funny farm, babe.”

      “I don’t think I’m used to being told what to do.” She shot him a frustrated glance. “Because I sure don’t like it now.”

      2

      SHE WORE BLACK. Simple. Basic. Elegant. Of course for a woman in her line of work, black was always the most appropriate color. She considered it her signature color, with one small exception—the red silk hankie with an embroidered V done in an elegant, delicate script. She preferred to think of it as her calling card.

      She pretended mild interest as her bore of a host preened over his most prized possession: a priceless, yet little-known Carracci painting he’d presumably acquired at an estate auction…or so he claimed. She knew better. The Carracci failed to garner her attention, for now. There was only one reason she was in Rome, and it had zilch to do with priceless art.

      Slowly and deliberately, she slid her hand over his arm in an unmistakable gesture. He had what she wanted, and before the night drew to a close, she’d have what she came for…

      MAGGIE AWOKE with a start, heart pounding, breathing ragged. The thin cotton hospital gown clung to her sweat-moistened body as she struggled to recall the details of the dream. She wasn’t sure what it all meant, but she suspected there was some clue to her identity attempting to rise to the surface. Not just her identity, she thought, pulling in a deep breath that did little to calm her, but her life.

      Who was she? Where did she come from? And more importantly, what exactly did she do for a living? From the misty visions of the dream, she almost dreaded the answer.

      A quick glance at the clock on the wall next to the television reminded her that Cale would be arriving to take her home shortly. Not home exactly, but away from the hospital and the threat of the unknown. He really was an angel. What kind of guy took in not just a total stranger, but someone who didn’t even know herself. Obviously, Cale was one of the good guys, and for reasons she had no nope of comprehending at the moment, she wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel an enormous amount of gratitude for his unconditional generosity, but what if the nagging sensation in the back of her mind was true? What if she wasn’t what he believed her to be, just some poor schmuck in the wrong place at the wrong time? The dream…

      “No,” she said in a firm tone. She had to stop thinking about it, or she’d end up with another one of those horrendous headaches again, the kind that had sledgehammers, jackhammers and a cacophony of chain saws all vying to be the loudest. The doctors may have told her not to force her memory, but in her opinion, that was easy for them to say. What were their chances of getting lost in their own neighborhoods?

      She sat up and cautiously swung her feet over the side of the bed to the small footstool. Following a breakfast of stale toast, saltless scrambled eggs and cold coffee, the morning nurse had removed her IV as promised, eliminating at least one cumbersome attachment. Unfortunately, the cast on her right arm wouldn’t be so easily discarded, at least for another six to eight weeks while her wrist healed. One thing she had learned about herself, she most assuredly was right-handed.

      The call she’d placed to the social worker had been simple. As Cale predicted, all Mrs. Sutter had asked for had been an address and telephone number in case she needed to contact her. The call to Detective Villanueva had been