Remembering Red Thunder. Sylvie Kurtz

before you hit the water.”

      “No.” He wasn’t going there. The best thing to do, he decided, was to walk away and never look back. Escape. He swallowed hard. The need itched through him strong. Damn! He’d lost count. One. Two. Three.

      “You were on the highway heading toward the Brett ranch. After RoAnn gave you the call, you headed toward Gator Park.”

      Tad paused and seemed to want the silence filled. Chance obliged to cover the quickening whoosh in his ears. “I don’t know.”

      “Sam said you were there pretty quick after he called in the safe’s sighting. You climbed the exit ramp. Then what happened?”

      “I don’t know.” Twenty-one. Twenty-two.

      “Just close your eyes and put yourself back in the cruiser.”

      “No!” Chance’s heart beat frantically in his chest. The monitor’s wild beeps only added to his feeling of being out of control. Like a fish out of water, he started struggling for breath. Fisting his hands around the edge of the mattress, he grappled for control. He wasn’t going to fall into that red haze. He wasn’t going to be carried away on this surge of panic. He wasn’t going to drown.

      “You’re not even trying to figure this out,” Tad said.

      “I told you. I don’t remember.” The monitor took another leap and a nurse came in. He saw a syringe in her hands and a fresh wave of terror swept through him. With the drugs, he would be helpless, a bit of debris tossed about with no control. The images would drown through him again.

      “No drugs.” He grabbed at the IV line. “I’ll rip it right out. No drugs.”

      “Your vitals are off the chart, Mr. Conover. This will help calm you down.”

      Chance dragged in a long breath, then another. Sweat soaked him from head to toe. “I’m calm. The deputy irritated me, but he’s leaving now. I’m fine. No drugs.”

      The nurse looked at Tad. “Maybe it would be best if you left.”

      Hat still in hand, Tad nodded. “I’ll be back.” His boots squeaked to the slow rhythm of his departure.

      “Now,” the nurse said as she reached for the IV, “why don’t you let me look at that line and make sure you haven’t knocked anything out of kilter?”

      “Take it out,” he ordered.

      The nurse clucked at him. “I can’t do that without a doctor’s order.”

      “I’m leaving,” he said, and started to sit up.

      She snorted her disagreement. “And where would you go? You don’t even know where you live.”

      “But I do.”

      They both turned at the gentle, yet insistent voice. The woman from last night stood in the doorway, one hand braced on the doorknob, the other holding a bag. He couldn’t recall her name, but something about her presence sang through him.

      She was small, nothing outstanding. All of her features were soft, almost invisible against the pale walls. But her eyes stood out like beacons, warm and welcoming. They were wide, bluer than a summer sky, and had a hypnotic quality to them that kept his gaze riveted and had his throat going dry.

      “Do you want to come home with me?” Her eyes were earnest. Her body was braced to handle whatever answer he gave her.

      She’d cried for him. She’d said she loved him. She’d told him she wouldn’t let him forget. He’d wanted to hang on to that promise. But promises were brittle. They broke like branches on the river and left you drifting still holding on to the thing that had let you down.

      Now she was offering him a way out, another scrap of hope.

      “Yes.”

      A whoosh escaped her. Then she went into action, striding past the nurse and standing between them.

      “I’m signing him out now.” The straight posture of her body dared the nurse to walk through her. If he’d had to take odds, he’d have placed them on the small woman’s determination even given the nurse’s fifty-pound and five-inch advantage. Did he deserve that fierce loyalty?

      “That’s against regulations. The doctor—”

      “Said there was nothing physically wrong with Chance. There’s no reason to hold him.”

      “Dr. Benton—”

      “Isn’t the admitting physician.”

      The woman glanced at him over her shoulder. Her blue eyes revealed a mixture of soul-stirring warmth and utter sadness. “He’s my husband. I’m taking him home where he belongs.”

      He got his wish; he was getting out of this nightmarish place. But as the nurse slipped the IV needle out of his arm, he swallowed hard.

      He would be leaving with a woman who was almost as disturbing as the images flashing through his mind.

      Chapter Three

      Chance had been home for nearly a week and he didn’t seem to be making headway. Taryn had tried feeding him all his favorite dishes. She’d tried showing him the pictures taken of their life together. She’d tried taking him out into the community he’d loved. Nothing had made a difference.

      He’d eaten with apathy. He’d barely glanced at the photos. Though she’d invited him to make himself at home, he acted as if he were a guest uncomfortably detained against his wishes. Her questions were either ignored or answered with a grunt. He’d refused to go out or to receive visitors—including Angus and his wife, Lucille. They’d been father and mother to him for fifteen years, and being turned away by one they considered a son had hurt.

      And always there was an underlying current of anger that seemed to propel him into constant action.

      He spent his nights awake, pacing the halls of their small house like a caged animal. Day didn’t bring him relief, either. It was as if he had to keep ahead of whatever was haunting him or risk being devoured by it. Not knowing how to help him made her feel as helpless as when she’d been a girl and watched her mother rant and rave at her sorry lot in life.

      His blank stare, his restless turmoil, his aloofness toward her were like a bruise she kept hitting over and over again. She hid the pain with a smile and continued encouragement. But the tenderest ache was knowing that he was home and didn’t want to share her bed. So in the bedroom he refused to enter, she cried herself to sleep every night.

      Even though every defeat stung, it was up to her to find a way through the amnesia to the Chance she knew. She wasn’t going to give up.

      Tonight she’d awakened from a light sleep to the quiet. Not hearing the soft footfall of his bare feet on the carpet had whacked her out of drowsiness with a fresh wave of worry. She found him standing in the dark by the sliding glass door in the kitchen. Two hundred yards down the grassy slope of their backyard, the river glistened in moonlight. His gaze was riveted on the water as if it held all the answers.

      She went to stand next to him. “It’s late. Past midnight. You’re exhausted. Why don’t you come to bed?”

      He flinched as if she’d suggested self-mutilation, and a bolt of panic jagged through his eyes. What was causing the fear? Was he afraid that if he slept he would lose the rest of himself?

      “You don’t have to sleep,” she said, reaching for him then letting her hand fall back to her side. “Come rest.” Let me take care of you.

      He didn’t say anything, but kept staring out the window. She hesitated, then stood closer, wrapped one arm around his and twined their fingers as she’d done a thousand times before. Something sighed inside her at the rightness of his hand in hers. He didn’t jerk away. She took it as a good sign.

      “See the roses by the fence?” She pointed at the dark shape of bushes