A Stranger She Can Trust. Regan Black

victim’s. The river took enough evidence already.”

      “Look at her,” Carson said. “She’s a victim, too.”

      “All the more reason for a doctor to find out what’s up with her memory. You can go along for the ride if you like.” The detective stepped toward the door but didn’t open it.

      “No hospitals.” Her heart pounded against her rib cage as desperation and fear swamped her. She clutched Carson’s hand. “I’ll cooperate with the police, I swear it, but no hospitals. Please.”

      “Apparently her abject terror at the idea hasn’t changed from last night,” Grant said. “I know you need leads, Werner, but it doesn’t seem as if Ms. Baxter has any to give you right now.”

      Carson stood up, tugged her up with him. He kept his body between her and the detective. “I’m taking her home to rest.”

      Werner didn’t budge. “Hang on a minute.”

      “Do you have cause to hold her?”

      “Hell, yes!” The detective folded his arms over his chest. “Best I can tell, she’s the last person to see her friend alive.”

      She cringed at his tone, at his insistence that she was somehow linked with a dead body they’d pulled from the river.

      “As soon as her memory returns, we’ll call you,” Carson said. “Pushing her and stressing her out will only delay her recovery and your investigation.”

      The detective muttered a curse under his breath. “She’s clearly been through some trauma. I want a doctor, not some washed-out paramedic, to tell me she’s not faking this amnesia thing.”

      “Watch it, Werner.” Grant’s voice had dropped to a growl. “You’re in my house,” he added, coming to his feet. “You told me you wanted a conversation and you said you’d go easy with a woman who is more likely an eyewitness than the killer.”

      “Come on.” Werner’s hand gripped the doorknob hard. “I need to speak with her alone.”

      “No,” Carson and Grant said in unison.

      She watched the exchange, fascinated and horrified all at once.

      “When you have a weapon with her fingerprints on it or a cause of death Melissa could manage, come on back,” Grant said. “Until then, we’ll keep an eye on her. You have my word. Carson and I will help her through this, and when her memory returns, you’ll be our first call.”

      “Damn it, Sullivan. That isn’t good enough.”

      “It will have to be for today.” Grant flared his hands. “This is awkward, to be sure.” He moved around to open the office door, adding his stocky body as another obstacle between the detective and her. “You keep working the case on your side, we’ll work it from this side, and I’m sure we’ll find justice for everyone in the middle.”

      “That’s a thin line, Grant,” Werner said. “We go way back, but this is pushing the friendship.”

      “We’ll get through it.” Grant pulled the door shut behind him as he ushered the detective out of the office. Their voices faded away.

      “Am I a killer?” she asked herself in the long silence that followed.

      “No.” Carson put his hands on her shoulders and studied her face with his intriguing hazel eyes. “You have a headache.”

      The man had a gift for noticing the details and medical assessment. “Could it be a reaction to suppressed guilt?”

      He threw his head back and laughed. It was a beautiful sound that rolled over her and took a little of the weight of the terrible insinuations from the detective with it. “Not a chance. You’re just trying too hard to figure out if you’re Melissa and what that means.”

      “Wouldn’t you?”

      “Absolutely,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring you here to sandbag you.”

      Before she could reply, the office door opened and Grant returned. To her relief, he didn’t close it again. “Well, that couldn’t have gone much worse. How are you holding up, Melissa?” His gaze jerked to Carson as he slapped a hand lightly to his mouth. “Is it okay to call her that?”

      She answered, “We have to call me something. Might as well use my given name.”

      “Sit down. Relax,” Grant said. “Werner has agreed to give us—you—a little time and breathing room.”

      It wasn’t as comforting as he probably meant it to be. “Meaning?”

      “Go home, rest, let yourself heal,” Grant said. “I made Werner give me your information.”

      “So, which home?” Carson asked.

      “Not mine,” she said quickly. “I mean, if I have a choice. I know you can’t babysit me forever, but—”

      “My place it is.” Carson patted her hand again. “As I said, we’ll stick it out together. I have a feeling the detective knocked a few things loose in there.” He tapped his own temple. “But I’d rather you didn’t rush it and risk more trouble. You shouldn’t be alone when things do come back to you.”

      Grant agreed with him. “Just keep me in the loop and I’ll deal with Werner.”

      She let Carson guide her out of the office, turning back to Grant at the last second. “Can you tell me where I work? Maybe it will help me remember something relevant.”

      Grant looked past her to Carson, got the nod to share. “You’re a conservator at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.”

      The information didn’t create any spark of recognition, only left her feeling more detached as though it all related to a stranger. She locked onto the one detail she could put in context. “We drove by earlier, right? With all the steps?” she asked Carson.

      “Yes. You didn’t seem to recognize it.”

      “Can we try again?” She couldn’t give up. Not while the police were searching for the truth about the murder of a woman who was apparently her friend.

      Though Carson was reluctant, they left the club behind for another drive past the museum. Though the song wasn’t familiar, the rock music on the radio was a welcome background noise for her whirling thoughts. The beat was hard and steady, the bass grounding her when it felt like her life was flying about her in ragged pieces. “Do you think anyone at the museum would recognize me if we went in?”

      “I’m sure they would, if we found the department you work in. It’s a big place.”

      “And I could be anyone,” she said. “What if I’ve missed work?” For reasons she couldn’t fully express, it troubled her to think that the fallout of having amnesia would cost her her job. “It makes me queasy to think I’ve missed work.”

      “That’s a good sign on several levels...” His voice trailed off awkwardly.

      “Why do you hesitate to call me Melissa when you let Grant and Detective Werner give me other details?”

      “Because I don’t want to plant more ideas or thoughts in your head. It’s just my opinion, but I think it’s best if your memory returns as naturally as possible.”

      “How is it you know so much about amnesia?”

      “I don’t know that much. My experience on the ambulance hardly qualifies me, though I’ve seen people who can’t recall how they were injured,” he replied. “The detective isn’t wrong to suggest you see a doctor.”

      She understood the concern and couldn’t suppress the goose bumps that shivered over her skin at the thought of it. “Did you ever want to be a doctor?” she asked, shifting the focus away from her.

      “I considered it at one point. I thought