A Stranger She Can Trust. Regan Black

knew, people who knew her. Had to be, she thought, despite the void in her head. Could she trust what was happening to her now? Her sole possessions included her clothing, a matchbook and now this card. Her acquaintances were limited to the two men in this room until her brain decided to cooperate again.

      She was as eager as they were to learn how she’d ended up here.

      Carson seemed to understand what she couldn’t articulate. “It’s going to be fine,” he said. Picking up the card and matchbook, he placed both items into her palm and curled her fingers around them. “If you’d be more comfortable staying with a woman—”

      “No.” The word burst out of her, and tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision until she blinked them away. “You.” She gulped, knowing she had to calm down. “I trust you.” An absurd claim, considering she’d just met him.

      If her declaration surprised him, it didn’t show. His steady hazel eyes held her gaze. He didn’t look like a creep, he’d tended her wounds with kind hands, and the matchbook indicated that someone trustworthy had sent her here.

      “Then let’s get going,” he said.

      She nodded. No other choice without her memory. She placed her hand in his and let him guide her out of the office, keeping her head down so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the lights.

      He proceeded slowly down the hallway, and his fingers gripped hers a little tighter as he pushed open the back door. The yawning darkness and the smells of the river sent a tremor down her spine. This was the only familiar territory in her mind, and the bleak fact made her want to curl up and cry until the world made sense again. She managed to keep moving, thanks to the anchor of Carson’s strong hand enveloping hers.

      His palms were calloused and rough. Something inside her cringed from a memory of similar hands. When she tried to pluck at that thread, it dissolved.

      “Easy,” he said, opening the door of a big gray truck. “Need a boost?”

      “I can do it,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as him as she stepped on the running board to get up into the seat. He checked to be sure she was settled before he closed the door.

      She caught her reflection in the side mirror and gave a start. Her face was a mess with the swelling and bandages and deep bruises. At least she knew she wasn’t supposed to look this way. In the mere seconds it took for him to get around the truck and into the driver’s seat, she fought back a swamping fear of being alone. The reaction startled her, and again something felt wrong about her reaction.

      Everything about everything felt wrong, inside and out.

      “Where do you live?” she asked as he started the truck. His answer meant nothing to her, and she watched a foreign world drift by in the dark as he drove through the streets. “Have you lived here all your life?”

      “Born and raised here in Philadelphia,” he answered, giving her vital information without making her feel stupid. “I’ve traveled a little, but I haven’t found another place I’d rather call home.”

      At the next intersection, he turned off the main road, and she wished for daylight so it might have been easier to remember any possible landmark. He’d told her not to push it, yet she couldn’t stop herself from trying.

      “How do you know so much about my, um, situation?”

      He shrugged a shoulder. “As a paramedic, I’ve treated more than a few victims who struggled to remember what happened at the time of their injuries. The brain often blocks out facts until we can handle them, physically or emotionally. The best term for it is trauma-induced amnesia.”

      “That’s what you think is wrong with me?”

      “Without better testing, I can give you only my best guess.” He turned down another street and then into an alley tucked between rows of tall houses with only the occasional light in a window to give signs of life.

      “And people recover? They remember who they are?”

      He slowed down a bit more. “I don’t usually hear the end of the story.” He reached up and pressed a button over the rearview mirror. The big garage door opened, a light coming on inside. “My job is to stabilize patients so they can be transported and turned over to a doctor’s care.” He backed into the garage and cut the engine, hitting the button again to lower the door.

      Another shiver raced over her skin at the mention of a doctor. Her palms went damp and her breath backed up in her lungs. “Guess I don’t like being closed in.”

      “We won’t be for long.” He opened his door, and light flooded the truck. “That’s an important detail you’ve remembered.”

      She slid out of the truck and straightened her skirt. “Do you live alone?” she asked as they walked across the narrow backyard to his house. Some distant part of her mind thought she should be wary of heading into a stranger’s home, but her intuition overrode that.

      “Yes. If that’s a problem, I can call one of my sisters.”

      “No.” She didn’t want to meet anyone, not looking like this and not at almost three in the morning. “Well, yes, I’m uncomfortable, but don’t do that.”

      Something in his face clouded over, and he seemed so sad, although she couldn’t figure out why she would recognize that emotion in him when she didn’t recognize her clothes, her reflection or any aspect of her circumstances.

      He opened the back door and flipped the switch on the wall, flooding a gorgeous kitchen with light. It was decorated in muted blue tones and pops of sunny yellow. “There’s one better option,” he said, giving her a long look.

      She knew that he meant the hospital and he believed she’d be better cared for there. Thankfully he didn’t say the words again. She stepped closer to the central island, admiring the clean lines and tidiness of his kitchen.

      “The full house tour can wait.” He led her toward the front of the house, up the stairs, pointing out a bathroom on the way to a guest room with twin beds on either side of a centered window, covered by a decorated pull-down shade. He walked into the room and turned on a bedside lamp.

      The soft glow lent a cozy atmosphere to the room, at odds with the strange turmoil in her head. Unless she’d lost her sense of direction as well as her memory, the view through the window would overlook the backyard. “This is...” Too many emotions clogged her throat. His kindness and compassion and generosity overwhelmed her. “Thank you,” she managed after a moment.

      “No problem. I’ll get you something to sleep in.” She hovered at the doorway while he moved to the opposite end of the hall and disappeared into another room, returning quickly with a T-shirt and sweatpants. “Probably too big for you. I’m sure my sisters left something closer to your size. They use my place for wardrobe overflow. Feel free to check the closet or dresser for better options.”

      She took the clothing he offered. “Thank you.”

      He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Anything you need, just ask. I’ll be checking on you a few times through what’s left of the night.”

      “You will?”

      “Just a precaution. You might not even notice.”

      He’d mentioned that. Or Grant had. Not that it mattered. Exhaustion pushed at her from every side, and she thought it might be easier to give in and fold to the pressure. “You have to do it?” She was torn between wanting to be alone and being terrified of the same situation.

      “Yes.” He backed up a step, hand on the doorknob. “Get some rest. I’m right down the hall.”

      Rest. What an easy thing to say, but she didn’t think it would be nearly as easy to accomplish despite her rampant fatigue. With the clothing in her arms, she sat down on the edge of the nearest bed. The fabric smelled freshly laundered, and under that, she caught a whiff of the man who’d helped her. Carson.

      He