Running on Empty. Michelle Celmer

appreciate you talking about me behind my back.”

      He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb. “Who says we were talking about you?”

      “Oh, please. I have amnesia, I’m not brain-dead. Who else would you be talking about? If you have information about me, I want to hear it. I may remember something.”

      There were certain things he didn’t really want to tell her yet, things he wasn’t sure she was ready to hear, but she was right, anything could trigger a memory. “We were talking about healed injuries he found in your X rays.”

      She frowned, her pale brows pulling together. “What kinds of injuries?”

      “Bone fractures. Eleven that he can see. He seems to think it was domestic abuse.”

      “Domestic abuse?” Her eyes widened, shimmering like beach stones resting just below the surface of the water. “Does that mean I’m married?”

      “You weren’t wearing a wedding band. But when I found you, you had diapers and baby food in your cart.”

      “Diapers?” She backed toward the window clinging to the sill. “I have a baby?”

      “It’s possible,” he said, noting that she’d paled several shades. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe it was too much all at once.

      She shook her head. “No, if I had children I would remember. I couldn’t forget something like that.”

      “You could if you had amnesia.”

      “You don’t understand. I just have this feeling, deep down, that I don’t have kids. I can’t explain it. It’s not that I remember not having kids. But I feel like I would know in my heart if I did, even if I couldn’t specifically remember them.” She puffed out a long breath, stirring the hair on her forehead. “Does that make any sense?”

      “It doesn’t explain the items in your cart.”

      “Maybe I was picking them up for someone else. A friend or relative?”

      “If that’s the case, maybe they’ll report you missing.”

      “Maybe,” she said, gnawing her bottom lip with her front teeth. She glanced toward the bathroom door, then back at him. “I, um, need to use the bathroom.”

      “Okay.”

      She just stood there, adjusting her weight from one foot to the other.

      “Do you want me to leave?” he asked, amused to see her cheeks flush a vibrant pink. He didn’t figure her as the type of woman who would embarrass easily. Though she did seem to wear all of her emotions right out on her sleeve.

      “Actually, I’m kind of afraid to go in there.”

      He gestured over his shoulder. “You want me to get a nurse to help you.”

      “No! I don’t need help, I just…this is going to sound so lame. I’m afraid of what I’m going to see when I look in the mirror.”

      “You’re afraid you won’t recognize yourself?”

      “Well, that, too. But I have no idea what I look like.”

      He frowned. “I’m not following you.”

      She blew out an exasperated breath. “I could be a troll. I could be hideous looking.”

      He fought the smile tugging at his lips. Just like a woman to worry about beauty. In the looks department, she had nothing to worry about. “You’re not a troll.”

      She narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, yeah? How do I know you’re not just saying that to be nice?”

      “Because I’m not that nice. Besides, maybe when you look at yourself, you’ll remember who you are.”

      She pressed a hand to her chest, accentuating the swell of two perky breasts under the thin gown. “My heart is pounding like crazy.”

      Yeah, mine, too, he thought, trying like hell to keep his eyes above her neckline. Which was even worse, because then he had to look at those eyes. Round, innocent and full of uncertainty, they made him want to pull her into his arms and soothe away her fear. It was against his better judgment, and unprofessional, and wrong for about a dozen other reasons he didn’t even want to consider, but darn it, he couldn’t shake this irrational desire to protect her. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Want me to go with you?”

      With her free arm, she hugged herself. “You think I’m a flake, don’t you?”

      The truth was, he admired her spirit. She was tough, but not afraid to show her vulnerabilities. And if she was faking her apprehension, she was one hell of an actress. “You’ve been through a lot. You’re holding up better than most people would in your situation.” He nodded toward the bathroom, holding out a hand to her. “C’mon. We’ll do it together.”

      She looked at his hand, then over to the bathroom door. “If I pass out, do you promise not to look at my butt? I mean…I don’t know what it looks like yet.”

      It looked okay to me. He caught himself before the words tumbled out of his mouth. He had no right to be talking about her butt. Or looking at it for that matter. She could be someone’s wife, someone’s mother.

      “I promise.” He walked to the bathroom and switched on the light. “You’ll feel better if you just get it over with.”

      She shuffled over in bare feet, her face twisting into a grimace as she neared the doorway. He extended his hand, startled by the zing of awareness he experienced when she slipped her cold fingers into his. His first reaction was to yank his hand away, but it was too late to back out now.

      Her fingers trembled in his. He tightened his grip, pulling her into the room. “You won’t see much with your eyes closed.”

      “I’m working on it. Just give me a second.” She took a long, deep breath, blew it out, and opened her eyes.

      She stared at her reflection for the longest time, while Mitch waited for recognition to set in, for a flood of memories to erase the uncertainty so clearly written in her eyes. With her free hand, she reached up and touched her cheek, ran a hand through her disheveled hair.

      If he hadn’t believed her amnesia story before, it would be tough to refute it now. There was no doubt, she was looking at a total stranger.

      “Well?” he asked.

      “If it weren’t for the fact that you’re standing behind me, and I recognize you, I wouldn’t know this was me in the mirror. This is so…weird.” She frowned at her reflection, sticking her tongue out. “At least I’m not a troll. If I had to deal with losing my memory, having an abusive husband, giving birth to children I don’t remember and being ugly, it would be too much. Oh, and the fact that someone tried to kill me. Can’t forget that.”

      He gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure out who did this.”

      She looked up at him in the mirror, then down at their clasped hands. “We?”

      Poor choice of words. The glimmer of hope in her eyes hit him like a sucker punch. “We as in, the Twin Oaks P.D.”

      “Ah.” She nodded. “Still planning on dumping me somewhere, eh?”

      Christ, could she make him feel a little more guilty? He was only doing his job. “I do need to take you to the precinct to get your prints, and I’ll take you back to the scene if you feel up to it. Maybe it’ll jog your memory.”

      “Hate to break up the party,” someone said from behind them.

      They simultaneously jerked their hands free and spun around to see a nurse standing there with a pile of clothes in her arms.

      “The doctor signed your release. Try these and see which ones fit. I’ll send an orderly in to take you downstairs.” She