Holiday Amnesia. Lynette Eason

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lab. His face blurred, and she was sick again. When her stomach calmed down, the world still spun while she tried to force her mind to work.

      She had to leave. To run. She stood, using the tree to help pull herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her hands.

      As she stepped in the opposite direction of the men who wanted to kill her, a hand slapped over her mouth and pulled her back to the ground.

       TWO

      When Robin went limp in his arms, Toby lowered her to the ground and watched the two men stomp away from their meeting spot.

      He’d been bolting back to his truck, mind whirling, grief slashing his heart to shreds, when he’d heard a loud crash behind him. He’d spun to see a figure emerge from the broken window and stagger across the parking lot and into the trees. The smoke had kept him from seeing clearly, but he’d followed, praying it was Robin but willing to help whoever it was.

      He’d been almost upon her when he’d heard the faint voices but couldn’t hear their words or see their faces. The fact that they seemed to be hiding, whispering and unconcerned about the burning building behind them, triggered his internal alarms.

      Since the person who’d escaped the building was staying hidden and quiet, he’d done the same just a few feet behind her. When she’d turned, he’d caught a glimpse of her silhouette and relief had pounded through him when he’d realized it was definitely Robin. But he’d stayed silent, only moving when it looked like she might inadvertently reveal her presence.

      And then she’d passed out in his arms.

      “...kill her. Tonight.” The faint order given by one of the men he could no longer see reached his ears. He didn’t recognize the voice, but now knew why he needed to act with caution.

      They were trying to kill Robin?

      Once the men were gone, he checked her pulse. Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. “Robin, it’s me, Toby. Can you wake up?”

      No response. The gash on her forehead worried him.

      “Robin?”

      Her lashes lifted, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

      “Come on, there’s an ambulance over here. Let’s get your head looked at.”

      “No. They’ll find me,” she whispered.

      “I’ll stay with you.”

      “No!” She rolled her head back and forth, clearly agitated. “Can’t trust...anyone. Got...to...get away...please...”

      “Robin, it’s okay, I promise. Just let them check your head.”

      But she didn’t answer. She’d passed out again. He suspected she had a concussion, he just prayed it wasn’t anything worse. Great. Now what?

      The fact that she could move her neck without apparent trouble or pain decided for him. If she didn’t want to risk being examined here at the scene, then fine. Now that he had a second chance to keep her safe, he wasn’t about to fail her.

      The hospital wasn’t too far. He shrugged out of his heavy coat and tore the long sleeves from his T-shirt. He wrapped one around his nose and mouth, then covered her face with the other one. He lifted her into his arms and rose to his feet.

      Under cover of the smoke that now blanketed the wooded area, Toby made his way back to his vehicle at the edge of the lot and loaded her into the back seat. Once he had her covered with the blanket, he climbed behind the wheel and made his way out of the parking lot.

      Emergency crews were too busy putting out the blaze to bother noticing him. Law enforcement and campus security were on-site, but until they figured out the reason for the explosions, they would have no cause to stop him. He hoped.

      Once they started their investigation, if there was foul play involved—and after overhearing the conversation in the woods between the two men, he was pretty sure there was—they’d watch security footage and see him leaving in his truck. And they’d want to talk to him. Which was fine, but for now, he wanted to get Robin to a safe place where she could receive the care she needed for her head wound.

      Robin woke with a start and bit back a groan, swallowing the nausea that clawed at the back of her throat. She lay still while trying to get a grip on the pain that came from every part of her. She finally registered the gentle movement beneath her. The hum of the engine, the low volume of the radio. No Christmas music on this one, but someone saying something about a fire at the university lab?

      She was in a vehicle—a large one since she stretched the length of the back seat without any trouble. But who was driving? And why was she sleeping in the back? And why did her entire body hurt?

      Sitting up required effort so she stayed still, her pounding temples convincing her that moving would be a mistake. She forced her mind to work. Or at least she tried to. But it rebelled. She simply couldn’t remember where the headache had come from.

       Get rid of her.

       She’s dead.

      The words echoed, bouncing in her brain but unable to take root and tell her what they meant.

      Cold fear enveloped her and the desire to run, get away, nearly strangled her. All she could see was the back of the driver’s head. Who was he? Someone who wanted her dead? Was he taking her somewhere to kill her?

       Get rid of her.

       She’s dead.

      Her head rested behind the passenger seat so when the truck slowed to a stop, she reached up, popped the door and shoved it open.

      “Robin! Stop!”

      No, she had to get out. In an awkward half crawl, half lunge, she managed to propel herself from the back seat onto the asphalt.

      But she couldn’t move fast enough. The pain was too much, the nausea overwhelming. She lost whatever she might have had left in her stomach.

      Gentle hands held her head while she dry-heaved. “You have a concussion,” a man said. A white tissue appeared in front of her face. She took it and wiped her mouth. Then a water bottle replaced the tissue. She took that, too. Rinsed and spit. “Who are you?” she whispered.

      “Look at me.”

      She did. Familiarity flashed, but no name came with it. “Who are you?”

      He blanched. “I’m Toby, Robin. Toby Potter.” His hand went to the wound on her forehead. “We need to get you to a doctor. We’re almost to the hospital.”

      “I... I’m scared. Why am I scared?” Tremors shook her, and Toby’s look of concern deepened.

      “Someone tried to kill you,” he said.

       Get rid of her.

       She’s dead.

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