doctor flashed a weak smile. “Reality is often stranger than fiction.”
“What’s the cure?” Emma adjusted her shoulder sling with a grimace. “Is there something familiar I can look at? Someone I can call who will jog my memory?”
Liam’s heart went out to her. He knew a little something about being a stranger in a strange place. She was vulnerable, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he was protective of her.
“Reminder treatment has proven unreliable in these cases,” the doctor said. “In all likelihood, you’ll recover your memory, although the time around the accident may never come back. We don’t have a lot of studies on the subject, but experience has taught us that the memories surrounding a trauma are the most fragile. On the plus side, these cases generally resolve themselves when swelling in the temporal lobe abates. You may experience a spontaneous recovery, or your memory may come back in pieces, in random order. There are no guarantees, though. The episode may last days or even weeks. In extremely rare cases, the damage can be permanent.”
“No.” Emma blinked rapidly, her eyes welling with tears. “No. This isn’t permanent. I won’t believe that. I can’t believe that.”
Liam staggered back a step. Permanent?
She scooted nearer and grasped his sleeve, her gaze imploring. At his brief hesitation, hurt flickered across her topaz eyes, and she looked away. She was attempting to put on a brave face and mostly succeeding.
While he longed to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder—to offer some sort of gesture to make her feel less alone—he couldn’t. He’d learned his lesson the hard way. When emotions ran high, even the slightest gesture was liable to be misconstrued.
Clearing his throat, he said, “We’ll contact your family. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“My family?” Her eyes widened. “Do I have a husband? Children?”
“No spouse or children came up in the initial background check,” Liam said quickly over her panic. “You’re self-employed, which means we haven’t been able to locate an emergency contact.”
The doctor retrieved a stylus from his scrubs pocket and scribbled something on the tablet screen. “I’m keeping you a few days for observation.”
Emma’s jaw dropped and quickly snapped shut again. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“I know,” the doctor said quietly. “But considering your condition, I can’t, in good conscience, release you. Think of your brain like an engine. This injury has run you out of gas. The only way to refuel is with rest.”
“An engine?” She harrumphed. “I feel like I’ve been in a demolition derby. And what about my car? I’m assuming I won’t be able to drive it anytime soon.”
“More like never.” Liam speared a hand through his damp hair. “The car is totaled. We’ll retrieve your personal effects and have it towed to the county impound while we investigate the accident.”
“What about my parents? Siblings?” she asked, a quiver at the end of her question. “Is anyone looking for me?”
“Your parents are deceased,” Liam said. There was nothing that might indicate her location on the internet—her address had been removed from all the usual locations, and even those databases that were less familiar to laymen, as though she was hiding from something. Or someone. “The closest relative is listed as a brother. We’re tracking him down. I’m not concerned we haven’t received a call about a missing person. People tend to drift off schedule over the weekend. Come Monday, we’ll probably get a hit.”
Emma blinked rapidly, a myriad of emotions flitting across her eloquent features, and he wanted to kick himself. This case was different. She wasn’t the usual victim. Everything was foreign to her. Hearing the details of her life was like learning of her parents’ deaths for the first time.
The doctor shot him a quelling glance. “You’ve had an eventful day, Ms. Lyons. It’s late. A lot of these details can wait until the morning. I’ll want to speak with you before she’s released, Deputy McCourt.”
Liam gave a negative shake of his head. “Deputy Bishop is the lead on this case.”
“I’d rather work with you.” Emma reached for him. “Do I have any say in the matter?”
Fighting his better nature, he avoided her appeal. He was tired of living in limbo. Each day he was away from Dallas, he slipped further from his old life. If he accepted this assignment, he risked being torn between two responsibilities. The US Marshals were liable to call him back to testify any day now. He had no business digging into a troublesome and personal case when he might not be able to follow through.
“Deputy Bishop was the first on scene,” Liam said. “It’s up to the sheriff to change the assignments.”
His protective feelings for Emma didn’t play any part in the matter. Emotions were a luxury he couldn’t afford.
“You didn’t leave me before,” she pleaded. “You can’t abandon me now.”
A swelling pulse throbbed in his ears. His first partner had nicknamed him “The Pitbull” because once he got his teeth into a case, he locked his jaws and didn’t let go. Despite his personal doubts, he’d gone along with faking his death. The department and the Feds had invested too much time and too many resources to risk blowing the case.
No matter the reasons, whether real or fake, his death had left unfinished business. If God didn’t answer prayers from guys like Liam, then he had to do the work himself. No amount of righteous conviction assuaged his guilt.
“We’ll assess your situation in the morning.” The doctor spoke into the awkward silence. “For now, get some rest, Ms. Lyons. The staff can reach me if there’s a change in your condition.” He paused in the doorway. “I’ll call the sheriff’s office when the rest of the tox reports come back.”
Liam had hauled in enough drunk drivers to know the tests would come back negative. “Sure.”
There was white paint on the bumper of Emma’s car, corroborating her story that someone had forced her off the road.
Bishop had labeled the case an aggravated assault with a motor vehicle—no credible leads. Given her loss of memory, they were starting from scratch. There was no immediate way of knowing if Emma had a jealous boyfriend or a disgruntled acquaintance in her past.
The lengths she’d gone to in order to hide her address on the internet gave the only hint there might be someone out there who wanted to harm her. People who simply preferred to remain anonymous online generally didn’t have the resources for such a thorough internet cleaning of location information. Then again, maybe she was simply a private person who was willing to pay to stay off the grid.
She glanced at her clenched hands. “I’m scared.”
Her whispered confession tugged at his conscience. “There’s a security guard, Tim, who we keep on call for...unique situations.” Usually for the unruly drunks being treated after a bar fight. He glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. “I’ve got some paperwork to fill out. I might as well wait around for him. I’ll be just outside the door if you need anything.”
He
