his insistence on checking her for additional injuries. She was fine. She could walk. As he secured her upper body, a shaft of pure agony jerked through her.
“Sorry,” the deputy mumbled. “You have a dislocated shoulder.”
She blinked rapidly through the rain streaming over her face. “Can you put it back?”
“Take a deep breath.” He hovered over her, his gaze intense. “This is gonna hurt.”
His sharp movement caused an anguished cry, but the relief was almost immediate.
“You’re right,” she gasped. “That hurt.”
At least she’d learned one thing about herself—she appreciated honesty.
He brushed the back of his gloved hand over her temple. “Sorry.”
Stepping away, he slipped out of his raincoat.
She held up a restraining hand. “I’m already soaked. Y-you need that more than I do.”
“No arguments.” He leaned over her, adjusting the ties near her head, his body shielding her from the worst of the rain. “You can at least pretend like I’m in charge, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am,” she said weakly, wondering if he’d even hear her words over the rain. “Makes me feel old.”
His expression shifted. “What else should I call you?”
She probed the edges of her memory but met only an endless blank wall.
A sudden terror took hold, as though she was standing on the edge of a void. Her lungs constricted, and she couldn’t breathe. She desperately searched for something that made sense. She knew the man standing above her was a deputy. She recognized the insignia on his hat. Clinging to that one simple fact, she inhaled deeply. If she followed familiar items, they’d lead her out of this shadowy maze.
He clasped her hand. “Never mind. Don’t try and remember. We’ll stick with ma’am for now.”
The deputy made a signal with his hand and the backboard heaved. She grimaced, attempting to hide her discomfort.
“You’re doing great,” he said, his face a blur in the falling rain. “Not much longer.”
“I don’t have anything else planned.”
He grinned. “Keep that sense of humor.”
Images raced through her head. She recalled the steady swish of the windshield wipers—the crash of thunder. The visions were like memories from a dream—hazy and unfocused. Had she imagined the whole thing? She couldn’t have. There’d been a white pickup truck. The driver had crossed in front of her, striking her driver’s-side bumper. The blow had sent her car tumbling. The glass around her had shattered.
Then—nothing.
Her pulse sputtered. That was the worst part—the nothing. The nothing was horrifying. When she neared the edge of her memories, her stomach dropped as though she was falling. As though she was dropping into an endless void.
The only thing she knew for certain was the shocking feel of her car rolling down the hill, and the deputy’s soothing voice. Everything else was gone.
Erased.
When they neared the top of the embankment, another deputy joined them. He was older. Thinner. Not as handsome as Deputy McCourt, and his expression was stricken. Did she really look that bad? The two men rapidly unfastened her from the backboard, and the second man reached for her.
She frantically clutched Deputy McCourt’s arm. “No.”
The reaction came from a gut instinct she didn’t understand and couldn’t govern. Uncontrollable trembling seized her body, and her teeth chattered.
“You drive, Bishop,” Deputy McCourt ordered. “We’ll take my truck.”
He gathered her in his arms, compressing her shaking limbs. He was the only solid thing in her world, the only person she remembered. She pressed her cheek into the damp material of his shirt, her mind filling in the blank spaces with impressions of him. His deep, baritone voice, the curve of his lips in a half smile, the feel of his rough beard against her cheek as he’d drawn her close.
“I’m s-so cold,” she murmured, her mouth close to his ear.
The next moment the rain ceased pounding her skin, and a door slammed. She gasped in sheer relief. The noises outside were instantly muffled, soothing even. She was sheltered. She was safe. Reckless gratitude flooded through her, and she never wanted to leave the protection of the deputy’s arms. His strength and self-assurance were comforting. Everything outside the circle was unknown.
“Not much longer,” he said, his warm breath a soothing balm against her chilled skin. “Stay with me.”
“T-tell me your name again,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse. “Y-your first n-name.”
For reasons she couldn’t explain, his brief hesitation alarmed her.
“Liam. My name is Liam.”
She sensed his ambivalence toward her. As though he didn’t want to be kind to her but couldn’t find it in his nature to act unkind.
“Liam,” she repeated, testing the name on her tongue, but there was no spark of familiarity. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so, ma’am, but I haven’t lived in town long.”
Panic threatened to crush her. How much had she forgotten? What if she was imprisoned in this vacant place forever?
Her breath came in shallow puffs. The memory flashed in her mind again. A white truck. The crash of steel on steel. The sound of breaking glass. Then...nothing.
As though familiar with her moods, Liam seemed to sense the moment the wave of anxiety threatened to drown her.
“You’re all right,” he soothed. “The doc at the ER is good. He’s reliable. I’ve never seen his car parked outside Red’s Bar and Grill. That’s something around here. Not much else to do.”
The even drone of his voice steadied her. She couldn’t look backward; she had to look forward.
Something touched her elbow and she started.
Liam chuckled. “Don’t worry. She’s harmless. She’s my unofficial deputy today. Say hello, Duchess.”
The muzzle of a rust-colored Pomeranian nuzzled her arm, provoking a reluctant grin.
A staticky voice sounded over the police radio. “I have a positive ID on the license plates,” the voice declared.
“Go ahead,” the deputy who was driving said.
She was breathless, her heart pounding as though she was standing on the edge of a precipice. If the dispatcher said her name, surely there’d be a spark of recognition.
“The
