She opened the closet door and rifled through the hanging garments. Only, nothing looked familiar. Her gaze landed on two boxes sitting on the closet floor.
Wincing against the swelling in her ankle, she kneeled beside the boxes and opened the flap of the top one. She found winter clothing, mainly turtlenecks and cashmere sweaters. She shoved that box aside and grabbed the second. This one held more clothes. Men’s clothes.
The sick feeling in her stomach intensified as she stared at the contents of the box. Had she lived with someone? Been married? She wasn’t wearing a ring. Divorced, then? And if so, from whom? She really should have asked Gage more questions.
Digging beneath the clothes, she found expensive dress shoes and a leather shaving case. Nothing else. Nothing to give a clue as to the identity of the owner.
Dazed, she stumbled to her feet. Limping over to the dresser, she opened every single drawer, relieved to find only female items of clothing. She couldn’t explain why the thought that she may have actually lived with a man so bothersome. Except that it didn’t seem like something she’d agree to do.
In the bottom drawer, beneath more sweaters—really, how many sweaters did one person need?—she found a buttery-soft, brown suede box.
Expecting to find jewelry, she was surprised to discover it empty except for a glossy photo lying inside. Hesitantly, she picked up the picture.
This time, she was dressed in yet another evening gown, this one in brilliant blue. But she wasn’t alone. A man held her possessively in his arms. She swallowed hard, her stomach gurgling with tension as she studied the picture. The guy looked older than her, maybe in his mid- to late thirties, and was dressed in an expensive suit. His handsome face held a note of triumph, but she looked less than thrilled. A faint hint of distaste shadowed her gaze.
Who was he? The owner of the clothing she’d found in the box? Staring at the background behind them, she could see they were standing in some hotel, with linen-covered tables and an orchestra behind them. How many hotels were there in Milwaukee? Or even worse, how many hotels were in the entire United States? No way to know where the photo had been taken.
She put the glossy photo back inside the box, hoping, praying that the men’s clothing belonged to some sort of ex-husband rather than just some guy she’d decided to live with. She didn’t want to believe she was that sort of woman. But the slinky evening gowns and the revealing clothes, not to mention the rose and dagger tattoo she’d discovered just below her collarbone, told a different story.
She closed her eyes on a wave of helplessness.
Please, Lord, help me remember!
Loud pounding on her door startled her. She spun from the dresser, nearly falling on her face when her ankle screamed with pain. Her pulse jumped and, despite the T-shirt and yoga pants, she really wanted a robe or something to cover up with.
Since there didn’t seem to be anything nearby, she yanked the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her. Gripping the lower hem of the blanket so she wouldn’t trip, she made her way down the hall toward the front door.
The banging grew insistently louder.
Nervously, she peered through the peephole. Gage’s face, distorted by the glass, had her sighing in relief.
Not the guy in the photo or some other stranger. Gage. Gage had come back. A wave of pleasure swelled in her chest, and she quickly squelched it. What was wrong with her? He didn’t belong to her, he belonged to Alyssa!
“Open up, Mallory,” he called.
Hanging on to the blanket with one hand, she opened the door. “How did you get in? Isn’t there security here?”
“I accidently kept your keys. And that’s not important right now. Finding Alyssa is.” He brushed past her, tossing the keys onto the kitchen counter. With a sigh, she closed the door behind him.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” The sheer agony on his face made her feel bad, as if she should be doing something more to help. “I’m afraid my memory hasn’t returned.”
He stared at her as if just noticing her for the first time. “What’s with the blanket?”
She flushed and gripped the edges tighter. “I couldn’t find a robe.”
Gage gave her an odd look but didn’t say anything. “Hurry up and get ready. Because we’re heading out, together, to find Alyssa.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, but in the end, she didn’t really want to stay here alone. Going out somewhere, anywhere, would be better than sitting around waiting for her memory to return. “All right, give me a couple of minutes.”
“A couple of minutes?” The surprise in his tone made her glance back at him over her shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Once again, she tried to find clothing that she wouldn’t be embarrassed to wear in public. In the very back of the closet, she found a pair of slacks that weren’t skintight, and she gratefully pulled them on. She found a long-sleeved, somewhat sheer blouse and pulled that over the plain T-shirt and buttoned it all the way up, not caring about the lack of fashion. Running shoes were harder to find, but she finally found a pair that looked almost brand-new in the back of the closet.
Odd, how there were parts of her that didn’t seem quite right. Did amnesia make a person forget his or her personality? Or maybe a more likely answer was that she put on an act on the outside, hiding her true self within. But why would she put on an act for the public? Because she was afraid? Or because she had something to hide?
Her sister, Alyssa, was the one person who might know for sure. Mallory grimly realized that she needed to find her twin as much as Gage did, maybe more.
Gage seemed a little surprised when she returned to the living room in less than five minutes, but then he gestured to the answering machine in the corner. “You didn’t listen to your messages?”
“No.” She didn’t want to admit the simple task hadn’t occurred to her. “Why?”
He crossed over to press the button on the machine, which was located on the back wall of her kitchen. She followed more slowly, carefully stepping over the sticky orange juice mess she’d left on the floor. She felt foolish having avoided the kitchen after the scene with Gage.
“Mallory? This is Rick Meyer. We won the bid for the Jefferson project. I’d like to get started with some color schemes as soon as possible, so call me.” Gage hit the button to stop the tape.
She stared at him. “Who’s Rick Meyer?” Was it possible he was the older guy in the photo with her?
“Your boss. But I’m looking for a message from Alyssa.” Gage rewound the tape and then replayed all the messages from the beginning.
“Mallory? Call me the second you get this message. It’s urgent that we talk as soon as possible.”
Gage stopped the machine. “That’s her.”
Mallory nodded. Her sister’s voice sounded like an exact replica of her own. “I figured as much. But what does it mean? Why would it be so urgent that we talk?”
“I
