had from his first day at the Colby Agency insisted that the title of doctor be dropped. He offered his hand to their host. “We understand our presence here is an inconvenience. We appreciate your hospitality.”
Carlene nodded, but her smile was noticeably restrained. “This way.”
The administrator led the way to what had likely once been a grand dining room. Sande Williams waited there. She looked even younger than her photo and, quite frankly, scared to death. Her arms were crossed around her middle, and her shoulders shook, though she visibly struggled to control the outward display of weakness. Fear ultimately won the battle.
When the introductions had been made and Carlene had left them to their work, Windy began the interview. “Ms. Williams, why don’t you start from the beginning and tell us what happened yesterday.”
Seated across from her at the well-used dining table, Patrick analyzed the woman as she spoke. She repeated the story of waking outside the morgue and running for her life, for reasons she didn’t understand. Sande Williams, although clearly nervous, stoically went over the details of her only memories. Anything beyond the past twenty-four hours was lost to her, a very rare phenomenon, but not completely unheard of. Patrick decided to reserve conclusions until after he’d spoken with her at length.
“Ms. Williams,” he said when she’d finished her story, to the point where a kind man, Lucas Camp, had delivered her here, “putting the facts aside, how do you feel?”
She blinked, those wide blue eyes connecting fully with his for the first time. “What do you mean?”
He leaned back in his chair to further set a tone of relaxation. “You’re nervous, I’m sure. That’s to be expected. Any headaches? Dizziness? Anger or other feelings of emotion?”
Sande moved her head from side to side. “No. Well, I’m scared, but mostly I feel…disjointed. As if I’ve lost something that I don’t know how to get back. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. It makes perfect sense.” Classic disorientation response. “Do you feel apprehensive in our presence?” It was very important for her to trust those who were handling her case. They would get nowhere until she felt at ease in his and Windy’s company.
“A little,” she admitted. She moistened her lips and let go a big, shaky breath. “But I know I have to trust someone to help me. I can’t do this alone.”
That was a start. “Do you have any physical injuries?” Patrick saw no visible signs, but there could be bruises, lumps, bumps or scratches beneath her clothing.
She hesitated, as if pondering his question at length. “None that I’ve discovered.”
“What about dreams?” He studied his client’s face for those reactions she wouldn’t put into words. “Did you have any dreams last night that you recall?”
Again, she shook her head. “None that I remember.”
“You understand that Windy and I want to help you learn what happened to you prior to yesterday? We’ll do everything we can to that end.”
She gave a resolute nod. “Yes.”
Now for the first big hurdle. “Then you won’t mind accompanying us to the residence listed on your driver’s license, in an attempt to prompt your memory.”
Not a question.
She hesitated a beat, then two. “No…except I worry that they’ll be watching.”
“They?”
“Whoever…the people who did this to me.” She wet her lips again. His gaze followed the movement despite his best intentions.
“That’s an understandable fear,” Windy assured her when he didn’t immediately do so.
“It’s our job to protect you from this moment forward. You understand that we’ll do all within our power to that end?” Patrick watched for the slightest change in her expression, in her eyes.
“Yes.” She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Mr. Camp said that the people from the Colby Agency would do whatever necessary to ensure my safety while investigating my case.”
“We will,” Windy reiterated. “Whenever you’re with Patrick or myself you’ll have no reason to fear anyone. We’re both highly trained and very good at what we do. You leave the worrying to us.”
“What if I don’t remember anything?” Sande looked from Patrick to Windy and back. “I mean, I don’t know if Sande Williams is even my name.” She shrugged. “The picture on the driver’s license is definitely me. But it doesn’t feel like me.”
There was the possibility that this woman simply no longer wanted to be who she was. But that conclusion did not explain her waking up at a morgue with a sheet over her nude body and a toe tag attached to her foot. That part indicated foul play, without doubt.
“That’s our job,” Windy declared. “We’ll find out who you are and why this has happened to you. We won’t stop until we do.”
Relief was evident in their new client’s eyes, but the worry remained. “I don’t understand how this could have happened.”
“There could,” Patrick offered, “be psychological reasons for your amnesia.” He turned his palms up. “There could be drugs involved. Many times when there is no physical trauma or psychological explanation, the cause of amnesia is drug related.”
Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Drugs? You think I might have been involved with drugs?”
“Not the kind you think,” he hastened to explain. “I’m referring to mind-altering drugs that might have been administered without your consent or your knowledge. Perhaps you agreed to partake in some sort of drug trial and are suffering a rare side effect. Our first stop today will be a private clinic. Our associate there will take the necessary samples and determine if you’ve recently been exposed to drugs.”
Sande nodded. “And if we find something, what then?”
Windy picked up from there. “The hospital where you awoke insists you were never a patient in their facility. They have no record at all of you, they claim. But based on your story, you were a patient there, however briefly. Their denial gives us reason to suspect there’s a cover-up of some sort going on.”
“I don’t remember how I got there or anything that happened before I woke up on that gurney.” Sande closed her eyes for a long moment. “I don’t understand how this could be happening.” When her eyes opened, her gaze locked with Patrick’s. “How could a person just lose all they were? It seems crazy.”
He wouldn’t say so just now, but there were a number of mental illnesses that presented with amnesia. Most often because the patient simply did not want to remember who she or he was. That diagnosis would take time, time spent with the patient.
“We’ll operate under the assumption that you’re a victim,” Windy assured her. “Your safety will be our top priority during our investigation.”
Sande Williams bit her bottom lip as the fingers of her right hand twisted and twirled a
