whiter than pale,” Matt said, grabbing a kitchen towel to blot the sweat from her face and neck. “Are you in pain?”
Kresley shook her head. Her chest was tight and her throat had turned into a vise.
“What is it?” he asked, concern etched in the lines by his eyes.
“I wasn’t supposed to go near the portholes.”
“What do you remember? What triggered the panic attack?”
“The round window.”
“That’s all you got?”
“Yep. A flash. A snippet. I could see the porthole. I moved forward to look out, then nothing.”
Matt’s splayed fingers at the center of her back urged her through the doors. In the wood-panelled dining room there were ornate carvings on the molding and the edge of the horseshoe-shaped bar. More than a century’s worth of varnish polished the bar to a bright sheen. Kresley guessed the worn knotty-pine floors were original to the building. More than three dozen tables in varying sizes were arranged around the room. Each place setting included a charger, a plate and a pink napkin folded into a triangle and secured with a silver ring embossed with a rosebud.
They passed a flight of stairs guarded by ficus trees. Several ferns hung from baskets suspended from the low ceiling.
Matt helped her up on one of the leather barstools, then went around behind the bar and took out a menu.
“Let me get you some water. Then pick whatever you’d like,” Matt said. “DeLancey will whip it up in minutes. I know Kendall gave you that IV but it’s been some time since you ate.”
“But the restaurant isn’t open,” she said, glancing at the closed sign in the window.
“We open for lunch in thirty minutes. Besides, DeLancey lives to cook.”
“Tuna salad,” Kresley said, selecting what she thought would be the easiest of the mixture of traditional southern dishes and trendy cuisine for DeLancey to prepare.
Matt poured her a glass of water, placed a lemon on the rim, and then asked, “Will you be okay for a minute while I take your order to the kitchen?”
“Sure.”
Kresley rolled her neck around on her shoulders, fighting the fatigue that was quickly replacing the adrenaline. Folding her arms and resting them on the bar, she felt the sutures pull. Ignoring the mild discomfort, she placed her head on her arms and closed her eyes.
She must have dozed off for a second because she jerked upright when she felt a poke on her shoulder.
“Sorry.”
Spinning on the barstool, Kresley found herself looking at a stunning woman with black hair, piercing blue-gray eyes and a warm smile. “I can explain,” Kresley said on a rush of breath.
“No need. I’m Shelby Tanner,” she said. “Matt spoke with my husband while you were getting stitched up. How do you feel?”
There was something awfully familiar about Shelby. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so. Is Matt getting you something to eat?”
Kresley nodded. “He’s been very kind.”
“He’s a good guy,” Shelby agreed. “Looks like you could use some proper clothes.”
Kresley looked down at her too-tight scrubs and sighed heavily. “It was these or naked.” Kresley said.
“You look exhausted. There’s a bed in my office upstairs,” Shelby offered.
Kresley found it odd that the woman would have a bed in her office and it must have shown on her face because Shelby qualified, “Sometimes I bring my kids into work when we’re between nannies and my husband is out on a case.”
“A case?”
“He’s with Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. Dylan doesn’t work regular hours.”
Great the ATF and the FBI. No memory, but apparently Kresley was making herself known to every law-enforcement agency in existence. “How many children do you have?”
“Three,” Shelby said with unfettered joy in her voice.
“Time for another one,” came a voice from the direction of the stairway.
Suddenly a woman with bleached platinum hair appeared. She was a tribute to the eighties. Big hair, animal-print leggings, wide leather belt and mules with three-inch heels. Class and polish tempered by loud and gaudy.
Her green eyes fixed on Kresley like lasers. “So you’re the one Matt fished out of the ocean who claims to have no memory?” Rose asked with skepticism.
Intimidated by the larger than life woman, Kresley just nodded.
Rose shook her head. “Well, if you ask me, you should be at a hospital getting medical care. What was Matt thinking?” The question was directed at Shelby.
“That there’s no reason she should be in the hospital,” Shelby said. “She’ll have a good lunch and then Matt is going to take her home. Rose,” Shelby continued, “I’ve spoken with Kendall and she assured me the memory loss is real. Trauma-induced amnesia.”
Rose snorted. “I love my niece, but Kendall can be out there.”
Kresley wondered if Rose ever looked in a mirror. She wasn’t exactly a conformist.
“Don’t forget, Kendall swears she met her husband in a past life. Nutty if you ask me.”
“No one asked,” Shelby said pointedly.
Matt appeared then, carrying a plate of food. Kresley was surprisingly glad to see him. Though Shelby had been warm, Rose was making her feel unwelcome. He placed the plate and a set of utensils on the bar. Kresley could feel the heat radiating off his body. She looked up, hoping to get a read on him but then she realized his entire attention was focused on Shelby. And then it hit her. “You’re related,” Kresley said, wagging her forefinger between Matt and Shelby.
“Ah-ha!” Rose clapped her hands once sharply. “See, it isn’t just me. She thinks so, too,” Rose said, the harshness gone from her tone. “I noticed it the moment he walked in here.”
Matt looked at Kresley, though his eyes never really connected with hers. “We aren’t related.”
Rose made a ‘Harrumph’ sound, then turned, mumbling, and went back up the stairs.
“She’s formidable,” Kresley said as she poked at the tuna salad.
“She’s all bark and no bite,” Shelby assured her. “You just have to ease into Rose.”
Kresley looked at Matt. “She wasn’t very warm to you. How long did you say you’d been tending bar here?”
“A few weeks. By the way, I’m
