the firearm, and this way we can make sure of that. Wouldn’t you prefer to know for certain that the gun isn’t yours, Ms. Stark?”
Of course she wanted to know that for certain, but she also had a bad feeling that if the tests proved otherwise, she’d be in a world of trouble. “What happens if you find residue on my clothes?”
Officer Kirby scowled and began to speak, but Officer Lee cut in first. “It will be inconclusive,” she said. “It only means the weapon was discharged within a few feet of you, not that you fired it yourself. Either way, maybe it will help put some pieces together in your own mind.”
“The FBI will be pursuing the threat against Ms. Stark, specifically looking into the tech that took shots at us,” Chris added. “How far will your own investigation go?”
Officer Lee shrugged. “We’ll try to reconstruct the accident, wait for what the tests say and put out a BOLO for the vehicle you described, but that’s really all we can do at present. My captain has ordered us to cooperate with the FBI, so we won’t step on your toes on purpose.” She nodded at Natasha. “I hope you get your memories back and feel better in time for Christmas, Ms. Stark. My son loves spaceships and also wants to be an astronaut when he grows up. Our entire family watched the live stream when the Orion returned.”
Warmth blossomed in Natasha’s cheeks as the officer smiled at her, and she wished she could remember more about the event Officer Lee described. “Thank you so much.”
As the nurse ushered the officers out of the room, Chris sighed and tented his fingers, pressing them against his mouth. Something inside Natasha wanted to reach out and offer comfort, even though she had no idea why she’d want to comfort him, a complete stranger. No matter how appealing she found him. Now that she had a moment to look at him without being in the midst of panic, she had to consciously keep her mouth from falling open. He had olive skin and deep brown eyes, a square jaw and full, bow-shaped lips that she couldn’t help but envy. His nearly black hair was cut short enough to not require serious maintenance but long enough to make the messy bed-head style he wore look natural. Her eyes followed the curve of his profile as he stared after the retreating forms of the police officers. His presence felt so familiar, but when she tried to rack her brain for memories, all she got in return was a fuzzy, dull ache. He seemed to sense her watching him and turned to regard her with a questioning glance. Her heart jumped as if he’d defibrillated it.
She couldn’t help it. She needed to know. “How do we know each other?”
His complexion paled. “Excuse me?”
“You asked me if I recognized you, after you found me. I feel like I know you, but obviously...”
“You can’t remember.” He dropped his hands and shoved them in his pockets. His shoulders rose, and he stared at the floor as if trying to come up with an answer. “Natasha, the thing is—”
“Sorry, I need to interrupt for a moment.” Dr. Olsen pulled several sheets of paper from his clipboard and handed them to Natasha. “These are prescriptions for painkillers and a list of recommendations as we discussed earlier in regard to managing your injuries. Please take them to your physician at NASA. Will they be arranging transportation, or will you be making your way over on your own? As long as you go there directly, I’ll consent to your release.”
More doctors, more tests, more paper hospital gowns? She didn’t like it, but the more people with ideas about getting her memory back, the better. “Can someone call them for me?”
“We can’t—”
“I’ll call,” said Chris. “She’s my responsibility. I’ll make sure she gets there safely.”
She smiled at him in gratitude, but after what they’d both gone through, she also couldn’t help but wonder whether going anywhere with him was safe—after all, no one had been shooting at her before this supposed FBI agent had come to her rescue.
Natasha had a twelve-year-old daughter. His relationship with Natasha Stark had ended a little over twelve years ago.
Every time he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye as they drove, he had to swallow down the lump that formed in his throat. They had been young and foolish and had made the mistake of becoming intimate before truly understanding the consequences. But even so, Chris had loved her with his whole heart. They’d stopped their covert trysts after attending a church youth rally, where Natasha had gone up to the front of the auditorium during an altar call to dedicate herself to living for Jesus and pursuing a life of faith. He hadn’t been fully convinced, but he’d respected her decision and tried to do right by her. He’d talked to the leaders in her church, read his grandmother’s Bible and decided that the right thing to do was propose.
Even at the time, he’d wondered if Natasha had taken to her faith so suddenly because her family demanded it of her or because she really believed. As a state senator, her father had an image to maintain, a certain theoretical family standard to uphold in order to be better positioned for reelection. Her father had never approved of him, but he hadn’t interfered in their relationship. Chris had thought that asking Natasha to marry him would be enough to keep them together. Clearly he’d never been enough for her, either.
She was too much like her father. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but what choice had he had? She hadn’t fought back or disagreed. Her father’s threat ensured that he left and never contacted them again, and Chris hadn’t been about to humiliate himself by groveling. And he hadn’t wanted to. He’d heard what Mr. Stark called his parents when he thought Chris couldn’t hear, and it wasn’t a description Chris would ever repeat in polite company.
When an email had come from her, he’d deleted it. When a letter arrived, he’d burned it. If her faith and her father had turned her against him, made her believe she was better than him, he wanted nothing to do with it or with her, ever again.
And now Natasha was in his FBI vehicle, wearing clothes from the hospital lost-and-found box—a button-down plaid shirt and a pair of oversize swim trunks tied tightly at the waist. Her clothes had been taken for testing. A twelve-year-old daughter, he repeated to himself. Could Natasha have kept something like that from me all this time?
She wouldn’t be able to answer that question until she got her memories back. He tried not to care, and he tried to tell himself he could be patient. Now that he worked in the area, he could ask her about Hayley someday in the future. But something deep inside persisted in wanting to be near the girl now, or at the very least catch a glimpse of Hayley. At least then I’ll know, he thought. One way or the other. A father would recognize his own daughter, wouldn’t he? For both their sakes, he hoped his suspicions were wrong. Then he could put it out of his thoughts and concentrate fully on wrapping up this case and getting out of Natasha’s life as quickly as possible.
“Do you think we could swing by my place first?” She held the sheet from the doctor out in front of her. “It can’t be too far of a detour.”
Chris’s heart skipped a beat. “I don’t see why not. The NASA physician isn’t expecting you at a certain time?”
“I’m supposed to get there as soon as possible, but there’s not a set time, no. Before everyone goes home for the day, I assume.” She chuckled softly, then sighed. “I’m already at an embarrassing disadvantage by not being able to remember critical pieces of information. I’d rather not further embarrass myself
