“My new alias.”
“It fits you,” the detective said. “Well, Zane, we’ve found the bike the fake courier used abandoned in a hallway of an old building due for demolition. I’m going to go check it out. The doctors want to keep you here for several days.”
“Who’s going to pay for that?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t think I can handle being cooped up in this place for long,” Zane admitted. “I think I may be an outdoor type of guy.”
Woods narrowed his eyes. “Try to remember that someone took a huge risk today to steal your wallet and probably a cell phone. He pushed you into traffic in front of a crowd of onlookers. It could have just as easily wound up with him in the street as it did you and the child. That underscores this person’s recklessness.”
“I wonder what was worth such a risk,” Zane mused.
“We may never know.”
“Did the video help you identify the man who attacked Zane?” Kinsey asked.
The detective shook his head. “He never turned around and looked at anyone.” He glanced at Zane again. “Listen, you’re safe here. And if you remember anything at all, call me. I left my card on the table by your phone.”
Zane had been holding the keys, turning them over and over in his fingers. The detective nodded at them. “Are they bringing back any memories?”
“No,” Zane admitted. “Afraid not.” He started to hand them back, but the detective held up a hand. “No, that’s okay. We made copies, you hold on to those. The doctor said something familiar might jog your memory, and those keys are about all we can offer. That and what’s left of your clothes in the cabinet over there.”
“The keys are easier to hold,” Zane said.
“Exactly.” Woods nodded his goodbye to Kinsey and hurried from the room.
Kinsey took a deep breath. “I guess I’d better go, too. It was nice to meet you, Zane.”
“Do you have to leave?” he asked. Then he smiled. “Of course you do. You have to get back to work.”
“I could stay for a few minutes,” she told him.
A panicky knot in his gut followed a moment of pleasure. What in the world did they have to say to each other? He couldn’t talk about himself, he couldn’t talk about places he’d visited or things he’d seen because he didn’t know, he wasn’t sure.
She leaned one hip against the bed and looked at him expectantly.
“So, you noticed me because of my hat,” he said when no other topic sprang to mind.
That’s right,” she said.
“But we didn’t exchange a word?”
“Not one.”
“Did I notice you?”
She looked almost embarrassed. “Kind of. I mean, our eyes did meet one time and you smiled at me.”
“I bet I did,” he said.
“And then everything started to happen.”
“Yeah, the detective told me. Listen, be honest,” he added, straightening up and trying to appear dignified. He was finding out that hospital beds weren’t designed to make a man look virile and strong, and for some reason, that’s how he wanted to look for her. “Did I appear to be a cowboy, you know, a real wrangler type, or did I look like someone who wanted to be a cowboy?”
“You mean, did you look like the real deal or a poser?”
“Exactly,” he said, nodding.
She thought for a second. Even doing nothing but thinking looked good on her and it gave him a chance to admire the sweet curve of her lips and the shape of her earlobe.
“Well?” he prompted.
“This is just an impression, you understand. Your clothes looked expensive and new, but you wore them like you’d been born in them. To me, you looked like a guy who was on a mission.”
He thought about that for a minute. “Do I look like the kind of guy who asks you to paint his portrait?”
“Not really, though everyone is different. Anyway, maybe it’s not your own portrait you wanted painted. Maybe it was someone in your family. Your wife or your kids.”
He held up his left hand. “No ring, no white line where one has been.”
“Lots of hardworking guys don’t wear rings,” she told him. “Maybe you work with big equipment, like at a mill or something. And if you have a wife, she must be wondering where you are.”
“One would hope,” he said, and they stared at each other for a few seconds, the silence broken when the door opened and a petite blonde nurse bustled into the room.
“Time for our meds,” she chirped.
Kinsey straightened up. “I’d better go,” she said.
Zane heard a note of relief in her voice. How could he blame her? He caught her hand and squeezed it. “Thanks again, Kinsey.”
She stared at their linked hands for a second before raising her gaze to his face. “When your memory returns, let me know, okay?” She took a pen from her purse and scrawled her phone number on the back of the detective’s card.
“If you’re in this neck of the woods tomorrow, drop in and say hi,” he told her as she handed him the card. “For all intents and purposes, you’re the only friend I have.” He winced and shook his head. “Did that sound pathetic enough?”
“You’re going to be fine,” she told him, her dark eyes soft, her voice barely a whisper.
The nurse handed Zane a small paper sleeve with a pill nestled inside. She picked up his water glass, shook it until the ice inside rattled. “I’ll go get you more water. Back in a sec.” As the door closed behind her, Kinsey spared Zane one last smile and then she was gone, too.
He laid his head back against the pillow and studied the pill. He hoped this was the one that would help him sleep and he welcomed the prospect. Maybe tomorrow he’d wake up a new man...or rather the man he used to be.
But before he took that pill, he was determined to get on his feet and walk. Something inside urged him to remain strong and vigilant. He hoped the nurse didn’t give him any flak.
* * *
AS KINSEY WALKED to the parking garage, she dug her cell phone from her purse. She’d silenced it when she arrived at the hospital and now she turned the sound back on.
As expected, there were several calls from Marc. Not expected were the three from her mother. Marc’s messages were all the same: come back to the gallery!
