The Good Girl

Chapter Five

He should have waited. Holding on to Mary's hand, Bill sat at her kitchen table, their eggs congealing on the plates, trying to be patient. And not to panic.

He'd bungled the proposal. He got that. But surely he hadn't read her wrong—hadn't read them wrong. The whole time she'd been in and out of consciousness she'd never asked for anyone but him.

Still, judging by the wide-eyed horror with which she was studying him, he'd missed something.

And then those beautiful blue eyes clouded over with pain.

"What is it?" he asked, leaning toward her, prepared to catch her if she fell. "Does your head hurt again?"

"My head is fine." Her words were delivered with strength. And derision? "You don't know who I am, do you?"

"What?" The doctor had given Bill his number. If she showed signs of confusion he was to call. "Of course I know who you are." But maybe she didn't. That would certainly explain the horrified expression. "You're Mary Anderson. A case manager with social services."

Was she bleeding on the brain? The neurologist had explained the danger, the signs to watch out for. He'd also said Mary's chances of experiencing any of them were minimal.

However, he'd told Bill to keep watch....

"I mean before. You don't remember."

She was scaring him.

"I guess I don't," he said, deciding it was best to play along, to see if her lapse was only momentary before he went into an all-out panic and called the emergency squad. If she was hemorrhaging, she could have a stroke. He'd listened carefully to every word the doctor had said when he'd released Mary into his care.

"That day, two years ago, when we met at the scene of one of my worst experiences on the job was not the first time we met, Bill."

"It wasn't?"

She shook her head. But didn't waver at all. Or act the least bit like she was losing her faculties. On the contrary, she sounded completely, one hundred percent lucid.

Sitting back he met her gaze directly. And saw pain there. And conviction, too. If this woman was hallucinating, it was the most convincing case of confusion he'd ever encountered.

"When was the first time?" He had a pretty strong feeling that he didn't want to know.

"Ten years ago."

He didn't think so. "Are you sure? I was still in uniform then. Maybe you're mistaking me for another cop."

Her smile was sad, and tinged with some emotion he didn't recognize. "I'm sure, Bill. I know it was you."

"I'd have remembered," he insisted.

"All this time...these past two years...I thought you did remember."

"How could you think that? I would've mentioned if I'd seen you before." Shaking his head, he let go of her hand, sitting back. His instincts had saved his life more than once. And just then, they were telling him that something wasn't right. "You never mentioned it, either."

He was starting to get angry and knew that wasn't fair. But damn. Who did this? Who had a relationship with someone without bringing up something as significant as having met them before?

Racking his brain for any time in his life when he could possibly have seen this woman—and forgotten her—he drew a complete blank.

She clutched her robe closed at the neck, both elbows on the table, then sat up straight and said, "I didn't mention it because I thought you were showing me respect by not making an issue of it. I was taking your lead."