Two years before, she’d reached out to him.
The gesture caught him off guard, but he knew what it was.
A cry for help.
The woman walked the world completely alone. More than once she’d pointed out that there was no other way for her.
Part of him believed she might be right. But that didn’t stop him from trying to hook her into his team. A team composed of retired military, recovered thieves, private investigators, orphans, and the latest acquisitions from a military school in Germany.
Richter wasn’t like anything else out there. Many students like Olivia left the school employed by less-than-honorable entities. They exploited the talents Richter taught them. Skilled in weapons and hand-to-hand combat, versed in a handful of languages, masters of disguise, students like Olivia were shaped into spies . . . or worse.
Olivia was one of the worse.
Neil had finally convinced her to help him out. A favor, he phrased it. No, she didn’t need to be in contact with anyone but him.
Keep an eye on Marie Nickerson while she was in the hospital and wherever the protection program took her until the trial. Once the trial was over, so long as the jury delivered the verdict deserved, the job would be over, and Neil would pay Olivia for her time. If the man went free, the assignment would go on.
He didn’t think for a minute Olivia needed his money. The woman would be able to con, steal, or maybe even earn money the old-fashioned way by simply working . . . but she’d taken the assignment.
And now she was lying in a hospital bed, vulnerable. With no idea who she was or what was dormant inside of her.
Leo Grant thought the bullet she’d taken was for him.
But Neil knew it was highly probable that wasn’t the case.
Which meant, memory or not, Neil needed to get Olivia out of Las Vegas as soon as she was safe to transfer.
And he needed to do it without clueing Leo in to exactly who she was.
The world fell into focus much faster than it had the day before. It helped that the sun shining through the window was the catalyst for disturbing her sleep and not pain.
Her eyes fluttered open. Familiar beeping and the squeezing of her arm inside a blood pressure cuff offered a swift explanation as to where she was.
She vaguely remembered falling asleep and the mantra she had chanted to herself as darkness engulfed her.
Remember where you are.
Remember what happened.
Remember.
“Las Vegas,” she whispered to the empty room. “I was shot.”
Why?
Deep inside she knew why . . . or so the churning of her gut told her. But the answer wasn’t found when she closed her eyes and tried to remember.
What’s my name?
Her throat constricted as she searched for the answer.
“Good morning.”
She opened her eyes, saw a young man enter the room wearing blue scrubs and a stethoscope around his neck. Nurse, she thought. Not a doctor.
“Good morning,” she tested her voice.
“Do you remember me?” he asked.
She noticed a face peeking from behind the curtain, but the woman stayed outside.
“You’re a nurse,” she said. Across the room she found the whiteboard with his name. “Ben.”
He smiled, removed his stethoscope, and put it in his ears. “I wouldn’t expect you to remember my name. I came in last night to give you pain medication. Every other time you were asleep. But I’m glad to see you knew where to look for the information.”
He pressed the scope to her chest and asked her to breathe for him.
He poked around a little, pulled out a computer that was attached to a wall across the room, and started to type. “Dr. Lee will be in shortly.”
“The surgeon.”
“Yes. That’s right. What else do you remember?”
She tried to sit taller, prompting Ben to help her.
“I’m in Vegas.”
“Right.” He smiled.
“I had surgery for a gunshot wound. Collapsed lung. I hit my head.”
“I’m impressed.”
Her smile was short lived. “I don’t remember my name.”
Ben kept his expression neutral. “One day at a time. Do you remember getting shot?”
“No. Just that everyone keeps telling me that’s what happened.”
“That’s a hundred times better than yesterday.” While Ben praised her efforts, he plugged in an IV bag, told her it was an antibiotic, and explained that a new nurse would be in shortly to take over for the day shift.
When Dr. Lee walked in the room, his face looked familiar, and with that simple observation, she was comforted by the fact she could grasp the memory of him talking to her before. Though she couldn’t remember what he talked to her about. Likely her condition, but she was speculating.
He took his time examining her, asking questions. Many she couldn’t answer, but like Ben, he seemed impressed with her progress.
“When will I remember who I am?” she asked him.
“There is no timeline for these things. Statistically, you could remember everything at any moment, or it might take a couple of days. Or . . .”
“Or?”
“There are cases of people taking longer to recover their memory. The brain is protective, and often the mechanism of injury is too painful to remember. At least temporarily. I asked for a neurology consult, maybe Dr. Everett can shed more light on what you can expect.”
“I’ve been in the hospital for two nights,” she told him.
“That’s right.”
“You thought I’d remember by now or you would have asked for a neurologist earlier.” As she said the words, she knew them as fact. How she knew them as fact, she couldn’t name.
“Your brain scans don’t show any reason to believe the amnesia is anything but temporary.”
“I should remember more by now.”
“Let’s get Dr. Everett’s advice.”
Passing the buck. The man didn’t have the answers. “Okay.”
As the doctor left the room, the curtain exposed the woman standing outside.
“Are you hungry?” Ben asked, distracting her.
Just the mention of food had her stomach growling. “Yes.”
“A good sign. Don’t get too excited, the food here sucks.”
She tried to find his humor and failed.
Before he walked away, she stopped him. “Ben . . . do you have a mirror?”
He regarded her for a moment. “I’ll find one.”
Ten minutes later she sat staring at a stranger.
Green eyes she couldn’t remember. Full lips and shaped eyebrows. Did she pluck them or have them waxed? And how was it possible that she knew that women plucked and waxed but couldn’t remember what she preferred?
Her eyes started to water, and even that felt unfamiliar.
People cried. Emotions, pain . . . or both. So why did tears slipping down her cheeks feel like they were doing so for the first time?
“Take it,” she said, pushing the mirror into Ben’s hands.
“It will come back.”
She looked away and ignored his look of sympathy as he exited the room.
A few minutes passed, and the curtain moved.
“I know you’re out there,” she said to the woman lurking outside.
Finally, the woman exposed herself by walking around the curtain.