played over the manâs face. He took a shuddering breath and then spoke in English. âI donât know. I can hear the words in my head, but they mean nothing to me. Where am I?â
âYouâre in Calico Bay,â Audrey supplied. âWere you on a boat?â
John Doe backed up so he could see both Audrey and the sheriff. âI donât know. I donât remember. Calico Bay?â
âDowneast Maine,â the sheriff supplied. âThe northern tip of the state.â
The man kept his gaze on Audrey. âIâve seen you before. Where?â
âYou woke up for a moment on the beach and again last night while I was here.â
John ran a hand through his dark hair. He stilled when his fingers touched the bandage near his left temple. âWhat happened?â
âWe were hoping you could tell us,â the sheriff said. âThereâve been three attempts on your life since you washed ashore on our beach. Why is someone trying to kill you?â
The man frowned and paced a few steps. âI donât know.â
Audrey fought the urge to tell him it would be all right. She didnât know if it would, and she wasnât sure heâd appreciate the platitude.
He staggered to the bed and sat, dropping his head into his hands. âI canât remember anything. Every time I try to recall, my head feels like itâs going to explode.â
Her heart ached to see his distress. The need to comfort prodded her to take a step closer. The sheriff arched a disapproving eyebrow at her. She halted. Her great-uncle had warned her often enough not to become emotionally involved in cases. She needed a clear, objective head. And if she wanted to be sheriff one day, she had to remain detached and professional at all times.
The patient rolled his shoulders then lifted his gaze to Audrey. âOnly your face seems familiar. Nothing else.â
The defenselessness on his handsome face tugged at her. She swallowed. Her heart beat erratically. No way was she going to repeat his delirious proclamation that she reminded him of a Christmas ornament. âOn the beach you muttered the word betrayed . Ring any bells?â
His mouth gaped and he shook his head.
She tapped her fingers against her utility belt. âYou canât remember your name?â
He stared at her, the panic returning to his eyes. âNo. I canât remember my name. Or who I am. Or where Iâm from. I donât know what I meant by betrayed .â He let out a shuddering breath. âOr why someone wants me dead.â
THREE
H e couldnât remember his name.
Sitting on the hospital bed under the scrutiny of the deputy and the sheriff made him feel vulnerable. An antsy sort of energy buzzed through him. He might not know his name, but he knew in his gut he didnât do vulnerable.
His body ached everywhere. His head pounded like a jackhammer going to town inside his skull. His mouth felt like cotton. An encompassing terror gripped him. A shiver racked his body. Cold. So very cold. How could he not know who he was? Or recall his past?
Why did someone want him dead?
His heart slammed against his ribs. A looming sense of dread and foreboding threatened to pull him back into darkness. He hung on to the edge of the bed and fought the tug. He needed to stay awake. Some innate knowledge told him he needed to keep a clear head if he were to survive. He grabbed the water pitcher on the bedside tray and poured a glass. He drank it down and then another.
âThen weâll call you John.â
âWhat?â He stared at the blonde, blue-eyed deputy. Her hair was pulled back away from her face and secured behind her head in a knot. She wore little makeup. She didnât need any. She was absolutely stunning with her high cheekbones, delicately carved beneath smooth, unblemished skin and full lips. He forced himself to concentrate on what sheâd just stated. âIs my name