John?â
It didnât ring any bells. And every time he tried to concentrate, to conjure up a memory, his head felt like someone was taking a pickax to his skull, bringing on a blinding pain that was nearly incapacitating. Only keeping his focus on the beautiful womanâs face kept him from keeling over.
She smiled and her eyes filled with compassion. âJohn as in John Doe. I donât know your name. You werenât carrying identification.â
That explained why they didnât know his name. âWhere did you find me?â
âThe tide deposited you on the public beach early yesterday morning,â the man who wore the gold sheriffâs badge replied. Sheriff Crump, heâd said. He sipped from his coffee and eyed John with a mix of wary suspicion and empathy.
Heâd washed up on the beach like driftwood, which accounted for the bone-deep chill he felt even though the room was heated. Had he been on a boat and fallen overboard? Something else the sheriff said finally registered like a punch to the gut. âYou said someone tried to kill me after you found me?â
âYes.â The woman told him of the attempts made on his life.
Pressure built in his chest, and his head throbbed. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, hoping to ease the tension that was taking root in the muscles. âIâm sorry about the ambulance. And your patrol car. Iâd offer to reimburse you for both, but Iâve no idea if I have the means to do so.â The enormity of the situation weighed him down. âThis is all so surreal, like Iâve walked into a bad horror flick. Has the doctor said how long my mind will be blank?â
âI havenât talked to her yet. We should let her know youâve regained consciousness.â The deputy reached for the call button.
The deputy smelled like sunshine on a spring day. He breathed in deep, letting an image of a grassy meadow form. Was it a memory or just a generic thought made up of a lifetime of images that had no emotional attachment?
As she moved away, he asked, âWhatâs your name?â
âDeputy Martin,â she replied in a brisk tone. She was tall and heâd guess shapely beneath the bulk of her uniform. Heâd like to see her with her hair down and wearing a dress that showed off her long legs.
Whoa. Where had that thought come from?
Better to keep his mind on staying alive and not on some errant attraction to the woman who had rescued him from certain death. Pushing the attraction aside, he went with gratefulness. âThank you, Deputy Martin, for saving my life.â
He wished he could do something more for her, but he had no idea what. He had no clothes, no identification and no money. He was trapped in this hospital room until he either remembered who he was or someone claimed him.
Or the man who wanted him dead got to him first.
Anger at the unknown man and dread that he might succeed heated his blood but did nothing to chase away the chill that had settled in his core. Was he married? His heart contracted in his chest. Did he have a family worried about him somewhere? He glanced at his left hand. No wedding band. A sign that he was single or just that he didnât wear a ring? His pulse thrummed in his veins. Frustration drilled into his skull. What kind of man was he?
Why couldnât he remember?
The door opened, and an attractive female doctor wearing a white lab coat walked in. John gauged her age around fifty. Her blond hair was pulled back in a low bun, and she viewed him with bright blue eyes. His gaze darted from the doctor to the deputy. The similarities between the two left little doubt they were related. Mother and daughter?
âGood morning,â the doctor said as she hustled forward. âI see you ripped out your IV. Are you in pain?â
He was, but he didnât want meds. âIâm fine. I can handle it.â
Her mouth twisted. âRight. You gave