Left for Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

house. Contrary to the decals on the door and front windows, the place didn’t have an alarm system. He knew when her boyfriend came by, and when she was alone. He knew her hours at work, and where she parked her car in the hospital lot. He knew the patient with whom she spent the most time, a woman they called Jane Doe.
    He had placed Jane Doe into a Dumpster in North Seattle a week ago. He’d expected her corpse to be discovered in that Dumpster—or possibly in a nearby garbage dump. He hadn’t counted on her ending up—alive—in a junkyard nearly ninety miles away in Bellingham.
    Sherita Williams said her amnesia wasn’t an act. But that was just a temporary condition. If this man coming in today was truly her husband, he might help her recollect certain things.
    He had to act quickly.
    At the next table, Sherita was listening to Naomi talk about the three candidates who had answered her ad on the Internet dating service. She turned to borrow the salt from the man at the next table again. She did a double take.
    His lunch tray was there, but he was gone. He hardly touched his food.
    Sherita got up and swiped the salt off his table, and sat back down. “That’s funny, I didn’t see that guy take off,” she muttered. “Did you?”
    Naomi frowned. “No. But I’m telling you, he was interested in one of us. I saw him looking over here a lot.”
    “Well, I’m off the market,” Sherita said, salting her sandwich.
    “Huh,” Naomi replied. “So—you’re probably the one he’s interested in. Typical. I’ll bet he shows up again and goes after you. I’ll just bet.”

Chapter 4
    “Does this freak you out or anything?” Sherita asked, applying some mascara to Jane Doe’s eyelashes.
    “You mean, am I having flashbacks to the last time someone put makeup on me?” Sitting in the hospital bed, Jane Doe kept still while Sherita worked on her eyes. She sighed. “No, I’m not ‘freaking out.’ But I vaguely recall a woman doing this to me while someone else was watching.”
    “Where? In a department store?”
    “I’m not sure. I just remember thinking she was using way too much makeup, and I’d end up looking hideous.”
    “Hmmm, you want a tip?” Sherita said, reaching for the face powder brush. “Never get a make-over in a store that also sells corndogs.”
    “I’ll take that under advisement,” she chuckled. “Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome, Tammy,” Sherita said.
    They had found out her name: Tammy Phelps. Her husband was Lon, a night watchman at the University of Washington branch campus in Tacoma. They lived there—along with their twelve-year-old son, Dwight. Lon had told the police Tammy had been missing for eight days.
    The only one of those names remotely familiar to her was Tammy. Could it be her name? Was Lon the sporty, handsome man in her dream?
    She hoped so. She desperately wanted to see her husband and son. The names Lon and Dwight would soon become familiar to her again. She would recognize them. The search for her family—and her true identity—would soon be over. Lon was scheduled to meet with her in an hour.
    She’d been nervous about this reunion ever since this morning, when they’d told her about Lon. With a little help from Sherita, she’d finally crawled out of bed and walked a few steps—to and from the bathroom. Sherita gave her a sponge bath, and brushed baby powder though her dark brown hair to absorb some of the oiliness.
    She also had a chance to study herself in a mirror for a while. In addition to the flat, lifeless, shoulder-length hair, she was pale and gaunt, with dark circles under her green eyes. “My God, I look awful,” she told Sherita.
    “Well, what the hell do you expect, girl?” she replied. “You’re recovering from major surgery, and you’ve been in bed, eating bad hospital food for nearly a week. Relax, you’re a knockout. I’d kill for your cheekbones and waistline.”
    Nevertheless, Sherita borrowed some makeup from one of the