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  She stooped, gave him a gentle hug. “Thanks, Duke. You saved my bacon.” The tail speeded up a notch, whether due to the hug or the mention of bacon, she wasn’t sure.

  She eyed the furniture but decided against taking a seat. She was too dirty. Dropping onto the floor beside him, she removed her clogs and winced.

  They were ruined, the leather soaked, the soles caked with mud and debris. Duke sniffed them and backed away.

  “Point taken,” she muttered, examining her knee-highs, which weren’t in much better shape, 54

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  her slacks a total loss, a rip in the knee. Giving in to fatigue and the despair stealing over her, she folded her arms around her knees, lowered her head, and closed her eyes. She had to think, figure out what to do, where to go from here. If she could only ignore the insistent throbbing in her head. It wasn’t just the pain, which was nuisance enough, she felt muzzy, befuddled, as if something unrelated to the lump was seriously wrong up there. Concussion?

  Did a concussion make you feel as if you had hominy grits for brains?

  “Try these.” Jake’s voice roused her and she looked up to see him extending a pile of folded items. “They’re clean. Sorry. No underwear.” He dropped the clothing onto the floor beside her, and walked away.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate this.” Examining them, she felt some of her anxiety dissipate. These definitely belonged to a woman. The sweater, a thick navy turtleneck with cable stitching on the front, and the five-pocket jeans were both size tens.

  Under them was a pair of pink socks that looked like they’d fit. A floral scent wafted from everything, as if it had been stored with sachet in the drawer or closet. Duke took a sniff at the socks, wet nose twitching, and sneezed, then suddenly alert, ran to the window beside the sofa and stood looking up at it.

  Jake seemed to sense her curiosity about the items. Moving into the kitchen, he filled a kettle and put it on the stove. “Those were my mom’s.

  And instant coffee’s all I have.”

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  “Uh—that’s fine, thanks.” She salivated and swallowed. That was another problem, the taste in her mouth. It wasn’t exactly foul, just alien. What could she have eaten that would leave such a weird metallic edge on her tongue? “I hope your mother won’t mind my borrowing her things. I’ll see that they’re returned in the mail, freshly laundered.”

  “Forget it. Mom died four years ago. We just never got around to disposing of her clothes.”

  A.J. wondered who “we” was, but couldn’t dredge up the energy to ask. He probably would say it wasn’t her business anyway.

  He reached into an overhead cabinet. “There’s a shower through that door on the right. Go easy when you shampoo. It will probably sting like hell, but at least your hair and scalp will be clean. When you’re done, I’ll put a bandage on it. And if you’re hungry, it’s canned stew or nothing.”

  A.J. pushed aside her uneasiness at taking a shower and putting herself in an even more vulner-able position. This was not exactly the seedy motel in Psycho, she scolded herself. The man was a cop, for God’s sake. Besides, she was filthy. She also wasn’t certain how her digestive system would react to food, but she’d try a couple of forkfuls, if only to avoid insulting him. “Stew sounds good. I’ll try not to be long.” Getting to her feet slowly, she stood, arms extended for balance as the room spun around her.

  He squinted at her. “You gonna pass out on me?”

  “No.” She gritted her teeth, praying that mind over matter really worked. After a few dizzy mo-56

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  ments, things settled and she reached down carefully for the clothing. “I’m fine. Through there?”

  “Yeah. By the way, what’s A.J. stand for?”

  She turned to respond, then closed her mouth, stunned. Now that he’d asked, the full impact of her condition whacked her across the face. Because she didn’t know. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember her name.

  Chapter 3

  “Is that one of those questions that’s off-limits or something? I just asked your name, for Christ’s sake, not your age,” Jake said, clearly annoyed.

  Just as well, A.J. thought, because she wasn’t sure about that either, so she said the first thing that came to mind. “Family secret. Maybe I’ll tell you later.” Mustn’t panic, she chanted to herself, mustn’t panic. “Back shortly.” She hurried from the room, thoroughly rattled.

  Easing the door shut behind her, she stood with her back against it, her heart thudding against her rib cage. The chant wasn’t working. Panic shrieked in her ears. She could deal with the queasy stomach, the scraped knee, the torn fingernails, even the clash of cymbals behind her eyes and stinging throb above the nape of her neck. The vertigo was disconcerting but she could wait it out. Her name, though, who she was, that was basic stuff. Closing 58

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  her eyes, she tried to quiet the noise in her head and concentrate.

  When Jake had asked the first time, she’d said A.J. with no hesitation. And it felt right. She could remember an ID bracelet, silver, the initials en-graved on it. It had been too large; she’d had to have a couple of links removed. But what did the initials stand for? Anna? Amy? Alice? They lacked the comfortable fit that would come with being her real name. And nothing for the J. Was the J. her surname? She came up blank on that as well.

  Thoroughly unsettled, A.J. moved away from the door, becoming aware of her surroundings for the first time. No spark of déjà vu this time, just a cozy room with a double bed and dresser out of another era, a blanket chest at the end of the bed. A wall of plank shelving jammed with paperbacks. Doors on either side of the bed, the one directly opposite ajar to reveal the bathroom. She turned to engage the lock of the door behind her. No lock. And no chair to wedge under the knob. The blanket chest wouldn’t work either. She could barely shift it. She didn’t like this. Surely the bathroom door would have a lock.

  It did, but was not in working order. She really didn’t like this. In spite of her qualms, though, the sight of the thoroughly modern shower stall was more than she could resist. She stripped, wincing at the condition of her clothes. The neck of her sweater in back was icky with blood, the label illegible.

  She peered into the mirror, appalled at the image staring back at her. I look like I’m wearing camou-Nightmare in Nowhere

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  flage, she thought, taking in her features. Dirt streaked her face and circles the size of tote bags sagged under coffee brown eyes. Short, curly black hair was plastered to her head like a skullcap. She was, in other words, a mess.

  Stepping into the shower stall, she closed its door. The showerhead had multiple settings so she fiddled with it until the spray was intense and in-vigorating. Giving herself up to it, she let it pummel her, turning slowly to expose all the sore spots.

  Clear, hot water cascaded over her, rusty brown water puddled around her feet. Appalled, she thought, please, let that be mostly dirt. She would hate to think she’d bled that much, but perhaps that accounted for the dizziness. Steam rose and before long she was enveloped in it, feeling the chills dissipate. Finally she dialed to a gentler setting, soaped herself and dealt with the shampoo, moving carefully over the area at the back of her head.

  She wore a cap full of lather when there was a tap at the bathroom door. She heard it open and froze, her heart revving up to mach speed.

  “A.J.”

  She gasped as the gruff voice echoed against the walls of the small room. Weapon. What could she use as a weapon? Squeezing into a corner of the stall, she held the shampoo at the ready, to give it to him full in the face if she had to. “Yes?”

  “I’m leaving a fresh towel on the toilet.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” She didn’t move.

  “Put your things in the washing machine. The storm’s let up a little so I’m going to check on the 60

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  Rands’ phone down
the road. Duke must feel you still need protection because he’s on guard duty outside the bedroom door and isn’t budging.

  Stew’s in the microwave. And clean up after yourself. Please.” The door closed firmly.

  A.J. went limp, her legs giving out on her. Shampoo lather drizzled into her eyes, blinding her as she slid down the wall, her bare behind making a squishing noise as it settled on the base of the stall.

  “Damn you, Alfred Hitchcock,” she muttered.

  “And clean up after myself? Where does he think I grew up, in a barn?” Well, hell, for all she knew, she might have. But she was glad to know she was not alone. Much more of this and she’d fall in love with that dog.

  When the temperature of the water began to cool, she struggled to her feet and rinsed off. Opening the stall door a crack, she saw that a thick white towel waited on the lid of the toilet. Uncertain how soon Jake would return, she dried off hurriedly and slipped into the sweater, jeans, and socks. She felt immensely better, now that she was clean. Smelled better, too.

  With the towel draped turban-style around her head, she gathered her soiled outer things and left the bedroom. Duke met her, tail whipping.

  “I owe you again,” she told him and opened the door on the other side of the fireplace. A vintage Kenmore washer and dryer were tucked into a corner of what was clearly a utility room. As she added detergent, it occurred to her that somehow she’d known this is where she should come, as opposed to the kitchen. Why? The machines might well have Nightmare in Nowhere

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  been built in under one of the counters. But she had known they were here.

  “This is crazy,” she told the dryer. “Can’t remember my own blasted name, know in my gut I have never seen this cabin before, but am sure where things are located. I swear I’ve never been in this area. What person in their right mind would come here anyway?”

  Which called into question Jake’s sanity, or at the very least, his state of mind. Wanted to get away from everybody and everything, huh? He’d done a bang-up job of that. Maybe it had something to do with his being a “maybe” cop. Perhaps he’d had enough of it. Or had he been sent to Coventry?

  Inexplicably a frisson of uneasiness zipped up her spine as an image flashed behind her eyes, there and gone so fast that she wondered if she’d imagined it: Jake’s face, dark and scowling, chin stub-bled with a five o’clock shadow, his hair longer, greasy and unkempt, his clothes dirty and ill-fitting. Along with it a sense of threat, peril. Where had that come from? Was she in danger here? He wasn’t the most gracious host, but so far he’d done nothing to warrant genuine concern. Plus he was out in the rain to find a phone and call for help. The least she could do was give him the benefit of the doubt.

  She returned to the main room, where she found Duke making a circuit between the window, the front door, and the utility room, his manner agi-tated enough to make her wonder if he needed to answer a call of nature. Or he might be regretting not having gone with Jake. Thunder rumbled in the 62

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  distance and he scooted under the coffee table for a second.

  “Poor baby,” she said, stooping to smooth his muzzle. “My Buster was afraid of storms, too.” She wondered what a shrink would make of the fact that she couldn’t remember her name but had no problem with a dog’s that had died years go. As for Duke, he wiggled out from under the table and disappeared into the utility room.

  The full-bore aroma of coffee lured A.J. to the kitchen where a mug, spoon, and a jar of instant sat on the counter. A glass teakettle, steam wafting from it, stood waiting. Not quite ready to trust her stomach yet, she spooned in the coffee, poured and stirred, letting the smell tease her before risking a sip. She swished it around in her mouth, hoping it would get rid of the unpleasant taste on her tongue.

  She had to figure this out. Even allowing for the possibility of a concussion, it seemed to her that she might not remember the accident, but she wouldn’t have lost something as basic as who she was. She had to find her purse, see if the contents might have survived the storm so she could check her driver’s license for her name. And where she lived. Oh, Lord, she couldn’t even remember where she lived! Somewhere in Maryland? Pennsylvania?

  An address popped into her head: 1422 Main Street. Main Street? Terrific. Practically every town on the map had a Main Street. Think, A.J. Think.

  A pale lavender bedroom, a back porch with hanging plants. Another small room, single bed, cement walls. A cell? What could she have done to wind up in jail?

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  A.J. put the mug down with a thump. She definitely needed help, a therapist or something, she thought. Temporary amnesia as a result of the whack she’d suffered, okay. But to have lost so much of herself, more than just a day or two and the event itself, that wasn’t okay. Perhaps the loss of memory predated the accident. Perhaps she really was nuts. Forgetting the coffee, she began to pace, becoming more and more frantic. Duke, perhaps realizing his tail was at risk, watched from the utility room door, his bright eyes never leaving her.

  As she made the return trip from the front door to the kitchen for the fourth time, something hit the side of the house with a solid thump and almost simultaneously, a vicious bolt of lightning flared in the windows opposite the fireplace, blinding her. A peal of thunder roared across the sky, followed by a full-throated otherworldly groan, and a series of ear-splitting cracks and pops. Then something hit the front door with such intensity that she felt the floor of the cabin shudder, the vibration racing through the soles of her feet. Panting, she backed toward the utility room, uncertain whether to join Duke and stay there, or get out. Lightning had hit something, whether the cabin or a tree, she wasn’t sure.

  The lights blinked, then died. The swish-swish of the washer slowed to a stop. Breath hitched in A.J.’s throat, her heart racing. Darkness seemed to swallow her whole.

  “Oh, please,” she whispered, eyes stretched wide until they adjusted and she could see that it wasn’t completely dark after all; the muted yellow glow 64

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  from the candles in the hurricane lamps on the mantel threw an arc of warm, flickering light a couple of feet into the room. “Thank you, Jake,” she croaked. Something brushed her thigh and she looked down to find Duke beside her, growling, the hair on his back bristling. “It’s okay, dog,” she said, smoothing his head.

  A.J.’s thoughts returned to Jake. His concern about lightning strikes had not been an exaggeration. With one of the hurricane lamps in hand, she made her way to the front door, opened the blinds over its small window and peered out, but might as well have been looking into the maw of a black hole. Then a spear of lightning lit the night, illuminating twigs and leaves right up against the glass.

  No wonder the cabin had been rocked on its foundation. A tree had come down, and its top now blocked the entire front facade.

  She should do something. Jake had taken her in.

  Okay, he hadn’t wanted to but had done it anyway.

  Now he was the one out in the cold, trying to find a phone, and wouldn’t be able to get back in his own house.

  The limbs at the top of the tree wouldn’t be all that thick, she reasoned. If she could get rid of enough of them so that he could squeeze in . . .

  She hurried to the kitchen and opened drawers until she found the knives, selected a meat cleaver and rushed back to the door. She opened it and leaped back as a gust of wind almost knocked her off her feet. Limbs that had been pressed against the door sprang into the foyer, thicker than she’d thought they would be. Squinting at them by can-Nightmare in Nowhere

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  dlelight, she wondered if her bright idea was feasi-ble. Still, she had to try. She worried that Duke might get out, but he seemed more interested in the window. He stood, front paws on the sill, sniffing at the frame on the right side.

  Easing the handle of the hurricane lamp onto a coat hook, A.J. removed her coat from another and sli
d her arms into the soggy garment. Pulling in a deep breath, she grabbed a limb and hefted the cleaver above her head when she sensed movement behind her. Reacting without thought or intention, her body seeming to move on autopilot, she spun around, her right foot whipping up to land dead center of Jake’s chest. It felt as if she had kicked a cement wall, pain ripping up through her knee and thigh.

  The impact rocked him back a step before he bent over, fists against his chest, face twisted with pain.

  “Oh, my God, I’m sorry!” A.J. dropped the cleaver. “I’m so sorry, Jake! Did . . .” She almost hated to ask. “Did I hurt you?”

  Duke scurried over, his nail scrabbling for purchase on the smooth floors. He stood, focus switch-ing between the two of them, his doggy expression clearly confused and anxious.

  Slowly, Jake straightened, rubbing his chest, eyes hooded as he stared at her. “You sure as hell didn’t do me much good, that’s for sure. What was that for?”

  “I’m really, really sorry, but you scared me!” A.J.

  slumped against the wall. What had she just done?

  A karate move? Judo?

  Then it occurred to her. “There’s a back door? I was about to try to clear a way for nothing?”

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  Jake picked up the cleaver and took it back to leave it on the counter. “I appreciate the thought, but it wasn’t necessary. Neither was the kick, for that matter. What kind of guard dog are you, anyway?” he asked Duke. “She attacked me. I’m the one who’s been feeding you, remember?” Ignoring him, Duke returned to the window, and began pawing at the frame.

  “So much for loyalty and gratitude.” Jake came back and shoved the door closed, rain cascading off his bright orange rain gear.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” A.J. glared at him. “How did you get in?”

  “Utility room.”

  “I didn’t see a door in there.”

  “You weren’t supposed to.” He removed the hurricane lantern and slipped his coat off gingerly, as if the effort hurt. “It’s something my great-granddad dreamed up back in his moonshine days, so I’m told.” He gazed down at her. “You were going to hack off those limbs for me?”