Physical Evidence

“And what does that mean?” Ashton snapped. “The last time you told me she was fine, she’d lost part of her memory. Where is she?”

Mitch struggled to control the unwarranted fury that rocketed inside him. “I said she’s fine. She’s sleeping.”

“Where the hell is she?”

“Here,” Mitch ground out. “At my house.”

The brief silence on the other end of the line spoke volumes. “Why is she at your house?” Ashton’s tone was guarded this time, almost accusing.

“She said she figured it was the last place anyone would look.” Mitch massaged his stubbled jaw in an attempt to stop the muscle jerking there.

“Give me directions,” Ashton ordered, “I’ll be right there.”

“No. I told you she’s sleeping.”

More silence.

“You can see her in the morning,” Mitch offered.

“I don’t know what you think you’re up to Hayden, but you’d better think long and hard before you step too far over that line. I won’t tolerate you coming between me and my client.”

Mitch shrugged off his shoulder holster and tossed it onto the bed behind him. “I’m getting tired of your threats, Ashton.” He gritted his teeth to hold back the rest of what he wanted to say. This was Mitch’s county. He didn’t need any big-city know-it-all telling him how to take care of his business.

“You can’t stop me from seeing her, you know that.”

“I have no intention of trying to stop you,” Mitch pointed out. “Be at my office at nine in the morning. You can see her then.”

That tense silence again. “I’ll be there at eight,” Ashton countered hotly, “and if you ask her just one question outside my presence I swear you’ll regret it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of questioning her without you,” Mitch assured him. “See you at nine.” He hung up the receiver before Ashton could protest.

One thing was crystal clear, Mitch decided as he climbed into bed with his usual sleeping companion, his weapon, he had to get his head together before morning. Whatever it was that had allowed Alex to get so deeply under his skin in such a short time, he had to find a way to ignore it. Because if Mitch was half as easy to read where Alex was concerned as Ashton was, the hotshot lawyer already knew too much.

ALEX SLOWLY OPENED her eyes and stared at the ceiling of her room. Something was different, but she couldn’t be sure what. A dull ache throbbed deep in her skull, making focused concentration impossible. She stretched and sore muscles screamed in protest. The memory of a fist slamming into her stomach, of steel fingers gripping her throat and shoving her hard ricocheted through her mind. The ache in her skull exploded into fierce pain. She groaned and sat up, resting her head in her hands.

It took her a few seconds to realize the fierce agony wasn’t real, only remembered from an event that hovered behind an impenetrable wall that wouldn’t allow her to recall the last six days of her life. When she’d finally convinced herself it wasn’t real, the dull ache was all that remained.

How had she lost that whole block of time? Why couldn’t she remember? The concept seemed completely foreign to her. She should simply be able to retrieve those lost hours like so much data on a floppy disk. But she couldn’t. The flash of memory she’d just experienced was only the second little frame of recall she’d had since waking up in the hospital the day before yesterday.

The neurologist had said that it could be all or nothing, and would likely come in spurts. There was no way to speculate how much she would recall, and no reliable means to speed up her recovery.

Frowning, Alex returned to the problem at hand. Where was she? The image of Mitch Hayden offering her clean clothes at the bathroom door zoomed into vivid 3-D focus. She was at his house. That’s right. She’d come here because she knew no one would look for her here…she’d be safe. Something else she couldn’t remember nagged at her, making her a little less sure of the safe part, but she couldn’t grasp it. She hadn’t actually left the hospital with this destination in mind, she’d just wound up here and then the notion that no one would look for her at this particular location had gelled. He was the sheriff, after all, why would anyone look for her at his house?

Gingerly, she touched the bandage on her forehead. The image of fire blasting from the muzzle of a handgun aimed at her face seized her. She gasped with remembered terror and hugged her arms around her middle. She squeezed her eyes shut and rocked back and forth to calm herself. Her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt. He was going to kill her. He would never let her live knowing what she surely knew—his identity. Alex didn’t know how she knew it was a he, she just did. She was as certain of it as she was that he would try to kill her before she remembered. He had to…

“Good morning.”

Alex snapped her eyes open at the sound of a deep male voice. Mitch Hayden’s slow southern drawl to be exact. He stood in the doorway, propped against the frame. As she watched, he straightened and moved toward the bed. She grappled for the composure that usually came so easily for her. Whoever had worked her over had definitely scrambled her thinking. She was in the middle of a huge identity crisis that involved murder and mayhem and all she could do at the moment was notice how good the sheriff looked. Flashes of memory from last night kept popping into her head. His shirt hanging open, revealing a magnificent chest. His scent, something male and musky, when he’d held her so close as she broke down in his arms. Something about him drew her. It didn’t make sense.

“Good morning,” she returned as calmly as her churning emotions would allow when he paused a few feet away. Feeling vulnerable in her current position, she climbed out of bed and straightened her borrowed clothes, then combed her fingers through her hair in an attempt to pull herself together on the outside at least. “I appreciate you not taking me back to the hospital last night.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said quietly, those Artic-blue eyes clocking her every move. “It wasn’t a favor to you. I had my reasons.”

She was his prime suspect. How could she forget? Alex folded her arms over her chest and for a long moment studied the handsome sheriff who appeared hell-bent on adding to her misery. One single frame of memory flickered—Mitch Hayden angry and shouting at her. She flinched. The snatch of recall disintegrated as suddenly as it appeared. She cursed silently for not being able to hold on to the fleeting images long enough to decipher what they meant. She had to remember. Her freedom—not to mention her life—depended upon it.

“I didn’t shoot either of those men.” Alex blinked back the uncharacteristic urge to cry. She was stronger than this. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Much stronger. “In fact, I think you should stop wasting time trying to decide whether or not I’m guilty.”

He lifted one tawny eyebrow. “What makes you think I haven’t already decided?”

Uncertainty pulled the plug on her bravado, but she stood firm against the sinking feeling. “If you had, I’d have been in a cell this morning instead of in your bed.”

That cool gaze flicked from her to the rumpled sheets and back. “This isn’t my bed,” he said tightly.

Drawing courage from her direct hit, she replied, “Close enough.”

Quite obviously ill at ease now, he turned back toward the door and started out of the room. “You should eat. You’re going to need your strength. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”

Was that a warning? Alex mused as she watched him go. It sure sounded like one. She frowned when she considered that she needed to call Victoria. That first day in the hospital she’d been too disoriented to call anyone, then the killer had struck again before she’d had a chance to demand her rights be acknowledged. Alex squeezed her eyes shut to block the vivid mental images that accompanied the memory of Deputy Saylor’s murder.

Determined to pull it together she headed in the direction of the bathroom she’d used last night. She had to find a way to clear herself of suspicion. And since her memory was not cooperating, she’d just have to utilize her investigative skills.

Alex closed and locked the bathroom door, then took care of essentials. As she washed her hands she studied her reflection in the mirror. Her right cheek was still slightly discolored from…the sound of the back of a hand slapping against her cheek reverberated in her head. She jerked at the remembered sting. Alex touched her cheek and tried to remember more. Trees. Darkness. Someone shouting in the background. A male voice. The feel of the leaf-covered ground beneath her. The wind going out of her lungs when someone kicked her in the stomach. The sound of gunfire. Stark fear.

Trembling violently, she snapped back to the here and now. Alex fumbled around in the drawers until she found a brush. Taking slow, deep breaths to counter the adrenaline surging inside her body, she tugged the brush through her hair. Calm down, she ordered the frightened eyes in the mirror. You’re safe now. Sheriff Hayden had no intention of allowing anything to happen to her. She was his only witness—and suspect. Another of those fleeting images slipped in then out of her thoughts. Hayden shouting at her, fury in his expression. And then that strong pull she felt for him…some kind of unexplainable connection.

Alex shook off the worrisome thoughts and forced one foot in front of the other until she found him in the kitchen. He’d poured her a cup of coffee and prepared toast. He stood, leaning against a nearby counter, waiting patiently.

He wanted answers. The evidence against her was apparently considerable since he wasn’t out beating the bushes for another suspect. Or maybe he just hoped she would remember everything and save him the trouble. She sat down and took a much-needed sip of coffee. Her stomach rumbled. She tasted the toast he had gone to the trouble to butter and waited for him to begin his new round of interrogation.

But he didn’t.

Unable to tolerate the prolonged anticipation, she asked, “How does the evidence stack up against me?”

“Your prints are on the murder weapon.” He nodded to the right hand she’d just lifted to take another bite of toast. “You had the powder residue to prove you were holding the weapon when it fired.”

Alex stared at her hand. She swallowed, hard. Her appetite vanished and she dropped the toast back onto the saucer. “Well, there’s a good start for a murder case,” she allowed. She stared directly at him then. “Now all you need is motive, and you can nail me.”

She didn’t miss the little flutter of muscle in his tightly clenched jaw before he responded. “That would help. But then, if I have to, I’ll nail you without it if you killed my deputy.”

Averting her gaze from his intense one, she sipped her coffee thoughtfully. Anxiety coiled in her stomach threatening her flimsy hold on composure, chinking away at her certainty that she was innocent. She had to be. She would never kill anyone unless it was to save her own life—or someone else’s. Some part of her felt like the sheriff knew it, too. Otherwise she would be in a cell.

“You realize, of course, that I don’t have to answer any questions without legal counsel present,” she said then. She hardly recognized the strained voice as her own. God, she was a mess.

“I didn’t ask any questions.” Those too-discerning eyes remained focused on hers.

Alex almost laughed at that one. He wouldn’t ask any questions, because he knew that legally he couldn’t. But he could make her feel the pressure of proving her innocence. “I can’t tell you what happened, because I don’t know,” she admitted with complete candor. “And I don’t know how Miller tied into my investigation, but he isn’t the reason I came here.”

Hayden didn’t say a word. He simply stood there, waiting for her to continue if she chose.