“Maybe getting hit was lucky.” Ramone locks his phone and drops it, and his hands, into his pockets. “Three more miles in the cold, alone, in the dark… if you got too tired to walk and decided to sit down for a minute, you might’ve frozen to death, and since no one is out there scouring the roads in this weather, chances are you wouldn’t have been found again until the spring.”
“Lucky…” I reach up with my free hand and probe the aching spot at the back of my head. “Glass half full, I guess.”
“We’ll run prints and facial and see what we see.” Billy pushes off the windowsill, the blinds noisily clattering and banging against the glass like gunshots in my brain. “We’ll search missing persons reports and figure out who’s looking for her. Could be a manic episode or something?” He’s speaking to Ollie, not me. Talkingaboutme like I’m not even here. “Medical opinion?”
“Mania?” Ollie drops his eyes to mine, considering just long enough to make my stomach cramp. “Not sure I’m qualified to make that call.” But then he looks at Billy again. “I suppose it’s not out of the realm of possibility, but it certainly wasn’t my first thought.”
“You think I’m crazy?” Tears swell in my eyes, spilling onto my cheeks and dribbling down to splash onto my racing chest. I don’t remember my name, and I have no clue where I came from, but I know whatmanicmeans. “I was hit by a car. I wasn’t?—”
Ollie draws his hand back and twines his fingers with mine. “I don’t thinkanything, except that this whole situation sucks, and it’s completelyunfair that you’re hurt and alone and scared. The detectives will figure this out—that’s their job—and mine is to make sure you’re healthy and well enough to make the trip home again. Do you want me to bring you something to help you sleep now?” He ignores Billy and Ramone as they meet up at the end of my bed. As they murmur their secrets and cast side-eyes my way, like I’m nothing more than an animal locked in a cage, then as they nod their agreement and head out of the room.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
No nothing.
“Hey?” Ollie forces himself into my line of sight. “My shift ended a couple of hours ago, and if I don’t head home soon and sleep, I won’t be able to come back tonight.”
Panic scorches through my chest. “Y-you’re leaving?”
“The law says I have to.” He grins, like this is all a damn joke to him. “I’ll be back at six, though, so why don’t you let me medicate the hell out of you and send you to sleep? You need to rest, to give your brain a chance to heal. You won’t regain your memories if you stay locked in survival mode, and your heart especially needs a chance to slow down. I could get you something that’ll knock you out for several hours. You won’t even notice I’m not here.”
“No. I…” I choke on my words. On the pain in my throat. “I don’t?—”
“Choosing rest is better than crashing and shutting down. You need to?—”
“Ollie.”
“Sleep,” he croons, reaching across with his free hand and tucking loose locks of hair behind my ear. “You’re safe. I’ll be back on shift at six; I promise to check on you first.”
ROUND FIVE
OLLIE
Eat. Sleep. Wake up. Repeat.
That’s my life and has been for years. But toss in an hour at the local Love & War gym—a place I’ve considered a second home my entire adult life, a training facility for fighters, owned by guys I’ve called family since elementary school.
If I don’t get that hour a day of physical activity, where someone is beating the snot out of me and pushing me to the point of wanting to puke, then everything else feels a million times harder to deal with.
My brain works better when I’ve been active. My reflexes are faster, my intuition is sharper, my endurance is improved, and my mood is far, far happier. So I pull up in the parking lot and cut the engine, the sun already kissing the horizon despite the early hour. Snagging my keys and my bag from the backseat, I shove my door open and drop onto the graveled ground. “Jesus.” The wind bites at my nose. It sears my lungs. My breath comes out in white puffs, beating me everywhere I turn, but this is the same bullshit weather we had last night, too.
This wind. The snow. The fucking ice in my veins.
How that woman—Jane Doe—walked in this kind of cold in nothing but a shirt and ratty jeans is a mystery. Her very existence is all I can think about. Working late so I could stay with her, then bringing her home—in my mind, anyway—until I lay in bed, wide awake, while my brain spun and spun in a million repetitive circles.
Eventually, I found sleep… but she followed me there, too.
If this case sends me insane, I wouldn’t even be surprised.
Slamming my truck door and rubbing my hands together, I cross the parking lot at a fast clip and trudge into the gym, stepping into a warmth created only by the movement of active bodies and the stench of old sweat.
Both bring me peace. The hospital sure as fuck doesn’t.
“Hey, Ollie.” Fox sits perched on a tall stool behind the front counter, her legs crossed, her back bowed, one elbow on the countertop, and a vixen-esque glitter of torment in her eyes. Because she’s alwaysinon whatever inside joke is playing through her mind, and no matter how friendly we are, she’s never invited me to hear the punchline. “I was hoping you’d come by this afternoon. Chris is in a mood, and he doesn’t wanna break Tommy’s arm before his next big fight.”
“So I should let him break mine?” I swing my bag over my shoulder, hooking the strap over my hand. “Sounds like I should turn my ass around and leave again.”
