Prologue
NOW
LAUREL
My hands reached behindto grasp the cold metal railing while I sucked the pre-dawn air into my lungs.
What the hell?
I stood precariously on the ledge of a balcony with my toes curled over the edge. This, and my death-grip on the wrought iron at my back, were all that kept me from plunging to the rocks far below.
Water lapped against the cliff. Ihatedheights. So why on Earth was I out here?
I tried to steady my breathing and keep my gaze up, but my legs shook. I shivered in the cold wind, making the railing rattle. A panicked whimper escaped from my lips as I pivoted on my heel, turning until the rail slammed into my stomach, but I didn’t care.
At least I could cling to two things now. The wrought iron, and the illusion I was safely back on the stone balcony.
I took another breath and launched myself up and over the railing. It wasn’t pretty, but both feet hit the ground, meaning I was still alive. My teeth chattered because I was only wearing silk pajama pants and a camisole top.
Across the balcony, a robe was draped over a patio chair.
I slipped my arms into it as I tried to remember why I’d taken it off, but sharp, agonizing pain sliced through my head. I movedmy fingers up to the nape of my neck, and then up into my hair where it ached the most.
There was a large wound near the crown of my skull.
It wasn’t fresh, but not yet healed, either. Something foreign and sharp was embedded in my skin. The hair around it felt like it had been shaved at one point but had started to grow back. I turned to face the house as reality washed over me.
Nothing was familiar. Not this place, not my clothes, not how I got here. I pushed a strand of brown hair out of my eyes. Holy crap, not even my hair color seemed right. The force of it all almost knocked me off my feet.
I couldn’t remember.
It was all just empty.
I trembled and cinched the robe tighter, eyeing the railing. What had I been doing out there?
A single word echoed through my mind, which was terrifying...Suicide.
“Hey.” His voice was soft, but I jumped anyway. “What are you doing?”
The man used the heel of his palm to grind the sleep from one eye. He wore a plain t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, and his mahogany hair was askew. Taller than average, and likely in his thirties. I peered at his face, tried to force myself to recognize him. He was attractive and seemed to know me, so surely I should remember him.
Nothing.
“What are you doing up?” he asked.
I didn’t say anything, becausewhat would I say?
“Well, we’re awake. You want coffee?” He turned to head back in through the French doors he’d strolled through.
I stayed deathly quiet. Everything was too overwhelming.
When I didn’t respond, he stopped and focused on me, concern washing through his expression. “What is it?”
I held up a hand and gestured to the surroundings. I still couldn’t bring myself to choke out anything, but the panic in my eyes must have spoken for me. The unease in him grew ten-fold and, when he tried to approach, I shuffled backward instinctively.
It caused him to stop short and look defeated. “You don’t know who I am.”
“I don’t.” It came out as a whisper, but the words crushed him all the same.
