FBI agent Alexa
Vega wakes in an Atlanta hospital with no memory of how she got there.
Except for brief flashes of a little girl's image, she can't remember
anything, including the assignment that led to her brutal attack. The
only person she feels she can trust is the man who saved her—
Dr. Robert
Livingston.
In his care she
begins to recover…and to fall for him. Those feelings are returned,
because Robert hasn't been able to stop thinking about Alexa. But as her
memory returns, Alexa knows she has to finish what she started. She has
to track down her attackers. It's the only way she can save a child
she's sworn to protect.
She's determined
to succeed, even if it means losing everything else—including Robert's
love.
CHAPTER ONE
"Move!" she whispered as loud
as she dared. "It's going to be okay. I promise. But we have to move."
Just a little farther away from the building. Down the alley, to the street, and
then…
Then what?
There was no little farther. No safe. Not until they were miles away. Too bad
her escape plan was more of a shot in the dark than an actual plan.
There were shadows flanking the street entrance to the long alley. Human shadows
she wasn't sure were friend or foe.
"Quick, back here." She cut behind one of the Dumpsters beside the door they'd
escaped through.
He'd be furious.
Deadly furious.
She could hear them searching inside the warehouse. Frantic. And they never
bothered to be frantic, except when following orders or covering their asses. So
much for her element of surprise.
Shouts echoed. Their hide-and-seek posse was about to spill outside. "Lexi?" The
whisper at her elbow was shaky. Terrified.
"Shh." She squeezed the sweaty palm clinging to hers.
It was midday, but her warning hung like a hazy omen in the cold air. Just
breathing could get them caught.
"We have to be quiet," she warned.
It was either be quiet or be dead. And dead wasn't going to happen.
She could still make this disaster right. Somehow.
She glanced toward the street. Still no movement. Maybe no threat. But she had
to be sure.
The shadows and filth around them revealed no makeshift weapons. No epiphanies
for how to fix this.
"Lexi, I dropped Felix in the warehouse. I have to—"
"What!"
Damn!
"I have to go back for him." The hand tugged free. "I have to—"
"We can't go back!"
No Felix.
No gun.
She had no business trying to do this on her own. But there'd been no time. And
now everything was unraveling, and she didn't have a choice….
"But—"
"No!"
Worry about Felix later. Get to later first.
They had to reach the street while there was still time, then—
The door creaked open, hinges scraping, rust against rust. Footsteps left the
warehouse and echoed across the damp concrete, scuffing against discarded
cardboard, scattering the junk littering the ground.
She forced shallow breaths. One hand motioned for silence, the other pressed
against the pitted surface of the Dumpster. It was too obvious a hiding place.
As if she'd had tons of alternatives! Desperation makes you reckless, a voice
from her past had once cautioned. But you can use the recklessness to your
advantage…. Every now and then, you'll make yourself a little luck.
The footsteps stopped.
The Dumpster's lid lifted long enough for someone to peer inside, then it
slammed shut. Hard-soled shoes shuffled in opposite directions. Two sets of
them, heading toward either side of the bin.
Screw luck. "Run!" She shoved against the Dumpster, crashing it into the men.
"Run to the street and don't look back! Help! Help us!"
Grunts.
Curses.
One of the men hit the ground, his gun skidding away. She grabbed it and sprung
from her crouch into a full sprint. More footsteps poured into the alley from
the warehouse. "Help us!" she yelled again.
The shadows down the alley turned, bodies in motion heading their way. Not
friends after all.
She raised the gun.
Trying to shoot her way out was stupid. There were too many of them. But stupid
wasn't dead.
They still had a chance, as long as—
A hand clenched in her hair and yanked her backward.
"No!" She kicked as she was dragged away from the street. "Run! Whatever you do,
don't stop running!"
She twisted to face her attacker. Ignored the pain. She brought the gun around
to fire, knowing she was already done. But there was done, and then there was
taking one of these bastards with her.
She had a sudden taste for the latter. She'd distract them for a few more
seconds, then— "Lexi!" The terrified scream came from the street. A shadow
closed in from behind her. Before she could react, the side of her head exploded
in pain.
She crumpled to the ground, taking her attacker down, too. Failure echoed around
her—more screams for help, bouncing off the buildings around them. Blackness
enveloped her. An automatic pointed between her eyes, pressed to her forehead.
"You stupid bitch," a disembodied voice growled. The child's next scream ripped
through her pain. Along with it came the certainty that it was almost over.
It was finally over. "Do it," she snarled, the weakest part of her relieved as
the alley faded to black.
But the nightmare continued, and in it, she kept fighting…. Kicked to get free…
Twisted against her restraints… Strained against the hands holding her to the
table…
Fought the pain and the light shattering her skull…
Table?
Light?
The blackness shifted to gray…. Reality drawing closer…
"Hold her still," a soothing voice commanded. The warm hand on her shoulder
belonged to the voice, not the icy cold of her nightmare. It was soft, not
cruel, absorbing her shivers. Quieting them.
"It's okay," he whispered near her ear. "Try to relax. You're safe now."
She somehow willed her body to still and her eyes to open. A tall figure towered
over her.
Blue, shapeless shirt.
Blue mask.
Bluer eyes.
Honest eyes.
Safe.
Her mind recoiled from the thought. She tried to jerk away from the gentle
touch, but he stopped her. Him and the heaviness stealing through her body.
He smiled behind his mask, his expression kind.
Caring. She hadn't wanted either from anyone in a long time. She was certain of
it, even though nothing else made sense.
"We've given you a sedative," he explained. "You should be starting to feel it.
Try to relax. No one's going to hurt you here."
Her instinctive laugh escaped as a moan.
He studied the whirring and beeping monitors she hadn't noticed before. His hand
moved to the bandage she suddenly realized engulfed half her head, pulling it
back to check beneath.
"You've got one minute to get her under," he instructed someone she couldn't
see.
The blackness reached for her again.
His fingers smoothed down her cheek, easing her panic. More effective than any
drug. She blinked against the shadows, needing to see his eyes a while longer.
Their blue was shot through with a steely, determined gray.
"Help me," she begged. "You have to help me get out of here. Get to the street.
We need to go…."
"What street?" he asked. "We who?"
The question strangled her. A surge of adrenaline anchored her more firmly to
the present, forcing a horrifying moment of clarity.
Because there was nothing there.
No answers to his questions.
She couldn't remember…. There was nothing, except for the gun pointing at her,
and that final scream. A child's scream. "Run!" She tried to sit up. She had to
get out of there. "I have to go back, before—"
"Go back where?" He held her down until she stopped struggling.
She blindly felt for his hand. He started at her touch, then squeezed her
fingers. "There's nowhere to go right now. Let me take care of you, then we'll
figure out the rest. It's going to be okay."
The sentiment sent her fighting again. "You've taken quite a blow to your head."
He restrained her as gently as before. "You need immediate surgery, but you're
safe. You're not alone. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
A mask was placed over her mouth and nose. "Breathe normally." He nodded to
someone behind her, then smiled again. "Let yourself fall asleep. I promise,
I'll be here when you wake up. You can trust me."
She was in bad shape—she'd seen the truth in his eyes. In the barely controlled
urgency behind the orders he'd issued. The right side of her head felt like it
was on fire. The nightmare—it had been real. And now she could die. But worse,
she'd…
Failed…
She'd failed at something important….And now… Someone she cared about deeply,
someone she couldn't remember, was in danger.
Please, she begged him with her eyes.
Please, she'd begged someone else a long time ago. Stay. Don't go away….
"It will be okay," he promised. "Trust me."
And she did.
She shouldn't. That long-ago voice had promised the same thing, and lied. But
the anesthesia was enticing her to let go.A cloud of security blanketed the
fear.
She could finally stop running. From what, she had no idea. But just this once,
she could stop running.
"FINISH PREPPING HER," Robert Livingston demanded, his gaze lowering to his
patient's relaxed features. "I want to be in there looking for bleeders in five
minutes."
He made himself let go of her hand as she was intubated. Then he turned to study
the portable CT scans and focus on the challenges of the case. Anything but
accepting the unprofessional protectiveness he'd felt for the gravely injured
woman who'd been frantically trying to crawl off his operating table.
Jane Doe's skull hadn't been breached by whatever had struck her—a pipe, maybe
something smaller. But there was significant damage. The CT scan showed a
compound fracture, a subdural hematoma beneath and other lesions that could
become life-threatening. Reversing the damage, even delicately, would increase
the risk of complications. But he had to stop the bleeding and remove any debris
that might cause a clot or escalating pressure and swelling.
Then all there'd be left to do was wait, and hope. It will be okay….
Trust me.
Every person in the O.R. had frozen at his unprofessional lapse. Her odds of a
full recovery were fifty-fifty at best. Her terror upon waking was
understandable. The police had classified this a typical mugging, but hers was
one of the worst robbery outcomes Robert had seen. And he'd seen plenty. Nothing
might ever be okay for this patient again.
But when she'd grabbed his hand, he'd fallen into those expressive brown
eyes—just like Jacob's eyes. And in the face of her all-consuming fear, he'd
found himself promising whatever he had to, just as he had with his baby brother
over twenty years ago.
"I have to rescrub." He turned away while his surgical intern stabilized the
patient's head, covering everything but the shaved area around the injury with
sterile dressings. "We open in two minutes."
It had been drilled into him in med school that his patients' problems outside
the hospital were beyond his control. So were the many possible complications
they faced during recovery. But in the O.R., the control was his. And he was
good at what he did. The best neurosurgeon in Georgia, tops in his field
nationally. He lost very few patients, and he wasn't losing this one.
***
And not just
because of an emotional lapse that had tapped into decade's-old memories of
watching helplessly while Jacob slipped away.
He turned on the taps and lathered up. Breaking the seal on a brush, he scrubbed
from his nails to his elbows. His fingers clenched at the memory of Jane Doe's
hand trembling in his. The strength that had fueled her determination to run,
even though she'd been weak from heavy blood loss. He'd found himself equally
determined to protect her. To defend her from whatever she was so certain was
closing in.
The brush clattered to the floor.
Damn it!
He opened another from it's sterile packaging.
Focus, man.
Get it together.
He was a doctor. His patient was perfectly safe now, whoever had hurt her, and
it was the police's job to keep her that way. He'd said what he had to. Calmed
her down so his team could finish prepping for surgery. He'd have done the same
thing for anyone in her emotional state. This case was no different than any
other.
He scrubbed harder.
He'd never promised a patient anything before. And he'd have promised this one
even more. Whatever it took to ease the panic consuming her so completely.
You have to help me get out of here...
He shook his head. Began to rinse--fingers up, letting the sterile water wash
the soap downward.
It was time to work his magic, then send Jane Doe on her way. He'd patch her up,
so she could go wherever she so desperately needed to go--and before he became
even more irrationally attached to helping her get there.
***
Ten hours later at a quarter past four in the morning--exhausted, showered and
chugging coffee to keep himself awake--Robert walked off Atlanta Memorial's
central elevator onto the ICU floor. A half hour ago, an unconscious Jane Doe
had been moved from recovery to an observation suite, right about the time
Robert should have been dragging himself home to sleep. He'd be on call again in
just six hours.
But he couldn't leave.
He'd checked with the supervising floor nurse. No one had materialized, asking
to be notified about Jane Doe's condition. There was still no contact
information on her chart, except for the names of the Atlanta Police Department
officers who'd found her and called for the ambulance.
She was completely alone.
He turned into the dimly-lit room that was little more than a glass-enclosed,
corner cubicle with two doors that offered easy access from either hallway that
ran past it. When Jane Doe was awake and downgraded to a less critical
condition, blinds could be drawn to offer her privacy. Until then, she would be
observed 24/7 by the top-notch nursing team that ran the floor like a fine-tuned
machine.
She lay propped on a nest of starched, white pillows. Her shoulder-length, ebony
hair spilled around her heart-shaped face and over the dressing that covered his
work. He consulted her chart and tracked her vitals, then double-checked her
heart rate and breathing with the stethoscope he was still wearing, even though
he'd traded his scrubs for street clothes.
Officially, her condition was guarded, but stable. He'd done a hell of a job,
delicately patching up the damage as non-invasively as possible. Still, there
was no telling how long it would take before she woke, or what kind of
complications might await them once she did. The brain was a fickle, tricky
organ. There would be additional swelling, and there could be potentially deadly
complications. No way to predict how many, or for how long they'd last.
The best post-op treatment for traumatic brain injury was rest and gentle
stimulation. Having people who knew the patient spend time interacting with her,
enticing her to re-attach to the world around her.
Only his Jane Doe didn't have anyone to sit beside her and talk about home, or
the family pet, or a child's crazy day at school.
His Jane Doe?
She didn't belong to him, or anyone else it would seem.
Robert studied the armed APD officers positioned in the hall. He wasn't the only
one standing watch tonight. The police were impatient to question her as soon as
she woke.
So they could protect her? Or maybe her guards were there for some other reason.
So much for this being about a typical mugging.
Taking another sip of his coffee, Robert set the cup down and sat in the lone
chair beside the bed. He hesitated, then reached for her hand, needing to feel
it in his again--and he couldn't remember the last time he'd let himself really
need anything but work.
Her fingers felt so tiny in his, and not just because he was a big man. She'd
put up a hell of a fight when she'd come to. She'd been stronger than any of
them had expected. But the hospital bed, the blankets and sheets, seemed to
swallow her now. She was completely vulnerable.
Just like Jacob had been, when he'd slowly slipped away, still clinging to
Robert's hand.
Robert threaded his fingers through his patient's, feeling his professionalism
evaporate as he remembered the promise he'd made her--a woman he knew nothing
about, whom he had no business promising anything.
Except he had. The same promise he'd made his brother.
I'll be here when you wake up.
***
Lexi was gone. But not for good.
She wouldn't forget about her.
She'd promised.
Evie clutched Felix closer and huddled deeper into the kitchen chair she'd been
told not to move from. Her father shouted the f-bomb in the next room. Again.
Something about the cop cars that had barreled into the alley while Evie was
being whisked away in one of her father's SUVs.
"...too damn close! How could you have been so stupid. What the hell were Alexa
and my daughter doing there in the first place!"
Silence came next. Which meant Si and Am were either dumbstruck patching
together a story, or they were doing that quiet, no-big-deal stare thing that
never worked with her father.
"Answer me!" her father demanded, his voice quieter.
Quiet was scarier than when he was shouting.
The mumbling that followed conjured images of the bumbling, sneaky Siamese cats
Evie had nicknamed her latest bodyguards after--the feline villains from her
favorite Disney movie. She couldn't hear a word the two hulking men were saying.
She'd been banished to snack on milk and cookies in the kitchen. A
fourteen-year-old, eating kiddy food and hooked on kiddy movies.
A dream world, Lexi had called Evie's life. But today hadn't been a dream.
Lexi had made something up about leaving her PDA at the warehouse when she'd
been there last week. She'd begged the Siamese think tank to drive her over to
look for it. Evie had stowed away behind her seat in the SUV, under a blanket
like they'd been planning forever. Except they hadn't planned on everything
being so last minute. On Evie forgetting Felix when they ran, then being a baby
about it. Or on someone at the condo realizing they were both nowhere to be
found and sounding the alarm.
Who knew Si and Am had enough brains to put two and two together?
Everything had gone way wrong. She and Lexi hadn't made it out, and--
"You better hope to God she's not dead!" Her father's threat made Evie jump.
Her hand knocked over the milk he'd poured her before he'd headed into the study
to grill his men, telling her not to budge while he was gone.
Lexi wasn't dead. She wasn't gone for good. She was coming back. She wouldn't
forget Evie.
She'd promised.
Evie held fast to Felix and budged toward the kitchen's ultra-modern center
island. It was made of smooth, cold metal, just like everything else in the
room. Everything in the condo felt colder, now that Lexi was gone.
Evie grabbed the black kitchen towel that matched the dishes her mother never
would have let her father buy--back before her mother had gone away, too. She
mopped up her mess, her attention shifting between what she was doing and the
phone on the wall near the industrial refrigerator.
What was she more afraid of--her father, or not following Lexi's instructions?
Don't be stupid, Evie told herself. But she inched closer to the phone anyway.
He'll be really mad if he catches you.
Mad?
Her father never got just mad.
The rage would keep building. He was just warming up with his men. He'd be back
for her sooner or later, no matter what Evie did.
She wasn't allowed to use the phone--ever. She was barely allowed to breathe,
unless she cleared it with him first. She definitely wasn't allowed to try and
run away, but she had. She'd begged Lexi, and they'd planned it and waited, and
then she'd messed it all up.
And now she was the one her father was really mad at, not the Siamese. Mad like
she hadn't seen him since the night he'd caught her mom packing her and Evie's
things to run. The night her mom had gone away and never come back.
What difference did it make if Evie used the phone now?
She reached for the portable while her memory fumbled for numbers. The numbers
Lexi had helped her memorize. Just in case, Lexi had said. In case of what,
they'd never talked about.
A series of crashes, what sounded like a fist hitting flesh and a large body--Si
or Am?--destroying furniture as it fell, brought the numbers back in a rush.
She had to reach Lexi.
Everything's going to be okay. I won't let him hurt you again. I'll never leave
you here...
Dialing was hard. Evie's heart and her arm and every other part of her body kept
jerking, telling her to run, even though running never did anything but make
what came next worse.
Her mother was gone.
Lexi was gone...
No! Lexi would be back
A weird computer voice came on the line. Evie was instructed to leave a message.
To take the biggest risk of her life.
She couldn't breathe.
Talk, you big baby!
Get her back here.
So what if it was going to hurt again for a little while? It was worth it. Lexi
would come back. She'd make the hurt stop for good.
"Um..." She peeked over her shoulder. No names. Lexi had said no real names. You
never know who'll be listening. "This is...Bambi. I...I'm looking for Thumper. I
need...I need to talk to her. I need... Felix and I need to--"
The phone struck the side of her head as it was yanked away, beeped off and
thrown across the room.
Wham!
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" her father whispered in her face.
He shook her, both hands clenched on her shoulders. Hard. Harder! She could
already feel the blow to come.
His arm reared back, his hand ready to fly. His eyes flared, ready to kill.
Complete silence from the next room told her maybe he already had.
Evie cringed, then thought of her mother, always shrinking, and Lexi, fighting
back against Si in the alley behind the warehouse. Lexi's fear had changed to
something dark, fierce, when Evie was dragged, screaming, into her father's SUV.
Something like take your best shot, you bastard. Something brave that Evie
wanted for herself.
She lifted her chin and glared up at the man she'd been terrified of every day
for fourteen years. He'd taken her mother away. His men had hurt Lexi and left
her for dead. Evie clutched Felix closer--her only friend before Lexi came. The
last thing her mother had given her.
And in her mind, she was suddenly the baby ant staring up at the scary,
brainless grasshopper that was about to strike.
Man, would you knock off the Disney!
But that's how it felt. Like she was dead meat, only she was done being scared
and bullied and afraid. From now on, she was going to be like Lexi.
No matter where he takes you, I'll find you, sweetheart, Lexi had promised. Even
if I have to leave, I won't forget you. I'll come back for you. Be brave, and
when you can, call this number....
Be brave...
"Tell me what happened in the alley." Her father shook her again, one hand still
raised, his lips twisted into a threatening smile. "If Lexi's dead, it's all
your fault. Tell me what happened."
Evie didn't answer. She wasn't telling him anything. And Lexi wasn't dead.
His arm dropped. He pulled her into a gentle hug. The smell of his aftershave
brought a sick rush of memory. Made her stomach churn. Made the Bambi weakness
come back, the kind that had left the little fawn cowering in a thicket thinking
he'd never be safe again.
"Don't make me punish you, my darling," her father crooned. The same threat he'd
always used to make what he did her fault. "You know I don't want to punish you.
Give Daddy what he needs. Be a good girl. Tell me why you and Lexi were running
away. Tell me where she was going."
He'd punish her no matter what she said, because that was the part he liked
best. That and the way he always got what he wanted in the end. In the end, she
was always daddy's good little girl.
She'd been safe from it for a while. Lexi had protected her. Now it was Evie's
turn to do the protecting and to hang on until Lexi came back. Whatever it took.
She turned her head and kissed her father's cheek, swallowing the reflex to puke
when he chuckled and patted her back.
"Good girl." He smiled down, his eyes gone soft with the same power the hunter
must have felt when he locked his rifle's site on Bambi's mother. Relaxed. So
sure he had her. "Now tell Daddy everything."
She ran her fingers up the buttons of his dress shirt, brushing across his
pounding heart.
Pervert.
Then she smiled her little girl smile, the one daddy liked best. Braced herself
without moving a muscle. Thought of Lexi and tried to believe she really could
be brave, too.
She hugged Felix closer and took a deep breath.
"No," she said sweetly, pasting her smile in place and watching her father's
rage roar back.
Don't miss Rick Downing's Exciting Story!
Look for To Save a Family in September, 2008. To Protect the Child 12 Anna
DeStefano
Atlanta's Heroes: To Protect the Child 1 Anna DeStefano
If you have an old doll that's
just collecting dust, or that's stored away in a box somewhere...
Author
Laura Mills-Alcott and her daughter restore old dolls from the
1920s - 1940s. They are currently buying dolls for a very special
project, and may be interested in buying YOUR doll(s).
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