Chasing Memories: The Forevermore Series, Book 2

Trouble gets closer with every beat of their hearts…

Forevermore
, Book 2

Lucas Morgan wants to know the cause of the hit-and-run accident that killed his grandmother, and he’s certain the truth is locked inside the head of India Leone—an interior designer apparently suffering an all-too-convenient case of amnesia.

Determined to either trip her up in a lie, or wait for her memories to return, Lucas offers India a job at one of the luxury hotel properties he’s developing. He never thought he’d wind up falling for the woman at the top of his suspect list.

India isn’t so sure herself how she ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time. Until her memories return, how can she possibly move on with her life? The police say she’s innocent, but too many questions linger.

Desperate to get away, she seizes Lucas’s offer, never expecting to fall in love with him. Or that he would be keeping secrets that could not only break her heart, but cost her life.

Warning: Contains a woman caught between her heart and a gap in her memory, and a man waiting to pounce on any hole in her story. Never expecting that all that waiting will lead to some pouncing of a different kind…

Chasing Memories

Anna James

Dedication

For my children, I love you lots!

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank my editor, Latoya Smith, for making this a great book, my agent, Dawn Dowdle, and Anna, Jenn, Julia, Pat and Tanya for your brilliant insight. A special thanks to my real-life hero, my husband, for picking up the slack around the house while I write—I couldn’t do this without your love and support.

Thanks to my family for your love and encouragement, and last, but not least, thanks to my friends at CTRWA, CORW and RWA Contemporary Romance for your guidance and assistance.

Chapter One

Lucas Morgan slowed his car as he traveled the still-slick roadway over the Golden Gate Bridge. Although the rain had subsided, the fog had rolled in, and driving conditions remained poor.

A quick glance at the dashboard clock indicated eight o’clock.
Damn. Late again.
He stabbed the call button on the steering wheel and spoke. “Call Evelyn Young.”

The phone rang four times, then went to voice mail. “Hey Grams, it’s Lucas. I’m running behind schedule. Sorry for the delay.” And he was. Lucas hated being late for anything, but he especially hated keeping Grams waiting. Not that she minded. She didn’t, but she deserved better from him. “Got tied up in a design review meeting on the Miami property. I should be at the restaurant in ten or fifteen minutes.” He smiled and ended the call.

He looked forward to seeing her. It had been far too long since they last got together. With her busy schedule on top of renovating the Young real estate building, not to mention him flying off to Miami every other week to check on the renovation progress of the latest Acquati hotel, there’d been little time to see one another.

It still amazed him that at seventy-five, Evelyn reported to the office every day and had for the last twenty-five years.

“What the hell?” Oncoming headlights almost blinded him. Where the hell had they come from? It was almost as if they’d appeared out of nowhere. He cursed and swerved to avoid the car. “Idiot.” Lucas steadied the wheel, then peered out the rearview mirror trying to get the license plate of the dark four-door sedan whizzing by. The crazy-ass driver would kill someone if they didn’t slow down. Too late. The car disappeared from sight. He shook his head, took the next right—and slammed hard on the brakes to avoid colliding with something lying on the edge of the road.

Not something. Someone. An elderly woman with a crop of salt-and-pepper curls lay sprawled on the fringe of the embankment. What was she doing there? He jerked open the door and got out. Was she still alive?

Necks aren’t supposed to bend at that angle.
Heart pounding, stomach churning, Lucas raced over to her. As he got closer his brain registered the jagged scar running from elbow to wrist on her right arm.

Like Grams.
She’d received the wound twenty-five years ago in a house fire that claimed her husband’s life, as well as her daughter Mara, Lucas’s mother, and her son Jack.

No.
This woman wasn’t Grams. It couldn’t be. His grandmother was at the restaurant waiting for him to arrive.

She didn’t answer the call.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
Please don’t let it be Grams, please don’t let it be Grams.

Lucas dropped to the ground and moved the arm splayed across her face.
Oh God.
Bile rose in his throat. “No, Grams. No.”

He stabbed two shaking fingers to the crook in her neck, praying for a pulse. “Come on, Grams. Come on.” He couldn’t lose her. Wouldn’t even consider the possibility. She was all he had left. Okay, there was his cousin, Amanda, and Aunt Susan. Hell, his father, Edward, too, but Grams… He shuddered. She’d been the one person who’d
always
been there for him. Had raised him for most of his life.
Who’d loved him.

Finding no heartbeat, he yanked his hand away, then tried again.

Still nothing. He shuddered. Leaning down, he placed an ear to her mouth and nose.

No breaths. No pulse.

The shaking spread throughout like wildfire until his whole body convulsed.

He pulled his cell phone from its holder, dialed 911 and reported the accident. Then he gathered his grandmother’s body in his arms and wept.

Evelyn, his beloved grandmother, dead. He’d never see her smiling face again, or taste one of her home-cooked meals or hear her pester him to stop his womanizing ways, settle down and give her some great-grandchildren to spoil. He’d never wrap her in his arms and give her a big bear hug again.

A loud creak pulled him from his misery. Laying Evelyn down on the ground, he took off his jacket and covered her as best he could, then moved toward the sound.

He hadn’t seen the Cadillac CTS, Grams’s car, sitting partway down the embankment when he’d arrived. His only focus had been saving her.

Another screech, and then a groan. A human groan. What the hell?
Someone’s down there.
And they were still alive. He ran back to his car and grabbed a flashlight from the glove box. Lucas made his way down to the vehicle, careful not to slip on the slick rocks and earth under his feet.
Holy shit.
What the hell had happened to cause the massive amount of damage to the CTS? The rear had been smashed in, the two tires on the driver’s side had gone flat and the front, left corner had crumpled all the way to the door, and that was what he could see from this vantage point. Was there even more?

A noise sounded again from inside the automobile. He forgot about the damage and continued edging his way down the muddy hill.

The vehicle balanced precariously on the edge of a boulder jutting up from the ground. A still form slumped against the driver’s seat.
Shit.
One wrong move could send the car tumbling down into the ravine below.

“Hey there, can you hear me?”

A soft whimper. He moved closer.

Twisted metal moaned and inched forward. The acrid stench of gasoline filled the air. Lucas froze. Damn it, how the hell was he going to rescue whoever was stuck inside?

When he reached the car, Lucas tried to ease the door open, not wanting to disturb the shaky balance of the CTS. It stuck. He tugged harder. The door sprang free, but the sudden movement made the car rock and slide forward. The woman inside screamed. He yanked her from the vehicle.

For one moment her eyes locked with his, then they fell back against the side of the hill together. The car tumbled end over end as it careened down the hill, smashing on the rocks below. The explosion rocked the ground and flames leapt high in the sky.

*****

“Come on, India. Wake up.”

The soft melodic voice came from far away, as if she were at one end of a long tunnel and the voice at the other. No, more like she was underwater, floating in a gently rippling sea of peaceful tranquility, and someone called to her from shore.

India ignored the summons. She didn’t want to wake up. Not yet. She only wanted to lie here in this… Well, she wasn’t sure what
this
was, but she didn’t want to leave the calm serenity or harmonious quiet just yet.

Softness, smooth as silk, caressed her face and neck. A pleasing, caring touch.

“It’s time to wake up, baby,” the voice repeated, more insistent this time.

Female. The lyrical, euphonious sound definitely belonged to a woman and seemed familiar. Soothing.

“Come on, sweetheart. Open your eyes. You can do it.”

Another voice. This one a deep, baritone rumble. Masculine, comforting, yet urgent and demanding at the same time.

Her eyes fluttered open. A woman with long blonde hair swam into view. “Mom?”

“Oh, thank God.” Tears gathered in Margret Miller’s eyes. She gripped India’s hands in hers and squeezed.

“Why are you crying?”

Margret wiped the moisture away with the back of her hand. “I’m relieved. You’re finally awake. You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for almost forty-eight hours.”

In and out of consciousness?
What was she talking about?

“You gave us quite a scare.”

“Dad? What are you and Mom doing here?”
And where, exactly is here?
She peered around. Tiny room, white walls. Machines beeped and hummed. “Why am I in a hospital?”

Margret frowned. “You don’t know?”

India had no idea. Her heart started to hammer and a heavy weight settled in her chest. She started to shake. Dear God, it was happening again.
No.
It couldn’t be. She wasn’t a traumatized sixteen-year-old anymore. She was a grown woman.

Okay, something had happened, and the something required a trip to the hospital, and yes, she couldn’t remember the exact event, but she would. She absolutely would.
No doubt about it.
She only needed a minute to shake off this fuzziness inside her head. Sucking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly. Her heart rate slowed and the tightness eased.
Good.
She concentrated. Her head pounded. Nothing came to mind.
Damn, damn, damn.
“No. I can’t recall.” The shaking started again.
Stop it right now
, she ordered, and with a concerted effort, stilled her hands.

Her mother glanced over at her father, concern etching her piercing blue eyes.

“David, go and get the doctor, please. He said he wanted to see India when she came to.”

Her father hurried out into the hall and disappeared.

India tried to shift her position, but every muscle in her body hurt. She groaned. Why did it feel as if she’d been hit by a Mac truck?

Margret laid a hand on her arm and squeezed. “Try not to move.”

Her eyes widened.
Don’t move?
Why the hell not? What had happened?

A woman in her early twenties, with long, wavy brown hair stepped into the cramped room and smiled. “Good afternoon, Ms. Leone. I’m Leigh, your nurse. How are you feeling?”

Just ducky!
Dear Lord, did she have to be so cheerful? “I have a splitting headache, and my whole body hurts.”

Leigh nodded. “Not surprising considering the ordeal you’ve just been through.”

India blew out a harsh breath.
Not going to panic. Not going to panic.
She glanced over at her mother then back at the nurse. “What ordeal? Seriously, what happened and how did I end up here?”

Margret cleared her throat. “You’ve been in a car accident.”

India stared, nonplussed. “A car accident?”

Margret nodded.

“When?”

“The day before yesterday. During the storm.”

Storm?
She stiffened. India hated storms—had since childhood. They gave her the heebie-jeebies.

“Take it easy, dear,” Margret soothed.

She started to sweat. How could she take it easy when she had no idea what was going on? “What storm? What accident?” Why couldn’t she remember?

“Hello, Ms. Leone. I’m Doctor Johnson.”

A tall, middle-aged man dressed in a white lab coat ambled in. Her father followed.

“Her vitals are good, Dr. Johnson.” Leigh handed him the clipboard she’d used to record India’s stats.

Doctor Johnson nodded, glanced down at the information the nurse had provided, then lifted his eyes to India and offered a congenial smile.

“I’ll be back to check on you later, Ms. Leone. In the meantime, just press this button,” she pointed to the long white wire with a white cylindrical tube attached and a button on the end, “if you need anything.”

India gave a brief nod. “Thank you, Leigh.”

The nurse left and India turned her attention to the physician. “What’s going on, doctor? My mother tells me I’ve been in an accident, but I don’t remember anything of the kind.”

Doctor Johnson frowned. “You don’t remember anything?”

India wanted to scream. Hadn’t she just indicated as much? What part of “I don’t remember” didn’t he understand? “No, nothing.”

“Minor amnesia isn’t uncommon with a head injury,” the doctor said.

“Head injury?”

Her father sighed. “The police believe you hit your head during the accident.”

She touched tense fingers to the right side, where it hurt the most, and found a bandage.
Explains the pounding,
and why her mother had told her to stay still.

“You have a mild concussion.” Doctor Johnson thumbed through the pages attached to the clipboard again, then peered up at her. “Let’s see what you do remember, shall we? Now, what is your name?”

“India Leone.”

“And how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-six. And my birthday is on July tenth, in case you’re going to ask that next.”

Doctor Johnson smiled. “You’re doing great. Now, do you recognize these people?”

He pointed to her mother and father. “Yes. Margret Miller and David Leone. They’re my parents.”

“Good. Now what day is it?”

The family had gotten together at Leone Estates on Saturday to celebrate her brother Dante and Sofia’s engagement. The accident must have occurred right after the visit. She’d been in the hospital for two days so, “May sixteenth,” she answered.

The doctor drew in a sharp, audible breath and cast a worried glance at her parents.
That can’t be good.
“It’s not May sixteenth?”

Margret shook her head. “No, honey. It’s not.”

“Then what day is it?” India asked.

“July twentieth,” Doctor Johnson said.