Out of Sight Out of Mind (8 page)

‘Jalapeño.’ Madison wrinkled her nose as she pushed the carton across the coffee table to Jay and unwrapped her own anchovy and black olive. ‘You must have a throat lined with asbestos.’

‘I still don’t get it.’ Jay was helping himself generously from the tub of coleslaw. ‘Perfect recall – for a bloody pizza topping.’

‘Don’t stress while you eat, you’ll get indigestion.’

That
got her a spectacular scowl. She wanted to give it a round of applause, but her hands and her mouth were fully occupied with crisp dough and melted cheese. She sighed contentedly, savouring the taste. Jay’s voice recalled her attention. ‘We have the pizza here, so when do we get to the plan?’

‘Patience.’ Madison caught an olive before it fell on to the table. ‘Eat first, talk after.’

Jay raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment when she put a mug of coffee down in front of him and settled into her seat with a pen and a clipboard.

‘This is what I have so far.’ She passed over her notes and the diagram. Jay studied it intently. She waited until he looked up.

‘This is unique, in your experience?’

Madison nodded, watching closely, but keeping her body language strictly in neutral.

‘And your experience is like … pretty wide?’

His eyes were clouded. If she went into him now, she knew she’d find fear, but he was doing a damn good job of not letting it show. Except for that tell-tale darkening of the eyes. His courage sent cat’s paws over her skin.

‘Pretty wide,’ she agreed. ‘What I’ve done so far is nothing more than a fishing expedition. The only way is to approach this systematically. We try one programme, in escalating steps. If that doesn’t work, we try another.’

‘Drugs? Like the one you used today?’

‘Mmmm. There are several possibilities. I already know what I want to use. You don’t have a problem with that?’

He shook his head. ‘Whatever it takes.’

She shifted in her seat, gathered her knees up under her chin, and took a breath. Now for the tricky part.

‘I’ll work on getting your memory back,’ she said levelly. ‘But there are more conventional ways of finding out who you are. I think we have to try those, too.’

‘You mean go to the police? I …’ He stopped. ‘I did that, after the hospital. Got as far as the front steps. I … I couldn’t go in …’ He put up a hand, rubbing his chest. ‘I was afraid that they’d think I was raving.’ He stopped again, hugging the coffee mug, chest rising and falling sharply. Madison leaned forward, with a quick flare of concern, as something dark passed over his face. Then it was gone. He gave a crooked shrug. ‘Missing adults aren’t really a priority for them, anyway.’

‘No – although it might be worth a shot. You could be on a list somewhere.’ She paused. Tried to sound casual. ‘Actually, I was thinking more of a private investigator.’

She waited for the eruption. It was there, in a heartbeat. Jay’s mug banged down, making the table shake.

‘Which you will pay for?’ he demanded.

‘Yes.’ She waved her hand at the room in which they were sitting, taking in the expensive furnishings, the soft sheen of an antique bureau, the muted glitter from a display cabinet of old Venetian glass, the state-of-the-art sound system. ‘Look around you, Jay. I have money. I inherited it.’ Her breath caught. ‘I make it. I can afford to fund you on this. Don’t keep fighting me over the same ground. It’s getting boring.’

She flounced back, sweeping up her coffee, taking a gulp of too-hot liquid and swallowing it, feeling the burn all the way down. When her watering eyes cleared, Jay was staring at her.

‘Okay.’ The sheepish expression on his face evaporated her annoyance.

Even so, she gave him a long look. He squirmed a little, then grinned. Her stomach fluttered. Why did a man with that half hang-dog, half cocky smile always cut right through a woman’s defences?
This woman’s, anyhow.
She hauled herself back to the job in hand.

‘Right, we have a private investigator.’ She ticked her list. ‘You know, if someone from your family is looking for you, we might get results very quickly.’

Jay’s silence made her look up. His face was blank. ‘You must have thought about the people who could be searching for you? Friends, family? You could have a wife – children,’ she suggested gently.

The total confusion in Jay’s face took her aback.

‘I’ve never … I’ve never thought of it.’ He looked stunned. ‘All this time … I don’t feel married.’ He held out his hands. Madison followed his gaze. Tanned skin, broad palms, capable fingers, with calluses showing across the tips, as he turned them over and back.

‘No ring. And no mark of one.’

‘Not every man wears a ring. Or you could have hocked it.’

‘No.’ She saw him shiver. ‘If I was married, I would wear a ring. I know it. The way I knew about the pizza. No ring, no wife. Unless—’ His smile was lopsided. ‘Unless it’s her I’m running from.’

‘How does that feel?’ Madison leaned forward, intent. ‘The idea that you’re running from something?’

‘I don’t know. I could be. I have dreams sometimes, when it feels like I’m trying to get away from something.’ He pinched his fingers at the bridge of his nose. ‘Nothing is ever clear.’

‘You said you have headaches?’

He nodded. ‘Does that tell you anything?’

‘That your brain is trying hard to cope, perhaps to fight whatever has invaded it. Does the idea of a wife and children give you any kind of feeling, an emotion that you can identify?’

‘Blind panic?’ he suggested wryly. Madison pursed her mouth. He closed his eyes, opened them. ‘Nothing. We’re clutching at straws here, aren’t we?’

Madison shrugged. ‘I’d like you to think about it. Try to analyse whatever sensation it brings up. There’s something else, too.’ She tapped her fingers on the clipboard. ‘This one is a bit more off the wall—’ She stopped.

Jay was looking at her encouragingly. ‘All contributions gratefully received,’ he said.

Madison grimaced. ‘It may not be any use at all, but I work sometimes with a voice analyst. It’s part of a memory project that compares what people remember about the places they’ve lived, with the influences on their speech patterns and accents. I’d like to give her a recording of your voice, to see what she comes up with.’

‘Born in Timbuktu, educated in Greenland, that sort of stuff?’

Madison smiled. ‘Not as extreme as that, I hope.’

‘I’ll do it. Whatever you need, just bring it on.’ He frowned, examining an idea. ‘A private investigator – it would be like the reverse of what they must usually be asked to do. Won’t they think it’s a bit weird?’ He waved his hand. ‘Scrub that. I don’t care if they do think it’s weird.’ Excitement chased quickly across his face. ‘Do you really think there’s a chance?’

‘There has to be.’ Seized by his excitement she stretched forward, to put her hands over his. ‘You didn’t just drop into that alley, Jay. Someone has to know about you.’ She looked up into his face as his fingers twisted, gripping hers.

A hot splinter of awareness ran up her arms.

Jay’s mouth was so close. She could smell lemon soap and warm skin. There was shock and heat in his eyes. Her throat went tight. She pulled her hands away and sat back, heart pumping.
Do something, say something, defuse this.

‘Ah—’

‘I …’ Their voices clashed. Jay stopped. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Uh – I was just going to ask if you wanted another coffee.’
That is so feeble.

‘I’ll get it.’ He uncoiled from the sofa.

Madison’s throat went tight again as her eyes involuntarily travelled up that long, lean frame. This man was seriously built, seriously hot, and her banked-down hormones were rearing up and sniffing the breeze.
Oh hell.

‘I can do it—’ She needed air. ‘Your shoulder—’

‘I’ll manage.’

Unable to stop herself, she watched his rear as he headed to the kitchen. Muscles flexing under clinging denim. There was saliva pooling in her mouth now. When the door closed behind him she was on her feet and scrambling for the French windows, throwing them open and stepping out on to the balcony. Trembling, she inhaled starlit, frosty air, until her racing heart began to slow.

In the kitchen, Jay primed the coffee machine with hands that weren’t quite steady. The ache in his shoulder as he swung round, too fast, to pick up the coffee, had him grinding his teeth. Grimly he focused on that, and not the heaviness low in his groin.

He leaned wearily against the counter, good hand thrust into the pocket of his jeans, waiting for the machine to start to bubble. Ten seconds more and he would have been kissing Dr Albi. At least she’d had the good sense to pull away. She’d been excited, carried away by enthusiasm and he’d been—

A goddamn idiot.

He cringed as the alarm in her eyes replayed in his head. Christ – what was he doing? That woman was the only thing standing between him and the gutter, and all he could think to do was hit on her?

It’s not just you. She felt it, too
.

He shook away the thought. This was down to him to fix, not her. Just because he hadn’t had a woman in – he didn’t know how long – didn’t mean he had to come on to the first one to show him a little kindness. More than a little.

An ache that had nothing to do with desire spasmed in his gut. She was putting herself way out there. For him. Something that had crawled, stinking, out of an alley and into her life.

This isn’t just one way. She wants to play with your mind. She wants you
.
Yeah, in her lab, not in her bed.

The machine was letting off fragrant steam. Jay rammed his hand against the button and watched the dark brew gushing into the mugs. What the hell did he have to offer a woman like Madison Albi, except the chance to see inside his mind? She could have that and welcome. Everything else— He gritted his teeth. Everything else had to be battened down tight. Whatever the hell it took.

When he walked back with the mugs, the room felt strangely cold. He must be imagining the drop in temperature, because of the chill emanating from Madison. She was sitting very straight on the sofa, with a pile of books in front of her, leafing through the top one. The briefest glance, as he put down the coffee, told him that they were all thick tomes on psychiatry and memory. He eased himself into the chair opposite her, looking at the formidable tower of learning. If he’d known anything about body language he’d have said that Dr Albi had constructed a very efficient barrier between them – a professional barrier. But what did he know?
What
do
you know? Is there something there …
He struggled for a second, trying to grasp a fugitive thought, but it was already gone. Chasing it gave him a crushing stab of pain behind the eyes. He closed them, waiting for the pain to fade. Easier to let it go.
Probably nothing, anyway. Your head’s full of that.

He sipped coffee he didn’t want, wondering if exhaustion would overcome caffeine or whether he’d be awake later, staring at the ceiling. The silence was getting strained. He could almost feel Madison’s brain skittering fruitlessly, trying to find a neutral topic; trying to get back into the casual ease of their discussion, before he’d blown it.
Help her out here.

‘The brief for the private investigator—’ She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, and something shrivelled inside him. He ploughed on. ‘If someone did create this barrier in my head and I am on the run – or been discarded – asking questions could stir things up.’

Her chin came up. Was he imagining relief in her eyes?

‘If it does, we need to be prepared.’ She was thinking. He’d already noticed how her head tilted sideways when she was figuring something out. ‘It might be a good thing.’

Or it might be bloody dangerous.

Did he feel any danger? He stared at the back of his hands, concentrating inwards. Delving as deep as he could. And coming up with nothing but an unfocused sense of unease that might just be a reflection of his own panic
.

What do you know?
The pain shimmered behind his eyes again. He jerked back to merciful awareness of his surroundings, before he could spiral down into the dark. Madison was running through the technicalities of a series of excursions into his mind. He tried to look as if he knew what she was talking about and found, after a few minutes, that he did – or at least that he could follow a lot of what she was saying. She was good at explaining and the warmth of her voice, as she became more involved in her subject, touched something inside him. Had he ever been able to talk like this about his work?

There was only a swirling, fearful void when he tried to will himself to remember.

‘Do you have any questions?’ Madison was staring at him with a dent between her brows.

‘Mmm.’ Had he looked as if he was falling asleep? ‘The stuff you’re going to do at the lab? Who’s going to know? Your boss, your colleagues?’

The frown had deepened. He could see her wondering why he’d asked that particular question.

‘I’ll need to register the programme, keep proper records,’ she said carefully.

‘But?’

‘But at this stage I’m not going to make a big production about what we’re trying to do,’ she admitted. ‘This is not a regular experiment. We’re off the map here. My official area of research is memory and communication, not amnesia.’ She shifted slightly in her seat, looking narrowly at him. ‘That bothers you, doesn’t it? The idea of a lot of people knowing about you?’

‘Yes. And before you ask, I don’t know why. Another pepperoni moment.’ He did though, kind of.
That nagging sense of threat again, that isn’t based on anything. It’s just – there.

‘I don’t find it strange.’ She shrugged.

‘We both like secrets.’ He deliberately looked off, but kept her in view from the corner of his eye. Saw the small, betraying movement of her hands, up to the gold chain at her neck. One of her tells – a dead give-away for agitation. Some sort of devil made him want to dig.

‘The lab, where you work. Why does it exist?’

‘Research?’ she suggested dryly. ‘Like it says on the tin?’ She’d relaxed a little.
Not the question she was expecting?