“Drugs have identifying features?”
“Sure they do—consistency of product, purity of product, even packaging. That’s why the highway patrol calls us.” He took a step back. “I’m sorry I barged in here.”
“I’m not.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I mean, I’m glad you came right to me and told me. I wish you’d done that when you discovered my search history at the library.”
“You’re one to talk about honesty and transparency. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me you had amnesia.”
“I didn’t know you.”
“My point, exactly.” He wedged a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Libby, what are you going to do if you find out you are involved in the drug trade somehow?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Turn over a new leaf.”
He retreated to let her finish getting ready for bed. He left his door ajar and stashed his gun in the drawer of his nightstand. He was no longer worried about the strange woman with the strange story he’d picked up in the desert... He was worried for her.
SHE SHOT UP in the bed, panic engulfing her, her heart rattling in her chest, her dreams breaking apart and skittering in all different directions.
She placed a hand to her heart, counting the beats, breathing deeply. She still didn’t know who she was beyond a name and occupation, but she felt safe for the first time since coming to in that car crash.
She had someone in the other room who believed her. Maybe Rob believed her against all his instincts and better judgment, but she’d take it.
She’d come to the conclusion that Rob could afford to be trusting and a bit impulsive because he’d honed his instincts over the years. A person didn’t grow up in the conditions Rob had faced as a boy without being able to tell good from evil, without sensing danger whether it stared you in the face or crept up on you around a dark street corner.
Most people didn’t have that ability, so they approached every stranger, every situation with caution and fear. Rolling to her side, she pulled the pillow against her chest. Why did she understand Rob so much better than she knew herself?
She didn’t even know what kind of person she was. Was she the kind of person who could smuggle drugs across the border? Drugs that hurt kids, ruined families and destroyed lives?
No. That wasn’t her. Black boots and his cohort planted those drugs to get her in trouble. To keep her from reporting the accident. And that meant they knew she was still alive.
She pulled the covers to her chin. Had they seen her in Paradiso? Had that voice she’d heard at Rosita’s really been one of them?
Rob was right. She had to learn her identity sooner rather than later. And if she found out she had a husband and two children?
Her insane attraction to Rob could be based on the fact that he was the only man of her acquaintance and he’d rescued her from the desert, had even agreed not to call the cops even though he was one.
In fact, Rob Valdez was just about perfect without even taking into account his dreamy dark eyes, killer smile, hot bod and mocha skin... And he’d been beside her all night.
She hung over the side of the bed and picked up the notepad and pen she’d squirreled in her room. She couldn’t sleep, so she’d stayed up sketching.
Rob’s handsome face stared at her with a touch of sadness, or maybe distrust, from the top page. She flipped through the others to study the characters she’d drawn—a faceless, evil visage with silver-tipped black boots, Rosie’s creased face wreathed in smiles and a fairy with curly hair and big eyes.
The knock on the door had her dropping the notepad and clutching the sheet to her chest like a virgin. For all she knew, she could be.
Rob called out in a singsong voice, “I made coffee.”
“I’m awake.” She kicked off the covers and dug through the clothes on the floor for a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. She didn’t need to be shimmying around Rob’s kitchen in the slinky nightie.
As she pulled on a pair of gray sweat shorts and a red U of A Wildcats T-shirt, she thanked the resourceful April. She’d pretty much thought of everything.
Her bare feet slapped the tile floor on her way to the kitchen, the smell of bacon luring her in like a fish on a reel.
“I should be doing the cooking.”
Rob looked up, a piece of bacon hanging from a pair of tongs over a sizzling frying pan. “You’re still on the injured list.”
She touched her bed-head hair. “This cut is nothing compared to the damage it did to my brain.”
“While you were sleeping, I called Dr. Escalante at the hospital.” He laid out the strip of bacon on a paper-towel-covered plate next to three other pieces, all running the same way, probably all equidistant, all done to the same level of crispness. He held up an egg. “Sunny-side up, over easy?”
She said without any hesitation, “Over hard with no runny yolk.”
“I can do that.” He cracked the egg on the edge of the skillet.
“I hope Dr. Escalante can see me and figure out why I can remember how I like my eggs but not my name or home.” She grabbed the coffeepot and swirled the brown liquid in the pot. “You need a top-off?”
“I’m good.” He carefully slid the crackling egg onto its other side. “Dr. Escalante referred me...you to a therapist up in Tucson. You up for a drive this afternoon after your shift at Rosita’s?”
“Rosita’s.” She drove her heel against her forehead. “That just shows you how bad my memory is. I completely forgot about working today.”
“I’m going in early to have a look at that packet of meth found near your wreck. I’ll drop you off, and when you’re
