Page 55 of Taken By the Mobster

“Willet, Officer Willet,” the young woman replied. She stepped into the room and took a notebook from her pocket. “How are you feeling, ma’am?”

Olivia smiled. “I’m okay,” she said.

“Glad to hear it.” Officer Willet was all business. She marched across the room and sat in the chair beside Olivia’s bed. “I’ll try to make this quick. Your name, ma’am?”

“Olivia Miller.”

Officer Willet looked at her over the top of her glasses, one eyebrow raised. “Miller? Okay.” She scribbled in her notebook. “Address?”

Olivia closed her eyes, searching her memory for the address she had used in Pennsylvania. It took her a second to remember it, but once it came to her, she gave it to the officer.

“You’re not from here?” Willet said.

“No, I’m not,” Olivia replied. “I was in town for a job interview.”

“Do you remember what happened? Can you tell me how you got injured?”

Olivia had thought long and hard about what she would say when asked this question. She had to be careful not to let them know who she was, or that she knew Declan Quinn.

“After my interview, I was trying to find a bus stop or a cab or something, and I think I got turned around. Lost.” She sighed. “I remember a lot of brick buildings, industrial buildings, but not much else. I stopped to fix my shoe, and then the next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital.”

“You didn’t see anybody or anything?” Officer Willet asked.

“If I did, I don’t remember,” Olivia said. “Everything is kind of a blur.”

“Your injuries suggest you were tortured. You don’t remember any of that?”

Walsh’s leering grin flashed through Olivia’s head, making her shudder. She swallowed and when she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“It was a man, a horrible man. I … I think he enjoyed hurting me. It was awful.” Olivia squeezed the blanket in her hands. “I wish I could remember, Officer Willet, I really do. Whoever did this to me should be punished, Officer Willet. I’m sorry; it’s all a blank.”

Willet nodded. “Your doctor said that might be a possibility. Amnesia brought on by a traumatic experience. I thought maybe if we talked, it might jog your memory.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be more help,” Olivia murmured.

Officer Willet shut her notebook, sat back in her chair, and crossed her legs. She stared at Olivia for so long she felt uncomfortable.

“You know, you look familiar,” Willet said.

Olivia smiled. “I have one of those faces. People always think they know me, but it turns out they don’t.” She shrugged one shoulder, wincing when a twinge of pain shot down her back.

“No, it’s not that. I’m sure I’ve seen you before. Have you ever been to the Boston area before?” Willet asked.

Olivia shook her head, regretting it when a jolt of pain shot through her head and neck. “No, never.”

“Hmm.” Willet shook her head. “I just can’t shake the idea that I know you.”

Olivia sighed. “Like I said, I have one of those faces. Now, if you don’t have any more questions, officer, I’d like to get some sleep.”

Officer Willet gave her a tender smile, then she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “I like you, Olivia. I know I don’t know you, but there’s something about you that makes me want to help you.” Her voice dropped to a low whisper. “You seem like someone who needs help. You can talk to me, it’s okay. I can protect you.”

Olivia had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. It was almost cute how this young cop thought she could protect Olivia. If only she knew what she would be up against if she tried.

“Thank you, Officer Willet—.”

“Rose. You can call me Rose.”

Olivia smiled. “I appreciate everything, Rose, really, but I don’t need help. I don’t know who hurt me or why. I’m sorry, but I’m not able to help you.”

---