Page 16 of Diagnosis Attraction

“Did you say something that would frighten her?”

“I told her a man who called himself Bob Wilson had been asking for her at the nurses’ station. That was before I called you, and you said the same guy had been to your office.”

Matt clenched his fists as he walked to the back door and looked out at the darkened yard. “She must have heard the doorbell, assumed the worst, and run. You look through the house in case she changed her mind and ducked back inside. I’ll look outside.”

“I’m sorry. I should have warned her that you were coming over,” Polly said.

“We’ll find her,” he said, as much to reassure himself as Mrs. Kramer. As he stepped onto the cracked patio, a security light came on.

“Elizabeth. Elizabeth, it’s me. Matt Delano,” he called.

When she didn’t answer, he looked around. Polly’s yard butted against the property in back of her and to the sides. Elizabeth would have to climb over several fences to get far. His gaze landed on the metal storage shed just inside the range of the security light.

Quickly, he hurried to the door and thrust it open, although he didn’t charge inside because his experiences in Africa had taught him not to rush into an enclosed space if he didn’t know who might be in there. Lucky for him. He jumped back as the handle of an ax came swooshing down. It missed his head by less than an inch.

The woman holding the weapon stared at him. “Oh Lord, Matthew. It’s you. I’m so sorry.”

They stared at each other. Under ordinary circumstances, he might have reached for her to reassure her, but he kept his handsat his sides as he said, “Why didn’t you use the business end of the ax?”

“It wasn’t there. Just the handle.”

“Lucky for me.”

“But I missed anyway. You have good reflexes.”

The small talk over, he said, “Polly told you someone called the nurses’ station, right?”

“Yes.”

“I think the same guy came to my office after he tried to get information from the medical floor. He said you were Elizabeth Simmons.”

“That doesn’t sound right. I mean the last name.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged, looking so lost and helpless that his heart turned over. But she wasn’t exactly helpless. Instinct had told her to run when she’d heard the doorbell ring. And she’d been prepared to defend herself.

He had vowed not to touch her again, yet the desperate look on her face drew him forward. Unable to stop himself, he reached for her, pulling her into his armsandgathering her close as he stepped into the shed.

“She’s not inside. Did you find her?” Polly’s voice called from behind him.

“Yes. She’s fine. She’s in the shed. We’ll be right there,” he managed to say, amazed that he had sounded so rational when his brain and his senses were already on overload.

He said they were coming back, but he didn’t move; he only absorbed the reality of Elizabeth’s body, which was molded against his.

He had been trying to stay away from her. Now, he knew that was an impossible goal. Not when they already meant more to each other than anyone had ever meant to either one of them. It was a crazy evaluation. How could two people who had just metmean everything to each other? But he knew it was true as he wrapped her more tightly in his arms.

In the hospital, he’d barely touched her—just his hand on her arm. Which had been enough to trigger memories and so much more. Now, they were alone in a dark, private space where it was impossible to pull away from each other. At least, that was the way it felt.

Her arms came up and locked around his waist, holding him close, and he was lost to everything besides the woman whose body was pressed to his. He took in her sweet scent, the feel of her silky skin, the crush of her breasts against his chest.

The same thing happened that had happened before. Memories flooded through him. Her memories. And he knew she was picking up things from him—things that he had tried hard to forget. He was traveling through the backcountry, and he came to a village that looked deserted. But the smell rising from the huts told him a different story. He forced himself to look in one, seeing the mangled bodies of a mother, father, and three children piled on the floor. He backed out, retching, unable to understand why anyone had felt compelled to slaughter innocent civilians who were just trying to live their lives as best they could. Had the rebels done it or the government? He didn’t even know.

He thrust the horrible images away and slammed into one of Elizabeth’s memories. An early recollection that had always torn at her. She was in an elementary school classroom. He saw bright pictures on the wall, pictures painted by the students. And words that might be the spelling lesson for the week.

She was sitting in a chair, watching as other children leaped up and ran to their parents. It must be some sort of special school day, and everyone was hugging and interacting. But Elizabeth sat in her seat, watching her mother standing near the door. Finally, she got up and ran to the woman the way theother children had done. But it wasn’t the same. Elizabeth knew it wasn’t the same, and so did her mother. They were separated in ways that she didn’t understand. She wanted desperately to bridge that gap, but she didn’t know how.

The scene was an echo of his own memories. His parents had been well off. They’d wanted the best for their son—and they’d given him everything they could. Even love. He’d tried to respond, but he simply couldn’t give them what they craved from him. What he craved, if he was honest about it.

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