Page 7 of Diagnosis Attraction

“She didn’t do it before.”

“Because she knew that was dangerous, but getting hit on the head could have affected her judgment and made her reckless.”

Southwell nodded.

“You went to her house after the accident,” Derek said. “Anything I should know about?”

“We tore the place apart and didn’t find anything on paper, but there were computer files with information you wouldn’t want anyone to read.”

Derek sat forward. “And?”

“We took out her hard drive and smashed it.”

“Good. But that’s not enough. We have to find out if she uses cloud storage. Then we have to shut her up for good.”

Southwell waited for instruction.

“I understand why Patterson couldn’t get to her earlier,” Derek said, thinking aloud. “There were too many people around, asking her questions, trying to figure out who she was. Wait until the shift changes at the hospital. They don’t have as many people on at night.”

“Got it.”

He considered his options. “I don’t want you to take care of her there. I mean, she’s in a hospital, and we could get into trouble with the cause of death. Bring her to me. I’d like to find out why she’s been nosing around in my business, starting with what put her on to me in the first place. Maybe I can think of something that will jog her memory.”

“Yes, sir.”

Southwell left, and Derek leaned back in his chair, thinking of the methods he’d use when he got her into his basement interrogation room. In the movies, tough guys held out against torture. In reality, everybody ended up spilling their guts. And he was pretty sure that with a woman like Elizabeth Forester, it wouldn’t take long. After he got what he needed, he’d have some fun with her before he killed her.

Elizabeth’s heart leaped at the offer from Mrs. Kramer, but she still forced herself to ask, “Are you sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?”

“Of course not, dear.”

“Thank you.”

The woman had just solved one of her biggest problems—by offering a place to stay. But there was still the basic dilemma, with totally unexpected complications.

She’d been lying in this hospital bed trying to dredge up a memory—any memory—until the man standing across the room had put a hand on her, and everything had changed. At least for the few moments when they’d been touching.

She had a little sliver of herself back, courtesy of Dr. Delano’s touch. Now she had some memories—of the first day of nursery school, playing field hockey, what looked like a college classroom.

Of course, there was the little problem of the sexual arousal that had flared between them. His and hers. But she understood that he was a man with high moral standards, and he wasn’t going to let himself get dragged into an inappropriate relationship with a female patient, which was why he’d flat-out refused to touch her again.

He’d opened a door in her mind just a crack and slammed it shut again. She’d alternated between being angry that he wouldn’t help her and wanting to plead with him to give her more of herself back. But she understood where he was coming from and kept from embarrassing herself any further.

Then, that nice nurse who had taken care of her earlier showed up and threw her a lifeline.

Elizabeth heard herself say, “I’d be very grateful to stay with you, but I insist on paying you—as soon as I find out who I am. I mean, assuming I’m not indigent or something.”

“You’re too well cared for to be indigent,” the doctor said. “It’s obvious that you were living at least a middle-class lifestyle.”

She looked from him to the nurse, wanting to be absolutely sure the woman had thought through her offer. “You’re certain it’s all right?”

“I’d love the company.”

The doctor left, and the arrangement was settled quickly. Probably, the hospital was anxious to get rid of a patient who couldn’t produce an insurance card, even if she was living a middle-class lifestyle.

“I’m going off shift in half an hour,” Mrs. Kramer said. “If you get dressed, I can meet you in the waiting area near the elevator.”

“I have to be discharged, right?” Elizabeth asked.

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