“I don’t know. You’re not that type of person. You’re bound by a stringent code of duty and honor, which would prohibit gross murder.”
Sam bit his lower lip. “I may have killed two thugs — presumably Russia mafia — in self-defense earlier.”
“Even so, that’s self-defense.”
“Maybe I killed the girl to save myself?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. It still doesn’t make you a murderer.”
Sam said, “Should I leave? I mean, there’s no reason for you to feel unsafe in your own house.”
Her gray eyes sparkled as they fixed quizzically on him. “You think I’m having second thoughts, and am worried that I’ve inadvertently let a murderer into my house?”
“Technically, I let myself in, but yeah… aren’t you?”
“No. Not in the slightest. I’ll bet my life there’s a perfectly good explanation that will absolve you of all wrongdoing.”
“All right. But I don’t plan on staying here, burdening you, for any longer than I have to.”
“Agreed.” Catarina’s voice turned hard. “On that subject, we need to get you to a hospital. You might have sustained a serious injury.”
“No. It’s okay. I feel fine… apart from the fact that I can’t remember anything about my life before waking up on a rowboat this morning.”
“You need to be assessed.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Sam said, “Because I don’t know what I’ve done or who’s trying to kill me. One thing’s for certain, whoever it is who’s looking for me, they have powerful resources, which means they would have someone keeping an eye out at the local hospitals.”
“Would they?”
Sam shrugged. “I would. A man wakes up with no memory of his life beyond the day he woke up, surely the first thing he’s going to do is find a hospital and get checked out.”
“And yet you won’t.”
“No. I can’t.”
Catarina smiled. “Okay, okay… you’d better let me have a look at you.”
“Why?” Sam met her eye. “Are you a doctor?”
She nodded, her lips parting into a coy smile. “I am.”
“What sort?”
“A medical one! Not a philosopher…”
“Why didn’t you tell me before? I’ve still got a terrible headache, and I’m only just now feeling like the dangerous combination of drugs and alcohol that I must have taken last night, are starting to wear off.”
“Well…” Catarina said, biting her lower lip. “Because you’re not going to like it…”
“Why?”
“Because the coincidence is a little hard to explain. In fact, I’ve been struggling to find an excuse for it… or something to justify it, but to be honest, I’m at a loss.”
Sam swallowed. “Good God. What sort of doctor are you?”
“I’m a neurologist.”
“A brain surgeon?”
“Yes, although I haven’t practiced surgery for about five years.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been working on a project to map the memory databases of the human brain.”
Sam exhaled slowly. “You’re a leading expert on memory?”
“Afraid so,” she admitted.
“That’s some coincidence, huh?” Sam said, his voice level. “One day I wake up with global amnesia, this extremely rare form of complete memory loss, only to find out that I’ve washed ashore on a beach, right near an ex-girlfriend’s place from fifteen years ago, who just so happens to be a leading expert in the field?”
Catarina grinned. “When you say it that way… yeah, what are the chances?”
Chapter Twelve
Sam’s deep blue eyes locked with hers. “You didn’t have anything to do with this?”
Catarina said, “No. I swear to you. This is the first time I’ve seen you in nearly fifteen years.”
“All right.”
“All right, what?”
“I believe you. It’s an incredible coincidence. Maybe in some sort of subconscious way, I was searching for you to help. Hell, you even said that I tried to contact you last night, before I had lost my memory — maybe it was about whatever was going to happen to me?”
She paused. “It’s a possibility. Although I can’t see how you would know that you were about to lose your memory.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re a memory expert, and you can’t think of any way in particular this could have happened?”
“First, I’m a neurologist, specializing in memory databasing. Second, I can think of a number of ways this could have happened to you… the problem is, I’ve tried applying all of them to you, and none seem to make sense.”
“Really? Like what?”
“The most common cause of global amnesia is severe trauma to the brain — we’re talking about one hell of a concussion. But, from what I can see here, you don’t have any sign of an injury to your skull.”
“You can tell that just by looking at me?” Sam asked, a wry smile of incredulity forming on his lips.
“As a matter of fact, I can. Your hair is short enough that I can tell at a glance that your skull doesn’t have any obvious deformities, lacerations, swelling, or bruising that suggests trauma. On a more clinical level, we know that there are certain types of bruises around the eyes called raccoon eyes, which are associated with a fracture at the base of the skull. Your eyes, nose, mouth, and ears aren’t exuding any type of blood or clear fluid, known as CSF — that’s short for cerebral spinal fluid by the way — the absence of all of this, means to me that you haven’t had a significant concussion — certainly nothing likely to cause global amnesia.”
“Right, what about the other possibilities?”
“These include, overall cognitive decline, like dementia, but highly unlikely to have such a profound effect overnight. Drug and alcohol abuse are the more common likelihoods, although I’ve never known you to experiment with either.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Yeah, there’s one other possible cause, but although it is the most capable of causing global amnesia, it’s the least likely to have occurred.”
“Go on.”
“You were treated with Electric Convulsive Therapy.”
“And you don’t think I had ECT?”
“Not likely. It’s generally reserved for severe cases of depression, psychosis, mania, and catatonia — none of which I can see you being inflicted with.”
Sam raised the palms of his hands skyward. “Hey, people change? Nobody’s mental armor is foolproof.”
“Agreed. But you’re forgetting I spoke to you last night. You weren’t exhibiting signs of any of those conditions.”
“You can tell over the phone?”
“Yeah,” Catarina replied, her voice flat and matter of fact. “The simple fact that you could carry on a well-organized thought process, rules them all out. Besides, the only hospital anywhere nearby that performs ECT is Levanto — so I think we can rule that out.”
“So, what’s next, Doc?”
“Technically, I’m a professor these days — associate professor that is.”
“Really? How old are you?”
She shot him a don’t you even dare ask a lady that sort of question glare.
He shrugged. “I’m only saying it, because most people are in their fifties by the time, they secure a professorship… and you don’t look anywhere near fifty.”
She let him off without a bite. “I’m forty-one.”
Sam made a cursory glance at her, trying his best not to be too obvious.
He saw an intelligent, buxom, voluptuous, sexy, completely stunning woman in the prime of her life.
A wry grin creased her lips, as she watched him admire her. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Sam smiled. “You look a hell of a lot better than me, that’s all.”
She grinned. There was something confident and teasing about it. “I always did.”