Chapter 2

Powerless to do anything,Trevor watched as Sadie darted away.

But it was too late.

She couldn’t outrun the car.

The sedan rammed into her, and she flew through the air.

She landed in the sand in a sickening heap.

The car peeled away, headed toward the exit on the other side of the lot.

Trevor had to make a quick decision: follow the car and bring the person who’d done this to justice. Or check on Sadie.

He pulled up beside Sadie’s limp form, threw his truck into Park, and hopped out. Before he even reached her, he dialed 911. He knew by seeing the force of the impact that she would need more help than he could give.

She needed medical attention.

Plus, the police would need to investigate the scene and track down whoever had done this.

He fell to his knees on the ground beside her and quickly scanned her. Saw her closed eyes. Her unmoving body.

“Sadie.” He touched her arm. “Can you hear me?”

She didn’t stir.

Trevor pressed his finger against her neck.

She had a pulse.

Relief rushed through him.

Then he searched for signs of any broken bones and ran his hands gently along her arms, legs, and ribs. He didn’t feel anything bulging out of place.

His gaze stopped at her arm.

A red trickle ran down her forearm. Stained her hands.

Was that . . . blood?

Was it her blood?

He checked her again but didn’t see anywhere she might be bleeding. Besides, the blood was . . . dry.

Old.

What sense did that make?

He turned back to Sadie. “Sadie, it’s me. Everything’s going to be okay.” Trevor gently squeezed her hand. “The ambulance is on its way. Help will be here soon.”

Again, no response.

Who would have done this? Sadie was one of the sweetest women he’d ever met. She didn’t seem like the type to have a single enemy.

Then another thought hit.

Could one of his enemies have done this?

Trevor shook the thought off. He’d been careful.

No one knew where he was. He hadn’t been followed. He’d even left his work phone at home in favor of a burner phone so he couldn’t be traced.

Due to his line of work, he often checked his vehicle to make sure no trackers had been planted on it. He’d chosen an old-school truck, one without all the bells and whistles that came with having electronic control units—which were basically miniature computers that could be remotely manipulated.

He’d picked this truck on purpose.

He didn’t want anyone to hack into his vehicle’s electronics and sabotage anything.

Because of his career, he had to be careful.

Sirens began to wail in the distance.

Help would be here soon.

Trevor scanned the ground. Sadie’s beach bag lay in the sand several feet away. Her car keys, sunscreen, and a bottle of water were scattered around it. A piece of paper fluttered in the wind, about to be carried away with the breeze.

He snatched it up and saw a list of numbers.

Quickly, he shoved the paper in his pocket.

He turned back to Sadie and prayed that the EMTs wouldn’t be too late.

* * *

For the past hour, Trevor had paced the hospital hallway as he waited to hear an update on Sadie.

So far, there had been nothing.

Worst-case scenarios pummeled him. Scenarios where Sadie didn’t wake up. Scenarios where something was seriously wrong, something he hadn’t been able to spot. Brain bleeds. Paralysis. Internal bleeding.

The longer he waited, the longer the list became.

Plus, there were those things he couldn’t explain.

Things like the dried blood.

Blood no one else would ever see.

Using a water bottle and a beach towel, he had gently washed the stains from her hands. Then he’d stashed the towel in his truck out of sight.

The blood just seemed so . . . incriminating. He didn’t want the police asking too many questions.

He supposed it was his way of protecting Sadie. He hoped he didn’t regret it.

How could he? If he hadn’t been five minutes late, then none of this would have happened. He would have been there to keep her safe.

If only he could turn back time. His jaw hardened when he realized his failure.

He paused from his pacing and shoved a hand into his pocket. A paper scratched his skin.

The paper he’d found near Sadie’s beach bag . . .

He hadn’t really looked at it earlier.

He opened it and smoothed the wrinkles before studying the handwritten note. He recognized the handwriting as Sadie’s.

He squinted. It was a series of numbers. There didn’t seem to be rhyme or reason to them, however. They were different lengths, no numerical order.

Why would Sadie have this with her? Was it something from work?

They’d made a deal when they met each other that they wouldn’t ask too many personal questions—nothing about work specifically. The arrangement had seemed perfect.

But now he wished he knew more. He hadn’t even snooped and researched her on his own. In fact, he kind of liked not knowing.

As he stood beside the door to Sadie’s room, a voice drifted out. It sounded like the doctor was talking to the nurse.

“Remarkably, there are no broken bones,” the man said. “Just some bruises and cuts. In that regard, she’s very lucky.”

Relief swept through Trevor.

“However, there is the matter of her head injury. We’ll need to carefully monitor her.”

Unease sloshed inside Trevor.

Head injuries were serious matters, namely because of the possibility of brain damage.

As footsteps came closer, Trevor stepped back, trying not to make it obvious he’d been eavesdropping.

A moment later, a fiftyish man with a stocky build, honey-blond hair cut close, and a square face stepped into the hallway.

His gaze found Trevor. “You’re the man who found our hit-and-run victim?”

Trevor paused from pacing and swallowed hard before nodding. “I am. Trevor McGrath. How is she?”

“I’m Dr. Conroy.” The man extended his arm for a handshake. “Unfortunately, she’s still not awake.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Trevor shook hands with the man and then shifted. “I know this might be an unusual request, but could I see her?”

Dr. Conroy studied him again.

As far as the man knew, Trevor was a stranger.

He hated not telling the whole truth. But he needed to keep his relationship with Sadie quiet. Any hint of them knowing each other would raise questions.

Questions Trevor may not be able to answer, especially since he and Sadie weren’t supposed to be together. If people became too curious, Trevor’s true identity could come into question.

He needed to exist purely as a ghost.

“The nurse is in there with her now,” Dr. Conroy finally said. “If you’d like to step inside a moment, you’re welcome to. But she’ll need her rest. The police are on their way. As soon as she’s speaking again, they’ll want to question her.”

“Of course.”

An unusual rush of jitters swept through Trevor as he carefully pushed open the door.

Sadie lay in the hospital bed, a white sheet tucked around her. Her bathing suit and coverup were gone in favor of a blue hospital gown.

Her dark hair lay in waves around her face, and her eyes were closed.

A middle-aged nurse with blonde hair, who introduced herself as Kate, adjusted the IV in Sadie’s arm, offering a quick glance and smile to Trevor as she continued to work.

Trevor paced to the other side of the bed and stared at Sadie.

He wanted to reach out and touch her. To sweep her hair away from her face. To tell her how sorry he was about everything that happened. How he was sorry he was late.

But he didn’t do any of that. They’d been on only four dates. It seemed too soon.

At that thought, Sadie’s eyelids fluttered. Then fluttered again.

Her head twitched.

Her lips pressed together as if the movements had caused her discomfort.

Trevor’s lungs squeezed as he waited for whatever she would do next.

Her eyes opened.

She looked straight ahead.

Then at him.

But her gaze didn’t linger on him long.

Instead, panic filled the depths of her eyes. “Where am I?”

“It’s okay, Sadie. You’re at the hospital.” Nurse Kate pressed a hand against her shoulder and spoke in soft but firm tones. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

“The hospital?” Her eyes widened.

“You were in a car accident.” Trevor figured that might be a little easier to swallow than telling her she’d been hit by a car.

Her gaze jerked from the nurse to Trevor.

Then she asked, “Who are you?”

Trevor’s heart pounded like a drum in his ears.

Had she . . . lost her memory?