Lost Identity Read online

  Suddenly a piercing scream rent the silence of the house

  Andrew lurched to his feet, threw open the bedroom door and saw the stranger on the bed, sobbing and crying.

  “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he soothed, and gathered her trembling body into his arms. Tears poured down her cheeks and she clung to him with the fierceness of a terrified child.

  “You just had a bad dream,” he said gently.

  As her heartbeat seemed to slow, she stammered, “I’m—I’m sorry….”

  “It’s all right.” He stroked her hair and lifted it away from her moist cheeks. “Everything will look different in the morning,” he promised. He held her close until her breathing returned to normal, then eased her back down on the bed and left the room.

  Sleep evaded him as he settled down for the night on the cot in the other room. Holding her in his arms had ignited some tender needs that he thought he’d buried a long time ago.

  Turning restlessly on the narrow cot, Andrew tried to forget how soft and vulnerable she had felt in his arms.

  Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

  We’ve got another month of sinister summer sizzlers lined up for you starting with the one and only Familiar—your favorite crime-solving black cat! Travel with the feisty feline on a magic carpet to the enchanting land of sheiks in Caroline Burnes’s Familiar Mirage, the first part of FEAR FAMILIAR: DESERT MYSTERIES. You can look for the companion book, Familiar Oasis, next month.

  Then it’s back to the heart of the U.S.A. for another outstanding CONFIDENTIAL installment. This time, the sexiest undercover operatives around take on Chicago in this bestselling continuity series. Cassie Miles launches the whole shebang with Not on His Watch.

  Debra Webb continues her COLBY AGENCY series with one more high-action, heart-pounding romantic suspense story in Physical Evidence. What these Colby agents won’t do to solve a case—they’ll even become prime suspects to take care of business…and fall in love.

  Finally, esteemed Harlequin Intrigue author Leona Karr brings you a classic mystery about a woman who washes up on the shore sans memory. Good thing she’s saved by a man determined to find her Lost Identity.

  A great lineup to be sure. So make sure you pick up all four titles for the full Harlequin Intrigue reading experience.

  Sincerely,

  Denise O’Sullivan

  Associate Senior Editor

  Harlequin Intrigue

  LOST IDENTITY

  LEONA KARR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A native of Colorado, Leona Karr lives at the foot of the Rocky Mountains with her husband, Michael. After pursuing a career as a reading specialist, she has followed her dream of becoming a writer, and is a multipublished author of romantic suspense, historicals, mysteries and inspirational romances. “Love conquers all” is the theme of her books, and she enjoys reading and writing fast-paced stories of danger and love.

  Books by Leona Karr

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  120—TREASURE HUNT

  144—FALCON’S CRY

  184—HIDDEN SECRET

  227—FLASHPOINT

  262—CUPID’S DAGGER

  309—BODYGUARD

  366—THE CHARMER

  459—FOLLOW ME HOME

  487—MYSTERY DAD

  574—INNOCENT WITNESS

  623—THE MYSTERIOUS TWIN

  672—LOST IDENTITY

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  A mysterious young woman—She is nearly drowned on a deserted beach and has no memory of who she is or how she got there, but a terrifying sense of danger remains.

  Andrew Davis—A solitary young man who offers his bungalow as a refuge. Will the discovery of the woman’s identity change his life forever?

  Perry Reynolds—A middle-aged successful business partner whose mysterious disappearance could be a hoax.

  Curtis Mandel—A company executive who makes romantic claims that may be a clever cover-up.

  Janelle Balfour—A friend and co-worker who has a familiarity with all that has happened in the past.

  Darlene Reynolds—The angry young wife of Perry who has suspicions about her husband’s disappearance.

  Gary Reynolds—Perry’s son. Is his need for money connected with his father’s disappearance?

  To my husband, Michael,

  who fills my life with laughter, love and light.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter One

  Fierce winds and slashing rain whipped the New Jersey coastline as Andrew Davis stood at the window of his seaside cottage late one afternoon, and viewed the strong summer storm. Outside dark afternoon shadows mingled with curtains of slanting rain and thundering clouds. Warnings had been posted up and down the coast. He was about to draw the drapes when he glimpsed something unusual on the beach below. Even through the rivulets of rain pouring down the window glass, the shape of a human form lying on the sand was unmistakable.

  Good Lord, could it be? A body washed up in the cove below his house?

  Grabbing his slicker, he bounded out the door, took the deck stairs two at a time, and raced across the wild grass and sandy ground that lay between his elevated cottage and the beach below. When he reached the prone figure lying on the sand, he saw that it was a petite young woman lying on her back, her face stark white, framed by tangled dark hair drenched with seawater.

  At his touch, she gave a weak groan, and then took in a gasp of air that told him her lungs were free of water. Her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed at him with rounded eyes filled with terror.

  “It’s all right,” he assured her. “It’s all right. Let’s get you out of this storm.” He scooped her up in his arms, and quickly carried her back to his cottage. Laying her down on a rug in front of the fire, he reached for a quilted cover to spread over her.

  Her white slacks, soft pink blouse and white sandals were soaked. The clinging wet clothing defined the swell of her firm breasts, narrow waist and shapely legs. Her teeth were chattering, and her body was racked with shivers, but she seemed to be all right otherwise.

  “I’ll get you something warm to drink,” he said and disappeared into his small kitchen.

  She sat up, covered her face with hands and choked back a sob. A vertigo of unanswered questions swirled in her head, and fear was like a monster attacking her memory. Even as she struggled to fill the void in her mind, a deep terror shot through her. Who is this man? She couldn’t remember anything beyond the moment when his anxious face bent over her. Even her very identity was lost in the dark abyss of her mind. Was she afraid to remember?

  Andrew returned with a cup of coffee laced with brandy and said, “Here, this will warm you up.”

  Her blue lips murmured a weak, “Thank you.”

  He wasn’t quite sure how to handle this unexpected houseguest. Should he suggest that she take a warm shower and put on some clothing of his? In her distraught condition, she might take offense. Obviously she had been traumatized by what had happened to her. How did she get on his beach? He’d been watching the storm develop all day, and hadn’t seen any boats on this stretch of ocean. Weird, he thought.

  He gave her a few moments to sip the drink, and then he said, “I’m Andrew Davis.” When she didn’t make the usual response, he waited for a lo
ng moment and then asked gently, “And your name is—?”

  She lowered the cup, stared at it, and then said in a choked voice, “Trish.” Even as she said it, there was no real familiarity with the name or any firm recognition that it belonged to her. Her stomach curled with tension. Trish? Where did that name come from?

  “Should I call someone, Trish, and let them know that you’re safe?”

  Call who? A subtle warning lay somewhere in the devastating disorientation that she was experiencing. She lifted her head. “No, there’s no one,” she said as evenly as she could. Why am I so frightened that someone will come for me?

  He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press her. She was obviously in a state of shock. Whatever had brought her to a deserted beach at the height of a lashing storm must have been catastrophic. Every time there was a clap of vibrating thunder, sparked by forks of summer lightning, she cringed as if she feared the fierce winds would whip the small cottage into the greedy ocean.

  “This little house is storm-proof,” he reassured her. “It’s firmly anchored and has weathered gales a lot worse than this one.” She nodded, but her sea-blue eyes remained glazed and rounded.

  “Can I stay here…until…until the storm’s over?” she asked, silently adding with a sense of helplessness, until I remember where to go?

  “The welcome mat is always out for unexpected visitors,” he lied. In truth, Andrew valued his privacy above everything else, and only an emergency like this one would compel him to share his roof with a stranger. “I’m curious how you found your way to my beach…well, not exactly mine,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “But I claim it.”

  She didn’t respond, but the warmth of the fire and the stimulation of the hot drink began to ease her bone-deep chill. There was something reassuring about her rescuer’s gentleness, his clean-cut looks, wavy blond hair bleached by the sun and his nicely tanned face. I feel safe here, she thought with a spurt of surprise. She stammered, “Maybe…maybe, I got lost.”

  “Lost?” Andrew waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. What did she mean—maybe she got lost? Did she or didn’t she? “You’re not from around here, then?” he prodded.

  Her hands tightened on her cup and she stared at it without answering.

  Andrew decided to back off from any more questioning for the moment. He could tell that she was fighting for self-control, and whatever had happened to her had left her in a state of shock. No telling how long she would have to stay before the weather cleared and he could drive her somewhere. He decided that he’d have to take charge whether he wanted to or not.

  “Would you like to take a hot shower, Trish, and get into some dry clothes? One of my long sweatshirts and bathrobes will keep you warm while we put your things through the washer and dryer.”

  She hesitated for a long moment and he could see uncertainty stamped on her face. Then she raised her head and nodded.

  Like a child who is grateful for some adult direction, she followed him into the small bedroom. Quickly, he laid out the clothes he’d mentioned, and then directed her to a small bathroom that adjoined his bedroom and the other small room, which he’d taken for his office.

  “Here are some towels. Shampoo and soap are on the shelf. Make use of whatever is there, and if you need anything else, just holler.”

  After he had closed the door, she just stood there for a long moment, staring at herself in a mirror. Then she whispered, “Trish…Trish.” Was that really the name of the strange woman with wide frightened blue eyes staring back at her? What happened to me that I’m even afraid to remember who I am? She shivered, and fought a weakness that went bone-deep.

  She dropped her clothes, and searched her body for some familiar signs of recognition. There was an appendix scar, so she must have had it taken out at some time. Her toenails were polished in the same rosy hue as her fingernails. A bruise was forming on her right forearm and there was a tender spot on the back of her head. Had she fallen? Or had someone hit her? Had she suffered a blow to her head that had caused a momentary loss of memory? Momentary. She clung to that word as if it were a life preserver. Yes, she reassured herself, at any second, everything could come rushing back. Then she would know who she was, and why fear was coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach.

  AS ANDREW WAITED for her to join him again, this sudden intrusion into his contented and solitary life was creating some deep mixed feelings. Of course, he was glad that he’d been able to go to the woman’s rescue, and would do it again in a minute, but at the same time, he sensed he was being drawn into something that was not to his liking.

  As a developer of software for a major computer company, he worked at his beach cottage, and only commuted to the Manhattan office a couple of days a week. His life was ordered in a way that allowed almost complete privacy. He knew that his background as a foster child who had been constantly moved from one family to another had created this need to get away from the demands of other people. A couple of brief romantic relationships had not filled the empty void in his life, but had only resulted in more disappointments and a vow not to open himself up to that kind of pain again. He loved living alone, being accountable to no one, and having control over every aspect of his life. Just the sound of water running in his bathroom was a strange kind of intrusion. He wished that the storm would let up and he could drive the lady back to wherever she belonged.

  Her vague answer about being lost was obviously a lie. Was she running away from someone? No sign of a wedding or engagement ring on her finger. He had noticed that her water-resistant watch was an expensive one, and her clothes certainly weren’t bargain-basement. Who in the devil was she? And what was she doing on an isolated beach at the height of a storm?

  When she came back into the living room a few minutes later, he was startled by the sudden change in her appearance. Her face was slightly pink from the warm shower, and fringed eyelashes and crescent eyebrows matched her clean, dark brown hair. There was a lift to her head that had not been there before, and he was strangely aware of a feminine loveliness about her that couldn’t be disguised in his old plaid bathrobe, and faded argyle socks.

  “I think I used up all your hot water,” she apologized, giving him a weak smile.

  “No problem. It heats fast. You look much better.”

  “I feel much better. Almost like myself.” Whoever that might be, she thought with a touch of painful irony.

  “Good. I was about to put together some fish chowder for supper, would you like to join me in the kitchen and watch?” he asked, hoping she’d be more talkative if he maintained some kind of normalcy in the situation.

  “Sounds good,” she said, pleased that she felt an honest reaction to his suggestion. Maybe she could rely on her gut feelings until she had something more tangible to give her insight. She followed him into the compact kitchen and sat down in one of the chairs beside a small round table.

  As he reached into the refrigerator for the makings of his chowder, he asked. “Do you like to cook?”

  She looked around the kitchen, her thoughtful eyes studied the counter canisters, spice rack and kitchen appliances. With a strange sense of certainty, she said firmly, “No, I don’t. I’m not a good cook.”

  Her expression puzzled him. Why did she look so pleased with herself? His suspicion that she was someone with money deepened. No doubt, she had hired help to do all the things that didn’t appeal to her, like cooking.

  “What do you like to do?” he asked, noticing her polished nails.

  “Oh, lots of things,” she said vaguely, as muscles tightened around her mouth. She had no answer to the simple question, and she quickly turned away from it. “What about you?

  He wasn’t fooled. He had to admire the way she deftly avoided any talk about herself. Why was she so guarded about giving him any information? Was she running from the law? Could it be that he was harboring a fugitive? A spurt of resentment overtook him.

  Ever since he’d purchased this cottage a
lmost five years ago, he had jealously guarded his privacy. Even at the office, he was known as a loner, and although he was friendly enough with everyone, he avoided any personal intrusion in their lives, and he didn’t invite any of them into his. He was thirty years old, and it was ironic that a strange woman sitting in his kitchen, wearing his robe, might be drawing him into some unwanted involvement that he had been careful to avoid.

  As Andrew prepared the meal, he gave up trying to make any more conversation. Trish was aware of his withdrawal. Outside, the sounds of the relentless surf beating upon the beach below scraped her frayed nerves. Her safety seemed more tenuous than ever. She felt as if she were holding on to a lifeline that he’d thrown her, and would suddenly pull it away if she said the wrong thing.

  What if she told him the truth? Would he believe her? Or would he think she was taking advantage of the situation and him? How could she describe the terror that swept up in her when she tried to remember? How could she explain the melodramatic truth that an ever-present danger lurked in the dark corners of her mind? She desperately needed to know the truth about who she was and what had happened to her before she opened herself up to anyone. An unknown terror reached out to her from the dark abyss of her lost memory.

  Andrew sensed her inner turmoil as he served her a steaming bowl of chowder and corn bread muffins. “You’ll feel better with some hot food in your stomach,” he told her with a smile.

  “It smells wonderful,” she said, even as her tight stomach rebelled at the thought of food.

  Instead of taking a chair opposite her at the tiny table, he perched on a high stool at a counter where he usually ate with a book in his hand. Her presence in the small kitchen seemed to demand some kind of social exchange, but her vague responses had discouraged any conversation between them.

  She scarcely touched her food. “I’m sorry, I’m just not very hungry, after all,” she apologized when he had finished eating his.