“We’ve been waiting for you to come around,” she said.
“How long?” He didn’t have a clue.
“Two days.”
Not so long.
“I know you,” he said, because it seemed important to tell her.
“You sure?”
Yeah, he was sure.
“You’re Jane Linden, Robin Rulz.” Jane from the streets of Denver, a wild thing always on the run. Jane, sweet Jane, from a long-ago night when he’d turned to her for solace and been changed by what she’d given him.
Two nights ago, she’d turned to him for the same, and he had not forgotten, not like he’d forgotten so many things.
“And who are you?” she asked.
“Trick question?” He grinned.
“You tell me.” Her eyes were so green, so warm and full of concern.
He let his grin fade. “Intellectually, I know I’m John Thomas Chronopolous, but in my heart, I’m still Con Farrel, and in between knowing those two things, there are a lot of empty places. It’s more like I’ve got a bad memory rather than no memory.”
“Dr. Brandt says it will take time, but since your amnesia was drug induced, it can be drug uninduced.”
“Who is Dr. Brandt?”
“The miracle worker who keeps Red Dog in one piece, the man who brought her memory back.”
Red Dog—that could only be one person.
“The woman who gave me the Klorizapat.” She’d been a redhead.
Off on the other side of the bed, someone cleared her throat, and Jane looked up and smiled.
“Sorry,” she said, then turned back to him. “Someone has been waiting for two days to see you.”
He turned his head to see who was there.
“Scout,” he said, his smile returning so big it almost hurt. His girl looked somehow different, and it took him a moment to realize why. “Nice dress.”
And it was, real nice, real pretty, and unlike anything he’d ever seen her wear.
Scout in a dress.
He lifted his hand toward her, and his girl threw herself into his arms. Scout. Looking no worse the wear for having been in the clutches of the dreaded SDF crew for two months. She kissed his cheek, holding him close, and he shifted his gaze to the man standing next to her, holding her hand.
Oh, hell. Holding her hand.
“Geez, I missed you, Con,” her sweet voice whispered in his ear. “You were s’posed to meet us at the damn Armstrong. We waited, until I finally had to call the damn enemy to find out what happened to you, and … and Red Dog told us you were here.”
Red Dog again. He owed her.
“Jack,” he said over the top of Scout’s shoulder, not bothering to disguise the sternness in his voice.
Jack Traeger was not fazed. He just stood there, grinning like the wild boy he was, letting Con read it all in his face: that he’d won the girl, taken her for his own, and he wasn’t giving her back.
Oh, hell. Con had seen this coming for years, but it was still a shock, especially with Scout showing up in a dress, a pink and green confection of silk and swirling cabbage roses, sleeveless with a V neck, a summer dress that fit her like a glove, hugging her hips and making her legs look like they went on forever.
Garrett would have been proud.
“Con,” Jack said in greeting. “Or do you want to be called J.T.?”
Hell, he didn’t know.
He wanted to be called “mistaken,” but that wasn’t going to happen. What he was seeing was the real deal—Jack and Scout.
A doctor walked into the room then and came over to introduce himself.
“Dr. Brandt,” he said, taking Con’s hand and giving it a solid shake as Scout disentangled herself with a final kiss and stepped away from the bed. “I thought you might be back with us about now.” The doc was tall and thin, with graying hair and a studious pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. His eyes were a lively blue, very discerning, and with a glance, he let it be known it was time for the business of patient care.
By the time he left, Con was more encouraged about his situation than he had been in the last six years, and especially in the last year, when he’d felt his time running out.
Scout and Jack stayed on for another hour before heading out for dinner with a promise to return later, and then he was alone with Jane.
“Come on up here,” he said, pulling her onto the bed.