The Choice (4 page)

Sam blinked. Holy shit, what a long response time.

She had a strong grip for a woman with such tiny, delicate hands. She wasn’t going to let go. Sam swore under his breath because he was no more able to leave her at this moment to fend for herself than he could a wounded puppy. “Ah shit.”

Sam rubbed her hands to calm her down and then pried them gently away. “It’s okay. The paramedics are here, and they need to have a look at you.” Sam didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he stepped back, allowing the paramedics room to move in.

Sam turned and eyeballed the throng of travelers.
Who did she see?
That fear in her eyes—it must be someone. With a cold eye he scanned the area, looking for anyone who paid that extra bit of attention. But nothing unusual stood out. Or maybe it was just him—maybe he needed to stop at the first bar for a shot of whiskey. Could he trust his instincts? He didn’t know anymore.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” Sam swung around toward the familiar husky drawl.

A tall, charismatic Cajun made his way through the crowds looking a little worn and rough around the edges. Jesse Crawford was an old friend, rival and a detective with the New Orleans Police Department. Dressed the same way Sam remembered: a cheap, rumpled blue suit, spotted red and white tie and a faded white dress shirt. His nose was long and slightly crooked from where Sam planted his fist six years ago when he ended their friendship because of Elise. Jesse looked older. The tired craggy lines had deepened around his eyes and mouth. It must be the long underpaid hours of being a cop.

“Jesse, what the hell are you doing here?” He reached out and gripped Jesse’s large proffered hand, squeezed tight and sized up his old friend. Did he remember the scandal, the hard feelings? Of course, he did. Except now was not the time.

Jesse returned the grip, squeezing harder. It was bone crushing, and Sam nearly winced. Determined though, he held tight, a mocking game they’d played for years. When he let go, he tried to be inconspicuous when he flexed his fingers.

“Going soft are you, up north with all those yanks?” He then leaned around Sam to get a look at Marcie. Her head now bandaged, being loaded on a stretcher.

“Didn’t know you were back. It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, I thought it was time to come home for a bit.”

Jesse said nothing. But there was something in the way he watched Sam. Maybe he knew why Sam came back. After all, they shared a childhood bond, two local vagrants from broken, abusive homes, growing up together. Or maybe he was just paranoid, being back in this city, this place tinged with too many memories, both good and bad.

Jesse turned away when Stoffer tapped him on the shoulder. Sam shoved his hands in his faded blue jean pockets and debated whether now would be a good time to slip away. He craned his neck looking for the door when those damn memories invaded his head.

How many times had Jesse swallowed his pride and reached out to him? He never trusted Elise. He loved Sam. It was why he told Sam when he married Elise that she was trouble. But Sam wouldn’t listen, and now a fresh wave of pain punched a hole right through him. But he did what he always did. He shoved the ache back in the dark pit it came from.

“Sam, are you listening?”

He blinked. Jesse was in his face again.

“Gotta call, purse snatching and assault. The powers that be get a little nervous when things happen in our airport.” His friend frowned, shaking his head in mock dismay. “Don’t tell me you’re mixed up in this?”

“It wasn’t a purse. Try backpack. My lucky day, I was behind her when she got tossed.”

“Big, strong, good looking guy like you, women are still jumping in your lap—amazing.” Jesse’s invisible green horns of envy flashed.

Sam stepped back and chanced a glimpse at Marcie.

“You get a good look at the guy, did ya?”

Jesse’s sharp gaze missed nothing. He took a step into Sam’s space, eye level pinning him to the spot.

Sam blamed his obsessed scattered focus for the reason he didn’t zero in on the tall, lanky kid before he’d taken Marcie down. The speed and skill the thief operated. He was definitely a pro. Pissed at the young thug, he struggled to remember where he’d come from.
Ah, that’s right.
He’d slid in behind the lady, cut the straps of her bag and knocked her down before bolting, only to be swallowed up in the crowds; the perfect snatch and grab.

Street-smart instincts kicked in when Sam started after the kid, but he stopped cold when Marcie’s head smacked the ground.

He looked back at Jesse and then over to the door when he realized his name would be on the police report.

Jesse’s crooked smile widened while he appeared to read his mind. “Trying to sneak away are ya?”

A snarl burst out before he could mask his reaction. Sam shuffled his feet and then crossed his arms. He really needed to get out of here. Sam used his six feet one inch height and his solid build to power over Jesse.

“Sam, come on. I know you’re trying to get out of here, but you’ve got to help me out.”

Sam sighed when he looked back at the girl. “Not much of a look. Tall, lanky kid sidled up to her. Blue jeans, gray T-shirt, scrungy brown baseball cap, picture of sea lions on the side. Dark kid, maybe six feet with a gold earring in his right ear.” Had time stood still?

“Don’t miss much do you? What he have for breakfast?”

Sam cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you, asshole.”

Jesse chuckled.

“Excuse me sir, the lady’s asking for you.” The slightly balding, short paramedic, name tag said “Wesley”, spoke softly. “We’re ready to go.”

Sam looked with ease over Wesley’s head. Marcie appeared stricken, with doe-like eyes. She needed a friendly face.

“We need to get her checked out. She’s going to need a couple of stitches for sure, and they’re going to want to do a head CT for her possible memory loss and confusion.”

Sam moved beside Marcie. She reached for his hand, and he winked and watched her face soften with relief. He warmed a little in his belly, feeling like a gallant knight who’d saved the damsel in distress. Until he caught Jesse’s sharp eye watching the entire exchange, suspiciously.

“Memory loss… What you saying, she got amnesia?” Jesse stepped forward and spoke directly to Wesley.

“She’s confused. Not unexpected with head injuries, the Doc will look her over.”

Marcie clung to Sam with both hands now
. She’s scared.
God help him, but he was stung by a piercing drive to protect her. He didn’t want, or need, this complication right now. He had his own problems to deal with.

“I don’t want to go to any hospital.”

“Marcie, it’s not a choice. You need stitches, and the Doc needs to have a look at you.”

“Will you come with me?” Her eyes, her voice pleaded.

“Sure.” He slammed his teeth together.
Digging yourself in further. That was your last chance to slip away, you idiot.
He closed his eyes to stifle the irritating voice, except those smooth, tangy words poked him again.
You just couldn’t mind your own business and walk away. Good boy.
Whose voice was that? It sounded like Mama Reine, a large black woman who was his surrogate mother—a loving woman, who sheltered both him and Jesse during the worst time of their childhood. Great, now he heard other people’s voices. Maybe while at the hospital, he should have his head examined.

When he looked down, Marcie gazed up at him with something akin to worship, swimming in those cornflower blue pools had him sunk. What made it worse when her panic faded, and she eased her hold, was the way she watched him. With no pretense, no games and she’d hooked him as her lifeline.

If, in fact, she did lose her memory, she’d emotionally just latched onto him as the first and only familiar person.
What have you taken on boy?

Other than going and getting stinking drunk, what else did Sam have to do? So he, along with Jesse, trailed the paramedics. Stoffer and three airport security guards cleared a path for the gurney through the swarm of travelers.

Sam grumbled when they passed the luggage conveyor. He should stop and grab his bag. It’d be easier than the corporate hoops he’d have to jump through to reclaim it later. Instead, what did he do? He followed, shoving his hands in his pocket, while being escorted out the sliding glass doors to the parked ambulance.

Jesse dogged Sam, his raspy chuckle grating in Sam’s ear.

“So explain to me again, how you don’t know the lady? Yet, here you are holding her hand, escorting this pretty young thing to the hospital.”

Sam ground his jaw together before firing back at Jesse. “Is it absolutely beyond you to step in and help someone who needs it? She’s alone. I’ll go with her to the hospital. Then I’m leaving. It’s called chivalry, asshole.” He hoped it’d send him withering away. It worked on the young agents he worked with. Now he remembered, with Jesse, it only added fuel to the fire, and he’d use it to dig deeper.

“Helping someone, sure, I’ve done it. But the two of you, nah, there’s something more. Come on, you and this pretty young miss, you know each other? You two have chemistry. Come on, tell Jesse everything.”

Okay that last remark was too much. Sam whirled around, raised his hand and jammed his index finger in Jesse’s chest with a hard thump.

“Keep your hands down and don’t do that again. Do you forget where we are?”

That was a decent pail of ice water thrown on him. It doused his fiery temper in an instant.
Wake up boy and look where you are
. Words in his head jolted him when he viewed hundreds of people surrounding them. Eyes aglow and fascinated, fixed solely upon him. Another scandal—
pile it on
. That’s the warning he heard. One he couldn’t afford. So instead, he uttered in a low growl. “You stupid ass, fuck off.” Sam flinched when Jesse smacked him in a brotherly way in the middle of his back and then let out a boisterous whoop of laughter. This time, he shrugged Jesse off with nothing more than a warning scowl while the paramedics loaded Marcie in the ambulance.

“You always did have a way with words. Now get in.”

* * * *

Sam made a plan as he followed the gurney to a cubicle in the emergency room. Get her settled, see she’s looked after and then leave. Two nurses, a doctor and the two paramedics assisted Marcie onto the bed.

Sam leaned in to say goodbye but was asked to step aside, when Marcie was questioned, poked and prodded by nurses and interns. Three butterfly strips were taped across the bloody contusion along the front of her hairline. Then after the standard blood test, they whisked her upstairs for a head CT; again he was told to wait. So he crossed his arms and waited. He expected to be dismissed to the waiting area. But instead, a pretty blond intern on staff questioned him.

“How long has she been confused?”

“I guess since she hit her head.”

“Can you tell me how she hit her head?”

“She was robbed and pushed. She went down hard and smacked her head on the concrete.”

“Are you family?”

“No, I don’t know her. I was just behind her in the airport.”

“Is there any family we can contact?”

“I don’t know. Hey Jesse, was there any ID in her pockets?”

Jesse wandered in from the nurse’s station. “Nothing. Suppose if she doesn’t remember anything we can get her picture up on the news.”

A tall, lanky orderly wheeled Marcie back in and helped her into bed.

“Listen, is it common for someone to lose their memory from banging their head?”

The intern was busy scratching notes onto Marcie’s chart. But when she looked up, with those twinkling light brown eyes, she gave Sam a pleasing smile. “Not necessarily. We’re only seeing symptoms of a mild head injury. I’ve seen nothing that makes me believe this is anything permanent.” The Barbie doll intern wore blue scrubs. She wiggled her rounded bottom a little extra as she wandered over to Marcie and shone her pen light in Marcie’s eyes.

Sam shared an amusing glance with Jesse, and both pointed at the other.

“Her pupils are normal and reactive. There’s been no vomiting. She’s sitting with relative ease. Do you have a headache, hon?”

Marcie glanced up at Sam first before answering. “No, not overly bad.”

“Very good. Your speech sounds clear, and I like your eye contact.”

The intern stepped closer to Sam. “I don’t see anything leading me to believe this is more than a mild concussion. Memory loss can happen. But I’ve rarely seen it. Sometimes it can be an underlying psychological condition. I’ll ask the psychiatrist on call to do a psychological workup. Other than that, if the head CT comes back normal, she probably just needs a few days of rest. Her memory should return.”

Sam watched the worry build up in Marcie’s shoulders. She hunched forward and played with a piece of lint on her blue hospital gown before looking helplessly at him. “I still don’t remember who I am, or why I was at the airport.”

Sam was disturbed to see this vulnerability. He didn’t quite know what he’d do if everything familiar disappeared from his memory. So of course, he was embarrassed by the response hovering on his dry lips.
Say goodbye. Wish her well, hell leave your number just in case she needs something.
He shook his head. No, he couldn’t be that cruel.