Simply Blair: A Jet City Novel Read online

  "We'll handle it," Perry said.

  "There's one more thing before we go," Lazer said. "The authorities are now calling Bob Price's death suspicious. They're looking at his wife, Blair's friend, Erica, as a person of interest. Be prepared. They'll want to talk to both of you. Particularly Blair. She was the first one on the scene."

  I frowned. "I thought it was heart failure."

  Lazer shrugged. "That's all I know. Bob has a brother who wants his piece of the estate and doesn't think Erica should inherit. Particularly if she killed him." Lazer paused. "Your boss, Dan, should watch his backside, too. Before he needs Perry's help."

  "What has Dan done?" I said, though I had a good idea.

  "Gotten a little too close to Erica." Lazer frowned.

  * * *

  Friday

  Blair

  I was afraid of messing up this perfect life I had and couldn't remember. Worried I might inadvertently say or do something that would mess up my relationship with the Jamie show, I let Beth handle all contact with them until I could remember. I had to keep reminding myself this was only temporary.

  She also handled the details of my leave from the cancer center. I'd been on vacation. With the accident, they put me on short-term medical leave. Leave gave me more options and a longer time away if I needed it, as well as short-term disability pay. It took some of the pressure off.

  I met with a memory specialist and a psychologist to help me deal with my emotional reaction to the accident. Both agreed it was up to me how I wanted to handle the period until my memory returned. How much I wanted to be told about what I'd forgotten depended on how much I wanted to know and how much I felt I could handle.

  I pretty much knew everything now, though, didn't I? At least all the important details.

  Almost as soon as my consultations were over, my phone rang. Cam.

  He was a friend of Austin's. I knew that much. At least my immediate short-term memory was still functioning. He was the first one of them to call. I had the feeling people had been giving me space to recover. And for sure it couldn't be either easy or comfortable to talk with someone who'd completely forgotten you. What did you say to a person in my condition? Where did you begin? Yes, I sympathized. This coin had two sides.

  I had a nice stack of comic books from "the guys," though, as well as a bunch of silly Mylar balloons they sent me—a cowboy, a soldier, a superhero, and a princess.

  To jog your memory. Just remember, we're better looking in person, the card said.

  The balloons were so I wouldn't forget them again. Nigel hated that bouquet, but it showed a certain sense of humor that I liked and appreciated.

  I grabbed the call, curious, and hoping for news of Austin. Where the hell was he? "Cam?"

  "Blair. You remember." Cam let out a relieved rush of breath.

  "Sorry, no." I tried to be gentle and straightforward, just like my memory specialist had coached me. "I know who you are from my contact info. Don't take it personally." I was finding humor helped, too. "I forgot meeting Connor Reid, as well. And he's supposed to be totally unforgettable."

  Cam laughed. "I hope you at least remember the self-defense techniques I taught you? Those might come in handy now that you're in a vulnerable state."

  "Vulnerable state, maybe. Self-defense? No." My head hurt. I pinched my nose. I was doing that a lot lately. It was becoming a bad habit, like squinting.

  "You should have a tactical pen I gave you. Pink. You like pink," he said.

  "I do. I haven't forgotten that," I said. Cam was surprisingly easy to talk to. For a stranger. Apparently, Austin had good taste in friends. And I had good taste in friends of boyfriends.

  "You can carry tactical pens on the plane. Along with the credit card knife in your purse. Keep them both handy. The social media frenzy surrounding your accident has been crazy. I'd prefer you had your boot knife on you. But that was in your checked bag." He spoke rapidly, as if he was nervous.

  "My checked bag went on to Scotland without me," I said. "I always carry a tactical pen on rounds and in my person. But it's not pink." I grabbed my purse from the tray table and looked inside. Sure enough—a pink tactical pen.

  "Hold on. Here it is. Wait." I rummaged in my purse and pulled out my wallet. "I have a credit card knife, too." I stared at it in wonder, as if Cam was a prize prognosticator and I a client at the fair.

  "Thought I was lying." He laughed, still nervously. "That's the Blair I know. Trust but verify. Logically minded. Use that logical, pragmatic mind to come back to us, Blair, and remember. We miss you."

  "I will. I'll try very hard. My doctor says it's only a matter of time. Patience is all we need." I couldn't honestly say I missed Cam. How can you miss someone you don't remember? So, yes, I was mincing my words and speaking deliberately and cautiously.

  There was a short, awkward pause. I got the impression he had something important to tell me and was working up the nerve. Or searching for the right words.

  "I taught you how to use all of those weapons effectively." He paused. "I've taught soldiers who've suffered head trauma. In an emergency, let your instinct take over. It's very possible the training is still there."

  "Okay," I said, trying to digest this odd, surreal conversation—talking to someone who knows you, but is a stranger to you.

  There was another pause. I had to satisfy my curiosity before this conversation stretched long enough that my phone battery went dead. "Cam, what's happened to Austin? Where is he? Why hasn't he tried to get in touch with me?"

  "You still don't beat around the bush," Cam said. "I guess nobody's told you?"

  "No," I said. "Beth, my aunt, has no idea. And you're the first of Austin's friends to call. I'm completely in the dark."

  "Yeah. I drew the short straw."

  I laughed, maybe inappropriately. I couldn't help it. The whole situation was so completely ludicrous. From Cam's tone, I figured Austin, wherever he was, wasn't in any serious danger. It wasn't hard to imagine, though, what Cam had been tasked with and why he was delaying delivering the news and having such a hard time of it. "Should I make it easy for you? Austin wants to break up with me. Without a scene. He's asked you to be his bearer of bad news, is that it? He could have just sent a text. Or complete silence is getting pretty socially acceptable these days—"

  "No. No, no, noooo," Cam said. "Not at all. It's the opposite. Believe me. That's what I mean about drawing the short straw. Austin would speak for himself if he could. Unfortunately, he's been unavoidably detained—by the US government. You probably don't remember that he's a cybersecurity expert and has been working on a top-secret program?"

  "No," I said slowly, trying to probe the shadows of my memory. Things danced just around the edges, darting out of sight when I tried to think on them too hard or look at them directly. "I don't remember. I'm sorry. But I saw references to it in some of the texts he sent me. It's very strange, Cam. I've been having to read all about myself and learn who I've become this year."

  "I'm sorry about that, Blair. That's tough." He sounded as if he didn't know what to say. "I'm really no good at this kind of thing." He paused again. "Austin is working around the clock at a shielded, top-secret location. People on the program are allowed only limited contact with people from the outside. Those people have to be carefully screened. I'm sorry, but with your head injury—"

  "Don't apologize," I said. "I understand. I'm not reliable." I frowned. "So that's why he hasn't contacted me? Have you seen him? Is he okay?"

  "They let me see him briefly to sign the paperwork that finalizes the sale of our app. I suppose you don't remember our app, either? Don't answer. It doesn't matter." Cam cleared his throat. "Austin's worried about you and worried about what you must think of him. He hasn't abandoned you. He's working his ass off to get this project wrapped up.

  "There's a lot of speculation about why he disappeared out there. He asked me to ask you to ignore anything you see in the news about him abandoning you. Or this being a PR
stunt. Or cold feet. Or the relationship souring."

  I was too stunned to interrupt.

  Cam mumbled, "I'm making a mess out of this." He laughed self-consciously. "Austin should have let Lazer to do this." He sounded a bit bitter. "Lazer knows how to work the ladies. He's the wingman every nerd dreams of. But Austin thought you'd relate better to me. You know me better—" He cut himself off, realizing what he'd said and how silly it must sound to me.

  But something about what Cam said resonated with me. It was just a passing glimpse of a shape of a memory, but with no explanation, it seemed like something a guy I'd fall in love with would do.

  "You're doing fine," I said. "Just fine. What else does Austin want me to know?" I was genuinely curious about my recent taste in men.

  "Wait. I have it written out."

  I heard paper crinkling, and smiled. Cam was so cute with this stuff. And a true friend.

  Cam cleared his throat. "He said to tell you he never breaks his promise."

  Promise. Yes, someone had promised me. The words kept echoing through my mind. He was the one!

  "At Sea-Tac, when they detained him as you arrived to board your flight to Scotland, he said he'd meet you in Scotland. And he damn well will, unless they kill him."

  "Are they planning to?" I joked.

  "What?"

  "Never mind," I said. "Bad joke. Is that everything?"

  "Just about." He took a deep breath, like he was bracing himself to give a major televised speech. "Austin said to tell you he loves you. To make it very clear and unambiguous."

  I didn't dare interrupt Cam. I wasn't sure the poor guy would be able to get started again. But I wondered if Cam would bring the pregnancy up. Wondered if Austin knew about it. If he didn't, I wasn't going to be the one to bring it up.

  "Austin said—quoting directly here—'I'll wait forever for you to remember that you love me.'" Cam blew out a breath, probably glad that was over.

  How comfortable could it be professing another man's love? I had no idea how to respond. Fortunately, I didn't have to. Cam kept talking.

  "He'll do everything he can to help you. He'll romance you all over again until you fall in love with him as if for the first time." He mumbled something.

  I thought he was swearing to himself. And embarrassed about having to declare a friend's love. And that maybe he was more sentimental than he liked to admit, because he sounded like he was getting emotional.

  "He wants me to ask you to wait for him. He knows Nigel has swooped in. The bastard refused to let go when you broke up with him. Don't let Nigel pressure you. Give Austin a chance to help you remember him."

  My heart was racing now. Who did I believe—Austin or Nigel?

  I bit my lip and carefully weighed my words. "Tell Austin, if you can, that I haven't made any decisions. That I won't make any decisions until my memory either comes back, or it's clear it's not going to."

  I was getting emotional now, too. "I'm going away for a while to rest and think. To the south coast in Cornwall. The sea air is good for the mind, or so I'm told. And with any luck, I'll remember. I may be out of touch for a while. Can I call you if I need to reach Austin?"

  "Absolutely," Cam said. "Anytime for any reason. If you can't reach me, you can try Jeremy or Dylan or Lazer. We're all Austin's friends and have his back." He paused. "Well, I guess that's everything."

  "Cam?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You did a great job with that short straw."

  Cam's call challenged some of the assumptions I'd made when I'd woken up. My conviction that I was in love with Nigel, that I should be in love with him, was slipping. My life was becoming more and more confusing and complicated. Who did I trust—the man I thought I knew? Or a man I couldn't remember?

  I tried to think what the last thing I could remember was. And came up blank. There wasn't a specific, significant thing, really.

  I resorted to my phone again, and looked up everything I could about me in the last six months. Fortunately, all the publicity surrounding Jamie and my involvement made it easy. As Nigel had said, there was no mention of my pregnancy. No mention of an impending engagement. Nothing that seemed like Austin and I had permanent plans together.

  The lady in Avebury who'd read my tea leaves and predicted that I would fall in love with a man from the past and be torn between two lovers intrigued me. She'd been in the news lately, claiming success with her reading, as pointed to by Austin and his cosplaying and Nigel looking like Reggie. She was hitching her star to mine as she tried to drum up business. I couldn't really blame her. A marketing angle was a marketing angle. Nigel was claiming it was him as Reggie that she'd read in the tea leaves as my lover in both the past and present. She wasn't disputing him. But she hadn't exactly verified it, either.

  I didn't remember her, of course. And I didn't believe in such things. But maybe seeing her in person, and being back at the scene, would spark my memory. Damn it. I had to remember. Avebury could be made to be on the way on the drive to Cornwall. I decided we would go. I would go, anyway.

  And then I called Beth to get her take and to find out just how lucrative my PR contract with Jamie was.

  Chapter 7

  Avebury

  Saturday

  Blair

  Very lucrative. My contract with Jamie was very generous. When Beth gave me the numbers yesterday, my eyes popped wide open. The money was a new wrinkle. Something to think about. A motive for both Austin and Nigel to want their role to be supreme.

  Nigel picked me up from the hospital. After being given strict instructions, and what seemed like a bagful of medications, we immediately hit the road for Avebury, laughing about finally taking a road trip together.

  It took me being hit by a car to pry Nigel away from his work and genealogy studies. Maybe I should have found that significant. Which made me wonder about other things, too, like the sense of distance between us. The way we didn't seem to finish each other's sentences the way we used to. Surprisingly, it had been almost easier to talk to Cam than it was to Nigel. And maybe Nigel was just being patient, but neither of us were frantic to fall into bed together.

  You could blame the last on my physical and mental condition. But what about Nigel? He was being very respectful of me. And I appreciated it. And yet…something was missing.

  Sometimes doctors make the worst patients, but I was intent on being a model one. I had too much at stake now to be difficult. Too many dreams to remember and live to let anything get in the way of my quick recovery.

  I'd taken some time getting showered and dressed at the hospital. When I woke after the accident, I'd been wearing an unfamiliar standard-issue hospital gown. The clothes I'd been wearing when I'd been hit were apparently ruined—ripped and bloodied. They'd been tossed out as a lost cause.

  I couldn't say their loss upset me, really. First of all, I didn't remember them. And secondly, I wasn't superstitious, particularly, but those clothes now had a bad association for me. They were unlucky. Though others might argue that the accident could have been worse and maybe those clothes had saved my life. In any case, I'd had to look to my suitcases—my carry-on from Seattle and the suitcase Nigel had brought me from his flat—for something to wear.

  The suitcase Nigel had brought me from his flat was filled with winter clothes. Sedate, classically cut winter things. They were useless to me in August. The carry-on I'd brought with me from Seattle was another matter.

  I hadn't realized how much a wardrobe could change in just six months. I didn't recognize anything in that suitcase. Of course, it was entirely possible I'd bought a whole new wardrobe for this trip. That was a common enough thing to do.

  I tried to get a feel for who I'd become by looking through the clothes. I'm not a very good detective. But I can tell when a woman expects to be with a man. The suitcase was full of sexy lingerie and the kinds of playful, flirty outfits I chose when I was happy and wanted to look good for a guy. My guy. I could rest assured that people weren't pullin
g my leg about me being in love. The clothes and perfume in the suitcase made that pretty clear. But with who—Austin? Or Nigel?

  The clothes were more colorful, more playful, more casual, less uptight than what I generally chose to wear for Nigel. More like the things I wore when I was young. Before I met Nigel. It gave me pause for thought. The woman I'd become this year seemed less serious and almost younger than who I thought I was, who I'd grown into.

  There were no Scottish Elinor dresses in the carry-on. I assumed those must have been in my two checked bags. Nigel assured me those had been sent on to Scotland and retrieved by the show producers. They'd be waiting for me when I got there. I was traveling light now, whether I wanted to or not. At least as far as in-season clothes were concerned.

  When I finally got up the nerve to study myself in the mirror after my shower, although bruised, I was happily surprised to find myself fit and thin. Buff and toned in a pleasing way. As if I was used to more exercise than normal and taking care of myself. Even this new body shouted that I was happy and had a guy in my life.

  I liked Austin just for that. If he was the cause—whether because of the show or not—I was grateful to him. For too many years while I was in med school, and then doing my residency, I ate terribly, lived on too little sleep, and never had time to exercise properly.

  My new shape, at least partly, explained all the new, unfamiliar clothes. I was at least a size smaller!

  Unfortunately, this well-toned new body of mine was now bruised, scratched, and sore. The clothes in my carry-on suitcase gave testimony that I'd been eager to show it off. But for now, I chose to cover it as much as possible and hide the evidence of my accident. I had no desire to be even more of an object of curiosity than I already was. And so, although it was nearly August, and the day was supposed to be warm and summery, I dug through the suitcase for the most modest clothes I could find. I put on a pair of tight denim leggings that came to my ankle and a button-up blouse with short sleeves. Fortunately, I had a pair of slip-on canvas shoes perfect for walking.