Lost Night Read online

  LOST NIGHT)

  By:

  Maureen A. Miller

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright @ 2015 by Maureen A. Miller

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN-10: 1456354957

  ISBN-13: 978-1456354954

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious, as well as the fictional company National Marine Dynamics. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Previously published as BORROWED TIME. Newly revised by the author.

  PROLOGUE

  “Are you alright?”

  He heard the voice, but was blind to anything else.

  Eyelids that felt encrusted with cement struggled to open. Vertigo set in and his mind careened down a tunnel laced with images of a dark, icy road scarred by the reflection of taillights. The rear lights loomed closer, no longer crimson smears, but distinct forms in the shape of cat eyes. Beneath his boot, the brake pedal lost its tension and a sickening sense of weightlessness ensued.

  Headfirst, he plummeted down that illusory tunnel. There was no bright light—only the echoes of squealing tires and a blackness that would consume his soul.

  Are you alright?

  Perhaps his soul had not been consumed. There was the voice again. Or was it from the other side?

  Without any fanfare, his eyes opened.

  An angel hovered over him.

  Radiance from the streetlight framed her in an ethereal glow, with silky cinnamon hair and willowy white arms. That same light eclipsed her features as he tried to blink and bring her back into clarity.

  “Are you alright?” The deity repeated.

  Figuratively speaking, he was. After all, he had expected fire and brimstone when he died, not this divine creature. Perhaps someone up there had a sense of humor.

  “Don’t move—I’m calling for help.”

  That command wasn’t a problem. He couldn’t budge an inch. There was pain, but it was distant, like a nebulous form in a remote galaxy. Vaguely, he was aware of black twitching tree limbs heavy with frost as they snapped against each other, their staccato rhythm lulling him towards oblivion.

  No. His angel said she was leaving. He had to bring her back. The darkness was just too bleak an alternative.

  “Wait.”

  She reappeared and overwhelmed him with her compassionate smile.

  “I’m not going to leave you.” Her whisper was kind, as he felt delicate fingers touch his own.

  So warm was the texture against his frozen hands.

  With newfound tenacity he held onto that link until his angel faded into the shadows and the tunnel consumed him.

  CHAPTER One

  “Mr. Morrison, I know you can hear me. Open your eyes.”

  Nate had already forayed into consciousness. The harsh overhead lighting nearly hurled him back. He wasn’t eager to inflict that sort of agony again. Something on top of his head itched. His hand rose inquisitively, locating the bandage just above his temple.

  “I need to check your pupils, either you open your eyes voluntarily—or I pry them open for you.”

  I’m not a child for Christ’s sake−I’m thirty-six−although, today feels like fifty.

  Nate stared down the elderly man who volleyed the look with a reproving one of his own.

  “Thank you.” The doctor, whose name was McCarter as his tag indicated, seemed less than grateful for the token gesture.

  “There was a woman…” Nate started in a gruff voice.

  Brusque hands peeled the bandage away, ignoring Nate’s jerk of the head.

  “Who?”

  “The woman who was with me when I got here.”

  Actually, he had no idea if the deity had taken him to the hospital. He recalled very little except for that divine smile, and the tender touch of her hand—a benevolent clasp of salvation.

  But he hoped.

  Dr. McCarter drew up a graying eyebrow. “Ah, Ms. Brennan. She’s here. Emily kept up a vigil all night. You’re a lucky man, Mr. Morrison.”

  Emily Brennan. Ms. Brennan. She was still here!

  The title didn’t reveal whether she was married or not, but she was here. Surely under these god-forsaken fluorescent bulbs he could finally see her face and determine if she was real or something created in the darkest recesses of his latent mind.

  Nate cleared his throat and waved Dr. McCarter’s hand away. “Could you, uh, could you send her in please?”

  Pocketing the retinoscope, the doctor crossed his arms and regarded him with a bemused twitch of the lip.

  Nate had seen the image himself a few moments ago when he reached the bathroom mirror. There were lacerations about his forehead that looked like the cheap stitching of a doll’s hair. The most severe gash was covered by a thick pad of gauze that was taped to his forehead below the near-black hairline. His left eye sported a plum-colored halo, and though the ring of the pupil was still a dark shade of brown, the whites seemed riddled with red lines. The piece de résistance was his arm hanging ineffectually in a sling.

  “You aren’t exactly a pretty sight.”

  Nate’s eyebrows descended. “Thanks.”

  With a flourish of wrinkles around a spontaneous grin, the doctor bowed his head. “Alright, I’m through with you for the moment, but I’ll be back.”

  Nate sneered, but his heart wasn’t in the taunt. He watched the man leave, and anxiously strained to hear the hushed exchange in the hall. Certainly the shock of the accident was responsible for his fascination with this mysterious woman. In his line of work there was little time to indulge in the opposite sex. Hell, that wasn’t to say that he was impervious. There were vulnerable moments. Working twenty-hour days 200 feet underground, you pretty much didn’t give a damn. Pleasure was a pillow.

  The fact that he remembered his job came as a relief. Chronicling what he did recall−he remembered his occupation. He remembered that he had no woman in his life. He remembered the origin of every aged scar he just witnessed in the mirror. He remembered the acoustic guitar sitting in his den, waiting for the day he would get around to learning how to play it. He remembered that he ate mashed potatoes almost every night…by choice, and he remembered that his father was an admiral.

  But he did not remember what put him on that icy road when he crashed.

  She was in the room.

  Instantly, Nate recognized the ginger glossy hair and tentative sweep of pink lips. He felt his lips tug into some semblance of a smile.

  His angel in white wore a calf-length wool coat wrapped around long russet pants and leather boots. Otherworldly? Perhaps. But she was earthbound for the moment. And he couldn’t stop staring.

  His glance hiked up her body to the turtleneck that hugged the slim arch of her throat. He reached the heart-shaped face with cheeks blushed a hint darker than her lips.

  And then he met Emily’s eyes.

  “Hi,” she whispered.

  The doctor told Nate that he suffered two broken ribs, a laceration to his head that required sixteen stitches, and a severely sprained ankle.

  Locked by a gaze the shade of the Caribbean ocean, Nate was numb to the pain.

  “Hi.” He cleared his throat. “You stayed. Why did you stay?” The words were out before he could check them.

  ***

  Emily was paralyzed. Deep inside her jacket pockets her hands shook as she asked herself the same question.

  Initially she was going to call the police and report the man that rear-ended her car on Route 1, and then get the hell out of town. And yet, here she was.

  For well over a mile he had tailed her on that single lane highway. Finally, the combination of speed and ice spelled disaster. Through her rear view mirror she witnessed his body slump out the driver’s-side doo
r, and though she was angry—no afraid—she couldn’t simply leave him there.

  Approaching the prone form with his long legs still lodged halfway in the utility vehicle, she crouched down and explored the flannel shirt for any visible injuries. His head was tilted to the side to offer the shadowed profile of a sharp jaw. Her gaze climbed higher, combing the dark hair, nearly black, glinting blue beneath the streetlight. With a groan his face rolled towards her and the eyes opened.

  “Emily? That’s your name isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she jolted and smelled the tang of hospital disinfectants. Why did she stay? She should be long gone by now.

  Emily clutched the package nestled deep in her coat packet. Her palm began to perspire. Until she delivered the item, she was in danger.

  If she had left him at the scene she would be in Albany by now. But on that road the panic in the man’s eyes had arrested her. He was as lost to the trauma of his injuries as she was lost to fear. This innocent bystander on the road posed no threat to her, and she clung to that innocence.

  “The doctor says you’re going to be fine,” she managed. “Sore for awhile, but you’ll be out of here in a few days.”

  “Why did you stay?” he persisted.

  For a moment she dared to look into those eyes. It was like stepping into the Black forest. “You wouldn’t let go of my hand.”

  The room was quiet. Muffled sounds of the nursing station filtered in over the echo of beeping monitors. The tinny resonance of a patient badgering a nurse could be heard over an intercom. Out in the hall, interns regaled tales of last night’s drama in the ER.

  But within this room, everything suddenly muted to the point that Emily heard her own erratic breath hitched in time with another patient’s respirator.

  Nate held her gaze, and she was rapt by that stare. The spell had to account for the poised steps she took across the room to stand by his side. Drawn to the stranger, she stood at the edge of the bed, her white fingers wrapped around the rail.

  “You were driving too fast,” she admonished.

  “You were there. It’s all I remember.”

  “I couldn’t just leave you.”

  “Yes, you could have.”

  She tried to leave the hospital, but Dr. McCarter’s concern over his patient had her fearing for the stranger’s life. After a few hours spent at the bedside of an unconscious man she began to feel an uncanny sense of composure. Perhaps in his unconscious state all intimidation was gone. In fact, in this condition, he was probably the only human being she could sit beside and not have to worry. This man knew nothing about her—he knew nothing about what she had just done.

  Dr. McCarter accepted Emily’s presence. The cloak of night allowed her to sit by Nathan Morrison’s side and wait to see if he regained consciousness. That’s all she wanted—was to see him wake. Once she knew he was okay, she would leave. Run. Drive as fast as the icy roads would allow, and be back on track for Albany.

  Nathan shifted and broke her from her reverie. She watched his throat bob as he glanced up at the chipped stucco on the ceiling.

  “I don’t remember what I was doing, or where I was going.” His voice was hoarse. “Or why the hell I was on that road to begin with. I don’t even live around here.” he hesitated, “No, I live in New Haven. I know that much at least.”

  Dark eyes suddenly converged on Emily and brought heat to her cheeks. “My God, did I hurt you? In the accident? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she shivered. “It looked as if you were trying to pass me, only you hit a patch of ice and clipped a telephone pole.”

  Emily relived that dull crash in her mind, and flinched at the display in her rearview mirror. “I—I thought you were dead. You were so still. And then finally you opened your eyes.”

  “And I saw you, and I thought I was dead. That’s all I remember. From that moment on is all I remember.” Nate looked away, clearing his throat. “I don’t have amnesia. I know my name, where I live, I know where I work. It’s just that I don’t remember why I was there−or the accident itself. To think about it—it almost felt as if I was running away from something,” his head shook in negation, “but hell, that doesn’t sound like me.”

  Emily didn’t know the man, but taking in the bare shoulders, lean and rippled with muscle, and the broad chest tinged with dark curly hair—she sensed a strength in him that contradicted any thought of flight. Her inspection took in the swathe of gauze, and the bruised flesh surrounding one devastating eye. That eye incited power and made her heart stumble a beat.

  She was the one who was running. She was the one who shouldn’t be here. She was the one who should have left the scene. Each cop was a threat—each moment a tangible delay. Yet, the dark stranger had opened his eyes on that icy road and looked at her as if she were his salvation. The recollection made her weak.

  Without thinking, she reached up to touch the thick hair above his wound. It was such a spontaneous gesture that her hand snapped back.

  “Does it hurt?” she whispered.

  Their eyes locked.

  “Uuh-hmm,” Dr. McCarter grinned into his unfurled chart as he strode in. “It’s 8am. I know−I went through this whole routine last night and Ms. Brennan refused to leave.”

  Nate cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “He is no longer unconscious. I—I have to go now.” She hedged.

  “I understand.” With a conceding bow of the head and a courteous smile, the doctor braced his hand on the doorjamb. “He’s going to be fine. If anything, I have your cell phone number, Ms. Brennan. I’ll call you.” He flashed a quick beam at his brooding patient.

  “Thank you,” Emily said just before Dr. McCarter left the room.

  As soon as she turned back she felt her throat go dry. Nathan’s gaze was on her like she was his prey. No. Like a virile male assessing a woman. Curious. Tempted. Hungry.

  ***

  It was easy to see that Emily’s nerves were on edge. Nate observed the shadows that darkened the skin beneath her eyes, as if she had not slept in days. Every one of her features shouted youth—but in her gaze he saw the wisdom of age, and a hint of trepidation and pain.

  “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered.

  Spellbound, Emily parted her lips to say goodbye, but her voice betrayed her.

  “Emily?”

  “I—I, have to.”

  Of course she did. He wasn’t so selfish as to see she desperately needed sleep. “Will you come back?”

  For the first time she avoided his gaze and looked down to the linoleum tiles. That flight told him all he needed to know. He released her hand.

  “Mr. Morrison, I—I don’t live here. I was trying to get somewhere when this happened, I have to—”

  “Hey,” With his hand free now, Nate lifted it into the air, but it dropped back down on the bed, unfulfilled. “I think you can call me Nate by now. And thank you. You have no idea how much your being here has meant to me. Not many people would do that for a stranger.”

  Nate studied her. The silence grew and he accepted it as her goodbye. In a husky voice he ordered, “Don’t stay on the road too long tonight. You’re tired. And the roads,” he grinned, “well, they’re full of insane drivers.”

  ***

  Emily’s laugh came as a surprise. There had been nothing to laugh about in the past few days.

  “Promise me you’ll be more careful from now on,” she ordered.

  “I promise.”

  What to do? A man she had only known for twenty-four hours—only conversed with for two of those hours−and now she fumbled for a simple farewell. Definitely an effect of nerves pushed to the extreme. What did she want to do, shake his hand−hug him? God, she would give anything for a hug. She would give anything to feel arms around her−particularly the strong ones before her.

  Emily pitched her chin, and delved her hands in her pockets. “I really have to go.” She wrenched back a step and whispered, “Take care, Nate Morrison.”

&n
bsp; ***

  Coins and a lipstick container spilled from her purse as Emily fumbled for her cell phone. Two quarters hit the linoleum floor and spiraled down the hall, but she didn’t have time to chase them. Pressed against her ear, the cell phone started to draw perspiration as she scanned the corridor to ensure that she was alone. Her palm grew damp while listening to the dull ring at the far end.

  Come on, come on, come on.

  The phone continued its fruitless chime as a doctor transporting a patient entered the hallway, trailed by a family tirelessly begging for answers. Amidst this distraction, Emily nearly missed the fact that someone had picked up on the opposite end.

  There was no voice, but the ringing had ceased. A hesitant breath sounded through the receiver. Cautiously, she whispered, “Colin?”

  “Shhh, no names for Christ’s sake. Where the hell are you calling from? Grand Central? Piazza Venezia? Piccadilly Circus? God damn, it’s loud there.”

  Emily covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her speech. “It’s a hospital. I’m safe. No one here can possibly know us.”

  “A hospital! Christ Emily, what happened?”

  Breathe, just breathe.

  Why did the hall have to be so crowded? Just seconds ago it was still, and she could focus. “I’m fine. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “You got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Any problems?”

  Just this little detour. “No. Listen, Col—, little brother, are you sure about this?”

  Across the line she heard a derisive laugh. “I’m not sure about anything. Look, just get here. I’ve been worried. You should have been here by now. How far away are you?”

  Emily glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was approaching nine. Colin was right. She couldn’t stay here any longer. Anxious fingers clasped around the item nestled in her coat pocket.

  “Probably three hours.”

  “Noon then, Emster. If you’re not here by noon I’m going to be freaking out.”