Okay. Be prepared. Detective Waters said that someone broke into her house and held her at gunpoint. That’s going to strain things. Plus, you vanished, not something that’s going to make a lawyer happy. She might be nervous, maybe even a little bit cold.

The door opened until the chain stopped it, revealing three inches of a woman’s face. An attractive woman in her late forties, he’d guess, maybe a little bit older. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

“Ms. Zeigler,” he said, “I know this—”

The door slammed shut.

Okay. Maybe cold was an understatement. He looked behind him again. Best to get—

There was the rattle of the chain, and then the door jerked open and the woman threw herself at him, arms wide, yanking him into a hug. He stood rooted and rigid as she squeezed, feeling the warmth of her body, the hard good pressure of her arms, the feel of her hair against his cheek, all of it so sudden and surprising and strange. It was the first time anyone had touched him since he’d woken on the beach.

It felt amazing.

“Daniel, oh honey.” She squeezed him harder. “I can’t believe— is it really you?”

“I—”

Sophie released him, stepped back, eyes flashing. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I—”

“Are you okay?”

“Well, I—”

“I could kill you, if I wasn’t so happy to see you.” Her smile brought laugh lines and delicate crow’s feet. Then she looked past him, to the street, and a shadow crossed her face. “Are you—do the police—”

“I’m alone.”

“Come inside.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, Daniel. I want to talk to America’s Most Wanted on my porch.”

He laughed, mind still a whirl, body still feeling her hug, the intoxication of human contact. She held the door and he stepped in.

Polished maple floors and colorful art on the walls. Sophie closed the door, chained it, and then started down the hall, saying over her shoulder, “I can’t believe you’re here. Where have you been?”

“That’s . . . complicated. But I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well, you did. And not just me. The whole world’s been looking for you. The sheriff’s called me twice a day.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said.” They stepped into an airy kitchen. A sunny window, a breakfast nook with the New York Times spread out, a coffeepot burbling.

“What?” She whirled. “What who said?”

“I—”

“Please don’t tell me. You haven’t talked to them.” Her tone sharp. “Tell me you haven’t talked to the police without your attorney.”

“No. I mean, well, yes. I spoke to a detective. But on the phone.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, look, I had—”

“Why would you do that? Don’t you get how serious this is?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Never, never, never talk to the police without a lawyer. Especially on something like this. Why didn’t you call me first?”

“I—”

“When did you talk to them?”

“Yesterday.”

“On the phone?”

“Yes.” Softly, like a scolded child. It felt oddly good.

“Detective Waters?”

“Yes. He said—”

“And where have you been?”

“I—”

“I mean, you just vanished. You call me late at night, drunk, and then you disappear? How do you think that looks?” She banged in a cupboard, brought out two coffee mugs, gestured with them wildly. “You realize what a hash you’ve made of this?”

“Sophie, I—”

“Where have you been?”

Daniel stepped forward, took her forearms in his hands. “It’s complicated. I need to explain—”

“So explain already—”

“Which means,” he said, “I need you to shut up for a couple minutes.” He cocked his head, said, “Pretty please?”

She snorted a laugh. “Same old Daniel.” Sophie pulled her arms from his, poured the coffee, handed him a mug. “Okay, kiddo. Explain.”

5

“Is this a joke?”

Daniel sipped at his coffee. It had taken half an hour to fill her in, starting with the beach and running all the way through to last night. Sophie had listened with quiet, focused attention. There had been something cleansing in confessing, and he’d left nothing out. “No joke.”

“You have amnesia.”

“Or something like it. You know those weird news stories you hear about? A guy on a train wakes up and can’t remember who he was, a girl goes jogging and vanishes for weeks, she doesn’t recall anything? A fugue state. I think it’s something like that.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Hell if I know. I’m just telling you how it feels. I remember how to drive, I can talk, write. It’s just the personal stuff that’s gone.”

“Completely?”

He shook his head. “It’s coming back. Sometimes in small bits, sometimes more. Sometimes I won’t even notice until later. When I went home, that brought a lot back. And my dreams. I don’t think it’s really amnesia. More some sort of . . . blackout. Temporary shock.”

“Shock wouldn’t last this long.”

“Well, maybe not just shock. I think it was a combination of things. Laney’s . . . Laney, then driving all the way across the country. I think I did it in one run, amped on caffeine and speed. Booze too. And then when I got there, I.” He hesitated, realizing what he was about to say, how it sounded. “I tried to kill myself.”

“Kill yourself.”

“Maybe I just wanted the pain to stop. But maybe once it came down to it, some part of me didn’t want to die. I came damn close, though. I think the memory loss was my subconscious mind’s way of protecting me. Keep me from trying again.”

Sophie picked up her mug, held it in both hands, elbows on the table. “And you don’t remember me.”

Daniel hesitated. He’d come here expecting a professional meeting at best, and wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d had to flee again. Instead he’d found someone who loved him. “I’m sorry. It’s not personal. I don’t even remember Laney well. I mean,” he said, trying a laugh that came out sick, “when I first woke up, I thought she was Emily Sweet.”