“Thanks for having so much faith in me,” he growled. “If you’ll excuse me, Rebecca needs m—”
The angel was gone. The hallway was empty, and he was alone with his guilt, his frustration, and his angel in training.
God damn it.
Chapter Five
Angel Rule #5: Don’t curse. It’s uncivilized.
Rebecca stared up at the flickering fluorescent lights and tried to remember…something. Anything. She hated this blackness where her memory, her identity, should be. This uncertainty. Everything she was had been consumed by darkness and shadows, until she felt like a stranger to herself. She didn’t know anything about herself. Not one fu—
Don’t you dare say that.
The thought blazed through her mind, loud as a foghorn. She darted a guilty glance around. Why was she doing that? What did it matter if anyone caught her? Was there some reason she wasn’t allowed to curse? God da—
There it was again. The guilt, and this time even a sense of shame.
What did it mean? What did it tell her about who she’d been?
She sighed. None of it made sense. And then there was that man. Tony. The way he’d looked at her, the intensity of his emotion…what was she, to him? Were they family? Lovers?
Her gaze drifted to the little girl, who slept so peacefully in the other bed. Every time Rebecca’s mind wandered, it slipped back to the little girl. The child had scratches on her bare arms and a gash on her cheek. Who was she? Had she been injured at the same time as Rebecca?
Could this gorgeous little peanut be her child?
That could mean she and Tony were more than lovers. It could mean they were married. She looked down at her left hand. Instinct told her a ring should be there, but her finger was bare.
Frustrating. How could she remember stupid details like which finger a wedding ring belonged on, but not if she was a wife, a mother? How could her mind do this to her? All this useless information, and not a damned thing to tell her who she was.
Rebecca pressed her face into her palms. She needed answers, before she went crazy. Even worse, she needed Tony. Whatever he was to her, his absence made her ache for him to return. Maybe he’d be able to tell her something that could bring everything back to her.
Maybe he’d be able to make her feel whole again.
The doorknob turned and the latch clicked. Rebecca straightened and stomped down her flutter of anticipation. Tony strode in with an easy smile, and her heart pattered. His eyes met hers, and her fear and frustration eased. She smiled.
“You’re looking better,” he said. The warmth in his eyes, in his voice, made her blush. He looked at her as if she was special. As if, in this moment, no other woman existed on earth.
Surely he wouldn’t do that if they were just friends…would he?
“I’m feeling better,” she said shyly. “Kind of. I’m still confused and frustrated. And my head hurts like hell.” She half smiled.
Tony sat on the bed at her side and took her hand. His other hand brushed across her brow, fingertips tracing her skin. Her heart rate quickened. The heart monitor tattled on her, its beeps accelerating.
With a chuckle, Tony dropped his hand away. “Have you remembered anything?”
She tore her gaze away from the firm curve of his lips. “Huh? What?”
“Have you remembered anything yet?” he repeated with a crooked grin.
“Oh. Um. No, I don’t. I don’t remember you. Or her.” She nodded toward the sleeping child, then bit her lip. “Is she…ours?”
His warm, beautifully green eyes shuttered, locking her out. He looked at the girl. “No. She’s my daughter, Miranda. You saved her life today.”
Rebecca’s breaths caught. “What? How?”
How could she have saved a little girl’s life and not remember?
And why did she feel such a terrible, wrenching sense of disappointment that the child wasn’t hers? She’d clung to the hope that part of her identity could be so easily resolved. That she was part of this man’s family, but the way he’d looked at her made it clear she had no business with them.
Then how had she saved Miranda?
God, what if she was a random stranger he didn’t even know?
He sighed. “You took Miranda for a walk. You went to the toy store, and were coming home. On the way back…a man…” He let out a shaky breath and dragged a hand over his face. “He had a gun. The police tried to warn you. The man shot at you. You shielded Miranda with your body.”
Rebecca touched trembling fingers to the bandages on her head. “And that’s how I…?”
“Not quite. The bullet only grazed you. But you hit your head on a lamp post when you fell. The doctor was worried about your brain swelling, but it looks like you’ve just got fractures.”
“And the amnesia.”
He winced. “And the amnesia.”
Rebecca studied the girl. She couldn’t be a stranger to Tony, or Miranda. No father would let a stranger walk off with his daughter. Was she Miranda’s nanny? Wouldn’t that be humiliating. Here she was pining after Tony, and she was probably the hired help. Good for a quick toss, but nothing else.
She was being stupid. She shouldn’t want this so badly. There had to be something she was missing. Something she recognized subconsciously, that made her need this so much.
Tony captured her hand and squeezed it. His was so large, so warm, enveloping her fingers in a comforting grip. “Don’t look so worried. She’s fine, thanks to you. She didn’t want to leave you alone in the hospital. Neither did I. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
“Is that why you’re here?” she asked, and stole a glance at him from under her eyelashes. Was that all it was? He felt obligated to the woman who’d saved his daughter?
“No. I’m here because I was worried about you, and I want to take care of you.”
The sincerity in his voice drew her to meet his eyes. That guarded look was gone, replaced once again by earnest warmth. Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back.
“Don’t I have family for that? Don’t I have a…a mother, siblings, something?”
“You don’t,” he said regretfully, and tightened his grip on her hand. “But you have me.”
She dropped her eyes. How was that supposed to comfort her, when she didn’t know what exactly she had? All she knew was what she didn’t have. No memories. No family. No friends. No one who loved her enough to care. It wasn’t exactly fun.