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    Angus's Lost Lady
    Angus's Lost Lady
    Angus's Lost Lady
    Ebook263 pages5 hours

    Angus's Lost Lady

    By Marie Ferrarella

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    About this ebook


    Private detective Angus MacDougall was used to finding missing persons. But the woman standing before him was a completely different story. She had absolutely no idea who she was.

    From the first, he wanted her. But he knew that the delicate mystery woman wouldn't remain unclaimed for long. Some lucky man would come for her, and Angus would lose her forever. He couldn't let his young daughter start calling her "mummy." Yet how could he resist this precious lost lady when she'd already claimed both their hearts?

    Happily ever after with kids!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins Publishers Australia
    Release dateJul 1, 2012
    ISBN9781460867877
    Angus's Lost Lady
    Author

    Marie Ferrarella

    This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA ® Award-winning author has written more than two hundred books for Harlequin Books and Silhouette Books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.

    Read more from Marie Ferrarella

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      Angus's Lost Lady - Marie Ferrarella

      Chapter 1

      Do you know who I am?

      She’d startled him. Angus MacDougall was just opening his office door, ready to call it a day—a hell of a long day—when he found the woman standing in his doorway, her hand poised to knock.

      Recovering quickly, he took a step back. Some of the weariness that cloaked him began to slip away as he studied the woman. Interest stirred. Unconsciously, Angus straightened his six-foot-three frame.

      With her trench coat hanging open on either side of her, the woman had a windblown, wet look from head to foot. And she seemed a little off balance until he realized the lady was wearing only one shoe. But though she looked dazed, like a game show contestant stumped for the prize-winning answer, at first glance she didn’t appear to be hurt or bruised.

      Angus smelled a setup. Okay, he was game for a riddle. Riddles came with the territory, especially if one of his friends was looking to play a trick on him.

      His lips parted in a minimal smile. No, who are you?

      Angus wasn’t prepared for the look of dejection that entered her eyes at his response. And certainly not for the depth of disappointment that he saw there. The woman paused, as if trying to shore up some inner resource before she replied.

      No, I’m serious. She moved closer to him, so close that he could smell the rain in her hair and on her skin. And the faintest whiff of something else. Smoke? He wasn’t sure. Her eyes scanned his face, a dying ember of hope glimmering faintly there. Do you know me?

      She was pretty, even with her hair plastered to her face. Dry, she might even be beautiful. He would have remembered if he’d ever met her. He rarely forgot a face, and hers would have been etched on his brain.

      It was a trick.

      Leaning out into the hall, Angus looked around to see where the person responsible for this was lurking. Probably hiding in a doorway, he guessed. Everyone knew he had a weakness for damsels in distress. This one had all the earmarks of one. Maybe a little too much so, now that he took a closer look. Whoever had put her up to this had overplayed his hand.

      A quick scan of the hall told him there was no one else there. A smattering of doubt began to surface, but he ignored it for now. Angus turned his attention back to the woman.

      Okay, I’ll bite. Where are they?

      They? she repeated, confused.

      They. He, she, whoever put you up to this. Angus looked out again, with the same results. Nobody. When he looked back at her, the woman’s expression remained unchanged. The uncertainty within him spread out a tiny bit more. This is a joke, right?

      The air and the light seemed to go out of her at the same time. She looked as if she’d just lost her best friend. The words slid past her lips in a whisper that bordered on defeat.

      Then you don’t know me.

      Any other time, Angus would have been more patient with her. But today had been a hell of a drawn-out day, stitched haphazardly onto an even longer night. A night in which he had sat up with Vikki and a bellyache that wouldn’t go away. Small wonder. Vikki had consumed enough junk food for three seven-year-olds her size.

      Running on coffee the consistency of mud, and several lukewarm burritos, Angus wasn’t in the mood for elaborate games played at his expense, no matter how inherently sexy the lady might be.

      Gently moving the woman back, Angus stepped over the threshold, his hand on the doorknob.

      No, lady, I don’t know who you are, he said wearily. Now if you don’t mind, it’s been a damn long day. The day’s events flickered through his mind like an old-fashioned silent movie. The kind that makes me want to turn in my license and my weapon and get a nine-to-five job with insurance benefits and a fat pension plan at the end of the line.

      He’d been thinking about it more and more lately, ever since Vikki had turned up in his life. He didn’t have just himself to consider anymore.

      But deep down, he knew he really wouldn’t want to change his life. The thought of a nine-to-five job by any name still chilled him. Angus had had security and turned his back on it before it permanently anesthetized him. That was the danger with security. It dulled the soul.

      Angus shut the door behind him and heard the lock click into place. What he needed right now was a little time to unwind. That and a tall, cold beer. He tried to remember if there was any left in the refrigerator.

      The woman remained where he had moved her, looking for all the world as if she intended to stay there, not out of any sort of stubborn perverseness but just because that was where she was.

      He had seen hopelessness before. It was there, in her eyes, though she seemed to be struggling against it. Struggling and losing. Against his better judgment, Angus paused, waiting. She still made no effort to go.

      I’m leaving, he announced, as if the fact might not have registered. Angus turned squarely to face her. What did he have to do, push her into the elevator? The game is over, so why don’t you just go home?

      Looking back later, he figured that was the moment she’d actually hooked him. The woman turned her eyes—eyes that were as close to violet as anything he’d ever seen—up to his.

      I can’t.

      The two ends of the conversation, such as they were, just didn’t seem to be fitting together. You can’t what?

      Go home. She fit her mouth around the word. Home. It had no substance for her, no texture. No feelings. Nothing. I can’t go home.

      Angus wondered why, but told himself he wasn’t going to get sucked into this. He had enough real cases to keep him busy. That, and Vikki. After six months, he was still getting used to her. And, he knew, she to him.

      Well, then maybe you should go somewhere else. Turning, he took a step toward the elevator.

      And stopped.

      The look in her eyes seemed to be holding him in place. Even without facing her, he could feel her eyes on him, silently entreating him to stay.

      Surrendering to the curiosity that was as much a part of him as breathing, Angus gamely turned around again. All right, why can’t you go home?

      She wasn’t going to cry, she wasn’t, she thought frantically. It was just that she felt as if everything was caving in on her. And she didn’t even have the vaguest idea what that everything was.

      It was the void that frightened her most of all. The huge, horrible nothingness that threatened to swallow her up if she let it.

      She pressed her lips together hard, hoping that would somehow keep down the hysteria that was building within her. It made her chest ache to hold back, but at least she wasn’t crying in front of a stranger like some pathetic fool.

      In her world, there were nothing but strangers. Even she was a stranger, she thought helplessly.

      Because I don’t know where home is. Her voice hitched, threatening to break. She pressed her lips together again.

      Angus peered into the woman’s face. He thought of himself as a pretty good judge of people. He saw the struggle for control going on in her eyes.

      And then he knew.

      His voice was kind, gentle, as he lightly touched her shoulder. Angus felt like a heel adding to her anguish. This isn’t a joke, is it?

      A ray of hope flickered. She wasn’t even sure why. There was something in his voice that reached out to her, gave her comfort. She shook her head in reply. Her lashes were moist and she blinked, pushing the strands of wet hair out of her eyes.

      I wish it was a joke, but I really don’t know where home is. She raised her eyes to his face again. Or who I am. There, she’d said it out loud. Fear leaped in and spread webbed fingers through the void that was wrapped around her. I don’t know who I am, she repeated.

      It didn’t seem possible. Just like that? Angus had certainly heard about people getting amnesia, but the only time he’d ever seen it happen was on some movie-of-the-week. He’d never come across anyone with it in real life.

      Until now, he amended. Amnesia. That would certainly explain the lost, waif-like quality he detected about her.

      The woman nodded. Damp, dark blonde hair fell into her face again. She brushed it aside mechanically.

      Yes, just like that. At least, she assumed that it had come over her suddenly. She couldn’t swear to anything with even a grain of certainty.

      What happened? Sympathetic now, his tone was the one he used whenever he comforted Vikki after she’d had one of her nightmares.

      Frustration filled her, barely manageable. I don’t know. I came to in an alley. The rain woke me up.

      This wasn’t the kind of conversation that should be conducted in a hallway, Angus thought It looked as if he wasn’t through for the day after all. He knew that Jenny would stay with Vikki until he got home. His seventy-year-young, motorcycle-riding neighbor had all but adopted Vikki as her granddaughter. Angus dug his key out of his pocket and unlocked his office door.

      C’mon back inside. Let’s talk about it.

      Reaching inside for the lights, Angus switched them on and gestured for the woman to enter. He followed, closing the door behind him. She stood beside the chair as if she wasn’t certain what to do.

      Sit down, he urged gently.

      Obeying, she sat down on the very edge of the chair, her hands gripping the armrests.

      It was a bare-bones office. The walls were painted a neutral beige, with a couple of file cabinets placed against one and a good-sized window directly opposite. There were two doors off to one side—behind one was a tiny bathroom, behind the other an equally tiny darkroom. The room was dominated by a wide, well-polished desk that stood in the center. The view was great. When the smog and the fog weren’t jockeying for position outside his fifth-floor window, he could see the ocean.

      She’d pulled herself together again, he noted. Rigid, she was perched on the edge of the chair like a hunted bird that was ready to take flight at the slightest unfamiliar sound. And she was shivering.

      You look like you could use a cup of coffee.

      Without waiting for her answer, Angus went to the closet-sized bathroom and filled the coffeepot with water. Placing it on the hot plate, he switched the coffeemaker on. All he had left was instant.

      Could she use coffee? she wondered, watching him. Did she like it? Did she even drink it? She had no idea. Frustration gurgled through her like water from a freshly dug well, flowing out into the dirt. Creating mud.

      Thank you, she murmured. It wasn’t for the coffee, it was for his thoughtfulness. For letting her stay for a little while when she had nowhere to go.

      Angus nodded, then looked at her over his shoulder as the water began to brew. She was clutching her hands together in her lap like a schoolgirl waiting to have detention assigned. He looked on either side of her. No purse?

      She looked down before answering, as if she hoped that one might magically materialize. It didn’t.

      No. Nothing. Except for this. Shifting in the chair, she dug into the pocket of the trench coat. When she withdrew her hand, she was holding a small business card. It was stained and bent. And his.

      Angus frowned, taking the card from her. He looked it over. There was nothing written on the back to indicate who it might have come from.

      Where did you get this?

      If she knew that, maybe she’d know who she was. She struggled to keep the despair from engulfing her.

      I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d given it to me. She let a shaky breath escape her lips. That’s why I came. To see if you knew me.

      Steam was rising from the glass pot. Angus measured out two teaspoons of coffee, put them into the mug, and watched the hot water he poured over the granules turn dark.

      How did you find me? It would seem to him that if she had amnesia, she wouldn’t know her way around.

      I asked directions. I don’t know how long it took me to walk here.

      A half smile curved her mouth. Angus found it completely captivating. It took him a moment to focus on the conversation.

      I guess people don’t like to stop to talk to deranged-looking women, she finally said.

      She didn’t look deranged, just wet. And frightened. He glanced down at her foot. Maybe the fact that you’re wearing just one shoe had something to do with it. Where did you lose it?

      Embarrassed, she moved her bare foot behind the other one. She shrugged, hating this helplessness that held her prisoner. I don’t know. When I came to, I only had one on.

      He nodded, then remembered he’d already poured the hot water. How do you want your coffee?

      I don’t know.

      The words haunted her. She’d been repeating them over and over again in her mind. Fresh tears threatened. She didn’t know. Not her name, not where she lived, not even something as simple as how she took her coffee, or if she took it at all.

      She looked as close to battle fatigue as any soldier he’d ever seen. The lady was perilously close to breaking down.

      We’ll try black, he said soothingly.

      Crossing to her, Angus handed her the mug. The way she wrapped her hands around it, he knew she was seeking warmth from it more than sustenance.

      Maybe you should get out of that, he suggested, nodding at her coat. Rather than having kept her dry, the coat was sealing moisture in around her. I’ve got an old sweatshirt here someplace.

      Angus began opening the drawers in his desk. The third one yielded a faded blue sweatshirt and an old W-2 form he had thought was missing. He placed the sweatshirt on the desk in front of her and made a mental note to file the form.

      You can change in there if you want. He indicated the tiny bathroom.

      The coat was beginning to feel dank. She rose and took it off. But rather than go into the bathroom, she merely slipped the sweatshirt over her blouse. The sweatshirt was several sizes too large for her and the sleeves hung down well past her hands. It accentuated how lost she felt.

      Huddling in the sweatshirt, she sat down again and picked up the mug. Her fingers were half buried in the sleeves.

      Thank you. The words were far too inadequate to express the gratitude she felt. As long as she could talk to him, she didn’t feel so alone. Or so frightened.

      She looked more like a waif than ever, he thought, studying her. There was a red mark on her forehead he hadn’t noticed before. Angus stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he gently moved her hair aside. Part of a scab that had just begun to form was torn away. You’re bleeding.

      Am I? Her fingers fluttered along her hairline. Now that the rain wasn’t washing over her, she could feel a thin, sticky line forming just over her right eye. She winced slightly as her fingers came in contact with it.

      The headache buzzing around her temples amplified twofold.

      Wait. Angus caught her wrist, drawing her hand away from the wound. I’ve got a first-aid kit. Let me clean that up for you. The last thing you want is an infection.

      Self-conscious, she began to demur. But by now her energy was almost completely depleted. She let out a small puff of air. I’d appreciate that.

      The small red, white and blue box Angus pulled out from beneath the bathroom sink was battered and well-worn. It had been old even when he’d gotten it, left behind by the previous occupant of the office, an accountant who—according to the building maintenance man—was accident-prone. Angus placed the metal box on the desk, flipped open the rusty lock and took out what he needed.

      This might sting, he warned her just before he applied the antiseptic. She winced again, and he flashed her an apologetic smile. Sorry.

      That’s okay. Wanting to fidget, she forced herself to remain perfectly still as he worked. It’s nice to feel something besides cold and bewilderment, even if it is pain.

      Angus wiped away the peroxide residue. Must be rough, he empathized. Not knowing. He knew it would have had him climbing the walls.

      Yes, it was, she thought. Extremely rough. I feel like I’m a void, she told him. A huge, gaping, endless void. She sucked in her breath again as Angus pressed the ends of the Band-Aid against her wound.

      Can’t say I know what that feels like, but it must be hell. Angus stepped back to inspect his handiwork. It would do for now, he decided. I think that’ll be okay. He closed the kit.

      Her neck aching, she lowered her head again. She felt awkward. Awkward with herself. With the situation. With imposing on this man. This wasn’t right.

      Taking a deep breath, she rose to her feet. She offered him a brave smile and her hand. Thank you.

      Angus looked at her hand, his own remaining at his side. Where are you going?

      She lifted her shoulders helplessly, then let them fall. She had no destination. I don’t know, but I’ve imposed on you long enough. And since you don’t know who I am—

      Her voice trailed off as she turned toward the door. What more was there to say? He didn’t know who she was. That made two of them.

      Angus hustled to get between her and the door. She couldn’t just walk out of here, he decided. Not if she had nowhere to go. That doesn’t mean I can’t help you find out.

      How? And why would he want to if he didn’t know her?

      Angus smiled to himself. Maybe she hadn’t finished reading what was written on his card: Angus MacDougall, Private Investigator.

      Well, the best place to start is the police station. He took her trench coat from the back of the chair and offered it to her. It takes twenty-four hours before a person is officially declared missing, but that wouldn’t stop someone from calling if they were worried because you hadn’t turned up where you were supposed to be.

      She flushed as she took the coat from him. Do you think so?

      Angus helped her put the coat on over the sweatshirt. If I thought you were missing, I’d certainly be calling every place I could, he assured her.

      As he took her arm to guide her out the door, her limp caught his attention. With only one high heel on, she was off-kilter.

      Hold it. Returning to his desk, he opened the bottom drawer and deposited a pair of running shoes on top. They were his, an old pair he kept in the office for emergencies. Running helped him clear his head. I know they’re pretty large, but if we stuff some paper in the toe, they’ll do in a pinch. He smiled at her. At least there are two of them.

      Grateful, she put them on, then glanced in his direction. Any chance of there being a hamburger in your desk?

      It was the first hint of a smile he’d seen on her lips and it lit up her face.

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