Chapter 10

He took her to the impound lot, answering her questions when he thought he could do so safely, and dodging them or changing the subject when it got close to something he didn't want to talk about.

She was appropriately awed by the damage to her car, and only glanced through the box of her possessions. The attendant brought out a bill for storage, and Bob tore it up.

"Hey, you can't do that!" said the attendant.

"I just did," said Bob. "The lady was in the hospital while it was impounded. She almost died. The accident wasn't her fault, and you're not charging her a dime." He wadded up the paper and put it in his pocket. "Besides, you got the VIN number wrong anyway. Sloppy work, if you ask me."

"Somebody has to pay for the storage!" the man whined.

"No, they don't," said Bob. "You're paid by the city. You'll get your paycheck regardless."

"You're signing for the car, then," insisted the man. "I'm not getting in trouble over this."

"Make out a new bill," said Bob. "Put 'Police Impound' on it, with no charge. I'll sign that."

The attendant did, and Bob scribbled across the bottom.

"I can't read that," complained the attendant. "Nobody can read that."

"It clearly says Frank Dillworth," said Bob. "Can't you read?"

The attendant laboriously printed "Frank Dillworth" above the signature.

"Come on," said Bob. "I'll take you out and read you the VIN number myself."

He did, substituting the wrong numbers for both the year of manufacture and the serial number of the car. The attendant didn't think to check it himself.

Lacey followed him to her new apartment. She had to examine her keys to find the one that went to the door. She went in and looked around.

"I don't remember any of this," she said, sadness in her voice. "I live here?"

"You did the last time I picked you up for dinner," he said.

She picked up a picture of her grandparents.

"These are my grandparents," she said. "I must live here."

She wandered around, and went into her bedroom. Bob had never actually been inside the apartment, so he followed her. He found her standing in front of the mirror.

"I'm a mess!" she said. One hand went to her hair. It was longer on one side than the other, where it had burned off. "I'm embarrassed to be seen like this!" she moaned. "My hair! My beautiful hair!"

"Your hair isn't what makes you beautiful," he said.

She turned around and came to him, hugging him. Then she wanted a kiss. This time he let himself kiss her back. It was delicious.

She leaned back, keeping her loins welded to his, and rubbed him gently with her mons. "I'm still horny." She looked up at him through smoky eyes that looked odd without lashes or eyebrows.

Bob's heart almost seized in his chest. She was offering him something he'd daydreamed about. Night-dreamed too, but he had tried to forget those dreams. He couldn't do this with her. It just wasn't right. She wasn't herself. She didn't know what she was doing.

He blinked, and saw concern on her face.

"There's nothing I'd rather do than make love to you right now," he said softly. "It's too soon. You were badly injured and you need more time to recover. You shouldn't get excited."

Her eyes went out of focus again.

"Do I get excited when we make love?" She frowned harder. "I can't remember making love with you. Ohhhh, Bob, I can't remember," she moaned.

"It's all right," he said. "Maybe it will come back. Why don't we get some real food, then you can rest."

"You'll make love to me later?" she asked, her voice high and young. "I know I love it ... I just can't remember it. I feel so helpless!"

"Don't fret over it," said Bob. "The doctor said some of it will come back to you, but you don't need to worry about it. You're healthy, and you'll get healthier, and you're safe now. There's plenty of time for..." He didn't know what to say, and not say. "There's plenty of time for everything."

She melted against him. "Safe," she sighed. "I've always felt so safe with you."

Her soft body, pressed to his, and his emotions for her, had the predictable result. When she felt his arousal, she leaned back again and rubbed some more.

"At least I know you still love me," she said, smiling. "I feel so ugly like this."

"There has never been a woman who captured me like you have," he said. He was amazed to find that had come from the heart. She had captured him. He'd done stupid and foolish things for this woman. His erection faded. He'd fallen in love with a murderess.

She didn't notice the sadness on his face.

"I'm famished," she said. "But I can't go out like this."

"There's no alternative," he said. "You can get your hair done tomorrow. You need food and rest, right now."

"You can cut my hair," she said. "At least it will look even. And I'll get it styled tomorrow."

She pushed away from him, but then stood there.

"I can't remember where I keep the scissors!" She looked around. "I know I have them ... I just don't know where."

Bob found them in the bathroom, in a drawer, and called out that he had. He returned to find her arranging a chair on the tile floor in the kitchen. She whipped off her sweatshirt and pushed her sweatpants down, to stand in front of him in the lacy blue bra and panties he'd bought for her. He goggled.

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