Detective Jonah McKee reels with disbelief when his vindictive ex-wife leaves their rowdy three-year-old son on his doorstep and runs off to Hollywood. How in the world will he manage to juggle his duties as a detective with caring for the boy?
He's still attempting to adapt when a beautiful amnesia victim is injured by a vicious serial murderer. Or was she?
Ellen Robinson wakes up in the hospital and flounders until she finally remembers her real name. When she recalls the name of the man trying to kill her, and that he did kill her unborn child, the terrifying memory sends her on the run.
Will they survive long enough to let the sparks turn to something more?
His gaze locked with hers, and she abruptly realized his eyes were a deep cobalt blue that matched his shirt. His gaze was searing in its intensity, and it started a whole other ache inside her. He dribbled another batch of ice chips into her mouth, then sat back and crooked his lips.
"Didn't think you'd ever wake up."
"Wh-who are you?" she asked, crunching the ice. "Where am I? What... happened? I don't know why--"
"You're at River Park Hospital in Hunter's Bayou -- in ICU, as a precaution," he said, his face hardening. He set down the cup. "I don't know what happened to you. Only that someone found you on Highway 463 near the Louisiana line. He thought you were dead."
"On the... highway?" Fear flashed through her. Fear of a man whose identity lay hidden deep inside the recesses of her brain. A tremor rocked her. Yet instinctively, she knew the man feeding her ice chips wasn't the same person. This kind man would never hurt her. She swallowed. "I don't... understand."
"You were found wrapped in a tarp on the side of the road."
"Oh, my God." She looked down and abruptly realized she wore casts on her left wrist and right ankle. Her head throbbed, and she still had no idea who she was. And a tarp?
He took her hand. "Your purse -- I'm assuming it's yours -- was wrapped up with you. Your driver's license--"
"You know my name?" Hope welled inside of her, and she squeezed his hand.
He lifted a brow. "You don't?"
"No. I've been wracking my brain -- but I have no memory of anything before now." She shook her head, and the motion sent a spike of pain through her right eye. She grimaced.
A look of sympathy passed over his face. "Lie still, so you won't get sick. You have a head injury."
"Okay," she murmured, desperate for information. "So you... you know who I am?"
"Yes," he said, watching her closely. "According to your license, you're Ellen Robinson."