Return of a Hero Read online

  Laura watched the swiftly moving traffic with mounting frustration. Each time she tried to cross, another van or limo raced by, sending up sheets of rain in its wake. Something really ought to be done about this, she fumed. Checking the gold watch on her left wrist, she saw that time was running short. If she wanted to make that interview with General Cunningham over at McLean, Virginia, she was going to have to hurry!

  Agitated with the arrogant Washington drivers, who never seemed to respect pedestrians, she looked across to the concrete island where she’d be able to catch a taxi. Her attention focused on one man standing among the others. His face was lifted to the rain, as if he were enjoying the sensation of water trickling down it. He was tall and powerful looking, even in the trench coat. Laura was drawn to his face: square, with harsh lines around his mouth and crinkles at the corner of each eye. He was darkly tanned, telling her that he wasn’t from this area. April in D.C. was cloudy and dreary with rain. Sunshine was at a premium. The black mustache emphasized the breadth of the man’s features. His gray eyes were sharp and intelligent.

  The word mercenary sprang to Laura’s mind, and she chastised her overactive imagination. But there was nothing peaceful about the man’s face or his stance. Even from this distance, she could feel the tension in him. Despite his demeanor, Laura’s heart went out to him the instant his eyes met and held hers. There was incredible sadness and turmoil in them. He looked as if he’d just lost his best friend. The rain made his face glisten, but she could almost swear he was crying. Could that be? A scar ran the length of the right side of his face, giving his expression an impenetrable quality.

  A gasp broke from Laura. She watched in sudden horror as the man stepped off the curb—and right into the oncoming traffic. Didn’t he see that gray limo?

  Laura leaped from the safety of the curb, her hand raised in warning. “Look out!” she cried. Desperately she caught his attention, but he seemed dazed, perplexed by her warning. The limo bore down on him. It would be only seconds before he was struck. With a foolhardy lunge, she threw herself at him. Her hands connected solidly with his left shoulder, spinning him around and backward.

  She heard the screech of tires on the pavement. Just as the man was thrown off his feet and out of the range of the limo, she felt the impact. One second she was on her feet; the next, she was flying through the air.

  Morgan landed heavily against the curb as the limo screamed to a halt beside him. The smell of burned rubber filled the air. Wet and confused, he stumbled to his feet. The woman in the pink raincoat was sprawled ten feet in front of the limo. She had saved his life. The limo driver leaped from the vehicle, his face filled with terror. Cries and shrieks erupted around Morgan, but he ignored them as he ran to the woman’s side. Struggling out of his trench coat, he threw it across her to protect her from the downpour. He knelt, his hand going immediately to her small shoulder. She was unconscious, a large, bloody cut on the side of her head, near her left eye. She looked like a bird with a broken wing, so fragile and vulnerable. Dammit!

  He looked up at a policeman who had worked his way through the gathering crowd. “Get an ambulance!” Morgan snarled. “Now!” More people ran over. Morgan’s hand on her shoulder tightened. My God, she looked dead, her skin waxen. Was she? Shakily he slid his wet fingers around her wrist. There was a pulse—a weak one. Numbed by the events, he stared down at her wrist. The bones of her hand were tiny in comparison to his. Her flesh was so white and smooth; his sun-darkened, with years of calluses built up on the palms.

  The vigilant throng pressed closer. Morgan glared up at them. “Give her room to breathe!” he ordered and they enlarged the circle. He leaned over, gently cupping her cheek with his palm. “Hang on,” he begged her. “Just hang on, lady. Help’s coming….” He dared not move her. She might have broken bones. She could be paralyzed. And all because of his utter stupidity. God, why hadn’t he looked for oncoming traffic before he’d stepped off that curb?

  By the time the ambulance arrived, some ten minutes later, Morgan was ready to explode at the cold-blooded curiosity of the people milling around. He hated passersby who gawked. Protecting the woman from the rain, he picked up her purse, tucking it beneath his arm. Anguish filled him as he stared down at her delicate features, now colorless. Why had she done such a foolish thing to save his worthless neck? Yet Morgan knew he’d have done the same thing.

  Funny little swan, your courage isn’t any match for that tiny body you live within. Her blond lashes lay against her high cheekbones; her lips were parted and slack. The paramedics raced over, bags in hand, carrying an oak body board with them. Morgan moved from his crouched position to stand to one side.

  “You know her?” the chief paramedic asked, quickly examining her.

  “No, but that doesn’t matter. I’m coming with you. She saved me from getting hit by this limo.”

  The paramedic nodded. “Fine by me. Frank, let’s get her on the body board. She might have sustained a back injury.”

  Numbly Morgan watched them transfer the woman to a thin oak board, then strap her snugly to it. Next came the blankets that would keep her warm. The policeman who’d been directing traffic around the accident came up to him.

  “We’ll follow you to the hospital, mister. I need to make out a report on this.”

  “Fine,” Morgan agreed tautly, walking toward the rear of the ambulance, where the doors had been thrown open. His mind spun with possibilities. He glanced around. So far no reporters were on the scene. If he was lucky, he’d escape the glare of the cameras. Although his face was altered, he couldn’t stand the thought that his family might recognize him, beginning their pain all over again.

  Ducking into the ambulance, Morgan sat on the seat opposite the gurney where the woman lay, unconscious. Frank stayed in back with her while his partner drove. He worked quickly, taking a blood pressure reading.

  “You got her purse?” he demanded.

  Morgan produced it. “Yeah.”

  “Look for ID. We’re gonna need some information for Admissions when we get her to the hospital.”

  The purse was small and neat, just as she was. Morgan felt shaky inside, adrenaline making him tremble. He opened the wallet and looked at the driver’s license. Laura Bennett. Pretty name. Like her…. He searched the rest of the wallet for the name of a person to contact about the accident.

  A frown formed on his damp brow. “Her name is Laura Bennett,” he muttered, glancing over at her. “Is she going to live?”

  “Her pulse and respiration are slow. She’s in shock. Looks like a major head injury. Rest of her doesn’t show any broken bones. But she could have internal injuries—I just don’t know.”

  Flinching, Morgan gripped the wallet. Head injury. That had been the cause of his amnesia. Desperation filled him, and he kept his eyes on Laura. How could someone so small and exquisite have such a brave heart? He reached out and pressed his hand to her shoulder.

  “Fight back, Laura,” he told her. “Don’t give in. I’ll be here to help you.”

  Thankfully, the ride to the hospital was a short one. The ambulance rolled up to the Emergency entrance. Hurry! Morgan thought, staying out of the way when the attendants flung open the doors. Grimly he climbed out, following the paramedics through the sliding glass doors. In his hand was Laura Bennett’s purse, her identity. And right on his heels were the police officers.

  Chapter Two

  Chaos reigned as the gurney bearing Laura Bennett was wheeled into the hospital. Morgan stared helplessly at the swinging emergency room doors. He had been pushed aside by a nurse, doctors and paramedics, who had disappeared with Laura’s gurney behind the sign that said No Admittance.

  “Can we get your statement, mister?” the redheaded police sergeant asked him.

  Distracted, Morgan turned to the waiting officers. He held up the purse. “Yeah…just a minute. Let me give this to the admitting nurse.”

  His mind swung between concern for Laura’s condition and awarenes
s of the watchful officers as he dropped the purse off at the desk. Pushing several strands of damp hair off his brow, he dug into the breast pocket of his business suit and produced his passport for the police.

  The sergeant took it and opened it. “Morgan Ramsey, U.S. citizen. You live in France?”

  Putting a tight clamp on his emotions, Morgan kept his voice low and devoid of feeling. “That’s right.”

  “French Foreign Legion?” The cop appraised him for a long time, a look of awe on his meaty face.

  “I came on military business. I was about to take a plane back to France when this happened.” He didn’t intend to add anything to pique the cop’s curiosity. The Legion had a mystique to it, and Morgan credited the officer’s interest to that. Glancing out the doors to the parking lot, Morgan wondered if the press had been notified. He didn’t dare allow his photo to be taken.

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “I stepped off the center island at the airport without looking,” Morgan explained. “I should have been more careful, but I was thinking about something else at the time. The woman came from the opposite direction and pushed me out of the way of an oncoming limo, and then she got hit.”

  “Do you know this woman?”

  “No.”

  “She’s sure got guts,” the other cop muttered, a note of admiration in his voice as he continued to scribble down notes for his report.

  The nurse from Admittance came over. “Sergeant Amato, we’ve searched Ms. Bennett’s belongings, and there’s nothing to indicate whom we should notify about her injury.” She held up an insurance card. “We called her insurance agent and he said she’s got no family.”

  “No family?” Morgan asked, his eyebrows lifting.

  “Probably an orphan. Or adopted,” Amato volunteered, rummaging through the contents of Laura’s wallet.

  Morgan felt as if a hand were squeezing his heart, and he rubbed his chest distractedly. “Are you sure?” He turned to the nurse. “Where does she live?”

  “In McLean, Virginia. We’ve already called her residence, but there’s only an answering machine to take messages.”

  Scowling, Morgan said, “Then I’ll be her family until someone can be located.”

  The sergeant smiled. “She saved your neck. That’s a nice gesture, Mr. Ramsey. What about that plane back to France you were going to catch?”

  “It’ll wait until I know she’s in capable hands.” He was responsible for what happened, and he wasn’t going to leave her in the lurch.

  “Once Ms. Bennett becomes conscious, she’ll be able to tell us more,” the nurse said hopefully. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ramsey, but you can’t just assume responsibility for her unless she gives us permission.”

  Rules. They were made to be broken sometimes, Morgan thought darkly, and this was one of those times. But he held his counsel. “I understand. Just let me know as soon as you can what her condition is.”

  The nurse nodded briskly. “Of course.”

  The sergeant finished his report by taking down what little information there was regarding Laura Bennett. He glanced at Morgan. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Ramsey. We might need to talk with you again, so please leave an address and phone number where we can reach you at the nurses’ station.”

  Morgan nodded. “I’m not going anywhere until I hear about Ms. Bennett. After that I’ll find a local hotel.”

  “Good enough. Thanks.”

  Morgan watched the officers leave. The nurse directed him to a waiting room, and, choosing a brown plastic lounge chair, he sat. Resting his elbows on his long thighs, he clasped his hands, staring down at the black-and-white tiles, his mind whirling with questions, his emotions in utter tumult. He’d memorized Laura’s face, from her haunting blue eyes to that delicious mouth of hers. Who was she? And why had he been mesmerized by her? Rubbing his face tiredly, he leaned back and rested his head against the wall, utterly drained. For a long time he’d forgotten there was a God, but now he prayed for the life of Laura Bennett.

  Intermittent pain stabbed through Laura’s head. Groggily she fought to awaken from the darkness that enveloped her. She heard lowered women’s voices somewhere in the distance. As she dragged her hand upward, her fingertips came in contact with the bandages around her eyes. What was going on? Struggling to remember, she focused her attention on the dressing.

  “Ms. Bennett?” a woman called.

  Laura felt the woman’s hand come to rest on her shoulder, and she answered, “Y-yes.”

  “I’m Nurse Karen Mylnar. You’re at Washington Memorial Hospital. Four hours ago you were struck by a car at the airport. Do you remember?”

  Licking her dry lips, Laura frowned. She sensed people around her. “Hospital?”

  “Yes. You’re in a private room. Dr. Taggert is here to speak with you. He’s the physician on your case.”

  John Taggert leaned over her and squeezed her hand. “Laura, I’m Dr. Taggert. Do you have someone we can notify about your injury?”

  She took in a deep breath. “No.”

  “Are you an orphan?”

  “I’m adopted, but both my parents are dead.”

  “I see. Do you remember rushing out in front of a car to save a man from getting hit?”

  Laura licked her dry lower lip, the man’s grief-stricken face wavering in her memory. How could she ever forget those haunted gray eyes? “Y-yes, I remember…”

  “Well, he’s safe, but you got hit, instead. You were brought here for treatment. You’ve got some nasty bruises on your left shoulder and hip, but no internal injuries.”

  The memory of the man with the black mustache walking out in front of the limo flashed across her mind once again. She remembered his eyes, and how she thought he’d been crying. The rest of the doctor’s words were lost as she relived the accident.

  “Did you hear me, Ms. Bennett?”

  “No…I-I’m sorry,” Laura whispered, her head aching fiercely.

  “You’ve sustained a deep cut to your right temple, very close to your eye.” Taggert frowned. “Right now, neither of your eyes is responding to light.”

  “I don’t understand.” She felt infinitely exhausted.

  “It’s probably temporary. Tissue swelling could account for the lack of response. We’re going to have to wait a couple days for the edema in that area to recede to be sure.”

  “Sure? Of what?” Suddenly the urge to have that mercenary at her side nearly overwhelmed her. Laura had learned to live alone. She had learned to overcome obstacles without the help of others. His sad gray eyes loomed in her memory.

  “You’re blind right now, Ms. Bennett. But if I’m correct, it’s probably temporary. The blow you took to your head caused it.”

  Blind? A gasp tore from her, and her hand flew to her bandaged eyes. “No!”

  “Easy,” Taggert said, capturing her hand and pulling it away from the gauze dressing. “Don’t panic yet, Ms. Bennett. In forty-eight hours I’ll have a better idea whether your condition is temporary or not.”

  Panic flooded. “But—I can’t be blind!” Her voice cracked.

  Patting her hand absently, Taggert said, “Give her a sedative, nurse. Please calm down, Ms. Bennett.”

  Hot, stinging tears flooded her eyes. Darkness surrounded her. Laura sobbed, fighting to sit up. Her entire body ached. “I don’t want a sedative!”

  “Take it easy,” the doctor murmured. “Listen, the man you saved is outside, waiting to talk to you. His name is Morgan Ramsey, and he won’t leave without seeing you.”

  Morgan Ramsey. Laura leaned back against the pillows, running his name again and again through her mind. “He’s here?” Suddenly she needed him. The look in his eyes, despite the harsh cast of his face, told her he was a man of honor, someone she could trust.

  “Yes. Maybe talking with him will make you feel better.”

  “Please, send him in,” Laura said, her voice quavering. She wrapped her arms around her gowned body, suddenly very cold and very af
raid. Her career depended on her eyes. She couldn’t be blind. She just couldn’t!

  Slipping into the room at Taggert’s request, Morgan stood in the ebbing silence after the medical team left. Laura’s eyes were bandaged, and he could see that her right cheek was puffy and scratched. She had her arms wrapped against herself, and he sensed her terror.

  “Laura, my name is Morgan Ramsey,” he said quietly, walking over to her bedside. He allowed his hand to rest on her slumped shoulder. “I’m the guy whose neck you saved.”

  “Morgan…” His touch was firm, steadying, and his voice was deep, calming her panic. Gradually Laura allowed her arms to relax, and she dropped her hands into her lap. “They said you weren’t hurt,” she said softly.

  Her voice was a sandpapery whisper. Morgan took a pitcher and poured water into a glass, placing it in her hand. “I’m fine. You’re the one I’m worried about. Drink this. Maybe you’ll feel better.”

  The water was cooling and bathed her dry throat. Grateful for his sensitivity, Laura handed the glass back to him. “Thank you.”

  Morgan realized she was trembling as he took the glass from her and set it back on the table. Capturing her hand, he said, “Look, this is awkward as hell, but I owe you my life. I stepped off that curb in another world. If you hadn’t pushed me out of the way of that limo, I’d probably be dead by now.”

  The flesh of his hand was tough, but his grasp was warm and comforting. Laura clung to his hand, needing the stability he automatically provided. “I didn’t think. I just reacted,” she offered lamely.

  He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, facing her. “Do you always do things out of instinct?” he teased, trying to get her to relax.

  Managing a shaky laugh, Laura murmured, “Usually.”