Susan Crosby - The Baby Gift

He should take a lesson from her in moving on, because she’d obviously put the past behind her. He’d only deluded himself into thinking he had—the ball of fire in his stomach told him otherwise.

“How can you find my car in a storm like this?”

“It’s my job.” He was afraid she’d left someone behind, either in the car or, worse, outside in the snow. It wasn’t a task that could wait until the storm stopped—or until daybreak. He scooped up his jacket from the chair and slipped it on. “Do you have your keys?”

“I think I left them in the car.”

He questioned her about landmarks and direction until Max came into the room, saying he was ready for her. J.T. waited for her to disappear into the exam room before he pulled the doctor aside.

“I know her, Max. Her name is Gina Banning—or at least it was Banning three years ago, which was the last time I saw her. Her husband was my last partner at the L.A.P.D. He died in a car accident right before I left the force. Gina was with him and was critically injured. She spent a month in the hospital.”

“Ah.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning her amnesia could very well be caused and sustained by a flashback to that accident rather than by blunt trauma or concussion. Could be both in combination, too. I’ll know more after I examine her.” He cocked his head at J.T. “Why didn’t you tell her who she is?”

“I started to, then she looked at me without the slightest recognition, and I didn’t know whether it would hurt more than help. What do you think?”

“I think you made a good decision. If she needs to hide behind the amnesia for a while, we need to let her. Her memory will likely return when she can handle the consequences of living through the accident again.”

“But she must have a new husband worried sick about her. Obviously she remarried.”

Max frowned. “I’m not schooled enough in amnesia to know what could come of having someone confront her and try to force her memory, but I’ll research it. And I agree that we have an obligation to notify her family.”

Her family. The words lingered in J.T.’s mind as he walked home to get his official vehicle, a four-wheel-drive sports utility vehicle. Reeling from the memories brought back by Gina’s reappearance, he debated whether to call out a couple of his volunteer cadets, then decided to give it one shot by himself first.

He shut down the clamoring pieces of his past as he searched for her car, grateful he had a job to do. She’d skidded off the opposite side of the road, she’d said, into a shallow ditch, knocking her head against the driver’s side window or frame. Something had told her to stay put—that it was her best chance for survival. But something stronger had urged her out of the car and up the road as the snow started coming down harder. After a couple of minutes walking, she’d seen a sign advertising Cochran’s Food & Fuel, 1/2 Mile.

J.T. slowed from a crawl to a creep when he caught a lucky glimpse of the sign. Lost and Found didn’t often get snow, and seldom in this amount, but once or twice a winter the area took on the magical look of a Christmas card, rarely lasting more than a day or two. He wished this hadn’t been one of those rare days.

Rounding a bend, he saw her car just off the road, a few inches of fresh powder muting the red color. The rear bumper cleared the road, but was still dangerously close. Had she stayed in the car, she might have been clipped by a passing vehicle—if she even survived the night.

He turned on his flashing ambers, then positioned his Explorer to make use of his headlights and spotlight before approaching her car. No chains. He gritted his teeth. She was damned lucky to have gone off the road where she did. At several spots along the route the drop-off was sheer and deadly.

What the hell had she been thinking, driving in the mountains in winter, in snow, without snow tires or chains? Why would she do such an idiotic thing? She was a good seven hours from home, driving in the dead of night, in unfamiliar territory. He couldn’t imagine what could have prompted such a suicide run.

Was she looking for him? He didn’t believe in coincidences, and no other possibility seemed feasible. Another impulsive decision, Gina?

Furious he might be on target with his suspicion, he jerked open the driver’s door of her roomy sedan. At least she had sense enough to drive a solid car, one known for safety. The deflated airbag sagged against the steering wheel, its lifesaving mission accomplished. Her keys dangled from the ignition. He snatched her big purse from the floor of the passenger seat, then carried it back to his truck and upended the contents onto the driver’s seat.

The mysteries of woman spilled onto the upholstery—crumpled tissues, sunglasses, an economy-size package of gum with three pieces missing, lipstick, hand cream, prenatal vitamins. A perfume atomizer, the flowery scent clinging to it. A map folded to the local route. He stuffed the items back into her purse.

He found cash in a manila envelope—almost three thousand dollars.

With a low whistle he opened her wallet. Four credit cards and a driver’s license, all under the name Gina Banning.

The unexpectedness of it made J.T. lean against the car and stare sightlessly into the night. She hadn’t remarried? That didn’t make sense. He knew for a fact she wasn’t the type to get pregnant out of wedlock and not marry the man responsible. Even without her memory she had known that much about herself. “As loyal as a puppy,” her late husband said of her once. “And as blindly trusting.”

Eric Banning’s expertise had been in playing to people’s weaknesses, a dubious skill which had sometimes worked to his benefit in police work. Hell, he had learned early on how to take advantage of what J.T. considered his strength—his unfaltering sense of duty and responsibility—managing somehow to turn it into a weakness. J.T. wondered if Eric had used Gina’s blind trust against her somehow. Apparently she’d trusted another man, too. And J.T., as well, even though she didn’t remember him…

Which could be the result of trauma, of course, and the fact he was the first person to come along and help her.

None of it added up. She wore a wedding ring, yet her husband had died three years ago. She was pregnant, yet she wouldn’t be pregnant without being married.

Three thousand dollars. J.T. slapped her wallet rhythmically against the car door frame. What critical piece of information was he missing?

He hiked back to her car and popped open the trunk. Clothes were strewn everywhere, some still on hangers, as if she’d scooped them out of the closet and drawers, then dropped them in the trunk. A Sears bag over-flowed with baby clothes and blankets, the tags attached. He dug out the receipt. She’d purchased everything yesterday at 5:18 p.m. in Bakersfield. Newborn disposable diapers filled another bag.

She’d been in a hurry. A big hurry. And she planned to be gone until after the baby arrived.

Who are you running from, Gina Banning? Whose child do you carry?

And why the hell are you here in Lost and Found?

Feeling the chief’s eyes on her like the bright beam of a spotlight, she stared at her driver’s license. Gina Banning. She repeated the name in her head a few times, testing it. Twenty-two years old. Five foot four, 120 pounds. Without baby, obviously.

Eric. Her husband’s name, according to a health plan card with both their names on it. She spun her wedding ring around her finger.

“I can’t picture a man’s face,” she said to J.T. and the doctor, who both waited silently as she examined the contents of her purse. “Isn’t that odd? Shouldn’t I have some recollection of my husband? And why is my checking account in my name only? Marriage means sharing everything.”