“Yes,” Woods said. “I wanted you to hold them, look at them, see if they jog a memory.” He pointed at the fob, a small disk decorated with a red tractor and the words Red Hot, St. George, Utah. “We checked on that, by the way.”
“It sounds like a strip club,” he said.
The detective laughed. “Yeah, that’s what we thought, too. What it really is, though, is a nickname for a small tractor. We found the dealership that carries it, name of Travers’s Tractors. They’re not missing anyone, but we did fax the police there your photo. They showed it to the staff at the dealership...didn’t get any hits, but a couple of people are on vacation, so they’ll try again in a few days. They also have a couple of other stores in their chain and they said they’d ask around and get back to me, but we’re also contacting them. Keep in mind that sooner or later someone will wonder what happened to you and report it to the police.” His phone rang and he stepped away from the bed to answer it.
Kinsey gestured at all the machines. “Are your other injuries serious?”
“Not as bad as they could have been,” he replied, glancing at each key in turn.
“Were you out long?”
“I woke up in the ambulance.”
“And you didn’t know who you were? That must have been terrifying.”
He ran his fingers over the tractor logo and shook his head before meeting her velvety gaze again. “It wasn’t like that. What I was aware of was that I didn’t know where I was or what had happened to me. There was an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose and my head hurt. I felt confused. I guess there are just certain instances when you decide to wait it out and see what happens. I mean, I could hear the siren, there was a guy sitting next to me who smiled and I was obviously being cared for. That was enough. At first.”
“So you have a concussion?”
“And apparently a hard head, too. There’s bruising and scrapes, a few stitches, stuff like that, but no broken bones, just this fog where my brain used to be. Thank goodness the taxi didn’t hit me or the child I had in my arms.”
“The child you saved,” Kinsey said.
He smiled, ignoring the stress on the stitches. He liked the way her voice softened as she spoke, the look in her eyes as she met his gaze. “Anyway, the doctors said I was lucky.” He paused for a second. Truth was, he didn’t feel real lucky right that moment. He’d gladly exchange a broken arm for the return of his memory. “Thanks for trying to help,” he added. His gaze followed a few strands of dark hair that had pulled loose from the pins atop her head and trailed down along her cheeks, brushing her collarbone, framing her face. She looked as if she’d stepped out of a dream, and he had another gut feeling about himself. He was a sucker for brunettes with red lips. “You were at a party or something, right?”
Her smile lit up her eyes. “The dress gave it away, huh?”
“More or less.”
“We were hosting an opening show for a local artist at the gallery,” she said. After a slight pause, she added, “I wish I knew what to call you. John Doe seems kind of impersonal.”
“You’re artistic,” he said. “Give me a name, something that you think fits.”
She narrowed her eyes as she studied his features. Then she smiled. “My father died before I was born, but my mother told me that he read constantly and what he liked best were Westerns. She said his favorite author was a guy named Zane Grey. How about we call you Zane?”
“Zane,” he murmured. “I like it. Okay, thanks.”
She nodded as the detective returned. It was obvious he’d overheard some of their conversation when he raised his eyebrows and said, “Zane?”
“My new alias.”
“It fits you,” the detective said. “Well, Zane, we’ve found the bike the fake courier used abandoned in a hallway of an old building due for demolition. I’m going to go check it out. The doctors want to keep you here for several days.”
“Who’s going to pay for that?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t think I can handle being cooped up in this place for long,” Zane admitted. “I think I may be an outdoor type of guy.”
Woods narrowed his eyes. “Try to remember that someone took a huge risk today to steal your wallet and probably a cell phone. He pushed you into traffic in front of a crowd of onlookers. It could have just as easily wound up with him in the street as it did you and the child. That underscores this person’s recklessness.”
“I wonder what was worth such a risk,” Zane mused.
“We may never know.”
“Did the video help you identify the man who attacked Zane?” Kinsey asked.
The detective shook his head. “He never turned around and looked at anyone.” He glanced at Zane again. “Listen, you’re safe here. And if you remember anything at all, call me. I left my card on the table by your phone.”
Zane had been holding the keys, turning them over and over in his fingers. The detective nodded at them. “Are they bringing back any memories?”
“No,” Zane admitted. “Afraid not.” He started to hand them back, but the detective held up a hand. “No, that’s okay. We made copies, you hold on to those. The doctor said something familiar might jog your memory, and those keys are about all we can offer. That and what’s left of your clothes in the cabinet over there.”
“The keys are easier to hold,” Zane said.
“Exactly.” Woods nodded his goodbye to Kinsey and hurried from the room.
Kinsey took a deep breath. “I guess I’d better go, too. It was nice to meet you, Zane.”
“Do you have to leave?” he asked. Then he smiled. “Of course you do. You have to get back to work.”
“I could stay for a few minutes,” she told him.
A panicky knot in his gut followed a moment of pleasure. What in the world did they have to say to each other? He couldn’t talk about himself, he couldn’t talk about places he’d visited or things he’d seen because he didn’t know, he wasn’t sure.
She leaned one hip against the bed and looked at him expectantly.
“So, you noticed me because of my hat,” he said when no other topic sprang to mind.
That’s right,” she said.
“But we didn’t exchange a word?”
“Not one.”
“Did I notice you?”
She looked almost embarrassed. “Kind of. I mean, our eyes did meet one time and you smiled at me.”
“I bet I did,” he said.
“And then everything started to happen.”
“Yeah, the detective told me. Listen, be honest,” he added, straightening up and trying to appear dignified. He was finding out that hospital beds weren’t designed to make a man look virile and strong, and for some reason, that’s how he wanted to look for her. “Did I appear to be a cowboy, you know, a real wrangler type, or did I look like someone who wanted to be a cowboy?”
“You mean, did you look like the real deal or a poser?”
“Exactly,” he said, nodding.
She thought for a second. Even doing nothing but thinking looked good on her and it gave him a chance to admire the sweet curve of her lips and the shape of her earlobe.