“My head feels like it’s going to explode, and I’m seeing double. I can’t think.”
She struggled to rise, and the world grayed. She clutched at his shirt, twisting the fabric hard. She panted and stared at him, unblinking, willing the world to come into focus.
The first thing she noticed was the bloodstained carpet, and she gasped. “Was I inside that?”
The man backed away, preparing to stand aside, but she clung to his cotton shirt. She didn’t want him to leave. She needed him close. He was the only thing real in this craziness. “Someone tried to kill me, didn’t they?” she asked, pressing her hand to her bloodied forehead.
She should know the answer, but her entire mind was blank.
“I don’t know what happened,” he whispered, his voice deepening. He stroked the back of her hand, his touch gentle but steady. “But you’re fine. Just breathe in. I need you calm for us to escape.”
His gaze held her captive. He took in a deep but shaky breath.
She did the same. The dog pushed against her leg, and she curled her fingers in its fur again. Daniel exhaled, and she mimicked him, breath for breath. Unable to look away, she pinned her focus on him, inhaling through her nose, letting her lungs expand and fill.
Her grip eased a bit on his shirt, but not enough that she couldn’t feel the rapid heartbeat beneath her hand. “Are you okay?”
Something dark and haunted crossed his face again. A second later it was gone.
“I’m fine, but you’ve got a hell of a knot on your head.”
She raised her hand and felt the swelling and the sticky residue. A small whine escaped her. “It hurts.”
“I bet it does.” He pressed his fingers gently against her scalp. “Why don’t you sit back down and drink while I dig us out.” He tugged a canteen from his belt, tilting it against her lips.
Gratefully she let the water sluice down her throat. “Thank you.” Her voice cleared somewhat.
She took another sip. “How did you find me?”
“Trouble must have heard you.” The man turned and started pulling stones to the side to clear the passageway.
“Trouble?”
“The dog. I’m Daniel, by the way.” He threw a large rock farther away. “And your name?”
She opened her mouth, and nothing came out. Why couldn’t she think of it? Everyone knew their own name. In an instant the crushing pain was back. The flashes of light. Muffled cries and hazy images. Trying desperately to stop her head from spinning, she clutched the heart-shaped locket around her neck like a good-luck talisman. “Oh, my God...”
Daniel turned around at the panic in her voice.
“I don’t know my name.” Her hands clutched at his. “Daniel, how can I not know my own name?”
Chapter Two
The dust from the mine filtered the beam from the flashlight, but it was more than enough to let Daniel know they were screwed. Sweat that had nothing to do with exertion slid down his back. He was fighting off a PTSD meltdown and now this. How could he comfort her when he felt borderline psychotic?
He had to get outside. Fast.
“What’s my name?” the woman repeated, her voice shaking.
Daniel’s grip tightened on the rock he held. He hated the fear and bewilderment in her words, and he’d be damned if he let her see his alarm for both of them.
The blood on her temple oozed again, droplets landing on her dusty silk shirt. Someone had wanted her dead. That person might still succeed if Daniel didn’t dig them out quickly. He had no answers for this terrified woman, and couldn’t give her much in the way of comfort except to wrap her in his arms and hope she mistook his trembling as her own.
Daniel stroked her dark hair. “You’re going to be okay,” he reassured, knowing his words may not be true. “Once that bump goes down, you’ll remember everything.”
“What if I don’t?” She shivered.
He pressed her closer. “You will. It’s common with head injuries to be a little fuzzy.”
She shook her head, then winced, pressing her hand to her temple. “This isn’t fuzzy. I. Can’t. Remember. My. Name.” She paused, her eyes widening, then she whispered, “I can’t remember...anything.”
Swearing internally, Daniel gently stroked her black hair and forced what he hoped was a confident smile to his face. “Maybe we should call you Trouble. You deserve the moniker more than the mutt over there.”
At the sound of his name, Trouble’s head cocked.
“Or we could go the princess route. Sleeping Beauty might be appropriate.” Daniel kept his tone light, trying to divert her focus...and his. “Except she had blond hair. You could be Snow White. Her hair was black.”
A small smile tilted the corners of the woman’s mouth. “You’re an idiot, but thanks.” She bit her lip. “Seriously I can’t just pick a name out of thin air.”
“Then I’ll do it for you.” He studied her amazing brown eyes and once more touched the long, silky strands of hair. Black as night. Or like a raven’s wing... “How about I call you Raven for now? After your hair color. Just until you remember.”
“Raven, huh?” she said, her voice small and vulnerable.
“Raven suits you,” Daniel admitted. “It’s striking and unforgettable. Like you.” He pulled back his hand. “Now I have to get back to work.”
Methodically he picked up one rock after another, telling himself he’d break through soon. But he could feel the churning in his mind and gut. He took a cleansing breath, praying for control.
His hands grew slippery with sweat. He would not give in to the panic.
The shrinks had diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder soon after his rescue from Bellevaux.
Like Daniel hadn’t recognized the symptoms already.
His combat-vet father had suffered from PTSD nightmares and flashbacks as long as Daniel could remember—until his dad had ended it with a bullet to his brain. Daniel had found him, and the sight haunted him still.
At the memory Daniel’s heart raced, pounding against his ribs as if it would burst through any second. He closed his eyes to stall another attack.
A furry nose nuzzled its way beneath his hand. What the hell? Now the dog decided to make friends? Daniel’s fingers curled through Trouble’s coat. If Trouble could work through his issues, Daniel wasn’t about to succumb to his. He had no time to wallow in imaginary fears. Even if they felt completely real.
“We’ll be fine,” he announced, perhaps as much to hear the words aloud as to calm Raven. But he’d noticed it getting harder to breathe with all the dust. He came upon a few large stones, and he lugged them away, one at a time.
Each time he rose to his feet, steadying himself on the leg his captors had broken in three places, it became harder. If his leg gave out, they’d be in a world of hurt. He dragged a wooden beam toward the back and bumped into something. He turned, noticing a big painted box with a large letter C carved into the top. One corner of the lid was bloody, with a few pieces of black hair stuck to the surface. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to recognize the match to Raven’s head wound. Besides, kids’ toy boxes didn’t wind up in deserted mines by accident.
Using the edge of his shirt, Daniel opened the lid. Empty. “Raven? Do you recognize this box?”