Saige felt tired and now knew that she had been right to start asking questions, which she would continue with soon. “I’m heading home with Alex. I’m not going to leave until I have answers.”
“I wish I could be there when you ask questions, but I have a case that needs my attention right now. I want you to have this though.” He pulled a white card from his pocket and a pen. After scrawling something on the back, he passed it to her. “That’s my private cell number. If you need help with anything, or if I can answer anything else, call me.”
Sage absentmindedly took the card from his hand, and asked, “If I wanted to visit the prison, would you be able to arrange it?”
“That’s not a good idea, Saige.” He shook his head.
“I know it isn’t, but I’m serious. Alex has told me that it could take months for approval for me to visit through the official channel. Couldn’t you get me in faster?”
He sighed. “If I had to, then yes...what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that if I’m with him and can talk to him, then maybe my memory will come back.” She lifted tormented filled eyes to Coulter. “I want to remember him, Detective. I want to remember our time together, and I want to remember why I ended up in a private hospital for two years, when I can only remember the last two weeks of my stay there. Why does the scent of antiseptic make me physically sick? There’s a lot that I want to know and I have a feeling that it all starts with Quinten.”
“Your father lied for a reason, Saige. Maybe everything starts with him and his wife. Just be careful, and promise to call me if you need help.”
“I will.” She shrugged. “I have so many questions and I know the answers are locked away inside me. I just want to remember.”
“Hmm. I once had a case where a young woman lost her memory after being the only survivor when her sister and parents were found dead. Her memory came back in the middle of the funeral. She launched herself at her mother’s father...I’m basically trying to tell you that your memory might come back when you least expect it to. Something will trigger the whole lot and you’ll be swamped with nothing but memories.”
“As much as I don’t want to remember those five days, I want to remember everything else. I need to.”
“I understand.” He stood after glancing at his phone. “I need to get back, and I know I’ll be seeing you again.” He smiled. “Take care of yourself.”
Saige nodded and watched him walk away, feeling more positive than ever that the truth possibly lay with her father and Christina, but why would they lie? Her father hadn’t wanted her to look into the past, but was that to protect her, or for his own selfish reasons? He’d never come across as selfish. In fact, he was the most selfless person she knew. Her stepmother on the other hand...
As she took her cell out of her pocket, she messaged her father to let him know that she was on her way home, and that she was bringing a guest who would stay in the guest room. No way did she want him thinking that she wanted to snuggle up with a guy, especially under his roof.
She then messaged Alex that she was ready to go and where she was. Some of what Detective Coulter Robinson had told her she would keep to herself. No way did she want Alex going off on her parents until they had time to talk.
* * *
10:00am
* * *
“Who was the woman?” were the first words out of Amber McGregor’s mouth when he slid into his chair and stared at his messy desk.
He grinned at her tone and wondered if she was jealous.
Amber, with her riot of fiery orange hair that matched the freckles dusting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, would cause his heart to race in his chest while in her presence. He spent too much time speculating what that mass of hair would feel like against his naked skin. Would it be silky soft, or rough and springy?
The sound of a throat being cleared made him snap his eyes up to Amber’s and he grinned at the blush on her face, he’d been staring at her lips. He cleared his own throat, and answered her original question, “Saige Lockwood.”
Her eyes flittered with recognition. “And the plot thickens. So what did she want?”
“To talk.” He rubbed his face, too tired to carry on with the hundred and one questions, even when he knew that she was there for a reason, and one she could have probably used the phone for.
“Do you have anything for me, Amber?”
She watched him before nodding. “Yes. When we uncovered the breast implants, only a partial serial number remained on them.” She smiled. “But, when I gave them a name, that name matched the partial...Jocelyn Peterson had breast implants just over seven years ago.”
“I hate being right,” Coulter grumbled. “But at least I know who didn’t do it.”