Joe forgave himself for the inelegant yelp that escaped him. He hit the carpet with a painful thud. What just happened?
Managing to suck some air into his lungs, when the man landed on him, Joe did his best not to panic by shutting his eyes tight and remaining perfectly still. Then he remembered the heavy weight pinning him down wasn’t a bear and therefore most likely not fooled by his playing possum. Were bears fooled by that kind of thing? Maybe this wasn’t the best time to ponder that. The weight shifted, and before Joe knew it, there was a forearm pressed against his neck. Suddenly, this all seemed like a very bad idea. Actually, bad was an understatement. He could just about hear Bea’s “I told you so.” He hated when she told him so.
“Who do you work for,” the man demanded, his face red and his steel gaze pinning Joe to the spot. “Answer me!”
Joe shook his head as best he could. “No one! Me! I work for me. I bake pies.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Joe said, his hands up at his sides to show he didn’t intend to pull anything funny. He hadn’t exactly thought about what he’d do once the guy woke up. Smart, Joe. Very smart.
It wasn’t like he was a weakling. He was six feet tall, after all, and though not overly muscular, still strong enough. Of course, the man above him was big and solid, at least twenty to thirty pounds heavier than Joe, with an added three to four inches in height. From the feel of hard thigh muscles pressed firmly against Joe’s ribs, the broadness of his chest, the strength in his arms, and a look that said “try it and I’ll throw you across the room without breaking a sweat,” Joe realized he might have bitten off a little more than he could chew. His best option would be to reason with the man. If all else failed, well, then, he would simply have to punch the guy and hope for the best.
“My friends and I found you in the garden downstairs, just outside my shop. Remember? You went unconscious, so I was trying to wake you up. You might have a concussion.” Joe hoped his smile didn’t look as shaky as it felt.
The man moved his free hand to the back of his head and winced. Well, at least he knew Joe hadn’t been lying about that.
“I’m Joe. And you are…?”
“I….” The man’s dark brows drew together. He seemed to genuinely struggle with a reply. For a moment Joe thought maybe the guy was trying to bide himself some time to come up with some bull story, but when he turned his gaze back to Joe, Joe was stunned to see the panic there. “I—oh God, I don’t know.”
Just when he thought things couldn’t get any stranger.
The man jumped to his feet and backed up as he frantically looked around the room. “Where the hell am I? Why can’t I remember anything?” Spotting the window, he rushed over to it and squinted out into the dark streets. “What city is this?”
Joe gradually stood, not wanting to make any sudden movements. “You’re in my apartment, above my shop in Manhattan. New York City.” He felt a pang in his chest as the guy went frightfully still.
“New York? Am I supposed to be in New York? I can’t remember anything before… before now.” He closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth. It was obvious he was racking his brain for whatever information might be in there. Joe wished there was something he could do, but it was out of his hands. It wasn’t as if he could offer any help. He’d never seen the man before tonight.
“Let’s take things slow,” Joe said reassuringly. “You were out for a good while, and I’m guessing the nasty bump on your head has something to do with why you’re having trouble remembering. I’m sure it’ll come back to you. You just have to take it easy.” He motioned to the couch. “Come on. Sit down. You’re safe here.”
The man eyed him warily. “I’m fine standing.”
“Okay. My name is Joe Applin. I own the pie and coffee shop downstairs. I brought you up here because you needed help and you refused to go to a hospital.”
Something seemed to have occurred to the guy because he marched over to Joe, his menacing growl giving Joe a start. “Did you call the cops?”