Rory sighs. “No. What is this?”
“I don’t know.” And God help me, but I don’t. I don’t understand how any of this is possible. I have woken with blood on my hands. I recall horrible things even if they seem very unlikely. “What was I like?”
He leans on the back of a chair next to us. I don’t know if he’s contemplating telling me the truth or if he’s trying to find the words. Either way, I have to assume it’s bad. “Sarcastic and bitchy. Sort of a control freak. Ya never liked anyone to help ya with anything. You’d fuck something up six times and get it right on the seventh and still not take a hand from someone who knew how to do it. Ya drove me nuttier than squirrel shit. Ya slept with a night-light. That was odd and annoying to the people in the room who liked it dark.” His smile twists into a wry grin. “But ya were worth every second spent sleeping in a lit room.”
I sigh. “Can you try to be professional?”
“No, but I’ll be honest. Ya were a badass bitch who liked to do things her way and get fucked, hard. Ya didn’t like things soft or slow. Ya didn’t like men who were sweet, and ya didn’t cry, ever.”
I step back, sort of scared I might have actually been a man. “I never cried, not even with sad movies when animals were hurt or killed?” I don’t even want to touch on the sex.
His dark-blue eyes narrow. “I’m starting to think your memory isn’t back, Sam.”
I nod in agreement, completely lost on the things inside me.
He links his arm in mine, pulling me down the long corridor to the security checkpoint. “Let’s get out of here before ya go and start telling me how bad your period was last month.”
I glare at him. “I don’t get periods, ass.”
He pauses. “What? Ya were a right bitch every month—don’t tell me I don’t know ya.”
“I haven’t had a period since I can recall. Derek said I was injured in the car accident.”
He purses his lips. “We need to find out what the hell is going on.”
“I think we need to find out who Derek is. Or rather Benjamin or Dash or whatever his name is this week. Who he is will tell us more about what the hell happened to me.” I glance into Rory’s dark-blue eyes, saying the last thing I ever expected to say: “As soon as I see Pat and make sure she’s all right, I want to go to my father’s house.” The words even make me shudder.
He gives me a sideways look but doesn’t say a word. He leads me to the security desk, where Pat is sitting in a small room. When I get inside, she leaps at me, dragging the blonde wig off my head with her arm. “You’re okay!”
“I am. Look, Derek turned out to be a criminal, and apparently, I might have undergone the brain surgery by force. I don’t know what’s happened, but I am pretty determined to find out. Until he’s caught, we can’t let you run around for him to abduct in order to bribe me with. Can you stay with Antoine until I know what’s what?”
“Oh, uhm.” Her eyes fill with worry as she glances at Antoine. She looks worried, but he offers the nicest smile I’m sure he owns. “I don’t really know, my love. If he’s coming after you, maybe you should just stay here with me too.”
I smile, softening my face. “It’s okay, I swear. I’ll be safe. These guys aren’t going to let anything happen to me or you.”
“This isn’t the first time you done said that to me, my love.” Her eyes grow cold, made creepier by the different-colored anger in the different-colored eyes. She turns, directing all that freaky hate at Rory. “You better not let her get hurt or I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
He swallows hard, looking nervous, but I suspect it’s more like he’s filtering the annoying responses he has for her threat. He nods, leaving it at that.
Antoine looks annoyed when I smile at him. “Take care of my aunt.” He sighs his answer to my request and offers her his arm. “Shall we?” His face is back to being sweet again.
“Stay safe.” She hugs me again before taking his arm and being led out the back doors.
Rory points after them at the doors. “We have a chopper out there. Let’s use that. I don’t feel like driving all the way back to Alabama.”
“Flying in a helicopter?” My fear of heights whispers through me, like wind echoing through a rocky tunnel.
He grabs my arm and drags me out the back door. “Ya used to fly them, for the love of Christ and all things holy.” His Irish accent thickens when he’s feisty.
When we get inside he pulls on a helmet and hands me one. My fingers ache with fear and hesitation as I take it, pulling it on. I feel like maybe we should have life jackets and better padding than regular clothing. He starts the engines, putting on sunglasses and grinning at me like an idiot.