Here to Stay (Silhouette Special Edition) Read Online Free

memory of anything prior to waking up in the mangled Corvette.
    The cops hadn’t found anything else in the car, except a small leather suitcase packed with several changes of clothes and basic toiletries. No illegal substances, thank God, but nothing of value to him right now, either. No address books or letters or agendas or anything to hint at where he’d been going, or why he was here. No clues to who he was. Only a name—supposedly his own—that meant nothing to him.
    A staff shrink had come in earlier, a tall, lanky man in rimless glasses, whose laid-back manner had made Miles think of a cowboy, not a psychiatrist. This Dr. Simmons had asked him if he wanted a chance to talk about what had happened, in particular how he felt about his “memory deficit.” He hadn’t.
    Before he left, the shrink had suggested that Miles think about how he felt, anyway. Well, hell, he knew exactly how he felt. He was confused, frustrated and angry, and he didn’t think talking about it with a total stranger was going to change that. The shrink’s theory, that his brain was shutting out something he couldn’t deal with emotionally, didn’t wash. There had to be a better explanation for this than that it was all in his head. Miles might not know who he was, but he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t crazy.
    But what did he really know about himself? So far, all he knew for certain was that he hated being helpless—and eating hospital food.
    With a groan of raw frustration Miles gathered up the cards and the license and stuffed them back into the envelope. He handed them back to the young pup of a cop, McLeod, and shook his head. McLeod shrugged.
    “We’ve requested help from the Florida state police. I should have more information for you later today. Tomorrow morning at the latest. I tried phoning that fancy restaurant you have receipts from, but they must not be open this early. I’ll have to try a little closer to dinnertime.”
    “Whatever you get, let me know.” McLeod nodded. “As soon as you get it,” he added, not certain the cop understood his sense of urgency.
    McLeod just looked at him for a moment. “When are you getting out of here?” he asked finally.
    The change in topic didn’t surprise Miles. They’d been vying for dominance. The kid had his badge, but Miles didn’t feel like someone intimidated by authority figures. Other feelings simmered under the surface when he thought about cops and bureaucrats, but awe wasn’t one of them.
    “I think they’re stalling to make sure they get paid, just in case I’m a deadbeat.” The thought left a bitter taste, a vaguely familiar feeling, as if maybe that had been a problem at some time in his murky past. But if that was true, then where had he gotten all those credit cards, all that cash? Could he have mugged the real Miles Kent and stolen everything?
    Including his face? Nah. One more theory down the pipe, but one theory he didn’t mind flushing. Thinking of himself as a thief felt more than a little uncomfortable. What would he do if he turned out to be some high-wheeling crook on the lam?
    “Hey, don’t sweat it,” McLeod told him, grinning. Sure. He could grin. He knew who he was. “We’ll know soon enough.”
    “Not soon enough for me.”
    McLeod stood and shrugged into his shiny blue winter jacket. “Don’t play detective. Leave it to the professionals.”
    Miles couldn’t resist needling the pompous puppy. “What if I am a professional?”
    McLeod snorted. “Save that one for the movies.” He picked up the envelope of credit cards and cash that the police were keeping in their safe and nodded before heading for the door. With his hand on the handle, he stopped and turned back. “By the way, did Sasha Reiss visit you?”
    For some reason Miles felt caution settle into place like a mask. The nurses had mentioned that his rescuer had visited him almost every day he’d been unconscious, but he was still processing how he felt about that. Was