Then there was the problem with Megan. Where the hell was she? He was getting more worried about her with each passing day. What he remembered of their last fight was horrid. How angry she’d been. How vicious. How upset.

And it was his own damned fault.

He should never have taken up with her in the first place, never believed her lies.

“You’re going to regret this.”

Her words haunted him.

And he wondered, if she did happen to show up again, which he hoped for, how he would explain about his rekindled interest in Rebecca. Not that it was a problem currently, considering Rebecca’s attitude toward him. Nonetheless, when Megan found out, she’d hit the roof.

If Megan found out, he reminded himself.

There was a chance she would never return.

And as time went on, the thought that she might be dead burned through his brain.

He closed his eyes.

What the hell had happened to her? Less and less he believed her disappearance was an act. More and more he feared something awful had happened to her.

What about Sophia? She still thinks you’re a couple. You’re not doing much to dissuade her. And Jennifer? Don’t forget her. Didn’t she call you the week before Megan went missing? Despite your amnesia, you didn’t forget that, did you?

“Shit.”

Beside him, Ralph pressed his nose to the passenger window and whined.

It was time to go. James slugged back the remainder of the coffee that he’d bought at the drive-thru kiosk a block from the clinic. He hadn’t exactly been given a clean bill of health, but Dr. Monroe had told him he could ditch the sling, for the most part, and suggested he might want to get a haircut to even things up; his wound was healing as expected.

James cast a glance at himself in the mirror and decided he looked like crap. A military buzz cut was the only thing that would “even things up.” Well, so be it.

He crushed the paper cup, tossed it on the floor, and hazarded another glance at the hotel.

So close, but so far away.

Light-years.

He should just let it go.

Let her go.

Like he had before.

All for Megan. Jesus, he’d been an ass. He scraped a hand over his head and wondered what the hell had happened to Rebecca’s sister. And he felt bad. Because he hadn’t realized how serious her leaving had been. Even after he’d regained his memory, he’d believed she had just thrown a tantrum, made a scene, hidden out to lick her wounds and make him realize how much he needed her—wanted her.

But he’d been wrong.

And now he was scared, worried about her.

Where could she be?

Dead, Cahill, she could be dead.