“But me. You remember me.” She was insistent. Almost pleading. Then she cleared her throat. “I mean you should. After everything.”

What the hell was “everything”? He knew better than to ask.

“Sort of.” He blinked. He was having trouble concentrating. Sleep seemed determined to pull him back under.

“You are such a liar!” But she didn’t seem mad. Not really. Her gaze moved to his lips, and for the briefest of seconds, he thought she might lean over and kiss him. She didn’t. Instead, she sighed, and he caught the hint of a fragrance, a perfume that was slightly familiar. “I’m your girlfriend.”

That didn’t sound right. He looked at her. Gorgeous and maybe . . . but nothing. And didn’t the nurse say something about Megan being his girlfriend? He was groggy, but he was sure he had that right.

She read his mind. “Wow. I just hope this . . . amnesia? I hope it’s temporary.”

“You and me both.”

She sent a hasty, almost secretive glance around the room. “Listen, I’m not supposed to be here. Nobody knows I came, and no one can find out.”

“Why?” He tried to push himself into a sitting position but was only able to lever himself onto the elbow of his good arm.

“You’re not supposed to have visitors.” She glanced at the door, which was slightly ajar, almost but not quite closed. “I had to sneak in, wait until there was a change in the nursing shift and some kind of emergency down the hall.” Her gaze swept the room. “As it is, I’m sure I’m on camera, but I tried to disguise myself.”

“Why can’t I have visitors?”

“Not sure. Either doctor’s orders, or it comes from the police.”

The cops. Again. His insides clenched. Despite the pain, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“I just wanted to see that you were all right.” She turned, as if to leave.

He reached out, grabbed her wrist like he had the nurse’s. “Why would the cops keep me from seeing anyone?” he asked, trying to keep his mind on the conversation. It seemed important. It was important.

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

She glanced at his hand, wrapped firmly over her wrist. He let go.

“Oh. Maybe you don’t. It’s because of Megan.”

A fleeting image sizzled through his brain, a split-second recollection of a woman, her face twisted in anger, her hair damp with snow, her pale eyes sparking with hatred. And then she was gone, the mental picture dissipating as quickly as it had appeared.

His gut twisted.

That angry woman was Megan. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was sure of it. “What about her?”

“She’s missing.”

“Missing?” So that was what the nurse was going to tell him when the doctor cut her off.