There had been a fight. In his house. She’d been furious with him and swinging some kind of long weapon with one hand, maybe a machete or a bat, all the while swiping bare-handed at him with the other. She’d found out about something . . . Oh, God, had it been about Sophia? Isn’t that what Sophia had said earlier? That she’d suspected they’d been fighting over her? He yanked at the hair in front of his bandage. Think, Cahill, think!

He remembered backing up in his living room, trying to calm her down, trying to grab at what she’d been flailing. But she’d been furious. Outraged. Intent on doing serious harm.

The weapon—a poker. Yeah, the fireplace poker. Not a machete. Not a baseball bat. She’d scratched him, he’d turned for a second, and she’d landed a blow to his head, and he’d tripped, and—

“I really don’t think it would be a good idea! He’s sleeping now.” A woman’s sharp voice interrupted his train of thought. “Did you hear me!” She sounded irritated. The image in James’s mind faded as he glanced to the partially open door. “Please. Don’t.” The voice was firm, punctuated by the staccato beat of quick footsteps heading his way.

“This will only take a minute.” A different woman’s authoritative voice.

Familiar?

Maybe. But he couldn’t place it.

The door to his room flew open, nearly hitting the wall.

“Now, wait a minute—” The nurse called from somewhere down the hallway. “You can’t just barge in there!”

But she had.

This tall woman hesitated for just a second, then marched over to his bed.

Did he know her?

“James.” She spit out his name as if the very sound of it burned her tongue. And she sure looked like she knew him. And probably hated him. “Where is she?”

“What? Who’re you?”

She hesitated, but her dark eyes sparked. “Are you for real?” She glared at him. “You’re not seriously going to play that game with me.”

“Do I know you?” He pushed on the button to raise the head of his bed.

She made a sound of disbelief. “Do you know me?” she repeated with more than a little contempt. “Save it, okay? Don’t try any of that amnesia BS on me. It won’t work.”

“Look, lady—”

“Lady?” She rolled those expressive eyes, and her lips tightened. And in that second, he had a flash of memory. He did know her. He remembered her face, the glint of intelligence in her eyes, the crest of her cheekbones, and her quick dimple when she smiled. And then there was the anger . . .

“What did you do to her?” Her lips were flat against her teeth. “If you did anything to hurt her, I swear I’ll—”