Well, standing on the sidewalk outside her store wasn’t helping anything. She headed west toward the hospital where she could find Gwen and prayed she was on shift tonight. Adrienne was about to turn the corner toward Greenwich Village when she felt an iron hand grip her shoulder.
Just great.
Homeless, penniless, hopeless and now someone was going to mug her. And take what? All she had left was her pride, and that wouldn’t go for much at the local pawn shop. Spinning on her heel, ready to fend off her would-be mugger, she found herself face-to-face with Nigel.
“What are you doing?” she screeched. “You scared the hell out of me.” Adrienne jerked from his grasp and stumbled backward.
Nigel looked like hell. He hadn’t changed his clothes or shaved since she saw him at the party, and she was willing to believe he hadn’t slept either. His oversized tuxedo was wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot and wild with emotion and sleep deprivation. He looked like a man on the edge.
“How did you find me here? Did you follow me?”
Nigel nodded. “I’ve been watching your building and saw you leave. I followed you to try and talk some sense into you.”
“You’ve been following me around Manhattan for hours?” A deep sense of unease was pooling in her already unsteady stomach. The last words he’d spoken to her were a threat, and then he’d started stalking her. She took another slow step back. If he had a weapon, she didn’t want to be within swiping range.
“I did what I had to do. I need to talk with you.”
There was a growing edge of hysteria in his voice that Adrienne didn’t like. “There’s nothing to talk about, because I’m not Cynthia Dempsey.”
“Oh, is that your new story?” Nigel sneered at her, his upper lip curling with irritation. “And who are you now, Miss High and Mighty?”
Why did no one believe her when she tried to tell the truth? “There was a mixup at the hospital. My name is Adrienne. They thought I was Cynthia, but I’ve regained my memory and know now that I’m not.”
Nigel frowned at her. “Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
How could she prove it to him? Maybe the same way she’d unknowingly convinced Will. “I have no rose tattoo, Nigel. I know you would’ve seen it at some point. I’m not going to drop my pants in the street, but you can believe me when I say it. Will threw me out of the apartment because the tattoo was missing. That’s why I’m wandering around Manhattan without a coat, a purse or a dime to my name.”
Nigel struggled to swallow a hard lump in his throat. “If you’re Adrienne, then where the hell is Cynthia?”
Adrienne squeezed her eyes shut. Every time she thought her life couldn’t get worse, fate slapped her down and proved her wrong. Did she really have to connect those dots for him? She couldn’t have him stalking her around town when she had no place safe to go, so she supposed she had to. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Cynthia was killed in the plane crash. They confused us and thought I was dead instead of her.”
If Adrienne had thought he was angry before, she was wrong. Nigel’s jaw locked, his face flushing crimson with anger. “Stop lying to me!” He lunged toward her, and his hand flew before she could react. His fist made contact with her chin, sending her flying backward.
The last thing she remembered was the cold sensation of the concrete sidewalk against her back and the loud thunk of her head as it hit the ground and knocked her out.
* * *
“I don’t understand. What was she doing in SoHo without any money or identification? Was she mugged?”
Adrienne recognized the voice of Pauline Dempsey, her tone growing more shrill with concern. For a minute, everything was jumbled in her mind. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was fighting with Nigel. How did she end up in a room with Cynthia’s parents? She was curious but didn’t want to open her eyes. Her head hurt too much, and she was sure the lights illuminating her eyelids wouldn’t help.
“It’s possible, but I doubt it. The cops seem to think she was assaulted by someone she knew. The 911 dispatcher said the male caller gave her name. Without ID, no one would’ve known who she was otherwise.”
“I bet it was that man from last night. I knew I should’ve called security. How is my little girl going to get better at this rate?” This time the voice was her father’s. Or rather, George Dempsey’s.
Was she in the hospital again? Wait…Nigel hit her when she told him Cynthia was dead. She must’ve been knocked pretty hard to black out.
“She’s going to be fine. Fortunately, the man who hit her struck her jaw and not her cheekbones or any of the other parts that are still healing from surgery. She has a concussion, so we’ll need to keep an eye on her for a little bit, but I don’t think it’s very serious.”