Forgive and Forget (3 page)

“Joe, look!” Donnie pointed to the stained grass just under the man’s head.

“Damn, is that what I think it is?” Joe carefully turned the guy’s head, finding the black hair at the back matted with blood. “Looks like someone got him good. We need to call an ambulance.”

Donnie hesitated before his instincts kicked in, and then he checked for breathing and signs of a pulse. “His breathing’s shallow, but he’s alive. He’s probably got a concussion, so it’s not good for him to be out.”

“I don’t know anything about head wounds other than the kind Bea gives me, and luckily, they’re not enough to get me concussed. Not yet, anyway.”

“If he’s got a concussion and he’s out, it could damage his brain. Problem is, we don’t know how long he’s been out for. We should—”

The man shot out his hand and grabbed a hold of Joe’s wrist, causing Donnie to shriek and Joe to nearly jump out of his skin. “Sweet Jesus!” Joe was about to tell Donnie to run and call an ambulance when he realized the injured man was trying to talk. “It’s okay. We’re going to get you to a hospital, just hang on.”

The man made a noise that sounded an awful lot like “no,” but that couldn’t be right. Maybe the poor bastard was out of his head. Joe leaned in when the guy lifted his head. “No cops,” he slurred, tightening his grip on Joe’s arm, his voice so low and gravelly Joe wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t been so close. “No hospital.”

“What?” Joe shook his head and did his best to remain calm. “Listen, buddy, someone knocked you over the head. You need medical attention.”

“Please, no cops. Help me.”

“I’m trying to help, but the best I can do is get you to a hospital. I’m not a doctor.”

“They’ll… kill me. Cops… dead…. No hospital. Please.” With that, the guy collapsed back onto the ground.

Well, those were certainly words he didn’t care to hear in the same sentence.

“JOE,
we have to get him upstairs,” Donnie suggested gravely.

Even if Joe
was
in the habit of bringing mysterious men home to his apartment—which he wasn’t—they would at least be conscious, and not possible murderers or criminals. There was a reason this man didn’t want them to alert the cops, and that was hardly a good sign. Yet the genuine fear he’d seen in those gray eyes had rattled Joe.

“Even if that wasn’t completely insane, you got a crane stashed somewhere I don’t know about? Because that’s what it’s gonna to take to move this guy,” Joe hissed.

Donnie gave a very helpful shrug. “You’re a big guy.”

Technically, a poodle was big to Donnie. “Yeah, and he’s bigger.
Much
bigger. Look at him!” Joe wasn’t about to point out that he’d be the one shouldering most of the weight. The man’s shoes probably weighed more than Donnie did. There was no way Joe could carry this guy up all those stairs by himself. Not without pulling something.

“Stop being such a delicate flower,” Bea growled, and Joe nearly keeled over. How in the hell did she do that?
Why
did she do that? Despite the circumstances, Joe couldn’t help batting his lashes.

“But I am a delicate flower.” That earned him an uninspired expression. “You know, one day I might just wake up and realize I’m the boss around here.”

“Yeah, well, when that day comes, you let me know. Now, if we all pitch in, we’ll get this guy upstairs. Personally, I think we should just call the cops and let them deal with him.”

“We can’t. What if he ends up dead and it’s our fault because we turned him in?” Donnie said with surprising confidence. “If we just get him upstairs and wake him up, we can find out what this is all about. The longer he’s out, Joe, the more damage his head could suffer. We can just call Jules afterward.”

Jules was a good friend and an even better nurse. She would know what to do. What was he thinking? This was crazy. Who knew what or who this man was? Despite all his misgivings, Joe found himself grunting in agreement and walking around to hook his arms under those of their new friend. Donnie grabbed a leg, Elsie the other, and Bea the middle. On the count of three, they lifted, and as quickly as they could manage, they carried him carefully up the iron steps toward Joe’s apartment, with Joe bearing most of the weight—as expected.

“What’s this guy eat for breakfast? Bricks?” Donnie groaned.

It certainly would explain why he was so damned heavy. Even with everyone pitching in, Joe’s muscles strained. He picked up the pace so they could reach his apartment before his back gave out. Finally, they managed to get into the living room, where they sat the guy on the couch before they collapsed onto the floor and various furnishings. After catching his breath, Joe stood and walked over to their unconscious guest.

“Elsie, please grab me some warm water and a couple of towels so he doesn’t bleed on the couch. Donnie, help me get his jacket off.”

They got busy swiftly removing the man’s jacket and boots in an attempt to make him more comfortable. From the looks of things, the clothes were all high quality. The charcoal-gray long-sleeved tee stretched over firm muscles and a flat stomach, and his dark jeans fit snug on strong thighs and long legs. Whoever the man was, he certainly wasn’t just some bum. Joe searched every pocket in the hopes of finding a wallet, some identification, a business card, cell phone, something that might give them a clue as to who their guest was.

“Did you find anything?” Elsie asked, bringing over the bowl of warm water.

“Nothing. Just some dirt. Donnie, get on the phone to Jules. Ask her what’s the earliest she can come by and what we should do in the meantime. Elsie, hold that bowl for me, will you? I’m going to try and get some of this blood off. Bea, could you finish up downstairs?”

Bea gaped like he’d grown three heads. “You want me to just leave you up here with him? What if he wakes up and attacks you? What if he’s a murderer? He might be an assassin hired to take you out!”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. No one’s been hired to take me out. I bake pies, Bea. I’m not the political head of a foreign territory. I’ll be fine.”

Bea looked like she was about to argue some more, but thankfully she also knew when Joe meant business, and so she retreated downstairs. Donnie went off to call Jules, and in the meantime, Joe carefully began to clean away as much blood as he could. Soon, he found the source of it: a thin line about two inches long on the side of the man’s scalp. It didn’t need stitches, but there was one hell of a bump on his noggin. Joe carefully laid him back against the faded brown couch before looking him over.

The guy was younger than Joe had thought, but it was hard to guess how old he was since he was looking a bit scruffy at the moment, what with his hair all over the place and the dark beard, though there were a few gray hairs starting to grow in. There was a nick on his lip, along with several cuts and scrapes around his face, neck, and arms.
Damn.
The guy’s knuckles were scraped and bruised. He’d clearly gotten into a pretty bad fight recently.

Donnie came scurrying back from the kitchen, his chest heaving as if he’d run a lap rather than the few feet it was. “Jules says we need to wake him up and get him to talk. Keep an eye on him in case he’s sick or dizzy, and keep him awake for a few hours. See about convincing him to get to a hospital. He needs to be observed overnight. She says she’s sorry, but she’s working tonight. She’ll try to come by as soon as she can.”

“Okay.” Joe ran his fingers through his hair as he thought about his next move.

Donnie took a seat beside Elsie, both watching him anxiously. “What are we gonna do, Joe?”

As sure as Joe was that the guy hadn’t been hired to assassinate him, he didn’t know if the man was dangerous. Not to mention his last words hadn’t exactly filled Joe with warm fuzzy feelings. “Why don’t you kids go help Bea? I’ll let you know when he’s awake, or if I need anything.”

Donnie opened his mouth but caught Joe’s subtle nod toward Elsie, who looked a little pale. The kid quickly jumped to his feet and took her hand. “Come on, Elsie. Let’s go help Bea.” Elsie gazed up at Donnie like he was her knight in shining armor and followed him, smiling, out of the apartment.

“All right, Joe, you can do this.” Inhaling deeply, Joe crouched in front of the unconscious man and pinched his hand lightly. “Hey. Wake up.”

Nothing happened.

“Of course nothing happened.” What did he think would happen with a pinch like that? If Bea had been here, she’d have told him off for it, or more likely, probably given him a tweak that put his own to shame. Bracing himself, he pinched the man’s hand. Hard.

Nothing.

“Aw, come on, man. Do me a favor, already. I nearly pulled something dragging your butt up here. The least you could do is be conscious.” He pinched the guy again. “Wake up!” Another harsh pinch later, the guy groaned.
Now we’re getting somewhere.

Gently shaking the guy’s shoulder with one hand and patting the man’s cheek with the other, Joe was about to smack him one more time when the guy popped up like a jack-in-the-box.

Joe forgave himself for the inelegant yelp that escaped him. He hit the carpet with a painful
thud
.
What just happened?

Managing to suck some air into his lungs, when the man landed on him, Joe did his best not to panic by shutting his eyes tight and remaining perfectly still. Then he remembered the heavy weight pinning him down wasn’t a bear and therefore most likely not fooled by his playing possum. Were bears fooled by that kind of thing? Maybe this wasn’t the best time to ponder that. The weight shifted, and before Joe knew it, there was a forearm pressed against his neck. Suddenly, this all seemed like a very bad idea. Actually,
bad
was an understatement. He could just about hear Bea’s “I told you so.” He hated when she told him so.

“Who do you work for,” the man demanded, his face red and his steel gaze pinning Joe to the spot. “Answer me!”

Joe shook his head as best he could. “No one! Me! I work for me. I bake pies.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Joe said, his hands up at his sides to show he didn’t intend to pull anything funny. He hadn’t exactly thought about what he’d do once the guy woke up.
Smart, Joe. Very smart.

It wasn’t like he was a weakling. He was six feet tall, after all, and though not overly muscular, still strong enough. Of course, the man above him was big and solid, at least twenty to thirty pounds heavier than Joe, with an added three to four inches in height. From the feel of hard thigh muscles pressed firmly against Joe’s ribs, the broadness of his chest, the strength in his arms, and a look that said “try it and I’ll throw you across the room without breaking a sweat,” Joe realized he might have bitten off a little more than he could chew. His best option would be to reason with the man. If all else failed, well, then, he would simply have to punch the guy and hope for the best.

“My friends and I found you in the garden downstairs, just outside my shop. Remember? You went unconscious, so I was trying to wake you up. You might have a concussion.” Joe hoped his smile didn’t look as shaky as it felt.

The man moved his free hand to the back of his head and winced. Well, at least he knew Joe hadn’t been lying about that.

“I’m Joe. And you are…?”

“I….” The man’s dark brows drew together. He seemed to genuinely struggle with a reply. For a moment Joe thought maybe the guy was trying to bide himself some time to come up with some bull story, but when he turned his gaze back to Joe, Joe was stunned to see the panic there. “I—oh God, I don’t know.”

Just when he thought things couldn’t get any stranger.

The man jumped to his feet and backed up as he frantically looked around the room. “Where the hell am I? Why can’t I remember anything?” Spotting the window, he rushed over to it and squinted out into the dark streets. “What city is this?”

Joe gradually stood, not wanting to make any sudden movements. “You’re in my apartment, above my shop in Manhattan. New York City.” He felt a pang in his chest as the guy went frightfully still.

“New York? Am I supposed to be in New York? I can’t remember anything before… before now.” He closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth. It was obvious he was racking his brain for whatever information might be in there. Joe wished there was something he could do, but it was out of his hands. It wasn’t as if he could offer any help. He’d never seen the man before tonight.

“Let’s take things slow,” Joe said reassuringly. “You were out for a good while, and I’m guessing the nasty bump on your head has something to do with why you’re having trouble remembering. I’m sure it’ll come back to you. You just have to take it easy.” He motioned to the couch. “Come on. Sit down. You’re safe here.”

The man eyed him warily. “I’m fine standing.”

“Okay. My name is Joe Applin. I own the pie and coffee shop downstairs. I brought you up here because you needed help and you refused to go to a hospital.”

Something seemed to have occurred to the guy because he marched over to Joe, his menacing growl giving Joe a start. “Did you call the cops?”

Joe took a step back. “What? No. You said no cops.” Was it possible the guy couldn’t remember? Joe didn’t have a clue about this sort of thing other than what he saw in Hollywood. Amnesia? Really? This whole situation was like something out of one of Bea’s Lifetime movies. Joe couldn’t help his skepticism. “Listen, why don’t you rest for a bit? Don’t overdo it. My friend’s a nurse, but she’s at work at the moment. Are you feeling sick at all or dizzy?” The guy shook his head and Joe breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, then. Well, she said I need to keep you up for a while, and if you go to sleep, you need to be observed. We’ll see what she has to say when she gets here and take it from there, okay?”

“Why would you help me?” The man took a step closer. Joe instinctively did the same before taking a step in the opposite direction. The guy sure had an imposing way about him, one that had Joe ready to bolt. It would be wise not to underestimate his guest. Lack of memory didn’t mean the man was incapable of who knew what. Maybe he wasn’t thinking this through enough.