Memories Of You Read Online Free Page B

progress, not a completed project. It lacked a certain steel, an edge, a depth of pain and experience she’d been expecting. “Aldridge is just a name I use when I introduce myself or sign a check.”
    “How do you know this? How can you be that positive you aren’t Aldridge?” she asked.
    “Instinct.” He leaned back in his seat. The muscles in his jaw worked, taut skin moving over well-chiseled bones. “Something tells me that we’ve met. Your face isn’t familiar, but your voice is. We were close, intimate, I think. Please, you have to remember, because I can’t.”
    Heather cleared her throat, and Charlie looked up, perturbed but grateful. She needed time to think. Placing their orders would give her the chance to gather her thoughts, choose her words carefully, so she pointed at the menu and gave her choice of entrée.
    Charlie reverted to cop, noting her companion’s order. Aldridge hadn’t even looked at the menu, just asked if they served chalupas. When Heather said yes, he nodded.
    No big deal. Lots of people liked that dish.
    Then he called Heather back. “I forgot to make a request—double beans, no rice and extra jalapeños. Thanks.”
    Heather immediately glanced at Charlie and cocked an eye. It was what Seth would have ordered.
    Charlie averted her gaze as she thought, and her eyes focused on two men sitting at a booth catercorner from them. Both men were looking at them but quickly turned away as soon as they caught her staring in their direction. She realized she might have been the one being rude and immediately turned her attention back to Heather and Mason.
    “Did I say something wrong?” he asked, looking at Charlie.
    “What?” She reeled herself back to what he’d said. “Not at all. That’s how I get my plate, only no jalapeños.” She debated on how much to reveal and decided to keep mum as to Seth’s preferences.
    “You’re spicy enough, heh?” he joked.
    Charlie choked and had to reach for her glass of water. Exactly what Seth had said on occasion, teasing her about her quarter-Mexican heritage and not being true Hispanic if she didn’t like the hot peppers.
    When Heather left, Mason, or whoever he was, leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Let’s lay it all out here on the table. All I know is that I’m not trying to get into your pants. I have money—and while this face isn’t mine, it’s not that bad to look at, right?”
    She could tell he wasn’t looking for compliments, so she nodded slowly. “No, it’s a nice face.” She frowned, trying to discern precisely how this face was different from the one she knew. “Have you had cheek implants or an alteration here?” She brushed the back of her hand against her jaw.
    “Both, plus a new nose. Evidently, my face was crushed.” He sighed. “The doctors in Mexico did their best using a photo my sister provided them.”
    “Seth Taggart didn’t have a sister,” Charlie murmured before she could stop herself. Now he had a name.
    “Seth,” he mused. “Even that doesn’t sound right, but it’s a start, more than what I had before I arrived. Thanks.”
    Well, that’s not good, not if the sound of his own name doesn’t ring any bells. The hope she hadn’t realized she’d been building deflated, leaving Charlie feeling once again at a loss. The push-pull conversation wasn’t tiring so much as frustrating.
    “Charlene—for some reason I want to call you Charlie,” he said.
    Her eyes widened. “That’s my nickname.”
    “May I call you that?”
    “Sure.” She squirmed but reminded herself she was a cop, a woman in what for years had been a man’s job, so it was natural for anyone with half a brain to segue from the female form of her name to a more masculine nickname.
    He continued. “I don’t dye my hair—is it the same color as your friend’s?”
    “Yes.” Weird that he is so analytical and thinks like a cop, but then he’s had time to wonder about himself and how he got here since he woke