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woman's hand hard. 'I don't know who I am.'
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    TWO
    Tuesday, June 2nd. Afternoon.
    The sweat lay thick on Josh's forehead. He opened his eyes reluctantly. The light flooded over him as he glanced towards the window. Through the doorway he could see a yard with two pick-up trucks parked on the gravel, and a barn that looked as if it had been empty for years. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a dog barking, but otherwise it was completely silent. The heat was still stifling.
    The woman was leaning across him, a swab of cotton wool in one hand and a bottle of disinfectant in the other. That perfume again, thought Josh, as the fragrance drifted over him. What was its bloody name?
    The woman dabbed some disinfectant on the cotton wool, then started rubbing it onto Josh's arm.
    A jolt of pain shot through his system, running deep into his spine. He pushed her aside. 'No,' he said firmly.
    'Let me,' she replied. 'I'm a doctor.'
    Josh looked up into her eyes. She was wearing a blue denim skirt, and a white .blouse through which Josh could just see the outline of a white lace bra. There was some make-up on her face -- a dab of face powder and some pale red lipstick -- but she still looked fresh and natural. Her hair was tied up behind her neck and a pair of sunglasses was pushed up over her forehead.
    'A doctor?' said Josh, the surprise evident in the tone of his voice.
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    The woman nodded. 'And you're sick. Very sick. So just lie back and let me treat you.'
    Josh's gaze roamed around the room. Wherever it was, it certainly wasn't a hospital. Or a doctor's surgery. The room was about ten foot by five, with a pair of French windows at one end that led out into the yard. It was painted a pale grey-cream, but Josh reckoned that it was at least five years since anyone had run a paintbrush over it. There was nothing on the walls, and the bed he was lying on was a single, with a wooden frame and with only one sheet covering his body. Next to the bed was a jug of iced water and a face flannel. Apart from that, the room was empty. Josh lay with his head back against the pillow. A thick bandage was strapped to the side of his neck, and beneath it his skin felt burning hot. His head was throbbing with pain, as if someone was chipping away at the inside of his skulL.with a chisel. The beat of the pain was a dull, steady rhythm that kept time like a jazz drummer. Every three seconds came another beat, making it almost impossible for Josh to hold a straight thought.
    First things first, he told himself. Figure out where you are, what's wrong with you. Who attacked you yesterday? And who the hell are you?
    The woman dabbed some more disinfectant onto his arm, sending another bolt of jabbing pain through him. She paused, as if she was wondering where to start. 'You were shot,' she replied. 'Twice.' a
    Josh nodded. 'How bad?'
    'Once in the neck -- that was the worst one,' the woman replied. 'It went in just to the left of the windpipe, nicking the skin and blowing out a chunk of flesh. Another centimetre and you'd be dead. I've cleaned it up and cut away all the infected skin. That bandage stays on your neck for at least two weeks, and I'll need to change it every three
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    days. Keep it clean, though, and you should be okay. You were lucky'
    She sounded like a doctor, thought Josh. She could discuss his injuries with a cool, professional detachment, as if she was explaining how to fix a machine.
    'The second bullet went into your left calf. Nasty and painful, but not as dangerous. It took out a chunk of flesh but didn't sever any of the main arteries. The bullet was lodged in there but I took it out, and I think the wound's pretty clean. You lost at least two pints of blood, and you're going to have a nasty scar there, but it will heal okay. I'll keep the bandage on for a few days, then go in and take another look.'
    The woman looked closely at Josh. 'You're strong,' she said softly.'A lot of men would have died from these wounds. You know