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bring back the memories she needed?
    He was silently debating what to do when a knock on his office door interrupted him.
    “Come in,” he called.
    A man wearing dark slacks and a navy blazer over a white dress shirt stepped into Matt’s office. The stranger looked to be in his late twenties, and he had broad shoulders, a muscular build and large dangerous-looking hands. His face wasn’t particularly remarkable, although perhaps he had broken his nose sometime in the past.
    The overall impression he gave was negative, although Matt couldn’t exactly explain why. Just as he’d gotten the feeling that Elizabeth Doe was a good person, he sensed that this guy was “bad.” There was something behind his eyes that told Matt his mood could turn deadly in an instant.
    “Dr. Delano?”
    “Yes,” he said, still sizing up the man.
    “I’m Bob Wilson. I understand you saw a patient with amnesia?”
    “I’m not at liberty to discuss my patients.”
    “Yes, of course. I understand completely. But I think she might be my sister.”
    “Why?”
    “She told me that she was coming over yesterday, but she never showed up.”
    “And you haven’t heard from her?”
    “No.”
    “The woman I treated was listed as Jane Doe. What’s your sister’s name?”
    “Elizabeth Simmons.”
    He hoped he didn’t show any reaction. The Elizabeth part was right, but was that really her last name? And why did he doubt this guy? “Do you have her picture?”
    “Of course.” The man opened his wallet and took out a photograph that looked like it might have been taken for a college yearbook.
    “Yes, that’s her,” he reluctantly said. There was no way out of the admission because, if he lied about it, it was easily exposed since his having treated her was a matter of record.
    Wilson’s face lit up, but not in a way Matt liked.
    “Thank God. Do you know where she’s gone?”
    This lie was easy. “Sorry.”
    “You’re sure you have no idea?”
    “Sorry,” he said again. “I can’t help you. I’d left the floor before she was discharged.”
    The man’s expression turned hard. “If you do hear about her, I’d like you to call me.” He took out a business card that read Bob Wilson and handed it over. There was a phone number on the card but nothing else besides the name.
    “What do you do, Mr. Wilson?”
    “I’m in sales.”
    “Why don’t you have that on your card?”
    “I’m between jobs.”
    Matt wanted to ask, “Then why have a card?” but he kept the question to himself.
    Wilson gave Matt a penetrating look, and Matt had the feeling that he wanted to say, “You’re in big trouble if you don’t call.”
    But he said nothing more.
    * * *
    T HE RINGING OF THE phone woke Elizabeth, and when she looked outside, it was getting dark.
    She dressed in her new clothes, then hurried into the living room, hoping it might be Matthew Delano on the phone. But it sounded like Polly was talking to someone else. She had a pad of paper and a pencil in her hand and was writing something down.
    When she hung up, she looked at Elizabeth. “A man came to the nursing station asking about you.”
    “Who?”
    “He said his name was Bob Wilson and that he was your brother.”
    “Bob Wilson,” she repeated, saying the name a couple of times aloud.
    “Does that mean anything to you?”
    “No, but that’s not surprising. I mean, nothing has come back to me except—” She stopped abruptly.
    “Except what?”
    “Except the part about my name,” she said, unwilling to relate that, when Matthew Delano had touched her, a whole slew of memories had come flashing back to her. But telling Polly about that would sound strange. Really, Elizabeth wouldn’t have believed it herself if it hadn’t happened to her.
    And she didn’t want to make her benefactor think that Elizabeth Doe had lost her marbles as well as her memory. “This Bob Wilson person spoke to someone at the hospital?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Who?”
    “Cynthia