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Matt was so pissed, his entire body was shaking with helpless anger.
“What the fuck,” Colt said under his breath.
“Exactly,” Matt gritted through his teeth. Fury scalded his veins that anyone—anyone—would think he would sit back and wait calmly for news on Grace. He was a man of action, dammit.
“Colt, honey, are you coming back inside?” Mya asked tremulously from the stoop of the diner.
“You’re unbelievable,” Matt said under his breath, referring to the blonde.
“I’m coming with you,” Colt told him, ignoring his sarcasm.
“What? Where are you going?” Kate’s doppelgänger asked.
“Atlanta,” Colt responded. “I’m sorry, Mya, but someone we know could have been at the airport.”
“You said I’d be safe. How can I feel safe if you’re leaving me here?”
For a second, Matt felt sorry for Colt because if he was looking for Kate’s replacement, this woman was not it. He didn’t think his friend was attracted to his twin based on physical attributes alone.
Colt sighed. “I’ll take you to the ranch, Mya. Mac will take care of you.” He glanced at Matt. “Are we riding together?”
Matt shook his head. “I’m taking the V-Rod Harley. Chances are, traffic will be at a standstill on 285 and 85. Bring your Suburban.”
“Will do.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Grace
Desperate to find out who I was, I began searching through abandoned belongings. The first one I grabbed belonged to a woman in her twenties. She was blonde according to her California driver’s license. Doubtful, I searched for a reflective surface. I was appalled at my condition with blood streaming down my face. I had mossy eyes and dark hair.
Everything I knew about myself was in the fourth purse. I was thirty-four years old and had an address in Washington, DC. I had a Jericho Airlines flight to the nation’s capital this morning at nine-fifteen. Unfortunately, all I knew about myself was on my driver’s license. There were two strange devices that required a password. They felt familiar in my hand, and I’d seen people running around talking into something similar, so they must’ve been cell phones.
I had no time to process this. For one thing, I was slowly bleeding to death, and my head hurt—not only from a sizable lump, but my brain throbbed with the onslaught of random memories. I hadn’t figured out where I was from yet, though I was pretty sure I could name the fifty U.S. states. I didn’t know who my parents were, where I went to school, and what I did for a living. All I got were flashes of images like a vintage film.
Polaroids.
Huh?
Of all the things to remember.
“Ma’am?”
Standing before me were two men holding a stretcher. EMTs.
Thank God.
One of them crouched beside me. His nameplate said M. Diaz. “Are you hurt elsewhere besides your head and leg?”
“I don’t think so, but, I’m … get—getting woozy from … from the blood loss I think.”
“Did you lose consciousness?”
“Yes—”
My surroundings started spinning and the urge to puke threatened to overwhelm me. Shit.
“Ma’am? Ma’am?”
