Free Our First Christmas by Lisa Jackson

want to talk to you.”
    â€œIn my office.”
    Kyle frowned. “I’ll wait out here.”
    â€œI’ll see she gets home,” Lucas said. She was his, and he’d take care of her.
    Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t mind waiting.”
    â€œKyle, it’s fine,” Marisa said. “I’m feeling a lot better already just being away from the hospital.”
    Kyle studied her face. “If you feel the least bit bad, go home.”
    â€œI promise.”
    Kyle shook his head. “You won’t.”
    Marisa smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
    When Kyle left, Lucas escorted Marisa back to his office. He had the urge to settle his hand on her lower back as a steadying guide but decided it was best to keep contact to a minimum.
    In his office, he directed her to a chair and after closing his door, sat on the edge of his desk and faced her. “I’m amazed you’re here.”
    â€œI don’t like hospitals. I spent a good bit of time in them when Mom was having her chemo.” She settled back in her chair with a soft sigh. “I hear my office was ransacked.”
    â€œIt was. I inspected it myself, and whatever notes you might have been keeping on my case are gone. Also your laptop was taken.”
    â€œDamn.” A resigned shrug. “I’m a fanatic about backups so at least I have my data on my professional work. Computers can be replaced. Work cannot be so easily duplicated.”
    â€œThe docs tell me your memory is fuzzy.”
    â€œIt is. I sustained a concussion. The pieces are drifting just out of reach. I understand that’s common with concussions, but it’s frustrating.”
    â€œWhat do you remember?”
    â€œNot much. The last memory I have is wrapping presents. I think I was close to figuring out your puzzle.”
    â€œYou called me while you were in the car. You said you’d cracked the code.”
    â€œI don’t remember the call or the code.” An irritated sigh escaped her lips. “I hate not remembering.”
    She was here. With him. That was what really mattered. “You will. Give it time.”
    â€œI don’t want to give it time. You said yourself this was time-sensitive information.”
    â€œThe accident is not your fault. You have to be patient.”
    She leaned forward. “I’m not a super-patient person. I had more than a few professors tell me to ease up and not push so hard. I’ve never figured out how to stop and smell the roses.”
    A smile tugged at the edge of his lips, softening the tension banding his body. “I’ve been accused of the same.”
    Green eyes, glittering a mixture of determination and hope, lifted to his. “I want to go back to the accident site.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œThat was the last place where I had all my memories. I think I might be able to jog my memory if I can travel the road again.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make much sense.”
    â€œRe-creating steps can be highly effective. It’s helped me find countless sets of lost keys, shoes, and sunglasses.”
    â€œWe aren’t talking about shoes. Memories are a little different.”
    â€œI don’t think so.” She closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her temple. “The memories are so close. They’re literally hovering below the surface of my mind and I feel as if I can reach out and pluck them up.” She arched a brow. “I’m going. I’m here to ask you to come with me, but either way, I’m going.”
    â€œI can’t imagine your father would be happy about this.”
    â€œI’m an adult.” Her annoyance crackled like lightning. “I make my own decisions. Are you going to take me to the site or do I go it alone?”
    He leaned toward her a fraction, his tone hard and clipped. “You can’t be driving now.”
    â€œI’ll take a cab.”
    â€œNo.” The