Remember Jamie Baker (Jamie Baker #3)(3)

The doctor studied me again. I’d listed my hair and eye colors as symptoms when I first came in for my appointment, and I’d never seen a man more baffled than Dr. Rajeet had been. He didn’t believe my appearance was natural until he’d done some tests. But it is. My hair is neon green, and my eyes are the color of lemons. Tony thinks my looks are hot, but I hate them. I look like a freak.

Dr. Rajeet waited a moment for me to calm my temper before he cleared his throat. When I looked up, he rubbed his neck nervously and said, “I know it’s unfair of me to ask since I haven’t been able to help you, but your case is so unique. I know you don’t want to do any more tests, but with your permission, I’d still like to share your medical records with my colleagues. I would love to study your condition further and possibly publish the findings. Your brain is miraculous. I believe there is a lot we could learn, and maybe someday, if I can figure out what your brain is doing, I could find more answers for you about things like your hair and eye color, and any other unique symptoms you might have.”

Symptoms like my superpowers…?

It seemed far-fetched to me that he’d ever find answers, and Tony would have a conniption if he found out I let someone study me, but if there was a chance he might find some clues as to why I was different, I was willing to risk it. With my memory gone forever, my physical differences were the only clue I had left to figuring out who I was. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

The doctor tried to keep a solemn face, but his eyes beamed. “Thank you, Miss O’Neil. I promise: If there are any answers to be had, we’ll find them.” He handed me some papers that he’d had waiting beneath my brain scans. “I’ll just need you to sign these release forms.”

Before I picked up a pen, I looked at the doctor again. “You’ll keep my identity secret, right? No one will know whose funky brain they’re looking at, will they? I don’t want a bunch of doctors or scientists or whoever calling me or showing up at my house asking if they can study me.”

Dr. Rajeet nodded gravely. “You have my word, Miss O’Neil.”

I wasn’t the most trusting person in the world, but I was desperate so I took his word for it. I hoped he had enough pride in his career that he would take his patient confidentiality seriously.

As I leafed through the stack of papers, signing on all the right lines, Dr. Rajeet scribbled something down onto a prescription pad. Once I was done signing my privacy away, he tore the prescription off and handed it to me. I rolled my eyes at the website he’d written out for me. “An amnesia support group?”

“There are others who understand what you’re going through. It may help to talk to them.”

Sure, it would. Hearing other people’s sob stories wasn’t going to get me my memories back.

I accepted the paper in an effort not to be rude—I had my suspicions about insolence being one of my qualities, too—and shoved it in my purse. “I guess that’s it, then,” I said as I stood up. “Thanks for trying anyway.”





Though I was in no mood to fight with Tony—he was going to be furious that I went to see a doctor—I forced myself to go home. Sulking had never been my style. At least, I didn’t think it was.

It was time for plan B. Plan A had been the genius brain doctor. Obviously that was a bust, and that only left me with one other option. A desperate solution that was too far-fetched to even be considered a long shot. But I was now desperate. My condition was permanent. My memory was gone forever.

Bracing myself, I took a breath and pushed through the front door of our secluded desert home.

“April!” Tony’s arms were around me in a tight hug before the word was finished leaving his lips. His relief didn’t last long. As soon as my safe return registered in his brain, he pulled back from the embrace and glowered at me. “Where have you been?”

Strong and defiant was definitely the best approach. He wasn’t my father. He didn’t own me—no matter how much he acted like it. I gave him a shrug and fell down to the couch. “I went to see a special neurosurgeon at Johns Hopkins about my amnesia.”

“You WHAT?”

He’s so predictable. Ignoring the outburst, I leaned my head back and shut my eyes. My head hurt. “I needed answers. Don’t worry; I didn’t say anything about my powers or the accident.”

“It doesn’t matter!”

He looked crazed, as if he was contemplating strangling me. His anger might have impressed me if it were on a different face. Tony has the curse of being adorable. When we’re not fighting, he’s this cute little lovable geek that I adore. He’s no taller than me, and kind of skinny, but he has nice, dark Italian features. His dark eyes are beautiful and his black hair is thick and shiny with a nice wave in it, but his best feature is his dimples. They’re so big they swallow his face when he smiles. They’re also the reason he’ll never be hot. Or scary. Boyishly cute and slightly geeky with adorable dimples does not an intimidating guy make.

“We have no idea what your body is like, April,” he continued to rant. “They could have realized something was different about you.”

I decided not to tell him about the funky brain activity that had Dr. Rajeet so excited. Instead, I said, “I was right, by the way. My amnesia isn’t psychological. I have brain damage. The doctor said it’s permanent. I’m never getting my memories back.”