This story is based upon characters created by Janet Evanovich. I don't own them, I only play with them, and for entertainment purposes only.

A/N

OK, so I had a strange idea for a story and thought I'd give it a go. This one is going to be a big departure from my last story, and although some aspects of this plot line have been written before, I think I've made it different enough to be interesting… At least, that's my hope. There is a bit of a backstory here before we get into any of Janet Evanovich's recognizable characters, so I hope you'll bear with me. Also, there is a time jump in this story, so when you read of 2016 as the past, please recognize that this was done intentionally. So, if you're still with me, I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think and if it is too convoluted to continue or if it is worth the effort. Thanks, Chica.

I'm sure you've heard the saying that the truth is stranger than fiction. Let me tell you, truer words have never been spoken! Then again, is it still the truth if you're the only one experiencing it? Perhaps I should explain a little more about me and how I got into this situation so that you can judge for yourself…

My name is Jennifer Clark. I'm thirty-five years old, single, and currently living in Southern California. When I was only a couple of months old I was adopted by an absolutely wonderful couple. My adopted parents were in their late forties when I came along, and as much as they adored one another, they doted on me just as much. When most of my friends growing up barely saw their parents, mine showed up to all my school events and generally hosted all the neighborhood kids after school. They said that I blessed their lives two-fold; once when I made them parents and again when they became the unofficial "mom" and "dad" to all my friends. They were truly great people and I miss them both every day.

Last March my dad turned eighty-two. He'd been in pretty decent shape throughout his seventies, both my parents had, but Dad had been having some health issues for the last few years. Last June he had a heart attack and passed away. My mom, who'd never spent a night away from my dad since the day they married, died less than a week later. While the doctor's claim she died of natural causes from old age, I know that she really died of a broken heart. And while it was extremely difficult losing my mom so soon after losing my dad, I know that she hadn't wanted to live another day without him.

I'd had everything I'd ever wanted growing up, except for a larger family. Being an only child isn't uncommon, but it would have been nice to have aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents… you know, people with whom you can celebrate the holidays and major life events. Both my parents were only children and their parents had died before I was born, so a bigger family was never an option.

Having been adopted, I couldn't help but wonder about my birth parents and the family I might have had. Throughout my childhood, and even into adulthood, I'd wondered who my biological mother and father were. I'd never wanted my mom and dad to think I was in any way unhappy being their daughter, however, so I'd never tried to find out more about them. Now that I was alone in the world, and because I didn't have to continue my customer service work for quite awhile (thanks to a significant inheritance), I was determined to find out where I came from, and as much as I could about my biological parents.

In 2016, "closed" adoptions were still pretty common, which meant that there was no contact between the birth mother and the prospective adopted families. Records were sealed and adoption agencies were legally bound to keep the identities of the birth parents confidential, even from their children.

The search for my birth parents began with the agency that handled my adoption. Fortunately, they were still in business. Unfortunately, the only information they were able to give me was that I was born at Sharp Memorial Hospital in San Diego and that my mother died shortly after my birth. My father was unknown, even to them.

Even though the population of San Diego County in 2016 was over two million people, I was determined to find the identity of my biological parents. Using the only information I had (the date of my mother's death), I spent a surprisingly small amount of time on my computer to determine that while the county had over twenty-two hundred deaths in 2016, there were only seven deaths on the day I was born. Of those seven, five were male. The remaining two were a thirty-three year old woman and an eight year old little girl. Assuming that the records were complete and accurate, the name of my birth mother was Diana Wayne.

I typed her name into the search engine and found a single article in the San Diego Union-Tribune that mentioned her by name. The article read:

Local woman dies as the result of injuries sustained in an automobile collision; unborn child survives

At 4:15am Tuesday, a pregnant woman, identified as thirty-three year old Diana Wayne of Kearny Mesa, died from injuries sustained in an auto accident. Wayne was travelling southbound on I-5, just past the Clairemont Dr. exit, when she was struck by a black SUV, subsequently losing control of her vehicle and crashing into an approaching semi-trailer truck. Wayne was emergency-lifted to Sharp Memorial where she underwent an emergency C-section before dying of her injuries. The baby was delivered in good health despite her premature birth, though she is expected to remain in the NICU for a couple of months.

Fifty-six year old Charles Anderson of Chula Vista, the driver of the semi, was uninjured. The driver of the black SUV has not been identified. CHP has declared Wayne's death a vehicular homicide and has asked to be contacted by anyone with information related to the identity of the driver of the black SUV.

My vision began to blur as tears flowed silently down my face. After thirty-five years I had finally discovered the name of my birth mother and I'd learned how she had died. From an early age I'd fantasized about both my bio-mom and bio-dad… making them out to be royalty or even super-heroes; but mostly I wondered what had happened to make them want to give me up. There was something immensely satisfying in learning that I hadn't been given away, but rather that I was a survivor in the accident that killed my mother. Somehow I knew that if this was all I ever learned about her, I could find peace with it. Having said that, I wasn't about to stop looking now that I had a name and a solid start to my investigation.

3 Months Later

The temperature in New Jersey was very similar to that of Southern California this time of year, but the humidity was something else entirely. The minute I'd stepped outside JFK International Airport in New York to locate my rental car, my hair began to frizz in ways I didn't know it could. Luckily, I always kept a supply of hair ties in my purse, so I was able to pull it back into a messy bun and called it good. I found my car, loaded my bag into the backseat and made my way to the interstate.

It was already after five o'clock so all the county offices would be closed until tomorrow morning and I'd have to wait to determine if the missing Trenton woman from 2016 was in fact my mother, Diana Wayne. All I had to go on was a photocopy of a thirty-five year old driver's license, which didn't look much like the Trenton woman.

After a disappointing trip to Dallas, however, I was hoping for better news. There just weren't any leads left to follow. I'd hired a reputable detective agency when my own search stalled out, but they didn't have much better luck beyond suggesting that her name was a fake, since her history had only gone back about six months. That's when I started seeking out missing persons that had disappeared around the time my mother's fake identity started. My fear was that if she had gone to the trouble of changing her name, then perhaps this wasn't the first time she had done it. Worse yet, what if she'd faked her death so that nobody would have ever been looking for her. Since both of these options certainly existed, my last hope was to look closer at the missing woman from Trenton. This is how I ended up in New Jersey.

I'd always hated trying to navigate busy traffic at night, and since I had a good hour-and-a-half drive time ahead of me, my first order of business was to make my way to I-95 while it was still light out. Then I'd just have to pop over to I-195 and follow it into Trenton, get some dinner and find a hotel. The flight from San Diego was the longest I'd ever taken, but I'd been able to get a direct flight, so it was only a little over five hours. I wouldn't have thought that sitting on my ass for that long would leave me so tired, but I was beat and really looking forward to sleeping in a comfy bed… after I got something to eat, that is.

I made it into Trenton a little before eight o'clock and pulled to a stop in front of an old brick building that had burgundy awnings and neon signs announcing pasta and pizza in the windows. I had been hungry when I landed at JFK; now I was absolutely famished! Reaching over to the passenger seat, I grabbed my purse and then climbed out of the car. The neighborhood didn't look too bad, but I was afraid that my suitcase in the backseat would be an open invitation for someone to either steal my bag, or the car, or both, so I pulled it out of the backseat in order to place it into the trunk. That should have occurred to me before I left the airport… but I guess it's better late than never.

The trunk popped open and I tossed my suitcase inside before closing it again. I was in the process of readjusting my purse straps on my shoulder when the straps were pulled away from me completely. Before I could even register the pain in my shoulder from having my purse ripped away so violently, I saw a young man on a bicycle riding away with my purse. Without giving it much thought, I started chasing after him and yelling at the thief to stop. He looked back at me and smirked, causing my indignation to flare and my speed to pick up.

While I didn't want to admit defeat, it was obvious by the time I made it to the end of the block that there was no way I was going to catch up with him. I started to slow down and finally came to a stop in what turned out to be the middle of an intersection. My head whipped to the right and I saw a car a split-second before it hit me.

When I came to, I found that I was lying on my back in the road and my head was killing me. There was a crowd of people around me and so much noise that at first I didn't realize that someone was talking to me. After a moment, the din lessened and I was able to distinguish between the background noise and the voice of the man leaning over me. He was a handsome black man with a strong jaw line and a serious look in his eyes. He appeared to be holding something against my head as he tried to get a response from me. "Can you tell me your name?" he was asking. Somehow I got the feeling it wasn't the first question he'd asked me, but despite the seriousness of the situation, or perhaps because of it, I wanted to lighten both the mood and the look in his eyes.

"I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours," I replied cheekily.

His expression softened immediately and I heard a few chuckles from nearby. "My name is Bobby Brown," he said with a smile.

"Hi Bobby," I said quietly.

"You know, there are easier ways to get a guy's attention," he said with a smirk. "Didn't your mother ever tell you to look both ways before crossing the street?"

I groaned at my own foolishness. Not only was chasing down a bicyclist on foot, a pointless endeavor, running in front of a moving vehicle was just plain stupid. I tried to sit up but Bobby put his hand gently on my shoulder and told me to stay still.

"An ambulance will be here in about two minutes to take you to the hospital to get checked out," Bobby said. "Try to lie still until they get here, OK?"

I nodded and instantly regretted the motion as my head started throbbing even more. "Ugggh," I said and closed my eyes.

"Don't do that," Bobby instructed. "Don't you close those pretty blue eyes on me," he said. He was talking to me in a playful manner, but the tone of his voice suggested that he was very serious. I didn't want to upset him, so I opened my eyes and looked at him again. "That's better," he said. "Now, I told you mine…" he encouraged.

I smiled up at him. "My name is Jennifer Clark," I told him.

Bobby returned my smile. "It's my great pleasure to meet you, Jennifer Clark," he said sweetly.

I blushed at the attention. It had been a long time since a handsome man had given me any kind of consideration, and although I suspect Bobby was merely trying to keep me calm until the ambulance arrived, I eagerly soaked it up.

"Is there someone I should call for you, Jennifer?" Bobby asked.

I started to shake my head in the negative but was quickly reminded why that wasn't a good idea when the small movement intensified the pounding in my head. I stilled myself and groaned in resignation. "No," I said after a beat. "I literally just got to town when that guy took off with my purse. I haven't even checked into my hotel yet," I pouted.

"Were you planning on letting someone know that you'd arrived?" he asked. "Your husband, parents maybe? Or perhaps someone here in Trenton?"

"No," I said again quietly. "I'm not married and…" My voice hitched for a split second and I had to swallow before finishing my sentence. "There isn't anyone else. No one else is expecting to hear from me." I closed my eyes and tried to keep the tears at bay and the loneliness from my voice. "I don't know anyone in Trenton," I whispered.

Without skipping a beat, Bobby replied. "Aww… I'm hurt," he said in mock indignation. I opened my eyes and looked at him in confusion for a moment. "You forgot me already?" he asked.

A small smile made its way onto my face as the paramedics arrived. Knowing that the professionals were here allowed me to relax my body and close my eyes. I was incredibly tired and figured it might not be a bad idea to be sleeping when they were ready to move me. After all, it really hurt when I moved and I was not a fan of pain.

I could hear Bobby talking again but for the life of me I couldn't make out what he was saying. It almost sounded as though he was at the end of a long tunnel. My eyes remained closed as unconsciousness was quickly taking me, yet I didn't want Bobby to think I was ignoring him by not responding to whatever it was he was saying. "Bobby…" I murmured. I felt someone squeeze my hand gently and figured that Bobby had understood what I was trying to say.

When I woke up in the hospital, my entire body ached. A quick glance over my extremities assured me that I had no broken bones, though there was a brace on my right knee. And while my head still hurt, I had just been hit by a car. All things considered, I was doing pretty well.

"How are you feeling?" asked a familiar voice from the doorway.

"Hi Bobby," I replied with a smile. "I was just trying to convince myself that I was lucky enough to be in one piece, but the truth is I hurt all over!"

He chuckled. "Let me just tell them you're awake and we'll see about getting you something for the pain." He stepped back out into the hallway for a moment before returning and claiming the empty chair beside my bed. "The doctor should be in to check on you in a couple of minutes."

I smiled sincerely, "Thanks."

"Not a problem," he replied easily. "I've got the inside track… my girlfriend is the doctor." He smiled at me conspiratorially.

Of course she was, I thought to myself. A man as kind and handsome as Bobby wasn't going to be single. I tried to derail this train of thought before I blushed and embarrassed myself even further.

"So…" I said, searching for something to talk about. "Are you a doctor, too, then?"

Bobby smiled and ignored the slightly awkward segue. "No," he replied. "But I am the company medic for a security firm here in Trenton."

"Well, that certainly explains the excellent bedside manner," I offered. "That must be a pretty big company to have a full-time medic on staff."

"Injuries are fairly common in our line of work," he suggested. "So although thirty-one people may not be a large number, having a certified medic on staff definitely cuts down on hospital visits. Of course there really isn't a high enough demand for full-time employment, so I just act in that capacity whenever the need arises."

That made sense to me. It was kind of like the CPR training I'd received before I started lifeguarding over the summer my junior and senior years of high school. It was knowledge that I had at my disposal should I need it, but it wasn't part of my day-to-day job. I nodded my head in understanding.

"What do you do when you aren't patching people up?" I asked.

"I typically oversee the installation of security equipment and meet with clients, though I do help out on the occasional fugitive apprehension," Bobby replied.

"Fugitive apprehension," I clarified. "Like bounty hunting?"

"One and the same," he said.

"I bet people give themselves up when they see you walk into the room," I teased. Bobby was over six feet of lean muscle and not an ounce of fat. While he'd been smiling and friendly to me, I had a feeling that when the occasion called for it, he could be very intimidating.

"Actually," he chuckled. "I'm one of the smaller guys at work." His smile widened at the shocked expression on my face.

Before the surprised look was gone from my face, there was soft a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of a woman I assumed to be Bobby's girlfriend. She was a short Indian woman with long black hair, a trim figure, and kind eyes. She introduced herself as Dr. Cheema but said that since I was a friend of Bobby's, I was to call her Anaya. I liked her immediately.

"Well, Miss Clark," she began.

"Jennifer, please," I interrupted.

She smiled. "Well, Jennifer," she tried again. "It appears that you were able to avoid any permanent damage, but you did manage to dislocate your right kneecap, and you have a mild concussion, but nothing that warrants an overnight stay in the hospital."

"That makes a lot of sense," I said as I ran my hand along my head gingerly and winced when I felt a goose egg just above my temple.

"Yes, I am certain that it does," she said kindly. "I will send a nurse in here momentarily with some pain medication, and an anti-inflammatory for your knee." I nodded. "You should also keep ice on your knee several times a day for the next couple of days. It was re-set, and with the help of the brace for the next couple of weeks, it shouldn't need further attention. Just use a crutch if you need to get around and try not to put any weight on it."

"OK," I acknowledged.

"As for your concussion," she continued. "You'll need to have someone wake you every two to three hours any time you sleep between now and this time tomorrow. Have them ask you simple questions to check for any unusual responses. I want you to come in immediately if anything changes." I nodded. "You may take Tylenol for the pain, but not Aspirin or ibuprofen." Anaya returned the pages of my chart to their original position under the clipboard before looking up at me. "Any questions?"

Until Anaya mentioned being released from the hospital I hadn't considered where I would go. Now that it was out there, though, I couldn't help the downward spiral my mind was taking while desperately trying to figure something out. Without my wallet, I didn't have access to cash or credit cards so I wasn't sure how I'd pay for a hotel room. The banks were all closed until tomorrow, and I didn't even have my cell phone so that I could report my cards stolen before that bicyclist started ringing up charges. I was getting angry at the thought, and to be honest, I was getting a little worried, too. I suppose I could always sleep in my rental car, I considered. Not having someone to wake my while I slept was the least of my problems.

"Jennifer?" Anaya's voice pulled me from my thoughts and I saw at an expectant look on her face. She was clearly waiting for a response from me and it took another moment for me to remember her last question.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. "I don't have any questions."

She looked at me and seemed to be mulling over my response. It was as though she was trying to determine if I was more brain damaged that she'd thought, and I couldn't help but think how simple my life would be right now if she were right. "OK," Anaya replied carefully. "I'll just submit the order for your medication and get the ball rolling on your discharge paperwork."

"Thanks," I said sincerely. I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and allowed myself to sink back into the pillow. Without this killer headache, I was sure I'd think of a simple solution to my current dilemma.

"I have to step out for a minute," Bobby said out of nowhere. He stood up quickly, and grabbed his cell phone that was clipped on his belt. It didn't seem all that strange to me that he might need to make a phone call, but he was sporting the most unusual expression. It most closely resembled a combination of worry and determination. "I'll be back before you're ready to fly the coop," he said as he made his way to the door.

"Bobby, I'm so sorry!" I said seriously. "I'm sure you have more important things to be doing than to spend your time with a virtual stranger. Please don't feel you need to keep me company."

He put his hand up to stop me from saying anything further. "Jennifer, stop," he said. "I just needed to make a call. There's nothing I'm missing out on by getting to know my new friend." He smiled at me so genuinely that I couldn't help but believe him. I smiled in reply.

"OK," I conceded.

"Don't give it another thought," he instructed with a smile. "I'll just be a couple minutes."

Bobby left the room and less than a minute later a nurse came in to administer my medication. She had already finished and was on her way out when Bobby returned. He had a clipboard tucked under his arm and a big smile on his face.

"What's got you smiling so big?" I asked.

"I'm just a happy guy," he replied with a grin. He made his way back to the seat beside my bed and placed the clipboard on his lap. "I thought I'd help you fill out your paperwork so you don't have to read anything with your headache," he said.

"Oh, that would be great!" I enthused. "Thanks!"

Bobby proceeded to ask for my full name, mailing address, and phone number, before dutifully writing them down. It wasn't until he asked me for my birthdate that things got weird. Bobby was smiling initially, thinking I'd been pulling his leg. When he took in my puzzled expression, however, his whole demeanor changed.

"You aren't joking, are you, Jennifer?" Bobby asked slowly.

"Joking about what? My birthday?" I was really starting to get confused. "What are you going on about? Why would I lie about my birthday?"

"Tell me," Bobby said. "What year is it now?"

"Seriously?" I asked.

He nodded.

I responded honestly, "It's 2051."

A/N

OK, what did you think? Too far out there? Interesting? I'd love your feedback! Chica.