Harlequin Intrigue, Box Set 2 of 2 (24 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Cal felt the candy bars and chips roll into him as she slid in under the covers. She smelled good. Very feminine. He had the craziest urge to reach out, to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.

But he kept his arms folded, his eyes closed, his breathing deep. She was scared. Of him. But more so of the men that he'd described. So for now, she'd filed him under the category of
lesser evil
, which was just fine with him.

When he'd seen the second Mercedes idling in the lot, hidden to the casual observer, he'd realized that she was in the middle of something big. There was some serious muscle trying to find her.

He'd considered his options. He could forget what he'd overheard and seen and be on his way. He could go to the cops. Or he could barge his way into this room and try to protect this woman.

Who was lying to him. Of that, he was confident.

But he was also pretty sure that she was scared. Really scared. And he couldn't forget those marks on her wrists.

When he'd walked in and seen her pile of clothes at the end of the bed, he'd known there was a good likelihood that she might walk out of the bathroom naked. And if he'd been a gentleman, he'd have knocked on the bathroom door, announced his presence and given her a chance to collect herself.

He'd considered that plan for about half a minute before he'd settled down on the bed, determined to let the cards fall where they may. She'd come out in her towel, which for some twisted reason was even more sexy than full nakedness. She had a compact little body. No taller than a couple inches past five feet, she had gentle curves and one set of really gorgeous legs.

When she'd walked past him, he'd seen immediately that she was holding something in her hands. But he had to admit, she was good. She'd seemed relaxed and her stride even, unhurried. Confident.

Perhaps too confident. An operative? It was possible. Since he'd heard the men's foreign accents, the thought had been nagging at him. Was she part of a foreign terrorist group intent on screwing the United States? If so, even more reason to stick close to her. Was she an innocent, caught up with the wrong people? Then she needed his help.

He listened to her breathe, knew the exact moment that she let loose and fell asleep. He waited another five minutes, then carefully propped himself up on one elbow. Examined her.

She slept daintily, with her mouth closed. Yet, she wasn't totally relaxed. Her jaw was set as if she might have her teeth together. And one hand grabbed the corner of the sheet, fingers clenched tight.

He was still worried about the lump on her head but she certainly wasn't showing any signs of concussion. Her speech was clear, her pupils the same. Still, she should probably be checked in the night.

It was still blowing outside. That would slow the Mercedes Men down. But they would be back. He wasn't concerned for his own safety. One against four were reasonable odds for a SEAL. But his attention would be diverted by her. And that could prove fatal.

When she woke up, he was going to force her to come clean. Once he had the story, he'd know what to do.

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, remembering that mango was one of his favorite fruits. A little tart. Juicy. Delicious.

Damn.

Two hours later, he gently rolled over and bumped into her, his knee to her hip. She shifted but didn't wake up. He reached up and turned on the light.

“Hey,” she said. She turned to look at him. “What's going on?” she asked, her tone sleepy, yet coherent.

“Just had to use the head,” he lied. He looked at her eyes. Pupils still looked good. Her color was fine. “Go back to sleep,” he said, turning off the light.

She was quiet for several minutes but he could tell by her breathing that she was agitated. He wasn't surprised when she suddenly sat up in bed.

“You did not have to use the bathroom.”

“I didn't?” he asked with deliberate surprise. “That's rather personal, isn't it?”

“You woke me up on purpose.”

“Why would I do that? So I could have this lovely conversation?” He rolled over and gave her his back.

She waited a full minute before she shoved his shoulder. “You were worried about the bump on my head.” She paused. “That was nice of you,” she added somewhat grudgingly.

He smiled. “Good night, Stormy.”

* * *

S
HE
LAY
IN
BED
, covers up to her neck, relaxed for the first time. She knew it was because she'd finally let down her guard. Cal had had multiple opportunities to harm her and he'd taken none of them. Instead, he'd disturbed his own sleep to wake her up and make sure that she didn't have a concussion.

He was smart, cocky, a little brash. Sexy in his blue jeans and forest-green Henley shirt.

He reminded her a little of a lounging tiger. Relaxed yet ready to pounce. He moved with quiet confidence.

She envied that. She didn't have any confidence right now.

But maybe by morning. She closed her eyes and let the sleep come.

The next thing she knew, strong hands gripped her shoulders. Half-asleep, old instincts kicked in. She wrenched her body sideways, attempting to fight.

But she couldn't budge her attacker.

She opened her eyes, saw Cal on his knees, straddling her.

It was several more terror-filled seconds before she processed what was going on. She forced herself to breathe, to clear her head. He was holding her, not hurting her, simply trying to avoid getting hurt himself. She looked at the bedcovers. They were in a tangled heap, wrapped around her legs.

“What day is it?” she demanded.

That surprised him. “It's Wednesday. Why?”

She let out a breath. “I needed to know if it was Saturday.”

“Because?”

She didn't answer. Couldn't. But she saw the determined look on his face, knew that he wanted answers. “I had a bad dream,” she said.

“You think?” he asked, his tone tense. His big body hovered over her, his weight off her but his presence immense.

While bedcovers and layers of clothes separated them, their closeness was suddenly intensely intimate. And disconcerting as hell to go from something horrible, like her dream, to something that offered a promise of being good, very good.

Breathe, she told herself.

“I think you scared ten years off my life,” he said, his tone a little easier now.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

He moved fast, swinging one leg over so that he was kneeling beside her. His hazel eyes looked troubled. “Want to talk about it?”

Could she? Could she go back to that dark place? Could she pretend that it had just been an oddly disturbing dream?

Could she trust this man who had barged into her room and taken up more than his share of the bed?

He'd saved her life.

Had doubled back to let her know about the men looking for her. She looked at him closer. He had a red mark on his face. He hadn't had it the night before. “What happened there?” she asked, already suspecting the truth.

“You've got a strong right hook,” he said nonchalantly. “Unfortunately, you popped me one at about the same time you started screaming. It was a bit disconcerting for a minute.”

Someone with less control might have killed her by mistake in response.

“I was lying on a bed,” she said. “It was narrow, more like a cot.”

He nodded.

“I wanted to get up, knew I needed to get away. But my wrists were tied to the bed frame. I pulled and pulled but it was no use.”

“Who tied you there?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don't know. It...it looked like a ghost. All white.”

He didn't say anything.

“I know, crazy, right?” she said.

“Nope. Did the ghost talk to you?”

She thought for a minute. He had. She knew that. Couldn't remember what he'd said. “I'm not sure.”

“What else do you remember?”

She pointed to the garbage can in the corner. “That was hanging in the corner of the room.”

“The wedding dress?” he asked.

“Yes.” She'd been scared of the dress but she could hardly admit that. There was something else and she tried desperately to recall it but it was out of her reach.

“Do you remember anything else?”

“I was sick. The ghost made me so sick.”

He seemed to consider that. “You were screaming when you woke up. Why?”

“The ghost had come in and something bad was going to happen.”

“What?”

“I don't know. But it was bad. I started screaming. And then...I guess I woke up.”

He seemed to consider his words. “You have marks on your wrists,” he said. “Like you've been restrained.”

He was pointing out the obvious. She could ignore it, dismiss it. Or she could take the risk, leave herself absolutely exposed. If she didn't, she'd be all alone. “So you're saying that maybe it wasn't just a dream?”

“You tell me,” he said, his voice intense.

She took a deep breath. “I'm not sure where to start.”

“Maybe at the beginning.”

Wouldn't that be nice? “Well, that was sometime before I met you. How long before, I'm not quite sure.”

“That's a little confusing,” he said.

She sat up in bed and pushed a hand through her tangled hair. “I'm in trouble. I don't know why but I am. The problem is, I don't think I can get myself out of it.”

“Because?”

“Because I don't know what went wrong. I don't know who else is involved. I don't know how big this is but something tells me it's big. Really big. And that terrifies me. I don't know who the bad guys are. I don't know what they want.” She took a breath.

“Okay. Anything else you don't know?”

She nodded. This was the hardest part. “When I looked in the mirror yesterday, I didn't recognize myself. Not because my hair was different or anything dumb like that. I didn't know who the woman in the mirror was.” She swallowed hard. “I don't even know who I am.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“I knew Mary Smith was bogus,” he said.

Her dark eyes got big. “That's it? That's it?” she repeated, her voice rising. “I tell you that I don't know who I am and all you can say is ‘I knew Mary Smith was bogus.' Of course it was bogus. I. Don't. Know. My. Name.”

“And you're pretty freaked out about it,” he said.

Now she gave him a look that would have made most people run for the door. It made him want to smile but he resisted. If he didn't watch out, she'd land another punch.

“A little,” she said sarcastically.

“I get that,” he said. “But I don't think it's helpful for both of us to be freaked out. And I've been around a few people who have had short-term memory loss. It comes back.”

She didn't say anything for a long minute. “But what if it doesn't?”

And that simple question, asked in a small voice, pulled at his gut more than any full-blown tantrum could.

“You can't worry about that. Right now, you need to focus on staying safe.” He meant that. While he was trying really hard to be calm, listening to her talk about some ghost that scared her and tied her to a bed had made him sick.

“You woke up asking the day of the week. Saturday seemed important. Why?”

“I don't know,” she said, frustration in her tone. “In my dream, I knew that something very bad was going to happen on Saturday. That I had to stop it.”

“Something bad to you?”

“I don't know.” She shook her head. “This is going to sound crazy but even now that I'm awake, just saying the word
Saturday
makes my heart rate kick up in my chest.”

“Okay. It's just Wednesday. If something bad is going to happen on Saturday, we've got a couple days. I think our best bet now is to get the hell out of Dodge,” he said.

“We? Our?” she repeated. “This isn't your problem.”

No, it wasn't. But he'd made his decision on that the minute he'd circled back to warn her about the Mercedes Men. “I'm between jobs right now so I've got some time on my hands.”

She stared at him. He could read the questions in her eyes. She wanted to trust him but with no memory to guide her, she probably felt that any value judgment she might make was suspect. “What was your job?” she said finally.

“Navy SEAL for eight years. Got my discharge papers six months ago.”

“So you haven't worked since then?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I signed on for more of the same with a private contractor. The money was really good but—” he paused “—I'm just ready for something else.” There was no need to tell her that he'd come home to have a conversation with his brother, a conversation that was probably going to be difficult for both of them.

“What brought you to Missouri?” she asked.

“Family. I was raised about a hundred miles from here in a small town. Ravesville. Ever heard of it?”

“No.” Her cheeks got pink. “At least I don't think I have.”

He shrugged. “No worries. Don't try to force it.”

She shook her head. “There are men looking for me. And I don't have any idea why. That's pretty frightening.”

“I can keep you safe,” he said confidently. “Now let's roll. There's a piece of apple pie in my car that we can split for breakfast.”

She reached out and touched his arm. Her hand was warm and soft. “Thank you,” she said softly.

She was lovely. But he couldn't forget the wedding dress that she'd wadded up in the corner wastebasket. She was someone's fiancée for sure. Maybe someone's wife. “You can have the bathroom first,” he said. He had a call to make.

She got out of bed, looking like a waif in his T-shirt and sweatpants. They needed to get her some clothes, some boots. When the bathroom door closed, separating them, he reached for his phone.

Chase answered on the second ring. “Hello,” he said, his tone almost a whisper.

“It's me. Cal.”

There was a pause. “Are you okay?”

“Good. I'm good. You?”

“Fine.” Chase took a breath. “Where the hell are you?”

“In Missouri,” Cal said. “I could be at the house for dinner.”

“That...that would be nice. But I'm in St. Louis. With Raney.”

“Who's Raney?”

Chase laughed softly. “Don't worry. You'll get to know her. I'm going to marry her.”

Cal felt a rush of emotions. He swallowed hard and managed to say in a fairly normal tone, “It's a good thing my heart is strong. Congratulations,” he added.

“Thanks,” Chase said. “It's a long story but Raney is testifying this week and maybe next. That's why I'm whispering. I'm at the courthouse for an early morning meeting with attorneys before testimony begins later today.”

The pieces were clicking together. Raney was the witness that his brother had been protecting.

“Just as soon as she finishes, we'll be back at the house. In the meantime, you're welcome to stay. There's an extra key in the garage, in a coffee can under some nails and screws, on a shelf on the rear wall.”

He laughed. “Old habits,” he said. As kids, there had always been an extra key to the house somewhere in the garage. It was comforting to know that some things never changed. He thought about telling his brother about Stormy. Knew it wouldn't change Chase's mind about offering up a place to stay. But it might divert his attention from where it needed to be—on the woman who'd evidently turned the confirmed bachelor around. “I'll take you up on the offer and I'll have the coffee on when you and Raney get back.”

“You do that,” Chase said. He cleared his throat. “I'm really glad you're home, Cal. I'm really glad you called.”

* * *

T
HE
APPLE
PIE
was really good. And she enjoyed the bag of chips that came afterward. “Breakfast of champions,” she said. They were in his SUV. He'd brushed the snow off and scraped the ice away and was now sitting next to her. The vehicle was warming up nicely.

The only activity at the hotel since they'd left their room was the arrival of a pickup truck that had a plow attached to the front end. The driver was clearing the parking lot again, working around the cars as best he could. He had waved as he'd taken his first pass by them but otherwise ignored them.

Cal had watched him closely for several minutes and evidently decided he wasn't any threat because he'd started in on his own breakfast. “Yep, beats an MRE any day,” he said, biting into his half of the pie. “And a restaurant is out of the question right now. I don't want to take a chance on the wrong people seeing you.”

The wrong people.
Who the hell were they? Would she suddenly recognize them if she saw them? Maybe that would work. Maybe she should chase after the Mercedes Men and force a confrontation. It dawned on her that maybe that was exactly what Cal had planned. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“To Ravesville,” he said.

“Where you grew up?” she said, remembering their earlier conversation.

“Yes. Just talked to my brother.” He turned to her. “Who's engaged. Unbelievable.”

She laughed. “Is he twelve?”

He frowned. “Of course not.”

“Then why is it so unbelievable? People get engaged and married all the time.”

He looked over his shoulder at the wedding dress he'd retrieved from the trash can and once again thrown into the backseat. “Obviously.”

Now it was her turn to stammer. “I mean...people do...but even so...I don't think I did.”

He stared at her, his gaze piercing. “Why is that?” he asked finally.

“I think I would know. I think I wouldn't forget something like that.”

“At the risk of stating the obvious, you don't even remember your name.”

He hadn't said it unkindly. Just matter-of-fact. She totally understood his skepticism. But married? She would not have forgotten that. But it was a waste of time to dwell on it when her mind was blank. “So we're going to your family's home?”

“Yes. My brother's been living there, getting the house ready to sell. He's away right now but we can use the house.”

She would be alone with this man in a strange place. She could feel her skin warm suddenly and she felt ill, as if the pie might make a return appearance. What the hell was her body trying to tell her?

Was she making a mistake? Was this the wrong thing to do?

“You look a little green,” he said.

Probably because her body was trying to tell her no and her brain, which knew she had no other option, was saying
full steam ahead.

“I'm fine,” she said, dismissing his concern.

He didn't look convinced. “I imagine you'd feel better in clothes that fit. Once we get to Ravesville and you're settled at the house, I can take care of that.”

The idea of him buying her clothes made her heat up again. That was an intimate thing for a man to do for a woman. She didn't know what to say.

He didn't seem to expect an answer. Maybe he bought clothes for women all the time.

She didn't think so. He'd been a SEAL. Not a lot of department stores where they worked.

Would he ask her about sizes or simply do a visual inspection? Oh boy. She was edging toward hot.

“It normally wouldn't be that far in good weather,” he said, oblivious to her temperature-control troubles. “It will take us longer today. But first there's something we need to do.”

“What's that?”

“Remember last night I told you that I thought the Mercedes Men were going to come back. We need to see if I was right.”

That was a bucket of ice water. “How do you propose we do that?”

“We need to get somewhere where we can see them and they can't see us.”

She looked around. The palette was white with a little gray from the bare trees. But then she saw what might be a possibility. The hotel was on a service road, off the Interstate. It went for about a half mile before it reconnected with the highway.

Down the service road, about halfway to the Interstate, were two other buildings. She hadn't noticed them the previous night. Of course, it had been dark when they'd arrived. It wasn't another hotel. No, these were one-story cement structures, each with three big garage doors. The building closest to them had a partial second story made of wood, painted white, as if it had been added at some time.

From that vantage they would certainly have a good view of the hotel parking lot but would need binoculars if they wanted to see anything in detail. She realized she was tracking when he reached into the backseat, unzipped his bag and pulled out a pair. She looked at them closer. Military issue. Very nice.

“We still need to get into the building,” she said.

He put the binoculars to his eyes and took a long look. When he pulled them away, he said, “There are only two cars in the parking lot for two big buildings. Both are snow-covered. I suspect the cars were there all night. Now, it's possible that somebody spent the night at work. More likely, I'd think, that the drivers were too nervous to drive their own vehicles and got a ride with a coworker.”

“What if you're wrong? What if there are people inside.”

He shrugged. “Hopefully, we can avoid any interaction.”

“Hopefully,” she said drily. “But there may be more people coming. It's a workday.”

“In Missouri, two inches of snow can bring the economy to a standstill. Eight to ten inches like this is a hundred-pound gorilla. People won't be able to get out of their driveways. Anyone who can won't want to travel any farther than the local store to get bread and milk. I'm going with the relatively safe assumption that anybody who works there has the day off.”

“There's still the issue of the building being locked.”

He smiled. “Locked doors aren't generally too much of a problem for me. Alarm systems, now, they can be a bit trickier. Let's just hope there isn't one.”

“So we're just going to drive down there, park and hope for the best?”

“Something like that,” he said.

She had to admire his confidence that bordered on cockiness. And it certainly felt good to be doing something versus hiding out in a hotel room. She glanced at the road again. “A plow must have come through sometime during the night.”

“At 4:18 this morning,” he said, proving that she really had slept like a log once she'd finally relaxed. “The road is drifting shut again but we'll be able to get through.”

It appeared the plow had done two swipes on the service road, one in and one out. It would have been a stretch to say they'd cleared both lanes. On each side of the road, snow was piled up high, probably four or five feet, making it look as if the road was a tunnel.

He was probably right. Most drivers would decide to stay home today.

She watched the plow driver finish clearing the hotel lot. “But their parking lot hasn't been plowed. We'll get stuck for sure if we try to pull in.”

“I know. That's where I'm hoping we get a little luck.”

“In the form of...?” She let her voice trail off.

“In the form of this guy,” he said, indicating the man driving the plow. “I'm hoping that he's a smart entrepreneur and has a contract to plow out all the businesses along this service road.”

That would make sense. It would make his drive to this area worthwhile. On a day like this, to a person who did that kind of work, time was money.

It took the plow driver another ten minutes to finish the hotel lot. She realized she was holding her breath as she watched him drive to the exit of the hotel. When he turned right, she let out a breath. Two minutes later, when he made another right into the other parking lot, she smiled. “Today's our lucky day,” she said.

“That would be nice,” Cal said. He turned off the engine. “We're going to be here a little while,” he explained. “I don't want to raise suspicion if somebody looks out of their hotel room and sees us idling here for a long period.”