Harlequin Intrigue, Box Set 2 of 2 (31 page)

“You'll be handy to have around at tax time,” he said easily. “Tell me about the chair.”

The chair. He wanted to hear about the chair. But she realized that he was asking about exactly what she'd been trying to work through in her head—the details.

“Blond wood. With arms. Padded seat. Some kind of mauve print.”

“Hotel issue?” he asked.

She nodded. “Maybe.”

“What were you wearing?”

The very same thing that she'd been wearing in the one other brief vision that she'd had. But she'd never mentioned that one to him and didn't think it was prudent to do so now. She didn't want him to think she was hiding things. “Blue button-down shirt. Tucked in. Blue pants. Not blue jeans. Maybe khaki.” She hadn't been able to see her shoes. But the other time, she'd distinctly seen that she was wearing tennis shoes. “White tennis shoes. I had my hair in a ponytail. That seems weird. I feel like it was unusual for me to have my hair like that.”

“Anything else about your appearance?”

“No. But there was something next to the laptop. A blue lanyard, attached to a plastic badge. You know the kind. You would use it to clock in or open a door.”

“Yours?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. It was turned over. Maybe the person's I'm talking to.”

“Maybe. Any idea who that might be? Man or woman, even?”

She shook her head. “This is going to sound weird but it makes me sad to think of that person. I don't even know who it is. How can I be sad?”

“You know the person. You just can't remember him or her right now. But there's emotion connected to that knowing. Are you sure it's sadness? Could you be mad? Disappointed?”

“Sad. And maybe angry. Those don't seem to go together.”

“Tell me about the laptop?”

She closed her eyes. “A big one. Maybe a seventeen-inch screen.”

“What was on the screen?”

“I don't know. Information. I don't know what. I was pointing at something. Telling somebody to go online for the mileage form.”

They were both quiet for several more miles. She turned to him. “What do you think it means?”

“It means that things are coming back. It's only a matter of time.”

“It's hard to be patient when I feel so anxious. When I feel that I'm fighting time.”

* * *

S
TORMY
WAS
PROBABLY
right to feel as if she was fighting time. With every hour that went by, the Mercedes Men had more of an opportunity to track him to Ravesville. He wondered if he should move Stormy now. Take her a couple thousand miles away, where he didn't have to worry about pulling into a damn gas station and the potential of somebody seeing her.

The idea was certainly attractive. But he suspected maybe counterproductive. Her memory was coming back. And it was impossible to know what sight or sound might break the logjam in her head. But he was fairly confident that the stimuli weren't a thousand miles away.

What he was more confident of was her reaction if he mentioned getting away from it all. She'd refuse. She dealt with things head-on. From that first night in the hotel, when she'd casually walked past him with shampoo in her hands, ready to disable him the first chance she got, she'd shown her considerable backbone.

She'd hung on to the side of a damn truck, in the middle of the snowstorm, no coat, no shoes, probably still partially drugged up. She was a fighter.

And he'd yet to hear her whine or complain about
why me?
Sure, she'd expressed frustration over her inability to remember but there'd been no prolonged pity parties. She was handling this about as well as anybody might hope.

By the time he pulled into his driveway, the sun had set. Still, with a full moon, it was a light night. Everything looked the same. No fresh tracks in the snow from someone else approaching the house. He backed into the garage and they got out. Just to be sure, he carried the groceries in one hand and his gun in the other.

They were shutting the front door behind them when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Go,” he told her. “Upstairs. Not your room. Use the first bedroom. It has a deeper closet. Get all the way in the back. Don't come out, no matter what you hear.”

There was no time to argue. The engine was closer. The vehicle was turning into the driveway.

She was halfway up the stairs before she made the decision that she wasn't going to let him fight the battle alone. He was in danger because of her. She glanced over her shoulder and he was watching her, making sure she got to safety before he opened the door.

She wasn't going to screw with his concentration but she also wasn't going to hide like some scared third grader. She opened the first door. It smelled of fresh paint. She closed it behind her just as she heard a car door slam.

She glanced at the windows across the room. They did her no good. They faced the backyard, giving her no view of the driveway and who might have come to the house.

She waited for a second slam, thinking that was the pattern of the Mercedes Men. Two approached. Two waited behind in backup. But there was only one car door.

She heard a knock at the front door, then the quiet rustle of Cal moving toward it. Just as he opened the front door, she quietly opened the bedroom door and slipped down the hall.

Hidden crouched behind the half wall, she now could hear everything that was being said. Of course, if they came up the stairs, she was a sitting duck. There was no place to run.

“Hi,” she heard a feminine voice say. “I...uh...was looking for Chase.”

“He's not here,” Cal said. His voice was polite, but not friendly.

“Where is he?” she asked. Her tone had a little more edge.

There was a pause. “Who wants to know?” Cal asked.

She risked a look around the edge of the wall. From her angle, she could see the woman who still stood in the doorway. She was beautiful. Tall. Slender. And she had the most amazing red hair. It flowed to her waist. She was staring intently at Cal.

“Oh my gosh,” the woman said. “You're Calvin, aren't you? I haven't seen you for almost ten years.”

“Trish?” he said, his voice warmer. “Trish Wright?”

“Wright-Roper,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Cal stepped back, enough that Trish could step into the house and close the door behind her. The flow of cold air that had been making its way up the stairs was cut off.

She had no idea who Trish Wright-Roper was but clearly, Cal didn't think this woman was a threat. She started to breathe a little easier.

“Just got out of the navy,” he said. “Came home for Thanksgiving. How's your sister?” he asked.

“Summer is good. Divorced recently. But she's got two great kids that I spoil rotten.”

“And you're married?” he said.

“Widowed,” she replied softly. “Listen, I don't want you to think I'm crazy since we're just reconnecting after a really long time but Summer and I own the Wright Here, Wright Now Café in Ravesville. Just a little while ago, some men came in, asking for directions to the Hollister house.”

That wasn't good.

“There was something about them. Summer and I both had the same feel. They said they were looking for their cousin and asked if we'd seen a dark-haired woman. Now, that certainly didn't sound like Raney but still, it was an odd exchange. We've gotten to know Raney and wouldn't want anything to happen to her. So when I gave them the directions, I gave them good ones, but the long way around. The minute they left, I tried the house phone but there was no answer. I realized I didn't know Chase's cell phone. I jumped in the car and came here to warn him. You've probably only got about fifteen minutes before they show up.”

“How many men?” Cal asked, his voice even.

“Two. I saw two.”

“Okay,” Cal said. “Thank you. This is very helpful. But you need to get out of here.”

“Do you want me to go to the police? Of course, my ex-brother-in-law is probably on duty and he's not likely to be helpful.”

“Nope. I've got this,” Cal said. “But you're right. These men aren't friends of the Hollister family. But you and Summer need to be careful around them. Don't give them any reason to believe that you'd side with us.”

She heard the door open, felt the cold air whoosh in.

“Be careful, Cal. Men like you, men like my Rafe, you think you can handle anything but sometimes it's just too much.” Her voice was full of emotion.

“Don't worry,” Cal assured her. “I got this covered. I'll be in for breakfast soon. Be careful driving in the dark.”

“Good to see you again, Cal,” the woman said, her voice fading away.

“You, too, Trish. And thanks again.” Cal shut the door.

She was debating how best to get back to the closet when she heard Cal's boot on the first step.

“You can come out from behind the wall now,” he said.

She stood up. He didn't look mad, more resigned.

“How did you know I was there?”

“Really excellent hearing,” he said. “I heard the click of the door, saw just a shadow of movement as I was opening the front door and realized what you were doing. I had some level of confidence that you'd figure out a way to stay hidden,” he added.

“I did,” she said somewhat unnecessarily.

He nodded. “So you heard everything?”

“Yes. Who is she?”

“Trish Wright. I guess, Wright-Roper now. My brother Bray dated her sister Summer for years. We all thought they'd end up married but it didn't happen that way. Bray went away to the marines and Summer married somebody else. I appreciate the fact that they've still got kind feelings toward the Hollister family.” Cal looked at his watch. “We've got less than ten minutes. This time, I really do need you to hide. Will you do that? Please?”

“Tell me your plan first,” she said, not answering his question.

“I don't have one,” he said. “Other than to get more information out of them than they get from me and to keep you safe. Everything besides that is fluid.”

She let out a loud breath.

“I can't focus on them if in the back of my mind I'm wondering what you're doing,” he said.

“Fine,” she said. “I'll be in the back of the closet, hidden behind the clothes.” She started to walk toward the bedroom.

“Stormy,” he said.

She stopped. “Yes.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, turned her and kissed her. All the emotion of the moment was packed into ten seconds of scorching pleasure.

Then he stepped back. “We're not finished,” he said.

* * *

C
AL
WAS
ON
the porch, swinging in the old hammock, whittling on a stick when the Mercedes Men drove into the yard. He turned the outside porch light on, making it easy for them to see him. He wore an old military jacket that he'd gotten soon after he'd enlisted. After Stormy had gone upstairs, he'd quickly pulled it from his duffel bag. It had seen better days but he'd always been reluctant to part with it.

One car drove in. Two men inside. He figured the second car was probably just over the hill.

Both men opened their car doors. They appeared to be unarmed but Cal figured they had plenty of firepower on them and in the car.

“Hello,” the driver said. He was the man who had done the talking in the hotel. Cal was confident that this was G. On the passenger side was the guy who walked funny, the one he'd coined Bad Knee.

“Hello,” Cal said easily. He kept whittling. Small pieces of wood littered the snow-covered porch.

“Kind of cold to be outside,” G said.

“I'm watching for 'em,” Cal said.

The two men looked at each other. “For who?” Bad Knee asked.

Cal looked up, his eyes darting fast. “The jerks in the woods. I'll blow this place up before I'll let them take it.” He held up his knife. “I'm ready.”

“You were in the military,” G said, focusing on his jacket.

Cal nodded. “Just got home. Had to drive through a storm to get here. I told everybody I saw along the way that they were coming.”

The two men exchanged another glance. He wasn't sure if they remembered him from seeing him by the vending machines. They had barely given him a glance that night. But now, Cal was pretty confident that they thought he was relatively harmless. “Our car is having trouble,” G explained. “We barely got it here. May we use your phone to call for help?”

“I guess,” Cal said, getting up. “You two from around here?”

“Nope. Just passing through,” said Bad Knee.

Cal showed them the phone in the kitchen. As they walked through the house, they looked in every room. Bad Knee was eyeing the upstairs.

“Big house for a single guy,” Bad Knee said.

“My brother lives here, too,” Cal said. “Cried like a little girl about the snowstorm. We had to stop driving and spent the night at a hotel.” He was pretty confident the hotel clerk might have told these two about the man and his brother who had stayed in room 14. “He went to get beer.”

“I see,” said Bad Knee. “We're in the area looking for our cousin. She ran away from home.”

“I did that once,” Cal said, grinning big.

“It's not a good thing,” G said. “She's young. Foolish. Has dark hair. She's very beautiful,” he added somewhat bitterly.

“She better be careful. They can see in the dark. Like a damn cat,” he said. He took his knife and drew a line down the dark woodwork, marring it. “Ticktock, goes the clock.” He tapped his knife against the woodwork.

The two men walked toward the door.

“You can stay here and wait for a ride if you want,” Cal said.

“No. That's okay. We'll be going,” G said.

“You got any matches?” Cal asked.

The driver frowned. “Matches? Why?”

“I got to start a fire. They don't like fire.”

G chuckled. “Sure. I got some matches.” He pulled a half-used matchbook from his pocket. “Make it a good one,” he added, flipping it toward Cal.

The men walked back to their car, got in and drove off. Cal sat back down on the hammock and continued his whittling. He didn't move for three minutes. When he was sure the cars had moved on, he got up, walked inside and locked the door behind him. He took off his coat and tossed it on the couch in the living room.

Unfinished business. That was what he had with Stormy.

Halfway up the stairs, he called out her name. “Stormy.”

She didn't answer. He walked into the room, strode over to the closet and ripped the clothes out of the way. Held out a hand and hauled her out of the small space. Once she was out, in one smooth movement, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and kissed him for all he was worth.

He could have kissed her all day. But all too soon, she unwrapped her legs and slid down his body. He was painfully aroused and he doubted that she wasn't fully aware of the fact.

“I was scared,” she admitted, her hand resting on his chest. “I thought you might kill them.”

“I would have,” he said, “if it had been necessary. But the other two would have come looking for them eventually and then I'd have had to kill them, too. Even though I really wanted to beat the crap out of them for what they did to you, it just didn't seem like the most prudent action to take right now. They're a clue to your identity. The more we ultimately learn about them, perhaps the more we learn about you.”

“I appreciate your restraint,” she said, sounding half serious, half amused.

Restraint was not ripping her clothes off and taking her with her back against the wall. He shrugged. “Maybe they'll give up.”

She shook her head. “You don't really think that, do you?”

“No. I bought us a little space. They'll be back or we'll run into them somewhere along the way.”

“But they won't be back right away.” Her tone was suggestive and he could feel hope rise in his chest. But this was too important to have any potential misread of the situation.

“I want to make sure I'm clear here,” he said, his damn voice cracking. “I want to take you to bed, Stormy. And if you don't want that, we need to stop. Now.”

She moved the hand that had rested on his chest to the back of his neck. She pulled his head down, met him halfway, her lips still wet from the earlier kisses. When she stuck her tongue into his mouth, he felt the answering surge in his body. When the kiss ended, she pulled back just a little. “Don't stop. Please don't stop.”

“Just so you know, we're about one minute shy of doing this on the floor versus on a soft mattress.”

She threw her head back and laughed. Then she jumped and wrapped her legs around his waist one more time.

* * *

H
E
CARRIED
HER
into his old room, gently dumped her down onto the mattress and fell in beside her. And it took almost no time for them to be naked. And for him to be inside her.

It was...amazing. He had his hands under her rear and his strokes were long and purposeful and she was just this close to—

She came explosively, her internal muscles clamping down.

“That's my girl,” he murmured in her ear.

And when she was finally spent, he spread her even wider and went deeper. Minutes later, he tightened, groaned and emptied into her.

Or rather the condom. He had had the good sense to have one in his pocket.

“That's my boy,” she said, slightly modifying his comment. She patted his back, which was damp with sweat.

He smiled against her shoulder. He was careful to keep his weight off her. After a minute, he said, “That was pretty fast. You okay?”

“Wonderful. Thanks...uh...for having protection.”

He shifted, withdrew and rolled to his side. He pulled on her hip, turning her, so that they were facing. “I need you to understand something,” he said. “I'm a young, single guy. So I keep some condoms in my bag. But I need you to know, I don't...” He stopped and shook his head. “I don't go through that many,” he finished.