The Bride Wore A Forty-Four (6 page)

She blinked, shocked that he could know that
but then shook it off and nodded.

She stretched out one leg as far as she
could, but her toes came short of the boot

"I can get over there, chair and all,"
Marshall said.

"Yeah, and make so much noise they'll hear
you and come running. Just give me a second." She looked up, then
carefully clasped the rope in her hands, pushed off with her toes,
and began to swing. It was a pathetically small arc, at first but
she swung farther with each repetition until finally, she managed
to grab the boot between her feet. She swung back toward Marshall
and tossed the boot to him.

It landed right at his feet with a small
thud.

She let her swinging subside and balanced on
her toes once more.

Marshall stood the boot upright with his own
feet then began to move his chair. He had to go slowly, a little at
a time to avoid making a lot of noise. But bit by bit he managed to
turn his chair around.

"Your left hand is four inches above the
boot," Kira told him.

"Okay." He pushed with his feet tipping the
chair back onto two legs.

"Almost," she said. "Another inch."

He tipped further, hell, he was going to go
over.

But he didn't. His fingertips found the edge
of the boot, running along the inside. He finally located the
hidden pocket and pulled out the blade. He found the button. The
blade popped open, as he lowered his chair to the floor again.

"Now," she told him, "don't try to free your
wrist. You'll never be able to do it." She eyed the knots, the
ropes. "Looks like he looped your wrist then wrapped the rope
around the back of the chair, ran it to the other side, around the
back, around the other wrist. If you can cut that rope..."

He twisted his wrist in an impossible angle,
found the rope with the blade and began to saw. Kira held her
breath. Finally, the rope gave way. He dropped the blade, then
fumbled with the rope, tugging until his hands were free.

"Hurry, Marshall, they'll be back."

He nodded, grabbed up the blade, making quick
work of his remaining bonds. Then he moved to her, reaching up
above her. He had to stand very close to reach the rope that was
looped over the beam. Very close. His body was touching hers, as he
slid the blade over the rope, sawing. She felt the give when the
rope was severed and finally lowered her feet to the floor. God it
was a relief not to be on tiptoe.

She brought her hands down, rubbed her
wrists, then looked up to see Marshall staring at her, and was
reminded that she was damn near naked. He, she thought hadn't
forgotten it for a minute. "You're not a wedding consultant are
you?" she asked.

That drew his eyes up to hers. "No."

"Peter said DEA?"

"Yeah."

"He called me your partner. Just what kind of
partners are we, Marshall?"

His eyes grew darker, she thought before he
averted them. "We'll have time for this later." Turning, he
snatched the leather pants from the corner, the tank top, the
jacket. "Get dressed," he said, handing them to her. "And make it
quick."

She nodded. Her questions needed answers, but
not at the risk of their lives. She pulled on the pants and tank,
stuffed her feet into the boots and kept the knife in her hand. The
jacket, she tucked under an arm, because it was faster than putting
it on. Marshall took a step toward the door.

She touched his shoulder, stopping him.
"There was a guard outside the other room when I came in. I imagine
he's outside this one by now. Let's try the window."

He nodded, and they crossed the room,
stepping lightly, to stare out the dirt-streaked window. The broken
fire escape was far to the left. Too far to jump for it. Before
Marshall could say anything, Kira had spun around to the chair and
was unwinding the ropes from it. She tossed him one end. "Quick,
tie this to something solid."

He didn't hesitate, but quickly knelt and
knotted the end of the rope around the base of the old-fashioned
iron radiator beside the window. While he did that she wrestled the
window open.

'They're coming," he told her.

She looked up fast and heard the heavy
footfalls in the hallway. "Hell, we're out of time."

Marshall held on to the rope. "Get on my
back."

"You can't hold us both."

"I'll have to manage," he said, climbing out
the window, feet braced on the wall, hands on the rope.
"Hurry."

She slipped through the open window,
clutching his shoulders and lowering herself until she could wrap
her legs around his waist. "Go," she said.

He let the rope lengthen, dropping them
drastically, then he pushed off with his feet and swung.

She heard shouting, knew the men were in the
room, now, searching for them, even as they came short of their
goal and began swinging back the other way. Heads appeared at the
window. Then gunshots rang out. Marshall's feet hit the wall, and
this time he pushed harder. They swung, arced over the fire
escape.

He let go, and they fell.

She only had an instant to feel panic, before
they hit the fire escape's landing with a terrible impact and a lot
of noise. The entire structure groaned and wobbled, and for a
moment she thought it would rip itself free of the building and
send them crashing to the ground.

And then it did.

The fire escape fell like a giant timber, and
as they were hurled toward the ground, Marshall gripped her arm and
yelled, "Jump!"

They were airborne, then. The fire escape
crashed, bits of rusted metal flying everywhere, and a split second
later, Kira felt her own body hit the ground a few feet away from
it.

Dazed, she lifted her head, giving it a slow
shake.

"Come on, baby, they're coming." Marshall had
her arm, tugging her to her feet, and then they were running.

She realized the men were no longer firing at
them from the window, but were exiting the building, coming around
after them.

"This way," she told Marshall. "The car's
this way."

They changed directions, sprinting full
speed, until they ducked into an alley, popped out the far side,
and spotted the car. The keys had been in her jacket pocket. They
were no longer there.

"Bastards took my keys."

"No problem," Marshall said, racing around to
the back of the car, reaching underneath it, and coming out with a
key in his palm. "You always keep a spare."

"You drive," she told him, scrambling into
the passenger side.

He looked at her oddly, but didn't hesitate.
He got behind the wheel, started the engine, and spun the tires as
gunshots rang out behind them.

She ducked instinctively just before the rear
window was blown to bits.

As they sped away, with armed criminals
piling into cars to give chase, Marshall glanced sideways at her
and said, "You really don't remember anything, do you?"

"No," she said. "I don't know why that's so
hard for you to believe."

"Oh, I believe it now," he said, shifting
gears, speeding ever faster.

"Why now?"

"Because," he told her. "You
never
let
me drive."

"I think we lost them."

"Yeah, along with my stomach," Kira said. But
though she knew the high speeds, split-second maneuvers, and
two-wheel turns should have scared the hell out of her, she didn't
really feel afraid. She felt alive. Her heart was pounding, blood
flowing, skin tingling in ways they hadn't done since—since she
could remember.

He put a hand on her shoulder. It was warm,
firm. Familiar. "You okay?"

She nodded. "You'd almost think I was used to
this kind of thing." Lifting her head slowly, she faced him,
studied his profile. The strong nose, tanned skin, slight shadow of
beard on his cheeks. Lips that were full and so sensual she got a
little tingly as she stared at them. "I am, aren't I?"

He glanced her way, drew a breath, then let
it out again without answering.

"Don't you think it's about time someone told
me who the hell I am? God, Marshall, I have a right to know."

He nodded. "I know. I know you do. Believe
me, there's nothing I want more than to tell you...everything.
But—"

"But?"

He looked at her again. "I can't"

She lowered her head. "Can you tell me why
not?"

"Because the doctors said you needed to
remember on your own."

"That's stupid."

"No. No, it's not Kira, things went down. Bad
things. Things that could make the most heartless bastard in the
world cry like a baby. You blocked it out for a reason."

"Yeah, and that reason was a head
injury."

He licked his lips, said nothing, but she
read his face, even though he kept it carefully focused on the
road.

"Are you saying my memory loss doesn't have a
physical cause?"

His deep sigh filled the car. "None they
could find. The docs said you'd get things back a little at a time.
And that would be the best way for you—remembering all of it at
once could be...bad."

"Bad how?"

He shrugged.

She sighed, angry and impatient. "I have been
getting things back. Little things."

"Yeah?" He faced her, and his eyes were
alight with interest and something else. Something that looked like
hope. "What have you remembered?"

She closed her eyes, and the images rolled
through her mind again. She saw herself in his arms, saw him
kissing her, laughing with her, making love to her.

"Kira?"

"Nothing I'm ready to talk about." she
said.

"Okay. That's okay." He reached across the
seat to put his hand over hers.

She opened her eyes and looked at it there,
felt her throat tighten and her eyes burn, and didn't know why.
God, she was so confused. "Where are we going?" she asked, to
change the subject. "This isn't the way back to my house."

"We can't go back to your mother's place." He
didn't call it her place, she noted, and wondered if she should
read anything into that. "They'll be looking for us. We need a safe
place where we can hole up, regroup, and phone our—my contact."

She nodded slowly. "How far?"

"Twenty minutes. Why?"

She shrugged. "You won't tell me who I am,"
she said softly. "So how about you use the time to tell me who you
are, Marshall?"

He looked at her sharply.

She blinked and knew something without even
trying. "That's not even your real name, is it?"

He shot her a startled look. "No. Do you
remember what it is?'

She shook her head.

"Try," he said.

She closed her eyes, and again saw those
images she'd seen before. Him, wrapping her in his arms, holding
her, kissing her...her own voice whispering his name.

"Michael," she whispered.

And the image went on, spinning its web
through her mind, playing out like a clip from a movie she hadn't
yet seen. The kiss ended, and he backed away just a little, and she
looked at him in his tux, and then down at herself. She saw white
flowing all around her, pooling at her feet, and she heard a man's
voice, not Michael's, but some other man, who stood there with
them, saying, "Ladies and gentleman, it is my honor to present for
the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Michael Waters."

Her eyes flew open. She stared at him,
stunned.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked.

Kira could only blink. Then she moved her
gaze lower, to his hands on the steering wheel, seeking out the
left one. There was a gold band on his third finger. She clapped a
hand to her mouth, then belatedly, thought to look to her own third
finger. But she already knew there was no ring there.

"Kira, for God's sake, what's the
matter?"

She swallowed hard. "You...you're
my...husband."

He hit the brakes so hard she automatically
braced her hands on the dashboard to keep from hitting the
windshield, even though she was wearing a seat belt—had put it on
thirty seconds into this mad drive.

She was vaguely aware of the car veering onto
the shoulder, sending up a cloud of dust all around them. And then
he was turning toward her, reaching for her, his face so incredibly
filled with emotion she could barely believe it. He quickly
released her seat belt and pulled her into his arms, his hands
burying themselves in her hair as he held her so tightly she could
barely breathe. His mouth moved over her neck, and then her jaw,
and finally covered her lips. He kissed her with more passion than
she would have guessed one man could possess. She went dizzy under
the assault, and her body reacted without her mind's permission or
concern. She kissed him back. She opened her lips to his questing
tongue and twisted her arms around his waist and held on as if she
would never let him go.

When he finally lifted his head, he stared
into her eyes, his own glittering with unshed tears, and whispered,
"You remember."

She lifted a hand, realized it was trembling
as she touched his hair. "No," she said in a voice gone hoarse with
some emotion she couldn't identify. "It was just a flash. Me in a
bridal gown, you in a tux, a minister, a kiss."

Blinking in confusion he tipped his head to
one side. "That's all?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, honey. It's not your fault." He
smoothed her hair, reached across her to put her seat belt back on.
Then got himself behind the wheel and set the car into motion once
more. "Besides, it's progress."

"But I don't understand. If I'm married to
you then—how was I engaged to Peter? Did we...are we divorced?"

His head turned sharply. "No way. You think
I'd let a catch like you get away? No, Kira. It's...it's
complicated."

"You were going to let me go through with the
wedding. And my mother—"

"Your mother doesn't know about us. Hell,
Kira, no one does. We were married in secret, in Africa, just
before...damn it, I'm not supposed to be telling you any of
this."