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“Is he?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Cort snapped his head up. “You’re sure?”
“We have a witness.”
The pain in Cort’s leg intensified. He thought of the dead man. They’d met in training, almost fifteen years ago. They’d worked together countless times. Had he killed his friend? Jeff was right, it wasn’t supposed to matter. But, dammit, it did. It mattered a lot.
“Don’t push it,” Jeff told him. “It’ll come to you.” He returned to the hospital bed and perched on the corner. The morning sun flooded the small room, highlighting the institutional furniture and scarred green linoleum. “And while you’re getting your memory back, I have an assignment.”
Cort raised his injured leg. “Aren’t I on medical leave?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m going home.”
Jeff stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I need you to do something for me.”
“But you said—”
“Unofficially.” Jeff walked over to the window and stared out. “I can’t assign anybody through regular channels. I don’t have specifics, just a gut feeling.”
“Which is?”
“There’s going to be trouble.” Jeff looked at him. “I need you to look after a friend of mine. Provide a little security. Nothing high tech. She’s located—”
“She?”
“Her name is Faith. She lives up in the mountains. Runs a way station. I left a package in her care. The men we took it from might want it back. I want you to be there to stop them. If there’s any trouble, I’ll have the proof I need to officially provide backup. I know it’s asking a lot. I wouldn’t, if I had another option. You up to it?”
Cort thought about his small one-bedroom apartment in D.C. It was late spring. The tourists would be flocking into the city, and the temperature would be rising. Last time he’d stayed at the apartment, the air-conditioning had given out twice in three days. He thought about the time he and Jeff had spent in Iraq. On more than one occasion, the other man had been there to save his skin. This favor sounded like a way to even the score.
Cort grabbed the crutches and used them to help him stand. “I’m up to it.”
“Thanks, Cort.” Jeff collected the duffel bag from the locker against the far wall. “The place isn’t fancy, but I think you’ll like it. Plan on staying a few weeks. Two months at the outside.”
“Who’s this woman? Agency?”
“Private. A friend. You can trust her.”
Cort was doubtful. Trust wasn’t something that came easily to him. “She know what I’m there for?”
“She understands that there might be some problems and is willing to take precautions.” He pointed at the bandage around Cort’s calf. “She’s great with wounds.”
“Sounds like you speak from personal experience.”
Jeff’s blue eyes grew stark. “She took care of me after Lebanon.”
Cort moved into the small rest room and collected his belongings. He worked slowly, giving Jeff time to put the past in its place. His boss had almost died in Lebanon, but that wasn’t what caused his expression to grow bleak. He’d also lost his wife and young son to terrorists.
Cort zipped the shaving kit and hobbled over to the bed. He dropped the case into the open duffel bag. “Seems like I’ll be gone long enough to get back to a hundred percent. You didn’t happen to plan that, did you, boss?”
Jeff shrugged. “It works for both of us.”
“What about South America? What if I don’t remember?”
Jeff pulled the duffel bag shut and slung it over one shoulder. “If you don’t remember by the time you’re healed, you can read the file, and to hell with what the doctor says. You have my word.” Cort nodded. It was something to hang on to. But he knew the price of Jeff’s offer. If he hadn’t recovered his memory, he wouldn’t be coming back. The agency didn’t have a place for someone who couldn’t remember whether or not he’d killed a fellow operative.
“Thanks,” he said. He shrugged into a dark blue jacket, then slipped the crutches in place. “If I have a choice, I won’t be taking you up on your offer. I’ll be at work instead.” “Good.” Jeff walked to the door and held it open. “I want you back. You’re my best man.”
“You always say that,” Cort grumbled. “I heard you were telling John the same thing. We can’t both be the best.”
Jeff grinned but didn’t answer.
Cort followed his boss into the hall of the hospital. Several medical personnel nodded as he passed them. They wore ID tags with photos and numbers, but no names. At the end of the corridor, Jeff turned left. Cort hobbled along behind. He scanned the smooth floor, the walls, the doorways they passed, instinctively looking for escape routes. It wasn’t necessary; he was safe here. Old habits, he thought grimly. In his current condition he would get about ten yards before being taken down. He needed time to heal…and to remember.
A woman stood in the waiting room. As Jeff entered, she smiled her greeting. They spoke softly, but her eyes strayed past her companion. Cort paused in the doorway and met her gaze.
Blue eyes, he catalogued, taking in the flicker of guilt that told him she’d watched him through the two-way glass in his hospital room. Hair: brown, nondescript, long. Medium height for a woman. Work shirt, jeans, boots. Instinctively, he calculated an approximate weight, made a mental note of her straight posture, evidence of physical confidence, and guessed she was in reasonably good shape. Ordinary.
No danger, unless she came armed. His gaze moved back to her face. Mid- to late twenties, he thought, then dismissed the idea that she and Jeff were lovers. They stood close together, as if they’d known each other a long time, but there wasn’t anything between them. The throbbing in his leg picked up a notch, and he shifted his weight to relieve some of the pressure.
“Faith, this is Cort Hollenbeck,” Jeff said, placing his hand on the small of her back and urging her forward. “Cort, Faith Newlin.”
“Nice to meet you.” She extended her hand.
It took him a moment to untangle himself from the crutches. Most people would have been uncomfortable and dropped their arm, mumbling something about it not mattering. She stood there patiently, waiting as if she had all the time in the world.
Her grip surprised him. Not so much the strength of her grasp—given her wardrobe, she wasn’t a socialite. No, it was the rough skin he felt on her palm, the calluses. This woman did physical labor on a daily basis.
Their eyes met. Not unattractive, he thought. He studied the straight short nose and full lips that curved up slightly. As he’d decided before—ordinary. Little temptation there. Just as well. He didn’t need the complication.
“Ms. Newlin.” He nodded.
“Faith.” Again her lips curved up slightly, as she withdrew her hand.
“I’m ready, if you are.”
“Fine.” She glanced at Jeff. “What about medication?”
“Something for pain, some antibiotics in case of infection. I’ll get them.” He looked at Cort. “You’ll want to be armed. A Beretta?”
Cort raised his eyebrows. “Works for me.”
“Faith?” Jeff asked.
She shrugged. “I have rifles, but only one handgun. A small revolver.” She looked at Cort. “You’d probably be embarrassed to be seen with it.”
Interesting. A woman who knew about guns. He hadn’t had a chance to think about this new assignment, but so far it wasn’t too bad. Close quarters with Faith Newlin. She wasn’t a fashion model, but all cats were gray in the dark. Maybe the thought of bullets flying would scare her. Just enough, he thought, trying to remember how long it had been since he’d eased himself between a woman’s welcoming thighs.
“I’ll get the medication and the gun and meet you at the truck,” Jeff said, handing her the duffel bag and leaving.
Faith hung back, but Cort shook his head. “I’ll go behind you,” he said.
“Suit yourself.” Her long hair, pulled back at the front, but otherwise left free, hung over her shoulders. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sent the strands flying out of her way. “I’m parked in the rear lot. Do you want a wheelchair?”
The look he tossed her had often caused armed criminals to flinch. She simply blinked twice and waited patiently for his response.
“No,” he said at last.
“It’s your neck.”
“Actually it’s my leg.”
She smiled quickly, and he had the thought that it made her look pretty.
“Humor,” she said. “A good sign.”
As she walked past him, he inhaled the scent of her perfume. French. The name of the brand escaped him. Expensive. Out of place. The information joined the rest of his mental file on her. Shifting his weight, he swung the crutches in front of him and started down the hall.
They’d covered about twenty feet when she started to turn right down another corridor. Suddenly she gasped and jumped back, blocking his path. He couldn’t see what had startled her. He heard a loud crash.
Instinctively he dropped the crutches. With one arm, he grabbed Faith around the waist and threw her to the ground. He dropped to the floor, rolled to cushion his fall, biting back a grunt of pain as his weight settled on his injured leg. He came to a stop beside her. With a smooth, practiced motion, he reached for the gun in his waistband.
Nothing. No holster, no weapon. He looked up. Two terrified orderlies stood beside the pile of fallen trays. They started forward to help, took one look at the expression on his face and turned in the opposite direction.
Faith raised herself up on one elbow and studied him. Her blue eyes radiated nothing more than concern. “Did you hurt yourself, Mr. Hollenbeck?”
“Cort,” he grunted, between waves of pain. “I’m fine. What about you?”
She pushed herself into a sitting position. “Nothing broken. Do you need help up?”
“No.”
She scrambled to her feet. After retrieving the crutches, she stood patiently while he maneuvered himself upright. She handed him the crutches.
“I’m not crazy,” he said, knowing exactly how it all looked. Had they told her he’d lost part of his memory?
“That thought never crossed my mind.” She turned and continued walking down the hall.
He could feel blood oozing out of the stitches in his leg. Damn. It had finally begun to heal. Maybe he should get somebody to look at it before—
No. It would stop soon enough. Now that he was close to leaving the hospital, he realized how much he’d hated the confinement. He’d been pretty out of it the first week, but the last few days had crawled by. He’d slowly been going crazy trying to force himself to remember.
Faith stopped at the rear entrance and stepped on the automatic door pad. Smiling at the guard on duty, she spoke her name, then Cort’s. The older man punched a few keys in his computer keyboard, then nodded.
Freedom. Cort inhaled the dry desert air and held back a sigh. Sweet and clean. Enough to go around.
Suddenly the ground shifted and his vision blurred. Instead of the guard and the woman, he saw the dusky interior of a South American warehouse. Dank smells indicated he was near water. The ocean? Was the scent salty?
Danger! The thought exploded in his mind. Get out. Yet as he turned to run, the picture dissolved. His crutch caught on the lip of the door pad. As the flashback receded, he felt himself slipping. Faith leapt to his side and grabbed the shaky crutch. One strong arm gripped his waist and held him steady.
She had curves under that baggy work shirt, he thought as her right breast flattened against his side. The intellectual information battled with a sudden rush of sexual interest. That, more than the fall, returned him completely to the present.
“You all right?” she asked, looking up at him.
She was wary, but not afraid. She should be. Hadn’t Jeff told her what he was capable of? His head began to throb. He’d remembered. Not a lot, but something new. Sweat coated his body. He just wanted to get out of here.
He jerked himself free. “I’m fine. Where’s your car?”
She pointed toward a battered four-wheel-drive pickup.
He angled himself in that general direction and began to lurch toward it.
Jeff met them at the truck. “This should keep you comfortable.” He held a bag of medicine in one hand and a gun in the other.
Cort thought about telling him he’d remembered something, but he held back. He’d know soon enough—when the whole memory returned. Jeff opened the car door and tossed the medication on the dashboard. Cort hopped until the seat pressed against the back of his thighs. After sliding on the cracked vinyl, he lifted his bum leg into the cab and handed Jeff his crutches. Jeff settled them in the back and gave him the pistol.
“Here’s a spare magazine and a hundred rounds.” He set a small paper bag on the floor of the cab. “Try not to shoot yourself in the foot.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Faith dropped his duffel bag in the back of the truck, then gave Jeff a hug. “Don’t forget about my rain check,” she said.
“I won’t.” He held her for a minute.
Cort watched the expressions chase across his boss’s face. He knew the flash of pain came from remembering his wife. Cort looked away. Caring turned a man inside out. Exposed him. That’s why he would never get involved.
Faith slid in next to him and fastened her seat belt. She stared at him until he did the same. Then she smiled. Again, he thought it made her look pretty.
“You going to hold that in your hand the whole way?” She pointed at the gun.
He stared at the weapon, then thought about how he’d reacted to the crashing sound in the hospital. He was tired, and the surgery two days ago had used up the little reserves he’d had. What he needed was twelve hours of sleep. Until then, he wasn’t going to be much good at protecting anyone.
“Here.” He handed her the gun. “You keep it until tomorrow.”
She studied his face. “Fine with me.” She checked the safety, then pressed the button to release the magazine. After pocketing it, she jerked back the slide and looked in the chamber to make sure it didn’t contain a round.
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”
“Then you impress easy.” The gun went in the glove box. “And you’re exhausted. We’ve got over a six-hour drive. Why don’t you get some sleep? I need to make one stop. I’ll wake you there and you can eat something.”
“Sounds great.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. She wasn’t the sort of woman he normally picked, he thought as she started the truck and backed out of the parking space. He couldn’t remember a single one of his lady friends ever owning a gun, let alone knowing how to handle one. And although she’d been friends with Jeff for years, his boss had never mentioned her.
“Here.”
She thrust something soft into his hands. He cracked open one eye. A sweater.
