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“Use it for a pillow. Lock your door first. I don’t want you falling out if I hit a bump.”
“Thanks,” he muttered as he bunched the sweater and pushed it up against the glass. He pressed down the lock and inhaled deeply. Her scent surrounded him, the elusive essence of that damned French perfume. What was it? He fell asleep still trying to remember the name.
* * *
She saw the first evidence of blood after they’d been on the road an hour. Keeping her attention on the sparsely traveled highway, she occasionally glanced at her sleeping passenger. He rested deeply, barely moving except for the rise and fall of his chest. Her gaze swept over him as she noted his size and strength and wondered at the cause of his injuries. At first she’d thought the dark stain on his white bandage was a shadow.
“Damn,” she muttered softly. Over the next hour, the stain spread until it was the size of a half dollar. It showed no signs of letting up. He must have torn open his stitches when he’d dropped to the floor in the hospital.
She picked up a cassette and pushed it into the player. The radio was the only thing new in the cab. The vehicle itself had almost a hundred and fifty thousand miles on the odometer, but the engine had been replaced in the last six months and the tires were only two weeks old. She didn’t care how the truck looked on the outside; she spent the money necessary to keep it running well. Without her truck available to pick up food, the cats would starve in a matter of days.
Two hours later she saw the sign for her turnoff. She moved to the right of the four-lane freeway then exited onto the two-lane highway that would take her north and home. Her passenger continued to sleep. She turned off at the tiny town of Bowmund and headed for the grain and feed.
At least one thing had gone right today, Faith thought as she signed for the supplies. Everything was ready. As soon as the boxes were loaded, she could head up the mountain. After picking up a quart of orange juice and a plastic wrapped sandwich from the grocery store, she walked back to her truck. Cort slept where she’d left him, resting his head against her sweater and the passenger window.
She eased open her door and slid into the seat. Where was that bag of medicine? She saw the white paper in the far corner of the dashboard. As she grabbed it, she glanced down. The blood on his bandage had widened to a circle the size of a grapefruit.
“If that doesn’t stop, we’re both in trouble,” she said, not bothering to keep her voice down.
He didn’t stir. She counted out the antibiotic dosage, confirmed that the instructions said to take the medication with food and touched his arm.
“Cort, wake up. You’ve got to take a couple of pills.”
Nothing.
She pressed harder against his biceps, noting the thickness of the muscle. “Cort, wake up!”
It was like teasing a tiger. Without warning, he jerked upright, then spun and grabbed her. Before she could catch her breath, he’d pulled her head against his shoulder, holding her tight with one arm across her throat and pressing the other arm against her midsection.
“One more move,” he growled into her ear, “and I’ll kill you.”
Chapter 2 (#ulink_e6846900-4d04-5484-8ec8-ef451af8c470)
Faith didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe. She held herself still, stifling the overwhelming urge to fight him. She wouldn’t win. He had the strength and the skill to snap her neck with one swift jerk.
Her lungs burned for air. Panic threatened. Don’t, she commanded herself. She’d been in worse situations. The trick was to keep her head. He would figure out she wasn’t the enemy.
The steely arm around her throat loosened slightly. She drew in a deep breath. Her gasp sounded loud in the still cab.
Cort swore and released her completely. She fell forward and supported herself by pressing her hands against the seat. She inhaled deeply and coughed. Thank God. The cab darkened for a second, then came into focus.
After she caught her breath, she gingerly touched her neck, knowing that she would bear bruises for several days. She should have known better than to startle him, she thought, shaking her head in disgust. The same thing would have happened if she’d walked into a cage while a wounded animal was sleeping.
She located the pills she’d dropped when he grabbed her, and she turned slowly to face Cort. He leaned against the door of the cab and stared at her. She couldn’t read the expression in his dark eyes. Something flickered there, something black and ugly, but she didn’t know what it meant. Was he berating himself, or her? Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing.
“It could have been worse,” she said at last, her voice a little raspy from the pressure on her neck.
He raised his eyebrows.
“You could have had the gun.”
He didn’t answer. Apparently he had no intention of apologizing.
She held out the pills and the container of orange juice. He took them, tossed back the medication and gulped the liquid without taking his eyes from her face. She wanted to look away but sensed he was challenging her. She forced herself to meet his gaze.
“How long since you’ve been in the field?” she asked.
“Two weeks.”
“That explains—”
“Did Jeff tell you I was having flashbacks?” he asked, cutting her off.
“No.” She swallowed. Great. “Should he have?”
“You tell me.”
He held out the empty juice bottle. She took the plastic container and set it between them. Still his gaze locked on hers. He was making her nervous, but she refused to let him see her squirm. She allowed herself to study the straight line of his nose and the stubble darkening the hollows of his cheeks. He was handsome, she thought with some surprise. Perhaps even beautiful, with the wild unholiness of natural predators.
She shifted in her seat and reached for the sandwich she’d placed on the dashboard. “You’re probably hungry,” she said. “The instructions said to take the medication with food. I have to hook up the trailer and then we’ll leave.”
He didn’t answer. She set the sandwich on his lap and turned toward the door. Before she could touch the handle, he spoke. “I tried to kill you.”
“I know. You’re also trying to intimidate me.”
“What the hell are you still doing in this truck?”
“I don’t scare so easy.”
“Lady, there’s something wrong with you.”
She detected a note of grudging respect in his voice. “You’re not the first person to notice,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. The early afternoon light caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes. Cat eyes. “How long has your leg been bleeding?”
He glanced down at the stained bandage. “Since I fell on it at the hospital.”
“When was the surgery?”
“Two days ago. I think I ripped out some stitches.”
“Terrific.” She opened the door, then paused. “At the way station, we’re over forty minutes from town and an hour and a half from real medical care. Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No.”
She pointed to his leg. “If it gets infected, I’ll probably just cut it off.”
He rewarded her with a slight smile. It didn’t make him look any less dangerous. “Deal.”
She waited, hoping he would say something more. He didn’t. “I’ve got to see to the supplies,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She slipped out of the truck and closed the door behind her.
Cort watched as several men finished loading supplies from the feed store into the back of Faith’s truck. Carelessly, he picked at the food she’d handed him. His head ached, his leg throbbed and the pain in his gut came from a lot more than medication.
He’d almost killed her. If he’d had a knife or, in that split second when he’d lost track of what was real, his gun, she would be dead. For no good reason. She wasn’t the enemy. Just an innocent bystander. He’d never lost control before, and it scared the hell out of him. How was he going to get it back?
He glanced in the side-view mirror and saw Faith talking to a man with a clipboard. She went down the list and pointed at the boxes they were loading into a separate trailer. The man started to argue. Before he’d said more than ten words, Faith planted her hands on her hips and started in on him. In about five seconds, he was nodding and backing up toward the building.
Who the hell was she? He tossed the half-eaten sandwich on the seat and clenched his hands into fists. He’d almost killed her, and she acted like nothing had happened. Jeff had said she needed protection. Cort shook his head. She seemed capable enough to him. He stared at the mirror. Faith stood by the back of the truck, counting the crates being loaded. She moved quickly and easily, as if she’d performed this task a hundred times before. Cool and competent—she turned and he saw the curve of her rear—and very much a woman.
He shifted his leg and felt a spurt of blood, then the warm dampness as it oozed against his skin. He closed his eyes. With a new bandage and a good night’s sleep, physically he’d be fine. A couple of days and he would be a hundred percent. But what about the rest of it? What about his memory?
He went over what he’d remembered right before they left the hospital. Salt air. The ocean. He licked his lips as if the taste still lingered. Darkness. He remembered that. And danger. But from what? He strained to see into the gray mist of his mind. Had Dan been there with him? Had he died there?
Nothing. The past refused to focus. He groaned in frustration. What if he never remembered? Had he killed him? Had he killed Dan?
Cort propped his elbow on the door and rubbed his forehead. What was his mission? Dan was a fellow agent. Deep inside his memory, something clicked into place. Had his friend gone bad? Had Cort been sent to kill him? If he’d gotten the job done, he should forget it. Had he, though? Thoughts circled around and around, until even what he could remember blurred with the fog.
“Stop it,” he commanded himself. He would get nowhere like this. Dan was dead. He knew that for sure. The rest of it would come to him. It had to.
He’d gone too far with the last mission, he realized. He’d felt the warning signs of burnout and had ignored them. He should have turned down the assignment and taken a break. He’d been fighting the war for too long. He hadn’t wanted to be cautious, and now he was paying the price.
Faith opened the door and slid onto the seat. He ignored her. He heard the click as she buckled her seat belt. He needed a plan. Whatever security he had to provide wouldn’t take up too much of his time. He needed to get back in shape physically, and his memory would follow. First— A bump against his shoulder broke into his musings.
“Sorry,” Faith said as she rested her arm on the top of the seat and began backing up the truck. “I hate this part.”
He glanced out the rear window. “What are you doing?”
“See that big trailer there? It’s supposed to be attached to this truck. That’s what we haul up the mountain.”
The trailer looked to be about as wide as the truck, maybe ten feet long and eight feet high. The painted sides didn’t bear a logo.
“What’s inside?”
“Food.” She adjusted the steering wheel slightly and eased up on the accelerator. “Damn. Why do they have to watch? It makes me crazy.”
He followed the direction of her gaze and saw a group of old men standing on the porch in front of the feed store. The building itself looked like it had been built during the forties. “What are they waiting for?”
“Me to mess up. They can’t believe that a mere woman can handle a truck, let alone a trailer. They do this every time I come in for supplies.”
“You ever mess up?”
A strand of her long hair fell over her shoulder. She flicked it back with a quick jerk of her hand and grinned. “Nope.”
He found himself smiling in return. She made a final adjustment of the steering wheel, eased up on the accelerator and waited for the truck to roll to a halt.
“Did it!” she said and faced front. After rotating her shoulders to release the tension, she bounded out of the cab. “I just have to hook us up and then we’re out of here. You want something more to eat?”
“No,” he said. Then added a belated “Thanks.”
As promised, she made quick work of the hitch. In less than ten minutes, the tiny town had been left behind and they began to drive up a steep mountain road.
Cort shifted in his seat, trying to ease the pain in his leg. Faith handled the truck easily, as if she were used to the winding roads. He studied her strong but small hands as they worked the gearshift. Who was she, and why wasn’t she frightened of him? He’d almost killed her. She didn’t look or act stupid, so what was her story?
He watched the road ahead. Tall trees, a few of them redwoods, came down to the edge of the highway. Recent spring rains left a carpet of lush new grass.
“I’m sorry,” he said, staring straight ahead. “For what happened before. I could have hurt you.”
“But you didn’t. Apology accepted.”
“That’s it?” He glanced at her. She seemed intent on her driving.
“What more do you want?”
Something. He could have done a whole lot more than hurt her. “I almost killed you.”
“I’m as much to blame. I shouldn’t have startled you. I know better.”
“How? Jeff said you were a civilian.”
She gave him a quick smile. “Don’t worry. I am. But I’m used to working with dangerous animals.”
“It won’t happen again,” he promised.
“I know.”
“How?”
“It won’t happen again, because I won’t startle you a second time. I’m a quick study.”
He shifted in the seat until he faced her. He propped his injured leg on the hump in the floor that divided the cab in half.
She rested both her hands on the steering wheel. Short nails, he thought. No polish. Sensible work clothes. He inhaled. But she wore French perfume.
“How do you know Jeff?” he asked.
“We met about six years ago. He was friends with the lady I worked for. When Jeff was hurt in Lebanon—” She glanced at him.
“I know about that,” he said.
She nodded. “He came to stay with us for a few months. I helped patch him up. Kept him company. That sort of thing. We became friends.”
“So you’re a nurse?”
“Not exactly.” She flashed him a smile, then sobered. “I guess when you go through what he did, you remember the people who got you through it.”
Cort thought about those days. Jeff’s injuries had been lifethreatening, but it was the loss of his wife and child that had almost killed him. Four years ago. Before Jeff had been promoted. They’d worked together several times. Been gone enough for Jeff’s marriage to falter and Jeff to start worrying about it. The worry distracted him and ultimately almost got him killed. He’d made the decision to do whatever it took to save his marriage, then boom. Jeanne and his son were dead.
Cort shook his head. It wasn’t worth it. Relationships weighed a man down. Caring about anyone got in the way of getting the job done.
“Tell me about the way station,” he said.
