Understanding lit Bill’s face. “Ohhhh. Sure.” He glanced out the window. “Yeah, I can see the car now.”
“Since I still have a few days of vacation left, I’m going to take Hope back to Maryland. See her home safe.”
“Sure,” Bill said, reaching for the doorknob. He nodded to Hope. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’ll, uh, just clear that driveway so y’all can leave.”
Hope rounded on him the minute Bill closed the door and stomped down the steps. “You’re a cop.”
“Yeah? So?”
“You didn’t think that was something I should know?”
“Never thought it was relevant.” He took his gun from the small of his back where he’d tucked it before opening the door and laid it on the table.
“Not relevant?” Her voice rose. “Of course it’s relevant.”
“How so?”
She waved her hands in the air, all up in arms about something he couldn’t even begin to imagine. Why should it matter whether he was a cop?
“It just is,” she finally said and he laughed. She appeared stunned, her mouth opening, then closing. “What’s so funny?”
“You are.”
She crossed her arms over her belly. “Why?”
It felt good to laugh. To really let loose a laugh that came from deep inside. He didn’t even bother to wonder how long it’d been since he’d laughed this way. Too long. And the situation wasn’t really all that funny.
“You can stop laughing now.” She tapped her bare toes on the rug. With her tousled hair, pink tingeing her cheeks and fire spitting from her eyes, she nearly knocked the breath right out of him. He did stop laughing, but only because he had this crazy urge to kiss her.
He took a quick step back. He could barely touch her. No way could he kiss her. Yet the thought was there, growing from an urge to a longing to a craving. He turned and walked away. “I’m taking a shower,” he mumbled.
Hope fell onto the couch and ran her hands through her hair. So Callahan was a cop. She should have put the pieces together. The gun, the tough-guy image, the wariness. It all made sense now. Here she’d run straight to a cop. Had the dead man sent her here for that reason? How would a cop in Tennessee help her in Maryland? She rubbed her aching temples and closed her eyes.
Outside, Bill Mercer’s Blazer plowed John’s driveway while inside John turned on the shower. Hope flopped back on the couch and stared at the ceiling, refusing to think of him in the shower. Naked.
That was so wrong.
She could be married. She was certainly going to be a mother. She shouldn’t think those things about a man she barely knew, even if a part of her felt like she’d known him all her life. And that wasn’t so odd, was it? Because she couldn’t remember her old life, just this new one. So really, she had known him all her life. All the life she could remember, at least.
The water splashed and this time she didn’t fight the image of him standing under the spray, tilting his head back, long muscles in his back relaxing under the hot water. The sight of him laughing had nearly knocked her over. He had a deep, beautiful laugh.
She put her hands to her hot cheeks. “Geez, Hope. You’re in trouble if you’re thinking of him like that.” No. No
if
about it. She
was
thinking of him like that, and that was bad news.
He emerged from the bedroom, his wet hair a dark red. He hadn’t shaved and his whiskers were the same dark red, somewhere between mahogany and cinnamon. The man didn’t own a new pair of jeans. All of them were worn, loose at the waist, frayed at the pockets and hems. He wore a dark gray T-shirt under a navy flannel shirt left untucked and unbuttoned.
“Shower’s free,” he said as he passed through the living room into the kitchen. She stood, but instead of going to the bathroom where it was probably still steamy from his shower and still smelled of his soap, she followed him.
“You told the deputy we were going to Maryland.” She stopped in the doorway and watched him peer into the refrigerator.
He grunted in response.
“When were you going to tell me?” Part of her wanted to go. A major part. But there was a small part that wanted to stay here. That part felt like a little girl who liked to be safe in the place she knew instead of going into the big bad world where everything was alien.
He moved to the cupboards, opening and closing doors. “It’s not some conspiracy.” He turned and paused, apparently seeing something in her face that softened his expression. “You didn’t think we’d stay here forever, did you?”
Maybe she had. Or maybe she’d wished.
“We need to find out who you are, Hope. I’m sure you have family looking for you.”
“I know.”
“I won’t leave you until I know you’re safe.”
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.”
“What about Suzanne Carmichael? If she’s after you, going to Maryland wouldn’t be the safest thing.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You’re putting yourself in danger for me.”
His steady gaze held hers. “I think danger has already found me.”
***
“Tell me about the woman.” Manco Garcia’s bottomless black eyes stared Suzanne Carmichael down. On the outside, he appeared calm, as if the dinner they were sharing was a cozy scene in a well-planned sexual seduction. Never mind they were in a sleazy hotel, eating fast-food burgers.
Suzanne tried to appear as nonchalant as Garcia as she took a bite of her hamburger and chewed. She wiped her mouth slowly with the paper napkin and schooled her features to stare at him as coolly as he was staring at her, while inside she shook so hard she feared her dinner would come back up. “She was as much a surprise to me as she was to you.”
He gazed at her. The man never let his guard down, never entered a business deal unless it benefited him. And never let someone live who didn’t follow through with their promises.
This last was what had Suzanne sweating.
He folded his hands over his taut belly. “This is a problem, Susanita. I don’t like surprises. They…upset me. The woman, she witnessed something she shouldn’t have. And she has what we need, no?” He tilted his head and Suzanne’s fingers tightened, squeezing the stale bun.
She swallowed, her mouth going dry. Truth was, she didn’t know if Hope Stewart had what they needed, but it would increase her life expectancy if she didn’t let Garcia in on that bit of information. Damn, Bradley. And damn Charles Stewart. Both had kept her from the money she’d stashed from the arms she’d sold to Garcia and his terrorist organization, People of Light. She desperately needed the money now. Had promised a good portion of it to Garcia for his help in her prison escape. And if she were to flee the country, as had been her plan, she needed the cash to do it. Her cash. The cash Stewart had been bleeding from her.
“We have a deal,
querida
. Your freedom for two million of your American dollars.” Garcia waved an elegant hand over the table. “I see you eating my food, enjoying my company. Yet, I have no—” he rubbed his fingers together, “—
dinero
. Certainly, Susanita, you see my dilemma?”
She cleared her throat. “I see you have every right to your…frustration.”
Anger flared in his dark eyes but he quickly masked it. “Ah, Susanita, I am past frustration. It has been a week. I have met my end of the bargain. You have not.”
“I will,” she said quickly. “It’s just a small wrinkle in the plan. You’ll get your money, I promise.”
A black eyebrow rose in disbelief.
She didn’t really believe it either. Being Garcia’s captive had not been in her plans but without the money, she couldn’t leave him, and being a known fugitive she couldn’t walk out of the hotel either. Which left her in quite a dilemma.
“Manco.” She made her voice purr, the way he’d liked it all those years ago. “When have I ever not followed through with a promise?” She inched her chair closer to the small table and leaned forward, hoping the tantalizing view inside the deep V of her T-shirt would distract him. His hard gaze never left her face. “Hope will return to her father’s home. And when she does, we’ll get your money.”
He stared at her until her face began to heat in shame and she pulled away, self-consciously tugging at the neck of her shirt. She hoped to God she was right and Hope returned to the scene of the crime. Garcia had placed two of his best men there to watch and wait, but so far it was as if Hope Stewart had vanished.
Garcia drilled his finger into the table. “I have been in your stinking country for two weeks now, called here by you. I can not afford to spend more of my precious time away from my business.” A feral, angry Manco Garcia began to replace the suave man who had entered her motel room. Before her was the man who could whip his soldiers into a frenzy of murder and looting.
She hated this push-pull attraction she had for him. His dark side drew her while at the same time it frightened her. Right now she was frightened because she’d seen his wrath, saw what he could do to strong, brave men and had no doubt what he could do to a defenseless woman relying on his goodwill.
A goodwill that was slowly unraveling.
“We’ll find your money, I swear.”
His lips twisted in a sneer and he let loose a string of Spanish. Her fear rose another notch as his gaze locked with hers, hot and wild with anger. “Listen to me,
Seńora
Carmichael. You think your prison cell with your running water and three warm meals a day was punishment?” He stood. He wasn’t tall compared to American men, but he didn’t need height to intimidate. “It is
nada
compared to what awaits you in my country. And do not think you can escape my punishment.”
His gaze slid up her body, finally landing on the breasts she’d tried to distract him with earlier. A light came into his eyes and instead of the tight tug of desire she’d felt before, she shivered in dread.
“I have a very…specific punishment for you, Susanita.” He leaned forward and brushed a knuckle over her cheek, then chuckled when she trembled. “You don’t like my plan?” He waited until she shook her head. “Then pray Hope Stewart leads us to the money.” He turned on his heel and slammed out of the motel room, jarring the plate-glass window next to the door.
Riveted to her seat, Suzanne stared at the closed door. For the thousandth time in four days, she cursed her decision to contact Manco Garcia even while she understood the desperation that had driven her to it. For two years, she’d sat behind those bars, dressed in baggy, gray prison clothes, obsessing over the money she and her late husband, Bradley, had secreted in overseas accounts. For two years, she’d devised and discarded plan after plan to escape, retrieve her money and disappear.
Bradley’s unexpected death had caused a wrinkle in her plan. At least that’s what she’d thought at the time. Now she was beginning to see it as a hurdle she may not be able to jump. Damn her husband for turning all the paperwork over to Charles Stewart and for giving him the key to all that money.
She mentally consigned Hope to hell for putting her in this position. The murder of Charles should have gone smoothly, especially with Manco’s best men on the scene, but Hope had walked in, had seen the body, and Tomás and Ricardo had been forced to run before they could discover where Stewart had hidden her money.
Now Suzanne had no way to pay Garcia for her freedom and it seemed her time was running out. She’d escaped prison, but escaping Garcia’s clutches was another thing entirely.
***
It took all of John’s concentration to get them off the mountain in the nearly two feet of snow that had fallen over the past three days. Even so, he was acutely aware of the woman next to him. She’d changed back into her jeans and oversized sweater. Had twisted her hair into a braid that fell halfway down her back, which she liked to pull over her shoulder and play with the end of. She looked fresh and young.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, not from the icy road conditions but from the emotions inside him. Had he known coming out of his shell would be this painful, he would have braved the storm days ago and dropped her off at the police station for Mercer or one of the other guys to deal with. Just his dumb luck he’d finally found a woman to pull him out of himself and she was pregnant, possibly married, with no memory and a killer on her tail.
He merged onto the interstate and picked up speed. Out here, the salt trucks had done their work, and the blizzard hadn’t been as bad as in the higher elevations. Returning to civilization was always a tricky process for him. He far preferred the quiet of his mountain retreat to the noise and fast pace of the real world.
“What day is it?” Hope asked, running her hand down her braid and staring out the front windshield.
“Wednesday.”
“Wednesday what? I don’t even know the date.”
“December twenty-eighth.”
She shifted and he pulled his gaze from the road long enough to glance at her surprised expression.
“That means I crashed on Christmas day.”
He grunted his response, something he knew she hated, but did anyway. Doing things with the intent to irritate another person wasn’t really like him, but with Hope, he enjoyed it.
“John.”
“What?”
“I crashed at your house on Christmas day.”
“I know that.” He was well aware what day she’d entered his life.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He blew out a breath. Not this again. She seemed to think he was purposely keeping information from her. “I guess I figured you knew that.”
“I couldn’t even remember my name, why would I know it was Christmas?”
He shrugged, still not getting why this was important. She seemed to fixate on the weirdest things.
“No wonder you were mad,” she said after too short a silence.
“I wasn’t mad.”
“Sure you were. You didn’t want me there.”
True enough, but not for the reasons she thought.
“Geez, John. I ruined your Christmas.”
“No, you didn’t.” That he could say with absolute certainty. She’d saved his Christmas. And possibly him.
“No wonder you had no food in your house. You were headed out for the holiday. Were you going to visit your family?”
He gritted his teeth, a headache forming behind his eyes. “No.”
“Friends?”
“No.”
From the corner of his eye, he could see her tilt her head. “Then how were you going to spend the day?”
“Alone.”
“Don’t you have family?”
He sighed. “Hope…”
“Humor me, John. Everything is a blank slate in my mind. I don’t remember Christmases past. All I remember is blood and murder and this sadness that follows me. Tell me about your family. Let me live vicariously through you.”
He understood. He’d been in her position before. She needed to connect to something. And while he didn’t really want to do it, he told her about his family, leaving out that he hadn’t seen them in years. That it had been his decision to sever all contact with them. That there were times he thought of them with deep grief and longing, but didn’t know how to reach out.
“My mom and dad live in a retirement community in Arizona. My sister, her husband and their brood live in Michigan.” Mary had been pregnant the last time he’d seen her. So that meant he had a niece or nephew he’d never seen. He knew his parents and sister were bewildered by his silence and his refusal to speak to them after his release. He couldn’t explain except to say it’d been easier, less painful to pretend he was dead to them than to see their looks of horror when he’d returned, ravaged from his prison stay, the beatings and the illness that had almost taken his life.
His cellphone chirped and he snatched it, happy to end the conversation.
Hope pushed away her rising frustration. Every time she got close to John, something happened to make him pull away. There was so much he kept hidden. Stuff she felt he needed to face. But she sensed the walls around his soul were high and erected years ago. Would she ever be able to breach them? Then she wondered why she wanted to. Dead bodies and missing memories were enough to keep her occupied. She certainly didn’t need Callahan’s problems as well.