A Man Worth Remembering. Delores Fossen
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Sanchez and the others walked out of the room. “Stay put,” she said, repeating the terse order he’d just given her. “As if I had a choice.”
In fact, her choices were extremely limited. Possibly even nil. She had amnesia, was hurt and didn’t know where she could go to get out of danger. That didn’t mean she trusted the three people who’d just left the room. Or that she believed them. She was almost positive they hadn’t told her the truth.
It’s what you have to tell her, Agent Teresa Walters had said before they knew she was awake. People didn’t usually make remarks like that if they planned to tell the truth.
The whole truth, anyway.
So just what did the others want Sanchez to keep from her? She certainly intended to find out.
Realizing that she had to go to the bathroom, Leigh tossed back the covers and swung her legs off the gurney. She was achy, and her vision was spotty. There was a thick white bandage completely encircling her right ankle, and when she stood, the stitches pinched.
She made use of a pair of green flip-flops that were under the gurney and went in search of the bathroom. It wasn’t hard to find. It was the only door other than the one through which her fearless protectors had exited.
The bathroom was enormous and had two vats filled with dirty linen and hospital-style gowns. The laundry chute was as wide as the bins, indicating the need to send plenty of soiled clothing to the laundry room. A regular clinic probably wouldn’t have such a need.
So just what was this place?
Since she hadn’t heard any traffic or sounds normally associated with a clinic, it was probably some secured area. Perhaps a military installation or maybe a safe house used by the FBI.
Now, just what did the FBI and an ATF agent want with a bookstore employee from Austin? Perhaps the books in the store weren’t the run-of-the-mill variety. If so, she was obviously more than just a concerned citizen.
Leigh put that thought on the back burner when she noticed the mirror above the sink. She approached it cautiously, afraid of what she might see in her own reflection. And equally afraid of what she might not see.
Disappointment soon replaced the cautiousness. She didn’t recognize a thing about herself. The face of a stranger stared back at her.
A troubled stranger.
Almost frantically, she studied her face harder, trying to force herself to see something familiar. She was pale and wondered if it was from the trauma or if that was her usual coloring. Perhaps a combination of both.
The skin surrounding the bandage was bruised—the purplish stain bled down to her cheekbone where someone had obviously hit her pretty hard. A blunt object was her guess.
Her features weren’t prominent. Average. She certainly wasn’t beautiful. Her hair was chin-length and cedar-colored, but since her roots were light brown, she figured that she wasn’t a natural redhead. She checked in the most obvious place to verify her conclusion, stretching out the waist of the scrubs to look inside.
No. She wasn’t a redhead.
She leaned closer to the mirror, suddenly puzzled by her eyes. They weren’t the same color. One was dark brown; the other, pale green. She automatically reached toward the brown eye and removed the colored contact that had camouflaged her iris. So, her eyes were really green, and since she could see perfectly without the contact, she had to believe she’d worn them for cosmetic reasons.
Why?
Colored contacts. Dyed hair. She’d disguised her appearance. It made sense. Perhaps she’d been hiding because someone wanted her dead. Too bad the disguise hadn’t worked. Obviously, someone had seen right through it and gone after her.
Leigh noticed the scar then. A puckered dimple on her right forearm. It appeared to be well healed, but she thought it might be a bullet wound. Or maybe her imagination was just working overtime. Just the sight of the injury, however, caused a sickening feeling in her stomach. It was yet another chilling reminder of her past she couldn’t remember.
She finished up in the bathroom, returned to the room and got back on the gurney. A moment later, Gabe pushed opened the door and came in with a large disposable cup in each hand.
“Coffee,” he announced. “I figured you’d need your caffeine fix by now.”
Leigh didn’t know about that, but the steamy brew smelled wonderful. “I’m a big coffee drinker?”
He nodded and glanced at one cup and then the other, apparently trying to decide which one was hers. He finally took a sip from one and grimaced. “Yours. Three sugars, just the way you like it.”
She took the cup, knowing she would indeed like it. Odd. Why had sugary coffee felt familiar and not her husband?
Her husband.
As she’d done to her own face in the mirror, Leigh scrutinized his. Actually, he wasn’t bad-looking. A little on the rough side, and the small scar on his chin only contributed to that image. His skin was a pale bronze, obviously a DNA contribution from the Hispanic heritage that his surname signified. The dark blue eyes, however, indicated some Anglo blood as well. All in all, it was a good mix that had produced an interesting face.
His eyes were…not bedroom eyes, even though it was the first description that sprang to mind. The dark lashes made them look half-closed, dreamy, but there was nothing bedroom about them. Those eyes meant business.
“Is the coffee all right?” Gabe asked when she took a sip.
“It’s fine. So, you know how I like my coffee—that still doesn’t mean I believe everything you’ve told me.” Placing her cup on the table beside his, she glanced at her ring finger and noticed a faint line. Not necessarily from a wedding band. But it was possible. “Did I have any ID on me when you pulled me out of the lake?”
He stretched out his leg so he could work his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. He fished out a single key. “This was tucked under the floor mat in the car. It had your fingerprints on it.”
“It’s for a car?”
Sanchez shook his head. “You left the keys to your rental car in the ignition. This looks more like a house key. Is it familiar?”
“No.” It looked like a key, that’s all. A key to a house, and she had no idea where that house might be. Austin, maybe, since that’s where she supposedly worked. “You didn’t find a purse or wallet on me or in the car?”
“I think the person who tried to kill you probably took it.”
That was possible, which made her wonder if the attack was robbery related. But she didn’t think so. She probably wouldn’t be here if it’d been a simple robbery.
Leigh glanced at him. So far, he’d cooperated with her questions. Well, some of them anyway, but she had no way of knowing if what he’d told her was the truth or even part of the truth. Heck, she wasn’t even convinced that the man was truly her husband.
“Why didn’t you kiss me when you pulled me out of the water?” she asked. “If we’re really married, wouldn’t a kiss have been the husbandly thing to do?”
It happened so quickly, she didn’t have time to protest or wonder why she’d issued such a stupid invitation in the first place. Gabe slipped his hand around the back of her neck and angled her head. His mouth came to hers. Touched. Brushed. And lingered.
Before he got down to business.
The kiss that followed was hot and clever. Slightly rough and a heck of a lot longer than it should have been. It certainly wasn’t a husbandly peck. It had a slick veneer of all sorts of emotion, including some anger, but that didn’t quite cover up the pure, raw attraction that sizzled beneath.
When he finally set her free, there was no doubt in Leigh’s mind that she’d been kissed by someone who knew exactly how to do it.
Gabe