The Bride's Secrets. Debra Webb
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down to the last detail. The idea made him mad as hell all over again.
She’d said this was about him, but unless it involved the Colby Agency, it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with him.
He needed to contact the agency as soon as possible and bring them up to speed as to his whereabouts. He’d missed the all-hands briefing. Victoria would be wondering what had happened to him. The abduction attempt had been particularly hard on her.
If he discovered that this had anything to do with Victoria or her granddaughter, Eve would seriously regret the day she’d gotten involved with whoever was behind the Colby Agency’s troubles.
J.T. pulled on the boxers and jeans, then the T-shirt. He checked his biceps. No more bleeding. Another bandage would be nice, but—
A tap on the door jerked his attention in that direction. He plowed his fingers through his hair, took a breath, then opened the door.
She still wore the damp cami and jeans. Her hair was mostly dry. It hung around her shoulders as if she’d just awakened from a long night of…
Stop. Don’t go there.
“I thought you might need this.” She held out a first aid kit. “It’s a habit of mine.” She shrugged. “I always keep one in my vehicle.”
He stared at the kit as he accepted it, then lifted his gaze to hers. “Seems you have a lot of habits I didn’t know about.”
She held his gaze a moment before walking away without comment.
Maybe she had a conscience after all.
Nah…he doubted it.
When he’d covered his stitches with a fresh bandage, he cleaned up the mess he’d made and headed for the showdown. His gut growled—his appetite had reappeared full force.
He would have some answers first.
Unable to help himself, he paused at the foot of the sprawling bed. They were supposed to have had their honeymoon night here. Images of making love—fingers fisted in all that gorgeous hair of hers…sheets tangled around long, toned legs—flashed like a seductive preview in his mind.
His heart pounded with the memories.
Yes, he was an infinite fool.
He stalked out of the room.
“I made you a sandwich.” She gestured to the bar that separated the living room from the small kitchen. “Ham and cheese with mayo, your favorite.”
Anger simmered in his gut, replacing the need for food. Yeah, she knew all his favorites. His likes and dislikes. She knew everything because he’d been honest with her, and he knew nothing about her.
Because she’d lied.
About everything.
“For the third time,” he said, his voice low and hard, “who are you?”
She picked up her plate and got comfortable on the sofa. “That’s a tough one.” Her long fingers tore off a chunk of sandwich. He watched with far too much interest as she lifted it to those lush lips.
The anger started to boil. The games ended now. “It’s an easy question. What’s your real name? The one you were given at birth.”
“The name on a birth certificate is irrelevant in all the ways that matter.” She moved her shoulders in a display of indifference. “My name’s Eve. Eve Mattson. I’m twenty-nine. I live at—”
“Lincoln Park, 2209 Pratt Street.” He plopped into the chair across from her position. “That’s all crap. I checked. You’ve had numerous aliases in the past six or seven years. But that’s as far back as I could trace you. As far as records are concerned, you didn’t exist at all before that.”
Even as he said the words, the whole situation didn’t feel real. Felt impossible. How could he have fallen in love with all the…lies? With a woman who didn’t exist? The better question was, how could he have been so blind?
She dropped her bare feet to the carpeted floor and set her plate on the coffee table. With her forearms braced on her spread knees, she looked him dead in the eye. “The truth is I don’t even remember who I was…before. I am who you see at the moment. That changes when the need arises.”
A frown pulled at his forehead. “Don’t snow me. Where were you born? Who were your parents? Where’d you go to school?”
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