Presumed Dead. Angela Ruth Strong
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She cast a longing gaze toward the person serving as a reminder of the kind of life she used to live. Another sad memory. Except...
She narrowed her eyes. Tilted her head.
Her crazy state of mind played tricks on her emotions. As if the memories weren’t bad enough. But she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop studying the man who reminded her a bit of someone from her past. Take off those honey-colored sideburns and the stubble... Shrink the muscles a bit... Erase the frown lines in his forehead...
She had to stop staring. Because now the man was staring straight back. Intensity flashed in his familiar blue eyes. His lips parted. He called her name.
He called her name?
Holly shook her head. She had to be imagining things.
She willed the watercraft to rocket past. To prove her hallucination wrong. To leave her alone with her irrational daydream.
The Jet Ski slowed, sputtered, splashed cold water over her toes. The man on it extended his hand.
The last time this had happened, she’d been twenty-four. Headed back to law school for one more year while a younger version of the man in front of her prepared for his fateful promotion as a helicopter pilot in SOAR—Special Operations Aviation Regiment.
“No.” This wasn’t Preston. It couldn’t be. Preston was dead.
“Get on, Holly. Now.” The voice tugged at the strings she’d used to sew her heart back together when Preston’s charred remains came home in a coffin.
She had to be dreaming. She pinched her leg to wake herself up.
Ouch. Her thigh stung where she’d squeezed.
The man wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her toward the Jet Ski. “This is real.”
Real what? A real kidnapping?
“Who are you?” Her voice rose in panic.
She couldn’t just climb on behind a stranger. If he didn’t look so much like Preston, she would have pushed him off the watercraft by now.
“It’s me, Holly.”
Her mind whirled, almost pulling her head back with the weight of her thoughts. Preston was alive. He was on Lake Tahoe in front of her.
She covered her mouth with her free hand. This was impossible. Unless the corpse in the coffin had belonged to someone else and Preston had recently been released from some kind of POW camp.
She scanned his body, looking for injuries. If she climbed onto the Jet Ski too fast, would she hurt him? This was so unbelievable.
He tugged her arm. “Hurry, doll.”
Her heart reeled at the old nickname. This was Preston all right. In a daze, she slid behind him and clutched both arms around his middle. He was more solid than she remembered. At least he hadn’t been malnourished.
He gunned the engine. The Jet Ski tipped backward as it took off. Just like old times—
Except for the loud blast that erupted behind her. Hot air warmed her skin. Pushed against her. She craned her neck around to see fire shoot into the sky from her family cabin.
Her throat went dry. She clutched Preston tighter. If he hadn’t just picked her up, she would be dead. But why? And how had he known?
* * *
Preston exhaled. He’d picked her up just in time. Though the sooner he dropped her off, the better.
He hadn’t wanted to be right about the time bomb, but at least she was safe. He’d just have to make sure she was out of harm’s way before handing her over to police. Because she had a life to rebuild, and he couldn’t be part of it.
He slowed at his parents’ old, weathered dock. He wouldn’t have brought her here if they had been safe staying out in the open. But apparently someone wanted to kill her.
Her trembling fingers slid from around his waist to his sides as she twisted to look behind them. Her fingernails bit through his T-shirt. “What? What happened? What’s going on? I...I don’t understand.” She looked at his cabin then at him, her eyes still too glazed to be afraid. “Why are we here?”
Preston viewed the dilapidated A-frame from her perspective. How would she react when she found out he’d been living there the whole time she thought he’d been dead? How much should he tell her? Had he just saved her life, or had he put her in even more danger?
She blinked. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”
Since someone was after her, he’d get her out of the open. Later, he’d worry more about finding the criminal. “Let’s go in.”
She climbed onto the dock, causing it to sink halfway underwater.
He eyed her ten pink toenails. So feminine. So sweet. So off-limits. He forced himself to focus on hooking the towrope to the dock.
“I can’t believe it’s really you.”
She gripped his biceps when he stood, and maybe she just saw him as her old friend whose shoulders she used to sit on when playing chicken in the lake, but her proximity wasn’t as comfortable as it used to be. In fact, it was almost painful. It should be avoided because she wasn’t even supposed to see him, let alone touch him. He stepped around her.
She turned, her arms flailing now that she wasn’t hanging on to him like an anchor. “My cabin exploded. I could have been dead like you’re supposed to be.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “I can’t believe I said that.”
“It’s okay.” Though, was it? How was she going to explain surviving the explosion without revealing his existence? Was she even capable of keeping secrets?
She stepped forward. He stepped back.
“I didn’t want to believe you died, but we had a funeral for you. They played taps and gave your parents a flag.”
Preston looked away. He already knew about his funeral. He’d been there in the distance, watching, as his family mourned their loss.
Soon he would have to disappear again. No use giving Holly more to mourn. He’d put distance between them and a perimeter of defense around his heart. He wouldn’t think about the first time he’d kissed her, at the age of sixteen under this very dock during a game of hide-and-seek. Or about how she smelled of coconut, the same way she had as a teen. He held his breath and stepped away, toward the cabin.
He had to concentrate on the danger of their situation. He’d trained for that. He looked back at the fireball that had once been her family cabin to make sure nobody had followed them across the lake.
She grabbed his hand.
Even though they’d grown up holding hands, his pulse reacted violently as an adult. The whole fight-or-flight syndrome. He’d be better off if he chose flight rather than to fight for a relationship that could never last. Dead men didn’t date.
He led her along the uneven planks, up onto the deck and through the sliding glass door. His parents hadn’t used the place since his “passing” either. Apparently both families had too many memories at the lake for them to be able to enjoy vacations there without him.
“How did you escape? Can I be there when you tell your parents you’re alive?”
Uh...no. He took another step away and held up his hands so she couldn’t follow.
She scanned him up and down. “Are you hurt? Were you held hostage? Who is after you?”
He lifted his eyebrows. She thought he was the target of the bomb? This was going to be worse than he’d expected.
“Holly.” What a softer man he would be if he’d spent the last four years with her. Unfortunately, his current circumstances didn’t allow for softness.