By the time the dust settled, Grady would be in the undisputed top spot for richest man on earth. He might even own a couple of countries.
Grady hadn’t mentioned to Les the sidelines he’d added to the camp’s activities. Les wouldn’t like finding out that Grady didn’t give a rat’s ass if technology took over every piece of green space there was—as long as he got lots and lots of money. He was willing to let Les go forward with his plans—to a point. No way he’d let him kill the goose that could lay his golden egg. But his plans would create enough confusion for his discreet withdrawal to a country with no extradition treaty with the US. It hadn’t hurt Marc Rich any to be an expatriate, and maybe he could buy himself a pardon, too.
He could have it all once he had his hands on Prudence Knight. It had been a year of setbacks. Phagan had delivered the promised foolproof bypass of Merryweather Biotech’s security—for all the good it had done them when they went in. Who’d have thought the old man would be so paranoid about the technology that he was using to create the body armor? No vaults, safes or computer filing for this bird. Oh no, he kept it all in his daughter’s head. His men had left the lab untouched, with no trace of their passing. Grady had cursed his luck, then regrouped and come up with a new plan. A better plan.
Prudence was her old man’s weak link. His quiet, unobtrusive little weak link.
From the carefully rustic desktop, he picked up a couple of the photographs his man had lifted from Kincaid’s apartment. One was a standard ID photo and told him nothing, but the other, a candid of Prudence Knight, was far more interesting. Her hair, her clothes were not that different from the ID shot. It was her eyes that had changed. They were excited, filled with anticipation, and her mouth curved into a sly smile, as if she had a secret. Interesting that she’d also be the key to controlling Kincaid. She was doubly valuable—and he had used this to convince Leslie they needed her alive. He was looking forward to meeting her. If Mother Nature could be persuaded to move her rampage further east. In the meantime…
“Anything from Phagan?”
O’Rourke shook his head. “Nothing yet.” He hesitated, then asked, “Why do you want to risk a meeting with him?”
“If he’s not with me, he’s against me.” Grady turned around. “And I’d like to know why he wants to meet me.”
“Does he? Seemed to me like he didn’t want to meet you.”
“Exactly.”
“I see. He should want to meet you.”
O’Rourke was slow, but he got there eventually. If Grady laid the clues out in front of him and then explained them. It would be a pleasure if Phagan had a brain almost equal to his own. Be nice to meet someone not his intellectual inferior. He was pretty sure he was going to have to kill him, but he’d still like to bump brains with him.
“Well, so far he isn’t biting.”
“No, he isn’t, is he?” It was always possible that Phagan didn’t want to meet him. Not just pretending he didn’t. But that wasn’t what his gut was telling him. What was holding him back? Phagan had been clever at hiding his tracks, but the FBI was still after him. Did he know something Grady didn’t? It was hard to believe that Phagan was cleverer than he. If he was, though the thought still boggled, Phagan had to be with him. If he was against him, well, he’d have to be eliminated.
FIVE
Goldie stared at the neat row of mini-Windows icons pitted against the huge void of her foggy gray cells. It wasn’t a fair fight. Or she didn’t want to blot the empty landscape inside her head with personal facts. She felt more painter than scientist or researcher, with an empty palate to do with as she pleased. She wanted paints in vivid colors that she could splash on with abandon, not tiny icons waiting for a keystroke. It was so tidy, so controlled. It didn’t seem like her, even though she didn’t know who or what her was.
“Do you believe in nurture or nature?” she asked Luke, her fingers resting on the plastic keys that had warmed from her touch. If nurture had been wiped out, did that leave only nature or did nurture linger in the unconscious and wield a hidden power? Is that why she felt pulled two ways? Was her nurture in conflict with her nature? Had it always been? Is that how she’d ended up here with her memory wiped out? Is that why she felt like she’d been at this place before, wondering who she was?
If it frustrated him to wait on her caprice, there was no sign of it in his voice or eyes.
“I don’t know. I guess a little of both.” He frowned a little, his gaze turning distant. “I do think people make choices that go against their nurturing, good and bad ones. I’ve seen people out of good families screw up and seen kids you’d never give odds on, turn out fine.”
He reached for his wallet, extracted a picture and handed it to her. She took it, not sure what this had to do with her question. Happy to delay opening the first piece of the puzzle of her life. The snap was a happy one. The couple filled the small picture. She wore white, he a tux. They could have topped a cake.
“My brother’s wedding last year.” He paused, then said, “I helped him arrest his wife, Phoebe, a month before the wedding.”
Goldie stared at him. “I guess that’s one way to get a wife.”
Luke chuckled. “Jake’s way, anyhow.”
“Are you—” she stopped. Funny she hadn’t thought of this before. She’d just assumed he wasn’t married.
His smile didn’t disappear, but it shadowed. “I was. My wife died a few years ago.”
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Goldie didn’t know how she knew. That also explained the tamped down passion.
“I didn’t come here to brood, Goldie. Life has its ups and downs, as my three favorite women will tell you—all of who’ve faced some pretty tough situations. Something happened to you, something traumatic enough to wipe your hard drive. There’s not much either of us knows about you, but I’ll tell you what we do know.”
“What?”
“You’ve got guts. And determination.”
“How could you know that?”
“Because you’re not dead.” He covered her hands, still holding the photo. Strength flowed from him.
“Those ladies would also tell you, if they were here, that life’s not something you can hide from. Not even inside your own head.” He looked around him, his eyes both distant and warm. “This is a good place to heal what ails you. A safe place. And for the moment, a place where no one can get to you.”
The slow bloom of her smile took his breath away. Her shoulders straightened. Her chin rose. Her mouth straightened into a firm line. Her eyes, her amazing purple eyes, thanked him, then turned down to the PDA.
“Looks like it runs on Mini-Win. Let’s take a look at the programs its running.” She picked up the PDA again, popped up the list and studied it. Luke moved next to her, so he could see over her shoulder. “This looks interesting.”
“What is it?”
“Looks like some kind of e-book reader. Here’s the book list.” She looked at him with delight. “I read romance novels.”
Luke arched a brow. “Most women hide it like a secret addiction.”
“Do they? Maybe I do, too. It’s just that—”
When she didn’t finish her sentence, Luke prompted her, “That?”
“I keep hearing this distant, priggish voice in my head telling me to keep my knees together and act like a lady. I was afraid it was mine. Nice to find evidence it isn’t.” She brought up one of the books. “Oh, it’s a Dani Gwynne! And there’s a Kelly Kerwin, too.”
“E-books. I didn’t know Dani was so cutting edge,” Luke said.
“You know her?”
“She’s my other brother’s wife,” he admitted. “The one that isn’t on probation. I’ll introduce her to you when we get out of here.”
“Then I’d better find out what name to tell her.” Goldie tapped more keys and an expense account program appeared on the screen. While interesting, it didn’t tell them her name. “I just remembered something.” Goldie frowned. �
�On a regular computer, a program asks for registration information as it loads. You give your name.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Luke said, trying to breath shallow, so he wouldn’t inhale her personal scent mixed with the soap she’d washed with. He failed. It was as if his lungs had a mind of their own and had chosen slow and deep for maximum smelling.
“I wonder if it’s the same for something like this?”
Did she realize, Luke wondered, how comfortable she was with the PDA? She must know her way around a computer. In some ways, she reminded him of Phoebe. Even on the little keyboard, her fingers moved almost faster than he could follow.
He liked her hands. The fingers were long, like her legs, tapering to competent tips. In his mind’s eye, he could see her fingers intertwined with his. Knew that her hand would feel right nestled in his—even though it wasn’t right. For a second he felt angry with Rosemary for leaving him alone, for leaving him to cope with feelings like this about anyone but her. Gut-twisting guilt followed on the heels of anger. He was used to it. It had been his most persistent companion since Rosemary died. It rose in crest, then subsided to a dull grumble
He felt her stiffen, was close enough to her to feel the shudder that went through her, to hear a soft sigh slip out her parted lips.
She sagged back against him. It was natural, inevitable even, to put his arm around her. The weight of her body started a slow heat building from his mid-section. It had been so long since he’d had a woman in his arms. Felt a woman’s body heavy against his. His heart started to pound slow and deep, the rhythm an ancient and pagan one as old as man and woman. He tried to tell himself he was feeling fatherly, or like a protective big brother, but the simmer of attraction made a liar out of him. Goldie wasn’t his sister or his daughter. She was an attractive, desirable, very confused woman.
He gave himself a mental shake to clear his head. If he kept reminding himself how confused she was, he might survive without embarrassing them both.
“Did you…” He paused to clear the huskiness from his voice. “Did you find something?”
“My name.” She swallowed, the sound dry in the intense silence of the cabin. “My name is Amelia. Amelia E. Hart.”
“Amelia.” It would take time to get used to. She was so…Goldie to him. “Amelia E. Hart. Almost like the pilot. Is there an address?”
“An apartment. In Denver.” She toggled the screen back to the expense report. “I’m guessing, but these look like expenses related to the apartment. Electricity. Water.”
“Phone?”
She paged through the list. “No. No phone.”
“Maybe you use a cell phone,” Luke suggested.
“If I do, I’m not recording it here. No phone at all.”
Luke grinned. “Maybe you didn’t pay the bill, and it got shut off.”
She chuckled. “A deadbeat. No wonder I wanted to forget my life.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, I don’t seem to have bank information on this thing, but that might be in the apartment. And it looks like I like to play Solitaire and Mahjong.”
“That would make you normal,” Luke said with a strained grin.
She looked up at him, her nose less than an inch from his. Worse, the movement had put her mouth closer than that to his. He could feel the soft tickle of her breath against his skin, smell the mint toothpaste he’d left out for her. Her eyes were purple, but within the iris were endless variations and shades. She was close enough for him to know when her heart sped up to match his. To feel when her breathing stopped, then started slow and deep. She inhaled when he exhaled, pressing their bodies pressed together for an endless moment. The retreat was far too brief.
His fingers spread across her back and a tiny gasp escaped from her mouth, parting her lips for contact. He started to bend toward her and felt her back arch toward him. A light brush against the satin surface parted her lips a bit more. Everything faded but the need to taste, to explore her silken, female mouth—
The shrill summons of his cell phone blasted them apart like a bomb detonating.
Luke stared at her, but couldn’t think of a thing to say, except, I’m sorry, which he wasn’t. Well, he was sorry for the interruption.
“It might be your mother.”
Goldie—no, Amelia, he reminded himself—looked as dazed as he felt.
“Right.” He rubbed his face, then eyed the ringing phone like it might bite him. He picked it up, cleared his throat and pressed the button.
“Kirby.”
* * * *
Amelia studied him, feeling a bubble of laughter trying to sneak out her closed lips. Lips that still tingled from the light contact of his mouth. She realized her toes were curled up and straightened them. Her thoughts weren’t so easy to straighten. For all she knew, this was her first kiss. With a man she hadn’t even known for twenty-four hours. It felt good, but it wasn’t. There was too much about herself, about her life, that she didn’t know.
Luke had been right to say that she couldn’t run from her past, not even inside her own head. And she couldn’t start a future, or even an interlude, with anyone until she’d sorted it all out. What she was feeling may feel real, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Real feelings evolved from knowledge, from long association, not from proximity and isolation.
Besides, any intimate involvement would not be pleasant right now, with her many bumps and bangs. Though it showed how powerful the proximity of Luke was, that’d she’d forgotten it during that very heady brush of lips.
Thank goodness for self-consciousness, she decided, as she tried to clear the languid, heavy desire from her system without diving head first into a snow bank. It helped that his mother appeared to be chewing his butt. Laughter was a good antidote for desire.
He turned his back on her, his shoulders hunching, and she swallowed another giggle. It seemed polite to pretend she wasn’t listening, so she turned back to the PDA, studying the address it had coughed up. As if it had been waiting a city map appeared in her head, the address circled in red and not far from the university. Odd that it was a map she saw and not streets and buildings. It was as if her brain refused to be personal.
Little bits of Denver trivia floated out of her brain. Mile-high city. Home of the Broncos, Rockies and the Stanley Cup-winning Avalanche. She could see the winning game, but she couldn’t see the city itself, had no sense of having ever been there. She pushed harder at the fog and was rewarded with a sharp, stabbing pain. It seemed her amnesia had rules that must be followed. She rubbed her aching temple. Pretty bad when your own brain was against you.
Behind her, Luke finished his call without, she noticed, mentioning her. She could feel him watching her. She heard his measured tread against the wooden floor coming toward her, and her heart sped up. Heat built up in her middle again, but she stamped it out as she turned to face him with a bright, bland smile.
“That was my mom,” he said, his eyes blank, his voice forced.
“Oh.” Amelia hesitated, then asked, “She okay?” She couldn’t look away from him, though part of her felt she should.
Luke nodded. “I didn’t mention you because, well…”
“I know. I’m kind of hard to explain.” For the first time she saw past the moment, the now. She saw a future without him and felt a chill. And fear. It’s just because he’s all you know right now, she told herself. But she didn’t believe it. Her life had been turned upside down. She’d been changed, and she’d never be the same again. With an effort, she turned away from him, getting up to stare out the window. “Looks like the storm is breaking up.”
“It does?”
The low blanket of clouds—cumulus congestus?—had been a thick, gray blanket, but it would be breaking up soon or at least moving off. She looked at them, wondering what else she knew. “The wind is shifting from northeast to northwest and already starting to fall off.”
“It’s interesting what you know and what you don’t,” Luke said, the cur
iosity in his voice creating a different, but attractive timber. “Interested in doing some word associations? It might prod your brain.”
So he wanted some distance, too. She should feel relieved she wasn’t going to have to fight him off. She should.
“Sure. Why not?”
“You know what a word association is?” he asked.
Amelia thought about it. “You say a word and I say the first thing that comes into my head?”
Luke nodded.
She passed up the couch and chose a chair across from him. On a side table next to it was a carabiner. Absently she picked it up, slid it down on her thumb and turned it slowly in a circle.
“Carabiner,” Luke said.
“Rock climbing.”
“Harrison Ford.”
“Henry Ford’s grandson?”
“He’s an actor. Star Wars.”
“Missile defense system.”
“No, he was Han Solo in Star Wars. The movie. Dani claims it’s the myth for our generation. Or maybe she read someone who claims it’s our myth.” Luke’s forehead creased as he tried to remember.
“A myth is a traditional story of ostensibly historical events that serves to unfold part of the world view of a people or explain a practice, belief or natural phenomenon. Or it’s a popular belief or tradition that has grown up around something or someone. It can also be a person or thing having only an imaginary or unverifiable existence.”
She realized Luke was giving her an odd look, but all he said was, “Star Wars would probably come under the last one, since it was made up.”
“Oh.”
There was a moment of silence, then Luke cleared his throat. “Movie.”
“Motion picture.” There was more, but Amelia felt odd saying it. No question the words sounded unnatural, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
“So you know what a movie is?”
“Apparently.”
“Cary Grant,” he said.
“Actor. Very cute.”
The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy Page 67