“I like looking at my son. Is that a crime?”
He laughed and shook his head, taking the newspaper she shoved at him. He had a feeling she’d been seeing him in a wedding tux. He didn’t disabuse her of the notion. When he’d told her it was complicated, the understatement had almost choked him. Besides, his mom wanted him to be in love. That’s why she said he looked like Jake. He wasn’t in love with Amelia. He couldn’t be. It was too soon. It wasn’t right either. The way they’d met, on the anniversary of Rosemary’s death? He’d always remember that. She’d kissed him because he was there. Maybe to confuse him. Maybe because she was confused. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let his heart be involved until he knew—and probably not even then.
He arrived at Amelia’s apartment later than he’d planned but was glad he’d stopped by his mom’s. He felt better, though he didn’t know why. Stepping inside Amelia’s apartment, it was apparent that he’d just missed her. The shower and Amelia smells were stronger, her towel wetter than last night. And this time some of the clothes in the closet were gone.
Where was she going? What was on her mind? Was she working from a plan or just reacting? Had she remembered something? Or never forgotten anything?
A quick search turned up that she’d taken the driver’s license and the bus pass and some of the cash, but not all of it. If she’d been about to run, she’d have taken all the cash. There was one possibility he hadn’t explored. If she was conspiring with whoever had taken the Shield prototype, that would be a reason to stay put, if she thought she could complete the research—or was in cahoots with someone who could. Maybe there’d been a falling out? A betrayal?
Damn. He could invent theories, but convincing his heart to believe them was another matter. He kept bumping up against her eyes. Could anyone lie and look that innocent? Be that believable?
He looked at the desk again, his gaze sweeping past, then returning to the scratch pad. He’d noticed it in passing last night. It had a shopping list started on the top sheet. That was gone now. In its place was another kind of list. He studied it with a frown. It wasn’t long, but it was illuminating.
I hate lies.
He remembered her saying that with real passion. What did it mean? It felt like the truth. A struggle for identity, for memory. Almost at once his left brain reminded him she knew he’d be coming here. She hadn’t waited. Maybe she felt like she had to continue the charade, while she tried to get her hands on the prototype.
He told his left brain to shut up. Even managed a slight smile at the tiny doodle he recognized as himself, she’d done under the list. There’d been other doodles on the shopping list, he remembered now. Had it sparked some memory for her?
A bit of light worked its way through the heavy curtains over the windows, showing him something he’d missed last night. Stenciled into the background of the pad was a logo and address for Merryweather Biotechnology.
If she really had lost her memory, it would be natural to go there and see if she remembered anything or if anyone remembered her. It might also be a place a co-conspirator would go—especially when she had a handy-dandy amnesia alibi all set up.
Whichever it was, it was where he was going.
* * * *
Larry was sick of staring at the Merryweather Biotech parking lot and the streets around it. And seeing himself in the rear view mirror. Wouldn’t the girl have showed up by now if she was going to? Kirby had her on ice, stashed somewhere safe while he figured out what was going on. Meanwhile, here he sat like a big, old sore thumb where Kirby could spot him.
As if his thoughts had summoned the guy, Larry saw him turn the corner and quickly ducked down.
“What’s he doing?” he hissed at Hickey.
“Turned into the parking lot. Now he’s getting out. Walking toward the building. Oh, wait. Now he’s stopped. He’s looking at the bus that just pulled up.”
That was curious enough to encourage Larry to peek over the dash. There was a bus. Kirby was stopped, looking at it. Why? Unless…
He did a quick estimate of the distance to the bus stop. He was closer and he had the advantage of wheels. Kirby was walking back, but taking it slow, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he’d seen. Good. If the girl was getting off the bus, he had one chance to grab her before she got to Kirby.
Larry started the engine and eased the van into drive. “Get ready with the sleeping shit. When I tell you, open the door.”
“What—”
“I’m betting he just spotted the girl. Hurry and get ready! We got one shot at this. Don’t screw it up or we’re done for!”
Hickey, grumbling under his breath, scrambled into the back of the van. Larry rolled forward as a figure stepped off the bus. The bus pulled back into traffic, blocking her for a moment. When it rumbled past him, he got a clear view of her.
It was her, no question about it.
“Get ready, Hickey.”
* * * *
Luke saw Amelia looking out of the bus and felt a surge of relief. He’d beat her here. He could head her off, talk to her. And see if she was honest or the best actress he’d ever met. On the drive over, he’d been thinking about who might be trustworthy inside the company and remembered Donovan Kincaid. He’d sure leaped to her defense when Leslie got cute yesterday. Of the two, he’d put his money on Kincaid having the better instincts. Or did he want to believe him?
He started walking—not hurrying because part of him didn’t want to know if the news was going to be bad—toward the street as the bus came to a ponderous stop. His gaze followed Amelia’s progress the length of the bus, then lost sight of her until the bus moved off with a smoky roar.
Maybe it was the engine sounds or a prickling on his neck that had him looking down the street. When he saw the van, he froze for an instant, then pulled his piece and started to run. The light was with her, so Amelia started across the street. The van was closer to her than he was.
“Amelia!” he shouted.
She stopped in the middle of the street, looked his way, then her face broke into a smile and she waved at him. “Luke!”
“Look out!” He gestured as the van sped up. The side door opened. She turned to look, as it pulled level with her. The man crouched in the opening fired off a shot at him. Luke dodged behind a car, started to fire back, but Amelia was in the way. The guy hooked his arm around her waist and lifted her inside. They fell back in an untidy heap on the floor as the van picked up speed. Before it turned out of sight, Luke saw Amelia struggle, then go limp.
She was gone. He rubbed his face in frustration, muttering every swear word he knew. He stopped.
Helicopter. Amelia had been terrified of them. One had been on the mountain the day they’d skied down. In a moment, he was back in his car, heading for the airport, his cell phone to his ear. He’d tried this alone and failed. Now it was time to use his strengths, or in this case, his brothers’ strengths. It was time to call in the rest of the Kirbys.
THIRTEEN
Bryn padded out of the bathroom in her stocking feet. She kept her eyes down, looking for her boots in the semi-dark, so she wouldn’t look at the bed where Dewey lay sleeping. She’d slept about two hours last night, but she didn’t feel tired. She felt…delicious.
There’d been one moment of panic after he’d carried her over her threshold and set her on her feet when she’d told him, “I’ve never—”
“Neither have I,” Dewey had interrupted. His hand brushing her cheek had been trembling, igniting an answering quiver in her mid-section.
“Never?” She knew why she hadn’t. At first there’d been the drive to succeed, then she’d fallen for a guy who presented himself in cyberspace. Once she thought about it, though, it didn’t surprise her. He’d told her last night that his first love was broken.
“I was saving myself for you,” he’d said. His hands traced her face as if he still couldn’t quite believe he could touch her. He stepped close to her, their mouths a breath apart, their bodies touching. �
��Mating should be more than just bodies squeaking together, my darling Miss Bailey.”
“Have you been reading my romance novels again?” she murmured against his mouth, holding off a moment longer.
“A wise man does his research.”
She’d laughed, feeling the joy all the way from her toes. She’d never felt this free, this happy.
People who said inexperience was a turn-off were so wrong, she concluded as she finished lacing her second boot. So very wrong. Despite their mutual lack of experience, they’d managed to do the deed and then again in the time allotted to them. Granted, she had nothing to compare it to, but why should she care about comparisons when her body still tingled with delight?
She stood up, forgetting her resolve not to look at Dewey. He lay sprawled face down in the tangled sheets, the top sheet just hiding his butt. Just to the right of his shoulder, the shoulder she’d traced with her mouth last night, she could see the clock glowing in the dim light.
She was already late for work. She took a shaky breath and turned away instead of diving in and tasting his skin again. Desire was an undertow she fought against all the way to the door. In the living room, it was somewhat easier with him out of her sight.
She’d take it in stages. Start with some calls. Some good, some bad. Phoebe had managed to disable the virus Green had planted in the computers in California and had sent the instructions to the other labs hit that night. Jake sounded lazy and contented, with the sound of the waves in the background. Tough duty.
Her next call was to her voice mail. The men who had been following Donovan Kincaid had lost him last night. She didn’t feel too bad. She’d expected it. She’d try to phone him later. Maybe by then she’d have decided whether to tell him her and Matt’s theory that someone wanted to pressure him into blasting Al Gore. By then he might already know. Would he call her? Somehow she doubted it. He’d already told her he’d do what he had to. Which meant she’d have to do what she could to stop him.
This morning it was easier to understand how he’d gotten into a mess. It must have been hard for him to live his life knowing the woman he’d loved had chosen someone else—and taken his child with her. What kind of woman had she been?
At least she’d only deceived herself all this time, she thought. Dewey seemed to have figured her out a long time ago. She’d fought the good fight and lost, but by losing, she’d won way more than she lost. She felt no regret for missing out on the big wedding. She’d never seen herself walking down any aisle, but her parents would be disappointed. If she gave them a grandchild…
She covered her stomach. Her mom had had her nine months and a minute from after saying, “I do.” Unexpectedly a baby didn’t seem nearly as much of a trap as she’d thought, though parenthood was proving quite the trap for Donovan.
It was unusual that the kidnappers, if they were kidnappers and not conspirators—she had to consider that Prudence Knight stood to the gain the most by her faux dad’s death—hadn’t made any demands yet. Time was a kidnapper’s enemy. Why the delay? Typically kidnappings were planned down to the smallest detail, but this one had an on-the-fly feel to it. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t figure out what. Not enough data yet.
She pulled a pad of paper toward her and then had page fright at the thought of her first note to her husband. I’m a wife, she thought, but the idea was too new to track. Oddly enough, the idea of being mother was a lot easier to process.
She was saved by the bell—well, Dewey’s cell phone ringer. Was it the clean phone number they’d given to Forest for the Trees? After a very short, mumbled conversation, he appeared in the doorway. He’d pulled on his jeans, but his chest was bare and his hair still tousled from their lovemaking. His gaze found hers, a hint of worry in the depths. She knew what he wanted to know. She went to him, feeling enormous relief as his arms closed around her again.
“Was it him?” she asked, though she didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to think about him in danger, just when they’d found each other. She could tell herself that she’d always have last night, but she wanted more than a night. She wanted a lifetime with him.
“Got my marching instructions,” Dewey said, watching the worry deepen on her face. Phoebe kept telling him to be careful what he wished for. He’d started the dance with Forest for the Trees to please Bryn. Now it was pulling him away from her. He wasn’t afraid of the danger. He’d damn near died a year ago. It was easy to think you were bullet-proof, until you started caring if you lived or died. “I wrote em down. It’s somewhere south, he’ll tell me more when I get there, he says. Midnight tonight.”
“Not in a hurry, is he?”
“Doesn’t seem to be. Clever of him.” This guy, and he was sure now it was a guy, reminded him a little bit of himself. Set the right bait and let the fish bring themselves in. No worries, no work. Not much fun for the fish, but then it never was. He wished he wasn’t slated to be the fish in this deal. Well, he had until midnight to figure out how to turn the tables.
“A lot to do before then,” Bryn murmured, but she didn’t pull away from him.
He was content to wait, to hold her, to hold onto the moment. Over her shoulder, he studied her apartment. It was tidy, controlled like he’d thought she was the first time she arrested him. Not anymore, he thought, as he noticed the trail of their clothes leading to the bedroom. It was funny in such a clean room, but he’d known Bryn wasn’t the sum of what could be seen.
She sighed, so deep it was almost a shudder. Slowly, but firmly, she pushed away from him, her smile bright, her gaze avoiding his.
“Let’s get this over with so we can continue our honeymoon.” A blush surged up her neck into her face.
Dewey turned her face up to his and smiled at her. “With that kind of incentive, how can I fail?”
Hey, fish had brains the size of a nail head and they got away, so why shouldn’t he?
* * * *
Luke stared out the window toward the south, the direction his buddy in airport security had told him the chopper had been flying before it dropped off the radar screen. Behind him, his brother, Matt, entered the conference room. Luke turned to face him, remembering the last time they’d conferred in this room. He was a local cop. How did he manage to keep getting caught up in all this Federal shit?
He should be with Mann, pursuing leads in the Knight murder and leave this one to those with jurisdiction. He liked what he did, liked his circle of influence and was happy to stay within it. His brothers’ jobs gobbled up too much time. He liked to balance work and play. He was the mellow big brother, the one who was around when mom needed her lawn cut or his brothers needed their butts kicked. That was his role, his place in the family and community.
So what was he doing here in this dreary room, his gut twisting with worry for a woman he’d known for little more than one day? A little more than twenty-four hours. Busy hours, but still just hours. Dani liked to trot out the whole, no man is an island quote and would probably bring it out now, but even under her stringent guidelines, he’d done his part for the whole and more. He’d protected Amelia. He’d gotten her down the mountain, placed her in a safe place that she herself had chosen to leave. That she was missing was not his fault. That he felt guilt twisting his gut was a choice, not an imperative. Could he have done more? Logic said no, but his heart indicted him.
Jeez, was that his brain whining like that? Okay, he was short on sleep and shorter on patience—another departure from the norm, since he was usually the one with the endless supply, but was that any reason to whine?
Worse than whining, instead of patience, instead of calm reason, there was this pounding, urgent beat driving him forward, muddying his thoughts and tripping his reason. Okay, he liked Amelia, even when he wondered if she was playing him, he…liked her. She was beautiful, but that alone wasn’t it. Beauty without character was like cotton candy without sugar, if that were possible. Even with her brain scrambled, she was smart and funny. And she hadn’t
quit. She’d dragged her butt down the mountain and that had to hurt. Held her poles with a sprained wrist and went the distance.
How could he not like her? She’d given off a lot of confused signals during the hours they’d spent together, but some facts were clear for anyone with a brain to observe—something he’d thought he had. She had a strong sense of adventure, felt a real joy in being alive. There was a French word for it that he never could remember, but it fit. Even in pain and afraid, she’d loved the trip down the mountain. He’d seen it in her eyes, in the way her body took the turns, spraying the snow in a joyful arc with each turn when she’d shot past him after their first fall. Had felt himself respond to that joy with some of his own. Much as he loved his private play, it was always more fun with someone to share it with—and a touch of danger to add a little spice.
She was young, though not was young as he’d thought. If only—what? The question made him squirm inside. If she was Prudence Knight, she’d have plenty to deal with when this was all over. Plenty. And if her memory came back, he’d fade to the back of her mind. Order restored, they could both return to their lives. So why didn’t that seem as appealing as it had forty-eight hours ago when all he’d had to deal with was the past? Again a stab of guilt. Nothing like a little lust on the anniversary of your wife’s death.
Because he wasn’t ready to find answers for any of the questions his bitter brain was producing, he turned his attention to his brother and his companions. Bryn and Dewey had entered with Matt, their mutual glow piercing his preoccupation. Looked like they’d finally settled it—in spades if the discreet gold band on Bryn’s finger was any indication. Good for them.
Hypocrite, a voice in his head taunted him. Okay for her to take risks, but not Luke Kirby. There were risks and risks, a different voice argued for the defense. Bryn had had to trust Dewey’s feelings for her. Amelia didn’t know what her feelings were. She couldn’t remember them. He wasn’t avoiding risk. He was being sensible. And loyal to Rosemary’s memory. Before he could stop it, the contrary voice reminded him that this was the kind of loyalty that Rosemary would never have asked for.
The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy Page 77