Snowbound Targets (HQR Romantic Suspense)

by Karen Whiddon

  He didn’t drop his arm, as she supposed a guilty man would have. Instead, he pulled her closer, holding her tight. “Of course not,” he murmured. “I take so many shots, I can’t possibly remember them all. To be honest, I kind of shut myself off in a disaster of this magnitude. I focus on capturing the images without even thinking. I make snap judgments about the light and the subject and keep clicking away. I had no idea you were there. No idea at all.”

  She believed him. “I had no idea either,” she said, trying for a small joke.

  Her attempt at humor made him chuckle. “No, I’m guessing you didn’t. This is all very convoluted and strange. It’s got to be tied together somehow. Even if we don’t know all the particulars.”

  “I agree.” Still, gazing at her photograph, she couldn’t help but chastise herself. How could she have forgotten such an awful and life-altering event? But then again, how could she have forgotten her entire existence, everything that made her who she was? And then she wondered, had the bombing and her subsequent injuries been the reason she couldn’t remember?

  Gingerly, she reached up and touched her face, still staring at the photo. The swelling had gone down by the time she’d awakened inside Jason’s cabin. And the bruising had faded day by day, until only the faintest shadow remained. She hardly felt them at all now.

  Jason touched her shoulder, startling her. “What do you remember?” he asked. The urgency in his voice made her feel worse. Logically, the jarring sight of herself should have triggered at least a few flashbacks.

  Slowly, without looking at him, she shook her head.

  “Surely, you must remember something. One of those flashback things you’ve been having. Maybe what you were doing the moment the bomb detonated, something like that?”

  “No,” she cried. “That’s just it. I remember nothing. I’m sitting here looking at my own face and I have no recollection of what happened. Why I was there, how I got hurt or how I ended up thousands of miles from Kabul in your remote mountain cabin.”

  He nodded, his steady gaze not reflecting even the slightest disappointment, though she knew he had to be feeling it.

  “I know Phil said we can’t force your memory to come back,” Jason said. “But surely seeing yourself in a photo, during a particular time and place, must jog something loose.”

  “No.” The more he prodded her, the more miserable she felt. “If anything, having concrete evidence like that without any logical connection makes me feel even worse.”

  He hugged her then, a quick embrace along with a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t stress. I’m sure the memories will return eventually.”

  “Will they?” She didn’t bother to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I’m beginning to have my doubts. I don’t even know what I was doing in Afghanistan.”

  Though he reached for her again, she pushed to her feet, avoiding him. Instead, she chose to pace back and forth from the kitchen to the front door, making several passes in front of the couch and the woodstove.

  “You’re right about one thing, though. There’s the connection,” she told him. “You and I were both in the same place at the same time.”

  “Maybe so,” he shot back. “But I didn’t know you or you me. How’d you end up here, thousands of miles away?”

  “That’s an answer I’d really like to have.” She stopped, spun around to face him. “Along with my name and other basic info. Is there a way to get a list of the injured? Maybe if I see my name on a list, it’ll help.”

  His gaze dark, he considered. “I don’t know, but I can check. Be aware that there were hundreds of people injured, as well as hundreds killed. I’ll start with requesting a list of any injured Americans, which I’m going to assume you are, judging by your accent.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.” Pushing back her hair with her fingers, she tried to calm her agitation. No matter how she looked at it, seeing herself in a photo Jason had taken after a hotel bombing was a big freaking deal.

  When she voiced these thoughts out loud, Jason agreed. “Of course it is. It’s a huge step toward finding out your name at least. And with that, we might also learn why you were in Kabul in the first place. It’s not exactly a tourist destination.”

  “I must have been part of that diplomatic delegation you mentioned. Somehow, I honestly feel some sort of tie to that man. The one with the cruel eyes,” she said. “Of course, I don’t know for sure, but I have a gut feeling. If possible, can you also find out the names of everyone who was there with the vice president?”

  He eyed her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. “I’m planning to, as soon as I possibly can. That’s the only thing that would make sense, the only reason an American woman would be there. Unless...” He narrowed his gaze, studying her. “You’re also a reporter.”

  “If I was, I’d think you’d know it, wouldn’t you?”

  “Probably.” He didn’t miss a beat.

  “I think it’s much more likely I was part of the VP’s entourage. So can you find out those names too?”

  “I can definitely try,” he promised. “It shouldn’t be classified or anything. And since I’m a reporter, getting that information shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  “Thank you,” she told him, her insides still churning. She felt slightly dizzy, as if the magnitude of today’s discovery had made the earth shift on its axis.

  “Do you want to look at the rest of the photos?” he asked her. “There might be more of you.”

  Though that possibility made her feel queasy, how could she resist? “OK,” she said, trying to steel herself.

  He clicked on the next image. A small child, tears running down his dirt-streaked face, stood among the rubble, clutching the hand of a badly wounded Afghani man. The next several shots were all of other wounded people, most of them appearing local. Jason moved several of them into the folder for those he hoped to consider for his book.

  After clicking through another twenty-five photos, it seemed clear there weren’t any more of her.

  “There are still several hundred more,” he said, correctly interpreting the disappointment that must have shown on her face.

  Stretching, she shook her head. “I think I’ve had enough for tonight. Are you still up for playing a quick game of Scrabble?”

  Closing his laptop and setting it on the coffee table, he shrugged, appearing less than enthusiastic. “I have another idea,” he drawled, the heat in his gaze leaving no doubt of his meaning. “Might help clear your head.”

  This made her laugh. “To say the least,” she replied, leaning in for a long, wet kiss.

  They shed their clothes right there, each helping the other, neither in a big hurry. Not yet.

  Instead of moving into his bedroom, they fell together on the couch. His touch, his kiss, the hardness of his muscular body, all ignited the familiar spark, burning her up from the inside out, clearing her mind, leaving room for nothing but the touch of his hands, his body against hers.

  With him like this, she wasn’t alone, no matter that she didn’t know her own name. With him, skin to skin, soul to soul, the possibilities of what they could be to each other if and when everything returned to normal brought tears to her eyes. And when he finally entered her, with a fierceness and a passion that made her convulse with pleasure, she cried out with relief and joy.

  They made love with a furious sort of passion, and she poured all of her frustration and fear into loving Jason. He met her increasingly frenzied movements with a roughness of his own, bringing her to climax with a power that shook her to her very core.

  I love him.

  Damn it. She loved him.

  How such a thing could be possible for a woman who was still a blank slate, she couldn’t say. However, she might not know a lot of things yet, but she knew this with an absolute rock-solid certainty. She loved Jason Sheffield. And she didn’t even
know if she had the right to love anyone.

  He’d held himself still while her body pulsed around his. Then slowly, he began to move again. Still tingling, she met him stroke for stroke, urging him toward his own release. When he found it, she held him while he shuddered with the power of his climax, amazed anew at how much she loved him. Sated and satisfied, she realized another thing. She didn’t care about the possible ramifications of her love for him. No matter what the future brought, she could no more stop loving him than she could make her heart stop beating.

  * * *

  After his world shattered around him, Jason held on to Lucy until his heart rate and breathing slowed. For a moment, as he breathed in her scent, he struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

  She’d rocked his world. Sappy as it might sound, she’d made him feel things he hadn’t even realized were real. This had been more than sexual, more than a physical expression of the attraction they felt for each other. This had been on an entirely different level. They’d made love as if they’d both thought this might be their last time. Not if he could help it, but he knew the real world would soon come crashing in on the idyllic life they’d begun to carve out here in his remote mountain cabin.

  Life together. While he knew it couldn’t last because it wasn’t real, he wanted to allow himself to enjoy it while he could. As soon as Lucy’s memory returned, the wheels would start spinning. Though he’d spent many years vacationing alone in his cabin, he realized with a sharp pang of grief that he didn’t know how he would face it once she was gone.

  Which might be sooner than he thought.

  Kissing her cheek, he urged her up so they could move into his much more comfortable bed. Keeping his body intertwined with hers, he shuffled her there. Once she’d settled into her usual spot, he crawled in next to her so he could hold her as she dozed off to sleep.

  As for him, he knew he wouldn’t be slumbering any time soon. There was simply too much to think about.

  Earlier, he’d managed not to show his reaction to finding Lucy’s photograph among his Kabul hotel bombing snapshots. He’d been shocked and stunned and, to be honest, uneasy. The randomness of finding a beautiful woman with no memory in his cabin was no longer so random. Now, determining her identity would not only help her realize who she was, but might give him a clue as to why she’d been brought to him in the first place.

  Unfortunately, he knew none of that would come without a price. While he wasn’t sure how, he had to believe that everything was tied together with intricate threads. The bombing, the vice president and his group, NCIS, Rick’s disappearance, Lucy being in Kabul and now here in Colorado. Jason felt a bit like a pawn in a cosmic game of chess, being moved about without the slightest idea of what was going on.

  He intended to find out, and soon.

  Though he had to be careful, with the military breathing down his neck wanting to see his pictures, it wouldn’t be a difficult task to get the names of all the Americans who’d been staying at the hotel. There wouldn’t be that many. Lucy’s real name, along with biographical information, was sure to be among them.

  From there, he had no idea. Her Facebook profile, her Twitter account, Instagram, Snapchat and any other social media page she might have would be accessible for them to view. It wouldn’t be long at all before they had all the information on her. These recent revelations had been disconcerting to him. He could only imagine how she must have felt. Hopefully, each new piece of information they retrieved would bring her one step closer to remembering her past.

  This was a good thing, he knew. A great thing. Then why did he feel such a strong sense of loss? As if something precious would be taken away forever.

  He shook his head and told himself not to be maudlin. Instead, he focused on NCIS. Why were they even involved? Sure, he could understand them investigating Rick’s disappearance, but why were they focusing on a photojournalist who hadn’t even seen Rick the day he went missing? What did they know that he didn’t? What was the real reason they wanted to review his photos? While they’d stated it was because of Rick Engles, which had to be patently false, Jason couldn’t help but suspect that the real reason had something to do with the vice president and his entourage. Of which Lucy might have been a part.

  Stroking her hair while she slept, he gazed down at her and wished for his camera, aching to memorialize this exact moment in time forever. But he knew if he slid his arm out from under her, she’d wake or move, so he stayed where he was. Never before had he been so acutely aware of the passage of time, nor had he felt it moved far too fast.

  Jason had always been a man of forward momentum. He’d always believed in moving forward, not looking back toward the past. But right now, holding the most beautiful woman he’d ever known in his arms, he wished he could make time stand still.

  Selfish, he knew. Lucy deserved to have her memory and her sense of self back. He didn’t believe any of what had happened to her had been her own fault, though he could be wrong.

  Outside, with the winter wind howling and causing his cabin walls to shake, he allowed himself the luxury of basking in the moment, all too aware he might never have another like it.

  Tomorrow, he’d begin the investigation into learning Lucy’s name. Assuming, he amended silently, that he had internet service. If not, he’d simply have to wait until the storm blew over. Then, he’d pour himself into getting the necessary information, no matter what it took.

  Whatever the truth might be, they were about to find out. He just wanted to stay one step ahead of the feds. He needed to figure things out before his court date and before NCIS got a new subpoena requesting his photos. There had to be something incriminating he’d inadvertently managed to capture. Something they didn’t want anyone to see. It seemed most likely to be something to do with the vice president. Whatever it might be, Jason only hoped he could spot it quickly.

  Lucy stirred, rolling over to her other side, and he relaxed his embrace. Now that they knew she’d been in Kabul during the hotel bombing, he felt safe to guess that singular mutual connection had been at least part of the reason why she’d been brought here to his cabin. But why and by whom?

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some clue he’d missed. First up, he needed to get a list of Americans who’d been staying at the hotel. Second, he wanted those who’d been part of the vice president’s entourage to be highlighted. Once he had those, he could narrow down the names to show only females. One of those would have to be Lucy.

  But with the blizzard raging outside, his hands were temporarily tied. Both the internet and satellite would likely be down, limiting his access to the outside world. He felt as if there was an endless loop of thought swirling around inside his head.

  Finally, he must have fallen asleep.

  He woke fully aroused, still spooning Lucy. She turned, her blue eyes wide open, and grinned. “Well, good morning to you too,” she said. “I’m glad you’re so happy to see me.”

  They made love again, this time without the previous night’s urgency. Slow and languid, relishing each other’s body. As they held each other, basking in the afterglow, the power came back on, startling them and make them both laugh.

  Lucy sprang up first and called dibs on the shower. He watched her go before pushing himself out of bed and following her, tapping on the door to ask her if he could have a minute to clean himself off.

  She opened the door, clad in only a towel, and sashayed out. “Go right ahead,” she told him.

  He took a few minutes and when he reemerged, she brushed past him with a smile. Chest aching, he stood like a love-struck teenager, watching until she closed the door. Still, he stood, rooted to the same spot, until he heard the shower come on.

  While she showered, he made himself a cup of coffee and then began to prepare breakfast, deciding this time to make biscuits and sausage gravy.

  When she finally
emerged, wearing a soft flannel shirt and jeans, her hair still damp, she sniffed the air and grinned. “That smells amazing.”

  The timer dinged, and he turned long enough to return her smile before removing the biscuits from the oven. She got a cup of coffee and waited while he brought everything to the table.

  Then they dug in, as companionable as an old married couple.

  After eating, they washed and dried the dishes. Jason checked the snowfall—sixteen inches and still falling—before taking his own shower. When he returned, Lucy had already booted up the desktop computer and had started going through more photos. He grabbed his laptop and began doing the same.

  When the answering machine chirped, indicating someone had left a message, even though the phone hadn’t even rung, Jason couldn’t believe it at first. But then he knew the thing would usually work, even in horrible weather. Which is the main reason he kept it. When calls didn’t make it through, they’d go to the built-in voice mail system.

  Curious, he played the message back. “Jason, it’s me. I need to talk to you, ASAP. I can’t leave my number and I’m calling from a burner phone that I plan to destroy immediately. Will try again with a new one. I hope to hell I can reach you. You’re in danger, man. We all are.” The call ended with an audible click.

  Stunned, Jason stared at the machine. That had been his friend Rick. Rick Engles, who purportedly had gone missing. Heart pounding, Jason played the message again.

  “Who is that?” Lucy asked, coming up behind him and putting her hand casually on his shoulder.

  For half a second, he actually wondered if he should tell her, then realized they were in this together, whatever this might be. “My friend Rick. The one who was supposed to meet me right before the bombing and went missing.” He took a deep breath and swallowed. “The one NCIS is looking for.”

  “That means he’s alive,” she said, her gaze searching his. “A good thing, right?”

  “Yes. Alive is always good. Disappearing—not so much. Especially since Rick is one of the most upstanding, dependable, straight-arrow guys I’ve ever known. If he’s in hiding, then something truly awful is going down.”