Silent Memories

by Pat White

  She actually smiled. A minute passed and he ran the comb through her hair. She closed her eyes.

  “Do you think we stand a chance against the bad guys?” she said.

  “We stand a very good chance. Okay, open your eyes.”

  She did, and the clearest shade of blue stared back at him. Blue eyes filled with hope, peppered with fear.

  “You’ll be okay, Annie,” he said, brushing his thumb against her cheek.

  They stood there, rooted in place for a good minute. He couldn’t move, mesmerized by the desperate look in her eyes.

  “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” she said.

  “No.” His heart shattered. Maybe he should spill the whole truth, including how he had fallen for her before—had fallen fast and hard—and how he’d promised himself not to let it happen again.

  Who was he kidding?

  She ran her fingers through her hair. “Well? How do I look?”

  “What?” He didn’t understand the question.

  “My hair? How do I look?”

  Good enough to kiss.

  “Good. Now for the color.”

  He brushed past her and went inside, wanting to get away from the temptation of her lips. He couldn’t stand much more of this. No matter how she looked, or how he’d butchered her hair, her eyes drew him in.

  Grabbing the box of hair dye, he sat at the kitchen table and mixed the color.

  “So, tell me the truth, am I going to end up with green hair?” she said from the doorway.

  “Let’s hope not. That would really draw attention to you.” He motioned to the chair on the other side of the table. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down. His body lit with need.

  “I’m not sure about this.” She ambled to the table and flopped down in the chair. She crossed one leg over the other, both hands gripping the armrests.

  He put on the latex groves and got started.

  “I suppose next you’re going to have me pierce my nose,” she said.

  “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

  She glared. “You wouldn’t.”

  “It would completely change your look.”

  “And what about your look? Are you dying your hair purple?”

  “Nah.” He massaged the dye into her scalp. “I’ve got a fake mustache and glasses. Even have a wig, if I need it.”

  Finishing the last few strands of hair, he blocked out her squeaks of pleasure as he massaged her scalp. He took a step back and ripped the gloves from his hands, tossing them into the trash.

  “Now we wait,” he said. “Twenty minutes, maybe twenty-five.”

  Kneeling, he placed a few logs in the fireplace and balled up old editions of the Moosehead Messenger newspaper for kindling. He stuffed them between the logs.

  Annie’s chair legs scratched against the wood floor. She was closing in on him. He could feel it.

  “So.” She placed a hand to his shoulder. “FBI by day, hairdresser by night. Amazing.”

  “That’s not the half of it,” he joked.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  He glanced over his shoulder, but couldn’t speak. Enough. He could not reveal any more of himself to her. It had to stop here.

  “We need more wood.” He got up and went to the door. “Lock it behind me. I’ve got the key.”

  “But you said we’re safe out here.” She hugged her midsection.

  “Relatively safe. We’ve always got to be on guard.”

  He closed the door, waiting until he heard the click of the lock. Stepping off the porch, he paced into the darkness, but not too far. He’d never be far away from her again. But right now he needed some space, breathing room to get his perspective back.

  Her vulnerability, her trust and her fear, all made him want to take her in his arms. They couldn’t get mixed up this time. They had to keep it strictly professional.

  Not wanting to be caught in a lie, he went around to the back of the cabin and pulled a few logs from a pile he’d stocked. He was glad he’d rented this place as a backup. It was turning out to be an excellent safe house.

  A shriek echoed from the cabin and he tossed the logs aside. Racing up the porch steps, he realized he’d left his weapon in the cabin. Once again, his emotions had put her life in danger.

  He took a deep breath, unlocked the door and went inside. The cabin was empty.

  His blood ran cold. Grabbing his firearm, he scanned the room. No sign of a struggle.

  Panic drummed a frantic beat in his head. Annie…gone. He wouldn’t lose her like this. Sweat beaded in his palms.

  A car door slammed. He raced outside and collided with her in the darkness.

  “I look like a freak!” She cried, her voice echoing through the pine trees.

  “Shhh, calm down.”

  “Look at my hair.”

  He could barely see the color in the dark. “Let’s go inside.”

  “I want this off my hair, now!”

  “The water pump’s over there. I’ll get some shampoo.”

  He went into the cabin and got supplies. She was okay, everything would be okay.

  “Are you coming?” she cried.

  He brought her the shampoo and stood by as she yanked the water pump.

  “It doesn’t work. I can’t get any water,” she said.

  Still coming off an adrenaline rush, he wasn’t sure if he should hold her or lecture her for scaring the hell out of him.

  He decided to pump water. She rinsed her hair and then lathered up, mumbling under her breath.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” he said.

  She snapped her head up. “I can see why. This,” she motioned to her hair, “would scare the hell out of anybody.”

  She snatched the conditioner and squeezed it into her hair. He pumped and she rinsed.

  “I hate this,” she said. “I don’t want to look like someone else.” She straightened and grabbed the towel off his shoulder. “I want to be me. Just Annie. Not a scientist, not a key to some federal investigation. Just Annie.”

  She headed for the cabin and he followed. She’d always been so quiet and mild-mannered before, so accepting and polite.

  Then again, her life was being torn apart.

  She turned on him. “Just Annie. Who is that, anyway? Does anybody know?”

  He did. Annie was a compassionate, clever girl who’d discovered a vaccine for a rare virus created by another scientist on Raymond’s payroll. Raymond hoped Annie’s vaccine would start a bidding war between pharmaceutical companies. Everything was about money and power to that bastard. The FBI had to nail him before he unleashed the virus in his strategy to pressure the drug companies.

  “You going to shoot someone?” she said, glancing at the gun he’d shoved into his waistband.

  “Wasn’t sure,” he said. “I heard you scream. The cabin was empty. Didn’t know what happened.”

  “I’m having an attack.” She marched toward the porch.

  “Annie?”

  She turned and stared him down. “What?”

  “What prompted all this?”

  “What difference does it make? It won’t help to talk about it.”

  “You remembered something, didn’t you?”

  She stared at the ground, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

  “Talk to me,” he said.

  She glanced up, her eyes pleading with his soul. If only he could heal what he saw there. If only—

  “I hate this.” She raced into the cabin.

  He stared after her, realizing his heart hadn’t re covered its normal beat. She was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

  He went inside and found her pacing from the window to the bed and back again.

  “I’ve always done the right thing,” she said. “I was a good girl. I remember that. Well, maybe I don’t want to be good anymore. Maybe I just want to be honest.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I hate my father.”

  The ho
nesty of her confession felt like a sucker punch to his gut. Shame. He’d felt it himself.

  “I feel like a jerk for saying it, but I truly hate him. I remember the day he left. He drove off in his beat-up Chevy. Then, years later, he came looking for money. Thank God Raymond’s driver was with me that day.”

  He glanced at the floor, hating the sound of gratitude in her voice when she spoke of Raymond.

  “Dad tried to talk me into leaving Raymond.” She paced to the window and back. “I thought he came back because he missed me and wanted us to be a family. I remember standing outside of school and rambling about how happy Mom would be when we were together again. What a fool.”

  She paced to the window and stared outside. The best thing for her was to let go of the memories and the pain so she could finally be free, he thought. He should take his own advice.

  “My father saw an opportunity to make money off his little girl by using my intelligence to help him win at the track. My own father…”

  “Just because they’re our parents doesn’t mean they love us.” The words slipped from his lips.

  “I guess I was lucky to have Raymond,” she whispered. “Someone who cared.”

  He fisted his hand in his pocket. She was remembering, all right. Bits and pieces. The long-ago past before the most recent past. But she didn’t remember it all. She didn’t realize how deep the betrayal went in her life.

  “But Dad wasn’t the only one. Other people let me down. But I can’t seem to access it all.” She pounded a closed fist against the wooden table. “Why can’t I remember?”

  “What’s your instinct telling you?”

  “I don’t have instinct or I wouldn’t have been fooled so many times by people I thought loved me.”

  His gut clenched. Sean was tops on that list.

  “You’ve got instincts, Annie,” he said, taking a step toward her, then another. “You have to learn how to tap into them.”

  “I don’t believe in instinct. I believe in concretes, methodology and equations. Things I can touch and feel.” She paced to the window and back to the fireplace. “If I could get my hands on my lab equipment, I know I could stimulate my memory.”

  “Even I’m not that good.”

  “What?” She turned to him.

  “To break into your lab.”

  “But you agree it could work?”

  “Probably. That’s why I took you to the forest.”

  “And I remembered things, flashes of the past. We need to…” She hesitated and her eyes widened. “We need to make love.”

  “What?”

  “We did that before, right? A few times?”

  “Yeah, but, I don’t know, Annie.” He sat on the wooden bench, his legs suddenly weak. He didn’t know if he could do it, didn’t know if he could make love to her without losing his last shred of integrity.

  “You took me back to the forest to help me remember. I think if we recreate an intense scene, it might all come back.”

  Re-creating a scene. That’s all it was. It wasn’t as if she wanted to make love to him because she loved him. She was a scientist who’d figured out a way to reach her goal: remembering so she could get away from him.

  “Are you sure?” he said.

  “I know the thought probably isn’t all that appealing. I mean, I’m not the most beautiful-looking woman on the face of the earth right now.”

  “No, that’s not it.” He went to her and took her chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding her gaze to meet his. He couldn’t stop himself from wanting to drive the pain from her eyes. The pain of not knowing herself.

  Slipping one hand into her hair, he brought his mouth down to hers. Her lips trembled and he wondered if she really wanted to do this, or if she was sacrificing herself for her memory’s sake.

  No, he wouldn’t have her that way. He broke the kiss.

  “Annie,” he hushed, his breath heavy against the softness of her cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then help me,” she said, out of breath.

  She reached for him then, pulling gently on the back of his neck. The kiss was desperate and hot, her lips claiming him, heart and soul.

  They stumbled a few steps and fell onto the wool-blanketed double bed. Sprawled across him, her fingers threaded through his hair. Damn, that felt good. Then her tongue flitted across his lips, soft as a feather, coaxing his response. He resisted at first, not knowing why. But he couldn’t deny her anything, even a part of his soul.

  Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he felt her fingers strip him of his flannel shirt.

  She was in charge. As it should be. He wouldn’t take advantage of her. This time, she would be the one to decide how she wanted it and for how long. Hell, if she changed her mind at the last minute, he would accept it, although every nerve ending in his body would ache with wanting.

  He felt his undershirt pulled free from the waistband of his jeans. She wasn’t going to stop; she was determined to recreate their lovemaking right here, right now.

  She placed his hands above him on the pillow, and he kept them there, humbling himself before her.

  The way her hands slipped beneath his shirt and crawled up his stomach to his chest, it was obvious this woman knew exactly what she wanted. He couldn’t believe she wanted it from him.

  She broke the kiss, and he searched her eyes. What did she want him to do?

  “Your shirt.” She breathed heavy as she spoke. “It’s in the way.”

  She slipped the shirt over his head and straddled him. She shucked her sweater and peeled the knit blouse over her head to reveal bare flesh, perfectly shaped breasts with pebbled nipples. He reached out and cupped them, running his thumb over each hardened peak. She moaned and arched against him, her eyes fluttering closed.

  “God, Annie.” He couldn’t believe how her body responded to his touch. Her hips rocked forward and his hand slipped beneath her panties until his fingers found the right spot.

  “Sean, do something,” she begged.

  “Lean against me.”

  She pressed her warm breasts against his chest, sending a wave of need coursing through his body. He slipped her pants from her hips and down. Laying featherlight kisses against his neck, Annie shimmied and kicked until she was naked.

  She unsnapped his jeans and his body lit on fire from her anxious touch. He automatically lifted his hips, and she stripped him of everything from the waist down, revealing the intensity of his desire.

  He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything. But did he deserve her?

  Rubbing against him, his heat brushed her thigh and she cried out in agony, or nirvana, he wasn’t sure which. All he knew was that the friction of skin against skin, the soft touch of her tongue against his neck, was driving him insane.

  “Annie.” Her name escaped his lips, but was silenced by her lips pressing against his, softly, gently.

  Whatever she wanted, whatever she’d do to him, Sean wouldn’t resist.

  “Make love to me,” she said against his lips. “Love me like this is the only day.”

  He couldn’t wait. Gripping her backside, he pulled her against him. She let out a squeak and Sean searched her eyes, but they were closed with passion. She bit her lower lip as her hips moved forward, then back.

  With open palms she pressed against his chest and sat up, tipping her head back, arching her back. Her hips moved slowly, driving Sean out of his mind. How long could he stay just outside the gates of ecstasy?

  Then she thrust forward, taking him in, absorbing him completely.

  Annie wanted him. Like before, only different. She wasn’t being tricked or manipulated into making love to him this time.

  “Sean, please,” she begged.

  Her fingers pinched his skin with such desperation, such need. With a moan from deep in his chest, he thrust one last time and the world exploded.

  She collapsed against him, their bodies still joined. Never in his life had he felt such trust with anoth
er human being. Never had he needed someone like he needed Annie.

  He stroked her back as she lay on top of him. Her skin soft, her breath warm against his shoulder.

  Sean needed her.

  And she needed to remember.

  Yet once she did, she’d realize what he’d done. She’d remember the darkness in his eyes that cold February night. Only an insane woman could love such a man.

  Dread swirled in his gut. It was a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before she put it all together and cut him loose.

  The steady beat of her heart drummed against his chest, a connection that pulsed from deep in his soul. Did their lovemaking spark her memory?

  She gazed into his eyes. Lingering passion simmered there. Passion and something else. It couldn’t be.

  “Well, we do that like expert married folks,” she said.

  He stilled at the thought of being married, of sharing the rest of his life with her.

  “But I’ve got a confession to make,” she said.

  “What?”

  “It didn’t work.”

  Hell, it had worked just fine for him. “Sorry. You didn’t enjoy it?”

  “I mean it didn’t jog my memory.”

  “Oh.” He glanced away, reality slapping him in the face. She didn’t make love to him for physical pleasure or emotional satisfaction. It was a method by which to remember and gain her freedom.

  “There’s only one thing to do,” she said.

  “What, take you in?”

  “Nope.” She straddled him and smiled. “Keep trying.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Annie stretched like a cat waking from a deep sleep. Reaching out, she ached to warm her fingertips against the heat of Sean’s skin. Instead, her fingers brushed across starched cotton.

  She sat up, holding the sheets to her breasts. She was alone. Sunshine filtered through the sheer window coverings. A chill swept through the cabin. Their temporary sanctuary seemed colder than last night.

  Had he left because he was ashamed? Regretted their lovemaking?

  She didn’t. She could still feel his hands on her body, trailing down her rib cage to her hips, cupping her behind, sending her skyrocketing to the stars. No ordinary man could make her feel this way.

  Only the man she loved had that kind of power.