“What rules?” She inched cautiously toward the bowl. “The ones that say you always win?”
“Stop moving,” Marsh hissed.
Almost there.
Annie lunged, digging her fingers into the bowl. She threw a candle and two Yanni CDs at Marsh, then kicked over the bowl and hurled an aromatherapy pillow at his head.
Not the best artillery.
Marsh ducked the first three and caught the pillow, his eyes small and mean. “You want to go to sleep, Annie? You want that with me?” He dropped the pillow and went for her, and as he did Annie screamed, rolling the bowl at his feet and running wildly for the front door.
Glass shattered.
The front door flew open in a fury of rain and icy wind. Annie realized she was pounding at Reynaldo's chest, with Izzy right behind him.
It took her a moment, even then, to stop fighting and take a long, shaky breath. She looked down at Marsh, who was twisting and cursing on the floor, surrounded by clay fragments.
“I worried when you didn't return. Your friend also was worried.” Reynaldo gestured to Izzy, who was busy tying Marsh's hands with Annie's scarf.
Both men stiffened when Annie turned into the light.
“You are hurt. I will phone the doctor.”
“Later,” Annie said shakily. “Reynaldo, I want you to take pictures of my office, then make another set here. After that I want you to take Mr. Marsh to the county hospital and stay while he is examined,” she added tightly. “The sheriff will need all this information when I file my complaint for assault.”
Her hands were trembling now, knocking together so hard they hurt, so she locked them at her waist. “I need someone to check on my sister, too.”
Reynoldo nodded to one of his uniformed staff waiting outside.
The two men pulled Marsh to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, trying to be in control.
“Too bad about the misunderstanding.” He tried to smile, casual and confident. “When you asked me to meet you out here, I assumed you were playing straight. I would never have lifted a finger to touch you otherwise.”
“Great piece of fiction,” Izzy said coldly. “Better remember it for the sheriff.”
Reynaldo gestured to his staff. “Take him to the Blazer. Hold him if he tries to leave.”
As Annie watched them vanish into the fury of the storm, every nerve in her body screamed. It took her a moment to realize that Izzy was slipping his windbreaker around her shoulders.
“Ready to go?” he asked quietly.
“I have to c-call Buzz. I need to file a report.”
“Up at the house.”
After a moment, Annie nodded. “I'm not feeling so great.”
“Most people wouldn't,” Izzy said calmly. “By the way, I liked how you used the Yanni CDs as artillery. Also the body brush. But the clay bowl did the real damage.”
Annie laughed. Actually, it was closer to a gasp, but Izzy didn't point that out. “Who says the New Age is dead?”
“Tucker Marsh probably wishes it was.” Izzy closed the door and locked it with a key Annie didn't know he had, then took her arm. “I'll get you up to the house, then come back and board up this broken glass.”
“I'm not really upset.” Annie swallowed, staring at the scattered glass. “The main thing is that I stopped him. I plan to see that he never does this again.”
“You've got a solid case.”
“It was some kind of game to him.” She shivered. “He kept talking about rules.”
“There will be a lot of rules where he's going,” Izzy said grimly. “Right now, let's get you warm.”
“I'm not cold,” Annie insisted between teeth that wouldn't stop chattering. “I'm just f-fine.” Things were getting a little blurry so she leaned into Izzy, squinting against the rain and watching the lights dance up the hill at her casita.
Thinking about Sam.
Wanting his arms around her.
“What about Taylor?”
“Reynaldo's man has a walkie-talkie. He should be checking in any minute.”
“Marsh mentioned Taylor, Izzy. I need to know she's safe.”
“I'll handle it as soon as we get you home.”
“I'm fine,” Annie kept repeating, realizing it wasn't true, shaking hard now and feeling pain dig into her right temple. There was an ache at her mouth that made talking hard, but she talked anyway.
Maybe to distract herself from how much she was shaking.
“I made him stop. I did it, didn't I?”
“Two Yanni CDs would scare the hell out of me,” Izzy said, guiding her uphill through the rain. “You were smart and brave, Annie. You did a fine job. Damned fine.”
“I did,” she told herself.
Then the door was flung open and Sam lurched toward her, saying, “Where is he?” and “I'll kill him this time.”
Annie shuddered and ran toward him in the rain, as fast as she could, which wasn't fast at all.
Chapter Thirty-three
IT WAS ALMOST NINE BY THE TIME ANNIE HAD PHONED BUZZ TO report the attack. Before that she had called the security staff to check on Taylor again and also make certain there had been no more accidents at any of the resort facilities. Then, fighting exhaustion, Annie had insisted Izzy take photographs of her face and the angry bruises on her neck and arms.
All the while Sam watched, his face like granite. “The bastard can't walk away from this.”
“He won't. Buzz is taking Marsh into custody as soon as the ER team checks him out.”
Sam stabbed at the air. “Not good enough.”
“It has to be good enough. You're not getting involved.”
Behind her, Izzy put away the camera and pocketed the film for safekeeping. “She's right, McKade. Let it go. The rest is up to the police.”
“To hell with the police,” Sam snarled. “If he rots in jail for a hundred years, it's still not enough.”
Annie sagged against the wall, completely drained. “I'm going outside.”
“Why?” Sam demanded. “You should be in bed.”
“I'm too wound up to sleep. Maybe I'll use the hot tub. The rain's nearly stopped.”
“It's got to be fifty degrees out there,” Sam said worriedly.
“I'm going out.” Annie felt boxed in and didn't know why. Maybe she was afraid of her dreams if she fell asleep.
“I'll go with you.” Sam took her shaking hands between his. “I don't want you alone.”
She raised her chin. “I'm just fine.”
“Who said you weren't?” Sam turned carefully. Behind Annie's back, he gestured to Izzy, making the movement of swallowing pills. Izzy nodded, holding up one finger.
Sam shook his head and held up two. When Izzy had gone, he pulled Annie against his chest. “It's okay, ace. You slew your dragon tonight. Now you need to kick back and rest.”
“No good,” Annie said tightly. “If I fall asleep I'll see his face. F-feel his hands.”
“Come to bed,” Sam said gently.
She stiffened. “Sam, I can't.”
“To sleep, nothing else, Doc.” He brushed her cheek. “Don't make me carry you or I'll blow my shoulder all to hell and ruin your work.” Sam slid an arm around her waist, feeling her shake and hating the man who had done this to her.
He smoothed back her hair. “You're going to have one amazing black eye tomorrow. Feel free to blame me if you want. Tell everyone that Han Solo did it.”
Annie tried to smile, but ended up wincing as Sam changed the cold cloth on her forehead. “It doesn't really hurt.” She rubbed her wrists restlessly. “I'm just a little edgy.”
“Sure you are.” Sam gently washed her face, glad that she couldn't see the bruises. Then he held out a glass of water.
Annie blinked. “What's that for?”
“These two pills. Your doctor had one of Reynaldo's people pick them up in town. Izzy just brought them from the office.”
Annie shook her head. “I don't need medicine.”
&nb
sp; “Two against one. Izzy's on my side in this, so stop talking and open up.”
“But—”
Sam caught her midsentence, dropping one pill in her mouth. He moved the glass up against her lips, waiting for her to swallow.
“Now another.”
Annie downed the second pill, frowning at Sam all the while. “Satisfied?”
“Not until you're in bed under the covers, sleeping like a baby.”
With a sigh, Annie bent for her shoes.
Sam pushed her hands away, stripping her with careful efficiency, then drawing the covers around her. Her face was colorless and strained as he turned out the light.
“Check the pocket of my dress.”
“Only if you promise it's not a Yanni CD.”
Annie shook her head. “Your wallet. I found it on the floor. It must have dropped when we …”
Sam frowned. When we had hot, grinding sex.
But he didn't trust himself to think about the earlier part of the evening. What Annie needed was rest, not another bout of incendiary sex.
Wonderful as it would be.
Especially when she moved beneath him, drawing her legs around him and making those husky little moans that left him so hard that he couldn't see straight.
Enough of the flashback, McKade.
He stood holding his wallet, furious. He should never have forgotten it. That single piece of carelessness had brought Annie into danger.
You're losing it here, pal. Really losing it. You're thinking like a fifteen-year-old, and that's dangerous for both of you.
But all he could think of was that red underwear she'd worn, and how beautiful she'd been, the way she'd shuddered beneath him, whispering his name and knocking him silly.
“Sam?” she said sleepily.
He pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat down. “Yeah, beautiful.”
“I'm not beautiful.”
“The hell you aren't. Hasn't anyone ever told you that you look like Meg Ryan?”
Annie smiled softly. “You did. The first time we met.”
Sam frowned. He hadn't remembered that. What else had he said?
“Don't worry.” She put her hand on his arm, almost as if reading his thoughts. “It will come back.”
“It better,” he said savagely. “I'm getting tired of waiting for all the details.”
“Are you still angry that I didn't tell you before? I wanted to, you know.”
“I'm mad as hell,” he said huskily. “But not at you. You did what you were told would be best for me. It's other people that I'd like to strangle.”
“They did what they thought was right, too.”
He didn't say anything, saving up his anger for the medical geniuses who had decided to play God with his memories.
“Reynaldo told Izzy you went back inside for some reason. Was it because you saw my wallet?”
“I wasn't trying to be heroic, Sam. I just reacted.”
“And then Marsh found you.” He touched her bruised mouth very gently. “I'd say you're the bravest woman I know.”
“Probably not.”
“So I can't thank you for saving my cover?”
“Afraid not.”
“For protecting me from a horde of predatory journalists?”
“Nope.”
“Not even a few tabloid hacks?”
Annie shook her head. Sam saw that she was fighting a yawn. He repositioned her ice pack, which was slipping down her forehead. “Feel better?”
“The pills are making me sleepy.”
“That's the general idea, Doc.”
“Who put you in charge here, McKade? You're supposed to be the patient.”
“Yeah, but I'm good at being in charge.”
“We'll see about that.” She yawned. “Tomorrow's another day.”
Sam nodded, staring at her with almost painful tenderness. He wasn't going to leave her side while she slept.
He turned as he heard a light tap at the door.
Izzy was holding out a cell phone. “The admiral,” he said quietly.
There was only one admiral as far as Sam was concerned, and that was his superior officer. Bad news traveled fast.
He took the phone, planning how to put the best spin on what had just happened.
“McKade, is that you?”
Sam moved outside so he wouldn't wake Annie. “Right here, sir.”
“What the hell's going on there?” the older man barked. “First I hear about problems with fire alarms and overflowing hot tubs, and now there's an attack on Ms. O'Toole. Has there been an infiltration at the resort?”
“No, sir. The attack was unrelated to my presence here. The man in question appears to have a personal grudge against Ms. O'Toole.”
“She's not hurt, is she?”
“Some bruises and a nasty cut. But she's tough.”
“The bastard should be keelhauled.” The admiral cleared his throat. “No one has discovered your presence there, I hope.”
Only because Annie had been smart and resourceful. He'd been a witless fool to leave his wallet.
And Annie had paid for his mistake.
Sam took a sharp breath. “No one, sir. I understand the staff are taking bets as to whether I'm Harrison Ford or Brad Pitt, in physical training for a new movie.”
“She handles them, does she?”
“She's not saying.”
“Closemouthed. That's good. McKade, I'm taking a lot of heat for keeping a lid on this thing, and you might have to move at short notice. I've done everything possible to plug the usual sources here, so if anyone talks, it's at your end.”
Sam hoped it was true, but he also knew that the military's bureaucracy could be a big, unfriendly place. “I'll keep that in mind, sir.”
A chair creaked. Sam had a sudden image of Admiral Howe in a cozy study, surrounded by pictures of his family and all the presidents he'd served under. Sam realized that he'd been a guest in that study on a number of occasions. He stiffened at another memory.
A quiet afternoon. A muddy free-for-all on a huge lawn that stretched down to a sleepy river. He remembered cheering, the smell of burning leaves and cigar smoke. Sam's eyes narrowed as he pictured the admiral hunched over an antique desk, puffing on his third cigar of the night, leaving the room veiled in smoke.
Then suddenly there was more.
“McKade, you still there?”
Sam gripped the phone, willing the blurred images to slide into focus.
He heard shouting and laughter. The sound of crunching leaves. Then wild cheering.
“McKade? What's going on?”
Sam was sweating now, his pulse fast and hammering. “I'm remembering something. Mud, sir. Cheering. It feels like fall. Maybe.” Sam dug for answers. He prayed and sweated and searched through the shattered debris that was his memory.
Nothing. Another wall.
“I can't see. It might have to do with the number sixteen, sir, but I don't know why.” Sam laughed grimly. “And this makes me sound like a kook.”
“I want to hear about anything you remember, no matter how small.” The admiral cleared his throat. “I'll run it past the people here and see if anything clicks. What about the accident?”
“Noise. Screaming.” Sam looked out the big window at the blackness of the sea. “Pain.”
The admiral's chair creaked. “McKade, I'm going to give this to you straight. There's a lot riding on this and some key people here are pushing for medical intervention.”
“I'm not following you, sir.”
“Drugs, damn it. Pentothal or worse. I've been fighting this, but I can only hold out so long. I thought you should know,” he said gruffly.
So now they wanted to reach inside his head and pick through the shattered fragments of his memory. Sam bit down a wave of fury. “I appreciate the notice, sir. I'll let you know as soon as anything else surfaces.”
“I know you will. If all else fails, I'll simply take off for my annual Alaskan hunting trip a lit
tle early. Let them try to catch me in the middle of Kodiak bear country.”
Sam smiled. It was good to have a power player watching his six o'clock.
“I'd better go before my wife catches me with another cigar. She swears she's going to banish me to the guesthouse if I don't cut down and my son's almost as difficult. Amanda's been asking after you, by the way. She pesters me for news every day since that damned television extravaganza. I told her you were in Bethesda, recuperating. We sent you flowers, and you answered with a cordial note, by the way.”
Sam grinned. “I did, did I?”
“Short but to the point. Peter says hello, too.”
“Peter?”
“My older son. He got a promotion last week.”
“Congratulations, sir. You must be very proud.” Sam frowned. As hard as he tried, he couldn't summon up a memory of any of the Howe family, but he remembered their big house and the cool grass near the river.
He heard a car horn at the other end of the wire.
“I'd better go. Peter is determined to chauffeur me to another doctor. Something about my eyes. Why can't they let a man grow old in peace?”
Sam heard another blast of the car horn. “Give 'em hell, sir.”
“Count on it.”
Izzy was standing at the door when Sam put down the phone. “Good news or bad?” he asked.
“I remembered something.” Sam frowned. “Almost remembered, at least. It had something to do with the number sixteen. The admiral's people are checking it out.”
“Anything else I can do to help?”
Sam rubbed his neck. “A week in Tahiti would be pleasant.”
“Not in the budget, ace.”
“Then I guess I'll just sit here and watch Annie sleep.”
Izzy grinned. “Almost as relaxing as Tahiti. She's damned brave, you know.”
“I know,” Sam said tightly.
“Good.” Izzy nodded and headed to the door. “If you need me, I'll be out in the courtyard keeping an eye on anything that moves.”
Chapter Thirty-four
RUSH HOUR ON A THURSDAY AFTERNOON.
Washington's Old Post Office complex, now converted to 35 upscale shops and an impressive food court, was packed. Two medical conventions were in town and their ranks were well represented in the airy Romanesque building on the corner of Eleventh Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. A class of fourth graders from a local District of Columbia school was holding an art exhibition on the plaza level and a trio of young jazz musicians entertained shoppers at the entrance to the food court.
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