by Jean Barrett
“You pay for the gas before we shop for groceries,” he instructed her as they entered the convenience store. “Just in case we have to make a fast exit.”
He was being thorough, Eden thought. Except there was one thing he had overlooked. He had failed to check the pockets of her coat.
The store was empty of customers other than themselves. He stayed close at her side to make sure she didn’t try to signal the attendant as she paid for the gas.
Now comes the hard part, she thought when they came away from the counter.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she said.
“That can wait until we get to the houseboat.”
“No, it can’t. I’m sorry, but being scared makes me more than just cold.”
He swore under his breath. “Okay, where is it?”
She led the way to the far end of the store where the single, unisex rest room was located off an alcove. Its door stood open, the light inside already on.
“Wait,” he said, moving in front of her to check out the interior, presumably to make certain there was no other exit or a window that would offer her a chance to escape.
“Will you please hurry?” she urged him, wanting him to be convinced it was an emergency.
There was another bad moment when he turned his head to gaze at her speculatively. Did he suspect something?
“Maybe I ought to go in there with you,” he said.
“You wouldn’t!” But she was afraid he might do just that.
“Then just make sure you behave yourself in there. When I check afterward, which I intend to do, I don’t want to find any distress message scrawled on the mirror. And don’t lock the door behind you either. I’m going to be standing right here in this alcove just outside, and if I hear the click of that lock…”
He left the rest unsaid as he moved his jacket aside to finger the pistol tucked now into the waistband of his pants. He was telling her that attendant or no attendant, he would shoot off the lock if she tried to barricade herself inside.
When Eden hesitated, wondering if he actually meant his threat, his broad shoulders lifted in a little shrug. “If you’re not sure about the lock, then I think I should go with you.”
“No lock,” she promised him.
Before he could insist on some other precaution, she scooted past him into the rest room, swiftly closing the door behind her. Damn him. She had counted on locking herself in, but now she would have to risk her action without that security.
There had been no opportunity to investigate the pockets of her coat, either back in Charleston or outside at the gas pump. He had been much too observant for her to take that chance. But now, placing her purse on the sink’s counter and hoping her memory was reliable, she plunged her hands into the deep pockets of the coat.
To her relief, her probing fingers closed around a flat, compact instrument at the bottom of the right-hand pocket. Thank God, she hadn’t been wrong. The phone was here where she had placed it after last using it.
Eden’s mother, who was the accountant for all the Hawke detective agencies at the home office in Chicago, had complained that Eden’s purchase of a second cell phone was excessive. She had withdrawn her objection when Eden explained that she was forever either misplacing her cell or forgetting to keep its battery charged. And since a P.I. often had to rely on a cell phone, a backup was essential.
Grateful for her carelessness that had made an extra phone necessary, Eden withdrew the instrument and flipped it open. Now, if only she hadn’t gone and drained its power again… Ah, good, she had a strong signal and a full battery. She was in business.
With a worried glance at the closed door, she flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet at the sink, counting on the sound of the running water to muffle her voice. Then, extending the phone’s antenna, she started to punch in a rapid 911.
The nine was all she managed before the rest-room door burst open. Her heart sank at the sight of him. Covering the space between them in two swift strides, he snatched the cell phone out of her hand. His face was like a storm. A savage one.
“You were cold, huh?” he thundered. “The hell you were!”
He was talking about her coat. That was why he had charged into the rest room. It must have suddenly occurred to him out in the alcove that he had neglected to investigate her coat.
That he would have thought of the coat at all at this stage startled Eden. Just who was this man, anyway? No one ordinary, certainly. Not when he was so careful not to overlook any potential threat to him. That smacked of a dark history, maybe even a violent one. Just what was he involved in, and how serious was her own jeopardy because of it?
“What do you do?” he growled. “Collect the damn things?”
Switching off the instrument, he thrust it into his pocket where it joined the phone he had seized earlier from her purse. Then, tossing his jacket on the floor in order to free both his hands, he advanced on her slowly. The look on his face said he meant business.
Eden backed away from him until she had nowhere else to go. She was pinned against the sink. He towered over her, a daunting figure.
“You have any more surprises in that coat, Eden? Something I should be worried about?”
Before she could stop him, he was pressed up against her, his arms on either side of her, his big hands plunged into her pockets. She could feel the heat of his fingers probing the depths of both pockets. There should have been nothing personal in that search, but there was. Eden found it difficult to breathe.
“Guess not,” he said.
Swallowing, she managed a cool “If you’re through.”
But he was in no hurry to withdraw his hands. They remained in her pockets, making an intimate contact with her hips through the fabric. His eyes were on her face, a seductive gleam in them. He inhaled slowly, deeply.
“Lily of the Valley, huh?”
Her fragrance still intrigued him. And her lower lip.
“It’s quivering again, Eden,” he said, his voice husky.
He was leaning into her so closely she was aware of the stubble on his square jaw, the heat of his hard flesh. This time he did slide a hand out of her pocket, lifting it to the level of her face where the slightly rough pad of his thumb lightly stroked her bottom lip. Eden felt a slow flame coiling deep inside her.
“Take your hand away,” she commanded, her own voice turning hoarse.
“You wanted to play husband and wife. So, all right, we’re playing husband and wife.”
“Stop saying that!”
“Maybe you’d like my mouth here instead of my thumb. Would you, Eden?”
She’d had enough of his steamy games. Whether he was formidable or not, she refused to be intimidated any longer. “You’ve satisfied yourself there’s nothing else in my pockets. Now back off. And count yourself lucky I didn’t try to grab my pistol out of your waistband.” She had considered such an action, but as quick as his reflexes were, that could have resulted in a struggle in which one of them might have been shot.
Motivated by her threat to recover her gun, he stepped away from her. His eyes never left her face. “If you had the gun, would you use it on me?” She didn’t answer him. “Maybe you think I’m some kind of monster. I’m not. At least I don’t think I am.”
“Then what are you? Just an innocent victim?”
“It’s possible.”
“If you believe that, then why don’t you turn yourself in to the police? Tell them as much as you know and let them sort it out.”
“That’s a plan. Except if it turns out I’m a wanted man—” He shook his head. “Uh-uh, I’m not bringing the cops in on this. Not until I know what’s going on and why.”
“So, instead, you’re going to go on playing the tough fugitive who kidnaps women at gunpoint.”
“And makes their lips tremble in tempting ways.”
Eden angrily tightened her mouth. It was a defensive reaction, and he didn’t miss it. He smiled. A sardonic smile.
“You know,” he drawled, “if I wanted to, I think I could make that mouth of yours do a lot more than just tremble. And not by using my thumb, either.”
“You might have lost your memory, but you’re not suffering from a loss of ego, are you?” The awful thing was, she feared there was some truth in what he claimed and that she would have to guard herself against it.
“Could be you’re right,” he admitted. “Only we don’t have the time to test your theory.” Leaning down, he recovered his jacket from the floor. “We’ve still got that shopping to do. Come on, let’s go make that attendant out there think you and I are the happiest married couple in South Carolina.”
THE HOUSEBOAT WAS exactly what she had wanted when she’d bought it a little over a year ago. A quiet getaway far enough removed from the city to guarantee her absolute privacy whenever she needed a few days’ retreat between difficult cases.
But now, looking at the gray houseboat moored at the end of its short pier, Eden regretted the remoteness of the place. There were no neighbors within hailing distance, just the thick vegetation along the shore and the softly flowing river with its reedy shallows where the herons fished.
She was aware of the man who followed closely behind her along the narrow path from the car, bearing their sack of groceries. She was alone with him in this seclusion, not knowing what he intended to do with her. It was a situation that unnerved her on every level.
He, however, was satisfied by the isolation. She could see it in his face when they reached the door of the houseboat, and she turned to him as he spoke to her.
“You’ve got electricity, huh?” he said, noticing the wire stretched from the pole on shore to the side of the houseboat.
“Yes, all the comforts of home,” she said, unlocking the door and spreading it open.
He held out his hand. Knowing what he wanted, she laid the keys on his palm. He was making certain that she wouldn’t try to escape in the car.
“Inside,” he directed her.
She looked at him again when they were inside and the door was shut behind them. His gaze was making a fast survey of the place. It was a simple arrangement. A narrow living room in the center, a tiny kitchen off one end, and at the other end a single small bedroom and bath. All of it was comfortably but plainly furnished in the warm colors that Eden favored.
“Nice and cozy,” he observed. “Just the sort of setting that makes a man think of, oh, I don’t know. An intimate weekend with his wife, maybe?”
The houseboat had never seemed cramped to her before. It did now, as if there wasn’t enough room to contain both of them. But Eden refused to let him see how that worried her. Or to respond to his mockery on the subject of a marriage that had never existed. She had more vital matters on her mind.
“Now can we have that talk?” she asked him.
“Later,” he said brusquely, dumping the sack and his jacket on the bar between kitchen and living room.
“But you told me—”
“I said later.”
He had spotted the portable TV in the bookshelves. The clock on the VCR that accompanied it registered the time as just a minute past twelve. He lost no time in settling on the sofa, the remote in his hand.
“You’re going to watch television?”
“It’s noon. There should be a news broadcast.”
Eden understood his sudden interest then. He was eager to learn of any accident or crime that might offer him a clue to his identity. Leaving him perched on the sofa, knees spread as he leaned earnestly toward the screen, she went into the kitchen area to put away the groceries.
She listened to the broadcast as she fixed sandwiches and poured them glasses of milk. Like him, she hoped to hear of something to which they might connect him, but there was nothing promising in any of the reports.
She brought him his lunch. They ate in silence, his attention focused on the news. And all the while, Eden was conscious of him, wary of his possible danger to her. She remembered he had tried to assure her he wasn’t evil, and last night her instincts had been convinced he was a decent man. But how could she trust any of that when he was driven by a desperation neither of them understood?
Well, she was desperate herself, as only a mother could be. She managed to restrain that desperation through the entire lengthy newscast of both local and national events. But by the time the program wrapped up without results for him, she’d had enough. She wanted answers, and she no longer cared how much she might be risking herself to get them.
Opening her purse, Eden removed the photograph and business card she had found in his jacket last night. His gaze was still fixed on the television screen when she came to her feet and inserted herself between the sofa and the bookshelves.
“Look at them,” she commanded, facing him with determination as she placed the photo and card on the coffee table in front of him.
He glanced down and then up. “Again? I thought I told you back in Charleston—”
“I want to know how you got them. Do you remember at least that much?”
“No.”
“Try.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing since I opened my eyes this morning? When I wasn’t worried about what you were going to try next, that is. And why are you so interested in that picture?”
Eden was prepared at this point to plead with him. “I have a good reason. The best reason in the world. It’s because—” She stopped abruptly, realizing that, unless someone was able to address an individual by name, an appeal somehow lacked strength. “Look, if you and I are going to spend any time together—”
“Ah, now you want to spend time with me?”
“I didn’t think I had any choice about that. You were the one who forced me to come here.” She was getting angry again. That wasn’t the way to reach him. “The point is,” she went on, her voice softening, “you don’t have a name because you don’t know who you are. So what am I supposed to call you?”
His gaze drifted away from hers. There was a long silence between them. Had the windows been open, she might have heard the gentle lapping of the waters against the pier, a sound that would have soothed her while she waited tensely for his answer. But the windows remained closed, and the only sound in the houseboat was the TV, which droned on behind her.
She looked at his face. Except for a slight discoloring around the eye that had been bruised and swollen shut last night, what had to be a tenderness in the lip that had been split open, and the bandage that still covered the bridge of his nose, he was healing rapidly.
There was strength and character in that face. She could see it in the square shape of his jaw, the fine radial lines at the corners of his observant brown eyes, even in the small mole high on one beard-shadowed cheek. That it was also a face with sensual qualities, to which she was regrettably susceptible, Eden preferred not to think about.
A lean face, too, like the rigorously conditioned body that carried it. Solid and athletic, even with that limp. As though it had been trained for a specific purpose.
And again the question gnawed at her. Who was he?
“Him,” he said without expression, nodding in the direction of the TV behind her.
Puzzled, Eden swung around to face the set. There was a movie playing on it now, a classic old western. She couldn’t remember its title.
“Shane,” he said. “You can call me Shane.”
Eden recalled the story now. Shane was its hero, a mysterious loner who had arrived out of nowhere. No past, no other identity beyond that single name. Shane. It was perfect. Like the character in the movie, the name suited him.
“Shane it is, then,” she said.
He nodded, satisfied. “Now let’s move on to another name. The kid in that picture. You know who he is, don’t you? Or at least you think you do. Who is he?”
Eden caught her breath, then released it in an emotional rush. “His name is Nathanial. Where is he, Shane? What have you done with my son?”
Chapter Four<
br />
He could feel himself scowling as he stared up at her. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like it one damn bit. He already had a few small problems of his own, and now she’d gone and dumped this latest surprise in his lap.
Her kid? The boy in the photograph was her kid?
“Answer me, Shane.”
Though he had chosen the name himself, hearing her call him by it seemed odd. Because, of course, Shane couldn’t be his real name. But a man had to have some identity, and he supposed this one sounded as good as any. He accepted the name, slipping into it with ease. What he couldn’t accept was the look of accusation on her face.
“You’re asking me, the man without a memory? And if I did have a memory, what makes you think I’d have any knowledge of your son?”
“You were carrying his photograph along with my business card. There has to be a connection, and I intend to learn what it is.”
“That why didn’t you call the cops last night, when I staggered in out of nowhere? And why did you let me think I was your husband? So you could use me?”
“All right, maybe I was taking advantage of the situation, and I suppose that was wrong of me.”
“You bet it was wrong. A hell of a lot wrong, in fact.”
“And I’d do it again,” she vowed fiercely. “That and much more if it meant finding my son.”
Shane plowed a hand through his hair while she continued to stand over him wearing that expectant look in her eyes. He didn’t know what to say to her. “So what are we talking about here? A kidnapping?”
“Whatever it was, Nathanial was taken. I don’t know who took him or why, just that he’s gone.”
“I know you’re a P.I., but isn’t this something the cops should be handling?”
“They were handling it. Without results.”
“How long has the boy been missing?”