by JoAnn Ross
Still having trouble imagining this woman as a law enforcement officer, Sebastian merely nodded.
“The problem is that, whenever Whitney’s around, my needle just starts going off the Richter scale.”
Even as Sebastian struggled to make logic of the statement, she said, “But it’s probably that we’ve got a dual dislike thing going on. I don’t like her because I don’t believe she’s right for my brother, so she doesn’t like me back because she knows I think that.” She sighed. “And Nate’s love life really isn’t any of my business, is it?”
As if on cue, the kitchen door opened, and the pair on the machine burst into the room, bringing with them a stiff gust of icy air.
Nathaniel Pendleton, clad in a bright orange jumpsuit resembling those worn by Logosian transport pilots, was a great deal taller than his sister, even allowing for the expected differences between male and female. His eyes were a deeper shade of blue.
When he pushed back his hood, his hair, Sebastian noticed, was not the bright copper silicate hue of his sister’s, but rather a glistening black that resembled the obsidian mountains of the Logosian moon Gaoliana.
“Lord, it’s cold enough out there to freeze the—”
When he caught sight of Sebastian, Nate stopped in midsentence.
“Well. Hello.” His tone was polite, his intelligent eyes filled with both a curiosity—which Sebastian suspected was second nature—and surprise.
For the second time this morning, he experienced a very un-Logosian-like satisfaction to know that a man in Kirby Pendleton’s house first thing in the morning was not a common sight.
Nate pulled off his gloves and thrust out a hand. “I’m Nate Pendleton, Kirby’s brother.”
Sebastian stood and shook hands. “Sebastian Blackthorne.”
“And a dead ringer for Heathcliff,” Nate’s companion offered.
She pulled off her gloves, looking at him as if he were a specimen in some laboratory experiment. “I’m Whitney Reynolds.”
Sebastian nodded. “I know.”
She arched a delicate brow. “I hadn’t realized my fame was such that my name would have garnered recognition.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Sebastian said frankly. “I knew your name because when you arrived, Kirby informed me that her brother’s companion’s name was Whitney.”
“Oh?” Thin lips, outlined in a pale shade that was nearly as white as the snow outside, twitched in something that resembled a smile as Whitney glanced over at Kirby. “And what else has Kirby told you about me?”
“You two must be absolutely freezing,” Kirby said quickly. Too quickly. It was obvious to everyone in the room that she didn’t want to continue this particular line of questioning. “Let me pour you both some coffee.”
“Kirby makes excellent coffee,” Sebastian offered.
“I’d prefer herbal tea,” Whitney said. Then turned to Kirby. “If you have it.”
“I think I’ve got some Red Zinger,” Kirby offered with far less enthusiasm than Sebastian had witnessed from her thus far.
“Perfect.” Whitney flashed a smile at Sebastian. “I don’t believe in putting artificial stimulants into my body. And caffeine definitely affects my ability to concentrate. Which in my work could be disastrous.”
“What is your work?” Sebastian asked politely.
“Genetics.”
“Ah. A fascinating field.”
Coming from a mixed marriage, Sebastian had always found genetics interesting. Especially since he had inherited a disturbing number of human traits. “You must work at the laboratory. With Nate.” It seemed almost disrespectful, referring to such a renowned scientist with such familiarity.
“Why, yes. We work together.” Whitney exchanged a glance with Kirby’s brother that revealed Kirby was right about work not being the only thing the two had in common. “Well, not exactly together, of course. We’re involved in different projects.”
Sebastian was about to inquire as to the nature of those projects when Nate said, “How do you know my sister?”
Kirby’s brother’s face, so open and friendly and curious earlier, hardened, and the energy radiating from him was in no way hospitable.
“I found Sebastian out on the road yesterday,” Kirby divulged as she filled a copper kettle with water for Whitney’s tea. “He was unconscious and suffering from hypothermia. Most of his clothes had been stolen, so I lent him some of yours.”
“I thought that sweater looked familiar,” Nate agreed. Although his tone was mild, his eyes, as they riveted on Sebastian’s, were not. “What are you doing in our neck of the woods?”
“I’m not sure,” Sebastian hedged.
That much was the truth. So far, nothing about this experimental travel had gone as planned, and he still had to work out how he was going to get back to Logosia to the proper time.
“He has amnesia,” Kirby said.
“Amnesia.” Nate chewed that over for a minute, appearing openly suspicious. “Interesting.”
“It’s also disturbing,” Sebastian said. “And although I’m not sure how I ended up on the island, I do know that I’m not a headhunter. Although I won’t deny that I have heard of you,” he tacked on, struggling to maintain some balance between the white lie born of necessity and the Logosian dictates of honesty and reason.
“Really.” Nate took the mug his sister offered. “Thanks,” he murmured, slanting her a distant smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He took a sip, continuing to eye Sebastian thoughtfully over the rim of the mug. “If you have amnesia,” he said slowly, “how would you know that you’re not a headhunter?”
Good question, Sebastian acknowledged. And as highly logical as he would expect from a man with such a brilliant scientific mind. “I would know.” His tone was strong and sure.
“Amnesia,” Whitney said on a long, heartfelt sigh as she patted a hand over her heart. “This is so wonderfully romantic. A dark hero right out of a Brontë novel, stranded in the blizzard, is rescued by our innocently naive heroine, only to realize, after they’ve spent the night together, that he can’t remember who he is.”
She smiled suggestively at Kirby. “I know women who’d kill to be able to live out that particular fantasy. For just one night.”
“We didn’t spend the night together,” Kirby said on a flare of heat. “At least not the way you mean,” she said stiffly. “Besides, Sebastian remembers his name,” she pointed out.
“Sounds like retrograde amnesia. Did you notice any head injuries?”
“No, but a concussion doesn’t necessarily leave an outward sign.”
“True. It could also be a fugue, which is, admittedly rarer.”
“A fugue? Like a musical composition?” Kirby asked.
“Same pronunciation,” Nate said. “Different meaning. I was referring to the psychiatric definition in which a dissociative amnesiac may leave home and start wandering around, ultimately beginning a new life.”
“Do you think that’s what happened in Sebastian’s case?”
For the first time since he learned of her occupation, Sebastian could envision her as a law enforcement official. He could practically see the wheels turning inside her head. Indeed, as his mind slipped easily into hers, he realized that she was seriously considering emailing—whatever the hell that was—his photograph to other police departments in the area.
“Anything’s possible,” Nate said. “A violent psychological trauma, like from an attack, might bring it on.”
“Isn’t there something you can do?” Whitney asked. “Hypnosis? Or drugs?”
“Memory work is a big deal these days. They’re working on drugs to help erase memories, such as for those suffering from PTSD. And, of course, it’s like an arms race with everyone trying to find the magic bullet to help Alzheimer’s and other dementia patients regain memory.
“But, in the case of both retrograde and organic amnesia, which is what a fugue is, eventually the memory return
s. In time.”
Although Sebastian did not want to be impolite, he was growing extremely annoyed by the way they were talking about him as if he weren’t in the room.
“I’m certain that my amnesia will be short-lived,” he said, his tone testier than he’d planned. “As you’ve pointed out, Dr. Pendleton, a blow to the head is undoubtedly the cause.”
Nate’s brows drew together into a worried frown. “How did you know I was a doctor?”
“I told him,” Kirby said on an exasperated huff of breath. “I also accused him of having come here to track you down, but he assured me that’s not the case. And I believe him.”
Her tone implied that the subject was closed. But only for now, Sebastian determined, eyeing the still-interested glint in Nathaniel Pendleton’s gaze. Possessing a decidedly un-Logosian amount of tenacity himself, Sebastian could recognize and appreciate that trait when he saw it in others.
“By the way, Nate,” Kirby said, changing the topic, “next time you decide to have your computer in the brain factory start talking with the one here in the house, I wish you’d give me advance notice. That stunt you pulled last night cost me some much-needed sleep.”
“What stunt?”
Her cheeks paled and Sebastian felt the icy fear that shimmied up her spine. Irrationally, he wanted to take her into his arms and comfort her. “You didn’t log in to the computer from the brain factory?”
“I didn’t need to. I had all the data I needed at the lab.” His eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I did?”
“I thought I heard a noise. When I went to check, I could have sworn your monitor was warm. But all the windows and doors were locked, so I suppose I must have simply drifted off and dreamed I heard something.”
She laughed with what was obviously forced casualness. “You know my overactive imagination. . .
“So, where are those muffins you promised me?”
“Right here.” Nate reached into a backpack. “I also brought whole wheat bagels”—he pulled out a white container—“and cream cheese.”
“Cream cheese,” Kirby said on a pleased note that Sebastian would have expected from a woman who’d just received the deed to her own diamaziman mine. “You’re officially off the hook for skipping out on dinner.”
As he put his packages onto the counter, Nate glanced over at the charred piece of meat at the bottom of the red pot. “Speaking of dinner, it looks as if I lucked out. That’s not how I remember Grandmother Pendleton’s pot roast.”
“There was a slight accident,” Kirby muttered.
“I can see that. When did the fire department leave?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Kirby is not the domestic type,” Whitney informed Sebastian needlessly.
Sebastian noticed how Whitney’s comment gave birth to a hot flash of irritation in Kirby’s eyes. Strangely, and highly illogically, since Kirby had openly admitted her lack of cooking skills, Sebastian experienced a similar annoyance.
“It was my fault,” he said. “Kirby was about to turn off the cooking pot when I became delirious and distracted her.”
“Delirious?” Nate asked.
“Yes.” Sebastian studiously avoided what he knew would be Kirby’s surprised expression. “I vaguely recall her saying that she had to tend to her dinner and would return shortly, but then this feverlike state came over me, and I drifted into a strange, dreamlike world, and when I came out of it much, much later, she was still beside me, soothing me like the lovely angel of mercy she is.”
Unable to resist, Sebastian looked at Kirby, whose flushed cheeks had nothing to do with the warmth of the kitchen fireplace.
A shared memory of the way they’d awakened in each other’s arms shimmered between them, warm and seductive. That memory was immediately followed by mental images of her alleged earlier fantasy, of Sebastian spreading fragrant oil all over Kirby Pendleton’s near-naked body. The fantasy that had brought him to Rum Runner Island in the first place.
Sebastian didn’t need Logosian telepathy to know that they were sharing the same fantasy. His chest tightened, making breathing difficult.
And finally, just when the air in the room seemed filled with heat and smoke, another more recent memory gripped him. When they’d seen each other through a pane of glass and their minds had, for one stunning moment, joined in perfect, sensual harmony.
A hunger, as dangerous as that once-wild animal whose picture she wore on her tunic, came alive inside Sebastian. He wanted Kirby Pendleton. With every atom of his terran-Logosian body.
“Gracious.” Whitney began fanning herself. “Has it suddenly gotten extremely steamy in here? Or is it just me?”
Silence came crashing down like a steel gate. When her brother’s intelligent gaze drilled into his once again, Sebastian knew that he was being thoroughly summed up.
He managed, with effort, to meet that challenging gaze with a bland look of his own, realizing, as he did so, that Nathaniel Pendleton’s midnight-blue eyes never missed a thing.
“I think I’ll go for a walk,” Nate said finally, shattering the silence.
“It’s freezing outside,” Kirby protested. “Besides, you just got here.”
“And now I’m going for a walk.” He was talking to her, but as he pulled his gloves back on, his eyes didn’t leave Sebastian’s. “Would you care to join me, Sebastian? I believe I left an old ski parka in the closet you’re welcome to wear.”
Sebastian had never been one to turn away from a challenge. “I’d enjoy a short walk,” he agreed. “Perhaps it will stimulate my memory.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Nate agreed.
10
The snow had stopped falling, leaving the air crisp and clear and icy. Sebastian breathed shallowly, not wanting to draw too much freezing air into his lungs. After his near-death experience yesterday, he was not yet at ease in such frigid climes.
He was not surprised when Kirby’s brother got right to the point.
“All right,” Nate said, stopping in a grove of pine trees not far from the house. “What the hell are you up to?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Sebastian said carefully. “If you’re referring to my alleged interest in you or your work—”
“I don’t give a damn about any interest you might have in me,” Nate said on an explosion of frosty breath. “If you’ve come here to try and recruit me, you’re wasting your time. If you’re here to steal my work or try to sabotage it in any way, I’m capable of dealing with that. What I want to know is what are your intentions toward my sister?”
“Intentions?”
Nate’s gloved hands curled into fists at his sides, giving Sebastian the impression that the man, if pushed, could be extremely dangerous. “If you’re using her to get to me—”
“I’m not.” The idea was so preposterous that Sebastian’s shocked honesty was obvious.
“Have you slept with her?”
Before Sebastian could answer honestly in the affirmative, the calm voice of the ecumenical translator explained the idiom.
Grateful for the assistance, he said, “No.” It was the truth, so far as it went.
“But you want to.”
When Sebastian didn’t immediately answer, Nate said, “I’m a man, dammit, and I know what’s in a man’s mind when he looks at my sister the way you were looking at Kirby.”
“Your sister is a very attractive woman.”
“She’s also a very vulnerable one. I don’t want her hurt.”
“I have no intention of hurting Kirby.” This time he was speaking the absolute truth.
“But you do intend to sleep with her.”
Reminding himself that he would undoubtedly act the same way if some stranger had inappropriately lustful designs on Rosalyn, Sebastian understood Nathaniel Pendleton’s need to protect his sister. But that didn’t mean that the man had to be privy to every intimate detail of her life.
“I don’t wish to be rude,” he said mildly, “but I do
not see where that’s really any of your business.”
Emotions—irritation, worry, frustration, regret—all ran quickly over Nate’s face and were just as quickly controlled.
“I suppose it’s not,” he said. “Particularly since she’s already been married once, but—”
“Kirby was married?”
“Yes. I take it she hasn’t filled you in on that story yet.”
“No, she hasn’t.” Even as he vowed to learn about Kirby’s marriage at the first opportunity, Sebastian wondered why it suddenly seemed imperative that he know why she was no longer with her legal bondmate. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to enlighten me further.”
“No. I wouldn’t.” Above them, high in the treetops, a jay scolded and went ignored. “But I will tell you this,” Nate advised. “If I ever get my hands on the son of a bitch who used to be her husband, he’ll be walking funny for a very long time.”
The warning was clear. “I will keep that in mind,” Sebastian said.
Nate nodded. “I’d suggest you do that.”
Matters temporarily understood to both men’s satisfaction, they began walking back toward the house, following the deep tracks their boots had made.
“You really have no idea what you’re doing here?” Nate asked with a casualness that Sebastian knew was feigned.
“Not really. Kirby thought perhaps I work at the laboratory.”
“If you did, I’d know you.”
“Yes. That was my thought, too. Especially since I am an astrophysicist.”
Nate stopped. “Strange that you should remember that.”
“Amnesia is an unpredictable thing.”
“True.” Obviously unconvinced, Nate began walking again. “Who do you work for?”
“I’m presently between official assignments,” Sebastian said. “But I’ve done some work of my own on antimatter.”
Sebastian knew that at this point in time, antimatter existed on Earth solely as ephemeral particles created by giant accelerators. It was, in actual operation, more theory than fact. A theory that would ultimately prove true. When antimatter combined with ordinary matter, mutual annihilation occurred with a force far greater than that produced by thermonuclear fusion.