She suspected he was right but was too frightened to admit it. If she told Ian everything, she had no doubt he’d make a beeline straight for Julian’s office—and in confronting him, possibly ensure his own death or incarceration.
“Have you remembered something more?” she asked carefully. “Something that would help explain why these attacks are happening?”
What looked like pain twisted through his chiseled features. He rose from the chair and paced, clearly unable to contain the wild energy crackling through him.
“I remember enough that it’s eating me alive,” he said, “everyone imagining I’m some kind of hero. When I must have—I had to have given them the coordinates. Who else could have led them to that listening post?”
Clued in by the way he’d phrased his statement, she narrowed her eyes in concentration. “You don’t actually remember, do you? You don’t know this for certain?”
He stopped pacing to spear her with a look. “I know enough to tell you I wouldn’t be standing here today if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t betrayed my countrymen. You’ve heard there was a bombing, haven’t you? I found online where it made the news less than two weeks after I was captured, an incident where five members of the US intelligence community died in a secret location in the Afghan border region.”
“You don’t know you did this,” she said, making it a statement this time. “You’re just assuming, exactly as you’re assuming that whoever meant to kill me was doing it to hurt you.”
“What? You’re asking me to believe that a woman who works her tail off to help anyone who needs it has racked up the kind of enemies who would do something like this?”
“Hey, I could be complicated,” she said drily. “Is it really so hard to imagine?”
He laughed. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. You were always putting yourself in others’ shoes, seeing the good in everybody.”
“Yeah, everybody,” she said, pain reverberating through her at the memory of Julian’s betrayal.
“Except for liars,” he reminded her. “You reminded me of that the day we—the day you ended it between us.”
“So you remember breaking up now?”
“Unfortunately, yeah, which is why, from here on in, I swear I’m going to be completely honest with you. Because whatever else I am, whether it’s a traitor or a hero, I’m no longer an agent of the CIA.”
“Honesty’s a good thing,” she said, guilt pinging inside her chest at the thought of the secrets she was keeping. “But, Ian, we’re not going back. We can’t unlive any of the things that’ve happened since then, no matter how it might seem.” And no matter how it makes me feel, having you watch over me. But until she understood what was really going on, it was too dangerous to let him think there was any hope of a relationship.
“Jessie told me you were let go from the center. She told me this guy you were seeing—your boss, I guess—broke up with you because of what you told him about me.”
“I don’t want to get into that now. I won’t.”
“So you aren’t my psychologist anymore, and you aren’t another man’s fiancée.”
“Let’s say I’m your friend, Ian. Can’t we just leave it at that?”
He considered for a long time, his blue eyes searching her face until he finally nodded. “For now,” he said. “But I should warn you, for your own safety, you might not even want to be that close.”
She opened her mouth to argue but realized he was likely right. Aside from the physical risk of another, more successful attack, she was aware she would be risking her heart, too, to a man who might well be guilty of what he thought of as a betrayal of his country. Though she would go to the mat arguing the unfairness of blaming any victim of torture for divulging secrets, she knew he would be publicly vilified—possibly even prosecuted—if his role in American deaths became known. Could she bear to watch it happen, to see a man she would always care about destroyed?
“I’ll help you get back to California,” he said, “get you back on your feet with a new car and a place to stay.”
She felt herself flush. “You can’t be serious. You can’t—”
“I can, and I’m going to. It’s the least I can do, considering.”
When she shook her head, his voice grew firmer. “Listen to me, Andie. If it’s the money you’re worried about, forget it. Please. Or if it makes you feel better, pay me back someday, when you’re some fancy headshrinker with your own office in La Jolla.”
She laughed at that, at the very idea that she would be the type to set up shop in an upscale community where she’d spend all day helping the rich learn to deal with the burdens of their privilege. She was instead the kind of psychologist who’d be lucky to pay off her debts and earn a modest living, the kind who’d measure her success not in CDs and stock options but in the number of wounded souls she helped avoid the despair and suicide that had taken her mother from her.
What would any of that mean, though, if I turned my back on Ian? What if his guilt turns to self-loathing, if one day he picks up a gun or sees how quickly, how easily, a lasso can be turned into a noose to end his pain?
Her heart staggered with the thought, the smile dying on her lips. She couldn’t let it happen, couldn’t grieve his death a second time, no matter what it cost her personally. “Thank you for the offer, for saving my life back by the creek and for staying here to help me feel safe. But I’m not going anywhere, nowhere except the ranch if you’ll still have me there as a friend. Because I absolutely mean to help you remember everything.”
“I’ll do my best to keep you safe, hire security, whatever it takes,” he vowed. “But I can’t promise you won’t be in danger.”
“You’re in danger, Ian. Maybe all of us are—at least until you figure out whatever it is someone wants to stay forgotten.”
Chapter 10
Andrea was awakened early the next morning when someone set a tray on the bedside table and slipped from the room without a word. Nose wrinkling at the unappetizing smells from what must be her breakfast, Andrea blinked at Ian, who sat sprawled in the bedside chair, his hat tipped over his face. Sound asleep, she realized, recognizing the soft rumble that ended his every exhalation. He’d earned his rest for certain, though, since he’d remained awake and on guard throughout the long night.
But he had little time to sleep before, with a sharp rap at the door, a tall man in a khaki uniform strode in holding a hat that didn’t quite block her view of the sidearm strapped to his hip. As she lowered the limp, cool piece of toast she had been nibbling, he said, “Good mornin’, Miss Warrington. I’m—”
“Sheriff Canter,” Ian said, coming to his feet and offering his hand so quickly that she wondered if he’d really been asleep.
The two men shook hands, each seeming to swell with testosterone as he sized up the other.
“You get the car pulled out of the creek?” Ian asked.
Canter gave a curt nod. “Had a couple of the deputies working out there half the night. Finally got some cables on it and had a wrecker drag it out this morning. No sign of bullet holes, they tell me.”
“He never fired his weapon,” Andrea said, nightmare images flickering through her brain like the chattering reel from an old horror movie. “When I saw the barrel, I thought he was pulling up to shoot, but instead he bumped my passenger-side rear tire. That’s when my car went spinning through the guardrail and—”
“And what?” Canter asked her. “Did you see this fellow afterward, when you were down there in the creek?”
She shook her head, reaching for memories that rolled in all directions like a broken string of pearls. She could grasp a bead at a time, but the strand refused to come together. “I remember being wet, that’s all. Wet and cold. My head hurt. I was trying to get out, and then the car flipped upside down, the whole world filling up with water.
The next thing I know, I was lying on the bank and coughing, and Ian was there somehow. I guess he—”
Canter’s sharp gaze found Ian’s, suspicion rising thick as smoke. “You’re saying Rayford was right there?”
Ian made a scoffing sound. “You get that badge of yours out of a cereal box, man?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Andrea told the sheriff. “He was helping me, of course. He was still dripping from pulling me out, and that same morning, we were together when someone fired at us.”
Canter scowled. “Settle down, the both of you. Nobody’s accusing anybody. I’m just gathering the facts. Now, if you don’t mind—” he looked to Ian “—I’d like to ask the young lady a few questions in private.”
“There’s no need,” she told him. “I won’t be telling you anything I haven’t already told—”
“Rayford might be a big name in these parts, but there’s no way I’m lettin’ one of the boys influence the course of my investigation.”
“Boys,” Ian echoed, looking as though he wanted to spit at the sheriff’s feet.
“All right, then. Grown men now, but it’s still department policy to record each witness’s recollections separately.”
Ian gave a terse nod. “I’ll step outside and grab a cup of coffee, but, you know, Sheriff, you could’ve just started with that last part instead of trotting out this bad blood you’ve got going with my brother. Save the both of us some aggravation.”
Canter’s only answer was an expectant silence that sent anxiety rippling through Andrea’s stomach. Once he got her alone, would he attempt to twist her words to make some kind of trouble for Ian, or would he consider her part of the enemy camp and somehow make things worse for her?
After Sheriff Canter left about twenty minutes later, Ian came in carrying a cup of coffee. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if he didn’t treat you right? Because I’m not about to let that tin-plated blowhard get away with—”
“Relax, Ian. It was just fine,” she assured him. “He asked me about the accident and what I remembered about the shooting in the ravine yesterday morning, and he was as cordial and professional about it as you could have asked for.”
Well, mostly, anyway, she mentally amended. While Canter had seemed genuinely concerned about her personal safety—and angered by the thought of an outbreak of violence on his turf—he made no attempt to hide his disdain for the Rayford brothers, warning her she’d be better off steering well clear of either of them.
“Before that money came in, those two couldn’t stay far enough away from Rusted Spur,” he’d said when she had called him on it. “But now that the old man’s gone and the place is worth a fortune, they’re all over it like fleas on a hound dog, tellin’ that mama of theirs who to talk to, what to think and exactly how to spend her money.”
Andrea could have argued that, as far as she could see, Nancy Rayford was anything but abused and that her sons’ concern for her seemed genuine, especially in light of her past issues with prescription pills. Instead, she had simply thanked the sheriff for his concern and let him go on his way, to investigate or just pretend to, depending on his mood.
“You’re sure it was all right?” Ian asked. “You look a little worried.”
“I have a headache, that’s all.”
“You need some more coffee?” he asked.
“Not if it’s as burnt as yours smells.”
“You’re right. This vending machine stuff’s pretty toxic,” he said, “but there’s a café just down the road. I can have them box you up a cinnamon roll, too, while I’m at it. I’d bet that ranch it’ll be a hell of a lot better than whatever’s on your tray.”
“I didn’t go to school for umpteen years to take a sucker bet like that one, but don’t worry on my account. There’s no way I could eat now.”
“You’re feeling sick?”
“Not sick, exactly. It’s the situation, that’s all. But why don’t you go get that roll and coffee. You probably could use it after spending all night babysitting the invalid.”
“You’re not an invalid, and I wasn’t just doing it for your sake. There’s no way I could’ve gone home and slept a wink, knowing that whoever put you here was out there somewhere.”
She grimaced at the reminder, still scarcely able to believe that someone wanted her dead. Though the facts all pointed to it, the concept was simply too huge to wrap her mind around. What had happened to the orderly and quiet life she had been living?
Yesterday happened to it, some rational corner of her mind whispered. And so did Ian Rayford.
There was a quick knock, and a floor nurse, a fortyish redhead with a harried look about her, stepped into the room. “There’s a gentleman outside. I asked him to come back a little later, since the doctor’s making rounds now, but he insisted I let you know—”
“Who is he?” Andrea asked, clutching the top sheet more tightly.
By the time the nurse got out the name Julian Ross, Andrea was shaking her head, saying, “Tell him not to bother. I don’t want to see him.”
A humorless smile pulled back the corners of Ian’s mouth. “I’ll go get rid of him. No problem.”
“No!” Andrea said, thinking that Ian sounded far too eager for a confrontation. “Please don’t go. I need you to stay right here.”
A few minutes later, the nurse returned, gushing over a huge bouquet of yellow roses. “Aren’t they gorgeous?” she said. “There have to be a least three dozen.”
“Looks like overkill to me,” Ian muttered. “Like someone’s compensating.”
In no mood for male posturing, Andrea flashed an annoyed look his way, then plucked the envelope from the greenery. Crumpling it unread a moment later, she waved off the extravagant arrangement, not caring when the note tumbled to the floor beneath her bed. How could she believe anything Julian said anyway?
“Throw them away, will you?” she asked the nurse, pushing away the gorgeous flowers. “Or, no, on second thought, take them to someone else. Surely you have another patient who could use some cheering? Someone here on his or her own?”
“There is one older lady,” the nurse answered, her expression softening. “She’s buried everyone, her friends, her daughter and her husband. Poor thing.”
“Then tell her the flowers are to remind her that love outlives the human body, as long as she holds the memories close to her heart.”
“That’s a lovely thought,” the nurse said, staring at her with open admiration.
Even harder to take was the pride that Andrea saw in Ian’s blue eyes, pride that made her think how very odd it was that she found words of hope to offer an old woman on a day when her own life and her future had never felt more hopeless, when she could see no future beyond the promise she’d made to help this man restore his memory.
* * *
The doctor came in next, a different one than she’d seen the night before. An attractive, dark-skinned woman who wore a white coat over a pretty, scooped-neck blue dress, she gave a foreign-sounding name that Andrea didn’t catch the first time.
Flipping over the hospital ID clipped to her lapel, she pointed and repeated, “Dr. Pooja Kapur,” her accent making the syllables roll off her tongue in a manner Andrea could never duplicate. “I am filling in for Dr. Collins this week. I hope this is acceptable.”
Since Andrea knew neither one, it made no difference to her. Nor was she particularly surprised when Dr. Kapur asked Ian to step outside so she could complete her examination in private.
“Go ahead,” Andrea urged him. “Get yourself some decent coffee, anyway.”
Ian shook his head. “Think I’ll hang close,” he said, “in case any unwelcome visitors take another crack at stopping by.”
Certain he meant Julian, she nodded, breathing a silent prayer that the two would never meet.
Dr. Kapur pulled out a stethoscope to check Andrea’s lungs and heart, then asked a few general questions about how she was feeling. If some of them seemed oddly phrased, Andrea didn’t think much of it, attributing the woman’s way of speaking to a foreign upbringing and education.
“I’m still pretty achy and exhausted,” Andrea said in answer to a question.
“This is how a person in your position should expect to feel,” Dr. Kapur said with a curt nod, “unless you fail to cooperate, in which case you will no longer feel any more unpleasantness...or anything at all.”
Andrea blinked hard. “I beg your pardon?” Surely, she’d misunderstood the woman.
The woman stared directly into her face, her nearly black eyes unblinking. “Should you wish everyone involved good health, you must do exactly as I tell you.”
Sucking in a sharp breath, Andrea glanced to the door Ian had just exited, but it remained stubbornly closed.
“That man, yes,” said the supposed Dr. Kapur. “He has one chance, only one to live to be the big hero. And that one chance is you. Do you understand this?”
With her heart hammering like a woodpecker at a dead tree, Andrea couldn’t force her brain to process. “Are you even a doctor? Who are you?”
“I am the woman who will save your lives, if you stop asking ridiculous questions and listen to what I have to say.”
“Y-you have my complete attention,” Andrea told her, and for the next few minutes, she only listened, dread tightening her stomach with each accented word.
At the end of it, Dr. Kapur reached into her pocket and pulled out a prescription pad, along with her pen. Putting both in Andrea’s hand, the woman in the white coat spoke one last time.
“You will print the password here, neatly and correctly. Otherwise, the next visitor to your bedside will undoubtedly be far less pleasant.”
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