Bridal Reconnaissance

by Lisa Childs

Her stomach flipped at the thought of drinking any now, so late at night. But the thought of closing her eyes to sleep summoned other images, images from Snake Timmer’s apartment. She shivered.

  “A cup will warm you up,” Evan advised.

  What warmed her up was his lean length pressing against her back as he reached into the cupboard above her head. Then he set down a coffee mug on the counter on either side of her, his arms remaining in a loose embrace around her.

  She struggled with the urge to turn in his arms and lay her cheek against his strong chest. She had already laid her troubles on the broad shoulders of this stranger. Her husband?

  His breath shuddered out, warm against her cheek as he dipped his head close to her ear. “Why is it so hard to accept that you are my wife?”

  Something in his voice compelled her to tip back her head and meet his tortured gaze. Why did it matter so much to him that she couldn’t remember him? Had he cared about her?

  She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him if he had. That woman was dead to him. And she doubted she would ever be resurrected, in memory or spirit.

  “I don’t know.” She sighed, at a loss. “There’s so much I don’t know.”

  “I can help you.”

  She turned then, to stroke her hand along his hard jaw. The stubble of his five-o’clock shadow tickled her fingertips, sending a tingling sensation up her arm. “You’re helping me already. And I’ve never thanked you. You’re putting your life on the line for me.”

  She wanted to take it personally, wanted to believe it had something to do with her, with the woman she had been and the one she was now. But she’d seen his response to strangers in trouble. And that’s all she was to him. A stranger.

  He caught her hand, pulling it away from his face but not releasing it. His fingers wove through hers. “Amanda, I don’t see it like that.”

  “You told me that I’m in danger. You can’t deny that. And just by being with me, you’re in danger, too.”

  His eyes darkened as he shuttered whatever emotion flickered through them. She didn’t know why he bothered, she couldn’t read him anyway. “Amanda…”

  “You had the faster car tonight. That’s the only reason we didn’t wind up like those poor people, turned upside down. We could have died. Both of us.” Had that happened, they would have orphaned Christopher. Her breath caught as she thought of her son raised by anyone but her. Strangers who wouldn’t love him as she did.

  A thunderous look flashed in Evan’s eyes. “He didn’t want to run us off the road, Amanda.”

  She shuddered, and he used their linked hands to pull her into his arms. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, tears spilling from her eyes onto his silk shirt. “You think he’s playing with us, taunting us?”

  “Running you off the road is too impersonal. It’s not part of his plan.”

  Torturing her was. Raping her. Killing her. Slowly. Painfully. As he’d killed his ex-cell mate.

  “I’m so scared, Evan.” The confession tumbled out with a wretched sob.

  His broad hand stroked over her back in a warm caress. “You’re safe here.”

  Safe from Weering? She doubted it. She also doubted that, despite her memory loss, she was safe from the past.

  “Come on,” Evan finally said. “Pour the coffee and come with me into the living room. I have something that’ll take your mind off…everything.”

  She appreciated his effort, but she knew nothing would take her mind off everything. Nothing but losing it again.

  But because she didn’t want to be alone or try to sleep, she poured the coffee and handed him a mug. Then after she’d added cream and sugar to hers, she followed him back into the great room.

  Across a granite slab of a coffee table he had dropped some albums. What he’d retrieved from the den?

  “What are these?” she asked as she settled beside him onto the supple leather sofa and reached toward one of the albums.

  “Our wedding albums.”

  She regretted the sip of coffee she’d taken when it scalded her throat as she choked on it. She jerked her hand away from the closest book. “I don’t think this is the time to…”

  Resurrect the past? To resurrect Amanda Quade? She knew neither was possible, so why try? Why put them both through the disappointment and pain?

  “Just look, Amanda. What can it hurt?” he gently prodded.

  A lot.

  “You still don’t believe me. I see it in your eyes, so look at the proof. Look at yourself back then.”

  He flipped over a book bound in varnished maple. On the top cover, a heart had been carved out of the wood, and in the middle stood a smiling couple. A younger happy Evan had his arm wrapped around a glowing young blonde. Hair flowed past her shoulders and around the square bodice of a radiantly white wedding gown. A flirtatious smile tipped up the woman’s full lips, and pure happiness filled her green eyes as she gazed up at her husband.

  Jealousy flashed through Amanda over the way the woman looked at Evan, over the proprietary way she leaned into his arms. Then she realized this woman was supposed to be her.

  “No, it doesn’t even look like me. You’ve made a mistake.” She edged away, reaching with trembling hands for her coffee cup.

  What would he do now? Would he withdraw his offer of protection since she was obviously not his wife?

  He chuckled softly.

  “Amanda, look closer. It’s you. Look beyond the hair and clothes.”

  Although pain throbbed behind her eyes, she glanced again. He opened the book, flashing other photos in front of her. More of the same smiling carefree couple.

  Until he thumbed to a candid shot, later in the book, she didn’t believe it was her. But in this photo, the woman gazed pensively across a garden, yearning.

  As she yearned.

  All those years ago that woman had had everything. Or had she? What had she yearned for then?

  Now Amanda yearned for security.

  Pain throbbed at her temples and pounded in her head. “I’m tired.”

  “I can show you to the guest room.”

  She caught his wrist as he leaned forward to place the album back on the table. “No, let me look.”

  With trembling fingers she flipped through those pages, staring at people she didn’t recognize, wondering who they were, who she was.

  Evan sat stiffly beside her, sipping coffee and studying her with those dark eyes so like her son’s. Like his son’s.

  They had been married. In the back of the album the marriage certificate bore both of their names. His. And the one he’d told her had been hers.

  Although she began to believe him, she didn’t know what it would change. She’d never again be the woman he had married. If William Weering III had his way, she wouldn’t even be much longer.

  While going through the albums, she must have dozed off because she awoke to sunlight pouring through the two-story windows. Squinting against the brightness, she glanced around her and found Evan still asleep, slouched beside her. She had curled up against him, her head resting on his broad shoulder.

  She must have snuggled up to him for safety. Not because this man inexplicably drew her to him. And certainly not because she still looked at him as the woman in the album had all those years ago.

  He offered protection to her, nothing more. Not love. And she was glad, relieved. Because love wasn’t something she could either return or accept.

  Then she realized more than the sunlight had awakened her. Near the front door, something rattled, and any sense of safety she’d felt in Evan’s arms fled.

  Someone was breaking into his fortress.

  Chapter Seven

  Evan jolted to full wakefulness, conscious of the sudden tension in Amanda’s body. When she had fallen asleep on him earlier, she’d been relaxed, vulnerable. Her soft hair had tickled his throat, and the scent of her peaches-and-cream shampoo had filled his senses. “What’s go—”

  “He’s at the door, Evan! He’s f
ound us!”

  He shook off the last vestiges of sleep and the passion for her that had clouded his mind. “What! He couldn’t get inside the gates.”

  The doorknob rattled, but before he could rush the intruder, a female voice called out, “Mr. Quade? Evan?”

  Recognizing the voice, Evan pulled Amanda back against his side. “It’s fine. It’s just my secretary,” he soothed as the front door opened.

  The woman gasped as she entered the great room. “Mr. Quade. I’m sorry. I should have rung the bell.”

  He nodded and narrowed his eyes at her boldness. “Or waited at the office to hear from me. I would have called you later this morning.”

  Color flushed her usually pale face, and she pushed lank blond hair behind her ear with a trembling hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s early. Since you gave me the code, I didn’t think it’d be an issue if I just dropped these contracts off for you. You’ve been waiting for the lawyer to send them.”

  Her gaze slid from his and settled on Amanda. “I know they’re important,” she added, her expression showing her distaste with Evan’s guest.

  Irritated with his secretary’s audacity, he didn’t see fit to make introductions. He had only given her the security code for when he was gone, not for when he was home. And he had made that clear to her. She could come by the house, drop mail, water plants as part of her generous salary. But to intrude when he was home…

  “Ms. Moore, we’ll discuss this another time, at the office.” With an effort, he disengaged himself from Amanda and rose from the sofa.

  Rumpled from sleep and flushed with embarrassment, Amanda was adorable, something he never would have considered her six years ago. Beautiful—yes. Alluring—absolutely. But not adorable. He would never have suspected he would be so drawn to adorable, yet she attracted him more now than she ever had.

  Stiffness attacked his joints and other muscles from being tangled up with his wife, sleeping on the couch. He’d wanted to do more than sleep. But he knew she didn’t need him like that. She only needed his protection.

  He ran his hand along his prickly jaw and over his tousled hair as he crossed the sun-drenched great room. He needed a shower. After sleeping platonically next to Amanda, probably a cold one.

  “Let me show you out,” he said to the young woman, who stood yet at the end of the entrance hall.

  She nodded. “Of course, you will be into the office later.”

  “Later doesn’t necessarily mean today. Marshall can handle everything that comes up, just as he has been.” His vice president was very capable. “And if you get in a real jam, call Sarah. She still has more business sense than she’ll admit to.”

  He chuckled over his former business partner’s adverseness to the company that had made them both richer, through her investment and his management.

  But his humor quickly fled, replaced by the emptiness he usually felt, but for those few hours when Amanda had slept in his arms.

  “That’s her.” Cynthia Moore hissed the words at him, her thin lips pursed with distaste.

  His gaze narrowed and skimmed over the tall skinny blonde. Cynthia yanked an expander file from under her arm and held it out to him.

  “Here are the papers from the divorce lawyer. He said you don’t need her signature, but since she’s here…”

  Cynthia Moore was more than a secretary, she was an assistant. But only a business assistant, which she sometimes forgot. His personal life was not her responsibility.

  He shook his head and curled his hands into fists, refusing to accept the folder. “Take it back to the office. I’m not dealing with this now. And I’m not discussing it with you. Ask Marshall what he needs help with.”

  Color flushed her face again and she chewed at her lip. “But when are you coming in?”

  “When I come in.”

  As she passed through the door he held open for her, she opened her mouth, but he shook his head. If she pushed him any further with her nosiness…

  She closed her mouth just as he closed the door behind her. He wouldn’t risk saying anything more, anything that might hurt her. She had been a hardworking loyal employee for many years. Although she’d overstepped the boundaries, he didn’t want to make a scene.

  When he did go into the office, however, he’d remind her of those boundaries and that he needed her respect.

  Evan found Amanda in the kitchen brewing more coffee. Her trembling hands scattered grounds across the granite counter. “Relax, Amanda, it wasn’t him.”

  “Not this time.”

  “He can’t get past the gates, Amanda,” he assured her. “There’s one at the street and another down at the beach entrance. This is a very safe place.”

  When she remained silent, he continued, “I increased security when a friend was staying here this past spring. Someone tried to kidnap her son from this house.”

  She shuddered. “But they didn’t?”

  “Yes, but not then.” Seeing Amanda’s expression, he added, “He’s fine. He and his mother are both fine. And it was a lesson to me.”

  She studied him for a while before she asked, “You care about this friend who stayed here? Care enough to increase security for her?”

  “For the remainder of her stay, yes.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  His mind must not have been fully awake yet because he couldn’t understand the line of her questioning. “I didn’t stay here with her. I stayed at an apartment in Traverse City. She is just a friend. She’s Royce Graham’s wife.”

  She sighed, a sigh of relief or pity, he had no idea which. “And you keep the security to keep other people from getting in?”

  Now he understood. And apparently, so did she. They weren’t talking about the house anymore. She’d surmised what other people had accused him of—locking himself and his feelings away. Maybe it was only fair to warn her. “Yes, I do.”

  “Your secretary who’s just a secretary. She needs to know that.”

  EVEN AS SHE RODE next to Evan in his sports car an hour later, Amanda couldn’t believe she’d said what she said. She needs to know that. Like a jealous wife.

  She had no reason to be jealous of a husband she couldn’t remember and didn’t want. She needed him now…for protection. Only. No other reason.

  She dragged in a deep breath, not sure if her thoughts had made her nervous or riding in his sports car again had. Memories of the night before washed over her. The high beams bearing down on them as Evan increased speed and maneuvered around hairpin curves.

  If not for his skillful driving, surely they would have crashed and tumbled into the lake, might still be in the frigid water. Dead.

  “This morning you checked on the people from last night’s accident?” She could still hear their screams from the wreckage, still see Evan’s coat covered with blood from Weering’s innocent victims.

  He nodded, his gaze locked on the road. “The hospital said they’re in stable condition.”

  “So that’s good.” But she wondered who else would get hurt because of her. Because a madman was after her. She prayed not her son, and not Evan.

  “We’re almost to Royce and Sarah’s,” he said, probably sensing her impatience to see her little boy.

  “We’ve never been apart, Christopher and I, not this long. Last night was hard for me, in more ways than one.”

  He groaned, and she barely caught his mumbled words. “Me, too.”

  What had been hard for him? Showing her photo albums and getting no reaction? What had he expected?

  The memory of the kiss he’d given her in River City flashed through her mind, and heat flashed through her body. Had he expected her to act like a wife?

  But she barely resembled that poised and perfectly groomed woman he had married. Surely he didn’t feel anything for her but pity and a sense of responsibility?

  She didn’t want his pity, but in just a couple of days, she had come to rely on his overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Last night it h
ad surely saved her life and undoubtedly the lives of those people from the wreck.

  “It’s so early we’ll probably get there before he wakes up,” Evan said.

  She nodded and turned to the window to fight her tears without falling under the scrutiny of his dark gaze. All she could do was pray that Evan was right and Weering had no plans to hurt her child.

  If Christopher were in danger because of her, she would have to entrust his care to others, to people who could keep him safe. Instead of endangering him.

  “We’re here.” The sports car slowed as Evan downshifted near a wrought-iron fence. Brick pillars separated a gate from the fence. He opened his window, leaning out to press numbers on a security pad.

  Conscious of other people’s privacy, Amanda glanced away. In the woods across the street from them, she spied some movement. A shadow separated from the tree trunks. Sunlight funneled through the barren branches and reflected off a head of pale blond hair.

  “Evan!”

  The gates started to slide open and she clutched at his arm. “No! He’s right over there.”

  Evan whipped around in his seat. “Where?”

  “In the woods.”

  He propelled the car through the half-open gates, jerking to a halt just inside the grounds. “Run up to the house, Amanda.”

  She tightened her grip on the sleeve of his leather jacket, but he opened the door and slipped free. “Where are you going?”

  “After him.” And he dashed through the gates just as they closed, shutting her safely inside and him outside with a killer.

  She threw open the passenger door and vaulted out of the car, running to the gate. “Evan! Come back!”

  Through the wrought-iron spires, she watched him charge across the street and wade into the scraggly undergrowth of the woods. Wrapping her fingers around the iron, she held on and held out hope that he would return, screaming, “Evan!”

  If he could hear her, he ignored her urgency and slipped deeper into the woods and out of her sight. She whirled around, her gaze encountering the house, a massive structure of fieldstone and cedar. Shoes pounding on the cement drive, she ran for the front door. Then she alternated jabbing at the bell and hammering at the solid oak.