Surviving the Fall

by Brittney Sahin

  Jake lowered his head and placed his thumb and middle finger at his temples. Did he have a headache or was she the headache? “Now, I didn’t say that.” His Southern voice wasn’t twangy like in some of the films she’d seen. No, it was smooth. Just as sexy as she remembered.

  She took off her coat and hung it on the chair next to her, and then pulled out a seat from the small table that was in the middle of the large, country-style kitchen. The place needed updating. The cabinets were an outdated light brown wood, the hardwoods scratched and dented, and the counters were made of a light cream tile. Of course, it was still an upgrade over a London kitchen, which you were lucky to find in half this size.

  Unless you were her sister, who had married a football player in Manchester.

  Alexa smoothed a hand over the maple table and looked up at Jake from the corners of her eyes.

  “You could tell me why you played nurse back in London.” Jake leaned his hip against the counter by the stove as he waited for the water to boil.

  “Well, I was just checking to, um . . .”

  “See if I was telling the truth about my memory issues?” Jake glanced over and caught her staring at him.

  Her skin pebbled from the eye contact, a bristle of inappropriate need coursing through her—what the bleeding hell is wrong with me?

  “And are you?” She straightened, forcing herself to focus on Jake as a part of the mission, not as a man she’d once spent every waking hour with for a week straight. A man who had kissed her in the London Eye above the Thames—giving new meaning to the feeling of ‘weak knees.’

  “What do you think?” he asked. Steam shot out of the pot and a high-pitched whistle spread into the air, disrupting her thoughts.

  “I believe you,” she whispered as her cheeks flamed. And a minute later, Jake slid a coffee mug of dark black liquid along the table.

  “Not going to sweeten it?” She looked back up at him.

  “I didn’t think you’d want me sticking my finger in it.” Dimples appeared as he smiled. He still had his humor, even now . . .

  “Thanks,” she forced herself to say, warming her hands against the steaming mug.

  Jake scratched at the stubble on his jaw and took a seat opposite of her. He looked more rugged than she remembered. It probably had to do with the flannel and boots.

  “So, what do you need from me? I take it you didn’t come all this way just to stare.”

  She choked a little on her coffee and wiped at her lips with the back of her hand. “Your memories would be a nice start,” she said dryly.

  He set his mug down and leaned back in his chair. “I honestly don’t know if I even want them—are you sure you do?” He bowed his head and stared at his hand, which was pressed to the table. His fingers trembled.

  “I can’t believe you’re able to function like this after what happened to you last week.” Her thoughts had slipped from her tongue. She had meant them, although she’d never meant to say them. What kind of man could survive being tortured and blown up—and then make coffee a week later?

  He lifted his hand from the table and swept it to his lap, his eyes landing back on hers. “Apparently, what happened is like a Monday for me.”

  “A Monday?” A genuine smile flirted with her lips. “Wow. And I thought my Mondays were rough. What’ve you been up to for the last decade or so that this is the norm for you?”

  “If I knew the answer to that, I’d probably be able to offer you a lot more help.”

  “True.”

  “So, since you know I can’t help you, why are you here? Why not bother the FBI agents who actually might know something?”

  “Believe me, we’re bugging the bloody hell out of them. But I got assigned to you.” Alexa scooted back, wincing as her chair scratched against the heavily abused floors.

  “Lucky you.”

  She stood and moved over to the counter, keeping her back to him.

  “And do you spies have some sort of pill that can help me get my memories back?”

  “I wish.” She spun around, needing to face him, but she didn’t expect to find him right there. She hadn’t even heard him stand, but there he was . . . and her hands had landed against his hard chest.

  Alexa stared, her fingers resting on the hard planes of his body, unable to move them, but then he gently seized her wrists, holding onto them until their eyes met. His face hovered near hers, and he leaned closer, a puff of his breath warm on her skin. “I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

  Oh, God. “Of course not.” She was frozen in her position, unsure of what to say next.

  “There’s something familiar about you.” His words came across low and smooth, gliding across her skin, making her nipples harden. Dammit.

  “We don’t know each other,” she said with dramatic emphasis on every word. She tugged her wrists free of his grasp.

  Jake took a sudden step back, relieving her of the cage his body had made. She exhaled when he turned and shoved both hands through his hair, which was starting to grow out. He probably had missed his usual haircut.

  Jake bent forward and touched the kitchen table before his hand curled into a fist. His knuckles pressed down against the tile.

  “What’s wrong?” She came up behind him and rested her hand on his back, but he flinched and moved away. When he faced her, his pupils were dilated, and his breathing was heavy.

  He was in pain. He had to be.

  “I need you to go,” he said in a tense voice, and then left the room.

  “Jake!” She followed after him into the living room.

  “Please go.” His hand cut the air between them as he stopped by the front door.

  “I can’t do that.”

  He lowered his head for a moment, looking down at the floor, and when his attention swept back up to her face, she could see the pain there. “I’m not sure if I’m an agent anymore. Or if I even want to be. I don’t know how I ended up in this life—but it’s not me.” He placed a fist over his heart. “Maybe I’m done, memory issues or not.” His voice was a cool whisper that moved across her skin, chilling her spine.

  “Don’t say that. You help people.” She had to assume he had done a lot of good as an agent. “Without you—”

  He shook his head. “Without me?” He faked a laugh and crossed the room, grabbing a remote control from the end table by the sofa.

  The TV powered on, and he scrolled through the channels until he found a twenty-four-hour news station. “Have you seen this?” He pointed to the flat screen TV on the tall, oak stand on the other side of the fireplace. “What in the hell has happened in the twelve years I can’t remember? People are dying all over the place. The world has gone fucking mad. You can’t even go to the mall, anymore. Clearly, I’ve done nothing—and maybe no one can.”

  She struggled to find the right words. How could she make him understand that even in such a crazy, messed up world, people like him still made a difference? Alexa took a step closer to him, her hand out in front of her as she moved with cautious steps. “There’d be even more violence if people like you didn’t exist.” Her voice broke a little as she spoke. It tore her up at night, as well. She hated the idea of her nephew being raised in a world like this. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted kids, herself, because of the insanity she lived and breathed every day.

  But his face remained unchanged.

  “If everyone thought like you, the world would be in chaos.” Bekas wins, she thought. “We’d be living in hell on earth. But Jake, you do make a difference, and I need you.” She hadn’t meant to say “I,” but it was too late to go back. “Without you, we may not be able to stop him.”

  “Stop who?”

  She didn’t want to get into the details about @Anarchy right now, and she didn’t have approval to do so. “Whoever tortured you. Whoever is planning the next attack,” she said instead, trying to buy time before he threw her out.

  “That’s not enough for me.” He blew out a whistling breath a
nd turned off the obnoxious chatter of news reporters debating the recent election.

  “It has to be enough.”

  But Jake’s back was already to her as he moved out of the living room and down a hall.

  Now, what do I do? She considered going out to get Xander for reinforcement, but she worried he might further aggravate Jake. And Laney was demanding results. So, she stalked down the hall in search of him.

  The door at the end was open a crack.

  Alexa pushed the door all the way open to find hardwood floors that were a faded burnt orange, rife with scratches—from an animal, maybe. The room had a whisper of a scent still floating in the air . . . vanilla cigars. It reminded her of her father’s study. A warm flash of pain settled in her stomach as she lifted her eyes to find Jake. He sat behind the massive oak desk, a rifle mounted on the wall above his head. He looked sexier than any man had a right to be, sitting there with black framed glasses on. She’d always been a sucker for a guy who could pull off glasses in a devastatingly handsome way.

  Jake gripped something between his hands. Pictures, maybe.

  Seeing him sitting there gave her the sensation of tiny little jolts within her, flapping wings beating fast in her core as her skin tingled. She remembered that feeling from the first night they met.

  Jake squared his shoulders and looked up at her.

  She approached the desk, walking across what looked like the Turkish rugs she’d seen sold in the bazaars in Istanbul—red, gold, and blue thread weaved together in intricate details. The rug helped serve as a reminder to her as to why she was there.

  Kemal Bekas was in Turkey. And the man needed to be stopped. Soon.

  “Whose place is this?” It must have been a place that was familiar to Jake, but she was surprised the FBI would risk taking Jake to any place he could be recognized.

  “This was my grandfather’s ranch. He died and left it to my family,” he finally said.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He set the pictures he’d been holding down in front of him and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shut his eyes. “He was a good man. He was Army. My dad was Army, too.” Jake opened his brown eyes, and she braced her hands on the edge of the desk.

  She could barely look into his eyes; it was almost too much, seeing the pain laced in the light lines around his eyes and thick in his irises.

  “I have absolutely no clue how I became a Marine.”

  “Instead of Army?” She angled her head, studying him, trying to get a read.

  “Military in general.” He pressed his hands to the edge of the desk and pushed back a little in the rolling chair. “I never wanted to be in the military. I didn’t want to be like my father,” he said somberly.

  “And what did you want to be?” She lifted her hands and folded them across her chest as a chill rushed up her spine.

  A small smile tugged at his lips. “A teacher and football coach.”

  Her eyes widened at his words, surprised by both his candor and his comment. She could definitely imagine him standing in front of a classroom with those glasses on . . . although no teenage girl would be able to concentrate in his class. “I guess you changed your mind.”

  “Looks that way.” As he lifted his shoulders in a shrug, he winced with pain. “I don’t mean to be rude. Hell, I don’t even know your name, but—”

  “Alexa. It’s Alexa.” She took a step back as he rose to his feet, feeling small in his presence.

  He came around in front of her and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “Well, Alexa, if I could help you, I’d tell you everything so you could be on your way. But I don’t think—”

  Alexa did the only thing she could think of. She pressed up on her toes and touched her lips to his. She snapped her eyes shut, waiting and hoping he’d respond, and when he did, her knees almost buckled as her palms lifted to his chest.

  His hand swooped up to her back, pulling her closer to him. His tongue dove into her mouth while his other hand weaved through her thick, silky hair. Regardless of what else he’d lost the man hadn’t forgotten how to kiss.

  Alexa stumbled backward, feeling breathless and light as she broke their kiss.

  His brows pulled together as he cocked his head. “And that was because . . .?”

  She swallowed, searching for words that made sense. “Call me crazy, but I thought maybe it’d work like in the movies—you know, I kiss you, and you remember everything.”

  He covered his hand over his mouth for a moment as he studied her. When he lowered his hand, he said, “Isn’t that for waking someone up from a spell?”

  She released a small laugh.

  “I think it’s only supposed to work for true love,” he added.

  “And how do you know so much about fairy tales?”

  He folded his arms. “I have a younger sister, and I’m kind of a movie buff. Although I prefer—”

  “Eastwood,” she finished and then bit her lip. How could she forget so easily that she was supposed to be a stranger?

  Jake took a step back. “And how do you know that?”

  Shit. “Uh, you kind of have a Clint Eastwood look about you. Or more like his son.” She wasn’t lying. “So the kiss didn’t work, huh?” She wet her lips and started to turn, but he reached for her arm and gently pulled her back around.

  She bumped up against him as his hand came to her chin, tilting her head up so their eyes could meet. “Alexa?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What is it that you aren’t telling me?” he asked gruffly.

  That was her cue to leave. “I should go. My partner and I are going to check into a hotel a few kilometers down the road.” Well, more than a few kilometers, actually. They were in the middle of nowhere.

  He kept his hand tucked beneath her chin, his brown eyes gleaming as they held hers. “I’ll come back tonight. Get some rest.” She took a step back and started for the door. She glanced over her shoulder at him, stealing one last look—his eyes were still on her—and then she grabbed her coat and rushed from his home, needing time so that she could breathe again.

  When Alexa slid inside the rental car, Xander scratched at his chin and shot her a huge smile.

  “What?” she asked, buckling herself.

  “Your lipstick is smeared.”

  She immediately opened the visor and checked her reflection. “I’m not even wearing lipstick.” She shut the visor and smacked her partner in the chest as he began to reverse out of the long driveway. “Asshat.”

  “So you did kiss him, yeah?” How could he chuckle at a time like this? “Laney called while you and lover boy were inside.”

  “Oh my God, Xan. Call him that one more time and . . .”

  “And what?” When she didn’t say anything, he smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Damn you, Xan. The man lost his memories—he doesn’t even know about our past or what happened.”

  But he kind of remembered her, didn’t he? He had asked if they knew each other, after all.

  “Just tell me what Laney said.” She looked out the window at the snow-covered hills as they drove. Fir trees and mountains served as a beautiful backdrop in the distance.

  “We have a secure webcam call with her tomorrow. The FBI agent in charge, Trent Shaw, will be setting up the call at Jake’s home.”

  “And what do we hope to accomplish with the call?”

  “We’ll hopefully learn something of value.”

  “And if I don’t get Jake on board, we should probably head back to London.”

  “You think you can get to him?” He pressed his lips together as his gaze met hers for a brief moment, amusement softening his eyes.

  “I do,” she murmured. “Just let me handle Jake Summers.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “We have direct orders. I’m sorry, Jake. I tried to hold them off for as long as I could, but you’re the only witness. Just talk to them. Then you can be done.”

  Jake
held the burner phone Trent had given him close to his ear as he peeked out the blinds and into the darkness, locating the car with two agents in it parked in the driveway.

  “Didn’t you guys tell MI6 anything? You clearly have more information than I do. A lot more.” Jake still couldn’t believe the woman he’d thought was a nurse was a spy. How had he gotten caught up in all of this? He wished he knew.

  He went back over to the desk in his grandfather’s office, his eyes settling on the rifle on the wall. His grandfather had attempted to teach him to hunt when he was younger, but when it came down to it, he couldn’t take the shot. He couldn’t kill an animal.

  But had he killed a person?

  As a former Marine and FBI agent, he had to assume the answer was yes.

  “We haven’t shared any intel yet,” Trent answered.

  “And why is that?” Jake was curious. What was so bad the FBI couldn’t tell the British?

  “Why don’t you try and get some rest? I’ll be over tomorrow.” Trent hung up before Jake could respond.

  He tossed the burner phone on the desk. It slid up next to the photos he’d been looking at earlier before Alexa followed him into the office.

  The photo sitting on the top of the pile was from a wedding. Jake was standing in a penguin suit next to Michael, alongside a few other guys, one of which was a guy he’d remembered from his dream the other night. The man had an Irish accent. He must have been Aiden, the man his sister told him about.

  He started to reach for the photos again, but a stab of pain to his gut had him keeling over and gripping his stomach. A fresh wave of memories prickled his skin, and his spine jerked back upright as if he’d been whipped.

  Muffled and indistinct voices.

  Like a hot iron on the flesh, the whip ate through his skin.

  His eyes burned as he opened them, focusing on what lay before him.

  Then a fist cracked against his jaw.

  Jake opened his eyes as the memory drifted from his mind . . . but the pain remained.

  “What the hell?” He reached around, and his fingers splayed over his back. It felt like the fabric of his shirt was sticking to him. He quickly fumbled with the buttons and peeled off the shirt. He lowered his head, trying to catch his breath.