Identity_Unknown

by Suzanne Brockmann

  But it was dry no longer. The water was rising, and Becca peered through the rain as Mitch, despite being shot, splashed and wrestled with Parker.

  “Get away!” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the rain. “Becca—take the truck and go!”

  Chapter 16

  Up on the riverbank, Becca stood still, frozen in the truck’s headlights.

  Dammit, why didn’t she take the truck and get herself to safety?

  Mitch fought Parker with a desperation, aware that his arm was bleeding, aware that the pain and the light-headedness he was already feeling from the shock were putting him at a disadvantage, aware that his opponent was trying to get to the place where they’d both last seen his gun bouncing off the rocks.

  Parker was relentless, hitting Mitch hard, again and again, in the spot where the bullet had nicked him.

  Nicked was an understatement, but Mitch was well aware it could have been far worse. A weapon like that, fired at close range, could blow a man’s arm clear off. He’d been lucky.

  He’d be luckier still, if Becca would get in that truck and drive herself to safety.

  Instead, as he elbowed Parker hard in the face, he saw her begin to pick her way down the slope of the hill, toward them.

  Dammit!

  Lightning flashed, illuminating Parker’s bared teeth as the man tried to grab Mitch’s throat. And right then and there the world seemed to shift.

  And for the oddest fraction of a second, Mitch was back in that alleyway in Wyatt City, looking into Casey Parker’s eyes an instant before he fired the bullet that was to wipe clean Mitch’s memory.

  And in that oddest fraction of a second, everything, everything came rushing back.

  Stolen plutonium. An unlikely lead in New Mexico. Admiral Jake Robinson’s covert Gray Group.

  He was not a criminal, not a hired killer on the run from the law! He was Lieutenant Mitchell Shaw of the U.S. Navy SEALs.

  There was no jail term in his future. There was only hope and sweet possibility.

  And Becca.

  With a burst of renewed energy, Mitch fought even harder.

  Becca couldn’t find the gun.

  She’d seen it fall near this tumble of rocks, but in the pouring rain, it would have been hard to find her own feet. And that would’ve been without the water starting to rise. In just a few seconds it had gone from a slow trickle to ankle deep, the current tugging at her as it rose even higher.

  The rain began to let up as swiftly as it had started, but the gun was as good as gone, the water now up to her knees.

  She could see Mitch, still struggling with Casey Parker, his shirt stained bright red with his own blood. He was in serious danger of bleeding to death—that is, if he didn’t drown first.

  Parker was tiring, but then so was Mitch. But at least Mitch was on top—or at least he was until a current of water tossed them, pushing them over and Mitch underneath.

  Oh, God!

  She could see Mitch struggling, fighting and splashing to get free, to get air. But Parker was so much bigger than he was. And Parker wasn’t bleeding from a gunshot wound.

  Becca charged toward them, splashing and stumbling through the water, stopping only to pick up a rock large enough to do some damage when it connected with Casey Parker’s head.

  But the water was still rising and before she reached them, she was knocked off balance. As she struggled to regain her footing, Parker was pulled under. With a swirl of bubbles, both men disappeared downstream.

  Becca crawled to the side of the now swiftly flowing river, bedraggled and gasping for air, barely getting out of the way of a chunk of wood being tossed along by the water. She remembered the rainbow-colored bruise Mitch had received from what he’d called a “glancing blow.”

  As if Casey Parker and his gunshot wound weren’t dangers enough, Becca knew that the river could kill Mitch, too.

  She struggled out of the water, and ran toward her truck, water squooshing from her boots. She started the engine with a roar, and drove, following the bend in the riverbed, shading her eyes against the rapidly lightening sky, praying as she searched for any sign of Mitch in the raging current.

  Underwater.

  It was the great equalizer in a fight that Mitch had been afraid he was starting to lose.

  But underwater, the advantage spun once more in his direction. As a SEAL, he was at home beneath the water. And Parker—judging from his current floundering—could barely even swim.

  Mitch went with the force of the river, using it instead of fighting it. He could tell when Parker’s air ran out. He could tell by the way the man was twitching that Mitch had to get him up to the surface, to air, quickly, or he’d die.

  It wasn’t easy pulling the heavier man out of the current and onto the rocky shore. And the water was still rising, so he had to pull him—with only one good arm—even farther up, away from the running arroyo.

  Parker was breathing. But just barely.

  He was out cold, thank the Lord. Mitch wasn’t sure he had another fight left in him.

  “Mitch!”

  He turned to see Becca running toward him. Sweet Becca. With her angel’s eyes…

  “Thank God, thank God!” She scrambled down the hillside. “Where were you hit?”

  “Just my arm. Only a nick.” Lord, he was cold.

  She was furious. “Only a…! Mitch, this is not only a nick!”

  He’d lost a lot of blood. That would explain the cold.

  “I’m all right,” he told her. “Bec, I remembered. I’m a SEAL. A Navy SEAL. Parker has possession of stolen plutonium from a military lab. I’ve been working a covert op for months, trying to track it down. I’m one of the good guys.”

  She took off her T-shirt, which confused him for a moment until he realized she was using it to tie around his upper arm in a tourniquet.

  “Can you make it to the truck?” she asked him, her voice sounding as if it were coming from a great distance.

  Maybe he had lost too much blood. Mitch pushed himself up, forcing himself not to succumb to the blackness that was giving him tunnel vision. “What about Parker?”

  Becca told him in a very unladylike way exactly what Parker could do with himself. “The sheriff can come back for him.”

  Mitch shook his head. “No. I’ve been after him for too long. Get the key from his pocket, Bec. At least let me tie him up.”

  He could see from her eyes that she was scared for him.

  “Rope,” he said. “Please. I’ve been after this guy for months. I can’t risk losing him now.”

  “And I can’t risk losing you now,” she told him hotly.

  “You’re it for me, Mitch. It’s you or no one. If you die—”

  “I’m not going to die.”

  “Promise?”

  In his line of work, it wasn’t good luck to make a promise like that. In his line of work, any kind of promise was hard to keep. But Mitch wanted to promise her everything he possibly could. “Marry me, Becca.”

  He’d shocked her. She stood up. “I’m getting that rope.”

  She vanished from the narrowing scope of his vision, and he floated—he wasn’t sure how long, seconds probably—until she returned.

  As Mitch watched, she hog-tied Parker with knots that would’ve made any sailor envious, then searched through the man’s pockets for the key. She held it up for Mitch to see when she’d found it, then stuffed it into her own jeans pocket.

  And then she was beside Mitch, hauling him up, nearly carrying him to the truck.

  His arm was starting to hurt, and the pain sent him spinning as she did everything short of throw him into the cab of the truck. He felt her fasten a seat belt around him.

  And then they were moving, bouncing, seemingly soaring across the rough land. His tunnel vision was getting worse, his world turning to shades of gray.

  “Stay with me, Mitch,” Becca said, her voice tight.

  “Talk to me. Tell me what you remember. Do you
remember everything? Childhood? First kiss? Senior prom? Where you spent last summer’s vacation?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I think so, but…”

  “Tell me what a SEAL is.”

  “We’re good in the water.” Lord, it was such a struggle even to speak. “We go away a lot. Away on missions all the time. Do things I could never tell you about. Leave again, too soon. Not sure—as your friend—I can recommend you marry me.”

  She laughed at that. “Do you come back?” she asked.

  “Always,” he told her. “For you, I’d come back not just from hell, but from heaven, too.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that. Dammit, don’t you close your eyes!” She was crying. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. “Mitch, we’re almost there. I’m going to have the sheriff call for a medical chopper to take you into Santa Fe.”

  “Admiral Jake Robinson,” Mitch managed to say.

  “Call him for me?”

  “Admiral Jake Robinson,” she repeated.

  “He’s—”

  “I’ll find him,” she promised.

  “Don’t forget—”

  “Parker?” she finished for him. “I won’t.”

  “That I love you,” he said.

  Her laughter sounded more like a sob.

  And there was shouting. Becca’s voice, loud, calling for medical assistance. Hazel, shrill. The sheriff’s deep bass.

  And Mitch gave in to the darkness.

  Becca raked her fingers through her hair as she hurried down the hospital corridor, trying to tame her curls.

  There had been no room for her in the medevac chopper, and she’d driven halfway to Santa Fe. She’d left the sheriff standing in the driveway with Casey Parker in custody, changed her sodden and bloodstained clothes, grabbed her cell phone and headed into the city.

  She’d connected with Mitch’s Admiral Robinson on her first try. She’d actually called the Pentagon—it seemed like the best place to look for a U.S. Navy admiral. She’d been put on hold when she’d said she was trying to reach Robinson, put on hold again when she mentioned to the young but very efficient-sounding assistant who came on the line that she was calling on Mitch’s behalf.

  And ten seconds later another man had picked up the phone. She’d spoken to him for close to a minute before she realized she was speaking to the admiral himself.

  She gave him the story in a nutshell—Mitch’s gunshot wound to the head and the resulting amnesia. His search for his identity. Today’s nearly fatal run-in with the real Casey Parker. She’d told him that Mitch had probably already arrived at the hospital in Santa Fe, that she was rushing over there now, via truck. She’d told him she was sorry, but she couldn’t talk any longer, she had to call the hospital to make sure Mitch was all right, when he’d asked her the color of her truck and the route she was taking. He told her to watch the sky—he’d send an air force chopper to scoop her up ASAP.

  The chopper had landed right in the middle of the state road. She’d locked her truck and gotten to Santa Fe in minutes.

  The nurse in the E.R. hadn’t given her any information on Mitch’s condition over the phone and Becca was running by the time she reached his room and…

  She stopped short.

  The most gorgeous blond woman she’d ever seen was sitting on the edge of Mitch’s bed and holding his hand.

  The most gorgeous blonde, nine-months-pregnant woman…

  Oh, God.

  She started to back away, trying to move silently, and ran into a very solid wall of a man.

  “Hey.” He, too, was blond—although his hair was more sunstreaked—and nearly as gorgeous as the woman. He was one of the men who had been in the van outside the bus station in Wyatt City. “Are you Becca Keyes? Mitch’s friend?”

  Mitch’s friend. Becca nodded, unable to speak. It seemed that his marriage proposal had been a little hasty. Apparently he hadn’t remembered everything.

  He held out his hand. “Lt. Luke O’Donlon, Alpha Squad. My friends call me Lucky. Although I may have to give the nickname back after the hell of the past few weeks, the fact that Zoe Robinson isn’t hovering anxiously at my bedside, and the added injustice that I didn’t manage to meet you first.”

  He pushed her toward the door to Mitch’s room. “Come on. We’re all under strict orders to bring you right in if we see you.”

  “But—” Zoe Robinson?

  “Ms. Rebecca Keyes,” the man named Lucky announced loudly as if he were a very proper English butler.

  “Thanks, Jeeves,” Mitch said dryly. He was smiling at her from his hospital bed. He still looked pale, but his arm was bandaged and he had an IV tube hooked into his hand.

  And as Becca watched, the pregnant blonde moved gracefully from the bed, crossing the room to stand beside a uniformed man who couldn’t be anyone other than Admiral Robinson.

  But then Becca didn’t look at anyone but Mitch. She crossed to his bed. “Are you all right?”

  He held out his hand for her, and she took it. He tugged her down, and then he had his good arm around her.

  “I needed a transfusion,” he told her. “And afterwards, I felt so much better—”

  “He tried to talk me into taking him back to your ranch,” the Admiral interjected. “I’m Jake R—”

  “Introductions later,” his wife interrupted. “Everybody out.”

  Mitch’s hand was in her hair, and she knew from his eyes that he was only waiting for the door to close before he kissed her.

  But she didn’t want to wait. She kissed him and kissed him, sweetly at first, then harder, deeper, infused with the fire his kisses always sparked.

  When she pulled back, he was breathing hard. “I have to stay here overnight,” he told her as if that were a total tragedy.

  “I can wait,” she told him. “I’m good at waiting.”

  She wasn’t talking about just one night, and he knew it.

  “There are things you need to know about me,” Mitch said. “It wasn’t fair of me to ask you to marry me before you know—”

  “I know what I need to know.” She pushed his hair back from his face. “You love me and I love you. Everything else is inconsequential.” Becca laughed. “I never thought I’d get married, but…” She shrugged.

  “That was before I met you and discovered maybe true love isn’t a myth.”

  He smiled at that, but his smile quickly dimmed. “I don’t want to make you unhappy.” He was so quietly serious, so intense.

  “Good,” she said. “Because it would make me really unhappy not to marry you. You know when I walked in here and saw what’s her name? Zoe? I thought she was your wife.”

  He shook his head at that. “I told you, I knew I wasn’t married.”

  “Yeah, but you also told me that you were this terrible criminal, and you’d spent time in jail and—”

  “I did spend time in jail.” He smiled at the look on her face. “It was part of a sting operation. I was trying to get close to the brother of a survivalist group leader. I was inside for nearly a month.” His smile faded again.

  “See, these are the kinds of things that I do.”

  “Think,” she said, “what fun it would have been knowing that I was there, waiting for you when you got out.”

  Mitch laughed. “I’m not sure fun is quite the right word.”

  “Yes,” she said, “it is.”

  She kissed him to prove her point.

  “We can make this work,” she murmured. “I know we can. I’ve got forever—how about you?”

  Mitch surrendered and kissed her. It was definitely worth a try. Because he loved her and she loved him. And like the lady said, everything else was inconsequential.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-0617-9

  IDENTITY: UNKNOWN

  Copyright © 1999 by Suzanne Brockmann

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, n
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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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