She frowned. “Who is he?”
“The chief of police here in Raven’s Cliff. I met him the day of Camille Wells’s wedding. He seemed like a stand-up kind of man.”
“And do we tell him everything? About me being in the Witness Protection Program and testifying against those gang members in Boston?”
Ryan shook his head. The sun shining through the windows caught the lean angles of his face and made him appear both devastatingly handsome and more than a little bit dangerous. “No, we only tell him what he needs to know, and that’s the fact that you arrived here to begin working at the inn and somebody took you and injected you with drugs. I’ll play the role of your FBI boyfriend.”
“That will be a stretch,” she said wryly, but instantly her head filled with thoughts of the kiss they’d shared.
He ignored her. “I’ll tell him I’m working this unofficially but decided to introduce myself as a professional courtesy.”
“Whatever you think is best,” she replied.
His green eyes were flat and cold. “But the only way I’m agreeing to this is if we do it my way.”
“Golly, what a surprise,” she said with mock astonishment.
Again he ignored her comment and continued, “My main priority is to keep you safe, so if we’re out and I tell you to hit the ground, you hit the ground. If I tell you to jump into the ocean, then that’s what you do. No questions, no hesitations. I have to know that you’ll obey me for your own safety.”
She started to make a joke, but the deadly serious expression on his face stopped her. “I’m not a complete fool, Ryan,” she said softly. “I have no desire to get myself hurt or killed, but like you, I want answers. I want to know who drugged me and why.”
“Good, then you make sure you do whatever I tell you to and hopefully we’ll get those answers.” He took another sip of his coffee, a frown furrowing his forehead. “The problem is we don’t know where exactly the threat might come from. We don’t know who we’re looking for, and that makes keeping you safe a little more complicated.”
“But maybe I’ll remember something once we get outside and then we’ll know exactly who we’re looking for and why,” she replied. She had to be optimistic. She had to believe that her memory would return, and she couldn’t stop the excitement that soared through her at the thought of leaving the cottage.
“Okay, after breakfast we’ll head out. Maybe the inn is a good place to start. We can pick up your personal belongings, and perhaps something in that area of town will jog your memory.”
It was just after nine when Britta walked out of the cottage and drew a deep breath of the salt-scented air. The feeling of optimism had clung to her through breakfast. Surely today she’d remember something important.
“At least the sun is shining,” Ryan said as he opened the passenger door of his car and gestured her inside.
She slid into the seat and watched as he walked around the car to the driver’s side. The minute he’d walked out the cottage front door she’d felt the tension that straightened his shoulders and narrowed his gaze.
It was obvious that he was on duty, aware of all the surroundings as he looked first one direction, then the other. At least physically she felt safe with him.
His jeans hugged his long legs, and beneath the dark blue lightweight windbreaker was a navy polo shirt and his gun. It still surprised her, what her life had become, the fact that she needed a bodyguard with a gun.
He got into the car and flashed her a tight smile. “Don’t forget I’m in charge.”
“You like that, don’t you? Being in charge.”
He started the engine and grinned at her. “That’s the way life is supposed to work—the man is in charge.”
“While the little lady works to make his life more comfortable,” she added.
He winked at her. “Now you’re catching on,” he said, his drawl thick as the fog that shrouded the village at night.
“You’re a male chauvinist pig.”
“Sounds about right,” he agreed affably as he backed out of the driveway.
She had a feeling he was playing a role, hiding the real man behind the mask he presented. How well had she known him before? And what would it take to bring down the walls he kept erected around himself?
As he headed toward the Cliffside Inn, she rolled down her window to allow in the fresh air. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be out of that cottage,” she said. “I’ve been going stir-crazy. Maybe we can get lunch out?” They’d already passed several restaurants that looked interesting.
“We aren’t here on vacation,” Ryan said sharply.
“I know that, but eventually we have to eat,” she returned evenly. It was as if he was looking to pick a fight every time she opened her mouth.
“We’ll see how things go,” he said, his voice softer, as if he knew he’d snapped at her.
She focused her attention out the window. Before, when he’d driven her to the cottage from the clinic she’d scarcely noticed the town zipping by. She’d been more concerned about where he was taking her and what happened next.
The sun shining overhead played on colorful awnings stretched over the doorways of quaint gift shops and eateries. Flowerpots spilled brilliant blossoms of spring flowers in front of establishments, enhancing the aura of a quaint, picturesque village.
How could Ryan think this place was sick, with the sun shining and people meandering down the streets as if there wasn’t any other place they’d rather be?
“I think this looks like a lovely place,” she finally said, breaking the silence that had descended between them.
“If there’s one thing I learned a long time ago it’s that most things look nice on the surface, it’s only when you scratch a little deeper that you see the ugly.”
“And you’re sure there’s ugly here?”
He frowned, the gesture doing nothing to detract from his handsomeness. “Aside from the fact that something strange happened to you here, I can’t explain it. It’s just a gut feeling I have.”
“Well, don’t think about it today,” she exclaimed. “The sun is shining and I’m finally out of that boring little cottage and I’m feeling very optimistic about seeing something that will make my memory come back.”
She had to believe that all her memories were going to come back today. Then she and Ryan could part ways and she could get on with her life.
“That would be nice. I’m just as eager as you are to get out of this town.” Within minutes they had parked and were walking toward the Cliffside Inn.
Britta stared at the beautiful three-story historical home turned inn, hoping for an explosion of memory to fill her head. An old “Victorian lady,” the house was set on an acre and a half of perfectly manicured lawn and was within walking distance of the coast and shops and restaurants.
Nothing. She couldn’t remember ever seeing this place before this moment. She tried not to be discouraged as Ryan rang the bell next to the front door.
“The innkeeper’s name is Hazel Baker,” Ryan said as they waited.
A plump woman with faded red hair pulled back in a chignon answered the door. A smile wreathed her face at the sight of Ryan. “Mr. Burton, it’s nice to see you again.” Her eyes widened as she saw Britta. “Aah, I see you found her. My dear, you had this poor man worried sick.” She opened the door wider to allow them inside.
Inside the house was a study in beauty. Hardwood floors gleamed in the sunlight dancing through the windows. Century-old artwork decorated the walls, and the furniture was priceless antiques polished to perfection. A fireplace flanked by two high-backed chairs looked like a perfect place to sip a cup of tea or hot cider.
“I’m afraid I had to go ahead and hire another housekeeper,” Hazel said with an apologetic look at Britta. “I’m sorry, Valerie, but I couldn’t hold the job for you, not knowing when or even if you’d return.”
“I understand, Ms. Baker,” Britta replied. It seemed odd to hear herse
lf called Valerie. But that’s who you are now, she reminded herself. Valerie King from Chicago.
“Heavens, call me Hazel, everyone in town does,” she replied with a wide smile.
“We’ve come to get the things she left here,” Ryan said.
“Of course. It was just a suitcase. I have it in my office. Please, have a seat and I’ll be right back.” Her bright yellow caftan whipped around her as she left the room.
When she’d gone, Britta felt Ryan’s gaze lingering on her with an air of expectation. She sighed, fighting a deep wave of depression. “Nothing,” she whispered. The optimism she’d felt when she’d left the cottage fizzled away, leaving behind only a deep sense of despair.
RYAN HADN’T REALIZED how much he’d hoped that coming here would solve Britta’s amnesia until it didn’t happen. Her disappointment couldn’t be any greater than his. Each minute he spent in Britta’s company was a particular form of torture, and he wanted to get this mystery solved before he did something stupid again.
“Here we are,” Hazel said as she carried in a large floral cloth suitcase. She set it on the floor in front of Britta.
“That’s it?” Britta asked. “That’s all I brought with me when I arrived?”
Ryan could guess what she was thinking, that she’d arrived in a new place to begin a new life with only a single suitcase to her name.
“That’s it, dear. That’s all you had with you the night you arrived.”
“Hazel, I know this might sound like an odd request, but would it be possible for us to see the room where Valerie was going to stay?” Ryan asked.
Although the innkeeper looked puzzled, she shrugged her plump shoulders. “Of course. Nobody has been in there since Valerie arrived, then disappeared.” She cast a curious glance at Britta, who was looking around the room as if seeking some clue, some sign that she’d once been here.
Ryan knew from his brief time with Hazel when he’d first arrived in Raven’s Cliff that the innkeeper enjoyed a good round of gossip. If he wanted to get the word out that Britta was alive and well and looking for answers, Hazel Baker was just the ticket.
“Actually, Valerie has a bit of a problem,” he said, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone.
“Oh?” Hazel’s eyes widened once again and she took a step closer to him.
“She has no memory of being here or what happened to her from the time she checked in until the time I found her wandering around days later. There are four days that her whereabouts are unaccounted for, and she can’t remember any of it.”
“Oh, my.” Hazel walked over to Britta and took her hand.
“You poor dear, that must be frightening.”
Britta nodded. “It is.”
“Then you don’t remember the nice little chat we had over a cup of raspberry tea when you first arrived? Why, you don’t even remember me.”
Britta’s smile held an apology. “I’m sorry,” she said, and shook her head. The sun streaking through the window caught on the flaxen strands of her hair, making it look like pale spun silk.
Ryan frowned as he immediately thought of how that hair felt between his fingertips or splayed across his chest.
“Maybe if I see the room where I was going to stay I’ll remember something,” Britta said.
“Of course,” Hazel replied.
Ryan followed as Hazel led Britta down a hallway. He could use a healthy dose of amnesia himself. He wanted to forget every moment that he’d spent with Britta in his arms, with her warm body against his.
The room Hazel led them to was at the back of the house. It was a small but attractive room done in shades of rose and pinks. An oak-framed double bed was neatly made up with a ruffled flowered spread. A doorway led to a small adjoining bath.
“The last time I saw you we had a nice cup of tea and visited for a little while, then I brought you in here. You told me good night and I thought you went to bed,” Hazel said as Britta walked around the room.
She ran her hand across the top of the polished oak dresser, a small frown tugging her eyebrows closer together over the bridge of her nose.
A small shake of her head let Ryan know the room hadn’t jogged her memory. Britta looked at the plump innkeeper. “And you didn’t see me leave this room that night?”
“No. But obviously you did. You weren’t here the next morning when I came to get you. You were supposed to begin work at seven, and when you didn’t show up in the kitchen for your daily assignment, I came here looking for you.”
Hazel worried her hands together, as if she didn’t quite know what to do. She looked first at Ryan, then at Britta. “I knocked and knocked at the door but there was no answer so I used my master key to come in. Your suitcase was on the floor where you’d set it the night before, and it was obvious the bed hadn’t been slept in.”
“Thanks for letting us see the room,” Ryan replied as Britta drifted to the window and peered outside. Her shoulders stiffened and she whirled around to look at him, her eyes shining bright.
“Thank you,” she said to Hazel. “We need to go,” she said to Ryan, a thrumming urgency in her voice.
They returned to the entry, where Ryan grabbed her suitcase as Britta headed for the front door. They stepped outside. “Britta,” he yelled as she took off at a run, disappearing around the side of the old mansion.
Ryan cursed, dropped the suitcase and ran after her. He caught up to her in a gazebo that was surrounded by rose gardens.
“Dammit, Britta, what do you think you’re doing taking off like that?” he exclaimed.
She turned to face him, her body vibrating with energy. “I was here.” The words were barely a whisper, as if she feared the sound of her own voice might shatter the memory working its way through her head.
Ryan said nothing as she whirled around with her back to him. “I was here,” she repeated. “I remember seeing the gazebo from my window, and it looked so beautiful. There was some fog around the base that made it look as if it was magical, as if it had sprung from a cloud.”
She grasped the wooden railing tightly, her knuckles turning white. “It was getting dark, but the night was warm so I left my room, locked the door and came out here to think, to get myself together for my new life and my new identity.”
She looked fragile, her slender body silhouetted against the wood. As he watched she reached up and grasped a strand of her hair and began to twist it around and around her finger.
“I was standing here and I heard a noise.” She whirled around to face him, her blue eyes wide with fear, and for a moment he knew she wasn’t seeing him, but was looking at a vision in her head.
“It’s gone,” she said, her voice holding a touch of bitterness. “I almost remembered, but it’s gone now.”
He jammed his hands into his pockets to keep them from reaching for her. She looked as if she needed the support of his strong arms, but the last thing he needed was to have her in his arms.
She straightened her shoulders and the pale blue of her eyes intensified. “I will remember,” she said vehemently. She stalked out of the gazebo and headed back toward the car. Ryan pulled his hands out of his pocket and followed closely behind. It had been the combination of her vulnerability coupled with her core of steel that had initially drawn him to her.
He picked up the suitcase he’d dropped and stowed it in the trunk of the car. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.
“The police department.” He pointed across the town square to the building that housed not only the police but also city hall. “We’ll talk to Patrick Swanson, then find someplace nice to have lunch.” It was a concession on his part, and he realized it was an attempt to lift the dark shadows of disappointment that had appeared in her eyes.
They had just crossed the street and reached the sidewalk on the other side when a loud boom split the air. Gunfire. Adrenaline surged inside Ryan, and he threw himself at Britta, tackling her to the ground and covering her body with his own as he pulled his gun.
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Chapter Seven
Britta was aware of every point of contact her body had with Ryan’s. She’d heard the boom, but hadn’t had time to process what it might mean until he was on top of her.
His head was raised, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he searched the area. His body was tense against hers as seconds ticked by. “Was that a gunshot?” she finally asked, trying to still the panic that tried to take hold of her.
The whole thing was surreal. One minute they’d been walking along and the next she was on the ground because it was possible somebody had shot at her.
“I’m not sure,” he replied. “It sounded like it, but lots of things can sound like a gun firing.”
She turned her head and saw a couple walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. They appeared unaware of any danger, and she felt Ryan’s muscles begin to relax.
“I think it’s okay,” he finally said. “Maybe it was a car backfiring or a noise from the docks.” He looked down at her, his gaze still sharp. “I’m going to get up. You stay on the ground until I tell you it’s okay.”
She nodded and held her breath as he rose to a crouch, then straightened all the way. He continued to scan the area for another couple of minutes and then held out a hand to help her up.
She grabbed his hand and he pulled her tight against him, as if to shield her from any danger. Nothing happened. “Let’s go,” he said, but didn’t remove his arm from around her shoulder.
As they walked toward the police station building he kept her firmly against his side, although he tucked his gun away. Britta wasn’t sure whether it was the fact that there were other people out on the streets or if it was that Ryan’s body almost surrounded her, but she felt safe and protected.
Once again she had the feeling of familiarity, as if she’d been in his arms a hundred times before. She loved the way he smelled, and while she knew she should be worried it was possible that just moments before somebody had taken a potshot at them, she felt completely protected walking next to him.
With the Material Witness in the Safehouse Page 7