There was an explosion coming. He could feel it, the buildup of pressure inside him, the raw aching need to possess her one more time. It had begun the moment he’d seen her in the clinic, and each minute he’d spent with her since then had only increased his desire.
He should have had this case assigned to somebody else, somebody who had no personal feelings for her. But when he’d heard that she was missing, knew that she might be in trouble, he didn’t trust anyone else to do the job as well as he would.
“This damned weather,” he finally said, and turned away from the window with a scowl.
Britta looked up from the paperback book she’d been reading. She’d been unusually quiet this morning. Since she’d gotten back her suitcase, she was in clothes she’d obviously picked because they looked good on her. Today she was clad in a pair of jeans and a pink blouse that complemented her blond coloring.
“Are you sure you don’t remember anything that you haven’t already told me?” he asked as he sat on the sofa next to her.
“You mean, about the four days?”
“What else would I mean?” he asked irritably.
“I thought maybe you might want to know what I remember about the time we spent together in Boston.”
His heart lurched uncomfortably and he eyed her uneasily. “You remember things about that time that you haven’t told me about?”
“Not necessarily remember, but there are some things I just seem to know.”
“Like what?” he asked, his pulse accelerating. Surely she didn’t remember everything that had happened between them, because if she had, she wouldn’t be looking at him now with out rancor, without pain radiating from her eyes.
“I know that you lied to me about our past relationship,” she said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied.
“We didn’t just have a single night of lovemaking. There was more, much more.” Her gaze held his intently. “I remember watching you shave.”
He wanted to look away. He wanted to tell her she was crazy, that whatever memories were making their way to the surface weren’t real. But instead he gave a curt nod of his head. “Okay, we were lovers for a couple of months,” he conceded.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I was afraid I was losing my mind, because I keep getting flashes of you and me together. So why did we stop being lovers?”
“Because we weren’t in love,” he said flatly. “We both knew the score. I’m thirty-six years old, Britta, eleven years older than you. We were thrown together in an unnatural setting and what we had wasn’t real. It was just sex.”
“In the bits and pieces I see in my head it doesn’t feel like just sex,” she replied.
He jumped up from the sofa, wishing the cottage had a hundred rooms so he could get some healthy distance from her. “Just leave it alone, Britta. There are some memories not worth remembering.”
He went into the kitchen and hoped she’d take his advice and try not to remember how things had ended between them. He moved to the window and stared out, wondering if there really was a curse, not just on this place but on him, as well.
Chapter Eight
The rain didn’t bother him as he drove away from Raven’s Cliff. The rhythmic swish of the wipers only served to increase his excitement.
The man couldn’t believe his luck. The day before, if he hadn’t stopped in that restaurant in the little fishing village forty miles from Raven’s Cliff, he would have never known.
As he was eating the special of the day he’d overheard two fishermen talking about the woman that had been pulled from the ocean earlier that morning. A Jane Doe, they’d said. She was badly beaten by the sea and suffering amnesia.
He’d finished the meat loaf and mashed potatoes, his mind whirling with possibilities. Could it be? Was it even possible? His entire body had thrummed with energy as he considered what it all might mean.
He’d left the diner and gone directly to the little hospital located in the tiny village of Ocean Heights. The hospital was hardly more than a clinic, ill-equipped to handle anyone seriously ill. That was fine with him, he’d known it would only work to his advantage if what he suspected was true.
A nurse had taken him in to see their Jane Doe, who had been heavily medicated and sleeping. He’d immediately known who she was and he’d begun the charade that would give him what he wanted most.
Anticipation surged inside him now as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. Initially he hadn’t been sure he could pull it off, but the staff was obviously eager to release Jane Doe into the custody of somebody who would see her transferred to a facility where she could get better care.
He parked, patted his breast pocket where he had all the falsified documentation he would need, then grabbed his umbrella and got out of the car.
The rain pattered down, but how could he mind a little rain when he was on the verge of a stroke of luck that would assure him success?
Inside the hospital the scent of antiseptic and alcohol hung in the air. His feet made barely a sound as he headed toward room 112. “Jane Doe” was in a wheelchair, her head slumped forward as she slept. Her bruised and swollen face was almost unrecognizable. Almost, but not quite.
“There you are,” the nurse greeted him with a bright smile. “We have her all ready to go with you.” She tucked a blanket more closely around the sleeping woman. “We have her fairly well medicated for the trip. She should be comfortable.”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the care you’ve given my daughter,” he said. “She’s my only child, my precious little girl. You know we were sailing and having such a great time and the storm blew up and…” He allowed his voice to crack. “One minute she was on deck and the next minute she was gone. I thought I’d lost her forever.”
“She’s going to need some special care,” the nurse said, keeping her voice low.
“The best,” he replied. “She’s going to get the best care that money can buy. I’ve already arranged for her to go to a private clinic where all her needs can be met until she can come back home to me.”
“Let me get the paperwork you need to sign and we’ll let you both be on your way. I’ll be right back.” She smiled, then whirled out of the room, leaving him alone with the woman in the wheelchair.
It was amazing that she was alive. She’d obviously taken a beating against rocks and driftwood and who knew what else. If her face hadn’t been so swollen and discolored it was possible somebody else might have recognized her and what he was about to do would have been impossible.
But within minutes it would be done and she’d be his. He tamped down his excitement, knowing it wouldn’t do to look too eager to get her out of here.
The nurse returned with the paperwork and went over the doctor’s instructions with him, then he signed the appropriate forms and showed her the false identification he’d prepared.
Within minutes the nurse was wheeling her out into the night where the rain had stopped. It was as if providence was smiling on him as he helped the nurse transfer the patient from the wheelchair into the passenger seat of his car.
She stirred, her eyes opening to stare at him dully as he fastened the seat belt around her. “There you are, my dear,” he said gently for the benefit of the watching nurse.
Once she was settled and safely buckled in, he said his goodbye to the nurse and got into the car with his precious passenger.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to take very good care of you,” he said as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot. He thought of the place he’d already prepared for her, a place where nobody would find her.
The underground cave beneath the old Beacon Manor lighthouse was the perfect place to keep a treasure, and she was his treasure, at least for now.
He glanced over at her and smiled. “Why don’t you try to take a little nap. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”
She nodded and with a small sigh Camille Wells leaned her head bac
k and closed her eyes.
Chapter Nine
Britta and Ryan walked across the town square to the diner for breakfast. Although the clouds were low and heavy looking, no rain had fallen, and they’d finally been able to get out of the cottage.
The night before had been tense and strained after their conversation about their past relationship. Of course, it really hadn’t been a conversation, Britta thought as they entered the diner and he gestured her toward a table in the back of the busy place.
Ryan slid into the chair facing the door and Britta sat opposite him, noting how the young women at the next table eyed him appreciatively.
And why wouldn’t they? Ryan’s buff physique was displayed to perfection by his tight jeans and clinging white T-shirt. The short buzz-cut hair emphasized the chiseled lines and angles of his handsome face. He nodded to them with an affable smile.
The morning had been as tense as the night before. She’d been grateful when he’d suggested breakfast out, anything to alleviate the pulsating energy between them was fine with her.
Somehow she hadn’t been surprised to learn they’d been lovers. What did surprise her was the desire for him that resonated deep inside her. She was acutely aware of him every minute of every day.
Little things that he did stirred the faint whisper of memory from another time. The way he tugged at his chin when in deep thought, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he gave her that devilish grin. She wanted him and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
She now picked up a menu and studied it, consciously shoving thoughts of Ryan and lovemaking away. As she scanned the menu, she absently listened to the lively conversation going on among the women at the table next to them.
“Nobody has seen him since he moved in a couple of weeks ago,” one of the women said. “Jenny at the grocery store said they deliver his groceries and leave them on the front porch and he leaves cash in an envelope there to pay for them.”
“That’s so creepy,” a young busty blonde replied. “I heard he’s a millionaire and that his name is Ingram Jackson. If he’s so rich I can’t imagine why he’s living in that old rundown cottage.”
“I thought the town was supposed to demolish all those old places by the fish-packing plant,” the third woman, a pretty brunette, at the table said.
“At the moment I think the mayor has other things on his mind,” the blonde said, and for the next few minutes the conversation revolved around the tragedy of Camille Wells and her fall from the bluffs.
It was the blonde who took the topic back to the man who had apparently recently moved into town. “Don’t you think it’s weird that nobody has seen him since he moved here?” she asked. “Don’t you think he’d have to leave the house for something? A new shirt or a pair of shoes.”
The brunette laughed. “Not everyone is a shopaholic like you are, Heather.”
“I heard he only goes out at night like some vampire or something,” Heather replied.
“Too weird,” one of them said.
As their conversation turned to a new dress shop that had opened its doors in town, Britta set her menu aside and looked at Ryan, who had apparently been eavesdropping on the conversation, as well.
“Maybe we should check out this recluse later,” he said in a low voice. “If what they said is true, he showed up here just before the time you disappeared.”
A chill washed over Britta at the thought of some creepy man holding her captive for four days and four nights. For what purpose? She hadn’t been sexually abused, thank goodness, and she hadn’t been physically harmed except for the drug that had been injected.
Ingram Jackson. She twisted the unusual name around and around in her head, but no emotion was associated with it. Maybe he hadn’t told her his name. Maybe he’d just been a scary stranger who had taken her captive for whatever purpose.
“While we’re looking for this mystery man, maybe we’ll check around the docks and see what we can stir up,” Ryan said.
The waitress arrived at their table, and they both ordered waffles and bacon. When she’d left the table, Britta cupped her fingers around her coffee mug and looked at Ryan curiously.
There was no question that their conversation from the night before had played in her head as she’d gone to sleep. His admission that they’d been lovers had filled her with an odd sense of relief.
At least she knew she wasn’t going crazy. From the moment she’d seen him sitting in the clinic room she’d had the feeling she’d known him before, that she’d been close to him.
What she didn’t understand was his explanation that they’d been lovers but not in love. Although Britta was hardly a prude, she couldn’t imagine herself being a man’s lover without some kind of love being involved.
She’d only had one other relationship that she remembered, and that had been while she’d been in college. His name had been Jim and they’d been friends for six months and lovers for two. He’d been a nice guy but Britta had realized quickly he wasn’t the man of her dreams.
The women at the table next to them finished their meals and left, taking with them much of the cheerful noise in the place.
Britta would have liked to ask Ryan more about their past relationship but she was tired of the tension between them and so didn’t want to ask him any more questions, at least for now. She just wanted them to enjoy their breakfast out.
“What are your plans when you’re finished here?” she asked.
He shrugged, the gesture tightening his shirt over his broad shoulders. “I go wherever the Bureau sends me.”
“Where’s home base?”
“A small apartment in Boston. But I’m rarely there. It’s mostly just a place to shower and change clothes.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Have you thought about where you’d like to be relocated when this is all over?”
“As far away from Boston as possible,” she replied quickly.
“I don’t ever want to worry about crazy gang members finding me again.”
“According to my source there’s some infighting going on in the gang. Joey McNabb, the head of the Boston Gentlemen, was murdered and his right-hand man was gunned down in an alley. There’s apparently an internal fight for control going on.”
“That can’t hurt my situation, right?”
He smiled, the first genuine smile she’d seen from him in a while. The warmth of that attractive gesture filled her with heat. “That can’t hurt. We always love it when these gangs start to fight and fall apart from the inside out. Makes our work so much easier.”
“Still, your work is so dangerous. Are you ever afraid?”
He smiled again and took a sip of his coffee before answering. “Only fools aren’t afraid, and I’m no fool. Fear is good, it keeps you on your toes.”
The conversation halted as the waitress returned with their orders. As they ate, Britta found herself chattering about the parts of her life she remembered, her work at the hotel, her life with her parents and her devastation when they had died in a car accident.
“We lived a simple life when I was young, but once a month my father would take us to a different hotel to spend the weekend. We’d eat in the hotel and I’d swim in the pool and that’s when I fell in love with the hotel industry and knew when I grew up I wanted to work in one. Forgive me if you’ve heard all this before,” she finally said. “Needless to say I can’t remember what I’ve told you before and what I haven’t.”
“Don’t apologize. I like the sound of your voice. That accent of yours is charming.”
She looked at him in surprise and then laughed. “And I find that Texas drawl of yours totally infuriating because it usually means you’re about to say something ridiculously chauvinistic.” She chewed a bit of her waffle and eyed him thoughtfully. “And I don’t think that’s who you are in the heart,” she added.
He leaned back in his chair. “Why, darlin’, what makes you think I even have a heart,” he retorted with a dark glitter in his eyes.
His smile fell away. “You’re talking nonsense,” he replied in a curt tone, and as usual she saw the shutters that closed down over his eyes. “You ready to go?” he asked.
She wasn’t ready to leave. For just a few minutes as she and Ryan had eaten their breakfast and made pleasant small talk she’d forgotten she had amnesia, she’d forgotten that the only reason he was here with her was because he was her bodyguard. For a little while she’d forgotten that she was nothing more to him than his latest assignment. They had been just a man and a woman sharing a breakfast together.
They were at the register to pay when a familiar man came in. “Dr. Jamison,” Britta said to the man who had taken care of her in the clinic.
The doctor flashed her a tired smile. “Hello, Valerie. How are you doing? Have you gotten over your amnesia?”
“Not completely, but I’m getting flashes of memories here and there. And how are you?”
“Utterly exhausted. I think I’ve seen more patients in the clinic in the past couple of days than I have in the last six months. There’s something nasty going around, but I can’t get a handle on it.”
“Nasty how?” Ryan asked as he stuffed his wallet back into his pocket.
“Mostly dangerously high fevers and unusual rashes. These cases are definitely putting stress on our little clinic. We need more help than we have.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Britta replied. “Well, good luck,” she said as the doctor turned to the waitress to place his order.
“How are we going to find this mystery man,” she asked as they left the diner, her thoughts quickly shifting from mysterious fevers to their goal for the day, Ingram Jackson, the peculiar recluse. “Those women at the table next to ours didn’t mention a specific address.”
With the Material Witness in the Safehouse Page 9