With the Material Witness in the Safehouse

by Carla Cassidy

  When she was about to press her body into his, he grabbed her by the shoulders to hold her at bay. “You’re right,” he conceded. “I want you, but I’m not going to have you again. It ended badly between us before, Britta.”

  The seduction in her eyes transformed to confusion. “What do you mean?”

  He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step backward. This was a conversation he’d hoped to never have with her. “When you finally get your memories back you’re going to remember that you hated me at the end.”

  “Why? Why did I hate you?” She gazed at him intently, as if attempting to peer into his very soul.

  “Because for those months we were together we lived like husband and wife. We laughed together, ate together and slept together every night. We shared a passion for each other and we acted on it again and again and somehow in the course of that time you fell in love with me.” He watched a whisper of pain darken her eyes.

  “And you didn’t fall in love with me?”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets and grinned. “Why, darlin’, haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m just not the lovin’ kind.”

  “Stop that,” she exclaimed with more than a touch of irritation. “Just stop giving me that stupid cowboy act, because I know it’s just an act.”

  He pulled his hands out of his pockets and sighed. “I told you from the very beginning that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but things got out of control between us. You started talking about marriage and babies and a happily-ever-after future, and that’s the last thing I wanted in my life. So I left. I had another agent take over your case and I left you. That’s the truth, Britta, the whole unvarnished truth. And when you eventually get your memories back, you’d only hate me more for taking advantage of you again this time.”

  Her face reflected a million emotions and finally settled on a weary acceptance. “I wish I had those memories now,” she finally said. “Hating you would make everything so much easier.”

  She turned and left the kitchen, and a moment later he heard the sound of her bedroom door closing. He released a weary sigh of his own and went into the living room.

  He flopped down on the sofa but quickly realized he was too restless to sit. Instead he paced the small room, trying not to think about Britta in bed, Britta in his arms, her body joyously yielding to his.

  The scent of her lingered in the air. The bungalow wasn’t big enough for him to escape it. Maybe he’d take a walk, clear his head. Hopefully walk off the desire he had to take back his words, to go into the bedroom and crawl into bed with her.

  He knocked on her bedroom door. She answered wearing the pale blue silk nightgown that displayed every physical asset she possessed. “I’m going out,” he said, trying not to notice the thrust of her breasts against the thin material. “I’ll lock up behind me. You have the cell phone handy?”

  She nodded. “On my nightstand. Will you be gone long?”

  As long as it takes to get you out of my head, he thought. But that would take forever. “No, not long.”

  “Then I’ll just say good-night and I’ll see you in the morning,” she replied. She closed the door, and he stood for a long moment staring at the wood as a new sweep of desire coursed through him.

  He headed for the front door. A headache was trying to take hold in his temples. He stepped out into the night where a faint mist lingered in the air.

  Messy. Personal relationships were always messy. He’d learned that lesson very well from his parents. After living through their hell of a marriage, Ryan had never wanted one of his own.

  Still, he couldn’t help but remember that when they’d been together before and she’d begun to talk about marriage and children, there had been a part of him that had wanted that.

  She knew him better than any woman ever had before, and there had been something magical in having somebody who understood his moods, accepted his faults and still loved him. It was when he found himself yearning not just for her, but also for a little boy or a little girl that he truly got scared and ran.

  She deserved more than he had to give. He’d done the right thing this time by not allowing anything further to develop between them.

  He headed down the street and wondered if his refusal to fall back into a physical relationship with Britta was to save her from more heartache or to save himself?

  ALTHOUGH IT WAS relatively early, Britta crawled beneath the covers on the bed and curled up on her side. She’d been in love with Ryan Burton. She wasn’t surprised by this piece of new knowledge, in fact, what he’d told her explained a lot of things that she’d been feeling.

  From the moment she saw him in the clinic she’d been drawn to him. Somehow, someway her love for him had managed to live inside her heart despite the amnesia that had taken him from her memories.

  And he hadn’t loved her. He’d just been wasting time with her. Odd, that although she couldn’t remember the depth of her love for him at that time, her heart ached with the loss of him.

  She had almost made the same mistake again. She realized she was precariously close to falling in love with him one more time.

  Despite that silly cowboy chauvinist facade he presented, she could have loved the man beneath. She loved his wicked sense of humor, the tenderness that he had shown her when she’d most needed it. There were a million reasons she could love him, and only one why she shouldn’t…he didn’t love her back.

  And yet there had been moments when she’d seen something shining from his eyes, something that had looked suspiciously like love. There had been moments when she’d felt it in the simplest of his touches.

  She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, more confused than she’d ever been. She almost laughed. She had no memory of the past seven months of her life, somebody had abducted her and held her captive for four days and nights while injecting her with a strange drug and all she could think about at the moment was Ryan Burton.

  She tried to summon up the hatred that he insisted she’d feel for him once her memories returned, but it was impossible for her to find any ill feelings for him in her heart.

  Within minutes sleep reached out to her and she gave in to it, hoping that at least in sleep she would find a little peace from all the emotions that crashed inside her.

  She thought it was a dream, the faint scratching sound at the screen, the soft whoosh of a window rising. She stirred and moved her head against the pillow.

  And somebody was on top of her.

  She had no chance to scream as sleep was ripped away and hands reached to grab her by the throat. Terror clutched her as her mind grappled with what was happening.

  She struggled, trying to kick him, but the blankets that she’d pulled up tight to keep her warm now hampered her efforts.

  Big hands grabbed her neck and strangled the scream that she desperately wanted to release. The darkness of the room prevented her from seeing who was on top of her, and his hands squeezed tighter and tighter around her throat.

  His weight was heavy on top of her, and she could hear the sound of his rapid breathing, smell the scent of the outdoors that clung to him.

  Oh, God. The fear screamed inside her as she realized how much trouble she was in. She needed help. Ryan, her mind cried. Ryan, where are you? Somebody please help me.

  She could scarcely think, as the person on top of her continued to tighten his grip around her neck. She punched him in the sides with her fists and twisted her head back and forth in an effort to dislodge his hold on her, but a darkness that had nothing to do with the night edged closer.

  It was like her nightmare about being in the sea. She felt herself sinking, going deep into the depths. For just a moment there was a peaceful sensation of floating, of all her worries and cares drifting away.

  But then she realized she couldn’t breathe and was being held beneath the depths against her will. She could hear the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears as it became impossible to draw a lungful of air. Help me. The wor
ds swirled around in her head.

  Her pummeling of his sides slowed as an exhaustion she’d never felt before overwhelmed her. Her arms and legs were like lead weights, impossible to lift or move.

  Her vision grayed, and someplace in the back of her mind she realized she was going to die. This man was going to kill her by squeezing the air out of her.

  The thought of death shot a new panic through her and with a final tremendous effort she reached up her hand and scratched at the man’s face. As her fingernails found skin she raked as hard as she could.

  The man hissed a curse and loosened his grip on her neck just enough for her to release the scream that had been trapped inside her.

  “Britta?”

  As if she were under water Ryan’s voice sounded very far away. The man on top of her jumped up and crashed out of the open window.

  With a sob Britta sat up just as Ryan burst open the bedroom door and flipped on the light. She pointed to the window. “A man,” she managed to gasp as she grabbed her throat. “He tried to strangle me.”

  Ryan flew back out of the room as Britta rubbed her aching neck and gulped in big breaths of air. If Ryan hadn’t come in when he had, she would be dead. There was no question that the man had intended to squeeze her neck until she was no longer alive. And he’d nearly succeeded.

  On wobbly legs she got up from the bed and pulled her robe around her, then walked over to the window where the screen had been cut away to allow entry. She crashed the window closed and locked it.

  As it banged shut a kaleidoscope of colors and action whirled through her head. Memories cascaded, tumbling one over the other as they presented themselves in her mind.

  She could see herself and Ryan in bed, a navy blanket tossed carelessly to the side as they ate pepperoni pizza after having made love. She saw his head thrown back in laughter, his eyes gleaming with wicked light as he reached for her.

  Scenes of times they’d spent together flashed like a slide show. The two of them together in the shower, at a dining-room table and curled up on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn between them.

  The scenes snapped and crackled in her mind, then the slides changed from Ryan to the Woodlands Hotel in Boston and that fateful night.

  Autumn leaves spread out in colorful array on a marble fireplace mantel. Pumpkins and squash in an artful display. Massive floral arrangements in reds, golds and oranges sprawled across tabletops.

  She walked out of her office, her feet sinking into the lush carpeting. As she entered the large hotel lobby she saw the men standing here and there around the room. Thick tension filled the air. Lights sparked off the barrel of a gun.

  Shots fired. Smoke in the air. Blood. God, so much blood. She hid behind a chair and watched in horror as her little world exploded apart by the violence taking place.

  The young FBI agent with blond hair and blue eyes motioned for her to stay down, then as she watched in horror his chest blossomed crimson and he fell.

  Britta gasped in stunned surprise as in her mind she saw the face of his killer.

  “I couldn’t find anyone.” Ryan spoke from just behind her.

  “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  She turned to face him, a hand at her burning throat. “I remember.”

  He holstered his gun and grabbed her by the arm. “Come away from the window.” He pulled her into the living room and there he looked at her neck, and his eyes narrowed, as he suddenly pulled her to his broad chest and muttered a curse.

  She melted against him, thinking of those seconds when she thought she was going to die. She would never have felt his arms around her again. She would never have had a chance for any kind of future with or without him.

  He took her by the shoulders and gently moved her away from him, his gaze looking at her intently. “Are you sure you’re all right? You want something to drink? Maybe a cool cloth?” He released her altogether, his features taut with tension.

  “No, I’m okay now.” She sank to the sofa, her legs still shaking. He remained standing as if he weren’t quite sure what to do with himself.

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “No, it was too dark in the room. But I’m pretty sure I know who it was.”

  He finally sat next to her. “Who?”

  “Michael Kelly.”

  Ryan stared at her in surprise. “Why would Kelly try to kill you?”

  “Because he’s afraid I’ll remember that he killed that FBI agent in the hotel that night. I remember, Ryan. I remember everything. It all came flashing back just a few minutes ago.”

  He frowned. “Kelly?” he said softly, as if wanting to make certain he’d heard her correctly. “Was it an accident? I mean, in the melee of all the gunfire, did Kelly mistakenly kill the wrong man?”

  She reached up and grabbed her hair and began to twirl it furiously around her finger. “It was no mistake. He pointed his gun right at the agent and pulled the trigger and then he ran away.” She dropped her hand from her hair. “It should be easy to find out if I’m right about him trying to kill me tonight. I scratched his face. I think I scratched it hard enough that the marks should show for at least a couple of days.”

  She dropped her hand and instead entwined her fingers on her lap. “That’s why I didn’t like him when I first met him,” she said. “He gave me a bad feeling, and even though I didn’t specifically remember him, somewhere inside I recognized his evil.”

  Ryan leaned back against the cushion, his astonishment still on his features. “That explains why so many of our sting operations went awry, because somebody was tipping off the boys in the Boston Gentlemen. We knew it had to be somebody on the inside, but nobody ever suspected Kelly.”

  “I’d stand up in a court of law and swear to what I saw that night, and what I saw was Kelly shooting a fellow agent in cold blood.”

  Ryan offered her a tight smile. “You might have to stand up in court and testify once again. What about the missing four days? Do you remember anything about them?”

  “No, nothing about them,” she replied. She rubbed a hand across her still-stinging throat. “Do you think he had something to do with those days?”

  Ryan sat up straight and frowned thoughtfully. “It doesn’t feel right that he did. If he was worried about you identifying him then why would he keep you alive if he’d abducted you? Why would he inject you with the drug? No, he wouldn’t have taken you off someplace. He would have just put a bullet in your head.”

  She scooted closer to him on the sofa. “Do you think maybe it was a gunshot we heard that day as we were walking away from the inn? Do you think maybe he was already in town and tried to kill me then?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice was hard. “But eventually we’ll find out.” He reached out and touched her bruised throat, his features dangerous and his eyes glinting with a hard light. “I could kill him for doing that to you.”

  She pushed his hand away and instead threw herself into his arms as the realization of what she’d just been through hit home. She began to cry.

  He tightened his arms around her, holding tight as the terror of the attack shuttered through her. She hid her face in the hollow of his throat as she thought of those moments when she was certain that death had come to claim her.

  Sobs ripped through her, and he comforted her by stroking down the length of her back, crooning to her in a soft tone. “It’s all going to be okay, Britta,” he said. “I swear to you, everything is going to be just fine.”

  She knew he meant well but it was a lie. Nothing was ever going to be just fine again. For along with the memories of the shoot-out had come the memories of her intense love for the man who held her now.

  And along with the memories of love came the ache and grief at losing him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was a long night. Once Britta stopped crying and calmed down, he got her settled with a blanket on the sofa, where she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  He didn’t want her in the
bedroom out of his view. He didn’t intend to take his eyes off her until Kelly was behind bars. Now that he knew what the man was capable of, his blood ran cold.

  How many times could he assure Britta that everything was going to be all right? How many times could he say the same words to her over and over again before they became just empty promises?

  As she slept soundly, he got on the phone. The first call he made was to Kelly’s cell phone. Ryan didn’t expect the man to answer, and he didn’t. Instead it went directly to voice mail. “Kelly, it’s me, Burton. You aren’t going to believe what just happened here at the bungalow,” Ryan said. “Somebody cut the screen and opened the window and got into Britta’s bedroom. Whoever it was tried to strangle her. It was too dark for Britta to see who it was, and I checked out the area but didn’t see anyone. Anyway, I just thought I’d give you a heads-up. Call me when you get this message. I think maybe whoever had her for those four days tried to get her again tonight.”

  Ryan clicked off. What he hoped was that his message would give Kelly a false sense of safety that would keep him at least for a while not only in town but also at the inn.

  What he’d like to do was hunt the man down and make him pay for the death of their fellow agent, make him pay for what he’d done to Britta.

  Kelly had all the knowledge in the world on how to make a person disappear. Working with the Witness Protection Program was part of his job. He arranged false identities and new lives for people who needed them. There was no reason he couldn’t do it for himself.

  It was important that he be picked up as soon as possible, while he didn’t know that Britta had regained her memory of the shoot-out in Boston, while he thought he was still safe.

  For much of the remainder of the night, Ryan was on the phone, speaking to his superiors, letting them know what had occurred and that Britta had identified one of their own as a rogue agent.

  He had to tell his story half a dozen times, then he requested information as to Agent Kelly’s whereabouts on the days that Britta had gone missing and on the morning that he’d thought they’d dodged a bullet.