STOLEN MEMORY

by Virginia Kantra

  A corner of Denko's mouth lifted in a near smile. "Are you reassuring me that you are not shadowing this investigation, or are you telling me politely to butt out of your private life?"

  He was a good boss, Laura thought, her charade burning like an ulcer in her gut. He was giving her the chance to come clean. She owed him her best work and her loyalty.

  But she felt a responsibility to her father, too. She'd given her promise to Simon. And she still hadn't figured out what she owed herself.

  "He's throwing a party Saturday night," she blurted out. "He asked me to be his hostess."

  "A party." Denko sat back, regarding her. "Do you know if he's made extra security arrangements?"

  "Well." Laura cleared her throat; attempted a smile. "There's me."

  "Ah."

  He let the silence stretch a moment longer. A bead of sweat trailed down Laura's spine.

  "That should keep you out of trouble," Denko said finally. "Have a nice time."

  "Thank you, sir," she said, and escaped.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  She must have been out of her mind.

  Standing like a princess on the balcony of Simon's personal castle, Laura touched her elbow to her waist, seeking the reassuring pressure of her gun. Except she wasn't wearing her gun. She was wearing a strapless sheath of lavender silk that had cost her three hours of searching and two weeks' pay, a bra that resembled a medieval torture device and sandals she couldn't run in. She'd even done girlie stuff to her face and hair. She felt self-conscious, half naked and utterly ridiculous. She'd spent her last date knocking down pins at the Thunder Bowl and beers at the Blue Moon. She couldn't remember the time or the man before that.

  She took a deep breath of cool night air, making the top of her dress swell alarmingly, and exhaled on a sigh.

  Below her, the boat ferrying guests from the marina bumped gently against the dock. A full bar was set up at the bottom of the walk beside golf carts waiting to transport Simon's guests to the house. A guitarist played under trees strung with fairy lights. The bright notes drifted up the hill, blending with the jazz trio playing her grandmother's music inside. The whole effect was elegant, extravagant … and intimidating as hell.

  Lights bobbed and swayed on the water. She heard the whir of golf carts, the laughter of guests as they started up the hill, and something close to envy stirred in her heart.

  She didn't want what they had, she told herself. Not their money or position, not their careless confidence or connections. But standing here between the moon and the fairy lights, in her slipping dress and uncomfortable shoes, stripped of her shield and her gun, she yearned for … something. Longed for something that sparkled just beyond the reach of her imagination, as beautiful and unattainable as the moonlight on the water.

  "I thought I saw you come out here," Simon said behind her.

  She turned, and caught the full force of him like a punch in the stomach: the hard planes of his face, the spare lines of his body, the cool flash of his eyes. He took her breath away. She saw stars.

  It was the setting, she told herself. It was the suit. He looked good really in a monkey suit, like some movie star, austere and handsome in black and white. He was carrying two flutes of champagne—not the plastic kind where the bottom came off, either—and looked perfectly at home.

  He was home. She was the one who was out of her element. Over her head.

  She couldn't call herself a detective tonight. She couldn't call herself Simon's girlfriend, either. She was floundering in both roles, as uncomfortable with her charade as her shoes.

  It was harder for Simon, she reminded herself. At least she knew her lines. He had to play himself without any script at all.

  He handed her the sparkly wine and then touched his glass to hers. Acting, she thought with a little pang. If he never regained his memory and lost his career as a Tech God, he could make a fortune in the movies.

  "Laura, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine," he said, gesturing to someone standing beside him.

  That was her cue. He needed to know his friend's name. And she hadn't even noticed the guy. It was time she got over herself and concentrated on her job.

  Transferring her glass, she stuck out her right hand. "Laura Baker."

  Simon's companion pumped her arm a few times, making her bodice jiggle. "Bill Anderson."

  Laura kept her smile in place. This whole gig was her idea. Her chance to ask questions without arousing suspicion. Her opening to dig discreetly into the motives and alibis, the organization and personalities behind Simon's corporation. "How do you know Simon, Mr. Anderson?"

  "Call me Bill," he invited. "I'm working with Simon here on his muscular tetanization device."

  Laura blinked. "His what?"

  "You can use radiation to create a charge identical to the electrical impulses the brain uses to contract muscle tissue," Simon said quietly. "At the right frequency, the current stimulates the muscle fibers to a single sustained contraction. Tetanization."

  She looked at him blankly.

  "Temporary paralysis," he said.

  "Phasers on stun," Bill added helpfully. "Like on Star Trek."

  He wasn't kidding. Was he kidding?

  "I guess it beats pepper spray," Laura said.

  Bill chuckled as if she'd made a joke. "Indeed it does."

  "Laura is in law enforcement," Simon said. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn there was a note of pride in his voice.

  "Really?" Bill eyed her speculatively. "You'll have to talk Simon into letting you test the prototype, then."

  "Yeah, next time I have to wrestle a three-hundred-pound drunk into the back of a squad car, I'm absolutely going to give him a call," Laura said.

  Bill laughed. They stood around making business noises for a while before the other man excused himself.

  Laura waited until he disappeared through the crowd before she turned to Simon. "Was he making that stuff up? About the, you know, phaser thing?"

  "It's in development. For the Pentagon's Joint Non-Lethal Weapons Program."

  Had she felt intimidated before? It was nothing to the way she felt now. He really was the Wizard King, and she was just Cinderella in too-tight shoes and a bodice that kept slipping.

  "Jeez," she muttered. "I guess that explains why you're not so interested in making jewelry."

  "The two projects aren't as far removed as you might think," Simon said. "They just utilize different lasing mediums. The solid state lasers use rubies. The MTD uses ionized channels in the air."

  "You know, I don't mind playing dumb," Laura said to her champagne glass. "But I hate feeling stupid."

  Simon frowned. "You're not stupid."

  "I dropped out of high school."

  "After your father kicked you out, I don't imagine you had much choice."

  "Not much." But she didn't make apologies for it, and she didn't make excuses.

  "So you earned your G.E.D.," he guessed.

  She had, spending her days on her feet behind a cash register at the Jewel grocery store, spending her evenings hunched over her books on the scarred kitchen table, spending every waking hour struggling to keep her dingy apartment spotless and her reluctant young husband happy.

  She shrugged. "Big deal. I bet you graduated at the top of your class."

  "As you say, big deal." He kept those cool, observant eyes on her face. "Where did you go to college?"

  "I went to night school."

  "But you got your degree."

  She nodded.

  "I didn't finish college," he said.

  "You didn't finish MIT. That's a little different from Lakeside Community College."

  He looked down his long, straight nose at her. "I never realized you were a snob."

  Indignation made her snap. "I'm not. I'm just saying, we're different."

  "You're right. We are. You've had to work a lot harder to get where you are."

  She felt a warm
glow in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with alcohol. She'd barely touched her champagne.

  "I'm going to have a tough time resenting your superior intelligence if you start acting all nice," she said crossly. "Knock it off."

  "I have a tough time not saying nice things when you so obviously deserve them."

  She was flattered and trying hard not to show it. "Oh, please."

  "It's true. You're dedicated. Determined. Sharp. Good with people." With a single finger, he traced a line along her bare shoulder. She shivered. "And I like your dress."

  The warmth in his eyes embarrassed her. She tugged on her bodice. "I feel like I'm working vice."

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Undercover?"

  "Under covered is more like it."

  He laughed, and the tightness in her stomach eased. "You look beautiful," he said.

  She opened her mouth, prepared to make another wiseass comment. She met his gaze and the words died. His eyes darkened. Her blood drummed in her ears. The moment stretched between them like a thread woven of music and spun with stars.

  This, her heart whispered. This was what she wanted.

  "Necking on the balcony, big brother? That is so unlike you."

  Simon's brows snapped together in annoyance. "Dylan."

  He strolled through the French doors, his blond hair silver in the moonlight, looking like the answer to every maiden's prayer. Laura wished he'd jump off the balcony.

  "What are you doing here?" Simon asked.

  "I was invited. Hi, Laura. Nice dress."

  She struggled to get her breath, her balance, her composure back. "So your brother was telling me."

  Dylan looked interested. "Did I butt in on a romantic moment?"

  "Yes," Simon said. "Go away."

  This was not what she was here for, Laura told herself. She should be glad Dylan interrupted them before she made another mistake. "Not really."

  He grinned. "Maybe you need pointers on your technique," he said to Simon. "Come have a drink with me, darling," he invited Laura. "There are some things I do better than Simon."

  Laura stole a glance at Simon. His face was a polite mask. His shoulders were rigid. He wouldn't object if she disappeared with Dylan for half an hour to pump him for information.

  And she couldn't do it. She simply could not ditch Simon for his charming younger brother.

  "His technique is fine," she snapped. "Yours could use a little work."

  "I like her," Dylan said. "Definitely not a Stepford. Can we keep her?"

  Simon stopped looking frozen and merely looked grim. "Don't you have someplace else you have to be?"

  "Nope," Dylan said cheerfully. "I'm avoiding Mia. She's here with that bastard Macon."

  "Who's Macon?" Laura asked so Simon wouldn't have to.

  But he surprised her by answering. "Vince Macon. Big shareholder."

  "Which means of course that his opinions are very important to us," Dylan said.

  Bad blood there, Laura thought. Which was good. Maybe she'd find out something tonight after all. "Which opinions in particular are we talking about?"

  "Simon!" The woman's voice, rich and modulated, reached across the balcony.

  Dylan winced and Simon stiffened. In that instant, they looked more like brothers than they ever had before. Shoulder to shoulder, they turned to face a common foe.

  Mia.

  Instinctively Laura moved to protect them. It was ridiculous. They were grown men. But they hadn't always been, and Laura's heart ached a little for the boys they'd once been.

  Mia glided toward them, a vision in red, flaunting her still firm body and a fortune in glittering stones around her neck.

  "I should have known I'd find you in a corner. He always did hide at parties," she said to the distinguished gray-haired man beside her. "So awkward."

  "Hello, Mia," Simon said quietly. His gaze flicked to her escort.

  Laura squared her shoulders. She figured she could take out Mia in about thirty seconds, no phaser required. But Simon needed a different kind of protection tonight.

  "Laura Baker," she said, offering her hand to the gray-haired guy, ruddy and confident in his tux. "It was so nice of you to come."

  "Vince Macon," he said heartily. "I've heard a lot about you."

  Her eyes slid to Mia, watching them with poorly concealed dislike. I'll just bet, Laura thought.

  "That's so sweet," she said. "I've heard about you, too."

  "Easy, Stepford," Dylan murmured. "Don't overdo it."

  "Dylan." Mia exposed all her teeth when she smiled, like a cat. She looked pointedly at the glass in his hand. "Still sponging off your brother, I see."

  He raised his drink in salute. "At least I work for the money he gives me. Love your necklace. Who paid for it?"

  "This?" Mia's hand fluttered to her throat. Her smile widened. "A gift from a friend."

  Laura took a closer look at the necklace. Some cop's sense clicked in her brain, like the sound of a door being closed down the hall. "Are those rubies?"

  Mia preened. "Aren't they beautiful?"

  "Beautiful," Laura agreed. "Are they real?"

  Mia gaped. "Excuse me?"

  "I'm sorry," Laura said, pretending confusion. "I just thought since Simon's company makes, you know, synthetic gemstones—"

  "Only as a by-product," Vince said. "Simon's laser research is too important to divert resources to an unprofitable sideline. It's a waste of time and money."

  "Actually," Simon said slowly, "it doesn't take much time. Even with the slow growth method, the entire process doesn't take more than a few weeks."

  Dylan lowered his glass to stare at his brother. "But you said—"

  "The formula can be duplicated," Simon said. "The technology already exists. We can explore our options without it costing us anything."

  Wait a minute. The stones were gone. Stolen. What was he trying to do?

  "Vulcan Gemstones is still interested," Dylan said. "I can reschedule—"

  "Not yet," Simon said.

  Vince shook his head. "I hope you know what you're doing."

  Simon smiled faintly. "So do I."

  Laura waited until they'd all disappeared toward the music and lights inside before she rounded on Simon. "What was that about?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "You said you wanted to bring together a specially chosen group of people and observe them in a controlled environment."

  She remembered. "Like lab rats."

  "Exactly."

  "So?"

  "So." He smiled. "I just reset the trap for you."

  Her heart thumped and then sank. She scowled. "Using yourself as bait."

  "Using the rubies as bait."

  "I don't like it. It puts you at risk."

  Simon shrugged. "Until we know who's responsible for the breach in my company's security, I'm at risk anyway. That's why you wanted this party."

  "That was before," Laura said tersely.

  Simon looked at her, slim and straight and shining like a blade in the moonlight, and lost his train of thought.

  "Before what?"

  "Before I…" She hesitated. "Knew you."

  His mouth dried. Was that "know" as in, "tell me about your lousy childhood and I'll tell you about mine"? Or "know" as in, "let's get up close and naked"? Because if it was—please, God—the second, then she could get to know him better. Much, much better. They could…

  Simon reined in his imagination. He needed data before he jumped to conclusions.

  He cleared his throat. "Why would that make a difference?"

  "Because now it's personal."

  "Personal is not a problem for me," he assured her.

  She cocked her head. "No?"

  "All right, yes," he admitted, annoyed. "Obviously I suck at relationships. I don't have close ties to any of these people. I have no friends. My brother and I barely get along. I loathe my stepmother. But I'm trying, with you. You could consider cutting me some slack."

  Her mouth dr
opped open. Closed. Opened again. "I didn't mean … I wasn't talking about your interpersonal skills, for God's sake. I'm talking about your safety. I don't want you to get hurt."

  She was worried about him. He was touched.

  And he didn't want to lose her sweet concern. He didn't want to lose her. The fear that he might troubled him more than any physical threat. Without Laura, he was alone in the sterile chill of his lab, in the isolation of his cheerless, colorless house, in the darkness of his own mind.

  But he couldn't tell her so. He was perilously close to whining already.

  "Then you'll have to take care of me, won't you?" he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. "I can't take care of you if I'm…"

  Horizontal?

  Naked?

  "…distracted," she said.

  She was right. And he didn't give a damn. He wanted to hold her, keep her, bind her to him by any means necessary.

  Sex, for example. Sex would be good. In fact, since Laura wouldn't let him buy her amazing loyalty with money, sex was probably his best option.

  Lucky for him.

  He took a step closer, close enough to smell her soap and skin and perfume, the scent subtle and a little spicy. It swam in his head. Removing the champagne flute from her fingers, he set it on a nearby table. "Am I distracting you?"

  She moistened her lips nervously. But she didn't back down. Or back away. "You know you are."

  "Good." He threaded his fingers through her hair, his touch deliberately light. The strands shone like liquid mercury and slipped like water through his hands.

  She looked up at him, her eyes huge and dark, her angular face soft in the moonlight. "I'm serious."

  "So am I," he said, and covered her mouth with his.

  Her lips were slick and soft. She parted them, touching her tongue to his, kissing him back without caution or pretense, as direct in her desire as in everything else. She tasted sweet, delicious, like sex and champagne, and the combination of her hot, lush mouth and her cool, slim body sent him over the edge. His mind blanked with lust. His body burned.

  Cupping her head, he stepped into her, easing one foot between her high-heeled sandals, thrusting his leg between her thighs. She trembled against him as he slanted his mouth, taking the kiss deeper.