“Apparently, I know how to cook.” Libby smiled. It was a big smile, full of happiness.
He was glad that something so routine made her happy. “What are we having?”
“Potato soup with cheese and some of that leftover bacon. Oh, and garlic toast.”
He was impressed. “How did you fix the soup?”
“I peeled and boiled potatoes. When they were soft, I drained them and added some milk, then mashed them up a little bit in the pot with more milk and butter and some flour. I also added some dried herbs. We don’t have any green onions, unfortunately. But I’ll sprinkle cheese on the top along with crumbled bacon.”
“Sounds really good.” Especially after spending time outside in the cold.
“Is everything okay?” she asked as she dipped a spoon into the soup to taste it.
“We’ve got plenty of wood and the generator is operational. It’s not automatic, so if the power goes out I’ll have to start it. But there’s extra gas so we should be good.”
“The power flickered again, but not for long. Maybe it’ll be okay.”
If they were in town, it would be. But up on the mountain he wasn’t so sure. That’s why there was a generator. “Maybe so. When can we eat?”
“Five minutes. I just need to pop the toast into the oven.”
He went around the island to help her. While moving around was good for loosening the muscles, he didn’t want her to overdo it. She moved slowly enough that he reached the baking sheet before she did. “I got it. You get the soup.”
“Thank you.”
He waited for the broiler to turn the toast brown, then removed the baking sheet and put the toast on a saucer she’d set out. She was ladling soup into bowls. She’d managed to set out placemats and napkins at the bar. It was oddly domestic, and not something he was used to these days. He didn’t set out placemats or napkins at home, and he never invited anyone over for a meal. Not yet anyway. He’d only been in the house for a few months now, but once summer arrived, he might do a cook out.
He set the saucer with the garlic bread between the mats and waited so he could place the bowls for her. Her arms weren’t long enough to reach across the island like his were.
She sprinkled cheese on top and followed that up with the bacon she’d crumbled. “I think this is gonna be good.”
He grabbed the bowls. “You go sit and I’ll take care of this.”
She did as he told her, hobbling around the island to pull out a bar stool and climb onto it. When they were seated, he dipped his spoon in and took a bite. “Guess you can cook.”
Libby looked ridiculously pleased with herself. He liked the way her eyes lit up at the compliment. Her skin wasn’t the pale mask of last night, but warm and glowing with life. The bandages were small where they covered her cuts and the bruising on her face was minimal. He’d been relieved to see that this morning. Whatever had happened, nobody’d punched her there. That didn’t mean she hadn’t been abused though. His dad had gotten good at hiding the evidence whenever he’d hit Jared or his mother. He’d slap faces and punch stomachs, or he’d pinch flesh hard enough to bruise.
Still, Libby didn’t strike him as someone who’d been regularly beaten up. Even without her memory, she didn’t behave the way he would expect her to if she had been. She didn’t flinch or jump or look at him with wary eyes. The one time she’d been wary was when the snowmobiles were approaching. Since they’d gone, she was back to being mostly cheerful.
“I don’t know what made me decide potato soup was the thing to do, but I knew all the steps. I never doubted myself.”
“Good thing. Soup is perfect on a cold day.”
“I thought it sounded better than a sandwich. Not that your sandwich last night wasn’t perfect because it was,” she added.
“It was a sandwich, Libby. You don’t have to worry I’m gonna be offended if you say your soup is better. It is better.”
She swirled her spoon before taking another bite. “You said you were born in Germany. May I ask where?”
“Landstuhl. It’s the big American hospital near Ramstein Air Base.”
“I’ve heard of that. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Germany. I mean I guess I don’t really know, but I feel like it’s somewhere I’d like to see if I haven’t already.”
“I don’t remember living there. We moved back to the US when I was two. But I’ve been a few times as an adult. I like it.”
“I guess you never learned German then, huh?”
“Not true. I took it in high school, and I went TDY there a few times when I was in the Air Force.”
Libby blinked. “You were in the Air Force?”
Jared sighed inwardly. He didn’t usually like talking about himself, because it tended to reopen old wounds, but it wasn’t easy to have a conversation with a woman who knew nothing about her own life. “Yeah, I was. It’s where I learned to be a combat medic.”
“But you aren’t in the Air Force now?”
“No. I work for an international agency that specializes in protective services.” That was the official version. The unofficial version was that Ian Black’s organization worked to protect far more than individual clients. They were crusaders for justice and peace in a chaotic and unpredictable world.
She looked confused. “Protective services? Like bodyguards?”
“Precisely.”
“And you work as a combat medic?”
“That’s right.”
“That doesn’t really sound right, you know.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Do you work for the CIA? Are you a spy?”
“Do you really think you should be asking me these questions?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before.”
“But you don’t really know.”
She made a face. “I guess I don’t. I’m sorry to ask so many questions.”
“It’s not like you’ve got answers to mine.”
“No, not really.” Her brows drew together. “I’ve been trying to remember things. I see a woman sometimes. She’s older, with hair like mine, and she’s always telling me to behave myself. She seems exasperated with me a lot of the time.”
“Who do you think it is?”
“I think it’s my mother.”
“Could be. Can you remember anything else?”
She concentrated. “A tractor. A man in overalls. Chickens and pigs and fields filled with tall green plants that sway in the breeze.”
“What kind of plants?”
“Corn maybe. Or soybeans, though I don’t think those get tall. I’m not sure. It’s a farm, though. Definitely a farm. I see myself going into a henhouse to gather eggs and coming out with a basketful. It’s like an Easter egg hunt, only the eggs are found in boxes filled with straw. They’re warm too.” She put a palm to her forehead, then dropped it and shook her head. “I wish I could remember.”
Jared put his hand on hers and squeezed. Her skin was warm and soft. He had an urge to trace his fingers up her wrist to her elbow, but he didn’t do it. He pulled back instead. “You will, Libby.”
Her breathing seemed a little off, or maybe he was imagining it.
“I don’t know how you can be so sure.”
“I just am.”
They finished the soup and Jared washed the dishes. He made Libby sit down. She didn’t go to the living room, however. She stayed and watched him, keeping up a running conversation the whole time.
Damn but she liked to talk. He had to admit it was a pretty amazing feat considering she didn’t know much about her life yet. She was relegated to the past few hours, her vague memories of a farm, and War and Peace. None of that slowed her much. She hadn’t gotten far in the book, but she had plenty to say about it.
He actually kind of enjoyed it, once he let himself just listen and didn’t try to say much in response. He was accustomed to measuring his words, thinking about what he said. But Libby just said whatever was on her mind. And she r
eally was a cheerful person. Her thoughts weren’t focused on the negative. He envied her for that. He wasn’t a negative person, but it was his job to consider all the bad things that could happen. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be prepared.
“What do you think?” she finally asked.
Those words jerked him out of his stupor. “About what?”
“The book. Tolstoy.”
“I haven’t read it yet.”
Her eyes bugged. “Oh my god, you gave me a book you haven’t read? What if it sucks?”
“Does it?”
“It might. I’m not sure yet.”
Jared wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. “So keep reading and let me know if it sucks. If so, I’ll avoid it.”
He wouldn’t because he had a thing about reading the classics. His mom had been a literature major in college before she’d dropped out and married his dad. She’d always talked about the classics like they were the holy grail, though when he’d been growing up she’d mostly read historical romance novels because she said they were happy books. God knew she’d needed happy books. These days he read the classics for her since she’d missed out on so many.
She’d had to work two—sometimes three—jobs to make ends meet once his dad left them. She’d rarely gotten to read then. She’d never complained, though. Three jobs were preferable to a man with a temper who knocked you around.
“Ha, I don’t think so, mister,” Libby said. “I’m going to tell you it’s fabulous no matter what now.”
He shook out the towel he’d been drying dishes with and hung it on the dishwasher handle. He pressed his palms to the countertop, leaning toward her. “You would, huh?”
He didn’t know if she licked her lower lip on purpose or what but the sight of her pink tongue did things to his groin. What the fuck?
“I would. Will. It’s the greatest piece of literature I’ve ever read,” she intoned snootily.
Then she laughed and Jared laughed with her. Damn, he was liking this girl.
She made a face.
“What?”
“I feel cooped up with the curtains closed.”
“So do I, but it’s better this way.” His phone pinged with a text. He glanced at it.
Ian: Found 8 Libertys in the metro area, none in the vicinity of your cabin. Tracing them now. How’s it going? She remember anything else?
“Gotta answer this,” Jared said, holding up his phone.
“I’ll go read. Unless you think the satellite is back.”
“You can try but I doubt it.”
She wandered over to one of the couches and curled her legs beneath her before trying the TV. Nothing but a black screen. She dropped the remote and picked up the book with a long-suffering sigh. He stifled another laugh.
“Drama queen,” he teased.
“I thought you had to reply to your text?” She managed to say the words with a haughty look, but he didn’t take her seriously. She was still being silly, making him want to laugh more than he had in a long time.
“Doing it now.” He typed out a reply. Nothing of importance. Thinks she grew up on a farm. Possibly a corn or soybean farm, though they had livestock too.
That was pretty basic stuff to describe the woman in front of him. Nothing about how funny she was, or how she managed to brighten the room with her sunny disposition. Damn, he was going soft if he was thinking about sunny dispositions.
Ian: Everything helps. How’s the weather up there?
Jared: Sucks. Satellite’s out. We have wood and a generator with plenty of gas. Plenty of food. Expect to lose phone service if it keeps up.
Ian: Sorry about that. Reports say it’s going to keep coming down, especially in the mountains. Expecting two feet when it’s all said and done. There’s a chance the storm will move out before it gets that bad, but they don’t really know yet.
Jared closed his eyes. Great, he typed.
Ian: Snowmobiles come back?
Jared had told Ian about the two men and his feeling they weren’t hunters. They weren’t necessarily looking for Libby. Could be drug dealers. Cooking meth in hidden places like these woods was nothing new. They’d be suspicious of strangers they encountered, and they’d want to know what kind of plans those strangers had as well. Jared might be in a rental cabin, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone around these parts who wouldn’t want him getting too nosy.
No. Nothing. Maybe they found what they were after.
Ian: Maybe. I’m afraid you’re on your own until this shit stops. Could be one day or several.
Ordinarily, he wouldn’t care. Being alone in the woods for a few days had been the plan, after all. But now he wasn’t alone. He was with a woman he knew next to nothing about. A woman who probably couldn’t keep her mouth shut if you paid her. Or not for long anyway.
There was a way to shut that mouth—put something in it.
Except that was totally off the table because, again, he knew nothing about her. She was cute and funny, but what if she went into psycho stalker mode like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction if he kissed her?
Ian: Keep in touch. I’ll text you when we narrow the Libertys. Ping me once an hour so I know if you still have signal. If you disappear, I’ll have Dax get to work on the cell towers.
Jared: Roger that. Thanks, boss.
Ian: I always take care of my own.
Much appreciated, Jared replied.
That was the reason he would work at Black Defense International until he either retired or died. BDI was his family. The only family he had left these days. The only family he needed—even if he sometimes wished for more.
Chapter Seven
“Here, put these socks on.”
Libby looked up from the book—she’d been reading the same paragraph for the past twenty minutes because she kept dozing off—to find Jared standing over her, holding out a pair of long socks.
“Okay. Why?” She took the socks and dropped the book to the cushion.
“Your ankles are exposed.”
Libby arched a brow. “Are you suffering from some kind of Victorian prudery? Do my ankles disturb you?”
He snorted a laugh. “Not in the least. But it’s cold and I thought you might want to cover up that bit of skin between your yoga pants and your running socks.”
It’s true that her ankles were feeling a little cold. Her pants ended right above the ankle, and her socks were meant not to show over the top of her shoe—which meant that she had a good three inches of skin exposed. She’d had them curled beneath her on the couch, but every time she walked around the cabin, there was a cool breeze on her skin.
She tugged on his big crew socks, uncaring that the heel was somewhere around her achilles tendon, or that they didn’t look particularly fashionable with her yoga pants. Did she care about fashion? She didn’t know, but she suspected she cared about warmth a lot more.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
“You wouldn’t have women’s jeans and a parka hidden anywhere, would you?”
“Nope. Sorry.”
Libby stretched until she regretted it. “Yowch, that’s sore.”
Jared retrieved two Tylenol from his medical kit. “Take these.”
“No more muscle relaxers?”
“I’ll give you one of those at bedtime.”
“Fine.” Libby swallowed the Tylenol with water and leaned back on the couch. “Did your boss have any information about me?”
Jared sat opposite her and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “There are eight women named Liberty in the DC metro area. None have been reported missing yet. He’s tracking it down.”
“You think I came from DC?”
“He doesn’t think you came from around here. No Libertys. Unless you’re mistaken on the name, in which case you could be from anywhere.”
Libby frowned. “Maybe I am mistaken. Why doesn’t my necklace say Liberty? Maybe I’m just plain old Libby. Named after a grandma or someth
ing.”
“Could be. But we’ll go with what we’ve got right now. If that doesn’t turn up anything, we’ll think of another tactic.”
“Sounds methodical.”
“It is. You don’t get anything done by applying a scattershot approach.”
She kind of felt like her life was lived through a scattershot approach, though she didn’t know for sure. “Do you think we’re going to be stuck out here for long?”
“A day or two, maybe. It’s remote, but the main road’s necessary to the local economy. There are usually a few Bubbas with plows on their vehicles. Between them and the transportation department, I think they’ll get it cleared up as soon as the snow stops falling. But we’ve got enough food and fuel. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you always so confident?”
“Yeah, pretty much. That’s a good thing, by the way. When I’m worried, you can worry. Relax.”
She blew out a breath. She felt like maybe she was a worrier by nature, but there was definitely something about a strong man who oozed confidence. “I’ll try.”
Libby looked up at the top windows. All she could see was snow coming down in big fat flakes. It was getting darker now that the afternoon was wearing thin, but the snow fooled you into thinking it was lighter outside than it was.
“Seems like a lot of snow,” she said.
Jared stood and went over to slip one of the curtains to the side so he could peer out. “It’s steady. Nothing to fear.”
When he turned around again, the lights flickered. A second later, they blinked out.
It was a lot darker in the room with the lights out and the curtains closed. Libby shivered. She wasn’t cold, but she didn’t like how it felt to be without power with the snow coming down steadily. Hadn’t she seen documentaries where people froze to death in weather like this? Not to mention she’d been out in it dressed in clothes that wouldn’t keep a mouse warm for long.
Jared grabbed his coat from the hook by the door. “I’ll start the generator.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
Black Knight (A Black's Bandits Novel): HOT Heroes for Hire: Mercenaries Page 5
