by Bonnie Vanak
Or was he pulling a trick to try to get close, get to know her, maybe get something out of her?
The nurse came in, bearing a sheaf of papers. “Doctor’s ready to discharge you, Miss Colton.”
Quinn eyed West. “All right. Let’s do this. Let’s go home.”
Wherever home was.
* * *
Two hours later, West pulled up to a small storefront on Main Street. Dismay filled her. She was hoping for some rambling, big house where she could have plenty of space to herself. And avoid close contact with this man, who seemed determined to stick to her.
“This is it?”
“You live above the store. Got a break in the price from the Larsons for renting both the storefront and the upstairs apartment.” West switched off the engine. “I left Rex upstairs, waiting for you, guarding the place. If anyone tried to break in to plant another bomb, Rex would have him for breakfast.”
Good thinking.
“It looks old,” she murmured, studying the front.
“The historical flair to the building is one reason you liked it. The apartment is quaint, but the kitchen has been fully modernized for your business.”
West Brand knew more about her business, and her home, than she did. Before she could even open the door, he was outside, sprinting around the truck to open it for her. Instead of assisting her out, West scooped her into his arms.
Blinking in stunned amazement, she watched him kick the door shut with a foot. “I’m not an invalid,” she told him, scowling.
“No, but those stairs are steep, so let me be your elevator.”
What did you say to a charming man who insisted on carrying you like a bride? Quinn felt too weary to argue.
Brayden and Shane pulled up behind West, and her brothers opened the door to the shop.
They all walked inside. The big, burly man with the gun at his hip standing near the entrance introduced himself as Tom, an old friend of Brayden’s. He would stand guard over her shop and the apartment during the day, while another man replaced him at night.
Quinn took an appreciative whiff of the air. The faint smell of spices and food teased her appetite, but nothing looked familiar.
Brayden and Shane studied her. “Anything?” Shane asked.
“No.” She frowned. “Please stop staring at me as if I’m a monkey in a circus.”
She pointed to the floor. “Please put me down. I need to see my store. You two—” she pointed to her brothers “—can go upstairs.”
“Bossy,” Shane said, grinning.
“As ever. Guess this means she’s feeling better.” Brayden winked.
“We’ll stay here.” Shane sniffed the air. “Maybe you still have those amazing blueberry muffins around someplace, Quinn.”
After West set her on her feet, Quinn looked around the shop, and then shuffled into the kitchen. Nothing triggered any memories. Her head ached slightly, but thanks to the medicine she took, it wasn’t terrible.
The lack of remembering felt worse.
A white envelope sat on the stainless steel counter near the stove. West picked it up, frowned. “What’s this?”
“I don’t know.” Quinn pressed two fingers to her temple. It was important, she knew, but why? Why hadn’t she opened it?
“There’s no return address.” Lines formed in his brow as he studied the envelope. “Brayden, get in here.”
Her brothers rushed into the kitchen. When West pointed to the envelope, Brayden’s genial manner dropped. Her brother looked equally concerned.
“I don’t understand. What threat is an envelope?” she asked.
“No return address is dangerous, honey. Especially after what happened to you, I’m not taking chances,” West told her.
New worries. “Is it dangerous?”
“Could be. Might even be another explosive.” He set down the envelope carefully, dialed a number on his cell phone.
Minutes later, the Red Ridge bomb squad showed up. “Check her apartment, comb through everything in case Rex missed something,” West instructed.
Waiting on a kitchen stool, Quinn felt exhausted. Suddenly her safe apartment did not feel quite so comfortable anymore.
When the bomb squad left with the envelope, she felt off-kilter. “They really put bombs in envelopes?”
“Anything is possible.” West studied her. “Even a few grams of the right explosive can detonate under the right conditions. And you work in a kitchen with gas burners.”
Upstairs, Brayden opened the door and West carried her inside. He set her down, as if she were made of glass, on a narrow green sofa.
A large black dog came out of the kitchen, tail wagging furiously. He loped toward the sofa.
“Rex, sit,” West ordered.
When he did, she patted Rex’s head. He panted with pleasure, pink tongue lolling out. Tired of being an invalid, Quinn stood and began to explore her home.
There wasn’t much to see. Sizable living room with a sofa and two armchairs, a bookcase and a wide-screen television hanging on one wall. Hallway leading to the one bedroom.
King-size bed, covered with a white comforter embroidered with blue forget-me-nots. A window overlooking the street, with lacy white curtains, and a bureau holding a small wood jewelry box, an alarm clock and some perfume. A desk squeezed into one corner, holding a laptop computer.
Quinn studied the bed, felt West peering over her shoulder. Her nerves tingled. If they were lovers, they surely shared that bed.
Not now.
West headed for the desk. He opened a drawer, withdrew a notebook and set it on the desk.
“In case you wish to take more notes to jog your memory,” he explained.
Instead, she hunted through the drawers, found a checkbook, flipped through the register to see the last rent check. Quinn studied the balance. She knew she must have been an organized businesswoman. There was enough money to cover the rent. Whatever other bills needed to be paid would have to wait.
She wrote another check. She tore it off and handed it to West.
“Can you deliver the rent check to Noel Larson? It’s already late.” Quinn felt her chest tighten. “I don’t want Larson to think I’m not good for it and I’m any more helpless than he saw me in the hospital room.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he promised, folding the paper and slipping it into his wallet.
A bathroom held a shower and a mirrored medicine cabinet filled with lotions, creams and ordinary pain reliever. It looked clean, neat and totally impersonal.
Two toothbrushes were in a holder decorated with a smiling mermaid.
The cabinet below the sink held other items, including a man’s razor, shaving cream and deodorant. Quinn removed the cap, sniffed it. A faint memory clicked.
It smelled a little like West. Masculine, spicy and appealing but not overpowering.
If she wanted proof West had shared her life, surely this was it. Her sense of smell hadn’t been distorted by the bomb blast.
Maybe it could aid recovering her life.
Quinn opened a drawer. Organized, neat, containing extra toothpaste and...
She took a step backward, blinked. Then she reached into the drawer and pulled out a box.
Pregnancy test.
Heart beating fast, she turned it over. Unopened, so she hadn’t used it yet. Was she worried about pregnancy? Joyful and hopeful?
Frustration bit her. If only she could remember!
Quinn tucked the box back into the drawer.
She moved back into the living room, where her brothers hovered. Helicopter family, she thought, rubbing her head.
The bookshelf held several paperbacks and two rows of snow globes. A shaft of sunlight from the nearby window illuminated them like a spotlight. Quinn picked one up. Most were of pretty ballerinas dancing, but thi
s snow globe held a white carousel horse decorated with pink roses. Pink roses adorned the base. She turned it over and wound the key.
Music played. Quinn wrinkled her brow. It was lovely, and she liked the tune, but it did nothing to trigger her dormant memory.
“Theme song from the musical Carousel.” West studied her with his intense, dark gaze. “Your favorite Broadway show. We went to a fair two weeks ago and you insisted on riding the carousel horses. I bought that for you as a gift.”
It was enormously frustrating to know she’d shared experiences with this man, and he’d been there, in her apartment and she didn’t remember any of it.
In the kitchen, plenty of wholesome, organic food had been stocked. She opened another cabinet.
A box of dog biscuits. Rex followed her, sat, his tail wagging.
These weren’t items West had stored for Rex while she was in the hospital. Judging from Rex’s anticipatory look, he was used to her opening this cabinet.
Accustomed to her giving him a dog biscuit.
She opened the box, held out a biscuit. Rex put up a paw.
Quinn fed him the treat. He gulped it down and wagged his tail.
Tears burned in the back of her throat.
The dog knew her. This dog knew her, and she knew him. Obvious from the treats she’d stored in the cabinet, the worn pillow on the kitchen floor, two well-chewed toys on the carpet.
I can’t even remember a dog who shows affection for me.
“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.
Glancing backward into the living room where her brothers paced, she felt West take her hand. “You suffered a horrible injury, Quinn. We’re damn lucky you weren’t killed. It will get better. I promise.”
Somehow she suspected his promise wasn’t a platitude like they’d given her at the hospital. Judging from his determined expression, and his gentle demeanor, West truly did care.
But until she regained a glimmer of who she was, and what she was, Quinn didn’t want to draw close to this man. Everything felt so unfamiliar and strange. And now she’d agreed to let this big, quiet FBI agent stay in her apartment.
The same agent she’d overheard discussing her on the phone, as if she’d done something wrong.
Disappointment showed on his face as she slid her hand away from his.
Her brothers appeared in the kitchen doorway. “We’re taking off,” Brayden announced to her, but his gaze riveted to West. “You need anything, call.”
When they filed out the door, she sat at the tiny kitchen table, staring out the window at the field beyond the building’s back. She’d had an entire life lived here in this home: cooking, cleaning, making love...
And remembered none of it.
West gestured to the stove. “You hungry?”
“No.” It hurt too much to shake her head. “Just thirsty.”
“I’ll make you a cup of tea.” He tilted his head. “Unless you’d rather have coffee.”
“Tea is nice.”
“Later, I’ll cook dinner. Do you remember what you like?”
Quinn narrowed her eyes. Silly question. She barely remembered her name. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought I could rustle you up a nice thick steak with a baked potato instead of those sprouts you adore.”
Rolling her eyes, she thrust out her hands like a traffic cop. “I may be fresh out of the hospital and fresh out of my memory, but I’m not fresh out of my mind. Red meat is bad news.”
West put a hand to his chest and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I tried. Guess you wouldn’t go for a nice bucket of greasy fried chicken, either.”
At her horrified expression, he grinned, a crooked, sexy smile that tugged at her insides. Maybe she didn’t know this man, but he was certainly charming. And cute.
After the water boiled, he fetched her a cup of chai tea, added a dollop of honey. Quinn inhaled the smell, her tension fleeing a little. “Thank you.”
This seemed familiar as well, and soothing.
“I have to get back to work.” West jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “The apartment has been checked and there are security cameras, but I hate leaving you alone. I should call someone to stay with you here in the apartment.”
“No. I already have one guy standing guard. I need to be alone.”
Being alone sounded perfect right now. Maybe quiet time by herself would give her jumbled mind a chance to sort out the details of what had happened to her. Quinn stirred her tea. “I’ll be fine. Think I’ll take a nap after you’re gone. Maybe explore the kitchen.”
“When is your appointment with the therapist?”
He would remember. She’d wanted to forget. “Tomorrow morning. Austin will drive me there.”
West nodded. “I changed the locks, installed an alarm system and double dead bolts. Both up here and down in the store.”
Her thoughts went to Noel Larson. “What about my landlord? He has a key.”
West snorted. “Not anymore. And if he tries to get inside, he’ll have to answer to me and your brothers.”
His quiet, intense manner reminded her she still remained vulnerable to whomever had planted the bomb. The suspect was still out there.
“Unsub,” she murmured.
West raised his dark brows. “You remember.”
Quinn blinked. “I do?”
“Unsub is what we at the FBI term an unidentified suspect. Not many civilians use that word. You learned it from being around me.”
Hmm. Quinn raised her gaze to his. “What else did I learn from you, Agent Brand?”
Staring at her mouth, he compressed his own, as if fighting an urge to kiss her. “A lot of things we can’t do now.” West stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, his gentle touch evoking a shiver of pleasure. “Not until you’ve recuperated. And you learn where the panic button is.”
Panic button for sex? But no, he took her around the apartment, showing her the cameras pointed out the windows overlooking the street. West pointed to the video feed from the desktop computer in her bedroom so she could watch the cameras. One in the upstairs hallway and one inside her shop near the entrance. Rex followed, sitting and watching West as he explained everything.
“I set up the feed on your cell, too.” He showed her the app for accessing the security cameras through the internet.
Emotion clogged her throat. Maybe this FBI agent had talked about her in the hospital, and investigated her, but she couldn’t dismiss his protective nature and caring concern.
She patted Rex’s head. He licked her hand. Quinn rubbed behind his ears, the motion soothing and familiar. Perhaps she’d done this very thing before.
Before her world blew up and she lost all sense of herself.
Lost all sense of him as well, this man she’d promised to marry.
West’s cell phone rang. He answered it, expression tight, and then hung up. “That was the bomb squad. They blew up the envelope. Standard procedure. Didn’t find anything suspicious.”
Quinn sighed. “Maybe it was someone who forgot to put their return address. I hope it wasn’t a check, because from the sound of things, I could use the money.”
“Money’s the last thing you’ll worry about,” he told her. “I will help.”
She walked over to the sofa and sat. “Thanks, but one thing I do know. I’m the sort to handle things on my own. I’ll get back to speed in no time, get this place running and the bills paid.”
Uncertainty clouded his dark eyes. West looked at her, and drew in a deep breath. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? I can find someone to stay with you until my shift is over.”
“I need alone time. I’ll be fine. Go.”
He bent over, bringing his face close to hers as if to kiss her, but she jerked away. Heat flooded her cheeks.
She wasn’t ready f
or this. That previous kiss had been a tease, but here in her apartment, her little sanctuary she’d agreed to share with this man? It seemed like an open invitation to do more and she felt too unsteady and insecure.
Hurt flashed on his face, and then he nodded.
“Call me if you need anything. Or text. I’ll be in meetings most of the morning.” The intense, searing look returned as he studied her. “If you recall anything, anything at all, call me. It’s important.”
Important to you because you’re investigating me? Or important to the investigation? She didn’t want to think about the former, because it scared her more. Scared her to think that West Brand, who professed to love her, only wanted to use her.
Still, he was FBI and seemed protective of her. And there was still a person out there who had killed Tia, and would want her dead, as well.
“If I remember anything important, I’ll text you,” she assured him.
West walked out with Rex. The door locks quietly clicked behind him.
Quinn drank her tea. It soothed her throat and calmed her nerves.
Now she could finally do what she’d itched to do since arriving. Explore.
She went into the bedroom. The dresser was against the wall opposite the windows, and a flat-screen television was mounted on the wall in front of the king-size bed.
She opened the closet. Ordinary enough, with a row of dresses, shirts, pants and stacks of boxes neatly piled atop the wood shelf. Shoes were lined on a rack on the floor.
Quinn combed through her bureau. In the top drawer, buried under a layer of silk panties and lacy bras, she found West’s photo.
If they’d kept their relationship hidden from everyone, Quinn suspected she wouldn’t openly display his photo. Especially if she had family over, and friends visiting.
Quinn studied the portrait. West stared into the camera, unsmiling and serious. His face dictated endless stories.
It was a strong face, a face filled with expressiveness. Quinn could envision him frustrated, knitting his dark brows together, or infuriated, growing red with rage. Tender with desire and passion, and guarded with secrets.
Secrets he would not share with her.
She wondered how his face would look filled with joy, or the sheer wonder of life’s little miracles. Surely there were many. Maybe she couldn’t remember them, but Quinn firmly believed in small, important miracles. Her own survival was one.
