by Alice Sharpe
He turned his head a little to speak, but that brought their mouths within an inch of each other and he forgot what he’d been about to say.
She ran her fingers down his cheek. “Hmm, soft,” she purred. “I like you all clean shaven.”
That was it, that was enough. He moved the fraction of an inch it took to claim her lips, reaching around to clasp her shoulder and urge her around and into his lap.
She came with a sweet thud that made his nerve endings skitter like beads of cold water on a hot rock. His hands traveled up and down her supple body as his tongue teased apart her lips. Her warm weight melting into his lap drove him mad; the wet, hot touch of her tongue entwined with his sent flames shooting through his groin.
He inched his hands under her shirt, her skin so soft it rivaled satin. He kissed her with the longing of lost love and maybe something else, maybe with hope. He cupped her breasts and licked the lace cups of her bra, her moans echoing inside his head.
“Simon, Simon, time,” she mumbled, and he reluctantly opened his eyes. Hers were open, too. They were deep, deep blue, her lips as she whispered reminding him of rose petals. “We don’t have time,” she whispered.
Time? What did time have to do with anything?
Everything….
He’d lost his head.
He swallowed the boulder in his throat and gripped her arms, leaning his forehead against her chest, the incredibly soft, rounded tips of her breasts cushioning his chin. They sat crumpled together for the minute or two it took for their heartbeats to slow, their hormones to recede. Every part of his body throbbed with either desire or pain. The truth was, there wasn’t a heck of a lot of difference between the two.
She finally cupped his cheeks and raised his face to hers. He could tell she wanted to say something and was weighing if she should or not. Feeling he’d probably done enough to confuse her already, he was silent, but now that she’d mentioned time, it occurred to him they’d better get on the road again.
“A few hours ago you tried to convince me you’d fallen for me,” she said at last.
He nodded but his mind was chasing its own tail in his head. He felt as though he’d been lying to her since the moment he found her in Rocky Point—would she ever forgive him and had the past few minutes just made things worse? He trailed a finger down her long throat. Knowing who and what she was when her memory was intact, he realized the answer was a resounding no. She would be furious he’d kept things from her.
And face it, she had one giant thing, or rather, one tiny being, she could keep from him if she chose. He glanced down at her stomach and then away. She could disappear as she apparently had in the past, and he would never know where she had gone.
“Well,” he said, attempting to lighten things up, “I think I just proved it, don’t you?”
“It seemed kind of mutual to me,” she said, kissing his ear, her breath warm and sweet as it tickled his newly shaved skin. “After we meet with my father, after we find out what he wants, after we go back to Blue Mountain, do you think there’s a chance for us?”
“There’s always a chance,” he said, alarmed at how her words touched his heart. Had he always hoped she would come around? He wasn’t sure anymore. And what about her baby? How long could he keep a secret from her that involved her own body?
Unless she already knew and thought she was keeping it from him.
“Don’t look so trapped,” she whispered.
“I—”
“I know I’m not a mermaid,” she said.
“No, you’re not,” he told her honestly. “No, you’re real flesh and blood, all right.”
“Damn straight.” Their eyes met again. “It’s getting late,” she added. “Let me fix your bandages, and then we’d better get going.”
With an assist from him, she got to her feet, gaze averted. She applied the ointments and gauze with haste, her touch almost impersonal. He finished dressing as she took a quick shower. When she came back into the room a few minutes later, she was dressed in her jeans and the blue sweatshirt. Her short dark hair curled enticingly around her face.
It struck him with a jolt she’d never been a natural blonde, that she’d been bleaching her hair. This new color wasn’t a disguise; it was done to make her look more the way she used to when these old men apparently either knew her or had a photograph of her. The long blond hair had been the disguise. Judging from the hack job, he wondered if Carl had cut it himself.
He should tell her about Robert Connors knifed in the restaurant parking lot. He should tell her how Chopper had looked at the man in the bus depot with absolute loathing…
He should warn her.
If the police failed to act in time, they could meet up with Carl and Chopper again.
But she knew that. They both knew it. She had to go forward, and because she had to, he had to.
Their eyes met and they both looked away. Half-truths lay between them like buried embers, daring the wary to step carefully.
Five minutes later, they were back in the truck, headed for Thunder Lodge and the last contact before finally meeting Ella’s father.
UNFORTUNATELY, THE ONLY WAY to get to Thunder Lodge was to travel through the very small town of Storm Creek. Simon drove as quickly as the law allowed while Ella kept her head down. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she considered the possibilities that lay ahead.
One, Chopper and Carl could be here; they could be waiting to follow, madder than ever now because the Red Barn restaurant didn’t exist.
Two, the police could have responded to Simon’s anonymous call, arrested Chopper and Carl as early as last night if they drove straight through, and Carl could have told them exactly how much Ella was involved. There was the very real possibility that she could be arrested for murder.
Three, Chopper and Carl could have been waylaid by the law or by Jack and they could arrive at the lodge to find her father waiting with open arms. To hell with the open arms, she’d settle for an explanation. Was her father aware of how murderous his plan to reconnect with her was going to be or had it all snowballed at him the same way it had at everyone else?
Which would mean she would see her dad. She was alternately hopeful that seeing him would unleash all her memories and terrified it would open no doors whatsoever and he would be as big a stranger as everyone else.
She snuck an under-the-eyelash glance at Simon and amended that thought. Simon wasn’t a stranger. Simon wasn’t a dream or a threat or a snippet of memory. He was real and the thought of being in his arms, of feeling his lips on hers made her tremble inside.
She wanted more.
“Stop,” she said suddenly.
Simon pulled the truck to the side of the road. “What is it? Did you see someone we know?”
She looked at him, careful to keep her face turned from the street. “No. I…I changed my mind. I don’t want to go through with it. What do I need a father for?”
He stared into her eyes and nodded. “Okay.”
She grabbed his arm as he lowered his hand to change gears. “No, wait.”
He sat there and waited, didn’t even check the dash clock or his watch to remind her they were running out of time. She finally said, “Didn’t you expect I’d have my memory back by the time we got to this point in our journey?”
He thought for a second before slowly nodding. Wearing his black T-shirt with his dark hair combed away from his forehead, he looked like a man who could take care of anything. Even the scratches and cuts from the day before added a note of toughness to his face that she found reassuring. Simon Task wasn’t an easy man to stop.
“Who is my father accused of killing?”
“A man in Chicago and his twenty-year-old son.”
“Why would he have killed them?”
Simon looked as though he was going to avoid her question, but then to her surprise, he took her hand. “They got in his way. Listen, Ella, your dad was a cop, which might explain your aversion to law enforcement.
He was involved in a huge loan-sharking deal with a street gang. He worked as a collection agent for them, him and another cop who was killed in the arrest. Your father made bail and skipped. He took over five million stolen dollars with him.”
“And left me alone with my mother,” she said softly.
He sat very still as though sensing she needed time to assimilate this discovery. Finally he sighed. “Okay, for the record, I think you’re wise to pack in this thing. We can either surrender to the cops or to a lawyer—”
“No, that’s okay,” she said, resolve once again coursing through her veins. “Let’s go.”
“But I thought—”
“I just got cold feet, that’s all. I want to know what happened. I have to know what happened.”
She could tell he wanted to argue, but when he finally glanced at the clock and saw the time, he pulled back onto the street without further comment. She rested a hand on her abdomen and imagined a flutter beneath her fingers. It was almost over. She wanted—she needed—her life back.
They left town without seeing anyone they knew. There was no police presence, either, and Simon mused aloud that the small town might not even have its own department. But a bomb in a public building constituted an act of terrorism, he added, and that meant the feds would be looking for Carl Baxter, too. If they were undercover, they were doing a darn good job of it.
“Did I mention Thunder Lodge is closed until June?” Ella asked. “It’s only May. How are we going to get into the lodge?”
“We’ll cross that bridge in two miles,” Simon said, nodding toward a road sign.
The trees crowded the road, shadowing it from the sun. Every once in a while there would be a spot where the trees thinned and they could see a river meandering through the forest. Ella’s heart started pounding with nerves again, her stomach rolling.
“There’s the turn,” she said, pointing ahead, straining against the seat belt now, anxious to get this over with.
An iron gate stood ajar and they drove through. The road began a gradual incline, the pavement littered with pine needles and winter deadfall. Occasional shafts of sunlight revealed vague traces of tire imprints.
The truck rolled over a wooden bridge. The river running under it was dark blue and clear, dappled with sun that made its way through the lacy canopy of deciduous trees overhead. Birch, Ella decided, their white bark lovely against pale green leaves. As they rambled up the slope on the other side, the tree cover grew less rampant until they emerged into an open field.
The area seemed to be part of a natural meadow, surrounded by towering trees, but relatively flat. Several imposing log buildings ringed the area. There were no other vehicles and no sign of anyone else.
Simon stopped the truck in front of the largest structure and they both got out. As it was the only one without boards shuttering the windows, they gravitated to its wide stone stairs and wooden deck.
Ella gripped the metal handles on the big plank doors and tugged, but they were securely locked. “Are we that late?” she cried. To have come so far and be left with nothing was more than she could bear.
Simon checked his watch. “Five minutes is all. Remember, the gate was open. Let’s look around the other buildings.”
Before they could turn, Ella sensed a presence behind them. Something poked her in the back, something that felt an awful lot like a gun barrel.
A male voice demanded, “Let’s get those hands up where I can see ’em, folks. Nice and easy, and no one gets hurt.”
She looked at Simon.
They both raised their arms.
Chapter Thirteen
Simon didn’t recognize the voice, but that didn’t come as much of a surprise. He was pretty sure neither Chopper nor Carl Baxter would have been so polite.
He knew what was coming next. Sure enough, whoever was back there slipped Simon’s revolver from his waistband holster.
“You can turn around now,” the man said.
They both turned.
The weapon turned out to be a Winchester repeating rifle in mint condition, the wooden stock gleaming with polish. The weathered man holding it appeared to be in his late sixties, of average height and weight, his skin deeply grooved. He wore scuffed boots, baggy jeans and a padded blue jacket with a patch or two. The threadbare edges of his quilted cap revealed wisps of longish gray hair.
He might look like a bum, but there was nothing remotely slack in the keen look of the old guy’s eyes or in the way he shouldered the rifle. He looked from Simon to Ella, his gaze lingering on her face. Simon, who had assumed they’d run into a cagey caretaker, reassessed his conclusion.
“You haven’t changed much since you were a girl,” the man said, lowering his weapon.
“I’m sorry,” Ella said. “If I ever knew you, I’ve forgotten.”
His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. “Do I look that different?”
“I don’t know. I was in a car accident a week ago. I’ve lost my memory. For a while, anyway.”
Now his mouth seemed to drop open. “You have amnesia?”
She nodded.
“And yet you came all this way?”
“My father needs me, right?”
“He wants to see you, that’s for sure.” He glanced up at Simon and added in a censoring tone, “You her husband, what’s his name, Carl Baxter?”
“Absolutely not,” Simon said.
“My husband is one of the men after me. This man is named Simon Task. I wouldn’t have made it this far without his help. It’s been very—violent.”
“I know about the violence,” the old man said. “Jerry and Robert are both dead. I had to read it the newspaper. You know anything about that?”
“Those were the first two contacts,” Simon said.
Ella sucked in a breath. “Both of them? The man from the restaurant, too?”
The old guy nodded. “I haven’t heard from Potter, either.”
“Potter the contact at the bus depot?” Simon said, remembering how Chopper all but spit out his name.
“Yeah. He was supposed to call. He didn’t.”
“I saw him leave the station,” Simon said. “We both did. But like Ella said, there are two armed and dangerous men following us. We’ve done our best to lose them, but—”
“Well, they aren’t following you now. I’ve got someone on the gate.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew a two-way radio. After fooling with the volume, he clicked a button that suspended the static and barked, “You there?”
The reply was equally terse. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“You see anyone?”
“Nothing. Neither did Johnny. It’s clear. I’m locking the gate. Good luck.”
The older man pocketed the radio, then stuck out a hand toward Ella, who shook it. “My name is Reed. I’ll take you to your father.”
“But aren’t you frightened?” Ella said. “The other men—”
“It’s got to be done,” he interrupted, “and trust me, if those fellows were still on your trail, Merle and Johnny would know about it.” He looked down at her feet and added, “Good, you have decent shoes. Do you have a coat?”
“In the truck.”
“Get it. My Jeep is around back. We’ll drive a ways, but then we’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot.”
Simon stepped forward. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
Wondering if Ella would back him up, he said, “Then she doesn’t go.”
Reed glanced at Ella. “Is that your position?”
Much to Simon’s relief, she nodded.
Reed narrowed his eyes as he studied Simon, finally saying, “You’re a damn cop or military, something like that.”
“Yes.”
“You out to capture her father?”
“No. He’s in no danger from me.”
“Okay, you can come. Lock your truck. Come on, we’ve got a long way to go to reach camp.”
As Ella and Simon gathere
d their coats and a few belongings from the truck, Reed disappeared around back, reappearing a few minutes later in a battered old Jeep. The rifle lay on the passenger floor, the passenger seat stacked with sleeping bags and backpacks.
Simon and Ella climbed into the back. Simon said, “How about returning my gun?”
“Later. Hold on now, it’s a bit of a bumpy ride.”
Simon exchanged a long glance with Ella. She’d pulled on the knit cap and looked like a kid on her first camping trip. Traces of her facial wounds were faint now, and in the afternoon light, her blue eyes sparkled more than the river. She was either excited to be out in nature or anxious to see her father, or maybe both.
They stopped after a couple of miles when the road came to an abrupt end. Climbing out of the old Jeep, they found themselves across a broad chasm from a waterfall that fell in a sheet of silver, pouring over the lip high above, falling into a pool before rushing down the river toward the lodge. The sides of the chasm were lush with vegetation, splashes of color thanks to wildflowers making it look like a secret garden. It was gorgeous and, at any other time, Simon would have itched to wander the isolated paths with Ella at his side.
Reed handed Simon his revolver. “Grab a pack,” he added as Simon fit the gun back into its holster. “I only brought two but there’s plenty of food.”
“You’re not leaving your truck here, are you?” Simon added.
“Where else would I leave it?”
“Someplace where it doesn’t point a giant finger at us saying ‘They went that away.’”
“I told you, no one came through the gate after you. Anyway, it’s not my Jeep. Merle will get it later.”
“Merle will just have to hunt for it, then. You don’t know these two thugs who are following us.” Simon stretched out his hand. “Give me the keys. I saw a big clump of trees and an old building half a mile back. I’ll tuck it back in there. You two sweep the area, cover up the tracks in the clearing, I’ll catch up.”
Reed tossed Simon the Jeep key, shaking his head as he did so. Simon drove the truck back down the road and parked it out of sight. Dragging a branch behind him, he obscured the tracks on his way back to the clearing.
