“I—”
“Because if it is, it’s not a choice that gives you any control at all. Knowledge is power. You do understand that, don’t you?”
Her mouth closed and she looked down at the wound in his leg. Her movements were firmer and they hurt, and he didn’t make the mistake of thinking she wasn’t doing it deliberately.
She didn’t like having that pointed out to her, clearly. Too bad, though. Things had changed now.
“We’re going to a place I have in Washington State,” he continued. “It’s a safe house no one knows about and where you’ll be protected. And you want to know why, Ms. Beasley? It’s because those shots were meant for you.”
CHAPTER 3
Faith stared down at the wound on Jacob’s leg, focusing her entire being on that and not the soft, deep rumble of his voice. A voice that kept on going, rolling right over the top of her like a steamroller.
“Some very bad people are after you,” he continued, “and to be honest, I thought we’d have more time before they tracked you down, but apparently not. Which means there are some things you have to know and know now.”
Panic curled like a small animal in her chest. No, not now. Not here, not after she’d been taken without ceremony from one place she’d only just gotten familiar with and transported somewhere else she didn’t know.
Knowledge is power.
It might be for him, but maybe for her it wouldn’t be. Maybe for her it would mean yet another plunge into chaos. Into that terrible place she’d discovered when she’d woken up in the hospital, when she’d realized, with a terrible, sickening lurch, that not only could she not remember how she’d gotten there, she couldn’t remember her own name, either. Groping for something familiar and finding nothing.
Nothing but a black hole where her memory should have been.
The fear she’d known in that moment had been like a lead blanket, weighing her down, suffocating her. Making her wish that whatever had put her in the hospital had been bad enough to kill her.
It felt like that blanket was wrapping around her now, twice as heavy and twice as thick.
Washington State. Bad people. Shooting at her.
“You’ll need a needle and thread.” She shifted away from him, turning back to the first aid kit, feeling the slight pull as her hair came free of his hold.
There had been something oddly calming about the way his thumb had been rubbing at her strand of hair, as if his touch was familiar, an anchor in the sea of chaos that threatened to overwhelm her.
And now that calming touch was gone . . .
She couldn’t breathe, having to force air into her lungs and out again as she reached for the surgical thread and needle.
“Your name isn’t Faith,” Jacob went on relentlessly. “That’s the name I gave you in the hospital. Your surname isn’t Beasley, either, it was one I chose at random from the list of nurses who were caring for you.”
She picked up the needle and thread. Her hands were shaking. “Perhaps you shouldn’t do this until you’ve had the Tylenol. It’s going to hurt.”
“Your real name is Joanna Lynn and you were a—”
“Stop.” Something went off in her head like a lightbulb exploding and she found she was on her feet, the needle and thread dropped onto the floor.
Jacob sat back in the chair, his long body stretched out like he was about to watch a football game instead of preparing to sew up a gunshot wound in his own leg.
His battered, scarred face was nothing but hard lines, his mouth uncompromising, his eyes glittering and cold as jet.
He was like rock, like stone. There was no softness in him, no sympathy. And absolutely no mercy at all.
“I’ll get you some water for the Tylenol,” she forced out, then turned, walking quickly to the plane’s tiny bathroom, stepping inside and shutting the door very firmly behind her.
She leaned back against it for a moment, but then her knees buckled and she slid all the way down to sit on the floor.
Her heartbeat wouldn’t slow and the small, terrified animal in her chest was nipping and biting at her in its fear, trying to find a way out.
“Your name is Joanna Lynn.”
Something had happened in her head the moment Jacob had said those words. Not her memories returning, nothing like that. But definitely something. As if a curtain in front of a window had twitched in preparation for it to be drawn back.
God, she did not want to see what was through that window.
Joanna Lynn.
Faith shut her eyes tightly. The name echoed inside her like a shout in an empty room, but this time there were no responses, no curtain twitching. The name meant nothing.
She sucked in a breath that was mainly relief.
Maybe it made her a coward to not want to know this stuff and all her talk about wanting control a lie, but that didn’t change the fact that there was something inside her, a feeling, a whisper, something, that told her she didn’t want to know the truth. That the person she was now, Faith Beasley, cool and calm and in control, was the person she wanted to stay.
She didn’t want to be Joanna Lynn.
Whoever that was.
But don’t you want to know why you were shot at?
The breath she’d sucked in went out of her in a long exhale.
It wasn’t hard to guess why. Either they were targeting Faith Beasley and her work with the 11th Hour, which was a possibility. Or they were targeting . . . Joanna Lynn.
A shudder went through her.
This was all too much and if she wasn’t careful, it was going to overwhelm her. The psychologist had suggested concentrating on the problem at hand when she had feelings like these, as a way of not letting the weight of everything press down on her, and that had worked well enough.
So perhaps simply concentrating on getting the Tylenol for Jacob was what she could do now. And being clear with him that she needed some more time before he started telling her anything more.
Then again, he wouldn’t be telling her anything at all if that wound kept bleeding. No matter what he said about being able to handle it, he’d been white around the mouth as she’d cleaned up the blood and that indicated some level of pain at least.
Carefully she didn’t think about how it had felt to lean up against the wild, animal heat of him or to have that long, powerful body underneath hers, all his muscles contracting when she’d started cleaning the gunshot wound. And she very definitely didn’t think about how her skin had prickled in response. As if she’d liked it . . .
You did like it.
Faith ignored that thought, pushing herself up from the floor and moving over to the tiny basin opposite the door. There was a plastic cup dispenser beside it, so she grabbed one and filled it with water.
Yet her brain didn’t want to let it go. Why had he touched her hair? He’d never touched any part of her before, so why now? And why her hair specifically? He’d rubbed it gently as he’d talked, watching her, his gaze sharp and hard and glittering.
She shivered, her skin prickling once more with that odd heat.
Not good, definitely not good. She may have been missing her episodic memory, but she was pretty sure she knew what that heat was and why she found him so uncomfortable to be around. He was compelling, charismatic, and . . . yes, extremely physically attractive. And she wasn’t as immune as she pretended to be.
Dammit.
Being attracted to the man who’d brought her out of the hospital and taken care of her for six months was pretty screwed up. Especially considering how much of a stranger he was to her.
Taking the cup of water, she turned back to the door of the bathroom, but paused there a moment.
She was escaping the only city she remembered after being shot at by people she didn’t know, in the company of a man she also didn’t know. Who’d taken her from the hospital for reasons of his own and had kept her for six months in his house, for yet more reasons of his own.
If she was this woman Joa
nna, then didn’t she have family to come and get her? Or had he kidnapped her and was even now hiding her from her family? And more importantly, why had he taken her in the first place?
Perhaps you should have asked yourself these questions months ago?
Faith gritted her teeth. Yes, she should have, but she hadn’t.
She’d been too afraid of everything, too traumatized by the loss of her identity. Jacob had been so certain. He’d walked into the hospital and simply taken charge of her as if he’d known her all her life and she was his.
And she’d found his certainty so reassuring that she hadn’t argued. Everything was strange to her so who’s to say he wasn’t the cousin he’d pretended to be for the sake of the doctors?
Of course, she’d realized that he wasn’t over the course of the next few months, but she hadn’t asked him any questions about his motivations for taking her. She hadn’t asked him any questions at all.
Maybe it’s time to start?
Knowledge was power, he’d said, and he wasn’t wrong. But the real question was whether she was ready to know.
She was afraid the answer was no.
Swallowing, she pulled the door open and stepped back into the cabin.
Jacob was still sitting in the chair, his attention on his thigh.
Faith blinked as she realized that he was sewing the wound shut himself, pushing a needle through his own skin without even flinching.
Dear God, the man must be made of steel.
“Have you finished sulking?” His voice betrayed nothing.
“I wasn’t sulking.” Faith crossed over to where he sat, putting the water down on the low table in front of him. “I was having a mild freak-out. Not the same thing at all.”
Jacob pulled the thread, the two halves of the wound closing. Blood welled up from the neat stitches. “If you say so.” He began tying off the thread. “How’s the memory?”
“Still gone.”
“Pass me the swab.”
She bent to get a fresh one from the kit, grabbing that and a couple of Tylenol, and handing both to him.
He looked up at her as she did so and she met his sharp gaze without flinching.
“You’ve got some explaining to do,” she said.
* * *
Faith’s stare was steady, meeting his without a flicker for a change.
She had courage, he’d give her that.
He knew telling her who she really was would be difficult for her. Especially after months of avoiding it. But the time for that bullshit was over. They didn’t have the luxury of waiting, not anymore.
His thigh throbbed, but he ignored it.
Instead he downed the Tylenol with the water she’d brought, then leaned forward to get some bandages out of the first aid kit. “Sit down,” he ordered. “An explanation might take a while.”
She didn’t move. “I want this on my terms, Mr. Night. Not yours.”
Damn woman. She wouldn’t even let him give her information without arguing about it.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he began cleaning up the wound. “And what terms would those be, Ms. Beasley?”
“I don’t want you to mention that name again.”
“What name? Joanna Lynn?”
“No need to be an asshole about it.”
In spite of himself, he let out a short laugh. The number of people who dared call him an asshole to his face he could count on one hand. No, scratch that. People never called him an asshole to his face.
“You do like to push the boundaries, don’t you?” He threw the swab onto the floor along with the rest of the used and bloody supplies. “Fine, I won’t mention the name again.”
Faith gave a small nod as if she’d expected him to agree, which irritated him. “And you’ll stop when I tell you, please. Too much information is overwhelming and I’m going to need some time to process it all.”
Okay, he could do that. He really didn’t want any more freak-outs. They couldn’t afford any.
“Fair enough.” He reached for a thick pad and put it over the wound. “Put your hand here and press down.”
She hesitated only slightly before moving in close to him and bending to put her hand on the pad on his thigh. The pressure was painful, but not quite as distracting as her nearness. Her glossy hair had fallen forward over her shoulders and it was almost brushing his chest, and he could smell her lavender scent under the metallic tang of his own blood.
It wasn’t a good idea to be so aware of her, but he allowed himself a moment of indulgence. It was better than pain and did wonders for his mood, though if the hot surge of response inside him was anything to go by, it would be a mistake to indulge himself for too long.
“I’m searching for someone,” he began, wrapping the bandage around his leg. He’d never told anyone his motivations for the things he did—knowledge was power and he tended to keep that knowledge to himself—but it wasn’t as if this woman could use any of that knowledge against him. Not when she was so completely in his power. “I’m searching for my brother. We were separated as young children and I’ve spent a good few years trying to track him down. A while ago, I managed to get some leads tracing him to the military, the Navy, specifically. But then I lost him again.”
“And this relates to me how?”
Faith’s voice was cool, but he could see the curve of her cheek as he tied off the bandage. It was pink.
Interesting. Was that him? Being close to him? Several times over the past couple of months he thought he’d caught her looking at him with more than her usual wariness. But he’d told himself it was nothing. Because if it was something then . . .
No. Not going there. He’d already decided.
“I’m getting to that,” he murmured. “You can sit down now.”
This time she obeyed, moving away from him quickly as if she couldn’t wait to put some distance between them. But she didn’t sit down. Instead, she began clearing up the first aid supplies.
Well, he wasn’t going to argue. He liked a tidy space.
“Then, a couple of years ago,” he went on, lifting the cup of water to take another sip, “I found a trace of him again. A black ops operation in Guatemala that had been sabotaged and there was evidence that he’d been involved with the mission somehow.”
“Black ops?” Faith finished putting the bloody swabs in the trash, then came back to where he was sitting and began tidying up the rest of the supplies. “How did you manage to find out anything?”
“I have my sources.” And they were, unfortunately, expensive. But then he had the money. He’d been paid off very well after the disaster in the Ukraine and a couple of astute investments later, he’d more than tripled his payout. And just as well. Finding Joshua was always going to come at a price.
Faith closed the first aid kit and finally went to sit down in the seat opposite him. “So what about this mission?”
“A number of the team involved were killed. But not my brother. He survived but disappeared.”
“You said there was sabotage?”
“The details are sketchy and since it was a black ops mission, locating information about it is difficult. In other words, I don’t know.” And the not knowing had been as frustrating as hell. But getting any further intel had been next to impossible even with the money he’d thrown at it.
He shifted on the seat, moving to test the stitches. It was painful, but okay. “Anyway, a couple of months ago I got word that my brother had been in South America and that he’d been associated with a gun-running ring being operated out of the States.”
It had not been what he’d hoped, naturally. That his brother had gotten into the military and had ended up being involved in a black ops mission was one thing. But being associated with the kind of scum who bought and sold weapons? Yeah, he hadn’t been that thrilled with the news. Then again, since rumor and hearsay were all he had, he wasn’t about to go jumping to conclusions just yet.
Faith’s eyes gleamed. “This wou
ldn’t happen to be the same gun-running ring that Kellan’s father was involved with?”
Well, she was nothing if not smart.
“Yes.” He tilted his head slightly, watching her. “Callie’s father had money invested in it too.”
Callie’s father was a senator and a total prick, but it hadn’t been a coincidence that had led Jacob to accepting the senator’s job offer. Jacob had needed information from the asshole. The job itself hadn’t gone without its hitches, involving Jack going rogue to save Callie from her father’s abuse, but it had all worked out in the end. The information Jacob had gotten from the senator led to Kellan’s father and the gun-running ring.
“So the last couple of missions were all in aid of finding your brother?” She crossed one knee over the other, the tight fabric of her skirt pulling around her thighs. “How does this relate to me?”
He studied her carefully. There were small lines of tension around her eyes and mouth, though her expression was perfectly composed. She’d always been good at keeping her feelings hidden, and over the past month or so she’d gotten even better at it.
Control. That’s what it was all about for her—at least that’s what she’d said earlier—and shit, he understood that. Sometimes control over your own choices, over your own feelings, was all you had.
“You? Your name came up in conjunction with that initial black ops mission.” The source he’d paid to get him the names of the people on that mission had been expensive and ultimately unreliable, but the intel had led him to find Faith. Which would have been fine if anyone knew her. But even as Joanna, information on her was almost nonexistent.
Faith’s eyes widened, but he went on. “I couldn’t find out any details other than that you were connected with the mission in some way. I tried searching for you then, to track you down to see what you knew and whether you’d met my brother, but I couldn’t find you. Then, a little over six months ago, I got word that a woman matching your description had been found in a hospital in Florida. You’d been transferred from another hospital in South America after you were found badly injured and unconscious in an alleyway. You had no ID, no nothing. No one knew who you were.” He paused, studying her yet again, noting those little lines of tension getting more pronounced. “You spoke while you were unconscious apparently, and that’s how they discovered you were American.”
Hard Night Page 4
