Fearing the worst, Rachel raced across the living room to the front door. Her car and Stephen’s were still parked in the drive.
“Come out and join us,” a voice called to her.
With her heart thudding in her ears, she stepped onto the broad front porch. In the northwest corner, where sunlight puddled on the weathered floorboards, Jessica sat in a playpen, cooing to Poochie, her favorite stuffed animal. Stephen reclined in an Adirondack chair only inches away.
“It’s a gorgeous day,” he called to her. “Come out with us.” Embarrassed by her momentary panic, Rachel crossed to the porch rail and gazed at the panoramic view. Spread below her, the valley stretched in a gaudy patchwork of autumn russets, yellows and greens. Along the skyline, the peaks of the Smoky Mountains jutted sharply against the cloudless sky, free of the customary haze that had given them their name.
She allowed the breeze to cool her heated face for a few minutes before she curled into the chair beside Stephen’s.
“How’s your head?” she asked.
“Better, thanks.”
“And your memory?”
He grimaced. “Still a blank slate.”
Part of her hoped he wouldn’t remember anything until she and Jessica were back home, safe not only from the person who stalked them but from Stephen’s shrewd observations. “Where did you find the playpen?”
“In the laundry room off the kitchen. The owner must have children.”
“Do you remember? After all, meeting here was your idea.”
He shook his head. “But we can easily find out.”
“How?”
“While you were sleeping, I called the telephone company, gave them the number of the phone in the cabin, and they provided the name the phone’s listed under. George Windham. Ring any bells?”
She shook her head. “Never heard of him.”
“I also called the Jackson County Courthouse—”
“You were supposed to be resting.”
He grinned. “I was supposed to stay awake, remember? The only way to keep from dozing off was to keep busy.”
“How did you manage to lift Jessica without waking me?”
His smile widened. “As hard as you were sleeping, an eight-hundred-pound gorilla wouldn’t have disturbed you. When I heard the baby gurgling and cooing to herself, I brought her out here so you could rest longer.”
Rachel’s cheeks blazed again at the idea of Stephen watching her sleep. Anxious to change the subject, she said, “Anyway, I’m sorry I don’t recognize the name George Windham.”
“I was hoping he was someone from the Bureau, someone we could trust.”
“He could be an agent assigned to the Atlanta office and I’ve just never met him.”
Stephen frowned. “I’m guessing he’s retired. His legal residence is Bonita Springs, Florida.”
“Bonita Springs?”
“You know the place?”
“That’s where your mother lived, until her death three years ago.”
“So Windham could be a friend of my mother’s?”
“Maybe you should call him and find out.”
He wrinkled his brow, considering. “We shouldn’t reveal our hiding place until we know who’s after us.”
“That’s the paradox. How can we learn who’s after us without disclosing our location?”
He reached across the gap between their chairs and grasped her hand. “Rachel?”
Her name sounded foreign on his lips. For years he’d seldom called her anything but Doc. She recalled the days, weeks, years she had spent with him, taking their friendship for granted.
Dear God, she’d missed him.
Achingly aware of his strong fingers twined with hers, she gazed into the golden-brown mirror of his eyes. “Yes?”
“Tell me about myself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Do I have family? Someone who’s worried about me, wondering where I am?”
“I’m...not sure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She tugged her hand from the mesmerizing warmth of his grip. “I told you, we...lost touch over a year ago. I heard rumors—”
“What kind of rumors?”
“That you’d met someone and were engaged to be married. Does the name Anne Michelle Logan mean anything to you?”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“Did I?” he asked.
“Marry?” She forced her gaze away from him and stared at the distant mountaintops. “I don’t know. Certainly enough time has passed since I heard the rumors.”
He glanced at his left hand. “I’m not wearing a ring.”
“Some men don’t. And in some aspects of an agent’s job, a ring can be a hazard.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught his puzzled frown. “So it’s possible I have a wife in Atlanta who’s waiting for me, wondering why I haven’t come home or checked in?”
She nodded. “But she’s probably not worried yet. FBI spouses are used to their mates disappearing without contact for days at a time. It goes with the job.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s true. That’s why a lot of guys drop out. Their families can’t take the uncertainty.”
“That’s not what I meant. I was talking about having a wife. It doesn’t feel right.”
She shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant and hide the surge of happiness his words shot through her before common sense jerked her back to reality. Of course it didn’t feel right to him. How could he perceive love for a woman he couldn’t remember? “Do you want me to call her? Let her know you’re okay?”
“Too dangerous. If someone’s looking for me, he’s probably watching my house.” He bolted upright in his chair. “If I have a wife, that means she’s in danger, too.”
“Whoa, buster.” Rachel rose and pressed his shoulders against the back of the chair. “Take it easy. You don’t want that arm to start bleeding again.”
“But my wife—”
His words pierced her heart with sadness, and she silently berated herself for her foolishness. Stephen was her friend, for Pete’s sake. Jealousy had no place in their relationship. “Knowing you as I do, I can guarantee you wouldn’t have left your wife in danger. You would have made arrangements for her safety before you left Atlanta.”
His breathing slowed, and he relaxed beneath her grip. She released him and settled into her chair once again.
“What else do you know about me, Doc?”
“Doc?” Her pulse accelerated at the familiar nickname. “You remember?”
His forehead crinkled in confusion. “I was referring to the way you take care of me. What should I remember?”
She blushed. “You seldom called me Rachel. I was always Doc to you.”
“Why ‘Doc’?”
“I joined the Bureau after med school.”
“No wonder you know your way around a gunshot wound. Any idea what my chances are of getting my memory back?”
She shook her head. “That depends on what’s causing your amnesia, and I can’t determine the source without X rays and other tests.”
“Then you’ll have to provide my memories for me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Who am I?”
“I’ve told you. If you don’t believe me, there’s plenty of identification in your wallet.”
“Guess I phrased that wrong. I know my name. I want to know more.”
“You’re thirty-four, born in Philadelphia, undergraduate and law degrees from Harvard, went directly from law school to the FBI Academy at Quantico. Your first assignment was Tampa, then Baton Rouge, Nashville and Savannah. You transferred sixteen months ago to Atlanta.”
“Family?”
“You were an only child. Both your parents died several years ago.”
He twined his fingers through hers again. “Vital statistics don’t tell me much about my character.”<
br />
“What do you want to know?”
“Any skeletons in my closet?”
“You haven’t broken any laws, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She grinned. “You’re so squeaky clean, you could be the poster boy for Truth, Justice and the American Way.”
“Then why is somebody after me?” He slammed his other hand on the arm of the chair, and Jessica jumped in the playpen beside him.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He leaned over and tousled her dark curls before turning back to Rachel.
Not wanting to grow accustomed to the comfort of his touch, Rachel untangled her fingers from his. “If you’ve antagonized anyone, it’s from doing your job too well.”
To avoid his piercing glance, she looked out across the front lawn and caught sight of his government-issue sedan. She remembered how frightened she felt last night when it came up the road, and how worried she became when she saw Stephen shot, bleeding and in pain.
“Oh, my God!” she shouted and jumped to her feet. “I forgot your car!”
“What?”
“In the midst of everything last night, I didn’t search your car. Maybe there’s something inside that’ll tell us who’s after us.”
Stephen started to rise from his chair, but she pushed him back with a firm hand on his shoulder. “You rest and keep an eye on Jessica. I’ll search.”
She bounded down the porch steps and flagstone walk to the vehicle. In her haste to get him inside last night, she’d left the keys in the ignition. She removed them and checked the trunk first. Aside from the usual tools and emergency equipment, the trunk held only a traveling kit and garment bag with a clean suit and change of shirt that most agents kept on hand for overnight assignments. She also found a laptop computer. A thorough search of the kit and garment bag revealed nothing helpful.
A check of the back seat also proved futile. Unfortunately, Stephen’s pack rat habits hadn’t extended to his vehicle. She circled the car to the front passenger seat and opened the glove box. After sifting through a cluttered jumble of maps and receipts, most weeks old, she was ready to admit defeat.
His cell phone lay on the floor mat. She retrieved it and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans, grabbed the kit and garment bag from the trunk and slung the strap of the laptop’s carrying case over her shoulder.
“Looks like you found something,” Stephen called from the porch. “Need a hand?”
“You have a wounded arm, remember? Besides, I’ve wrestled grocery bags heavier than this load.”
She carried his clothes and kit into the main bedroom, set the laptop and phone on the dining table and returned to the porch. Jessica sat with her face pressed against the woven side of the playpen, fascinated by butterflies flitting among the bright purple dahlias that bordered the porch. Stephen was watching her as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Rachel wondered if he’d lost his worries with his memory.
She propped her hips against the porch rail and folded her arms across her chest. The burden of their safety pressed on her with the weight of the mountain beneath her, and she was desperate to identify who was after them.
“Find anything significant?” he asked.
“Not unless there’s information in your laptop.”
“Should we take a look?”
She was too tired, too edgy, too worried about Jessica to concentrate. “We can try but I’m having trouble thinking straight, with Jessica in danger. I want to send her to Dr. and Mrs. Kidbrough. They’re my godparents, and they live near Mom and Dad. No one will be watching them or tapping their phone. I’ll ask them to meet us somewhere between here and Raleigh, and they can take Jessica home with them.”
Her spirits fell when she gazed at her daughter, playing happily in the sunshine. As much as Rachel wanted her safe, being separated from her baby would be the hardest thing she had ever done.
“Rachel?”
She lifted her gaze to find his dark eyes studying her. “Yes?”
“Will Jessica go with them, without being upset?”
“She was around the Kidbroughs a lot whenever we spent time at my parents’ place. She should be all right.”
“Will you be okay?”
He’d seen her distress over the upcoming separation as clearly as if she’d stamped it in tall letters across her forehead. “I don’t want to leave her, but what choice do I have? I can’t risk her life by keeping her with me.”
He nodded, his handsome face a picture of compassion. “Then the sooner, the better. Call the Kidbroughs and set up a meeting.”
“You shouldn’t be traveling, and I can’t leave you here, not without memories to warn who’s a threat and who isn’t.”
“If you drive, I can travel all right. Getting away from here may jog my memory.”
“But—”
“Call the Kidbroughs.”
She remembered that look of his, the obstinate set of his square jaw, the determined glint in his eyes. She might as well argue with a fence post. Without further discussion she went inside and dialed the Kidbroughs’ number.
From his chair on the porch, Stephen could hear her voice, low and urgent, but he couldn’t make out what she way saying. Her words had a soothing quality that lifted his spirits, like listening to a favorite song. A sudden discomfort pricked his conscience. If Rachel was right, and he had a wife back in Atlanta, why did he feel so moved by everything about the woman inside the cabin?
He glanced at Jessica, who had fallen asleep in the playpen. Pondering his situation did little good without mem to serve him. He had to do something to protect little girl and her mother.
After tugging the playpen into the shade, he sauntered off the porch to his car. Rachel had cleaned out the vehicle, except for the glove box. He withdrew the maps stashed there, selected one of the Southeast and spread it over the hood. She had mentioned the cabin was outside of Glenville, North Carolina. After a few minutes scrutiny of the small print, he located the tiny community near the South Carolina line, tucked in a valley between two mountain ranges with only one major roadway leading in and out.
If their pursuers caught up with them, they’d be trapped like rats in a box unless Stephen could find another way out of the valley. He studied the map, memorizing names and places of secondary roads that led over the mountains and connected with other highways. Even if some of those roads were unpaved, Rachel’s Explorer had four-wheel drive and should get them through safely.
What worried him most, however, was the single road off this mountain. Other routes out of the valley were worthless if he and Rachel couldn’t get off the mountaintop. Struggling to stay awake and ignoring the pain in his arm, Stephen tramped around the cabin, searching for any other avenues of escape.
His efforts were rewarded when he spotted the ruts of an old logging road, leading off the far side of the mountain behind the cabin. The ruts, overgrown with weeds and filled with dead leaves, disappeared over a ridge, and he couldn’t be certain the road didn’t dead-end somewhere on the mountainside. If nothing else, however, the logging road might present a place to hide in an emergency.
Satisfied that he’d learned the lay of the land around the cabin, he tramped back to the front. The savory aroma of soup greeted him as he climbed onto the porch.
“Lunch is ready,” Rachel called through the open door.
Jessica was still sleeping, so he pulled her playpen inside. Rachel was placing bowls of steaming vegetable soup and a basket of hot corn muffins on the table. With her cheeks flushed from the heat of the stove and a lock of blond hair falling over one eye, she was an appealing picture of domesticity.
Except for the holstered gun slung under her shoulder.
“Did you reach the Kidbroughs?” He went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.
Rachel slid into a seat at the table and began buttering a muffin. “They’ll meet us at five o’clock this afternoon at the entrance to the Biltmore Estate near Asheville. They plan to spend the night in Asheville, then drive ba
ck to Raleigh with Jessica tomorrow.”
He dried his hands and joined her. “Did you tell them to warn your parents that they and their house might be under surveillance?”
“I explained as much as I could—as much as I know.” Suddenly, she shoved back her chair, hurried across the room and returned with a photograph. “I almost forgot. While I was on the phone, I found this in the desk drawer when I was searching for a pencil.”
She handed him the snapshot. Its colors were faded, and from the style of the subjects’ clothing and hair, he guessed the picture was at least twenty years old. An attractive woman in her forties with dark hair and eyes stood beside an older, heavyset man with graying hair in front of the cabin. The family resemblance between the pair was obvious.
He turned the photo over. On the back was scrawled, “Dear Uncle George, here’s a print of the picture I took of you and Mom with my new camera. Love, Stephen.”
He raised his head and threw Rachel a questioning glance.
“That’s your mother,” she said. “I met her when she visited you in Savannah. George must be her brother. They certainly look enough alike.”
The connection clicked in place. “Uncle George is George Windham. This place belongs to my uncle.”
“Makes sense. That’s why you thought we’d be safe here. Because the cabin’s in your uncle’s name, it isn’t connected to you in any way. You could easily draw me a map from memory, and you knew it would be well stocked and that the extra key would be under the third rock from the porch steps.”
“You made the connection quickly,” he said, and an uneasy thought struck him. “Wonder who else knows I have an uncle George?”
“I worked with you four years and never knew.”
“But you never had any reason to trace my family tree.”
She wiped her fingers on her napkin and considered him with frightened eyes. “You think the people who’re after us will check out your relatives?”
He didn’t want to scare her, but they had to face facts. “If they’re desperate enough, they’ll do whatever it takes to find us.” He slammed his fist against his palm in frustration. Why had he chosen this place? Was it really safe to stay? If only he could remember.
Undercover Dad Page 7
