The waitress’s arrival to take their order saved Rachel from answering. Hiding behind her menu, she could feel Stephen’s curious gaze and wondered if he’d remembered anything else about their relationship. Her heart hammered with fear at the possibility he might calculate Jessica’s age and draw his own conclusions about her paternity before Rachel had the right opportunity to tell him the truth. Certainly the right time wasn’t now, flanked by two curious agents. She prayed she’d get through this dinner.
At eight o’clock Jack drove Rachel and Stephen back to their hotel, where they would spend the night before heading to Savannah in the morning. While Stephen finished reading newspaper accounts of the arrest and death of Milton Carver, Rachel telephoned the Kidbroughs, who assured her that her parents and Jessica were fine. Next she placed a call to her boss and extended her personal leave for several more days.
She knew now was the time to confess to Stephen about Jessica, but she ached too much with tension and fatigue. She could hardly stay awake, much less talk straight. She needed to be fresh and alert when she broached that touchy subject.
She slipped into the massive, marble-tiled bathroom of the suite, filled the oversize whirlpool tub with steaming water and complementary bubble bath and removed her clothes. The hotel had provided all the amenities, even groupings of scented, columnar candles on the vanity and at the tub’s edge. She lit them and turned off the overhead light. With a grateful sigh, she slid into hot water up to her chin and rested her head against the tub’s edge.
The pulsing water eased the tension in her muscles, but it couldn’t calm her thoughts. How had she managed to make such a mess of her life? Bad enough that she hadn’t recognized and accepted her love for Stephen when they were working together, but now—how was she going to tell him that Jessica was his daughter? That knowledge was no longer a threat to him, now that she knew he wasn’t in love with Anne Michelle. He had a right to know.
And a right to be mad as hell that she hadn’t told him before.
But she shouldn’t hit him with that bombshell while they were searching for killers on their trail, she rationalized. He shouldn’t be distracted. He had enough on his plate dealing with lost memories and hidden assassins. She’d tell him, she promised herself, as soon as the white supremacists were caught.
That decision took care of one problem. But how was she to deal with the other, the fact that she loved Stephen so desperately he could probably read it all over her face? He’d loved her once. She realized that now. But he wouldn’t love her after he learned of her deception. She had to keep her feelings to herself and be ready to walk away once she’d told him the truth about Jessica.
He’d want parental custody, of course, and she might have to see him every other weekend for the next eighteen years. The prospect of seeing Stephen that often without having his love brought tears to her eyes.
“You okay, Doc?”
As if her thoughts had conjured him up, Stephen stood in the bathroom doorway, his muscular body silhouetted by lights in the room behind him. She couldn’t discern his expression in the shadows.
“I’m fine,” she answered, silently cursing the break in her voice. She wiped away the tears, leaving a trail of bubbles on her cheeks.
“You’re missing Jessica, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” That was only part of her sadness. She couldn’t tell him the rest.
Swiftly and silently, he crossed the room and knelt on the thick rug beside the tub. The magnificent planes of his face glowed in the candlelight, and his dark eyes gleamed with a warmth she couldn’t face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For dragging you into this mess.”
“Your alert probably saved my life. And Jessica’s.”
Gently he wiped the bubbles from her cheeks. “But you don’t deserve this—being separated from your baby, shot at, interrogated.”
“fortunately” she forced a smile “—most of us never get what we truly deserve.”
He cupped her face in his palm, turning her gaze to his. “I remember, Doc.”
She sucked in a startled breath, and her pulse pounded in alarm. “Remember?”
He nodded and leaned closer until she was drowning in the warm, mahogany depths of his eyes. “I remember that I love you.”
“No,” she breathed, her defenses weakening.
“It’s true. I tried to forget you when I left Savannah, but I couldn’t. When I met Anne Michelle, I didn’t realize the attraction was her resemblance to you.”
She caught her lower lip in her teeth to keep from groaning. He had remembered. Coward that she was, she hadn’t told him what Anne Michelle had said. She was a coward, all right, or she would have told him then about his daughter.
Their daughter.
“Know what my instincts tell me?” he asked. His lips were so close she could feel the titillating warmth of his breath against her mouth. She wanted him, but didn’t deserve him, didn’t deserve to feel anything but his anger.
She shook her head, afraid to trust her voice.
“My instincts tell me you love me, too.”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Your instincts are wrong.”
“Uh-uh.” He ran his fingers through her hair, caressed her earlobe, traced a gentle circle around the stitches on her cheek. “They’re never wrong.”
She tried to look away from the passion burning in his eyes, but he held her fast. “You remember that?”
He shook his head. “You told me, just a few days ago.”
“Then I was wrong.”
Sliding his arms around her, he pressed his lips to hers. Unable to resist the closeness, she raised her arms around his neck and opened her lips. She needed him one last time, before he learned what she’d done, the lies she’d told him, the daughter she’d robbed him of.
His kiss, at first gentle and seeking, intensified, crashing her remaining barriers, destroying her defenses, squelching the inner voice that warned her to break away, but she couldn’t fight the magnitude of her own desire.
Couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t breathe...
Stephen drew back and threw her a challenging glance. “Tell me now you don’t love me.”
She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.
“That’s what I thought,” he said with a selfsatisfied chuckle.
Happiness shot through her at his smile, but she couldn’t revel in it. She had to end this before she yielded further. In desperation, she changed the subject. “Your shirt. It’s soaked.”
“Then I’d better take it off.” He locked his gaze with hers as he undid one button after the other, then shrugged free of the wet garment. His muscles gleamed in the candlelight, taking her breath away.
“No point in getting the rest of my clothes wet.” He unbuckled his belt, shucked slacks, shorts and shoes, and stood beside the tub, looking more awesome than her treasured memories of the one night she’d spent with him.
She had to stop him. Had to stop herself. He thought he loved her now, but when he learned about Jessica, he’d regret that he’d kissed her again.
“You’ll get cold,” she warned, goose bumps rising in spite of the hot water surrounding her.
“I have no intention of getting cold,” he said with a cavalier grin. “You’re going to keep me warm...”
Before she could protest, he stepped into the tub, sat beside her, and tugged her into his arms.
“...by showing me how much you love me.”
End this now. Get out of the tub, her inner voice warned. You’ll only break your heart....
“Shut up,” she commanded her conscience.
“What?” he murmured in her ear.
“Kiss me.” She didn’t have to ask twice.
Claiming her mouth with his, he slid along the length of her, their bodies gliding against each other beneath the water with the friction of silk on silk.
She cleared her
thoughts of everything except the firmness of his back muscles beneath her hands, the familiar, virile scent that filled her nostrils, the honeyed taste of his mouth on hers. Her senses leaped in response. She arched beneath him, opening herself to him with a moan of delight. This was where she wanted to be, in his arms, in his life.
With frenzied tenderness, his passion intensified, drawing her with him in a whirlwind of excitement until an explosion of sensation left them breathless.
He turned onto his back and drew her against him with her head resting on his chest, just above the water.
“I love you, Doc.”
A sob caught in her throat. He loved her now. She believed him without a doubt. But when she told him about Jessica...
Seizing this happiness to cherish and remember, she would worry about the consequences later.
She snuggled deeper into his embrace. “I’ve always loved you.”
Chapter Eleven
Whistling lightly beneath his breath, Stephen lowered the Blazer’s visor against the glare of the morning sun. His fingers tapped a happy rhythm on the steering wheel.
In the passenger seat Rachel stretched and yawned. “For a man who’s had very little sleep, you’re amazingly cheerful.”
Her warm teasing bolstered his contentment. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Just a few minor details, like a killer on our trail and your loss of memory.”
“I remember very clearly every detail of last night.” He shot her a suggestive smile and was rewarded by the brilliant pink that suffused her cheeks.
She wriggled uneasily against her seat belt. “Last night shouldn’t have happened.”
His cheerfulness faded. “Regrets?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“What’s complicated about loving each other?” he insisted. Desire stirred again as he recalled how he’d lifted her from the tub, wrapped her in a gigantic towel and carried her to the king-size bed. Their lovemaking had lasted until the early morning, when, exhausted, they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms.
And awakened the same way.
That simple act, which reverberated with a memory he couldn’t fully capture, convinced him he wanted to wake up every day with Rachel beside him. She had seemed happy enough this morning when she first opened her eyes. Obviously she was having second thoughts.
“There’s too much you don’t remember.” Her pensive expression cast a cloud on the bright morning. “Your feelings will change when your memories return.”
“Not a chance,” he uttered with unshakable conviction. “What about your feelings? You admitted last night you love me—”
“I do.”
He reached across the console that divided the seats, grasped her hand and raised her palm to his lips. “That’s all that matters.”
“If only...”
“If only what?”
“No point in agonizing over might-have-beens.” She forced a weak smile. “Personal feelings will have to wait. We have a case to solve. Just like old times.”
He ached to identify the source of her sadness and obliterate it, since nothing pleased him more than her happiness, but between his scant memories and his close observation of Rachel the past few days, he realized she couldn’t be forced to reveal her secrets. He would have to wait until she was ready to share them.
Steering onto the ramp of the interstate that would take them to Savannah, he yielded to her change of subject. “Any ideas how to tackle our Savannah search?”
“We should go first to the FBI office and leave a message for Jason Bender.”
He frowned. “That name makes me uneasy.”
“Why?”
“The man just happens to be on vacation while you and I are being stalked? Too much of a coincidence.”
“You’re way off base,” Rachel said. “In all the years I’ve known him, Jason has gone hiking every fail.”
“But there’s something—”
“Your instincts?”
He shook his head. “For some strange reason, everything about him is a void. Not only do I have no memories of him, but no gut feelings to fall back, on either.”
“You needn’t worry about Jason. He was one of your best friends.”
“Was?”
“During the time you worked together in Savannah. Once I moved away, I don’t know how long you kept in touch after your transfer to Atlanta. It was Jason—”
“Yes?”
Her appealing blush returned. “Jason told me about you and Anne Michelle.”
Stephen grimaced. “But he didn’t bother to tell you when the engagement ended.”
“I—I’d moved away by then.”
“With Jessica’s father?”
“I told you before, that didn’t work out.”
Another avenue of discussion where she’d raised the barricades. “Is it possible Jason is mixed up with this hate group?”
Her incredulous laughter echoed in the enclosed car. “Jason? Are you kidding? Jason’s such a flaming liberal, we often wondered how he ever made it through the Academy background check.”
Stephen frowned. “So there’s no possibility he’s a part of this spider-tattoo brotherhood?”
“Not unless he’s their prime target for assassination.” Rachel’s words flowed freely as long as they circumvented anything personal. Yet she’d shed all her inhibitions last night. Sooner or later she’d have to come clean with him and share the secrets she seemed to guard so fiercely. He vowed to be patient. He didn’t want to risk doing anything that might make him lose her.
“The hate group has a major score to settle with our Jason,” Rachel added.
“The Maitland kidnaping?”
“Jason killed two of their members and, if our suspicions are correct, ruined their hopes for increasing their treasury by a couple million dollars.”
Stephen couldn’t shake his uneasiness. “Something’s been bothering me ever since you first told me about the Maitland case at Uncle George’s cabin.”
“What?”
He pulled into the left lane to pass a slow RV. “How come Jason burst into that motel room alone where the kidnappers were? Where was his backup?”
“You raised those same questions at the time,” she said, apparently unconcerned by his query. “They were all answered at the hearing.”
“Hearing?”
“The families of the dead men threatened to sue the Bureau over the deaths of Weed and Bubba,” Rachel explained, “but Jason was exonerated by the official investigation, most of which you and I conducted ourselves.”
“What did we find out?”
“The evidence was pretty straightforward. Jason received a tip from an informant that Weed and Bubba were holed up in a small motel but preparing to run. Jason called for backup, but, afraid he’d lose them if he waited for help, he drove immediately to their location. When he surprised Weed and Bubba, the kidnapers opened fire on him. Jason returned fire and killed them both.”
“Forensic evidence corroborated his story?”
Rachel nodded. “I checked it myself.”
“The informant testified about the tip?”
“Yeah. He was an old fisherman who picked up Weed’s and Bubba’s descriptions off his police radio scanner, saw them enter the motel and called the Bureau.”
“You think Maitland could have been involved?” Stephen asked.
“We had those same suspicions at the time, but if Maitland was involved, he hid his tracks without a trace. We never found anything that tied him to the crime.”
“What about Milton Carver?”
“The arsonist shot in your custody in Atlanta? What about him?” Rachel asked.
“What if Carver, through his connections with the hate group, had something on Maitland? Maybe Carver figured he could work a deal by fingering Maitland.”
“And Maitland had him killed?”
“But maybe not before Carver talked. Why else would I have called you and warned
you?” He slammed the heel of his hand against the wheel. “Why can’t I remember?”
She laid her hand over his fist that was gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles blanched. “Whether it’s members of this hate group or Maitland after us, whoever’s on our trail could be after Jason, too. We have to leave a warning at the office so he’ll get it when he checks in.”
“Okay,” Stephen said with a nod. “That’s our first item of business.”
“And our second?”
“We’ll pay another call on Harold Maitland.”
ON THEIR WAY into Savannah, Rachel directed Stephen past his old apartment, their favorite restaurants and other local haunts, hoping to jog his memories.
She met with no success. To Stephen, whose handsome face broke into a sweat with his efforts to recall, not even the building where they had worked together for four years seemed familiar.
“The receptionist’s name is Marie,” Rachel reminded him as they walked from the parking area to the door.
“You take the lead,” he said. “We won’t tell her about my amnesia or medical leave. She might decide to check with the Atlanta office before cooperating, and Jake and Pete will tell her we’re unofficial.”
The slender young black woman behind the receptionist’s desk did a double take when they entered the office. “I almost didn’t recognize y’all in those disguises,” she said with a laugh. “What’s going on?”
“Undercover work,” Rachel answered.
Marie winked. “Undercover? Together? As I remember, that’s what we suspected y’all were up to when you worked here.”
Rachel ignored Stephen’s inquisitive glance and blushed in spite of efforts not to. “Come on, Marie. You know Stephen and I were just good friends.”
“Uh-huh.” Marie’s black eyes twinkled. “And Hurricane Hugo was only a breeze.”
To Rachel’s relief, Stephen changed the subject. “We need your help, Marie.”
The receptionist smiled. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Can we see the files on the Maitland case?” Stephen asked. “We’re checking out the kidnappers’ connections to a white supremacist group.”
“Our local branch of the Aryan army?” Marie wrinkled her nose. “Rotten bunch. Anything I can do to help shut them down is my pleasure.”
Undercover Dad Page 15
