She shivered beneath his touch. “What if those men are looking for me here?”
He halted at a four-way stop and studied her to gauge her reaction. “Or the police?”
She closed her eyes. “Please, get me out of here.”
“You’re in disguise. No one’s going to recognize you. And we may discover your name. Once we do, we’ll have a better chance at figuring out why those men are after you. And why you’re afraid of the police.”
Guilt at not telling all he knew besieged him, but he needed the element of surprise to jump-start her memory. Doc Martin had mentioned that sometimes a sudden return to familiar surroundings and faces dispelled hysterical amnesia. Jordan figured it was worth a try.
He turned right on Turtle Way and drove slowly down the street, searching for the address.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she said with a quiver in her voice.
“Sure you can. Just follow the plan we rehearsed. When anyone else is around, keep your head down, your eyes on the clipboard, okay?”
“Okay.” But she didn’t sound confident.
He eased the car into a circular drive in front of a long, low, contemporary house that hugged the canal behind it, and parked beside a discreet sign by the front door that gave the name of the owners’ security service.
He hopped from the car, circled and opened the door for Angel. Cramming her straw hat tightly onto her head, she climbed out. Before she could change her mind and plunge back inside, he quickly shut the door.
“Relax,” he said in a low voice, “and leave the talking to me.”
With more outward confidence than he felt, he approached the front door. Angel fell in step behind him.
The unpainted new wood of the door frame indicated this was the door that had been jimmied in last night’s break-in. He took a deep breath and rang the bell.
A moment later, a lean, sixtyish woman opened the door. With skin leathered by the sun, hair dyed an unnatural red and eyes red-rimmed from crying, she appeared agitated and distraught.
“Mrs. Swinburn?” Jordan asked.
“Yes?” She eyed him with suspicion.
“I’m Joe Cramden from Sovereign Security, and this is Angel, my assistant.”
The woman ignored Angel and viewed him with undisguised annoyance. “My husband already spoke with the security service this morning. He’s very upset that the alarm didn’t function last night. We could have been murdered in our beds.”
She pressed her hand to her mouth, as if choking back a sob.
“That’s why I’m here,” Jordan said, improvising. “Your husband spoke with the business office. I’m the technician from the service department. I’ll check out the system to determine what went wrong.”
“If you’ll wait in the living room, I’ll get my husband. I can’t talk with anyone now. We’ve had a death in the family.”
She opened the door, motioned them inside, then gestured toward the sunken living room on the right. “Wait here. I’ll find George.”
The woman disappeared down a hall, and Jordan, his hand on Angel’s elbow, guided her into an ice-white room filled with furniture in gray leather, chrome and glass. The atmosphere was cold, and not because of the excessive air-conditioning.
The frigid decor’s only relief came from a cluster of color photographs on a glass-and-chrome sideboard. Jordan walked closer for a better look at an eight-by-ten wedding portrait in a sterling silver frame. A laughing couple stared back at him. The groom, a stolid man with dark hair, smiled with a warmth that didn’t reach his eyes.
Jordan had seen that face before. David Swinburn’s photograph had stared up at him from the file of the last investigation he had worked as a cop.
The breathtaking bride that Swinburn clutched in a possessive embrace drew Jordan’s thoughts quickly back to the present.
The bride was Angel.
Chapter Three
Hiding his surprise, Jordan glanced at the next picture. It was also of Angel, holding a toddler, a little girl who looked like a miniature copy of herself. Angel had to be the child’s mother.
Ignoring the irrational disappointment at learning she had a husband and daughter, he congratulated himself on the prospect of turning her over to the care of her family. After last year’s tragedy, he never again wanted responsibility for anyone but himself.
However, he’d have to check out the Swinburns before he revealed Angel’s identity. The fact that she’d broken into their house meant her relationship with them had somehow gone awry, and without more information, telling them who she was could prove a nasty mistake.
She tugged at his arm. “We have to go. I can’t stay here any longer.”
At that moment, George Swinburn, an older version of the groom in the portrait, entered the room. His scowl relayed his displeasure. “I thought I settled everything with Tony this morning. He never mentioned anyone named Cramden. Who are you, anyway?”
Before Jordan could answer, Angel raced past him and Swinburn and bolted out the door.
“What the hell is going on?” Swinburn demanded.
Jordan, itching to make sure Angel didn’t disappear, latched onto the first excuse that came to mind. “My assistant’s pregnant. Sometimes her stomach acts up.”
“I don’t mean her. What’s going on with the security system?”
“I’m sorry.” Jordan thought fast and shifted toward the exit. “The office didn’t tell me about the death in your family. I won’t take any more of your time today.”
“Thanks.” Swinburn accompanied him to the door. “Just call next time before coming.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Jordan hurried to the car and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Angel, scrunched down in the passenger seat, her straw hat askew, covering her profile. At least she hadn’t run away.
He climbed inside, started the engine and backed slowly out of the circular drive onto the street. George Swinburn was watching them from his front door, and Jordan didn’t want him reading the Volvo’s license tag as he drove away.
If he had roused Swinburn’s suspicions and the man checked with Sovereign Security, Jordan didn’t want to be identified by his car’s plates. He might bluff his way out of a jam with his pals in the police department, but he couldn’t explain away Angel.
To avoid unwanted attention, he drove at a sedate pace down Swinburn’s street and turned onto the causeway. Immediately, he increased speed and headed toward Sunset Bay Beach.
“Feeling better?”
He caught her brief nod from the corner of his eye.
“Did you see the pictures on the sideboard?” he asked casually.
“They—” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “They looked like me.”
“Did they ring any bells?”
“Alarm bells. From the minute we drove onto Turtle Key, I’ve been shaking like a leaf. The anxiety was worst at that house. That’s why I had to get out.”
“Did the house or the Swinburns bring back any memories?”
“Nothing—except uneasiness.”
Disappointment flooded him. He had hoped she would remember something. Enough, at least, that he could hand her over to her relatives with a clear conscience. For all he knew, her kin had set those two thugs on her. “Do you remember your husband? A little girl?”
“I don’t want to talk about the pictures or the Swinburns.” She angled toward him, and the power of her gaze burned his face. “How did you know to take me there? You know who I am, don’t you?”
“Not for sure.” He purposely ignored her first question. “But I think I’ve figured it out.”
“Who am I?” Her voice vibrated at a sharp, high pitch.
He couldn’t just blurt out his suspicions without verifying them first. Besides, her state of mind was already fragile, and he didn’t want her going to pieces on him. “We’re almost back to the marina—”
“Tell me now.”
The ring of his phone save
d him.
“Be careful,” Mary Tiger said in a low voice when he answered. “Those two jerks from last night are here, asking where you live. I told ’em I don’t know.”
“Thanks—”
“They’re asking everybody in the place. Sooner or later someone’s gonna tell em.”
“I should take a little cruise. Can you get someone to cover for me tonight?”
“No problem. But take care of yourself. I didn’t sober you up just so you could get yourself killed.”
“Mary, love,” he said with a smile, “you’re getting sentimental in your old age.”
“Listen, smart boy,” she snapped, but not sharply enough to cover the affection in her voice, “you make sure you reach old age, you hear?”
“I’m working on it. And you take care. Those guys are bad news.”
He glided the car into its reserved space at the marina, shut off the engine and turned to Angel. “Your would-be kidnappers are back at Mary Tiger’s. When you get out of the car, walk straight to the boat and don’t look back. I’ll be right behind you.”
“But—”
“No time for arguments. Get inside and stay hidden until we’ve left the marina. Please, just do it.”
Sunglasses didn’t hide her apprehension. Her muscles were taut with nervousness as she sprang from the car, slammed the door and hurried down the dock toward the boat. Her long, shapely legs covered the distance quickly, and she disappeared inside.
Jordan reached under the seat for a billed cap, pulled it low over his eyes and removed his dark glasses from the sun visor. With hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped to disguise his height, he slouched across the weathered planks toward the Oblivion.
Forcing nonchalance, he disconnected the utility hookups, untied the mooring lines, tossed them on deck and jumped on board. After scampering up the ladder to the flying bridge, he started the engines and backed out of the slip, keeping a sharp eye on Mary Tiger’s for any sign of the men who were looking for him. With luck, he’d clear the marina basin and reach the channel before they spotted him and the direction he’d headed.
He jumped at the sudden pressure of a hand on his shoulder.
Angel, still in disguise, stood beside him with the wind blowing fake hair across her cheeks. She removed her dark glasses and, with a lift of her eyebrows, confronted him with unspoken questions.
Fortunately, the roar of the boat’s powerful motors prevented conversation and delayed his explanation. As soon as he’d left the no-wake zone, he gunned the engines and headed south into the Intracoastal Waterway.
Traffic in the channel was heavy, and he gave his full attention to piloting his craft. But even as he concentrated on steering the boat, he was aware of Angel beside him.
She had removed the hat and wig, and her long golden hair streamed behind her in the breeze. Her hands gripped the railing lightly for balance. When he glanced at her face, her eyes pierced his soul.
Emotions, long suppressed, stirred and expanded deep inside him, and he fought to bury them again. Over the past year, he had rid his life of sentimental complications, and he worried that the tender and erotic feelings Angel was beginning to arouse in him would undermine his success.
He didn’t know the exact nature of her difficulties, but she was in serious trouble, with two apparent kidnappers on her trail and the Sunset Bay police searching for her, as well. He’d be no help to her at all if he let emotion interfere with his instincts and training.
At least he had a fix on her last name now....
Five miles south of Sunset Bay, he shouted to her to resume her disguise, then steered toward the mainland. In a few minutes the boat entered a private marina and dry dock. He pulled alongside a dock by the marina office and killed the engines.
“Why are we stopping?” Angel followed him down the ladder and waited on deck while he secured the lines. “If they find out we’re on the water, won’t they catch up with us?”
“If we stay on the water, they might.” He steadied her as she disembarked. “But I have a few plans to frustrate their efforts.”
He headed toward the office, but her hand on his arm stopped him. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Let me take care of the boat first.” He covered her hand with his. “After that, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but she nodded, and the grim set of her mouth relaxed. She made a point of withdrawing her hand from his grasp. “I really don’t have much choice, except to trust you.”
Hoping his revelations wouldn’t destroy that trust, he hurried into the office.
ANGEL YANKED OFF the itchy hat and wig and tossed them onto the king-size bed of the cramped but clean motel room.
After leaving the office at the private marina, Jordan had hurried her a block down the street to this quaint motel nestled among a stand of Australian pines on the bay. When registering under a false name, he’d requested separate rooms, but with the spring break season still under way, the clerk had only one vacancy.
Once Jordan saw her safely settled, he had gone back to the boat. Darkness had fallen when, carrying not only a flight bag crammed with clothing, but also a cooler filled with food and drinks from the galley, he returned.
“The less we’re seen in public—” he set the cooler on a luggage rack “—the better. I also picked up a few items at a Wal-Mart two blocks over.”
She had no interest in food or clothes. She wanted facts, and Jordan obviously knew more than he was telling. Jamming her hands on her hips, she confronted him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
She refused to allow his electrifying good looks and appealing boyish charm to distract her. “I may have lost my memory, but forgetfulness doesn’t make me stupid. I’m tired of being kept in the dark.”
His blue eyes clouded with dismay. “If I’ve held back information, it’s only for your protection.”
“Protecting me by keeping me ignorant?” she said hotly. “I want facts so I can make my own decisions. Believe me, I hate other people deciding for me. David always—”
She stopped cold, puzzled by her own words.
“Who’s David?” he asked.
The name had made her dizzy. Weak-kneed, her mind a blank, she sank onto the bed. “I don’t know.”
“I do.”
She jerked her head up in surprise. “Tell me.”
He extracted a can of Coke from the cooler, popped the top and offered it to her. When she declined, he settled into an armchair that faced the door and took a drink. “It’s a long story, and when you hear it, you’re going to be angrier with me than you already are.”
“That may not be possible,” she said with a wry grimace.
“This morning, I took a glass with your fingerprints to the Sunset Bay police.”
“You what?” She bounded off the bed, torn between fury and an irrational urge to escape.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said with an I-told-you-so grin, “but I think you just got angrier.”
“Angry? That doesn’t begin to express how I feel.” Her emotions emerged white-hot as she stomped the length of the room and back. “How about furious, betrayed and totally ticked off? Those come closer.”
He lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “You left out aggravated, annoyed, fuming, irate—”
“I’m just getting warmed up,” she snapped.
His infuriating grin didn’t waver. “I did it for your own good—”
“How dare you?”
She stopped in front of him, grabbed the arms of his chair and leaned toward him, inches from his face. He didn’t retreat. She wanted to shake him and feared she would burst into tears if she didn’t cool her anger.
“I trusted you.” Her voice choked with hurt. “You knew I didn’t want the cops involved—I couldn’t have made it any clearer—but you ignored my wishes. You’re as bad as David—”
The name had caught her once more by surpr
ise. Puzzled by its emergence and her reaction to it, she whirled away from Jordan.
As though a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her, her anger fizzled. Confused, she slumped into the chair opposite him. “What happened at the police station?”
“You don’t have anything to worry about. My request was unofficial. A buddy of mine ran your prints through the computer, but the only match that came up was some unidentified prints from a house that was broken into early last night on Turtle Key.”
Exhausted, she nodded with comprehension. Their earlier foray finally made sense. “The Swinburns.”
“I figure you aren’t the cat-burglar type, so you must have broken into their house for another reason. When I took you to Turtle Key this afternoon, I was hoping to jog your memory with familiar faces and surroundings.”
She closed her eyes, recalling the anxiety she’d suffered on Turtle Key. And no. wonder. She’d returned to the scene of her crime. Her head swam with unanswered questions. “Going there didn’t help.”
“Not in the way I’d hoped, but the photographs told us something.”
“The Swinburns know who I am,” she said, stating the obvious.
“And you’re related to them in some way. The groom in that wedding portrait looked like a younger version of George Swinburn, maybe a younger brother or a son.” His gaze took on laser sharpness. “That makes you either a sister- or daughter-inlaw.”
“I’m married.”
She acknowledged what she’d been trying not to think about since she’d seen the photographs of herself in the Swinburn house. The word married sounded alien and made her feel cold and hollow.
“If I can trust the resemblance between you and the child in the photograph,” he added gently, “you have a little girl.”
Tears filled her eyes and pain flooded her heart. “I have a daughter.”
The devastating emptiness that she’d tried to avoid had returned, and she recognized it for what it was—the desire to hold her baby, a little girl she couldn’t remember. She didn’t know her baby’s name and wouldn’t know what her child looked like if she hadn’t seen the picture.
A Woman of Mystery Page 4
