Stranded with the SEAL

by Amy Gamet

  13

  An hour later, the dust in the cabin remained untouched as Olivia searched for memories. With Trevor gone, she was free to explore without him suspecting she was familiar with the cabin. Drawer after drawer, she rifled through generic clothing and possessions, nothing giving a clue as to its owner.

  Exhausted and frustrated, she flopped face-up on the queen-sized bed and stared at the ceiling. There, in the corner of the room, was a framed-out rectangle that could only be the access to the attic.

  “How did I miss this?” she mumbled, pulling down a slender handle and exposing a compact ladder. She eagerly reached up to extend it, and froze.

  An image appeared in her mind, her own hand on this ladder, tucking it and the access door away. A tremendous sadness filled her spirit at the memory. What was up here that could make her feel so empty inside? She searched her mind for the answer, just as she’d done with the kitchen cupboards.

  Everything.

  A chill went up her spine. It was dark, and she grabbed a flashlight she’d found before venturing up the ladder with cautious footsteps. Poking her head into the attic, she shined the light in a circle. The space was small and half the height of a normal room, with a stack of boxes on one end, the smell of old newspapers and stale air making her wrinkle her nose.

  Settling next to the pile, she pulled down the first box. “Pictures” was scribbled in marker across the top, and she felt her stomach tighten as she opened the box and pulled away the newspaper wrapped around a frame.

  A middle-aged man had his arms around two smiling girls in their graduation caps and gowns. One of those girls was her.

  She covered her mouth.

  Her eyes glazed over as she remembered…

  She was in a car, driving in that too-fast reckless way you always had to drive to get up Warsaw Mountain in the snow, when she suddenly feared she’d missed her turn and slowed down the slightest bit — just enough to lose momentum and the traction of her tires on the road.

  Then she was stuck, cursing as she tried to push the car on the snow-covered roadway, the wind from the storm howling in her ears. That must have been when Trevor hit her. She never would have heard him coming in that storm.

  He’d been telling the truth.

  She picked up the graduation picture again, touching the face of the man and the girl, feeling her throat tighten. Ellie and Frank. She held the picture to her chest.

  This place didn’t just happen to be close to the accident scene. This had been her destination all along. Her breathing got faster as the realization sliced through her new reality. “I was coming here. I had to get something…to find something…”

  Her head began to ache as she concentrated. She could remember the urgency, the importance of her journey, but could not for the life of her remember what it was. “Damn it, Olivia,” she said out loud. “What were you looking for, and why was it so important that you had to drive through a blizzard to find it?”

  14

  Trevor put on the snowshoes, grabbed a shovel he’d found in the garage, and took off down the driveway. It was snowing as if it would never stop, and he pulled his hood over his head as he limped through the snow. He took his time, babying his knee, testing to see which positions could hold weight as his mind replayed his kiss with Olivia in one continuous, torturous loop.

  The walk was punishing, and he was a man who needed punishment. He had no right to take the kisses she offered, not when he was keeping the most basic information about her life a secret. Worse yet, he knew he’d be hard-pressed to deny himself if and when she offered him more.

  You’re a fucking bastard.

  With every step, his thoughts of Olivia grew more inappropriate. Fantasy stepped in where reality left off, the race of his imagination a welcome distraction from his physical discomfort.

  When he rounded the corner onto the main road, the mailbox was nowhere in sight. It had been completely covered in snow. He looked around him at the woods, noting two distinctive trees to mark the turn, and headed for the accident scene, the downward slope of the road causing his knee to catch and grind.

  A noise echoed in the distance and he froze, his eyes narrowing. It sounded mechanical, possibly an engine of some sort. He stood still, his ears carefully listening for several minutes. Could it be a snowplow, come to free them from their isolation? Or a helicopter in the sky, searching for the missing Olivia? Surely her fiancé was aware of her location and that she didn’t get wherever she’d been heading, which could pose one hell of a problem for Trevor if that fiancé of hers came looking for her here.

  Hawk couldn’t afford to be seen on Warsaw Mountain.

  Olivia already knows you’re here.

  He cursed out loud.

  Steele’s death was bound to make headlines. How would he keep Olivia from turning him in? He shook his head. He’d deal with that when he had to.

  He stopped walking and listened hard for the sound for several seconds. It seemed to have stopped.

  Rounding the wide corner before the accident scene, it felt as if he was going further back in time than twenty-four hours, as if the accident had been days or weeks earlier, as if he’d known Olivia longer and been sidetracked from his mission far longer than he really had.

  Several small drifts of snow remained close to the crash site, and Trevor began digging with the shovel. Drift after drift proved to be exactly that—a formation of snow caused by the wind.

  He was just about to give up when his shovel caught on something solid. He dug out a suitcase, one side of it charred and dented from the blast. Beneath it was a long, white plastic garment bag emblazoned with Beverly Hills Bridal in silver letters.

  He hadn’t found his coat, but he’d managed to find Olivia’s wedding dress.

  Great.

  He had to take the dress and the suitcase with him. He owed her that much, but given that he hadn’t told her she was engaged, the dress was bound to be an awkward discovery. Draping the garment bag over his arm and picking up the case, he was nearly back to the cabin when the same mechanical sound caught his attention once more.

  This time, he was sure it was a snowmobile, the rise and fall of the engine’s purr now easily familiar. There was someone else on this mountain. Someone with transportation and gasoline. Hopefully it was a kindly neighbor, but he couldn’t discount the possibility it was one of Steele’s men.

  He began to move more quickly, tuning out the sensations from his knee. He had to find the snowmobile’s tracks, had to trace them back to their source so he could find gasoline to get to Steele.

  Hawk was nearly back to the cabin’s drive when he found the tracks, two parallel lines in the snow that meant he would be able to kill Steele after all.

  “Booyah!” he exclaimed. He’d wanted this for years, hundreds of days spent planning to get the man responsible for Ralph’s death, and with a snowmobile he knew he could do it.

  The snowmobile’s tracks suddenly reversed direction. Trevor furrowed his brow as he followed them up the hill with his eyes. The rider had changed direction and turned back to follow Trevor’s tracks.

  The snowmobile was heading toward the cabin.

  Adrenaline shot through Hawk’s system. His mind began to race. He’d left Olivia alone. Alone and vulnerable, even though he knew they were close to Steele’s compound.

  It could be a neighbor who saw the smoke from our fire and wants to make sure we’re okay.

  But as a Navy SEAL, he’d learned to trust his instincts, and his instincts were screaming that she was not safe. His breath came in heavy pants. He followed the tracks within sight of the cabin and as they veered in a wide arc around the tree line. Whoever was driving that snowmobile was scouting, just as he himself would have done, then the tracks disappeared into the woods.

  Was the rider staring back at him from the trees, hidden from view, or was he truly gone?

  He had to see if Olivia was okay before investigating further. He ran inside, throwing the garment
bag and suitcase into the garage. “Olivia?” he called. “Olivia!”

  “Here, I’m down here,” came the answer, and he bolted down the hall toward her. Just as he entered the room and caught a glimpse of her dusting, the sound of a snowmobile’s engine roared to life right outside the cabin walls, making them jump.

  “Get down!” he yelled, tackling her. “Stay away from the windows!”

  She did as she was told, cowering on the floor. He had to get a weapon. He stayed low, quickly getting to the kitchen and yanking open a kitchen drawer. He selected a seven-inch knife, its blade gleaming, and his mind flashed back to Ralph on the floor of Steele’s warehouse, gagging on his own blood as he begged Steele for his life.

  Steele would not have another chance to hurt someone else Trevor cared about. He took another knife out and slammed the drawer shut. His heart was hammering in his chest now, a steady rhythm beating like a warrior’s drum.

  He walked back to the bedroom and began rifling through the closet. The snowshoes had been awkward. He needed something faster and had spotted just the thing when he inventoried the cabin.

  She asked from the floor, “What’s going on, Trevor? Who was that outside?”

  Her plaintive voice pawed at him as he flipped through heavy coats and brightly colored parkas. One had ski goggles attached to the hanger.

  She pulled at his arm. “Talk to me, damn it! Who was that out there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t I believe that?”

  He stopped and met her glassy eyes. “I’m telling the truth.” Trevor turned back to the closet. “There’s nothing to be scared about.” He caught sight of something shiny in the back of the closet and forced the hanging clothes apart.

  There, on the back wall, were the several sets of cross-country skis he’d been looking for. He pulled them out, along with poles and boots. “I’m just going to catch up to that person and see if I can get some gasoline.”

  “But you told me to get down,” she said. “To get away from the windows, like someone was shooting at us.”

  He forced his foot into a too-tight snow boot and looked at her like she was hallucinating. “No one was shooting at us.”

  “Trevor! Stop bullshitting me!”

  He turned back to the closet, searching for gloves and deciding what to say.

  “I don’t know who was on that snowmobile, but I don’t have a good feeling about them, and I’m going after them to see what I can find out.”

  She looked from his ski boots up to his face. “You can’t possibly catch him.”

  “I think I can.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “Former Navy SEAL officer Trevor Hawkins, current lieutenant commander of HERO Force Alpha Squad. Put the fire out and the lights off until I know what we’re dealing with. Take this knife and keep it with you at all times.”

  She looked at the blade in her hand and took a step backward.

  He zipped up his parka and pulled the goggles over his eyes, then slipped out the door without another word.

  15

  Olivia hadn’t moved since Trevor left.

  Navy SEAL.

  Lieutenant Commander.

  HERO Force.

  No wonder he looked like a warrior. That’s exactly what he was.

  Even wounded, she believed him when he said he could catch up to the man on the snowmobile, physics be damned. The rules of motion hadn’t been formally introduced to Trevor Hawkins.

  She’d only known him for a short time, but she was in awe of this man. He was physically and emotionally strong, and he took care of her. Chasing after the guy on the snowmobile came as no surprise.

  Trevor was a man who would protect her.

  Olivia frowned. Somehow she knew she needed protecting, though from what, or whom, she couldn’t imagine. There was a fatigue in her bones that held its own memories, and it stood witness to hard times in her past and a lingering sadness she couldn’t explain.

  Trevor had crashed into her world, and her history had been wiped clean. Maybe that was no accident. Maybe the strength of his character had scared her reality away.

  You’re being melodramatic, and you’re getting too attached to a man who’s only bound to you by the weather.

  Where would he go if he were able to leave? Now that she knew what he did for a living, she wondered if he was on a mission. She blew out air at the cloak-and-dagger word. Mission. Did anyone really go on missions?

  He works for a group called HERO Force, and you’re making fun of the word mission?

  Seriously.

  Or maybe he really was here to see a woman.

  A lover.

  She crossed her arms. A man like that could have whatever woman he wanted, and he no doubt did.

  “That’s one lucky lady,” she said, then sighed. His body alone! Add to that, he was a protective, kind, Navy SEAL, and the women must be falling all over themselves to get to him. If she were available, she certainly would be.

  Her eyes popped open wide.

  If she were available?

  Goose bumps swept up her arms, but no more thoughts came, no picture of a man she should be missing. She should be thrilled at the slightest glimpse of her memory returning, but the contrast between her thoughts of Trevor and the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of the real man in her life was alarming.

  She wandered through the darkening cabin. The fire was nearly out, but she put down her knife and used the fire poker to spread out the remaining coals before taking a seat by the window. Snow was falling softly against the luminous purple sky, the entire landscape covered in white, and glowing. He was out there somewhere, tangling with something neither of them understood, and she hoped he would come home soon.

  Home? This isn’t home!

  As soon as the roads were open, Hawk would go back to his life, and she would be left to fend for herself.

  Maybe by then she’d have her memory back.

  Or maybe I don’t even want it.

  Her shoulders shook, whether from cold or her thoughts, she wasn’t sure. It was certainly cold in the cabin, and bound to get a lot colder. She thought of Trevor keeping her warm, a silently ticking clock counting down their time together until she would be without him and alone.

  “I don’t want to remember my real life,” she whispered, surprising herself with the truth in her own statement. “Please don’t make me remember,” she begged to the empty room.

  16

  Dusk colored the landscape purple and pink as Trevor set out on his skis. The motion of his cross-country stride was easier on his knee than the snow shoes had been, and he followed the snowmobile’s tracks in good time. As he feared, they led up the mountainside toward Steele’s compound, leaving little doubt as to the other man’s employer, if not identity.

  The tint of his goggles was too dark, and he pushed them up onto his forehead. This would be a difficult ski with the benefit of daylight. Without it, he knew his ability was limited, but he continued to follow the tracks. Even though getting back to the cabin would be far faster than this trip away from it, he calculated he only had a few more minutes before he would need to turn around.

  Up ahead, a large boulder was silhouetted against the midnight-blue sky. Hawk detected the faint smell of hot metal in the air, markedly different than the crisp forest breeze.

  It was the smell of an engine that had recently been running.

  His mysterious snowmobiler was nearby, hoping to escape detection, which made Hawk that much more certain this was not just a friendly neighbor out for a joyride. Hawk slowed his stride, careful not to look like he was stopping, as his eyes swept back and forth.

  The boulder was the most likely spot for an ambush. As Hawk closed the distance between it and him, he readied himself for the attack. He’d only have a split second to disarm the other man.

  Just as he passed the boulder, a fist reached out from behind it, heading stra
ight for his jaw. Trevor grabbed it in midair, twisting it back before slamming it on the boulder. The man let out a pained grunt as a handgun flew out of his grip and over the boulder.

  “You don’t know when to quit, do you?” asked the man, his voice muffled behind his helmet.

  “Are you talking to me, or yourself?” Trevor punched the other man in the solar plexus.

  The squawk of a walkie-talkie came from the snowmobile. “Gallant, do you copy?”

  Recognition slammed through Hawk. The most awful image appeared in his brain, a visceral memory so ingrained in his mind he could have been standing there today.

  Ralph on the floor, bloodied and beaten but still fighting back against the big man who answered to Steele. “Gallant, that’s enough. Tie his hands and feet, then get me my hunting knife.”

  The man from the snowmobile had the same physique as the man in Hawk’s memory, and the muscles in Hawk’s body became supercharged with adrenaline. He grabbed Gallant, ripping off his helmet, dominating the other man with his strength born of emotion. There was the face Hawk remembered. “You!”

  Hawk was going to kill Steele, but first he was going to kill this guy.

  Gallant struggled to be free, but Hawk threw him against the boulder with such force, Gallant's head hit the stone with a sickening thud. He was stunned for a half second, then rallied and fought again. Hawk elbowed him in the chin as he once again forced the big man against the boulder.

  This time when his head hit the rock, he went down.

  The radio squawked again. “Gallant, are you there?”

  Hawk stared at the man on the ground and assessed the threat he posed. Gallant was either dead, out cold, or faking, but he wouldn’t get far in the seconds it would take Hawk to answer the man on the radio. He turned and picked up the receiver. “Copy.”

  The slightest noise behind him had him whipping back around, just as Gallant rolled over the edge of the cliff.