by Penny McCall
“Then we have an agreement.”
She nodded and turned toward the Jaguar to collect her files and laptop.
“Rae . . .”
“What?”
“I’m not sure how to word this.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Give it a stab.”
“We’re back in familiar surroundings, with people we both know.”
Rae relaxed a little. His memory problem had become so commonplace to her that she kept forgetting about it, not to mention the antiquated beliefs that came along with it. “You don’t want to offend anyone, or give them the wrong impression. About us.”
He nodded, looking relieved.
“You’re a nice man, Connor Larkin.”
His gaze shifted to hers. He seemed to want to say something, and he did. She just expected it to be something more meaningful than, “I’ll see you later.”
But she wasn’t feeling rejected anymore, so she’d take what she could get.
BRIGHT AND EARLY SATURDAY MORNING RAE FOUND herself wearing her mother’s idea of appropriate attire, which consisted of a Kelly green dress with a leather corset over it and a light peach tunic beneath. Her hair was down and she wore a circlet of flowers, the ribbons blowing in a breeze that was on the uncomfortable side of cool. Not a good thing considering her braless state. Then again, she was still wearing underwear, so she decided to be grateful. Thinking positive, that was the key.
The sun was shining in a sky dotted with puffy white clouds, fake knights were getting ready to joust a few hundred yards away to the shouts of “huzzah” from the crowd, and she’d actually managed to put in a decent day’s work yesterday, hard as it had been to focus on numbers when being an accountant felt so completely useless.
Now she stood in Conn’s booth—the part without the forge—playing sales wench, which was pretty much her worst nightmare. For a man who claimed he needed to work, Conn had done precious little of it, taking off after each scheduled demonstration and returning just before the next one. He brought back a snack or something to drink each time, but Rae was chafing at being left there, supposedly for her own safety, while the man who claimed to be concerned about her was nowhere in the vicinity. Not that her irritation ever lasted long.
Currently he was making . . . she could care less. Neither could the crowd of women gathered around watching him. Not that she blamed them. She remembered what it was like to see him for the first time in leather pants and not much else, bare muscles sweaty and rippling. Familiarity hadn’t blunted his impact on her.
“Can I see that dagger?”
She turned back to the man pretending to shop for one of Conn’s weapons. He wasn’t actually pointing at anything since his eyes weren’t on the display—at least not the goods in the case in front of her.
“Do you mean this one?” she asked sweetly, pulling a lethally sharp dagger out of its leather sheath and holding it in his line of sight, right about breast level.
“That’s one of my favorites,” Conn said, coming up beside her. “It’s good for, say, putting out eyes.”
The man’s gaze traveled up, locking on Conn’s face. “It’s, uh . . . really nice.”
“You must be talking about the knife,” Conn said, because the man’s eyes had fixed on Rae’s cleavage again.
“Cash or credit?” Rae asked him.
“Oh, John, you’re not buying that,” a pleasant, PTA-TYPE woman said from a couple feet down the counter, which was as close as she could get to her husband in the crush of sighing women.
Conn turned his smile on her. “It’s a beautifully crafted weapon, madam. A chatelaine would have worn this kind of knife in a sheath hung at her waist, or,” his voice deepened, “in the case of the Celtic warrior woman, strapped at her thigh.”
She blushed, but she didn’t say another word as her husband got out his wallet and plunked down a Visa card.
“That was a peacekeeping sale if I ever saw one,” Conn said after they were gone.
Rae laughed. “You’re shameless.”
His eyes dropped to her breasts. “My tactics were no different than yours.”
“I wasn’t using any tactics. It’s this dress.” She tugged on the gathered neckline of the peach undertunic, then gave up with a little shrug. “It definitely makes the most of what I’ve got.”
Conn looked around at the male portion of their fan club. “If it made any more I’d have to fight some of these guys off.”
“Maybe I should strap one of those knives to my thigh and fight my own battles.”
He popped up a brow. “You don’t think one of those knives would stop me.”
“Probably not, but it might be fun trying.”
His eyes darkened, and he moved closer. Rae held her ground, ignoring the crowd of onlookers cluing in to the sexual tension behind the counter. She was lost to everything but Conn and the way she needed him—
A throat was cleared, loudly, not that it took much volume, what with the crowd gone completely silent.
They jerked apart. Rae took in their audience and felt her face heat. But since the entertainment was over, and the joust was beginning, most of the onlookers dispersed, until the only ones left were a pretty blond woman who looked like she belonged on reality TV, and a man who was as tall as Conn, and almost as muscular. And Annie Bliss, the three of them standing on the other side of the dirt path in front of Conn’s forge.
Annie came over and crooked a finger at Conn. He joined her down the counter a little way, his head coming up when Annie gestured to the couple and said something Rae couldn’t hear. Conn looked startled for a second, then his expression went blank.
Rae gave up on pretending to respect his privacy. “Do you know them?” she asked, joining him.
“I don’t think so.”
“They seem to know you. Her especially.”
Conn glanced over at the blonde.
“She does look worried about you,” Annie said. “It might be a good idea for you to talk to her. Maybe she can jog something loose. In your head.”
Conn stared at Annie a second, then walked over to the blonde and her companion.
“Subtle, Mom.”
“This is family entertainment,” her mother shot back. “Despite the dress,” she added when Rae glanced down at her overflowing décolletage. “You guys were one heaving breath away from X-rated.”
“You’ve been shoving me at him since day one. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Annie sniffed. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Yes, we will.” But what concerned her now was the conversation happening under the trees on the other side of the path.
“Every man has a past,” Annie said quietly. “Sometimes it makes the future impossible. Certain futures, anyway.”
“I’m not holding out hope for a future with Connor Larkin,” Rae said.
“You’re all about the future, Sunny,” Annie said sadly.
“Sometimes people change.”
“Not that much.”
chapter 21
“WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T HUG ME,” CONN SAID when he was close enough to Harmony Swift to get his point across.
“I’m supposed to be a tourist,” she said.
“I’m supposed to have amnesia.”
Harmony’s smile had faltered; that news brought it back full force, and that was saying something. A man passing by walked into a tree, which was probably nothing compared to what his wife was going to do to him when she got him alone.
“Amnesia, huh? Don’t know who you are?”
“Worse than that. I think I really am a sixteenth-century armorer.”
Harmony started laughing, so she turned her face into Cole’s shoulder. He put his arm around her, patting her on the back as if comforting her. “It’s not like we were going to blow your cover,” Cole said. “I’m a civilian, but I know what covert means.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
Harmony Swift was a former FBI agent. She’d bro
ken Cole out of jail to help her rescue another agent who’d been kidnapped and held for ransom. Along the way, Harmony had come out on the bad end of a run-in with a Russian Mafiyaoperative named Irina, and Mike Kovaleski had sent her to Conn while she recuperated enough to finish the op. Conn had known her longer than that, though. She was like the little sister he’d never had.
“Mike should’ve called you off,” he said. “I talked to him this morning, told him my memory was back.”
“He did call us off,” Cole said, “but we were already in town, and Harmony insisted on hunting you down. The last time she went after one of her FBI friends she dragged me from Pennsylvania to L.A.”
“It wouldn’t have been such an ordeal if you’d’ve come along peaceably,” Harmony said.
“Which is why I decided not to fight the inevitable this time.”
“If you two are done reminiscing, you can take off. It was nice seeing you, but I have a lot going on right now.”
“Aw, and we were having so much fun.” Harmony brandished the shopping bag in her hand. “I even bought this plastic faux-granite gargoyle’s head. So I’d look like a tourist.”
“The fanny pack accomplished that,” Conn said.
“It’s designer.”
“I’m not surprised.” Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t be caught dead with a fanny pack. It was a safe bet that the lacy tank and khaki short pants she was wearing were at least three figures. Apiece. Her underwear probably cost more than that, and the shoes would make a dent in the national debt. That was what came of growing up in close proximity to Rodeo Drive, not to mention having the wherewithal to shop there.
“It’s still a fanny pack,” he said.
She looked at it and wrinkled her nose. “I know. The things I do for friendship. But seriously, is everything all right?” she asked, her eyes lifting, but not to his, focusing instead over his shoulder.
Conn didn’t need to turn around to know Rae was watching them. Watching and wondering. “It’s under control.”
“Doesn’t look under control,” Cole said. He wasn’t a wordy guy, preferring to cut right to the point.
Conn glanced over his shoulder and saw Rae waiting for the crowded path to clear so she could join them.
“Civilians,” Harmony scoffed, “they never follow instructions.” And she stepped forward, whacking Conn over the head with the bag in her hand.
“Ouch,” he said.
“That only works in the movies,” Rae said. She held out a hand. “Rae Blissfield.”
“Harmony Swift and Cole Hackett,” Harmony said, shifting aside so Cole could shake Rae’s hand as well. “We’re friends of Conn’s, but he doesn’t seem to remember us.”
“How did you know he was here?”
“We traveled with the group for a little while,” Harmony said without hesitation. “Spent some time in winter camp in Colorado Springs.”
“Then you know my parents,” Rae said. “Annie and Nelson Bliss.”
“They’re your parents?” Harmony stepped forward and gave Rae a hug. “Annie helped me out, big-time, not too long ago. They’re the best.”
“I remember when you wore that getup,” Cole said to Harmony.
If he and Rae had been looking at each other like that, Conn thought, watching Cole and Harmony have visual sex, it was a good thing Annie had broken them up before the booth burst into flames.
“We should be going,” Cole said, but Harmony broke their connection first.
“You have a customer,” she said to Rae, ignoring her own faint embarrassment for the bigger picture. Ever the consummate agent.
Rae looked over her shoulder then back, clearly reluctant to leave.
“Kids,” Cole added, “playing with the knives.”
That did it. She whipped around in a swirl of Kelly green and shot across the path.
“That was mean,” Harmony said to Cole. “I’m proud of you.”
Cole bumped up a shoulder. “Your lie was good, mine was better.”
“But I’m the one who has to deal with the fallout.”
“Gravy,” Cole said.
Harmony rolled her eyes. “Be careful, Conn, and I’m not talking about the bad guys.”
Conn glanced over his shoulder. “She’s very intuitive.”
“Only about you, I’ll bet.”
“Go away,” Conn said to Harmony, only half-teasing. “Call Mike and let him know I’m good.” At least as far as the mission was concerned. Seeing Harmony and Cole again, knowing how close they’d come to death, just being together on the same mission . . .
Turning Rae loose wasn’t an option; it would only make her the easier target. He had to finish this op, ferret out the head of the counterfeiting ring, and cut it off before Rae got hurt. And he didn’t mean the kind of hurt that would come from watching her parents go to jail. He couldn’t spare her that. He could make sure she was around to do everything in her power to help them.
He’d spent the entire previous day trying to pick up from where he’d left off before he lost his memory, without much luck. He needed the map Rae had found in his tent a week ago, the one where some of the booths were circled. That map represented months’ worth of legwork, ruling out merchants until he’d pared the possibilities down to the point where, even without turning one of the ring members, he was only days away from closing the case.
Problem was, he didn’t know what Rae had done with the map. He was pretty sure it wasn’t in her files, he was positive it wasn’t in her car, but he couldn’t ask her about it. If he asked her about it, she’d want to know why it mattered. He couldn’t tell her why it mattered because then she’d know his memory was back. He didn’t bother to remind himself why he couldn’t tell her his memory was back. Her safety depended on it, and her safety was always uppermost in his mind.
While she’d been up to her hairline in other peoples’ finances yesterday, Conn had gotten himself a fresh map and made an effort to reproduce the one he’d lost, with partial success. There were dozens of booths, and he couldn’t remember exactly which ones had still been suspect. Chances were good that he never would, and while it frustrated him to think he might have lost some of his short-term memory permanently, he counted himself fortunate he’d been able to retrieve as much as he had. And even if he’d had the map he’d marked up, wandering around while the place was deserted would have made him too conspicuous. The guilty parties would be nervous; he needed the crowds of tourists as cover, so he’d made an effort that morning, between armor-making demonstrations, to check out the likely culprits. He hadn’t accomplished much. Except to piss off Rae.
“Conn?”
He blinked, making the shift from Rae to the op just that fast. “The exit is that way,” he said to Harmony, pointing in the general flow of foot traffic.
She held his eyes for a long moment, but all she said was, “Consider yourself hugged.”
“You’ve got our number,” Cole added.
Conn waved them off.
“Fine, be all macho and solitary,” Harmony said. “But don’t get yourself killed. This is one story, classified or not, that I’m looking forward to hearing.”
RAE STAYED BEHIND THE COUNTER IN CONN’S booth, knowing that was where he wanted her and wondering why. She kept one eye on the never-ending stream of weapons aficionados, mostly teenage boys addicted to Japanese anime. Intense interest in weapons, no money to buy them, which made it easy to keep the rest of her focus on Conn’s interaction with Harmony Swift and Cole Hackett. And the fact that something about it was off.
Sure, there’d been an instant rush of jealousy. Harmony Swift was beautiful, and she obviously loved Conn. But not in the way Rae . . . not in the way she loved him, Rae admitted to herself. She blew out a breath, slumping against the wall behind her as the truth sank in. Not that it was much of a surprise. She’d been lonely, and Conn had been a revelation. Everything that was missing from her life. But Conn wasn’t real. Even he knew that.
S
o she pushed the emotions away—the love, and the pain. She was going to get hurt. She could sit around waiting for it, or she could stop thinking with her emotions, stop seeing what she wanted to see. And when she took off the heart-shaped glasses and looked back over the last few days, a picture formed, all the little things coming together. Conn’s speech was more clipped, less filled with historical clichés. His manner was more consistently intense as well, not just when they were in danger, but the sex . . . It was different, too, still amazing—no doubt it would be the best of her life—but different from that first time.
And then there was the look in his eyes when he’d seen Harmony Swift. Because he’d recognized her. And then he’d lied about it.
So why didn’t she feel anything? She’d gone completely numb, no tears, no sense of betrayal, no homicidal urges. Good thing, since she was confronting Conn over a long counter filled with really sharp weapons.
“They seemed to be nice people,” Rae said.
Conn shrugged.
“So when did your memory come back?”
“What?” Conn asked as if she’d wanted to know the temperature.
It might have worked if she hadn’t been looking him straight in the eye. And he knew it.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, his eyes lifting to stare off, over her head.
“When?”
His gaze shifted back to hers. “Mackinac Island. Before the plane.”
Okay, now she was feeling something—pissed off. She walked out of the booth, heading for the faire workers’ entrance at the back of the grounds, less than a hundred yards away.
Conn caught her just as she was going through the gate. “I’m telling the truth, Rae.”
“Better late than never? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“I woke up and it was just there.”
“And so was I.”
Conn had the grace to look sheepish. He did not look apologetic.
“Let go of my arm.”
For a second she thought he’d refuse. Then he let her go. It hurt, desperately. She couldn’t bear to stand there and listen to him justify using sex to keep her in the dark, but she wanted him to fight for the opportunity. And he let her just walk away.
