A Man Worth Remembering

by Delores Fossen

  But they knew.

  They likely knew everything about her.

  “What’s my name?” she asked Sanchez. She wanted answers, and by God, she wanted them now.

  “Leigh O’Brien.”

  That didn’t mean anything to her. Only the water and Sanchez saving her meant anything. For all practical purposes, her life had begun the moment she realized she was drowning. That wasn’t a comforting thought. “Where am I?”

  “A private clinic near New Orleans.”

  So, they hadn’t left the area. But it wasn’t an ordinary clinic. She was sure of that. “Are you a cop?”

  “No.”

  “Am I a cop?”

  The room went deadly silent. “No,” the blond man finally answered.

  Leigh didn’t like that hesitation. It sent a wave of panic through her. “Am I a criminal then?” And she braced herself for the answer.

  These people might be here to arrest her for something she’d done wrong. Had someone tossed her in that lake because of a drug deal gone bad? An organized-crime housecleaning? What awful thing had she done to make someone want to murder her?

  The blond man took a step forward, placing himself slightly ahead of the others. “You’re not a criminal.”

  She allowed herself a short breath of relief. Just one. And got down to business. “Since these questions could go on forever, why don’t you just tell me who you are?”

  The three glanced at each other before the blond man said anything else. “I’m Wade Jenkins. People call me Jinx. Special Agent Sanchez and I are with the FBI. Agent Teresa Walters is an agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms—the ATF.”

  “FBI. ATF,” Leigh repeated. “What about me? Am I some sort of agent, too?”

  “You’re a concerned citizen.” The blond man burrowed his index finger into his eyebrow. “A concerned citizen with a rather large problem.”

  “Obviously,” Leigh snapped. “Believe me, after everything that’s happened, I can guess there’s a problem. Now, other than a concerned citizen, who am I? If I don’t work for an agency with initials, where do I work?”

  “At a bookstore in Austin, Texas,” Jinx answered.

  “A bookstore?” A bookstore. That couldn’t be right. Nothing about that felt right.

  He didn’t elaborate. “Exactly what do you remember about being in the water?”

  A good question. Too bad she didn’t have a good answer. “Not much other than Agent Sanchez saving me. Before that, all I remember is struggling and sinking deeper.”

  “Any idea who put you in the lake?”

  She tried to force the answer to appear in her mind. It didn’t work. She had no more answers about that now than she had when Sanchez had first asked her. “No. I have an image of someone on a bridge, but I can’t make out any of the features. Someone wearing light colors. I don’t suppose that helps you any?”

  “No,” Teresa Walters answered in a frustrated huff. “But your amnesia is only part of the problem. This might not be over. Someone might make another attempt to kill you.”

  Leigh swallowed hard. She hadn’t considered that. Yet. However, after her adrenaline fatigue wore off, it would no doubt have occurred to her. Amnesia or not, she still had common sense.

  She hoped.

  Leigh turned her gaze to Sanchez. “Who wants me dead?”

  He lifted his shoulder. “We don’t know.”

  “Can you at least tell me what it involves? What—”

  “The less you know, the better,” Jinx interrupted.

  “Maybe that’s your way of looking at it, but I see things from a little different perspective than you do. Someone tried to kill me, and I think I have a right to know why.”

  “Jinx is right about this, Leigh,” Sanchez spoke up. “Even if we told you everything, it wouldn’t make you safer. That’s why we’ll provide you with protection.”

  She shook her head, already objecting. “Now, wait a minute. I don’t even know any of you, and you want me to place my life in your hands? How do I know you’re not the people who tried to kill me, huh?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Sanchez answered. “If we wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have pulled you out of that lake.”

  “But those two didn’t pull me out.” She pointed to Wade Jenkins and then to Teresa Walters. “The way I see it, I’m in a real mess here. What if some secret’s trapped in my head, and you want me around just long enough to get it? What if you kill me the minute I tell you what you want to know?”

  Agent Walters threw her hands in the air. “I give up. Let me know when you can talk some sense into her.”

  Leigh was about to tell the woman exactly what she thought of her when Sanchez broke in. “You can trust me, Leigh.” The offer had not come effortlessly. It came with a scalpel-sharp glare.

  “Why? Because you saved my life?”

  He didn’t answer, but after a moment Jinx did. “Not just that. You can trust him because Gabe Sanchez is your husband.”

  Chapter Two

  Gabe could almost feel her gaze crawl all over him. He braced himself for the storm he was about to face. And there would be one heck of a storm when Leigh got going with her questions. No doubt about it.

  “My husband?” she repeated.

  He nodded but didn’t add more than that. The details of their marital status were among a mile-long list of things he didn’t want to discuss with her. Too bad he’d probably have to do just that before this was over.

  “Is it true?” she asked. “Are we really married?”

  He eased onto the edge of the narrow gurney and stared down at her. No sense standing for what would basically be an interrogation. “I’ll answer that if you’ll tell me the truth. Is this memory loss all an act?”

  “No.” Aggravation danced across her eyes. “I wish it were, because I can promise you I wouldn’t be here. I don’t like being here.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Gabe made a sweeping glance around the room. “I don’t care much for it myself.”

  Leigh made the same sweeping glance, and when she finished, their eyes met, coming together until they held. “Are you really my husband?”

  Well, this was one part of the conversation that he obviously couldn’t put off. Not that it surprised him. If their situations were reversed, he’d want to know the same thing. “Afraid so. You’re not happy about that?”

  “The jury’s still out. It’s hard to know if I’m happy about it when I don’t even know you. So, how long have we been married?”

  Ah, a test. He’d expected that, too. “Four years, six months.” He paused, thinking. “And eighteen days.”

  He could have given her the hours if she’d asked. Gabe cursed himself. It didn’t please him that he could recall something so painful in such detail.

  “That long,” she mumbled.

  Yeah, that long. But half of that time she’d been gone. Now, here she was—right back in his life. It had taken him too long to get over her the last time. She’d turned him upside down and hung him out to dry. He didn’t want another dose of that.

  Even with the dye job, she hadn’t changed much. A little thinner. And maybe there was something different about her expression. The old Leigh had been so self-assured. Not now though. There was a good reason for that. After all, someone had tried to kill her. That murder attempt no doubt had something to do with what had brought her back to him. Fate working overtime again.

  Sometimes fate didn’t know which end was up.

  Well, he wasn’t about to buy into anything that dealt with fate.

  She continued to stare at him as if sizing him up. “Why didn’t you say something earlier about being my husband?”

  “There wasn’t time. You were unconscious when I brought you here.” He knew that wouldn’t be the last of her questions, and he didn’t have to wait long for her to verify that.

  Leigh glanced at his hand. “Why isn’t either of us wearing a wedding ring?”

>   Hell. The woman could certainly open old wounds. Gabe pulled the neck chain out of his T-shirt so she could see the simple gold band that it held. “I’m left-handed, and it catches on the holster. I’m not sure where your ring is. Maybe it slipped off in the lake.”

  Or maybe she’d thrown it away. He wouldn’t put it past her. Obviously their marriage vows hadn’t meant much to her. He couldn’t say the same. And that was probably the only explanation he had for why he still wore his wedding ring. One thing was for sure, as soon as he got out of there, he planned to get rid of it. It was something he should have done months ago.

  “I have to go,” Jinx announced, the sound of his voice slicing through the heavy silence. “I need to update a few people about what’s happened and try to figure out what we’re going to do. Gabe, you wait here with Leigh.”

  Of course. Gabe hadn’t expected it to be any other way.

  “I should head out, too,” Agent Walters added after checking her watch. She gave Gabe’s sleeve a tug. “No improvising, all right?”

  Gabe didn’t concur either verbally or otherwise. Nor did he disagree with the woman who was coleader of this so-called task force. He just kept his rebellious thoughts to himself. “I’ll walk you two out.” He stood and looked down at Leigh. “Stay put.”

  Her unbandaged eyebrow winged up. “Do I have a choice?”

  “No,” he clarified over his shoulder.

  “I told you to be nice to her,” Jinx said the moment they were outside the door. “I told you to gain her trust.”

  Gabe wanted to laugh. “I don’t perform miracles.”

  “No, but you will do your job.”

  Jinx’s words hit him like a heavyweight’s fist, even though Gabe had tried to brace himself for it. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

  “It means you’ll protect her until we can make other arrangements.” There was no hesitation in Jinx’s tone, and that tone drew a clear line between their friendship and his role as Gabe’s boss.

  Gabe scrubbed his hand over his face. “It means you want me to be her bodyguard.”

  “If necessary,” Teresa piped in. Jinx gave a nod of agreement.

  It would be necessary. No doubt about it. That was the only way Gabe could see this playing out. Heck, if he hadn’t been on the receiving end of this assignment, he might have even considered it a good idea.

  There were just a couple of problems with this particular plan that Jinx and Teresa had come up with for him. It would mean he’d have to spend a lot of time with his wife. A wife he didn’t want. A wife who didn’t want him. But she was also a vulnerable woman with a killer after her.

  Hell.

  He’d do what the Justice Department wanted him to do, and then he was out of there. Leigh could go back to whatever the hell she’d been doing, and he would get on with his life. All he had to do was keep her alive, catch the bad guy and leave. Especially, leave.

  There was no way he’d allow himself to be drawn back into her life. No way.

  LEIGH WAITED until Sanchez and the others walked out of the room. “Stay put,” she said, repeating the terse order he’d just given her. “As if I had a choice.”

  In fact, her choices were extremely limited. Possibly even nil. She had amnesia, was hurt and didn’t know where she could go to get out of danger. That didn’t mean she trusted the three people who’d just left the room. Or that she believed them. She was almost positive they hadn’t told her the truth.

  It’s what you have to tell her, Agent Teresa Walters had said before they knew she was awake. People didn’t usually make remarks like that if they planned to tell the truth.

  The whole truth, anyway.

  So just what did the others want Sanchez to keep from her? She certainly intended to find out.

  Realizing that she had to go to the bathroom, Leigh tossed back the covers and swung her legs off the gurney. She was achy, and her vision was spotty. There was a thick white bandage completely encircling her right ankle, and when she stood, the stitches pinched.

  She made use of a pair of green flip-flops that were under the gurney and went in search of the bathroom. It wasn’t hard to find. It was the only door other than the one through which her fearless protectors had exited.

  The bathroom was enormous and had two vats filled with dirty linen and hospital-style gowns. The laundry chute was as wide as the bins, indicating the need to send plenty of soiled clothing to the laundry room. A regular clinic probably wouldn’t have such a need.

  So just what was this place?

  Since she hadn’t heard any traffic or sounds normally associated with a clinic, it was probably some secured area. Perhaps a military installation or maybe a safe house used by the FBI.

  Now, just what did the FBI and an ATF agent want with a bookstore employee from Austin? Perhaps the books in the store weren’t the run-of-the-mill variety. If so, she was obviously more than just a concerned citizen.

  Leigh put that thought on the back burner when she noticed the mirror above the sink. She approached it cautiously, afraid of what she might see in her own reflection. And equally afraid of what she might not see.

  Disappointment soon replaced the cautiousness. She didn’t recognize a thing about herself. The face of a stranger stared back at her.

  A troubled stranger.

  Almost frantically, she studied her face harder, trying to force herself to see something familiar. She was pale and wondered if it was from the trauma or if that was her usual coloring. Perhaps a combination of both.

  The skin surrounding the bandage was bruised—the purplish stain bled down to her cheekbone where someone had obviously hit her pretty hard. A blunt object was her guess.

  Her features weren’t prominent. Average. She certainly wasn’t beautiful. Her hair was chin-length and cedar-colored, but since her roots were light brown, she figured that she wasn’t a natural redhead. She checked in the most obvious place to verify her conclusion, stretching out the waist of the scrubs to look inside.

  No. She wasn’t a redhead.

  She leaned closer to the mirror, suddenly puzzled by her eyes. They weren’t the same color. One was dark brown; the other, pale green. She automatically reached toward the brown eye and removed the colored contact that had camouflaged her iris. So, her eyes were really green, and since she could see perfectly without the contact, she had to believe she’d worn them for cosmetic reasons.

  Why?

  Colored contacts. Dyed hair. She’d disguised her appearance. It made sense. Perhaps she’d been hiding because someone wanted her dead. Too bad the disguise hadn’t worked. Obviously, someone had seen right through it and gone after her.

  Leigh noticed the scar then. A puckered dimple on her right forearm. It appeared to be well healed, but she thought it might be a bullet wound. Or maybe her imagination was just working overtime. Just the sight of the injury, however, caused a sickening feeling in her stomach. It was yet another chilling reminder of her past she couldn’t remember.

  She finished up in the bathroom, returned to the room and got back on the gurney. A moment later, Gabe pushed opened the door and came in with a large disposable cup in each hand.

  “Coffee,” he announced. “I figured you’d need your caffeine fix by now.”

  Leigh didn’t know about that, but the steamy brew smelled wonderful. “I’m a big coffee drinker?”

  He nodded and glanced at one cup and then the other, apparently trying to decide which one was hers. He finally took a sip from one and grimaced. “Yours. Three sugars, just the way you like it.”

  She took the cup, knowing she would indeed like it. Odd. Why had sugary coffee felt familiar and not her husband?

  Her husband.

  As she’d done to her own face in the mirror, Leigh scrutinized his. Actually, he wasn’t bad-looking. A little on the rough side, and the small scar on his chin only contributed to that image. His skin was a pale bronze, obviously a DNA contribution from the Hispanic heritage that his surname s
ignified. The dark blue eyes, however, indicated some Anglo blood as well. All in all, it was a good mix that had produced an interesting face.

  His eyes were…not bedroom eyes, even though it was the first description that sprang to mind. The dark lashes made them look half-closed, dreamy, but there was nothing bedroom about them. Those eyes meant business.

  “Is the coffee all right?” Gabe asked when she took a sip.

  “It’s fine. So, you know how I like my coffee—that still doesn’t mean I believe everything you’ve told me.” Placing her cup on the table beside his, she glanced at her ring finger and noticed a faint line. Not necessarily from a wedding band. But it was possible. “Did I have any ID on me when you pulled me out of the lake?”

  He stretched out his leg so he could work his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. He fished out a single key. “This was tucked under the floor mat in the car. It had your fingerprints on it.”

  “It’s for a car?”

  Sanchez shook his head. “You left the keys to your rental car in the ignition. This looks more like a house key. Is it familiar?”

  “No.” It looked like a key, that’s all. A key to a house, and she had no idea where that house might be. Austin, maybe, since that’s where she supposedly worked. “You didn’t find a purse or wallet on me or in the car?”

  “I think the person who tried to kill you probably took it.”

  That was possible, which made her wonder if the attack was robbery related. But she didn’t think so. She probably wouldn’t be here if it’d been a simple robbery.

  Leigh glanced at him. So far, he’d cooperated with her questions. Well, some of them anyway, but she had no way of knowing if what he’d told her was the truth or even part of the truth. Heck, she wasn’t even convinced that the man was truly her husband.

  “Why didn’t you kiss me when you pulled me out of the water?” she asked. “If we’re really married, wouldn’t a kiss have been the husbandly thing to do?”

  It happened so quickly, she didn’t have time to protest or wonder why she’d issued such a stupid invitation in the first place. Gabe slipped his hand around the back of her neck and angled her head. His mouth came to hers. Touched. Brushed. And lingered.