by Kim Baldwin
The silence was deafening. No T.V. noise from the other room. No sounds at all. Did she leave?
She didn’t want to be alone. She felt claustrophobic. She ached to hear the voice again and see the woman who belonged to it. Clearing her throat, she called out, “Hello?”
*
Hunter hesitated briefly with her hand on the doorknob, composing herself, before stepping into the room and walking to the bedside table.
The stranger’s eyes followed her. She had propped herself up on her good arm to get a better look at the woman who had saved her, but Hunter was backlit again as she crossed the room and she doubted that the woman could make out her features.
Hunter kept her eyes averted as she crossed the room with a quiet ease—seemingly relaxed, but her heart rate had accelerated. She was on guard again, and trying to subdue the nervous excitement she felt at her first real face-to-face meeting with her guest. She turned on the lamp, which brightened the room considerably. Then she dropped into the chair beside the bed and brought her eyes up to meet the woman’s.
They stared openly at each other, certainly longer than was typical or polite, neither speaking. Hunter held her breath. So did the stranger. A shy grin spread across the woman’s face.
Even with the bruises and bandages, the stranger was beautiful when she smiled. It was an easy, friendly smile that lit up the woman’s face, and Hunter was instantly captivated by it. But what she was feeling was so alien to her she didn’t quite know what to do. Her eyes were drawn to the woman’s lips. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining what it would be like to kiss those full, smiling lips. She felt a skittering of excitement run up her spine. She smiled back at the stranger.
“I know you, don’t I?” the woman said. She cocked her head, her smile widening. “I’m sure I know you.”
Hunter was stunned. Momentarily speechless. She knows you because she came here to kill you! her instincts screamed.
But even if it was true, the woman obviously didn’t remember. Hunter could tell. The stranger was smiling at her with such a hopeful expression on her face, so certain she would agree, that Hunter almost regretted having to tell her she was wrong. “I’m sorry. I’m pretty certain we’ve never met.” I’d remember you.
The woman’s smile faded. “Are you sure? You seem so...familiar.”
Hunter nodded. “I’m sorry.”
She stared off into space as she considered what Hunter had said. “Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, then,” she said finally. She fought back tears. “I wish I did know you. It feels as though I do.”
“Perhaps I just remind you of someone.” Or you’ve seen my picture.
“Maybe so,” the woman sighed. Her shoulders slumped forward, her disappointment evident. “I’m not sure of anything at the moment.”
“Well, you’re going to be my guest for a while,” Hunter said, leaning forward to encourage the woman to look at her. “I can’t move you right now anyway, and that will give us time to try to find out who you are and where you belong.” She smiled reassuringly at the stranger. Her face did not betray her doubts.
The woman met her eyes and seemed to relax. “Thank you,” she said. “For saving me, for taking care of me. For...” making me feel at home, she wanted to say, but chose “...for everything.”
“My pleasure,” Hunter replied. That’s certainly an understatement. An image of the woman’s naked body flashed into her mind. She suddenly felt much too warm. She cleared her throat and looked away. “I mean—I’m happy to help. Just let me know what you need,” she stammered, trying to regain her composure.
The woman noticed the faint reddening of Hunter’s bronzed skin. Taking advantage of the opportunity to study her rescuer unobserved, she took in the finely sculpted features, high cheekbones, and the sensual curve of Hunter’s lips. Thick, shiny brown hair cut in a layered shag fell just below her collar. You’re just...breathtaking...that’s the word. I sure wish I did know you. “What’s your name?”
“Call me Kat,” Hunter said. “It’s a nickname I haven’t used in a long while,” she explained vaguely. “But I kind of miss it.” There was a sadness in her voice that told the stranger there was more to the story, but Hunter didn’t elaborate.
Hunter had never thought she’d want to hear that nickname again. She had buried it in shame many years ago. But something had whispered the name in her ear, and for the first time in a long time, it felt right.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Kat.” The woman’s voice was soft, almost reverent, the name spoken with such a tenderness that it reminded Hunter of a time long ago.
For a moment, Hunter imagined she was Kat the innocent again, and not an assassin. They were just two strangers meeting for the first time, and anything was possible. But a nagging inner voice snapped her back to reality. You don’t know who she is. Remember that. And you are what you are. You can’t erase your past.
“What about you?” Kat asked. “I know you don’t remember your name, but we need to start somewhere. What would you like me to call you? Any names spring to mind?”
The woman pursed her lips and closed her eyes in concentration. After a moment, she opened them again and shook her head. “Nothing. Wait! I had to have a driver’s license with me, didn’t I? Didn’t you find a wallet or anything?”
Kat rose from the chair and put one hand into a pocket of her jeans. She placed its contents on the bed and sat back down. “This was all you had on you.”
The woman glanced at the bills—a ten, two fives, and three ones—and scattered coins before reaching for the small key ring that lay piled with them. The plain ring contained three keys. There was a small one, unmarked, that looked like it might open a padlock and a car key with a logo etched on it she couldn’t identify. The third looked like it might be a house key.
Before she could ask, Kat volunteered, “The big key is to a Mazda vehicle of some kind, which is not what you were driving when you crashed. You were in a dark blue Sebring sedan.”
The woman gripped the keys lightly in the palm of her hand. “None of this is ringing a bell. What about my clothes?”
“No help there either,” Kat answered. “I’m afraid I had to cut them off you.”
The woman stared off into space and said nothing for a long while. Finally, almost to herself, she whispered, “Well, that’s just jake.”
“Jake?”
The faraway look didn’t change. The woman took in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “Just an expression,” she sighed.
“What’s it mean?” asked Kat.
The woman in the bed looked at her again and forced a half smile before answering. “It means everything’s all right...just dandy.”
“Ah,” Kat said, “I see. You were being facetious. Sometimes slang escapes me, I’m afraid.”
“You know, that’s not too bad, actually,” the woman said. “Jake, I mean—as a name, until we can think of a better one.”
“Or until you remember,” Kat added, rising and moving around the bed. “Jake it is.” I need to go back out to the crash site and really give the car a going-over, she thought to herself. There’s got to be something there to tell me whether you’re a bounty hunter or not. She came up on Jake’s left side and motioned for her to relax and lie flat again. “We do have one clue,” she said, hesitating only a moment before reaching down to roll the blanket back from that side of the bed.
She kept Jake’s torso covered but exposed the splinted left arm. Supporting the arm as she did so, Kat put her fingers under the woman’s left hand and raised it up off the bed. She watched with feigned detachment as Jake stared at the plain gold wedding ring on her finger.
Chapter Six
Evan Garner tapped well-manicured fingernails on his mahogany desk, an expansive monstrosity that had been polished to a high gloss. He stared at his computer screen, which displayed the first page of a top-secret dossier on the bounty hunter known only as Hunter.
Garner’s large office was ri
chly appointed. The wall behind him contained a bank of TV monitors—all muted at the moment, but tuned to the major broadcast networks and CNN. Another wall was a thick glass window to the outside world; the view was of a busy but unremarkable suburb of Washington, D.C. Across the room from the desk sat a matching mahogany conference table that could seat a dozen people comfortably, and there was also a sitting area with a burgundy leather couch and two matching easy chairs.
There were two sharp raps on Garner’s door and a brawny man of about forty stepped into the room. He was clean-cut, clean-shaven, and impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit and conservative gray tie, just like his boss. The suit had been tailored to minimize the well-developed muscles of his arms, shoulders, and chest. Garner demanded that his employees have as few distinguishing features as possible so they could blend into the background in any situation.
“You’re late, Thomas,” Garner barked. “Better make it worth my wait. What’s the latest?” Most men would be afraid to use that tone with Thomas Maynard, but Garner’s burly bodyguard was loyal and respectful beyond reason.
“Sorry, Mr. Garner,” Thomas said. “Well, sir, we think Hunter’s in Michigan. Otter tracked her as far as Detroit and then lost her.” Beads of sweat appeared on Thomas’s forehead. “The chick—Scout—she went to Detroit too, and from there to a little town in the Upper Peninsula called Tawa. It’s out in the middle of nowhere.”
He had his boss’s full attention. “Well? Has Scout found Hunter?” Garner demanded.
Thomas flinched. “We don’t know, sir. Scout hasn’t checked in like she’s supposed to. We’re getting her location from the tracking device. It hasn’t moved from Tawa in three days, so we think she may be on to something. We tried calling her cell phone, but no one answers.”
Garner glared at him. “Three days? And no one has followed up to see if she just dumped the damn cell phone?” He got a little louder with each word, finally shouting the last two.
“Sir, she wouldn’t do that, would she? You made it clear she couldn’t collect on the million unless—”
“She doesn’t care about the money, Thomas, or she would be calling in like she was told.” Garner enjoyed talking down to his underlings. “Take care of it now. Get somebody there as soon as you can.”
The bodyguard stepped to a phone on the conference table and dialed, then spoke softly into the receiver. They had a man already in Detroit on other business. Frank would be dispatched to Tawa as soon as he could rent a private plane. Thomas thought his boss was a genius for putting tracking devices into the cell phones they issued the bounty hunters.
She was one creepy bitch, Garner thought, as he recalled the day Scout had showed up at his door. That she had made it to his office was a testament to her tracking skills. The million-dollar contract she’d come to inquire about had been very discreetly issued, sorted through layers of filters to hide the identity of the person behind it. Interested parties were to send an e-mail; they would be contacted with further details.
Garner had never heard of her, and that was saying a lot, for he knew most of the players in her business. But her tactic had impressed him even as it unsettled him. And he was so anxious to neutralize Hunter he would not turn anyone away from trying to collect on the contract.
But he knew there was a lot the woman wasn’t saying. She didn’t ask questions about the money. She just wanted a good photo of Hunter and whatever details she could get about Hunter’s likely whereabouts and known habits.
He recalled now that she had never agreed to the stipulation that she check in every twenty-four hours on the cell. She’d just smiled at him as she pocketed the phone. It was a disturbing smile. Almost feral. The thing that had bothered him most, however, was how anxious—almost gleeful—she seemed to be to go after Hunter, even after he had warned her about her target’s considerable skills.
Otter, the other bounty hunter who was going to try to collect on the contract, was also anxious to begin the chase, even though he knew firsthand of Hunter’s abilities. But Garner was not surprised to see Otter turn up. He knew the man needed money, and he also knew that Otter had personal reasons for going after Hunter, whatever the risk.
Thomas hung up the phone. He walked the few steps from the conference table to stand again before his boss’s desk, awaiting further instructions.
“Contact Otter and tell him to head to Tawa. Fill him in on Scout. Has anyone else expressed interest in the contract?” Garner asked.
“No, sir. Six others answered the ad, but when they found out who the target was, they declined.”
Garner nodded. “That’s all.”
As Thomas departed, Garner rose from his chair and walked to the windows. He looked outside, but his gaze was unfocused. A part of him regretted having to eliminate Hunter. They’d been close once. But it needed to be done. There was no alternative.
Chapter Seven
I’m...married?” Jake asked, staring at the ring. “How can I be married and not remember that?” The gold band should have given her comfort. It was a tangible sign that she belonged somewhere, was tied to someone...someone who probably was looking for her, worried about her, missing her. But the ring only amplified her confusion and frustration. “How could I forget a husband?” Or is it a husband at all? I’m obviously attracted to Kat. Could I have a...a wife somewhere?
“Someone must be looking for you,” Kat said.
Their eyes met. The revelation stood like a wall between them. How can I feel so drawn to you, Jake wondered, if I’m committed to someone else?
Kat returned to her chair, all the while studying Jake’s face. She was convinced the amnesia was real.
“I don’t remember a...a spouse,” Jake said. “How can I not?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. You hit your head pretty hard when you crashed. Give it time, you’ll remember,” Kat said. She tried to sound encouraging, but the effort fell flat.
Jake looked at Kat. At that moment, anyway, she didn’t want to remember any more than Kat wanted her to. In the emptiness of her amnesia, she wanted to latch on to the only thing that made her feel safe—this enigmatic woman who had rescued her. But the ring could not be ignored. She propped herself up again.
“How can I have a whole life I don’t remember? How is that possible? I must have a home somewhere. A family. A job.” A tremor laced the edge of Jake’s voice. She looked to Kat, her eyes beseeching Kat for answers.
“Let’s try something. Lie down and close your eyes. Try to relax,” Kat urged.
Jake nodded and settled back into the pillows.
“Take a deep breath. Try to clear your mind,” Kat said. “See if any images at all come to you. A face, perhaps—mother, father. Your boss. Maybe a school chum?”
Jake tried. She set her mind adrift. But she could see no parents. No spouse. No best friend. The only image was that puppy she’d had. A mutt, part German shepherd. But she still couldn’t recall his name. “Nothing, really. I had a dog once, long ago, but that’s all.” She opened her eyes.
“Well, it’s something,” Kat said. “Don’t be discouraged. Try again. See if you can imagine an event. Maybe that will trigger something. Thanksgiving dinner when you were growing up. Opening Christmas presents. Blowing out candles on a birthday cake.”
Jake closed her eyes again and tried to do as Kat instructed, but any image she conjured up seemed forced and unreal. More like images from a movie she’d seen, perhaps. Not her own memories. “Nope,” she said, after several moments of trying.
“Okay, how about a place? Your living room, maybe, or kitchen. The place where you work. Maybe you can get a glimpse of what you did for a living.” Kat tried to keep her expression and voice neutral.
Jake once again closed her eyes. After a few seconds, the image of the Parisian patisserie came again to mind. It was like a picture postcard—a snapshot with no context—but it seemed real, as though she’d experienced it firsthand. She could see the rows of pastries and tortes and
vaguely remembered finding it difficult to make a selection. That picture was followed by another. People on a subway train. She had studied their faces and could see them again now. An older man with a mustache, reading a London newspaper. Then a series of images flashed by. The crowded, noisy street bazaar in Cairo. A craftsman hammering a copper plate. A rug vendor. A filthy stall where a toothless merchant smoking a hookah sold grilled pigeons on bamboo skewers. She could smell the smoke mixed with the prevailing odor of unwashed bodies. That was all. There was nothing more. She opened her eyes and the images disappeared. “I think I’ve traveled a lot,” she said, with a hopeful tone in her voice that hadn’t been there before.
Kat leaned toward Jake. “What did you see?”
“Well, I think I’ve been to Paris,” Jake said. “I can remember shopping in a pastry shop. And I’ve been on the London underground. And at a street market—in Cairo, I’m pretty sure.”
Cairo? Kat’s instincts warned her not to react to the news, but Kenny’s e-mail rang in her mind. The woman who was after her had done a job in the Middle East.
“Well, you should be encouraged,” Kat said. “But perhaps that’s enough for now, you shouldn’t push yourself.” And I need some distance. “Why don’t you try to think about something else for a while, or rest a bit, while I make us something to eat. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, I am. That would be great.”
“I’ll see what I can scrounge up. Are you allergic to anything, any foods I should avoid?” Kat asked without thinking.
Blond eyebrows furrowed. Jake didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t think so,” she said, drawing the word out. “Sure hope not, anyway.” She looked back up at Kat with a forced smile.
