by Rebecca York
Also enlightening were the confidential notes on Dr. Jules Kolb. According to Emerson, Kolb was an alcoholic who had badly mishandled a score of patients at a VA Hospital in Virginia, causing the deaths of several. The scandal had been covered up, and Kolb had been ordered into an alcoholic rehab program.
Reid, the man who had brought Hunter home this evening, had been jailed for selling supplies stolen from military bases. And then there was the brilliant Dr. Avery Swinton. His early reputation had been damaged by a scandal involving the fudging of test results in a scientific paper he’d published in the Journal of Biological Sciences. Still, he’d gone on to win a research grant at Berkeley—and then been dismissed for illegally experimenting with human fetal tissue.
Well, now she knew why she’d instinctively disliked most of the staff, she thought with a grimace. They were lawless. And ruthless. And she had the data to prove it.
Was there some way she could use the information to her advantage? She didn’t know yet. But maybe a plan would come to her. Closing the file, she switched to the information on decathlon winners.
At first, she was disappointed because she didn’t find anyone who could be the right man. None of the recent champions was dead, she saw as she went down the list. The first deceased medal winner she came to was a man named Ben Lancaster who had taken the gold seventeen years ago—when he’d been twenty-five, she noted, her brow wrinkling. That would make him forty-two, if he were still alive. And there was no way Hunter could be anywhere near that old. If she had to guess, she would say he was in his late twenties.
Still, Lancaster was the only one who fit the prime criterion—death. So she accessed the additional information Hunter had downloaded and found herself confronting a picture of the man.
The hairs on the top of her head prickled as she stared at the picture. It was Hunter, but a different Hunter, a man at least fifteen years older than the man that she knew.
Chapter Nine
Impossible. Nobody turned back the hands of time. The clock ran in only one direction. Kathryn thought of plastic surgery. It might take years off your face. But it couldn’t give a forty-two-year old the body of somebody in his twenties. Could it?
Strangely light-headed, she studied the man who could be Hunter’s older twin, trying to dredge up some feeling of connection to him. But she could generate no emotions besides shock at the remarkable resemblance. Perhaps if she read the information, she thought as her eyes began to scan the text. Lancaster had been a track and field superstar at the University of California at Berkeley in the early eighties before going on to the Olympics. He had given up his sports career, gone back to graduate school and ended up as a research physicist at the Sandia National Lab, of all places, working on cold fusion.
He had married a high school teacher, she read with a sharp pang. She had wanted Hunter to have a life before he lost his memory. She hadn’t bargained for discovering a wife. But she should have been prepared, she told herself with a little inward stab.
However, two years ago, the Lancasters had been killed on a New Mexico highway when a tractor trailer had come around a mountain curve on the wrong side of the road. So the wife was dead, she thought, caught between relief and guilt.
And so was Lancaster—
She studied the picture and re-read the short bio, trying to make sense of the startling new information. Ben Lancaster had been an athlete and a scientist—an unusual mixture that could account for the combination of multiple talents and high intelligence in Hunter. But he was much too young to be the same person. Could Lancaster have had a secret child—who had somehow fallen into Emerson’s clutches? The likelihood seemed remote. And it didn’t explain the cryptic remark about previous careers.
The feeling of being observed made her head snap up to find Hunter standing in the doorway—watching her. He’d slipped back into the house so quietly that she’d never even heard him.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.
“Two minutes.”
“I’ve found something,” she told him.
“I know. From the look on your face.” His own face had hardened into a look of resignation as he watched her gesture toward the computer.
###
The two men had arranged another meeting—this time well past midnight in the woods behind the research center. The older one was angry—angry with himself for being reduced to working with morons. Angry with the way things were falling out. He usually hid his frustration well. Tonight, he took out his anger on his companion.
“Your dumb idea backfired. They’re still cozied up in that house like newlyweds.”
The answer came as a sharp retort. “You thought it was a great idea at the time. All you have to do is sit back and let me take the chances.”
“I’m paying you well enough.”
“You’re paying me peanuts, considering the risk. Maybe I’ll quit.”
“The hell you will. We have an agreement.”
The younger man cursed. He’d wanted to get back at Kelley. Now he wished he’d thought before he hooked up with this nut.
“Relax. I’ve got an idea that will do the trick.”
“Oh yeah?”
The more intelligent of the two began to outline his plan. When he finished, the other one nodded.
“It might work—if we have the time. Deployment has been moved up.”
“Are you sure?”
“I heard Emerson talking to Beckton. By the end of the week, John Doe is on his way to Gravan. And you can take credit for a job well done.”
In the darkness, the other man’s fists clenched. “And what about Dr. Kelley?” he asked.
“Come on. Do you really think Emerson is going to let her leave?”
The younger one smiled to himself in the darkness, thinking he’d imparted good news. The older one hid his look of alarm. It appeared he was going to have to speed up his own timetable, and he wasn’t sure if he could pull that off.
###
Hunter made no comment as Kathryn stood between him and the computer screen.
“I read some of the personnel files. Then I accessed the information on the decathlon champions,” she said.
As she took in the tension in his face and body, she understood why he hadn’t wanted to be the one to read the thumb drive. He was afraid to unlock the secrets of his past. Well, she could help him deal with that. Stepping aside, she revealed the picture of Ben Lancaster, watching Hunter’s expression as he scanned the image. He stared into the mirror over the dresser, then flicked his gaze back to the sports figure.
“He looks like me,” he said. “But . . . he’s older.”
“Yes. He died at the age of forty-two in an automobile accident. He was a star athlete. Then he went back to school and got a PhD in physics.”
“He must have been smart.”
“Yes. Like you.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. You’re very smart.”
While he chewed on that, she took advantage of the light from the bedside lamp to examine his well-honed muscles, supple body, and thick head of almost black hair. His face was almost unlined. And his skin was smooth and young looking. There was no way he could be over thirty, even if he had kept himself in excellent shape.
She reached for one of his hands, turning it over and examining the pads of fingers. They belonged to a young man.
“You can’t be him,” she said. “But—does the picture make you remember anything?”
He stared at the man on the screen for a long time. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“You want to know who I am.”
“You don’t?”
He swallowed. “You ask me too many questions. In some ways it was better before you came.”
She turned her palms upward, unsure of how to answer.
“I was peaceful. I followed orders. I didn’t get angry.”
“McCourt warned me you attacked some of the instructors.”
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“Yes.” He opened his hands in a helpless gesture. “In the early practice sessions, I didn’t know when to stop fighting. I had to learn that.”
She nodded, understanding.
“You stir up questions in my mind. I can’t answer the questions, and they make my chest feel tight.”
“Everyone has scary things they’re afraid to face,” she whispered, reaching for him.
“Everyone?”
“Yes. Even me. Like James Harrison.”
She gathered him into her embrace, glad when his arms tightened around her. She drew strength from him, even as she gave him comfort.
His hands moved on her back, in her hair. “Feeling things is. . .” he paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “inconvenient.”
“Yes, sometimes feelings are hard to deal with,” she answered, “but that’s part of being human.”
He gave a low, mirthless laugh. “You are the only person here who thinks of me as human.”
Her vision blurred, and she fought to keep from coming undone. “Because they can’t let themselves!” she said vehemently, cradling him more tightly in her arms. “It’s a defense mechanism. They know they’ve done things to you that are morally and ethically wrong. The only way they can protect themselves is by making you the enemy.”
“I didn’t think about it like that.” A shiver went through him. “I thought it was something wrong with me.”
“No!”
“But there is something wrong with me,” he persisted. “You must know I’m not like other people. I have no history before I woke up in the research facility at Stratford Creek. I know how to be a fighter. I don’t know the rest.”
“That’s not true. You know more than you think,” she insisted, her lips skimming his cheek. “Take my word for it.”
He moved back, his eyes bright as they searched hers. “What do you like about me?” he demanded.
She raised her face, met his worried gaze. “I like your kindness. Your discipline. Your honesty. I like the way you haven’t given up.”
“Maybe I did give up—before you came.”
She felt her heart squeeze painfully. “Then I’m glad I’m here.”
“You—” He stopped, swallowed hard. “I think I have learned more from you than any of the rest of them.”
“I hope so. But I think we’re learning from each other,” she murmured.
“Like what?” he asked incredulously.
She gave a little laugh. “Well, I didn’t know much about turning off hidden recording systems until I met you.”
“Beckton could teach you that,” he said dismissively.
“I’m not interested in interacting with Beckton. But seeing things through your eyes gives me a fresh view of the world.” When his dark gaze continued to challenge her, she went on quickly. “You remind me how much enjoyment there is in simple things. Like music. Or cherry pie with ice cream. Or—” she stopped short, flushing as she realized what she had been about to say.
The flush gave her away. Hunter found her hand, stroked his fingers against hers, sending familiar currents of heat licking at her nerve endings. Her breath gave a little hitch as she stared at him.
“When I kiss you and touch you, what do you feel?” he asked with an urgency that turned the heat up several notches.
“The same thing you feel, I think,” she answered softly.
His face was a study in stunned disbelief. “You want to. . . to mate with me?”
Dangerous ground. They were treading on very dangerous ground, yet she had vowed not to duck his questions. “Yes. I want to make love with you.” she said, raising her face until their gazes were locked.
She saw him swallow hard. Another man would have reached for her then. Pulled her against himself, fast and hard. Taken up where they’d left off in her bedroom. But he only stood with his whole body tight and stiff, fighting primal needs, proving once again that he had more strength of character than almost any man she’d ever met.
She could be the one to do the reaching. She could be the one to do things that would break through his iron discipline. God, it was tempting to make it happen. Now. For a little while they could blot out the intrigue swirling around them. But it would only be a temporary reprieve. And in the morning, their situation would be worse. Every hour they spent in this place made it worse.
“I should read some more of the personnel files,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He agreed, yet neither one of them moved.
When he spoke again, it wasn’t of personnel files. “None of the men call it making love,” he said in a thick voice. “They say having sex or—screwing or fucking.” He stopped, flushed. “They make it sound—dirty. But I can tell they are embarrassed, too. Why is that?”
“Because it’s the most intimate thing two people can do together,” she said, moistening her dry lips with her tongue. “It can be an expression of strong feelings—of love and commitment. Or it can be done as casually as scratching an itch. Men who don’t value its deeper meaning generally make it sound cheap and dirty.”
He took in the explanation, then spoke in a rush of words. “I don’t know enough about making love to do it right.”
His cheeks were bright, his eyes averted.
She inhaled slowly, knowing that few men would have the guts to make that confession. They always thought they were great lovers, even when they were duds. “You’re worried about that?”
He gave a small, jerky nod.
“You’re already good at it. Can’t you tell I like the things you do?” she said softly.
“We have not done much.” As he looked down, his gaze found the front of her shirt.
Her nipples had hardened while they talked. It seemed he didn’t need to touch her to heighten her response.
“I can see the centers of your breasts—standing out against the fabric,” he said thickly.
His slow, husky sigh of frustration almost undid her. The temptation to press his hand against her aching breasts was almost unbearable.
When she didn’t move, he dropped his hands to his sides. “I should not have asked you about . . . making love. We do not have much time left now for the computer files,” he said, his voice thick.
She closed her eyes for a moment and bent to press her forehead against his shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “I keep letting my priorities get twisted up. I keep wishing we could be alone together, like two people who have nothing more pressing to do than get to know each other better.”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “If it were daylight, I could take you to the place in the woods where the stream makes a little waterfall. There are young spruce trees to make it private, and flat rocks where we could sit and talk—or do anything we wanted.”
“You’ve thought about taking me there?”
“Yes. I found it once, when I was doing survival training. If you sit very still, you can see deer come down to the stream to drink.”
“I’d like to go there with you.”
“Sometime,” he said in wistful voice.
“Sometime,” she echoed.
“But not now.”
She nodded, turned back to the computer, forcing her mind to business. “I want to ask you a question about these files.”
“What?”
“Most of the men’s duty assignments are listed on their personnel records. Dr. Kolb works at the medical center. Beckton and Winslow are at the training facility. McCourt is at the administration building. And there’s a summary of their duties. But the only thing it says about Dr. Swinton is that he works in Building 22. It also mentions that the building is off-limits to everyone but the research staff.”
“And?” Hunter asked carefully.
She had learned how to read him, and she knew he wanted to drop the subject.
“Maybe that’s where Swinton keeps his records. Maybe I can figure out a way to check it out. “Do you know where I can find that building?”
His gaze turned inward. It was several seconds before he answered, “Yes. But I don’t think you should go there.”
The way he said it made her even surer that he knew something about the place, something he didn’t want to discuss. And she preferred not to press him. Instead, she said, “I’d appreciate it if you could draw me a map.”
He gave her a long look, then picked up pencil and paper and began to work rapidly.
Building 22 was an annex to the research facility. When he handed her the paper, she saw his face was pale. All at once, she felt a sudden stab of guilt. He had been in the hospital this afternoon, and now she had kept him up half the night.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You should be in bed—not up working half the night. I can finish with the files on my own.”
“I’m all right.”
“No. You need to get some sleep.”
He considered the advice, then nodded. “First, I must turn on the recorder.”
“Yes.” She followed him down the hall and watched him open the access panel that hid the listening device.
After he reactivated it, they returned to the back of the house.
He hesitated outside his door, his gaze dark and intense. That look was enough to make her blood turn molten.
Before temptation overwhelmed her, she gave his hand a quick squeeze and went back to work. But she found she was still thinking about Hunter. She had never met a man like him—such a potent combination of competence and naiveté. Strength and wonderment. A man with no memories because they had been taken away from him.
At least that was what William Emerson had told her when he described Dr. Swinton’s research. At the time, it had sounded illegal and immoral. But what if it was actually worse than she imagined?
A terrible thought had been rattling around in her head since she had read the information on Ben Lancaster and seen his picture. Hunter was like a younger version of Lancaster. A younger identical twin.
