A Hero to Hold

by Linda Castillo

A gust of wind whispered through the treetops. Standing next to him, unprotected from the cold and wind, Hannah’s teeth began to chatter.

  “Get in the Jeep.” Leaning forward, John plucked his cell phone from the floor where it had slid off the seat, then gave her plenty of room to climb back into the vehicle. “Your teeth are chattering. You shouldn’t be out in this cold.”

  “Says the man with a bump the size of a Volkswagen on his temple.”

  “I’m not the one recovering from hypothermia.” John punched numbers into the phone. “Get inside. I’m going to call the Lake County Sheriff’s Department.” He cursed when a recording told him the party he’d called was out of range. “Damn.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m not getting through. It happens along this stretch of highway. The mountains block the signal.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “RMSAR Headquarters is only a couple of miles from here. If I can get the Jeep started, we’ll call from there.”

  John slammed the passenger side door. As much as he disliked the thought of taking Hannah to headquarters where he would undoubtedly face questions about his association with her, he figured this was probably a good time to let Buzz Malone in on what had just happened because he was pretty sure someone had tried to kill them.

  * * *

  Despite the blast of hot air from the Jeep’s heater, Hannah was still shivering when they reached Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue Headquarters a few minutes later. Only, she wasn’t sure if the shakes were from the cold—or because John hadn’t taken his eyes off the rearview mirror since the maniac in the SUV had nearly driven them off the road.

  She wanted to think the incident had been a random act of road rage or even a drunk driver. But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself of that, Hannah couldn’t shake the feeling that the incident had been deliberate. The only question that remained was why. Why had someone tried to run John off the road? Or maybe John wasn’t their target at all. Maybe it was her they’d tried to send over the side of the cliff.

  He turned the Jeep into a narrow gravel drive and parked next to a pickup truck with giant tires and a Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue emblem emblazoned on the door in black-and-gold lettering. “We’re in luck,” he said. “Buzz is still here.”

  “Is he the one who used to be a police officer?” she asked.

  “He got shot a couple of years back and had to retire, but he still keeps in touch with the guys on the force. We’ll file a report with the Lake County sheriff about the SUV driver. Then Buzz might be able to come up with some ideas as far as getting you identified.” He shot her a steady gaze. “Ready?”

  Nodding, she opened the door and got out of the Jeep. The night met her with icy fingers and wind that cut like icicles. Full darkness had fallen, but a sodium vapor street lamp illuminated a rustic building and several small out-buildings. A snowplow sat like a sleeping dinosaur to her left. Twenty yards away, tucked into the interior of a lighted hangar, a helicopter shone like a new car fresh off the showroom floor.

  “So this is Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue,” she said, crossing in front of the Jeep.

  “We have one full-time pilot, four medics and half a dozen volunteers. Mostly police officers and firefighters and a few guys who just like to help out and get in on the action. We also have an equine unit headed up by Jake Madigan. Then there’s that pretty Bell 412 I saw you admiring.” He grinned at her. “She’s nice looking, isn’t she?”

  She wished he wouldn’t smile at her like that. Every time he did, she felt a funny flutter in the pit of her stomach she knew didn’t have anything to do with her pregnancy.

  “We can be geared up and in the chopper in less than four minutes.” He reached the door first, swung it open and stepped back for her to enter. “The rest of the team are…rowdy, but harmless, so don’t let it get to you.”

  “Considering they saved my life, I’ll cut them some slack.”

  “They’re good guys, just a little…”

  “Boisterous?”

  “I was going to say obnoxious.”

  “I know how to handle myself.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” He grinned. “But they love a challenge.”

  “So do I.”

  Squaring her shoulders she passed through the door. The first thing she noticed was the music. Rock and roll colored the air with a piercing serenade of steel guitar and a lilting male voice. The smell of stale coffee and burning pine mingled with the subtler scents of aftershave and man. Ahead and to her left, a sliding window opened and a young man not long out of college stuck his head out and grinned at John. “I thought this was your day off, Maitland. What’s the matter, can’t you find anything better to do with your private—?” He fell silent the moment he spotted Hannah. “Oh, uh, didn’t see you there.” His eyes flicked from her to John then back to her. “Hi, I’m Aaron.” He stuck his hand through the window. “But everyone calls me Dispatch.”

  “Glad to meet you, Dispatch.” She offered her bandaged hand, and he shook it thoroughly. “I’m Hannah.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you the…”

  “Yes, I’m the…” Uncertain how to finish the sentence, she fumbled for the word.

  “The Jane Doe we scooped up on Elk Ridge,” John finished.

  “I remember the red hair.” Aaron’s smile widened. “Well, I’m damn glad to meet you, Hannah. I like that name a lot better than Jane Doe.”

  She laughed. “Me, too.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  She liked this young man, she decided, and returned his smile. “I’m feeling really good.” I just don’t have the slightest idea who I am. “Thanks.”

  “Where’s Buzz?” John asked.

  Releasing her hand, Aaron motioned down the hall toward the back. “He’s in the office ranting about the budget. What’s up?”

  “Damn, I forgot about the budget.” John scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Some maniac ran us off the road a few minutes ago. I couldn’t raise Lake County on my cell, so I thought I’d file a report from here.”

  Movement at the end of the hall drew Hannah’s attention. She looked up to see a man with whisky brown eyes, hair the color of midnight and an expression designed by the devil himself standing at the end of the hall looking from John to her as if they’d just beamed down from another planet. “Damn, Maitland, you’re keeping better company these days.”

  John started toward the other man. “Flyboy. How’s tricks?”

  “They just got a hell of a lot better.” The other man’s gaze never left Hannah, curiosity and mischief glinting in his expression. “Did I hear you mention Lake County?” he asked John.

  “I need to file a report.”

  “They just got slammed with a multiple injury on Highway 285,” the other man said.

  John stopped. Hannah actually felt the tension snap through the air. “Did we get the call out?” he asked.

  The other man looked at John for the first time. “Boulder took it. We’re on standby.” His gaze swept back to Hannah, and his mouth curved into a smile that was much too sensuous for a male. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Maitland?”

  “Nope. I need to see Malone.”

  “He’s in the back, making out with the budget.” Never taking his eyes from Hannah, the man sauntered past John. “Maitland, you’ve got the manners of a damn armadillo.” Grinning, he extended his hand to Hannah. “I’m Tony Colorosa.”

  She remembered his face from the hazy minutes she’d been onboard the helicopter. Smiling, she stepped forward with her hand out. “I’m Hannah. Pleased to meet you.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine.”

  “You’re the helicopter pilot.”

  “And a damn good one.”

  “I wanted to thank you for…getting me off the mountain the other day.”

  “Hey, no problem.”

  An unexpected jab of emotion tightened her throat. Great, here she was
surrounded by a kiloton of testosterone and about to break down and cry. Talk about a fast way to clear a room.

  “No, I mean it,” she said. “You guys saved my life. I won’t forget that.”

  Surprise rippled through her when Tony raised her hand and brushed a kiss across her bandaged knuckles. Even without her memory to draw upon, Hannah knew when she was being charmed. This man put out the charm the way the sun put out light—by the megawatt. Feeling her cheeks warm, she eased her hand from his.

  “Who has the manners of an armadillo?” A third man with green eyes and a small goatee shuffled into the hall and stopped cold on spotting Hannah, his gaze doing a quick sweep of her.

  John frowned. “This is Pete Scully, our junior medic.”

  The young man with the goatee grinned. “Don’t believe anything John told you about me because it’s probably not true.”

  Hannah smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

  Standing next to Scully, an even taller man with a lean build and gunmetal eyes stepped forward to have a look at her. He wore a calf-length duster, well-worn cowboy boots and a belt buckle as big as his palm. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, but he had a weathered look about him that told her he spent a good bit of time outdoors.

  “Jake Madigan is a deputy sheriff down in Chaffee County.” John continued the introductions. “He’s a volunteer with RMSAR and heads up the equine division. He’s the one who found our lost Boy Scout last year.”

  “Ma’am.” Jake removed his black Stetson.

  “Can we help you with something?” Scully asked.

  Feeling the need to explain her presence to the curious men, Hannah stepped closer to Scully and Jake only to feel John’s hand encircle her arm. “She’s with me, Scully,” John said. “We’re here to see Buzz.”

  Her heart fluttered against her ribs when he eased her closer to him. She told herself it wasn’t a possessive move. John hadn’t laid claim to her in any way. He hadn’t given her any reason to believe he was interested in anything other than getting her to the women’s shelter and asking his ex-cop friend to give her a hand with whatever the local law enforcement might be able to do as far as helping her find her identity.

  So why was her pulse jumping around like a toad on a hot plate?

  Not wanting to deal with the implications of that line of thinking, Hannah smiled at John’s teammates, trying in vain to ignore the heat where his fingers burned through her coat.

  Scully winked at her, then his face creased into a grin. “Well, damn, Maitland, you must be having a good day off.”

  “I am.” Maintaining a gentle grip on her arm, John started down the hall. “If we get the call out, I’m in.”

  Hannah looked over her shoulder toward the men as John guided her down the hall. The young man called Dispatch was leaning out of the window, staring after them with unconcealed curiosity. Jake Madigan had put his hat back on, shadowing his eyes, but she could feel his gaze on her. Tony Colorosa stood in the center of the hall, grinning like a naughty kid. Scully had made eye contact with John and was moving his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx.

  “Idiots,” John muttered.

  “Men,” Hannah said quietly.

  He looked over at her, and they grinned at each other. “Yeah,” he agreed.

  At the end of the hall, John guided her to a small kitchen where the smell of coffee was strong. Beyond, Hannah could see yellow light pouring out of an open office door. John went directly to the coffeemaker, pulled out a foam cup and poured from a green carafe. “It’s decaf. Tastes like burned rubber, but it’s hot.” When she hesitated, he added, “You’re shivering. It’ll warm you up some.”

  Hannah wasn’t sure if she was shivering because of the cold outside or the remnants of fear from the SUV incident, but she took the cup anyway. “Thanks.”

  “Coat warm enough?”

  “Plenty.”

  “Considering you were hypothermic just over twenty-four hours ago, you don’t want to get chilled.” One side of his mouth quirked. “Medic’s orders.”

  Staring into the endless blue of his gaze, she felt anything but chilled. In fact, she was starting to feel downright warm, especially when he looked at her like that. The man didn’t have a problem with eye contact, that was for sure. Unsettled by the warmth radiating through her, Hannah let her gaze slip to his mouth. Oh, my. She’d dreamed about that mouth, she realized, had traced every chiseled contour with her fingertips, remembered the feel of his breath against her cheek, stirring her blood. He was standing less than a foot away, so close she could smell his aftershave, feel the heat of his gaze. He shouldn’t be looking at her mouth like that. She shouldn’t be allowing it, either. But the pull was too strong to resist. The moment stretched, the promise of something sweet yet elusive filling the small space between them….

  “I should warn you that RMSAR is not responsible for injuries sustained while drinking that stuff loosely referred to as coffee.”

  Hannah started so abruptly at the sound of the gruff, male voice that she spilled her coffee. She turned to see an older man watching them from the doorway of the kitchen. Hardened eyes the color of a winter sky swept from John to Hannah and back to John.

  “What brings you to headquarters on your day off, Maitland?”

  “We ran into a problem out on the highway and need to contact Lake County,” John said.

  “Is that how you got that hen’s egg on your head?”

  “Yeah, well…” John touched the bump in question. “We needed some advice, anyway, and decided to stop by.”

  The other man nodded, his gaze moving to Hannah. “I’m Buzz Malone.”

  Hannah told herself she and John hadn’t been doing anything improper but that didn’t keep the blush from warming her cheeks. Struggling to maintain her composure, she stepped forward and extended her hand. “I’m Hannah.”

  If he wondered why she didn’t offer her last name, he didn’t show it. “How are you feeling?” His grip was firm, his eye contact unwavering and a little too intense for comfort.

  “Better.” She looked down at her bandaged fingers, not sure how to explain the amnesia without sounding like a loon. “Just a little frostbite and a…concussion.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. It could have been a lot worse.” Buzz motioned toward his office. “Come in and have a seat.”

  Hannah wasn’t sure why, but the instant she walked into the man’s office, a vague sensation of unease moved over her, like the shadow of a thunderhead promising a violent storm. She knew it was crazy to feel…threatened when neither man posed any danger. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake it. Attributing the response to the SUV incident, she settled into one of the chairs in front of the desk.

  “Why do you need to file a report with Lake County?” Buzz asked John after they were all seated.

  John took off his parka and draped it over the back of his chair. Hannah tried not to notice his wide chest or the way those snug-fitting jeans hugged his hips. But, mercy, the man was a heartbreaker.

  Her response elicited a quick jab of guilt. Here she was pregnant and more than likely involved with another man—maybe even married—and she was taking note of attributes she had absolutely no business noticing.

  “We got run off the road by some maniac in an SUV on the way from the hospital to the Denver shelter,” John said.

  Snatching up the phone, the older man punched a number on the speed dial pad and handed it to John. “Drunk driver?”

  “Maybe.” John leaned forward to take the phone. “But I don’t think so. It seemed deliberate.”

  “Did you get a plate number?”

  “Colorado plates.” John set the phone to his ear. “The first three letters are HBS.”

  Hannah hadn’t even thought about getting the plate number. She’d been too busy being scared out of her wits.

  Buzz wrote the letters down. “Well, that narrows it down to a few thousand,” he said dryly. “What about the make—”


  Raising his hand for silence, John spoke into the phone, relaying the incident and describing the vehicle right down to the fancy wheels. All the while Buzz scratched notes on his legal pad.

  Hannah looked around the small office as John filed the report, trying without success to quell the uneasiness that had been pressing down on her since she’d entered the room. What was making her so uneasy? Not John. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, he’d become a source of comfort in the last hours. She didn’t think Buzz Malone was the source of her uneasiness, either. He hadn’t given her any reason to mistrust him. Still, she couldn’t deny that her heart rate was up. Resisting the urge to wipe her wet palms on her scrub pants, she studied the plaques and framed certificates on the wall behind the desk. A photograph of a young boy in a cowboy hat warmed her. A framed commendation certificate from the Denver Police Department told her Buzz had been successful during his tenure in law enforcement. On the bookcase near the window, a photo of several uniformed police officers drew her gaze.

  Out of nowhere, a burst of memory exploded in her mind’s eye with the violence of a grenade. Stark black-and-white images. A man in a blue uniform. Sandy hair and hazel eyes. A familiar smile. Before she could make sense of it, another image burst forth. The same man—only, he wasn’t smiling now. Fear spiked through her. Fear that was familiar and bitter and ugly. He was angry. Threatening her. Touching her. Hurting her. A tangle of emotions jumbled in her mind. Emotions that ran the gamut from love to hate and every gray area in between. She remembered pain, both physical and emotional and so deep, she felt it all the way to her soul.

  The images hit her like a series of blows. Her heart beat out of control beneath her breast. Perspiration spread like ice down her back. Vaguely she heard John speaking—his voice soothing her, bringing her back. His hand rested on her arm, comforting her.

  “Hannah?” He patted her arm. “Hey, are you all right?”

  She tore her gaze from the photograph. As abruptly as they’d come to her, the images stopped. Gasping for air, choking back tears, she focused on the strong face before her and realized John was kneeling in front of her, his every feature etched with concern. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”