Colton's Amnesia Target (The Coltons of Kansas)

by Kimberly van Meter - A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)

  Business partner. Immediate suspicion fell to those closest to the victim; that was just standard operating procedure. “Anything come up on Locke?”

  “I didn’t go deep but from the surface he looks pretty boring. The business seems to be doing well enough. There isn’t a giant red flag waving around that points to motive, but like I said, that’s just surface values. I can keep looking.”

  “Yeah, go ahead and poke around a bit. Make sure Locke is clean. I don’t want to send Clint from the frying pan to the fire.”

  “Any particular reason you’re so hot to protect this guy?” Reese asked.

  “I’m doing my job,” she answered, shifting against the implication that she was doing anything above and beyond what she’d do for anyone. But even as the words dropped from her mouth she knew it was a hard pill to swallow. “Okay, fine, I feel bad for the guy,” she admitted. “He came here to help my investigation into a homicide that turned out to be his only family and then he gets whacked in the head and loses his memory.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Reese reminded her. “You can’t carry that burden on your shoulders forever. What are you going to do, marry the guy to prove how sorry you are that he got jumped while trying to aid an investigation?”

  She glowered. “Don’t be stupid. Of course not.”

  “I’m just saying, it’s a little much what you’re doing for this guy. Feels more than professional. There, I said it and you can be pissed but I’m not sorry for being honest.”

  Maybe she was being a little more accommodating for Clint but she also knew she wasn’t going to kick him out or do anything that might jeopardize his safety. “Well, we all have our opinions,” she said, scooping up the file folder. “Thanks for the legwork. I have to go.”

  “Let me guess, Clint needs a ride after his little shopping trip? Maybe share a sandwich for two over at Harvey’s?”

  Her cheeks heated. She was meeting Clint for lunch but she hated the way Reese made it sound. But whatever, Reese could suck an egg. Jordana lifted the folder, saying over her shoulder, “Thanks for the support, buddy. You’re a peach,” as she marched out of the station.

  Harvey’s deli, located within the newly built Ruby Row shopping center, was a convenient place to meet after Clint did his shopping but it bothered Jordana that Reese had framed this meeting like a date of some sort, which it absolutely was not.

  If anything, this was a working lunch and there was nothing social about it. She grabbed a table to wait for Clint, her knee bouncing with nervous energy. Maybe she should’ve suggested that Clint meet her at the station instead of a restaurant. She could’ve scarfed down a microwave burrito like she’s done countless times in the past and Reese wouldn’t have had cause to give her the side-eye.

  But what did it matter? Clint was already living in her house for the time being; it wasn’t as if meeting for lunch was going to soften the reality of her new living arrangement.

  A deep throb had begun to pulsate behind her left eye. If everyone would just lay off her decision, that would be great. And by everyone, she meant Reese.

  She looked up to see Clint enter the restaurant. Immediately, her breath caught. He made jeans and a T-shirt look like high fashion. She blinked against the very real warm sensation sending tendrils of awareness through her body. Oh, good grief, so he can rock a casual look, big deal. Nothing has changed. She schooled her expression before he slid into the seat opposite her with an unsure grin. “Did I do okay?” He surprised her with the question.

  She affirmed with an efficient nod. “Jeans and a T-shirt are appropriate for the early fall in Kansas, yes.”

  “Good, good,” he murmured. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m a jeans and a T-shirt kind of guy because I was drawn to the slacks and polos but, you know, when in Rome, right? I think I’ll stick out less if I dress like the natives.”

  “Braxville is not the untamed wilderness,” she grumbled, taking mild offense. “If you wanted to wear slacks and a polo, you would’ve been just fine. No one would’ve given you a weird look.”

  “Good to know,” he said, seeming to sense that he’d offended her. “I’m sorry if I implied anything—”

  “No, you’re fine,” she said, wanting to move on. She was being prickly and picking a fight for the wrong reasons. Get back on target. Jordana produced the file folder. “I have some good news. My partner, Reese, was able to dig up some information that might help jog your memory.”

  Clint perked up. “Yeah? What’d he find?”

  “Well, it seems you’re...let’s just say you’re not worried about how you’re going to pay the light bill.” She waited for Clint to open the file before adding, “You’re pretty much loaded. You own a tech company in Chicago with a business partner, Alex Locke. Ring a bell?”

  A part of her hoped she’d see the light of recognition dawn in his eyes but the other part, the inexplicable part, hoped he remained blank.

  Girl, you are walking a dangerous path. Get off while you still can.

  Excellent counsel. Except she knew she wasn’t going to.

  And that was worse.

  * * *

  Clint waited for that spark of memory to burn away the fog of his amnesia, but as he stared at the facts on the printed page, he felt nothing. Frustrated, he pushed the folder away with a heavy sigh. “Sorry, I don’t remember any of this. Damn it. When is this going to end?”

  “Dr. Cervantes said it could happen anytime. It isn’t likely going to be permanent,” she assured him. “I would wait on contacting your business partner until my partner can do a little background check.”

  His face screwed into a confused frown. “Why?”

  “Because those closest to the victim are usually the first to fall under suspicion,” she said.

  “That’s messed up. Seems like a penalty for being close to the victim.”

  “Sometimes but it’s really just a way to clear away the obvious. Detective work is often a process of elimination until you get down to the most plausible suspects. As much as I hate to remind you, someone wanted you dead. Your business partner needs to be cleared before we can successfully check him off the list of possible suspects.”

  That made a certain amount of sense, but he didn’t like the idea of someone whom he shared a business to fall under suspicion because it called into question his judgment. “Doesn’t feel very good knowing someone tried to kill me,” he said, settling back with a sigh. “I was kind of leaning on the theory that it was a robbery gone wrong. I mean, they did take my wallet.”

  “But no charges have been made on your credit cards, which tells me they likely just dumped your wallet.”

  “Guess that doesn’t jive with a thief’s mentality to steal something only to throw it away before using it.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, pretty much, but hey, think of the bright side—you don’t have to fill out a bunch of bank paperwork to prove fraudulent charges. You just need to cancel your cards as lost and order new ones.”

  “Yeah, that’s the bright side,” he replied, his good mood squashed. He thumbed through the paperwork. “Is there any way you can clear my partner quickly? I need to get access to my funds and I don’t even know where I bank. I’m guessing my business partner would know that information.”

  “I understand that it’s hard to accept help, but if you’re just patient, we can get this figured out. In the meantime, I’ll keep track of expenses if it helps ease your discomfort and you can pay me back.”

  “With interest,” he added, needing something to lessen the uncomfortable feeling that he was freeloading, even though he knew he wasn’t. He might not remember jack about his life but he recognized the prick of pride.

  “Interest isn’t necessary,” Jordana said, ready to move on, but Clint wasn’t.

  “No, I need to do something a little extra to feel better about landing in your l
ap. I know this can’t be a cakewalk for you. I’ve completely disrupted your life and I need to do something to make up for it.” He held Jordana’s stare, feeling her push back, but he wasn’t going to budge. He tried a different angle, saying with persuasion, “Look, you said yourself, I can afford to be generous. Let me throw a little extra your way. It’s the least I can do for everything you’ve done for me thus far.”

  “I’m just doing my job,” she protested. “It wouldn’t be right to accept money from you above what you owe.”

  “C’mon, be honest, you’ve been a little extra accommodating,” he said, gesturing to his new clothes. “And I sincerely appreciate the effort even if it’s not something you do for everyone.”

  “I don’t like the way that sounds,” Jordana said with a subtle frown. “I don’t need anyone saying that I’m giving you special treatment. It’s hard enough to prove that I’m walking a professional line without you throwing money in my purse. It doesn’t look right.”

  “Not to point out the obvious but you already said I’m liquid and I think there might be a huge disparity between my income and yours. I don’t feel right putting the burden of my room and board on your shoulders without properly compensating you.”

  “Why are we arguing about this? Fine, if it puts an end to this conversation, I can donate whatever you give me to charity.” She relented with an exasperated exhale. “Can we move on?”

  Clint could tell Jordana was at her tipping point. If he pushed any harder, she’d shut down and he didn’t want that. Besides, he’d earned the victory, no sense in belaboring the point.

  “Yes.” He nodded, satisfied and ready to eat. “I’m starved. What’s good here?”

  Chapter 6

  Jordana wasn’t accustomed to having another human being rattling around in her house. She struggled with the need to play the hostess at all times—something her mother had never failed to point out was not her strength—but Clint was surprisingly chill about their unorthodox situation.

  She’d brought home case files, but as she sank into the sofa, her head still throbbing from the stress of the day, she couldn’t bring herself to look at the files just yet.

  Clint was in the kitchen making an awful racket. What is he doing? Remodeling? She rose to investigate and found Clint wearing a cooking apron her sister Bridgette had bought her as a gag gift (because Jordana hated to cook) and making a huge mess in her usually orderly kitchen.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, trying to hide her dismay. “Looks like the apocalypse blew through here.”

  “Yeah, turns out I’m a bit of a messy chef,” he agreed with good humor. “But I think I’m doing an okay job on the actual cooking front. I think I know what I’m doing. I mean, I’m kind of going off instinct but it smells pretty good, wouldn’t you say?”

  It did. “I don’t feel the need to vomit if that’s what you’re asking,” she said, sliding into the barstool at the island. “So what are you whipping up, Gordon Ramsay?”

  “Pasta carbonara with bacon and peas tossed with garlic and olive oil.” He paused to ask with alarm, “Are you a vegetarian?”

  “Nope. All meat for this girl,” she answered, countering with, “How do you know you’re not vegetarian?”

  “Well, the bacon smells pretty damn good so I’d say if I were vegetarian I’d be repulsed, right?”

  “Sounds plausible. What if you’re not eating meat for ethical reasons and not for reasons of taste and texture?”

  “I’ll just have to take the risk,” he said. “If it turns out that I am a vegetarian, I’ll find a way to repent, but until then, I’m going to eat my weight in this pasta because it smells like carb heaven.”

  She laughed. “Judging by your physique, I don’t think you carb-load very often.”

  He grinned in acknowledgment. “Then today is my cheat day, I guess, but you know the best part about losing your memory?” He paused for dramatic effect before answering. “You don’t remember anything to feel guilty about.”

  That was an interesting way to look at his situation, she mused. Rising, she pulled a bottle of red wine and uncorked it to pour a glass. She gestured and he nodded. “Guess we’ll find out if you like wine, too,” she said, raising her glass in toast before taking a much-needed sip. Ahhh, good stuff. She watched as he took an exploratory drink. When he nodded in agreement, she smiled.

  Was she really sitting in her kitchen drinking wine with Clint Broderick while he made dinner? This smacked of inappropriate. Nothing about this situation was protocol. She didn’t know the rules. Everything felt suspect and out of joint. She ought to excuse herself and get back to work but she didn’t get the chance.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Clint said as he dished up her plate and slid it over to her. He took a minute to dish his and then took a seat at the island with her. Clint rose his glass for a toast. “Here’s to discovering who the hell I am and why someone wanted to kill me.”

  She clinked her glass with his, murmuring, “Here, here,” and took another fortifying sip. Jordana knew she ought to thank him for dinner and then excuse herself to her bedroom for the night but she didn’t want to.

  For one, she liked spending time with Clint. For two, it seemed rude to grab her plate and scurry off like a raccoon stealing someone’s dinner.

  People had to eat. Simple biology. She stabbed the pasta with her fork with a little too much force, startling Clint.

  “Whoa there, careful. There’s enough for seconds if you’re that hungry,” he teased.

  She blushed, mortified. “Sorry. It’s not... Forget it. Smells delicious. Thank you.” When in doubt, fall back on good manners. At least her mother would be proud. “Oh, that’s really good,” she admitted, surprised. “I was a little worried it might be inedible.”

  Clint chuckled. “Thankfully, it seems I do know my way around a kitchen, which is a relief. I’d hate to think I was completely useless in a real-life sort of way.”

  “What do you mean useless?” she asked, confused.

  “Just the stereotype of a bachelor being all thumbs in the kitchen. Especially a bachelor with means. I like knowing that I can navigate a hot stove without panicking and calling for takeout. Feels good. I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid but losing my memory has made me insecure about a lot of things. This—” he pointed at his plate “—makes me feel a little less so.”

  She smiled. “You have nothing to feel insecure about—you are a very good cook.” To prove her point, she took another bite and moaned with genuine appreciation. “Don’t tell my mom but this right here might have replaced her mashed potatoes and meat loaf as my new favorite dish.”

  “I’ve replaced a mother’s meat loaf? That feels like high praise. I’ll take it. Sorry, Mama Colton.”

  Jordana broke into a giggle midbite. “Lord help me, but my mom would probably love you.”

  “What’s not to love?” he said with a grin. “I seem pretty damn awesome to me.”

  Jordana rolled her eyes at his cheesy confidence but the guy had a point. A beat of silence followed as Jordana pushed around her pasta, thinking. Was this his actual personality or was this a consequence of his memory loss? She looked up to find Clint watching her.

  “Where’d you go?” he asked as if he could see right through to her personal thoughts.

  “How do you know I went anywhere?” she tried teasing. “Maybe your amazing pasta has rendered me speechless.”

  He shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar. Do you know that everything you think and feel flows right across your face? I don’t advise you take up poker. You’ll lose your shirt.”

  “And are you a good liar?” she countered.

  Clint shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Maybe. Maybe not. I guess I won’t know until I regain my memory. Is that what you were wondering?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I wondered if this
is who you really are or if this is just a consequence of the memory loss. People who sustain head injuries...personality changes aren’t uncommon.”

  “I’ve heard that, as well.” He took a moment before adding, “But I can’t imagine that I’m so different than I am now. I think some things are just part of who you are.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t even know what that means for you.”

  “It’s hard to describe but I can tell when something feels off. It’s like trying to put on a shoe that doesn’t quite fit—everything feels wrong.”

  “But how could you possibly know?” she insisted. “You literally have no clue who you are or who you were. You don’t know why you were coming to see me or what information had been so important that you’d make the trip.”

  “All I can do is give you an example,” he said, moving to face her. “When you first offered up your place, my first instinct was to say no. Even though I had no idea where I was going to stay or how I was going to manage, I didn’t want to put you in a bad position. That’s an inherent value that I think is part of your long-term imprinting, which wasn’t affected by the head injury.”

  Jordana was surprised by how relieved that logic made her feel. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said, breaking into another smile. “I’m sorry you haven’t regained your memory yet. I know it must be aggravating.”

  “It’s no picnic but...having you around makes it easier to bear.”

  His admission created havoc in her belly that had nothing to do with the fact that she was mildly sensitive to gluten.

  On that note, Jordana knew she ought to gracefully excuse herself but she remained rooted to her stool, loath to leave, wanting to stay.

  Yeah, this was definitely a problem, but at the moment...she didn’t really care.

  * * *

  Clint knew he shouldn’t have dropped that truth bomb but there was something about Jordana that made him want to be honest and raw with her. He found her blunt pragmatism invigorating, and her badass sensibilities turned him on.