“I wish I didn’t know you were a cop.”

Why was it such a big deal to her? It had never made sense to him and it didn’t make sense now. Unless she had a record of some kind, unless she was on the run….

He took a step toward her and took her shoulders in his hands, resisting the habit of pulling her into a full embrace. She’d always fit against him perfectly. She was exactly the right height, exactly the right shape, her body a perfect match for his. Even with the baby growing inside her. His baby.

“Why do I want to trust you so much?” she said softly.

“Because somewhere in your heart you know you can.”

A Baby Between Them
Alice Sharpe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my very dear friend

and fellow writer Elisabeth Naughton, with much love.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alice Sharpe met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.

Alice loves to hear from readers. You can write her at P.O. Box 755, Brownsville, OR 97327. SASE for reply is appreciated.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Simon Task—This lawman has known and loved Ella Baxter for a long time, but he’s recently had to admit love isn’t always enough. Less than a week after leaving her, she disappears. Now he’s either on a fool’s errand or the rescue mission of his—and Ella’s—life.

Eleanor (Ella) Baxter—She’s always been secretive about her past. An auto accident leaves that past a secret from her. The trick becomes surviving events set in motion by an unseen hand. All she’s sure of is her determination to reunite with her father and her growing feelings for the “stranger” who comes to her rescue.

Carl Baxter—Ella’s husband or maybe her ex-husband. He seems to be caring for her after the accident, but there’s no denying his very touch leaves Ella cold. What is he after and how far will he go to get it?

“Chopper”—This big, menacing man wields his knife with deadly accuracy. There is nothing he won’t do to get what he wants.

Kyle Starling—Ella’s father is a wanted murderer and thief who disappeared from her life many years before. Now he’s instigated a deadly chain for Ella to follow—if she can stay alive long enough.

Jack—This larger-than-life man appears out of nowhere. He’s a good man to have on your side in a fight. Just what—or who—is he fighting for?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

A blob of color off to the left caught Simon Task’s attention as he sped out of a town whose name he’d already forgotten.

He immediately pulled off the highway, the truck spraying gravel as he braked to a stop. Swiveling in his seat, he looked back. There it was, a pink-and-orange plastic ladybug, the kind that attached to the top of an automobile antenna. What was it doing buried in a wrecking yard?

His imagination got the worst of him as he waited for a break in the traffic before making a U-turn into the parking lot. He pulled up next to the shell of a rusty van with a shattered windshield.

It had to be a coincidence. There had to be more than one of those silly ladybugs in the world.

His mission, or quest or whatever you wanted to call it, had begun twelve hours earlier when he’d driven by Ella’s house at three o’clock in the morning. Since their big fight and their subsequent breakup a few days before, he’d avoided her street, but last night had been a busy one. By the time his shift had ended, he’d been tired enough to take the old shortcut. It wasn’t as though she’d be awake to see him drive past.

Much to his surprise, her house had been visible the moment he’d turned the corner, blazing with lights both inside and out. He’d pulled up to the curb in front and sat there until curiosity and uneasiness forced him out of the squad car and up the path to her door.

Wouldn’t it be the ultimate irony if the instincts and skills honed on the police force, a job she’d begged him over and over again to quit, now provided the very abilities she depended on to rescue her?

Or was he reading this all wrong?

Wrenching his thoughts back to the present, he caught sight of the small snow globe on the passenger seat and picked it up, twisting his wrist, sending glittery “snow” falling over an otter “floating” on a sea of blue acrylic. On the night he’d found the lights on, he’d gone looking to see if her car was in the garage. No car. Instead, there was the snow globe, all alone where the car should have been, so out of place it caught his eye.

He was here because of this damn snow globe.

But was he in the right place?

He set it back down and got out of the truck, striding toward the fence with determination etched on the lean planes of his face. With his thirty-seventh birthday well behind him, he was a man accustomed to knowing what was going on or moving heaven and earth to find out. First things first.

Rounding a stack of tires, he could finally see through the chain-link fence and what he saw almost froze him in place. The antenna supporting the ladybug mascot was attached to a silver late-model sedan, or what was left of one, the same kind of car Ella drove. The hood was buckled inward and up, all but obscuring the windshield. The passenger compartment was partly crushed, shattered headlights and sprung doors attesting to the power of the impact that had put it here in the first place.

Had the driver walked away from this accident? More to the point—had Ella walked away or was she lying in a morgue somewhere? He swallowed hard.

Make sure it’s her car. Bending at the knees, he perched on his heels as he tried to decipher the bent license plate three feet away. Every letter and number he could make out matched up to Ella’s.

“You interested in that car?” a deep voice asked. Simon rose to a standing position as a man popped up from behind a dented SUV, a crowbar in one big hand, two hubcaps tucked under his opposite arm. With a shrill clang, he dropped everything on the rusty hood of yet another wreck and lumbered over to the fence, giving Simon the once-over.

He was fifty or so, pasty and short of breath, a layer of sweat glistening on his brow despite the cool May day. Simon started to reach for his badge but thought better of it. Finding Ella was personal, not official. He said, “It’s in pretty bad shape,” bracing himself to hear the worst.

“Ain’t that the truth?” the man said, producing a can of chewing tobacco. He pinched off a few leaves, tucked the wad in his cheek and added, “Can you believe the driver walked away without a scratch?”

Simon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Then she’s okay?”

“He’s okay, yeah.”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “Wait a second. He?”

“The driver. Uninjured except for a scratch or two. Amazing thing. Course, his wife got bonked on the head pretty good. They had an ambulance take her to the hospital.” With a wave of a thick arm, he added, “It happened just a mile or two down the road where the highway curves as it drops to the coast. Car went off an embankment and wrapped around a tree.”

Okay, just a second. Since when did Ella allow someone to drive her car, and what was this talk of a husband? “Did you catch any names?”

“Sure. Carl and Eleanor Baxter.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest that the Eleanor Baxter who owned this car wasn’t married. This had to be a mistake. But he paused as he considered her nature. It wasn’t inconceivable that she could keep an estranged husband a secret.

He’d actually liked that mysterious quality about her, at least at first. To Simon, coming from a large family with two sisters who never seemed to edit a word they said, Ella had seemed peaceful, composed. It was the churning oceans he’d since detected underneath her calm exterior that grew to worry him.

The wrecker’s eyes narrowed. “The Baxters were tourists. How about you? You from around here?”

“No, I’m from Blue Mountain, high desert country. I’m a friend of theirs from back home. Can you tell me how to get to the hospital where Ella, Mrs. Baxter, was taken?”

“If you came from the east, you must have driven right by it. Won’t do you no good to look for her there, though. She was released this morning. My wife, Terry, works over there in Housekeeping. She says everyone was surprised Mrs. Baxter left so soon.”

Simon’s mind was racing. “Was this woman tall with long wavy blond hair?”

“Tall, maybe. Truth is she was in the ambulance by the time I got to the scene. I got a glimpse of her, but her head was wrapped in bandages.”

Simon hadn’t slept in well over twenty-four hours and he’d been driving for eight. No wonder he couldn’t make sense out of anything, no wonder his eyes burned in their sockets. Running a hand through his hair, he said, “Bear with me while I try to understand this. When exactly did the accident happen?”

“Three days ago,” the older man said. “In the middle of the night. Every cop in the county showed up along with the fire trucks in case there was an explosion. It was a real circus.”

“And the female passenger was released this morning?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know if she’s still in town? I mean she and her husband?”

The wrecker looked over his shoulder as though he’d suffered a sudden stab of conscience. His wife was no doubt cautioned not to gossip about the patients, but she obviously had and now the wrecker seemed to realize he was repeating her disclosures to a stranger. He spit tobacco with practiced ease, the brown glob landing a few feet away, and scratched his belly through a smudged shirt.

Simon casually took out the leather folder that held his badge. It didn’t give him the right to go to the hospital and demand private information without a court order, but he flashed it just the same and the wrecker’s face lit up.

“Oh, you’re a cop. I get it now. What were they, bank robbers, drug dealers?”

“No, no,” Simon said quickly. “I’m just a friend like I told you. I was supposed to meet up with them. I’m showing you the badge so you understand I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

The wrecker appeared mildly disappointed. “Well, the answer is they ain’t here anymore. Rented a car from Lester down at the Pacific 88 Station, and took off. The husband wanted to continue on their vacation over to Rocky Point.”

Rocky Point—Simon had suspected as much. Actually, it had been a toss of the dice, either Otter Cove or Rocky Point, but he’d had a feeling it was the latter. He was itching now to get back in his truck and make it to the coast before dark. One way or another he’d find her. He still didn’t know what was going on, just that he needed to see her with his own eyes. If she’d been playing him for a fool the last year or so, well, that was the past, they weren’t together anymore anyway. But he had to know why she’d left the house all lit up and the snow globe in such an odd spot.

The wrecker, meanwhile, had continued rambling and Simon tuned back in to hear him say, “Doctors said as long as he didn’t pressure his wife, it probably wouldn’t hurt her, and might do her some good. They said it could go away overnight or take a few days or even weeks, just not to push her.”

Once again, Simon found himself playing catch-up. “What could go away?” he asked.

“Like I said, her amnesia.”

Amnesia? Ella had amnesia? Unsure how to respond to this, Simon worked at looking nonplussed as he racked his brain for a comment that made sense. The wrecker lowered his voice, leaned closer to the fence and added, “The wife heard he’s not even supposed to tell her their baby lived through the crash unless she remembers and asks about it.”

The shock these words engendered on Simon’s face must have shown. The wrecker quickly added, “Her memory better come back pretty damn quick, you ask me.”

Okay, this had to be another woman. It wasn’t Ella, it couldn’t be. Maybe she could have hidden a marriage, but a baby? The sudden image of her perfect nude body, of the taut skin covering her abdomen, flashed in his brain. He’d bet almost anything she’d never given birth.

Now all he had to do was figure out what had happened to Ella to separate her from her car so far from home.

The wrecker added, “My wife said the gal hasn’t started showing yet, but nature will take care of that soon enough.”

“She’s pregnant,” Simon blurted out, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.

The wrecker looked pleased with himself. “Yep.”

That meant the woman in the car could be Ella.

And that meant the baby they were talking about could be his.

“IT’S GETTING COLD, Eleanor. Come inside,” Carl Baxter called, his voice drifting out to the outdoor balcony through the partially open sliding glass door.

Glancing into the room, Eleanor saw that he’d stretched out atop the king-size bed and was watching the news on television.

“In a minute,” she said, wrapping the thin blue sweater closer about her body.

Their room was on the tenth floor and overlooked the Pacific Ocean, the distant horizon flushed with color as the sun plunged toward the sea. The thin wind might be cold, but it was still preferable to being inside the small room with her husband.

Her husband! She absently twisted the gold band on her left hand as she tried yet again to conjure up a memory of Carl that preceded waking up in the hospital. Nothing. But the truth was, it felt funny to think of Carl as her husband. He was good-looking enough, with longish blond hair and an aristocratic face, but there was absolutely nothing about him that spoke to her on any level. He was older than she was, forty-one to her twenty-eight, or so their drivers’ licenses revealed. His manner toward her was one of indulgent fondness, she guessed, though it seemed as though he might be a little on the controlling side.

For instance, on the drive from the hospital she’d begged him to drive her home—wherever that might be; no place sounded familiar to her. He’d told her they were going to continue their long-planned road trip, that the doctors had suggested traveling until she regained her memory. They would go back to Blue Mountain when she remembered who she was. It didn’t matter that she wanted to go now; the doctors knew best.

Who was she to argue with the doctors? Except this plan seemed backward to her. Wouldn’t her own space and belongings trigger a memory or two? And what about her parents or brothers or sisters?

All dead, Carl had told her, and then he’d folded her in his arms as though comforting her, but how was she supposed to mourn people she couldn’t even remember?

Her sweater wasn’t warm enough for the wind and she fought her reluctance to go inside. She needed better clothes if they were going to stay on the coast. A Windbreaker, for instance. She apparently wasn’t much of a packer or maybe her suitcase had been lost in the accident.

She could remember absolutely nothing about the crash. It was as though her head was the inside of a pumpkin: mushy, stringy. The irony of being able to recall the look and smell and taste of a squash but not have a sense of self seemed absurd, and she thought more kindly of Carl. It couldn’t be very pleasant to be saddled with a wife in such a befuddled state. She should be grateful to him for standing by her.

But why wouldn’t he help her out a little? Why wouldn’t he show her pictures or tell her stories about her past or explain what she did for a living, what she liked, what she didn’t like?

The doctors. That’s why. He was following their orders.

The door opened behind her. Carl stood half in, half out, the wind whipping his hair. Her own short brown locks barely stirred.

“Time to come inside,” he said, standing aside to allow her to pass him.

He didn’t try to touch her, and for this she was grateful. As she heard the door slide closed behind her, she paused in front of the TV. An announcer was offering details of a homicide, the cameras scanning a weeded lot as a gurney topped with a body bag was wheeled toward a waiting ambulance.

The picture disappeared as Carl clicked the remote. “I was watching that,” she said as she turned to face him.

“It happened a long way from here, Eleanor.”

“But—”

“I don’t want you to watch upsetting, unpleasant things.”

She took a deep breath. Was the man always this calculating or had her new vulnerable state aroused his protective instincts? “How long are we staying here?”

“Through Thursday,” he said, moving toward her. He put a hand around her arm and, leaning forward, gently kissed her forehead. “You can rest tomorrow. Then the next morning we’ll continue on our trip.”

“Where exactly are we going?”

“Wherever we want,” he said with a smile.

“I want to go home,” she said.

“We’ve been through this a dozen times today,” he said.

“Then let’s get the map and choose somewhere else to go. I don’t like the beach.”

“We’re staying through tomorrow,” he snapped, his eyes flashing even as he resurrected a smile. “Why don’t you let me do the planning? You just rest and get better. Are you hungry?”

“Not really. I think I’d like to take a bath.”

“You got chilled staying outside so long, didn’t you? Well, don’t get the bandage on your forehead wet, okay? I’ll order dinner from room service.”

She resisted nodding, knowing from experience the motion would make her nauseated, then escaped into the bathroom, where she quickly flicked the lock.

Chapter Two

Simon knew he was looking for a blue car with chrome hubcaps, two years old. He knew the license plate number and the fact that it had a green rental sticker in the left corner of the rear window.

Thankfully, Rocky Point wasn’t a big town, but it relied heavily on tourists, and as Simon drove into the city, he saw more motels and hotels than he could count. Before the light disappeared altogether, he wanted to cruise parking lots looking for the blue two-door coupe. If the car was parked underground or in a controlled parking lot, he’d be out of luck.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he shouldn’t ask for police help. Or maybe he could march up to every front desk in town and demand to know if there was a Carl and Eleanor Baxter registered. But all of that came with official ramifications, and for now he didn’t want anyone else involved. He knew if he started waving his badge around in a town this small, it wouldn’t be long before the local cops came looking for him—no, thanks.

The beginning letters on the plate he sought were YSL. He pulled into a motel on the beach and drove each row as though looking for a parking place, slowing down at every blue car. Who knew there were so damn many of them?

An hour passed, then two. He drove through a fast food restaurant and ordered a hamburger and black coffee, then went back to his task, gradually working his way north through town.

The task seemed impossible and more than once he was on the brink of taking a room, getting some sleep and heading home in the morning. But he kept at it, more out of perverse determination than because he thought his plan held merit.

A dozen lots later, his eyes burning like red-hot embers, his headlights picked up the letters YSL attached to a blue coupe. He pulled into a spot a few cars away and walked back. The rest of the plate checked out, too; the green sticker was right where it belonged. He used his pocket flashlight to briefly scan the interior. There was nothing in the car he could see except a road map.

He grabbed his overnight bag from his truck and walked into the hotel. It was eleven o’clock by now and the place was all but deserted. He toyed around with asking the clerk who gave him a room if they had a couple named Baxter registered, but held off—he didn’t want Baxter alerted to his presence until he got a feeling for what was going on.

A few minutes later, he let himself into his room with the intent of taking a shower and then casing the hotel. He sat on the bed and pulled off his shoes.

If Ella was the woman in the car, then she was here, in the same building as he. Was her memory completely gone? Before that had happened to her, had she really left clues in the hope he would figure out she needed him, or had he jumped to a bunch of conclusions?

No. She might have lent her car to someone else, but she certainly hadn’t willingly lent her identity. So who was the man acting as her husband and why had he brought an amnesic woman on a vacation instead of taking her home?

He took the snow globe out of his overnight bag and turned it in his hands, remembering the day a few months before when he and Ella had bought it at a gift store less than a mile from here.

Back when they’d been a couple.

Rubbing his eyes, he fell back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. She was here. He could almost feel her presence. When he’d walked out on their argument just days before, he’d intended it to be permanent, but here he was and so was she.

Which added complicated dimensions to the question burning in the back of his brain: What in the hell was going on?

He woke up hours later, still lying on his back, gray morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. “Damn,” he muttered as he tore off his clothes on the way to the bathroom. Five minutes later, he’d taken the fastest shower since his stint in the navy and caught an elevator to the lobby. He immediately crossed to the windows to see if the blue car was still in the parking lot. If he’d slept through their departure, what would he do next?

What could he do?

ELEANOR STARED AT THE PLATE of food Carl had ordered against her wishes and felt a wave of sickness rise up her throat. Thank goodness they were in their room and not the dining room.

“What’s wrong?” Carl said.

She didn’t have time to answer. Throwing her hand over her mouth, she ran to the bathroom and was sick. Sometime later, after she’d washed and brushed her teeth, she wandered back.

“I thought you could eat,” he said.

“My stomach—”

“The doctor warned you’d be sick off and on again due to your head injury,” he said.

“Well, the doctors were right.” The smell of the congealing eggs was making her stomach tumble again. She grabbed her handbag off the chair. She’d searched her purse; she knew she had credit cards in the wallet. “Give me the car keys. I need different clothes and I need to get out of this room,” she said, her hand on the knob.

He was grabbing his jacket. “I’ll go with you.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to add, I need to get away from you most of all! Instead she said, “I remember how to drive. The town didn’t look that big yesterday—I can make my way.”

She stopped talking because he’d put on his jacket and held the keys in his fist. “No, Eleanor, you will not drive yourself around with a head injury. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Besides, mine is the only name on the rental. You’re not insured.”

“Then I’ll walk.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

And because her head throbbed and her stomach roiled, she opened the door and left the room, Carl close on her heels.

It was a drizzly day outside. As Carl went to the front desk, she perused the lobby. Several people were standing or sitting in chairs in front of a big, hooded fireplace. She longed to be one of them, longed to go stand by the fire without Carl hovering nearby.

Her gaze met the gray eyes of a man in his thirties. He was tall and solid-looking, wearing boots, jeans and a black sweater. His hair was dark and thick, combed away from his face. His features were attractive, his mouth perfectly formed, but it was the intensity of his gaze that held her, that sent her left hand up to her cheek. His gaze grew even more piercing and a trill of excitement sputtered along her skin.

She looked away at once, but for some reason looked back. He had turned to stare at the fire.

“Ready?” Carl asked.

She startled.

“The clerk at the desk told me there’s a nice clothing store less than a mile from here. Come on.”

SIMON WAITED UNTIL HE SAW the taillights go on in their car before he left the building and ran to his truck. Within a few moments he’d caught up with them on the main drag.

A brisk, overcast Tuesday morning in April wasn’t exactly high tourist time, he discovered, and wished there were a few more cars around. He’d already announced himself by allowing Ella to notice him staring at her. He couldn’t afford another sighting.

But he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Her hair was short and dark, a fringe of bangs somewhat obscuring bruises and a bandage, framing her deep blue eyes. She’d looked wistful, vulnerable in a way he’d seen her look so few times. He’d wanted to walk up to her, talk with her, see if she knew who he was, ask her to explain what was happening.

Of course, he hadn’t, and when she’d raised her hand to her face in an almost shy gesture, he finally noticed the sparkle of gold on her finger.

She wore a wedding ring. And the man who had come up to her wore one, too. A tall man with long fair hair, chiseled features and a hustler’s tilt to his head.

Damn.

Simon hung back a block until he saw the turn signal on the rental. By the time he turned the same corner, the man was helping Ella out of the car. Simon pulled up to the curb half a block away and watched as they entered a building.

The man. Ella’s husband. Carl Baxter. Call him what he was. But why had Ella dyed her hair? She had to have done it before the accident; surely she wouldn’t use dye with scratches and wounds on her head, but again, why? Her hair was a source of pride for her, at least it had been, so why whack it off unless to disguise herself?

After getting rid of you, maybe she just wanted a change, an inner voice suggested.

Simon pulled his sweater over his head and put on the denim jacket he kept in the backseat, then snatched a green baseball cap out of a side pocket. As disguises went, it wasn’t great, but it was as good as he could do without risking losing them, and he wasn’t going to chance that. He darted across the street.

The inside of the store wasn’t exactly booming with customers, but it was jammed with racks of clothes that seemed to go from floor to ceiling. The clutter made lurking a little safer. He’d just make sure they were in here to actually look at clothes, and then he’d leave and stake out the exterior.

Cap pulled low on his forehead, he caught sight of Ella fingering a rack of blue-green sweaters. It was his favorite color on her.

She took one of the sweaters off the rack and held it up against her supple body, the soft material at once clinging to her breasts and evoking a million erotic memories. It was a long garment and as she turned to look at herself in the mirror, he felt his breath catch in his throat. The night they first met came stampeding into his head and heart like a locomotive off its tracks.

Carl Baxter chose that moment to take the blue sweater from her hands and thrust a yellow one at her.

Simon immediately turned around and left the store, retracing his steps to the truck, where he took out his cell phone. He made two calls. One to work to request a few days’ vacation and the other to an old friend. Then he hunkered down to wait.

“YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL,” Carl said, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to kiss the nape of her neck. He was standing behind her as she faced the mirror, trying to arrange her hair to hide her abrasions and bandages.

She didn’t really like the look of the yellow against her skin, and Carl’s lips left her cold, which made her ashamed of herself. As he raised his head and their gazes locked in the reflection of the mirror, she said, “Do we have a good marriage, Carl?”

He smiled. “Of course we have a good marriage.”

“Then why won’t you tell me about it? You know, about one of our days, maybe. A Saturday, for instance. Tell me what we do on a Saturday when I don’t have to go to work at the…”

He laughed. “Trying to trick me into telling you what you do for a living?”

“Can’t you just throw me a bone? What do you do for a living?”

“Why this preoccupation with jobs?”

“I don’t know, I just feel so lost waiting around, I want to do something. I want to know what I used to do, what we did as a couple.”

He moved away toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Carl—”

“You haven’t eaten all day. You must be starving.”

“But the reservation—”

“Is for an hour from now, I know, but they serve wine and cheese before dinner in the lobby. A little wine will do you good.”

“With my head injury?” she said.

“One glass won’t hurt.”

There was just no point in arguing with him. The man never said or did one thing he didn’t want to say or do, seldom let her out of his sight. We better have a good marriage, she thought as she walked past him into the hall, because if we don’t, I’m going to divorce him when I get my memory back.

Though she would hardly admit it to herself, there was someone she was hoping to see again and that was the man from the morning. He wasn’t in the lobby, however. She took a seat near the fire, the gray late-afternoon skies pressing against the tall windows at her back. Carl walked over to the informal buffet as she looked around the spacious room, glancing at the half dozen other guests sipping wine and laughing.

What would it be like to laugh? Did she laugh a lot? Was she morose or happy or contemplative?

One thing Carl was right about was the return of her appetite. It was back with a vengeance, and as she accepted a small plate covered with cheese and crackers and grapes, she noticed a tall man walk into the lobby from the outside and veer toward the front desk.

“Wine?” Carl said, and she accepted a glass of chilled white wine and set it on the table next to her plate. He stood by her seat, looking down at her as he sipped a dark red Cabernet and she tried a cracker slathered with creamy Brie. Why didn’t he sit, why did he hover? She looked surreptitiously toward the desk, but the tall man was gone.

It had been the man from the morning, she was sure of it, the one with the gray eyes.

At that moment, a woman approached Carl. “Are you Mr. Baxter?” she asked.

He looked down his long nose at the woman who was wearing a hotel uniform identifying her as an employee. “Yes.”

“Sir, we’ve been alerted your car has two very flat front tires. Would you come with me?”

Carl looked down at Eleanor and then back at the employee and said, “Just have it fixed. I’m not leaving my wife alone—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Carl,” Eleanor snapped. “I’m not a child, I think I can sit here for ten minutes while you take care of an emergency.”

He looked toward the parking lot, down at her and back again. The employee said, “It’ll only take a few minutes, sir. We need insurance information.”

“It’s your damn parking lot,” Carl fumed.

“Yes, sir, but it’s well posted that your car is your responsibility. Not that we won’t assist you, of course.”

Carl set his glass down beside Eleanor’s. “Stay here,” he commanded, and marched off behind the woman and out the front door, glancing over his shoulder at Eleanor twice before he was out of sight.

Almost at once, a man sat on the chair beside her. His gray gaze delving right into hers, he said, “Your husband seems upset.”

“It’s you,” she said, and realizing how lame that sounded, added, “I saw you this morning.”

“I saw you, too,” he said.

“You were staring at me.”

“Yes. Well, I thought you might be someone I knew.”

She leaned forward a little. “Really? Maybe I am.”

“I don’t quite get your meaning,” he said with a smile, his voice playful.

She shrugged. “I had an accident a few days ago and my memory is a little blurred.”

“A little?”

“A lot.”

His voice dropped as he said, “Is that why your husband never leaves your side?”

She nodded very slowly and reached for her wineglass. The stranger’s hand was suddenly there, as well. Somehow her glass sailed to the floor, spilling its contents. “I’m sorry,” he said, producing a napkin or two and blotting her shoe. The rest of the liquid was quickly absorbed into the plush carpet. He set the unbroken glass back on the table and added, “Probably better not to drink when you’ve recently bashed your head, I suppose.”

“I agree. I really didn’t want it.”

“Then why were you reaching for it?”

She met his eyes and smiled. “Because I didn’t know how to respond to your observation about my husband. Have you ever noticed how you tend to do something with your hands when you don’t know what to say?”

“I have noticed that,” he said, his gaze once again penetrating. She should probably look away. She couldn’t. Their conversation was harmless enough, but she found herself enjoying it in a way she hadn’t enjoyed anything in days. She liked talking to this man. He made her feel something inside, made her feel less alone. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Simon.”

“Just Simon?”

He brushed her gold wedding band with his fingertip. “Just Simon. What’s yours?”

“Eleanor.”

He withdrew his hand and she swallowed. Her reactions to this guy were giving her one of the few glimpses she’d had of her gut-level personality. She wore one man’s ring and that man swore they had a good marriage. And yet she flirted with another man and wished she had no husband.

“Tell me about the woman you thought I resembled,” she said.

Simon glanced toward the front door and then back at her. “I was in love with her once,” he said.

“That sounds sad. Something happened between you?”

“Yes. Something happened.”

“What was she like?”

“Well, let’s see. She was very pretty, like you. She liked to garden, especially vegetables. Everything grew for her. And she liked to cook.”

“She sounds like a homebody,” Eleanor said.

“Kind of, yes.”

“What did she do, you know, for a living?”

“She worked at a radio station, had her own show in the afternoons on Saturday. Gardening tips, food advice, stuff like that. She also had a slew of odd jobs because she said she didn’t want to get stuck doing one thing forever.”

“What kind of odd jobs?”

“Once she painted a mural on the side of an office building and once she walked dogs and house-sat. She also taught a few classes at the junior college and volunteered at an old folks’ home. Stuff like that.”

Eleanor smiled. “She sounds nice. What happened, you know, between you two?” As he looked away from her face, she chided herself and added, “I’m sorry. That was way too personal. I don’t remember anything about myself, so maybe that’s why I’m so caught up in hearing about this woman you’re describing. Don’t tell me any more, it’s none of my business.”

He opened his mouth, seemed to think better, and closed it. “How long are you staying here, Eleanor?”

“Until tomorrow,” she said. “Carl insisted we stay through today.”

“Then where are you headed? Home?”

“I wish,” she said.

“You sound homesick. Been away long?”

“How do I know?” she said, turning beseeching eyes on him. “I don’t know for sure when we left home or even exactly where home is except for the address on my driver’s license.”

“You don’t remember anything about it?”

“No. The address on my husband’s license is different from mine. When I asked him why, he told me we’ve moved recently. That’s all he’ll say.”

“If you want to go home so badly, why don’t you?”

“Because the doctor said we should stay away until my memory returns. Carl won’t tell me anything about myself. He says it’s supposed to come back naturally.”

“Makes it kind of hard for you, doesn’t it?” he said.

“I feel lost.”

“I bet you do,” he said, his gaze once again holding hers.

“How about you?” she said softly.

“I’m not sure about my plans, either.” His gaze swiveled to the doors again, and he got to his feet quickly. “I see your husband stomping across the parking lot. He looks pretty angry.”

“I’m beginning to think he’s angry quite often,” she said, instantly awash in guilt. She added, “He’s taking very good care of me. It can’t be much fun for him.”

“You underestimate yourself,” he said, and then as Carl pushed his way through the front doors, the man with the gray eyes disappeared toward the elevators.

Simon was right. Carl looked mad enough to kill someone.

Chapter Three

“So you agree she shouldn’t be told she’s pregnant?”

On the other end of the line, his cousin Virginia, a practicing psychologist in Chicago, paused for a second before saying, “Without knowing the specifics of her case, I don’t know what to think. In associational therapy, the patient is exposed to familiar surroundings in hopes it stimulates the brain’s neural synapses. Isolation from personal recollections seems counterintuitive, but if you know she’s pregnant and sense trouble in her marriage—”

“If there is a marriage,” Simon interjected.

“You said your partner on the force is checking into that, right?”

“Not my partner, no. I can’t get Mike into a compromising position on the off chance Ella did something illegal before she left Blue Mountain.” Or since then, for that matter….

“Then who did you call?”

“A private investigator I worked with a few years back.”

“You’re sure Ella isn’t faking amnesia?”

“I’m positive. The only way the woman I know could react to things the way this woman does is if she wasn’t aware of herself or her past. She’s not faking.”

“Okay. So, for now, all you know is she’s with a man who was able to convince the police and the hospital he’s her husband, which means he either planned her abduction very carefully or he is her husband—”

“In which case there is no mystery, just me jumping to conclusions,” Simon finished for her. And yet her husband had told Ella they’d just moved to Blue Mountain, which was a lie. Ella had lived there for at least two or three years.

Virginia cleared her throat. “Didn’t your mother tell me you and Ella were no longer a couple? In fact, you broke up with her just a week or so ago, didn’t you?”

Simon stared out at the ocean and sighed. “Well, I guess you could say I broke up with her. She’d gotten even more secretive than usual and we had some words and I realized it was over.”

“So maybe what you’re feeling is guilt mixed with anger,” she said softly.

“Huh?”

“Guilt for rejecting her. Then you find she has a husband all along and so really, she’s the one who rejected you. That’s why she wouldn’t talk about her past and why you felt shut out of her life. Hence the anger.”

“My mother has a big mouth.”

“She talks to my mom, you know how it is.”

He glowered at the moon sparkling over the sea and didn’t respond. Spending the night staking out the parking lot wasn’t his idea of a good time, but he figured it would serve a couple of purposes, and face it, he was anxious to get this settled in his mind and go home.

Home. “Ginny, do you think I should tell Ella who I am and ask her if she wants to come back with me? Give her a choice?”

“No. I can’t advise distressing her when she’s so lost already. Don’t do anything to alarm her or frighten her. Listen, do you want me to call the admitting hospital and see if I can find out anything about her condition?”

“Will they talk to you?”

“I’ll give it a try. I might know someone here who knows someone there. Call me back tomorrow night about this time, okay? Her name is Eleanor Baxter, right?”

“Yeah. Middle name Ann. Thanks, Ginny.”

“Just be careful.”

“Careful? Careful of what?”

“Think about it, coz,” she said, and rang off.

He pocketed his cell phone and tried to get comfortable. He was parked across the row and three cars down from the Baxter rental so he could easily keep an eye on it.

And then he did his best not to think about Ella, but that was almost impossible.

She was different and it wasn’t just the hair color. She was more open, as though not remembering her past had freed her from the burden of keeping it secret. She reminded him of the woman he’d fallen in love with, practically at first sight.

He got the feeling she wasn’t too happy about her husband. For that matter, neither was Simon, who had seen the bastard hand Ella that glass of wine. Ella didn’t know she was pregnant, but according to the wrecker’s wife, Carl did, so what was he doing giving a pregnant woman alcohol?

That was Simon’s baby she was carrying, and it pissed him off.

At least he thought it was his baby.

But she’d been hiding something for the past couple of weeks, something that had her edgy, nervous…

He switched positions. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to get Ella alone again. The tire trick had worked once; it wouldn’t work again without arousing suspicion. The fact that Carl had insisted they continue this vacation and stay in Rocky Point made Simon curious. What if Carl had abducted Ella from her house in Blue Mountain? What if the accident had been just that—an accident? Had Carl pushed for her release from the hospital so they could make it to Rocky Point for some unknown reason? Or what if they were in something together but Ella couldn’t remember they were partners? Would that explain her changed appearance?

It all came down to her houselights blazing, the abandoned snow globe in the garage and his gut feeling.

No answers right now, maybe tomorrow. He’d watch them come out to the car in the morning. See if Ella, once out of the hotel, appeared to be in distress. If she did, he would call in the cops.

“Be careful,” Ginny had said.

To hell with that. Carl Baxter was the one who better be careful.

Using his pocket flashlight, he opened the paperback he’d bought in the hotel gift shop and prepared for a long night.

“LET’S STOP HERE for breakfast,” Carl said as he pulled into the deep unpaved parking lot belonging to a restaurant perched high above the ocean. A fog bank hovered out at sea, though the day had dawned clear but breezy. The few trees managing to cling to the bluff were shaped by the predominant winds.

“I’ll stay here, you go eat,” Eleanor said. “My stomach feels terrible. It must be that pill I take at night, the one for my head. I wake up every morning with a stomachache.”

“Then skip the pill tonight,” he said, reaching over to unbuckle her seat belt.

“Carl, I can’t eat.”

He looked at his watch, then at her. There was something different about him today, a tightening around his mouth and eyes. “How selfish can you get?” he snarled. “Do you think just because you can’t eat, I should starve?”

Startled, she drew away from him. “You could have ordered from room service.”

“I’m tired of room service. Come on, get out of the car, keep me company. We’ll get you some toast.”

She got out of the car, unsure why she allowed him to bully her. Was this what she was always like, or was this apathy because of her injuries? She hoped and prayed it was the latter, because the woman she was right now was a tiresome bore who had come to life only once since awakening and that was when she spoke with a stranger about his lost love.

How pathetic was that?

A bell tinkled as they opened the door. The restaurant was bigger inside than it had looked from the outside. Tables ringed the perimeter, which was fronted with glass and a panoramic view of the sea beyond.

Waitresses scurried with giant platters perched on their shoulders; others poured endless cups of coffee. A hostess led them to a table near the windows. Eleanor took a chair facing the door as the waitress handed them menus. “Coffee?” she asked.

“Just one cup,” Carl said. “The lady wants tea.”

As the waitress hurried off, Carl scooted his chair clear around the table so that he was facing the door, too. He said, “Now, aren’t you glad you came inside?”

She looked at the menu while taking shallow breaths. The place smelled like greasy seafood. Refusing to lie about her supposed joy at being talked into coming inside, she folded the menu. Carl looked up at the door, visibly tensing every time the bell announced a newcomer.

“Are you expecting someone?” she asked.

“Expecting? No. Why do you ask?”

“You keep staring at the door.”

“So what?” he said.

His attitude toward her had taken a marked change from the preceding days. No longer overly solicitous, he was directing his general impatience at her. Truth was, she almost preferred it.

The waitress arrived with two coffees. As Eleanor had no plans to drink tea or anything else, she didn’t comment on the mistake. Carl didn’t seem to notice. “Crab omelet is our special today,” the waitress chirped.

“That’s fine,” Carl said absently, twisting a little as a bell announced a family scurrying in out of the wind.

“Nothing for me,” Eleanor said.

“Bring her unbuttered toast,” Carl said.

The family was seated a table or two away while a man in a green baseball cap with his nose buried in a blue-and-white handkerchief took a seat at a table behind her. Carl finally noticed her beverage. “They brought you coffee? Why didn’t you say something? Where is that stupid waitress?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she assured him. His nerves were beginning to get to her, too. Trying to soothe him, she looked around and added, “This is a nice restaurant. Maybe we could come back tonight and have dinner here.”

“I suspect we’ll be long gone before that,” he said absently, tensing as the bell rang over the door again.

A different waitress appeared with a tray holding a tall stack of pancakes and a pitcher of syrup. As she started to lower the tray, Carl put up a hand. “I didn’t order pancakes,” he barked. “You’ve got the wrong table.”

The tray tilted precariously as the waitress attempted to check the ticket buried in her apron pocket. Carl yelled at her, and she jerked. With a clatter, the plate slid right off the platter and landed in Carl’s lap. The pitcher of syrup followed.

Carl stood abruptly, his face as red as a boiled Dungeness crab.

The waitress immediately began apologizing and dabbing at Carl with a napkin.

“You clumsy oaf,” Carl sputtered, pushing her away.

“Sir, breakfast will be on us, of course.”

“It’s already on me!” he said, lifting his sticky hands. “Damn, I’ve got to go to the restroom and try to fix this.” His gaze went from his watch to the door to Eleanor. “Stay here. I’ll be back in two minutes.” He stomped off without waiting for a reply.

SIMON, NURSING A CUP of coffee and hiding behind a menu, watched the incident at Ella’s table with interest. He was willing to bet a week’s pay the waitress purposely dumped the food on Carl Baxter.

Why?

That question was at least partially answered a moment later when an Albert Einstein look-alike slid into the chair across from Ella. As the waitress shuffled off with the spilt food and dishes, Simon carefully shifted position to sit directly behind Ella in order to eavesdrop.

“Good, you made it,” the old guy said, his voice raspy. “Sorry about the mess with your friend, but I wanted to talk to you alone.”

Eleanor said, “I’m sorry, but—”

“Do you know anything about Jerry? Last anyone heard from him was the day he came to see you.”

“I don’t—”

“Never mind, Jerry is clever, he can take care of himself. What’s important is you. I’m real sorry about your brother. Oh, I know it’s been months since his death, but I still remember him as a cute kid with a real gung ho attitude. Tragic thing to die so young.”

Ella had a brother? This was news to Simon, who cursed his decision not to run a check on her background when he had had the chance.

“Okay, I’m stalling and we don’t have much time,” the old man continued. “Like Jerry told you, your dad set up this roundabout way of getting word to you to protect you and him. Jerry got you this far. My job is to tell you about the next stop. Go north to a suburb of Seattle named Tampoo. Be at the bus depot tomorrow right at noon. We all know what you look like. Come alone next time, okay?”

“I don’t—”

“Listen, honey, there’s a lot to explain, but don’t ask me, I’m just a link in the chain. You need to ask your old man. You be careful now, it’s likely to get dangerous before the end.” The old guy looked up just then and after quietly patting the table three times with his fingertips, he got to his feet. “Don’t let your father down,” he said, and quickly faded into the shadows toward the kitchen.

Ella hadn’t seen a man come out of the bathroom and pull on his ear, but Simon had. That was a signal if he’d ever seen one, and it was followed within seconds by the appearance of Carl Baxter, a determined glint in his eyes and water spots on his clothes. Simon dived behind the menu again.

There was no time to trail the old man; he had to stay and hear what Ella said to Carl about this visit. His hope was she would say nothing.

“The strangest thing just happened,” Ella said as another waitress arrived with a plate of eggs she set in front of Carl and toast she placed in front of Ella.

Worried Carl would start looking at the door again and notice Simon’s interest in him, Simon turned his back completely, staring out at the sea and the encroaching fog. He heard Carl say, “What? What happened?”

“An old man sat down and spoke with me. He said something about my father.”

“What did you say to him?” Carl asked, his voice fast and higher pitched than before.

“Nothing. I mean, what could I say?”

“The man must have mistaken you for someone else. Maybe he’s a nutcase.”

“Maybe,” Ella said, “but he implied he had something to do with the food being spilled on you.”

The bell on the door chimed and Simon glanced over his shoulder to get Carl’s reaction. Carl didn’t even look up. Instead he said, “Tell me what the old guy said.”

Don’t tell him anything, Simon chanted to himself.

“Well, he told me my father needed me. I thought you told me all my family was dead.”

“He’s a nutcase, just as I thought.” A brief pause was followed by “So, did the old guy mention a city and a time?”

“Yes. Tampoo, Washington, tomorrow at noon. At a bus depot. He said someone would meet me. He said I should go alone. What does that mean?”

“How would I know?” Carl said with a clatter of silverware. “You’re not eating, and I’m not hungry anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

Ella’s voice was very calm as she said, “What’s going on, Carl? How did you know he mentioned going to another city?”

“I didn’t, you just told me.”

“No, you asked. It’s a strange question. I may not remember who I am, but I didn’t suddenly get stupid.”

“Just put your coat on. I’ll explain in the car.”

Simon heard chairs slide and watched as Ella stalked out of the restaurant. Carl stood by the cash register, glancing repeatedly outside as though afraid Ella would fly away. When no waitress appeared to take his money, he tossed a few bills on the counter and left. He’d apparently forgotten the waitress promised him a free meal.

Simon slapped a couple of dollars next to his empty coffee mug and followed, pulling on his cap, unsure how to proceed. If he’d been confused before, he was downright flummoxed now, but he also sensed Ella might be in danger from this man as she began to suspect his motives.

Ginny had said don’t alarm Ella, don’t frighten her. How was he supposed to get her away from Carl if he couldn’t even talk to her?

He exited the restaurant with his head down so Ella wouldn’t notice him. A quick glance, however, revealed that she’d made it to their car, which was parked close to the bluff. She stood with her back to the restaurant and to Carl’s approach, arms linked across her chest, one hip thrust forward, her short, dark hair barely moving despite the strong wind. A lilac-colored coat flapped around her hips.

Her body language screamed pissed off. The bounce of Carl’s steps and the faint whistling sound drifting back on the wind suggested Carl couldn’t care less about his wife’s frame of mind.

The weather had deteriorated, the thin fog blowing up the bluff, swirling overhead. Searching for an excuse to approach Carl before he talked Ella into getting into the car, Simon noticed movement in a dark sedan parked nearby. The door opened as Carl passed the front bumper. Carl didn’t even turn to look as a big man with a very bushy gray-streaked beard got out of the car.

The huge man was dressed all in black and looked damn formidable as he peered around the parking lot, his gaze sliding right by Simon, whose instincts had warned him to step behind a pillar. Apparently making a decision, the giant fell into step behind Carl.

It didn’t take Simon’s twelve years in law enforcement to figure out something was going on.

Picking up his pace, the bearded man grabbed Carl from behind, twirling him around, throwing a punch that connected with Carl’s nose. As he staggered backward, Carl pulled a gun from a hidden holster. The bearded man instantly kicked the gun from Carl’s hand with an agility unexpected in a three-hundred-pound man. The gun flew over the bluff as the assailant produced a terrible, mean-looking knife with a curved blade.

Ella screamed. Simon started running toward her, taking his own gun from the waistband holster. Facing each other, jockeying for position, the two men backed Ella against the car. She pushed them away from her, lurching off to the side as blood from a knife slash blossomed on her palm. It ran down her arm as she continued stumbling backward.

Again and again, the bearded man swung his knife in wide arcs at Carl. Ella seemed oblivious of anything but the fight. The men kept at it, forcing her toward the edge of the bluff as the giant lashed out and Baxter recoiled.

Birds wheeling up the bluff caught Simon’s attention. At once he realized the direction Ella’s retreat was taking her. He yelled her name. The two men turned to look at him, but Ella kept moving as though oblivious of anything except escape. She stumbled backward against the knee-high rock and wood post wall, her hands flying, her purse launched into the air. She’d been moving so fast her momentum sent her sailing over the edge of the fog-shrouded cliff.

Both men lurched toward the bluff, became aware of each other again, and squared off. Carl peered at the empty spot where Ella had last appeared, obviously caught between his desire to find out what had happened to her and the one to save his own skin.

His skin won. He used the big man’s momentary lapse of attention to get a head start back to his car.

Simon was only vaguely aware of the two men taking off in their respective vehicles as he reached the place where Ella had tumbled over the cliff.

Chapter Four

The bluff was riddled with gullies and overgrown with Scotch broom, their brilliant yellow flowers dazzling despite the fog. More important than their color was the fact that they could cushion, maybe even stop, a fall.

“Ella!”

Twenty feet below him, he caught sight of movement, but it was impossible to tell if a person was responsible or if it was just the wind rattling the tortured boughs of a Sitka spruce.

Slapping his revolver back in the holster, Simon climbed over the fence and onto the narrow ledge, calling her name again. To his infinite relief, he heard her voice.

“Help! Someone help!”

As he took a cautious step, the sandy rocks beneath his feet shifted and he slipped. He grabbed one of the wood posts and caught himself but not before a shower of rocks skittered down the gully.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

Leaving her there was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he had to get a rope or risk stranding them both. He knew exactly where it was in his truck and dug his keys out as he ran. It was over twenty miles back to town. A call to the fire station would set a rescue in motion. Should he take the time to fiddle with his phone and instigate it?

No.

Grabbing the rope, he ran back across the lot. There was no one else around.

Fingers steady, he quickly rigged a bowline in the rope and hitched it over the wood post six feet north of where he figured Ella had landed or caught hold of a branch or root. The fate of the baby she carried flashed across his mind, but he let it go. There was nothing he could do except save Ella.

“Ella?” he yelled as he tore off the green baseball cap and pulled on the work gloves he’d grabbed along with the rope.

It took her forever to answer and when she did, her voice was faint. “Hurry. I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Keep talking. I’m rappelling down to your left, so no rocks will hit you, but I can’t see in the fog. I don’t know exactly where you are.”

“I’m kind of in a tree,” she called, her voice a little stronger.

The cliff below the post he’d chosen wasn’t gullied like the other, but stuck out in weathered bare rock. Leaning backward and paying out the rope through his gloved hands, Simon backed down the face until his feet hit empty air. He swung back against the cliff, the impact briefly knocking the wind out of his lungs.

Below him and to his right, he heard Ella yell, “Are you okay?”

“Keep talking,” he sputtered, and immediately pushed himself away. Now he could start veering toward the sound of Ella’s voice as she recited the alphabet, catching his feet in the gullies and fending off the brush as it became more dense. At last he spied a glimpse of lilac that almost but not quite blended in with the foliage.

Ella was wearing a jacket that color.

Another foot or two and he could see the gleaming cap of her brown hair and then two wide blue eyes.

She’d been stopped from the three-hundred-foot drop to the surf below by the branches of the spruce, themselves twisted by the wind. She clung to the end of a slender branch, one leg looped over the top, both hands clinging to the rough bark. The tree didn’t look all that sturdy, but the thick foliage above her head explained why he hadn’t been able to see her from above.

Pushing with his legs, he swung toward her, landing on the bluff right below her dangling foot.

“You have to let go,” he said. The sound of the surf seemed twice as loud as it had from the top of the bluff and he raised his voice, reaching up to touch her denim-covered leg. “Trust me.”

She looked down at him but hesitated. He wondered if she recognized him. Even if she did, why would she trust him? She didn’t remember she knew him, and the basic Ella he’d come to understand was a woman who liked to control her own destiny and didn’t trust easily.

“You sure that rope is strong enough for both of us?” she called.

He knew the rope was strong enough. They’d soon find out if the wood post at the top was. He said, “Would you rather hang around here all day?”

The tree creaked as she adjusted her weight. “Okay, point taken. Just be ready.”

“I’ll manage. Go slow. Keep a good grip on the tree as long as you can. Use me like a ladder. When you get down here where I can grab you around your waist, we’ll figure out how to get back up the cliff, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, and slowly began unhooking her death grip from the tree. He braced himself, tying off the rope around his waist so he could use both hands to grab her. Within a few moments, her foot hit his shoulder and his fingers wrapped around her calf. She all but slithered down his body until she paralleled him, one arm swung around his neck. The palm of her other hand was still bleeding and her clothes were splotched with blood.

She craned her neck and looked into his eyes. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was hushed and amazed.

“Saving you,” he said. “Hold on,” he added as he pushed them away from the bluff, shifting his weight to the left, landing a few feet back toward the direction he’d descended from. Ella caught on quickly and helped him by synchronizing her body movements to his, though he still wasn’t sure how he was going to climb hand over hand up this rope with her in tow.

He heard voices from above.

“Who’s up there?” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. Hell of a time to feel a surge of sexual recognition.

“I have no idea,” he muttered. There was suddenly new tension on the rope. Had some Good Samaritan figured out they needed help? “Other than your hand, are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” She glanced between their feet and added, “Just scared.”

“Don’t look,” he cautioned, though he knew from his own brief glance all she could really see was thick fog creeping through the brush and trees. It was the faraway sound of the crashing surf that was alarming.

More voices drifted down the bluff, and the rope slowly started pulling them upward. “Hold on to the rope with your good hand and me with the other,” he said. “Try to keep your feet against the cliff and walk with the rope.” He didn’t add that he hoped whoever was up there knew not to go too fast.

The most harrowing part was the last bump of rock that meant they hung suspended for what seemed an eternity, but after their feet hit the ground again it was simply a matter of taking the last few steps.

At the top, people reached for Ella and for him. Simon saw his rope had been tied to the towing wrench on a big four-by-four. The driver of the truck jumped out of the cab, clapping Simon on the shoulder, grinning ear to ear. Simon shook his hand and thanked him.

After a few moments, Simon sidled up to Ella, who stood shivering in the cold, a clean cloth someone had apparently given her wrapped around her left hand. “We need to get you to the hospital,” he said.

“No. I don’t have time for that,” she said. “My husband. Where is he?”

“After he saw you fall, he drove off. The attacker went after him.”

“Could you tell what direction they went?”

“North. Why?”

“Because we have to follow. The man with the beard was trying to kill Carl.”

“I know. But you need attention. There’s your head and the—”

He stopped a microsecond before saying the word baby and mumbled, “The cut on your hand to consider.”

“No, please, you’ve helped me this much. Can’t you help me just a little longer? Take me to the next town. I’ll rent a car.”

He wasn’t sure it would be smart to admit he’d been spying on her, that he knew she had to get to Tampoo. Feeling his way, he said, “Is your memory back, Ella?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you call me Ella? Carl calls me Eleanor.”

“Well, I—”

She shook her head impatiently, wincing as her eyes refocused. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. No, my memory hasn’t come back, but I now know I have a father who needs me. Something is happening that includes him, something Carl knows more about than he’ll tell me. I have to find Carl. I have to get to Washington.”

“The police,” he said firmly. “They can put an APB out on your rental.”

“No police!”

“But they can—”

“No,” she insisted. “I don’t want the police.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, biting her lip. “Just promise, no police.”

“I don’t—”

“Listen, whatever my father is involved in is dangerous for him and apparently for Carl, too. Carl has a cell phone. If he wants to call the cops, let him.”

“Okay, okay, calm down.”

“Can’t we just drive north to the next town and see if Carl is there?”

Still he paused. Going about this on their own on the heels of that knife attack seemed foolhardy to him. But what about Ella? How deeply was she involved in all this? What had she done that she couldn’t remember? He knew she didn’t like police work, she’d complained about his job constantly, but without her memory, what was driving her to react to this extreme?

“Yes, okay, I’ll help you,” he said as though there’d ever been any real doubt he would.

She took a deep breath. Her hands shook as she ran them through her hair.

She began thanking their benefactors. Simon picked up his green cap from where he’d flung it. Nearby, a woman and her children seemed to be searching for the contents of Ella’s spilled handbag and pressing it back into her uninjured hand.

As they left the parking lot, Simon heard sirens approaching from the other direction. It appeared someone had called the fire department to come to the rescue.

“SO, WHY DO YOU CALL me Ella?”

The road they traveled ran high above the ocean with hairpin curves and trees everywhere. Most of the scenery was obscured by the fog. She looked over at him and saw his brows knit.

“My mother’s name is Eleanor. Everyone calls her Ella. I guess when I saw you fall I just switched back into an old habit.”

“Oh.” Well, that kind of made sense. She could see how that could happen. “I’m very lucky you saw me go over that cliff,” she added.

“I’d just driven up to the restaurant,” he said, “and noticed your husband and the big guy fighting. And then I saw you backing up to escape them.”

“You yelled a warning. You yelled Ella.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you ran toward me.”

“I didn’t think you saw or heard me,” he said, glancing at her and away as a big camper whizzed by going the other direction.

“I did but kind of in a hazy way. I was just so worried about that damn knife. And Carl had a gun. I didn’t know before that he…” Her gaze swiveled to him. “You had a gun, too! I glimpsed it in your hand.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Why do you carry a gun?”

“I don’t know if that’s any of your business,” he said, but his voice was gentle.

He had a point. Why was she grilling him? Why was she treating him as though she had the right to question anything he did?

He broke the awkward silence by adding, “Would you rather I call you Eleanor?”

“No,” she said at once. “I prefer Ella.”

“Then Ella it is.”

“It was very brave of you to come after me like you did. You saved my life. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are you a fireman?”

“Why would you—oh, because of the rescue?”

“Yes. You know all about ropes. It just seems like the kind of stuff a fireman knows. Don’t they rescue people all the time?”

“Mainly we put out fires,” he said.

“So you are a fireman,” she said. “I was right.” That explained the muscles she’d felt under his clothes as she slid down his body and the way he’d balanced her weight as they scaled the mountain.

“I’m used to helping people out of jams,” he added.

“Let’s get something straight,” she said firmly. “I’m not expecting anything from you but a ride to a car rental place.”

“I understand.”

“I have to find Carl. He’s been lying to me.”

“Aren’t you worried the guy with the knife will catch up with him first?”

It was her turn for evasion. Worried? Hell yes, if it meant he carved Carl into little pieces. She wanted to ask Carl about her father; she didn’t want to find him dead.

Good heavens, was she really such a cold person that she could think like this about a man who claimed they had a good marriage? Yeah, well, he lied; he’d proven that this morning.

The silence was growing and, given the paucity of comforting thoughts in her brain, she blurted out, “You missed breakfast when you rescued me and then I dragged you away.”

“I’ll grab something later. Actually, I seldom eat before noon.”

“My dad was like that. Just coffee with cream. I’d sit in his lap and he’d give me sips.”

The words had left her mouth before she realized the significance of the thought behind them—or maybe a more accurate thing to say would be the lack of thought behind them.

Simon pulled the truck off the road into a lookout and set the warning lights. “You remember your father?” His voice sounded excited.

“Not really,” she said slowly. “I just suddenly remembered sitting on his lap, drinking his coffee, liking the cream.”

But there was more. The warmth of his arm around her waist as he held her, the faint odor of pipe tobacco, his deep voice booming above her head as she took tiny, sweet sips.

Already the memory, so tangible just a second before, began slipping away.

“That’s great,” Simon said. Hooking one strong arm over the steering wheel, he added, “We need to be honest with each other, not hold things back, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze. For a second, she was back in his arms, hanging from the rope. She’d been frightened, yes, but she’d also felt safe. She added, “I should tell you about the man in the restaurant. But couldn’t you drive while I did?”

He blinked a couple of times. “The man in the restaurant?”

“This will all make more sense if you know about him.” She motioned with her fingers. “Drive?”

He stared at her a second longer. “Okay,” he finally said, and within a few moments, he had merged back into traffic.

She told him about the old guy and the way he’d contrived to meet with her alone and her conviction that Carl had known about the meeting days before. Simon asked if she was sure the old man didn’t seem familiar in some way, and though she had to admit he’d appeared to be acquainted with her family, she had no idea who he was or who the man he’d called Jerry was, the man he’d said she was the last to see, presumably before she lost her memory.

They passed a sign announcing the next town a mile away. “So you can see why I need to get to Tampoo, Washington, can’t you? I don’t know what’s going on, but it must be serious. My father needs me. And Carl—he knows something he’s not telling.”

Simon slowed down as they entered the city. To Ella’s dismay it was bigger than Rocky Point. “I’ll never find Carl here,” she said.

“No, I don’t think you will,” Simon agreed.

“I thought I’d see our car, but there are hundreds of cars.”

“If he has someone on his tail, he won’t just pull over.”

“And the last time he saw me I was flying off a cliff. He probably thinks I’m dead.” She met Simon’s gaze and swallowed. If not for him, she would have wound up on the beach a long, long ways down.

Finding Carl was impossible, that was clear to her now, whereas it hadn’t been minutes earlier. What else was she missing? Was her light-headed wooziness her natural state of being or was it the result of the concussion?

As she stewed in her own inadequacies, Simon pulled into a grocery store parking lot.

“What are you doing?”

After he’d switched off the engine, he turned to face her again. “Do you agree it’s pointless to try to find Carl in this city?”

“Yes. But Tampoo is in Washington and I need a rental.”

“Okay, okay, just hear me out. Your eyes look spacey and you have a gash on your hand and Tampoo is easily reached in twenty-four hours. In fact, it will take a lot less than half of that, more like seven or eight. So I’m going to go into this store and buy what it takes to clean and dress your hand and you’re going to go into the bathroom and strip off your clothes and wash up whatever got scraped and dirty and make sure you aren’t cut and bleeding, um, anywhere important.”

“Simon, really.”

“It’s this or the hospital.”

“That’s pretty heavy-handed,” she said.

“I’m the cautious type. Does your stomach hurt?”

“No. Why would my stomach hurt?”

“You had a concussion,” he said. “Nausea and, oh, cramps, maybe, can be a side effect.” He looked decidedly uncomfortable as he added, “I just thought the fall might have exacerbated any…conditions.”

“I feel queasy every morning. I think it’s the medicine I take at night. Anyway, I’ll do as you ask.”

“You will?”

“It makes sense to me. You act surprised.”

He shrugged. “The last woman I was close to wasn’t quite as agreeable as you are.”

“Is this the one you were telling me about last night?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I’m just the easygoing type.”

His smile seemed wistful to her and she wondered how long ago he’d broken up with this woman. Maybe the wound was still raw. That thought seemed to rekindle the throbbing in her left hand and she glanced down. What caught her eye was the slender band of gold on her ring finger, a band tying her to Carl.

Had he left her to die on the cliff or had his motive for leaving been to lead the man with the knife away from her? If so, that posed the question—what kind of loyalty did she owe Carl? Should she believe him when he claimed they had a good marriage? Were her current misgivings out of place? When she saw him again—and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind he would show up in Tampoo unless the guy with the knife stopped him—should she give him the benefit of the doubt? He was her husband, after all….

She remembered the chill that raced through her blood when he touched her….

And the lies. He’d known about that meeting at the restaurant and now he knew about the one in Tampoo. What if Carl represented the threat to her father? She might not remember him to speak of, but she’d had one searing moment of clarity and this she knew—she loved her father. She would do anything for him.

“You okay?” Simon said.

“What? Oh, sure.”

“You look upset.”

“I guess I am.”

“It’ll all work out,” he said softly, then shook his head and added, “I sound like a greeting card.”

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