“You think I’m married.”

“Aren’t you?”

AJ opened her mouth to deny it, but the words caught in her throat. “I…I don’t know…. It seems as though, if I am married, I should feel something, some sense of urgency to get back. And I don’t.”

“So you’re running from something,” Ryan said. “Maybe it’s not a good marriage. Are you afraid to go back?”

“No. It’s not that. It’s more like…”

“Like what?”

“Sadness. Like I’ve lost something and I’ll never find it again.”

Ryan knew that sadness too well. He could no more ignore the pain in AJ’s voice than he could stop the tide from rising.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, to apologize for the pain his conversation had brought. The need to protect her kept growing.

All he would allow himself was a touch. Only one touch. He tucked her hair behind her ear and traced the line of her jaw with the tip of his finger. The velvet softness of her skin sent a bolt of desire crashing headlong into his best intention to keep his distance…

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

We have a superb lineup of outstanding romantic suspense this month starting with another round of QUANTUM MEN from Amanda Stevens. A Silent Storm is brewing in Texas and it’s about to break….

More great series continue with Harper Allen’s MEN OF THE DOUBLE B RANCH trilogy. A Desperado Lawman has his hands full with a spitfire who is every bit his match. As well, B.J. Daniels adds the second installment to her CASCADES CONCEALED miniseries with Day of Reckoning.

In Secret Witness by Jessica Andersen, a woman finds herself caught between a rock—a killer threatening her child—and a hard place—the detective in charge of the case. What will happen when she has to make the most inconceivable choice any woman can make?

Launching this month is a new promotion we are calling COWBOY COPS. Need I say more? Look for Behind the Shield by veteran Harlequin Intrigue author Sheryl Lynn. And newcomer, Rosemary Heim, contributes to DEAD BOLT with Memory Reload.

Enjoy!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Memory Reload
Rosemary Heim

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rosemary Heim grew up on a dairy farm, attended a one-room schoolhouse, lived in an English castle and settled in Minneapolis. She shares a charming (needs work) old house with her husband and four cats. Rosemary would love to hear from readers. You can visit her Web site at www.rosemaryheim.com or mail her c/o Midwest Fiction Writers, P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

AJ—woke with a camera, a loaded gun and no memory. All she wants is to find her home.

Ryan Williams—FBI Special Agent. Between assignments, he’s returned to this island hideaway for a little R and R.

Jacquelyn Kingston—FBI Special Agent in Charge. She watches over her team members from a distance.

Justin Angelini—He started an investigation and ended up dead.

David Angelini—He picked up the investigation after his brother’s death. Now he’s disappeared.

Jamison McRobbie—Mysterious and gifted, he offers shelter to his friends.

Kimo Kealoha—Photo lab owner and friend to AJ. He seems to have information everyone wants.

Tim Pela—FBI Special Agent. He has a few secrets of his own.

Frank Sullivan—A man pulling the strings behind the scenes.

John Danse, Carly and Matt Adams—FBI Special Agents. Will their help cost Ryan and AJ their chance for a future?

First, last, always,

To Will

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As with many books, especially first books,

there is a plethora of people to thank.

First off, thank you to Susan Litman,

for opening the door and providing gentle

(and patient) guidance on this new journey.

On the technical side, thank you to Maureen Lease

and David Kitchen for answering my questions about the

FBI. Any errors or inaccuracies are due to my

flights of fancy, not their information.

Thank you to Jackye Plummer, Penelope Neri and

Andi Sisco Pike for answering my Hawaii questions

and to Sandy Morris for the medical info.

Kat Baldwin and Karen Sanders, there aren’t words

enough to express my appreciation of your patience

while I learned all those pesky writing skills.

Jade Taylor, thank you for the wonderful title.

Stacy Verdick Case, your “drainstorming”

led to a satisfying A.F. and so much more.

Yea to the power of three!

Thanks to my friends and family who believed

in the dream and encouraged me, to the wonderful

members of MFW, and Rex, the best German shepherd

I never knew.

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

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Ryan Williams ran as if the devil was dogging his tail. Too bad some devils couldn’t be outrun. Like memories of betrayal.

He slowed from his flat-out run. Wave-packed sand gave a little with each step, cushioning his bare feet as he raced along the shoreline. Bloodred fingers of light streaked the sparse clouds as the sun breached the horizon.

Blood red.

The thought raised goose bumps along his arms in spite of the tropical warmth.

Day two of his leave and he hadn’t shaken the images from the last mission yet. Dealing with a traitor was never easy. It became doubly hard when innocent people were hurt. Thank God everyone was going to be okay.

And thank God for well-to-do friends who issued standing invitations. Once again, Jamie’s “guest cottage” offered Ryan refuge, a safe place far away from the Bureau and all its intrigues. The north shore of Oahu was about as far away from Quantico as he could get. He needed every inch of that distance.

His breathing approached normal as he continued slowing down, cooling off from his customary five-mile run. He rounded the small bend in the shore, passing the tall palm trees that marked the final leg of the course he’d laid out four years earlier on his first visit.

He headed away from the ocean, winding through the small grove of coconut palms. He loved the quiet of the beach at sunrise, the solitude, the freedom. It provided exactly the break he needed.

He cleared the tree line high on the beach, skidded to a stop and quickly stepped back behind the nearest trunk. Up ahead, a figure crouched in the sand.

Who the devil was that? Ryan wasn’t particularly pleased with the idea that someone had managed to invade this private stretch of heaven.

A quick scan of the surrounding area came up empty. No other intruders staked out on the beach. No boats in the water. No movement among the trees. No vehicles within eyesight. Not much could have gotten past the estate’s security defenses, even this early in the morning. So how had this intruder gotten so close?

Regretting the absence of his gun, he left the tree cover and crossed down the beach to confront the intruder. The shushing waves masked what little sound his footsteps made.

From behind, he couldn’t tell much about the person except that it was female. Long black hair lifted on the gentle breeze, seeming to defy gravity. He had a brief view of a slender back, narrow waist and softly rounded hips before the breeze died. The hair settled back into a solid curtain.

Oh yes. Definitely female. Interest of another sort stirred.

He adjusted the angle of his approach so he could get a better look at her. It didn’t do much good. An expensive-looking 35mm camera obscured the woman’s face. A large black camera bag rested in the sand next to her. She kneeled, facing the water, motionless except for her fingers on the camera lens and shutter release.

He glanced out over the horizon, searching for what held her attention. Just empty water met the morning sky. The few clouds stretched and shredded colors as the sun rose higher.

Was that what held her attention? That play of color?

When was the last time he’d been so engrossed by something as simple, as innocent as a sunrise?

Probably never.

He stopped a few feet from her and waited for her to notice him.

A minute passed. Then several more. The sun rose higher, breaking free from the ocean. Still the woman kept taking pictures, not stopping until she ran out of film. She never looked away from the rising sun as she quickly rewound the film, opened the camera back and removed the film cassette.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed as he watched her quick movements. It took her less than a minute to reload the camera and begin shooting again.

She must be nuts. All alone on a deserted beach and she was oblivious to everything but the horizon. That was a good way to get hurt. Or worse.

Unless she wasn’t alone. He performed another recon of the beach and nearby tree line. Still empty. All appeared as it should.

He stepped closer. When that failed to draw her attention, he cleared his throat. Still no response. Finally he spoke. “Excuse me, miss. This is a private beach.”

She hesitated long enough to glance in his direction. He caught a glimpse of one pale gray eye edged with thick black lashes as she gave him a thorough up and down. She turned back to her camera and the sun without a comment.

Such a dismissal might have irritated Ryan if he hadn’t noticed other details. She wasn’t as unconcerned as she tried to appear. He could see her chewing on her lower lip and her throat worked around a swallow.

Good. She should be nervous. He stepped closer.

“Thirty-eight seconds. That’s all I need.”

He stopped short as her soft voice floated to him on the morning sea breeze. He checked his watch, noted the sweep of the second hand, marked the time. The old habit, left over from days of split-second, life-and-death missions, hadn’t faded with the passage of time. He made another quick scan of their surroundings. The last thing he wanted was to be the sitting duck caught by this pretty decoy.

She finally lowered her camera, clipped the lens cap in place and returned her equipment to her camera bag. Ryan glanced at his watch. Thirty-eight seconds, exactly.

“As I was saying, this is private property. How’d you get here?”

The woman glanced around. A small frown creased her wide forehead. “I…walked.”

“That’s a fair piece of walking. It’s a few miles from the nearest road. Unless you crossed the estate grounds.” He stepped closer.

She closed the quick-release catches on her bag and stood with a fluid movement. He got his first good look at her and a tiny alarm went off.

Her T-shirt and leggings were black and snug fitting, like something worn to hide in nighttime shadows. The pale skin of her bare feet blended into the sand. Her left hand clutched the wide black nylon strap of the bag over her right shoulder, her right hugged the bag close to her hip. “Then I’d better be on my way.”

A haunted look passed over her finely molded features as she looked around the beach. She didn’t move.

Something was definitely off here. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. Ryan didn’t need Jamie’s psychic powers to feel the waves of panic rolling through her. The need to protect, a need rooted deep in his childhood, rose up, stronger than his government training of self-preservation. He held out one hand and stepped toward her. “I’m staying with a friend. His place is just up the beach. I could give you a lift back to your car if you’d like.”

“No!” She backed up a step. Her right hand slipped into the wide front pocket of the camera bag.

“What’s wrong? I maybe could be of some assistance to you.” He kept his voice soft, calming, letting his southern-gentleman drawl come on thick. That sometimes did the trick when he needed to get around personal defenses.

“No. I…I didn’t mean any harm. I didn’t see anything…. Just…let me go.”

“I’d like to oblige, miss, but my mama raised me to be a gentleman. She’d tear a strip offa me a mile wide if I left a woman on a deserted beach to fend for herself.” He smiled, hoping to reassure her.

It didn’t work.

Her right hand swung up and pointed a pistol in the general vicinity of his chest. “Please, just let me go. Forget you ever saw me.”

Ryan held both hands up, palms out. The gun was a matte black, 9mm Glock. Standard issue for the FBI and many other law enforcement groups. Not only didn’t she have the first clue how to use it, she was terrified of it. Both hands, knuckles white, clutched the grip. The gun dipped and wavered as she held it as far away from her body as she could.

He kept steady eye contact with her, not bothering to watch the gun. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Her shoulders hunched tighter and her eyes narrowed.

“Uh, miss? That gun isn’t going to do you much good, unless you’re fixin’ to throw it at me.”

A frown drew her dark eyebrows together. “You don’t think I’ll shoot?”

“Well, you can certainly try, but the ammo magazine is loose, the safety’s on and your finger’s nowhere near the trigger.” He couldn’t really tell about the mag from where he stood but the last bit, at least, was true. As long as she kept her finger off the trigger. He closed the gap between them with a single stride, wrapped one hand around her wrist and eased the gun from her trembling fingers. “Now, maybe you better tell me what this is all about.”

“Are you a cop?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’? Who are you?” She tugged slightly at the hand still holding her, but she didn’t struggle.

Her skin felt like silk, smooth, and warm. The pulse in her slender wrist raced against his fingertips. He stood too close but couldn’t bring himself to step away and break the physical contact with her.

“You know, for a trespasser, you sure do ask a lot of questions.”

“Wouldn’t you? Alone on a beach, accosted by a stranger…”

“One you just pulled a gun on.” He sighed and the tantalizing fragrance of something soft and tropical blended with the aroma of the sea and sand around them. The delicate scent teased his senses. The wrong kind of curiosity stirred again. He released her wrist and put a little distance between them. “Look, maybe we should start over.”

He tucked the confiscated gun into the back waistband of his ragged cutoff fatigues, dusted his hands clean of sand and perspiration and held out his right hand. “My name’s Ryan Williams.”

She gave his hand a quick shake, releasing it as though she’d been shocked. He sure had been. The quick voluntary contact had sent a tingle racing straight from the palm of his hand to his belly.

“How do I know you’re really who you say you are?”

Ryan grinned and shook his head. She was an intriguing mix of wariness and innocence. His fingers tapped a drum-roll against his hips as he thought for a moment. His grin widened and he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. How’d a picture ID do?”

He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a thin leather case. Flipping it open, he handed it to her. He watched her reactions as she looked at his Bureau identity cards. Her shoulders loosened a little.

“Okay.” She handed the wallet back. “Unless of course it’s a fake.”

“No, ma’am.” He crossed his heart and held up his hand in the old Boy Scout salute. “I swear it’s genuine, certified real.”

She nibbled on her generous lower lip as she looked around. Ryan wondered what her lip tasted like. Sunshine and sea? Awareness zinged across his nerves, warming him at the thought. The silence lengthened as he waited for her to reveal her name.

When it became clear she wasn’t about to trust him with that bit of information, he pulled her gun from his waistband. She took a quick step away from him.

“Whoa, whoa. Take it easy.” He released the ammo mag, emptied the bullets into his palm and dropped them into his pocket. Reinserting the mag, he emptied the remaining round from the firing chamber before holding the gun out to her on the palm of his hand. “Here, why don’t you hang on to this. You really can’t shoot me now, but it might come in handy if you feel the need to hit me with something.”

A hint of a smile rewarded his small jest.

“Do you need a ride someplace? Or is there someone you want to call?”

She shook her head as she slipped the gun back into the camera case. He was caught for a moment, watching the sun dance off the silky ripples of her hair. Her soft sigh brought his attention back to her mouth. Dang, she was biting her lip again.

“You said you live near here?” Her words brought him back.

“My friend does. I’m staying in his guest cottage. Why don’t we go back there, have a glass of lemonade and, if you want, you can tell me what’s going on?”

Her pale gray eyes looked him over. Silence stretched between them as her study extended to their surroundings.

Ryan waited, tamping down his impatience. Some instinct told him it was important for her to make the decision without pressure.

“All right. I’ll come with you, but only long enough to call a taxi.”

“Fair enough.” Instead of pumping his fist in victory as he wanted, Ryan swept his arm in front of himself. “Right this way.”

They headed down the beach in silence. She kept up with him, walking with an easy grace in spite of the soft sand dragging at their feet. He was acutely aware of her slender form beside him, just out of reach, but near enough to keep his senses on red alert.

She was the perfect height, tall enough to tuck under his chin, but not so short he’d get a kink in his neck bending down to kiss her. Hold your horses, boyo. This is not an appropriate direction to be thinking.

The small bungalow, hidden among another bunch of palms, came into view none too soon. He held the back door open for her and she stepped past him. She stopped just inside the tidy little kitchen, inspecting her surroundings.

Ryan made a production of brushing the sand from his feet before stepping onto the clean terra-cotta tile floor, giving her as much time as he could to look around. The more comfortable she was with her surroundings, the more likely she would be to confide in him.

The door clicked shut behind him. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he would have missed her slight flinch.

He stepped around her and moved to the other side of the room. Maybe she’d relax some if he kept his distance a bit better than he had been. “I imagine you might want to freshen up a bit.” He pointed down the hall. “Why don’t you go on through to the bathroom while I get that lemonade?”

She hesitated, her hand clenching and releasing on the camera bag’s shoulder strap.

Ryan cleared his laptop and paperwork from the small round kitchen table, turned away and began opening cupboards, setting out glasses and a plate. He waited until he heard the bathroom door close before turning around. A swift survey of the room confirmed his suspicion. She wasn’t letting that bag out of her sight.

When she returned he was sitting in one of the ladder-back chairs, leafing through a recent Smithsonian magazine. A plate of gingersnaps, a frosty pitcher of lemonade and two tall glasses filled with ice covered the bright yellow tabletop. The second chair at the table turned out, an open invitation for her to sit down.

Ryan sat up straight and tossed the magazine onto the counter behind him. He squelched the urge to stand and hold the chair for her as she joined him.

She slid onto the chair without changing its position. The camera bag settled on her lap, her hands curled into white-knuckled fists around the bag’s handle. She flexed her hands a couple of times, then lowered the case to the floor, looping the shoulder strap over her knee. Her back never touched the chair’s ladder-back. An air of quiet panic swirled around her.

The clinking of ice filled the room as Ryan poured them each a glass. He took a cookie for himself, then pushed the plate closer to her. “Not exactly the breakfast of champions, I know, but I figure it’s got the same basic ingredients—grain, eggs, sugar.”

A fleeting smile answered his attempt at humor.

She took a tiny sip of the lemonade and set the glass back on the table. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “For suggesting I come back here.”

Ryan shrugged. “My mama raised me to be a gentleman.”

Another smile flickered across those full lips of hers. He couldn’t help noticing how they shone with moisture from the lemonade. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, damning himself for noticing every little detail of her appearance.

“She did a fine job. Are you from…” She cleared her throat again. “I can’t quite place your accent.”

“Don’t guess I sound much like any one place. I moved around quite a bit when I was growing up, mostly in the South.”

She nodded and the silence crept back in. Ryan wanted to ask her some questions of his own, but decided to bide his time. Maybe if she asked a few more questions, got to know a bit more about him, felt a little more comfortable, she’d begin to open up herself.

“You don’t live here?” She looked around the retro-chic kitchen.

“No, just visiting. Jamie lets me stay here whenever I have the time.”

“Nice friend.”

“Yeah.” Ryan took another swallow of lemonade to keep from asking her anything.

“Where do you call home?”

“Nowhere in particular.” He shrugged. “I’m kind of a nomad. My job takes me away for extended periods of time, so I’ve never really set up a permanent base.”

“How sad,” she murmured. Her face reddened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Ryan shook his head and waved away her concern. “No offense taken. I just never saw any reason to settle down. Homebody is not in my nature.”

“What do you do?”

“At the moment, nothing. I’m…between assignments.”

“But a government job?” She busied herself wiping the condensation from the sides of her glass.

Ryan nodded and waited for the next question. He had a pretty good idea what it might be.

“So, what, are you a secret agent, or something like that?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” She laughed, a bit nervously he thought. “I guess you probably can’t tell me much more.”

“Not much more to tell. I’m posted to the Office of Professional Responsibility. It’s my job to smoke out bad agents and see that they pay for their treason.”

She straightened in her chair, looking at him with a slight tilt to her head.

“I could give you a number to call. A couple numbers, actually. My boss and a buddy. They’ll vouch that I’m on the up-and-up.”

“I can call them directly? Any time?” The idea seemed to reassure her. She eased back into her chair.

“Any time. It’s not a problem.” He leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back legs. It wasn’t much of a stretch for him to reach the little message pad and pen hanging on a hook by the cordless wall phone. The chair settled back on all four legs. He wrote the numbers, explaining as he went. “The first number is for Jacquelyn Kingston. She’s my supervisor at the Bureau. John Danse is a fellow agent I just worked with. He’s not exactly a buddy, but he’ll vouch for me. The last number is for this house.”

He pushed the paper across the table. She studied it for a moment, then carefully folded it and tucked it into her T-shirt pocket.

Ryan’s mouth went dry. The sharp edges of the paper stood outlined between the softness of the cotton material and the fullness of her breast. He lifted his glass and downed most of its contents. The icy liquid had little cooling effect.

“You work for a woman?” Her voice pulled him back to the issue at hand.

“Yeah. She runs a tight ship. That’s not easy with the bunch of retired military personnel she’s got in her organization. We all tend to be pretty independent. Except when we’re working as a team.”

“You don’t look old enough to be retired.”

“I reckon thirty-two is old enough for pretty near anything.” His smile widened as a soft blush colored her cheeks. “Did you want to make that call now?”

“Call? Oh.” She refused to meet his steady look. Her glance darted about the room, resting momentarily on the phone behind him. “Well, actually…that may be a bit more difficult to do than I thought.”

“Do you need the phone book?” He stood this time and opened a drawer, pulling out the phone book. He set it and the cordless phone’s bright red handset on the table in front of her.

She stared at them as if they might change into snakes and bite her. She tentatively picked up the phone. Her long, slender fingers stroked the keypad. Ryan shifted again and pushed away the image of those same fingers running over his chest and belly.

This was crazy. He didn’t care how long it’d been since he’d been with a woman. Reactions this strong and immediate were not normal.

The thin pages rustled in the silence as she flipped through the phone book with one hand. Her other hand clutched the phone.

The soft overhead light played on the various rings she wore. Each finger hosted a different style—silver, gold, tiny gemstones trapped in the finest of wire, an openwork band. Only the ring finger on her left hand was bare. There, a wide patch of pale skin revealed a story all its own.

Great. Just what I need, a married woman. She’s probably a runaway wife and having second thoughts but doesn’t want to ask her husband to come fetch her.

The thought startled him. Why should he feel such disappointment that this woman might be tied to some other man? And none of that explained why she was carrying a gun she didn’t know the first thing about using.

“I can leave you alone to make the call if you’d like,” he offered, even though his mind shouted a denial. He wanted to know who she planned on calling.

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary.” She rubbed her forehead, hiding her eyes behind her hand. Her long black hair fell forward as her head bowed, curtaining her face from his view. “I’m not sure where I’d go.”

Her quiet words stilled the noise of his inner voice. Without thinking, he reached across the table and touched her hand. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“I think I must be.”

“Can you tell me?” He leaned close, straining to catch her soft words.

She shook her head.

“I might be able to help.”

Finally, she lifted her head and met his look. Tears trailed over her cheeks. More pooled in her eyes. “Can you tell me who I am? Because I haven’t a clue.”

Chapter Two

Her words hung in the air.

Okay, so she’s a runaway wife having an identity crisis. Tread lightly, boyo.

He ignored his mental warning and shifted out of his chair to kneel on the floor in front of her. He touched her hand, the hand once again clutching the shoulder strap draped over her knee, intending to lend some comfort and encouragement. The chill clinging to her long fingers startled him. Gathering both of her hands into his, he began chafing them, trying to ease the cold. He met her tear-filled eyes with a steady gaze. “It’ll be okay.”

She blinked her eyes closed and shook her head. “How can you know that?”

Ryan couldn’t stop the grin pulling up one side of his mouth. He shrugged. “Because things always work out. You couldn’t know this, but I live a charmed life. When I found you on the beach, you became part of it. So, I just naturally know everything will be all right.”

“You really believe that?”

“Nothing’s ever happened to show me different.” He brushed away the tear trailing over her cheek. It began as an innocent touch, but the contact sent a vibration through him, relaying an unexpected intimacy.

“Then I’d say you’ve been very lucky.”

“Like I said, sugar, a charmed life. So, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” He gave her hands an encouraging squeeze before releasing them. Pulling his chair around the table, he sat down, scooting closer to her until their knees nearly touched.

She shifted on the cushioned chair seat, crossing then uncrossing her legs. With each movement, their knees brushed together, her dark leggings against his bare skin. Each brush sent heat curling up his leg. Ryan spread his legs, giving her a little more room. Giving himself a break from the unexpected torture of that oh-so-brief touch.

He took a sip of lemonade to ease the sudden dryness of his mouth. “Let’s start at the beginning. Will you tell me your name?”

Confusion flickered across her face, she blinked, her gaze darted around the room. “I…I can’t,” she choked out.

“I promise you, if it’s a matter of safety, no one else will know.”

A fine tremble shook her fingers as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “It’s not that. At least, I don’t think so.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Then, what is it?” He kept his voice low and calm, then waited through the silence.

She sat up straighter, pulled her shoulders back and finally met his gaze head-on. “You want to start at the beginning?”

He nodded.

“That would be on the beach, when I woke up thirty-four minutes before you found me.”

“You slept on the beach? All night?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs and cupping her knees in his hands. The scent of the beach—sunshine, sand and salt—clung to her clothes. Another fragrance, subtler, more feminine, teased his senses. He thought of pulling back, putting some distance, some breathing space between them, but the fear on her face drew him closer. The need to protect and comfort her ignited a slow-burning fire deep within him.

He searched her eyes, trying to find the answers hidden in the stormy depths. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

She shook her head.

“Sugar, I can’t help you if you don’t give me anything to work with.”

“Ryan, I can’t tell you my name, because I don’t remember it.” Her words came out in a rush, tumbling one over the next in her urgency to say them. “I don’t remember why I was on the beach or how or when I got there. I don’t recognize my own voice. I couldn’t describe myself until I looked in the mirror. My mind is a huge void.”

Ryan sat back, staring at her for a moment before releasing a soft whistle. “Well now, that is a fix, ain’t it?”

Truth echoed in her words. Of course, she could just be a good actress. It wouldn’t be the first time a beautiful woman had fooled a man with tears and a woeful smile.

He studied her, searched her face for clues to what was really going on. Her gray eyes never wavered from his. He saw honesty and a silent plea asking him to believe.

Her body language reinforced the image. She sat with her arms wrapped around her waist, as though trying to hold the fear in before it overpowered her. She still held on to the camera-bag strap as though it was her only anchor of certainty in an unknown world.

His instincts said this wasn’t an act; she told the truth.

Another set of instincts, the undercover-survival instincts, kicked in. He leaned forward, reaching toward her.

She flinched at his first touch, but didn’t pull away, just sat motionless as he burrowed his fingers through her hair. The dark mass slid over his hands in a soft caress. The sensation called up the image of her hair falling in a curtain around him. He tamped down his reaction. Now was not the time.

Starting at her temples, he conducted a thorough exam of her skull. “Do you have any bruises, bumps, sore spots, anything to indicate some kind of injury?”

“No.” Her whispered answer brushed over his inner arm, raising gooseflesh.

He smoothed the silken mass of her hair back over her shoulder and probed her neck and shoulders. None of his prodding elicited a flinch of pain. He broke the physical contact with her and leaned back in his chair. A silent sigh of relief escaped his lips. “What about a headache?”

“Only when I strain to remember.”

“What about your ID? You must have something on you with a name.”

Early-morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen window, gleaming in her midnight hair as she shook her head. “No. There’s nothing. No pockets except this one.”

He followed her gesture toward her breast. The outline of the slip of paper he’d given her looked harsh against the roundness of her breast. His mouth went dry as cotton.

This was getting out of hand. He had to get his reactions to her under control before his libido completely took over. If he didn’t, he’d be useless to both of them. He swallowed and forced his attention back to her face.

“What about the camera bag?” He downed the rest of his lemonade and refilled the glass.

“I looked. There’s nothing.”

“Everything looked normal?”

She nodded.

Ryan tugged at his earlobe. There had to be something, some clue to her identity. Maybe she hadn’t noticed it because it looked normal. People sometimes missed the obvious because they were so intent on finding the obscure. Hide in plain sight.

Or maybe it was all there in the bag and she didn’t want her little game to end just yet.

“Do you mind if I look?” He held out his right hand, testing her, wondering if she’d let him search the bag.

She leaned over, lifted the bag by the handle and set it in her lap. Her long fingers rubbed the bag, her fingertips pressing into the nylon as they slid over the surface. It was an odd gesture. Almost that of a child reluctant to give up a cherished security blanket. She hesitated, gnawing on her lower lip for a moment before handing the bag to him.

The weight of it caught him off guard. She’d been handling the bag with such ease there’d been no indication of its heft.

He pushed his chair back and stood. After clearing the small table, he set the camera case on the sunny yellow Formica top. He slanted a glance at her. “What’ve you got in here?”

“Cameras, lenses, film. Pretty much what you’d expect.”

“I guess that depends on what you expect.” He lifted it and let it drop back on the table with a soft thunk. “It seems mighty heavy.”

“No more than usual.” She shrugged.

Ryan hesitated. Had she just slipped? Or was this a spontaneous memory breaking through the amnesia? When she didn’t say any more, he shifted back to the camera bag. He began his search with the outside pockets, snapping open each quick-release catch and pulling out the contents. He checked each item before laying it on the table. Packets of lens tissues, a shutter-release cable, several cases holding filters, a small cloth coin-purse. He spilled its contents onto the table, revealing a few coins and several small bills.

Once the pockets were emptied, he ran his hands over the interiors, double-checking for any items that may have escaped his initial notice.

He shifted a little, positioning himself so he could watch her reactions as he opened the body of the case. The zipper slipped over its teeth with surprising silence. The ticking of the kitchen clock sounded louder in the quiet room. As he folded back the cover he forgot about watching her, doing a classic double take when he saw the contents.

This was not a tourist’s camera bag.

He’d seen one camera when he came across her on the beach. It was inside the case, along with a second camera body, each nestled in a cushioned compartment. Several lenses and a shrink-wrapped block of film boxes filled other sections. Individual film canisters were held in place across the inside top of the bag with elastic loops. One by one, he transferred the items from the camera bag to the table.

Underneath the block of film he found a small black beanbag. He held it up and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“It comes in handy as a cushion when I need to prop the camera against an uneven surface,” she answered without hesitating.

He nodded, then pulled out the next items. Two disposable cameras. Again, he looked at her.

A smile lifted the corners of her full lips. “They’re great for scouting. You’d be amazed at how good some of the shots are. There should be a notebook in there, too.”

“Here it is.” He pulled the small spiral-bound pad out from between two of the cushioned dividers and flipped through the pages before setting it aside. “No flash attachment or motor drive?”

“Not necessary and too noisy, in that order.”

He nodded, his gaze steady on hers.

A frown creased her forehead. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I think we can safely say we know one thing about you.”

“What? What do you know?”

Her answers had been automatic, not rehearsed. The difference was subtle but discernible if you knew what to listen for. And Ryan knew. “You’re a professional photographer.”

She rubbed her temples. “A lot of people carry camera bags. That doesn’t make them photographers.”

“True, but this is high-end equipment. Pretty pricey. Except for the disposables, it’s not exactly standard vacation supplies. I’ve only met one other person who carries this kind of stuff with her and she’s a pro.”

“Maybe I’m just rich and waste a lot of money on a hobby.” She picked up one of the cameras and fiddled with the settings.

Ryan shook his head. “Maybe so, but I don’t really think that’s it. You hold that camera with…authority. When I found you on the beach, you were completely absorbed with what you were shooting. You knew what you were doing, exactly how long it’d take you. Then, of course, there’s your answers.”

“My answers.”

“Uh-huh. They come instinctively. You know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh.” Her lips shaped the word more than said it. “Then why can’t I tell you my name? Shouldn’t that be instinctive?”

“Well now, ya got me there. Can’t claim to know much about amnesia, but if you’re running from some kind of danger…” He lifted his shoulders. “Guess your name might be one of the things your mind would want to keep hidden. First thing we do is see if we can get you in to see a doctor.”

“Is that really necessary? There’s nothing wrong with me, physically. What can a doctor do?”

“Won’t know ’til we ask. Is there any reason you don’t want to see a doctor?” He watched as she thought for a moment. Finally she shook her head.

“I’ll give Jamie a call when it’s a more civilized hour and see if he can recommend someone.” He turned back to the camera bag. “These dividers look movable. Mind if I pull them out?”

“Go ahead. They’re only Velcroed in place.”

He pulled each cushioned section out, checked them for hidden contents, then laid them on the table. The bottom cushion didn’t budge when he tugged on it. Stitching held it tight at all four corners, making for a solid bottom. When the bag stood empty, he surveyed the items covering the tabletop then turned to her. “Does anything strike you as not being right?”

“You mean other than the gun?” She shook her head, all the while massaging her temple with one hand. Her other hand cradled the camera to her chest.

Ryan tilted the bag, trying to get a better view of the interior. The dark fabric soaked up light like a sponge. The overhead light didn’t help much in the way of illumination. He opened the drawer beneath the phone and pulled out a flashlight.

The intense beam of light played over the interior of the bag. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. None of the seams showed evidence of having been opened and re-sewn. Light bounced off something in the bottom. He tilted the bag more with a little shake.

The bottom cushion wasn’t so solid after all. A dull silver bead chain fell into view, the short length slithering out from beneath that cushion. He tugged it free and probed beneath the cushion for any other hidden treasures. All he encountered was the nylon-covered base.

He settled into his chair and held his last find up to the light. Two items dangled from the chain looped over his finger, jingling softly in the still kitchen.

A rectangular matte silver medallion, about one inch in length, gleamed in the dull kitchen light. The tag wasn’t new but hadn’t come standard issue with the bag, either. From the weight, it could be real silver.

The second item held even more interest. Three gold bands intertwined to form a single ring.

His thumb brushed the lettering engraved across the surface of the medallion. He flipped it over. More engraving. Something in his chest shifted, tightened as he made out the words.

“What is it?” Her question pulled his attention from the tag.

“Do the letters AJD mean anything?”

She squinted, as if trying to focus on a distant image, then sighed. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“They’re etched into this tag. They don’t trigger anything for you?” He watched her, waiting for some sign, a flicker in her eyes, a tightening around her mouth, something that would reveal the truth of her coming answer.

“No.” She sank against the chair’s ladder-back. “Is there anything else?”

He nodded. His thumb rubbed the engraving again. He imagined he could feel the rest of the phrase, the words, each individual letter burning against his skin. His eyes narrowed and he waited for her reaction. “Together, always.”

The blood drained from her face, leaving her pale beneath her slight tan. The kitchen’s fluorescent light heightened the effect, making her look even more ashen, sickly.

It was the first automatic response from her with any real emotional strength. The first crack in the defensive wall her mind seemed to have built. If he pushed her a little more, maybe he could widen the crack, and they would discover what she didn’t want to remember.

The idea of using her pain left a sour taste in his mouth. His need to protect her battled their need to discover what lay hidden in her mind. He hated himself for it, but he had to take advantage of her reaction before her defense mechanism kicked in again. “There’s more on the flip side. ‘Remember’ and some numbers. They could be a date. ‘Three slash fifteen.’”

Her eyelids fluttered shut and she seemed to struggle to breathe for a moment. She set the camera back on the table with great precision. He didn’t try to stop her when she stood. She wrapped her arms around her waist, holding herself tight.

Why did her reaction feel like a knife stabbing his chest? How had this woman managed to get so far under his skin?

She crossed the kitchen to stand by the wall of windows overlooking the beach. He followed her, coming to a stop beside her.

He wanted to comfort her, to put his arms around her and hold her close. All he would allow himself was to brush her hair back over her shoulder so he could see her face. He dangled the chain in front of her.

After a moment, she took it from him. Her fingers worried the clasp open, slipped the ring off the chain and onto her left ring finger. The trio of gold bands rolled over her knuckle and settled into place, neatly covering the lighter colored skin banding her finger. A perfect match.

She refastened the clasp and examined the silver medallion. A soft ting-ting-ting punctuated the silence. Ryan watched as she repeatedly rolled the triple bands over her knuckle, around her finger and back into place. All of her attention was focused on the medallion. Playing with the ring was an unconscious action, one born of an old habit.

“What does it mean?” His words sounded harsh in his own ears and he couldn’t say for sure if he was asking about the medallion or the ring. Either way, his hands itched to reach out to her. Instead, he jammed his fists onto his hips.

“It’s…he…no, they…” She struggled to find the words, her chin trembling with the effort. “I don’t remember.”

She impaled him with a haunted look before squeezing her eyes shut and turning away from him.

The pain in her eyes undid Ryan. Anger he could stand. Tears he could deal with. But this silent agony was too familiar, reminded him too much of another woman a lifetime ago. He’d been helpless then, just a little boy, powerless to ease a suffering he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Not until it was too late and he never had a chance for atonement.

Maybe this was his chance. Years too late, it wouldn’t erase the old memory. Nothing could do that. Nor would he want to lose that image. It was too much a part of him, too ingrained in his psyche. He wouldn’t be who he was, where he was, what he was without it.

But maybe here, now, with this woman, he could do what he hadn’t been able to do when he was six.

He drew her into his arms, resting his chin on her head. A soft tremor shook her body as she dragged in a breath.

“Why can’t I remember?” Her warm breath washed over his arm in a soft moan. “It’s so close. But it’s all jumbled together….”

“It’ll be okay. Shhh.” He rubbed her back and shoulders, crooning in soothing tones. “We’ll sort it all out. Don’t worry, sugar. If there’s someone out there, he’s probably looking for you. We’ll…” He stopped short of promising they would find him. Don’t make a promise you might not be able to keep, boyo.

She pushed away from him and paced across the room. For a moment, he thought she might bolt out the door, but she turned and continued walking the perimeter of the kitchen.

“Why can’t I remember?” Her voice trembled between tears and frustration. “It doesn’t appear that I hit my head. There’s no reason I shouldn’t remember. I should know who I am.” She spun to look at him. “I should know who gave me these things and why I feel nothing but empty when I think of him.”

Ryan’s stomach rolled into a giant knot. Whoever the guy was, the connection to her was strong. He couldn’t keep his gaze from that blasted ring she still played with. Could this shadow be anyone other than her husband?

Damn, first woman to get my interest—

Whoa. Where’d that come from? Just because he was on R and R didn’t make this any different from one of his undercover assignments. No personal involvement. She was a woman in need of help. That’s all it was. That’s all it could be.

He crossed the room to her. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he looked into the pale gray depths of her eyes. “We will solve this. I promise you that.” He slid one hand down to her elbow and tugged. “Come’n sit down. Let’s look through everything. Maybe something will jog loose.”

She followed him back to the table like a tired puppy. He settled her in her chair and watched as her head sank into her hands. “Do you have a headache? Do you want some aspirin?”

“Yes. No.” She glanced at him and he saw a glimmer of a weak smile. “Yes, I have a headache. No, I don’t want any aspirin. The lemonade will do.”

He refilled their glasses and sat next to her again. “Why don’t you look through the notebook, see if you recognize anything.”

The kitchen clock ticked the next few minutes off while she leafed through the small spiral-bound notebook, studying each page. He busied himself with the film canisters. They held nothing but film, a mix of color and black-and-white, most of it used, judging by the lack of any film leaders.

She flipped the last page of the notebook, closed it and pushed it aside. Slumping back in her chair, she combed her hair away from her face. “Nothing other than exposure settings and a few locations.”

“Well, don’t fret on it. We can check out the locations later, see if that shakes anything loose. We’ll get this film developed, too. Maybe whatever you shot will tell us something. Come on, AJ.” A shiver danced across his insides. Right or wrong, he’d just given her a name. “Let’s get you tidied up some. Sleeping on the beach probably left you a mite gritty.”

He stood and held a hand out to her. “The guest bedroom is right down the hall.”

She glanced from his eyes to his hand and back again. “Why did you call me that?” she whispered.

“It…kinda slipped out.” His hand dropped to his side. “‘Hey’ is too general and Jane Doe is too…well, it just doesn’t seem to fit you. Those engraved letters look like a monogram and it seems pretty likely it’s yours. AJ’s the closest we’ve come to finding a name….” He tugged at his earlobe. “I’m sorry. If it bothers you, we can come up with something else until we find out your real name.”

“It startled me is all. I rather like how it sounded just now.” A soft blush darkened her cheeks. “Somehow, not being able to remember doesn’t seem quite so hopeless, as long as I have an identity of some sort.”

“Then AJ it is, until we find out otherwise.” He pulled her to her feet and led her down the hallway. “You know, this could be the opportunity of a lifetime.”

She looked at him, disbelief clear in her expression.

“No, really. Think about it.” He pulled a towel from the hall linen closet and handed it to her, along with a facecloth, a new toothbrush and an array of small bottles of toiletries from various hotels. “Not everyone gets to start over with a clean slate. You’re free to decide who you are, what you want to be.”

“Well, I suppose you could look at it that way. I just wish the slate wasn’t quite so clean. All I have is this sense of urgency, of something I need to do. But I have no idea what.” Her eyes widened and she clutched his arm. “Omigod. What if I have a child? Or children. What if they’re somewhere waiting for me? What if they’re in danger because I’ve abandoned them?”

A chill raced through him. Her words hit him harder than she’d ever realize. The picture of a small child with AJ’s eyes and thick black hair popped into his head. The little boy stared back at him with sadness and accusation. He shook his head, banishing the image. That particular shadow belonged to him, not AJ. At least, he hoped that was the case.

He covered her hand with his. “Take it easy, sugar. We’ve got enough on our plates without borrowing more trouble. While you’re in there—” he nodded toward the bathroom “—why don’t you see if there’s any, um, evidence that you’ve had a child.”

She frowned, confused.

“Like stretch marks or, well, um, I don’t really know.” His words trickled to an awkward halt. A dull heat crept up his neck. When had he ever turned red-faced in front of a woman?

Understanding dawned and a blush darkened her face as well. She clutched the pile in her arms to her chest and backed into the bathroom. The door closed between them without either of them saying another word.

Ryan thumped his head on the doorframe. Dumb, dumb, dumb. He cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, leave some clean clothes for you on the bed. In the guest room.”

A muffled “thanks” came from behind the door.

He didn’t tarry over finding clothes for her. Grabbing the first clean items that came to hand, he dropped them on the bed in the guest room and beat a hasty escape back to the kitchen.

AJ’s equipment still occupied the tabletop. He surveyed everything and shook his head. “Women and cameras,” he muttered. “Bound to bring nothin’ but trouble.”

Only, he had the distinct feeling this woman didn’t need a camera to bring him trouble. Just being near her had him thinking all kinds of crazy thoughts. What was it about her that had him wanting to be the knight in shining armor? That was the last role he wanted to be cast in.

Everything worked much better when he kept behind the scenes and did his thing. In and out like a shadow, then on to the next assignment. Alone. No entanglements. Responsible for no one but himself.

Not that it had been like that in Montana. That was the first and last time he ever wanted to go so deep undercover.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and washed away the memories with a gulp of lemonade. The past could stay in the then and gone. He needed to concentrate on the here and now.

AJ’s equipment was as good a place to start as any. The fact that she’d left the room without the bag could be considered something of a breakthrough. Maybe she’d decided to trust him.

Or maybe she’d clung to it as the only connection to her identity. Now, with a name, at least she had another piece of the puzzle.

Or maybe she thought whatever might be hidden there was safe.

He picked up the camera bag. While considerably lighter than when it had been packed, it still seemed heavy for a nylon bag this size. He sat down with the bag in his lap.

Maybe one of Jamie’s focusing exercises would help. Taking a couple deep breaths, Ryan cleared his mind of conscious expectations and blocked out his surroundings. The only sounds he kept tuned to were those of AJ’s movements in the bathroom. He closed his eyes and let his fingers drift over the surfaces of the bag, not seeking with expectations of finding anything in particular. Just feeling for whatever existed.

When nothing presented itself, he turned the bag over and repeated the process. The base seemed to be a solid piece set into the bottom of the bag. Four small pads punctuated each corner. He fiddled with each one, humming with surprised satisfaction when they loosened.

Down the hall, everything was quiet. His eyes snapped open. He held his breath, waiting. When the shower turned on, he blew out a sigh of relief. Let’s hope she likes long showers.

The pads unscrewed easily. The solid base lifted off revealing a false bottom. There was only about an inch of space, but it was ample room for the small black book he found.

He lifted the thin volume from its hiding place and set it on the table. Using the very tips of his fingers, he opened the black vinyl cover. Letters and numbers filled the first page. He flipped through several more pages. Something had been written on all of them.

This didn’t look like AJ’s record book of locations and settings. He flipped open her spiral-bound notebook. Her notes, easily decipherable, were written in a back-slanted looping hand.

A neat, angular handwriting filled the pages of the mystery book with nonsensical combinations of letters and numbers. About halfway through, the cursive writing changed to printed block letters. Neither sample matched AJ’s penmanship.

He tugged on his earlobe. Whoever the author was, the contents had been sensitive enough to prompt the use of a code. He could think of a few reasons something like that would be hidden, none of them good.

AJ, sugar, whatever it is, you are in it deep. And it’s not gonna get better anytime soon.

Whatever the information might be, it had been recorded in a code too complex for him to decipher at first viewing. He’d need some time to do a proper job of it.

The water shut off in the bathroom. He cursed. His window of opportunity had just slammed shut. The little black book would have to wait.

He pulled a sandwich bag from one of the counter drawers and slid the book inside, zipped the seal and slid the package into his pocket. He screwed the bottom panel back into place and set about repacking the camera equipment.

Moving quietly around the kitchen, Ryan tidied up, then settled back at the table with his laptop. He logged on to the Internet and began surfing a few of the medical information sites. Outside, he could hear waves brushing onto the shore. Down the hall, the bathroom door opened.

Chapter Three

Her shower left the bathroom steamy. Too steamy to stay hiding in there any longer. It had taken forever to get rid of all the grit and sand. As for the pain—no matter how long she’d stood under the pounding spray, the pain refused to leave.

When she opened the door and peeked out, cool air rushed into the room. A chill shivered over her skin and she pulled the huge bath sheet tighter around herself. Down the hall, she could only see Ryan’s shoulder and arm as he sat at the kitchen table with his back to her. She padded across the hall to the guest bedroom, slipped inside and closed the door.

Whoever had decorated the room had had nice taste. The pale blond wood furnishings blended with the palette of soft colors used on the walls and bedding to give the room an airy, cool feel. A bowl of potpourri sat atop the dresser, scenting the room with a tangy citrus fragrance. Small handcrafted treasures nestled among the books on the shelves of a bookcase. A small bowl filled with an array of colorful semiprecious stones sat next to an elegant stained-glass lamp on the bedside table.

The overall effect was soothing, offering a sense of peace, of sanctuary. Everything looked so…homey. As though someone actually lived there, rather than a professional decorator had laid out a magazine spread.

She trailed her fingers over the quilted bedspread. Even that had the look of having been lovingly handmade from favorite bits of fabric.

Another shiver danced over her naked shoulders when she encountered the neatly folded pile of clothes. Were they Ryan’s? Or did the owner—Jamie—keep a supply of extra clothing tucked away for his guests along with the extra toothbrushes?

She turned from the bed and came face-to-face with a stranger.

No, not exactly a stranger. She faced a large wood-framed mirror hanging on the closet door. That was the only reason she recognized the woman watching her with guarded eyes. No sense of familiarity stirred. No flood of memories rushed forth to fill in the blanks.

The woman just stared back. She concentrated on the reflection but recognition still eluded her.

Why can’t I remember? She stepped closer, leaning in to search for some clue, some detail that would trigger her memory. AJ? A vague sense of recognition stirred as she tried connecting the name Ryan had dubbed her with the reflection in the mirror. She traced the outline of her face on the cool glass. Unfamiliar gray eyes stared back. She leaned closer, looked deeper into the eyes.

Nothing. Nothing except emptiness that went deep, all the way to her heart. She backed away from the stranger in the mirror and sank down on the edge of the bed.

Tears threatened but she forced them back. She’d cried enough already. In the shower where the running water washed away the tears and the sounds of her quiet sobs. And earlier.

She had awakened on the beach to the sound of her own sobs. Her dreams were a jumbled confusion of images, none of them making sense, all of them fading as she became aware of her surroundings. Then she’d realized the dreams weren’t the only things fading from memory. She had no memory of anything. A void existed where her identity should have been. She had no idea why she had been sleeping on a beach, or even where that beach was.

“AJ, are you okay?”

She jumped at Ryan’s voice coming from the other side of the bedroom door. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ll only be a few more minutes.”

“No rush, sugar. We can head into town to drop off that film whenever you’re ready. If you feel up to it.”

“Sure. Fine. That’s…fine.” She lied. She wasn’t fine. How could she be with her mind so empty?

No. Not empty, not exactly. It was more like a drawn curtain, transparent enough to let shadowy images through but too opaque to allow any real detail to show.

She sensed rather than heard Ryan’s quiet steps as he retreated, leaving her alone in the strange room, staring at her reflection, which should have been familiar, but wasn’t.

She wanted to trust him. Her instincts told her she could, but why? All indications were that they’d never met, yet she’d followed him here, to a strange house, with barely a moment’s hesitation. Who was he?

Her heart sped up at the memory of his touch. When they shook hands, it had been magnetic. The jolt hadn’t startled her so much as the strange sense of familiarity had. She didn’t know him, but there had been a sense of recognition on a deeper, more elemental level, as though they were kindred spirits. She hadn’t experienced anything like that since…since…when? Who? Someone else, someone important to her. The knowledge slipped further behind that blasted curtain.

She rubbed her temples, working at the tightness that wrapped around her head like a huge rubber band. Every time she tried to remember, her head ached. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, relaxing with each slow exhalation, willing the pain to leave.

Standing, she rolled her shoulders, raised her arms over her head and stretched. Slowly her knotted muscles relaxed. She paced around the room as she worked the snarls from her long hair and braided it. This task at least seemed familiar, routine. The normalcy served to calm her a little more. She could almost pretend everything was normal. Until she picked up the T-shirt.

It was a man’s V-neck T-shirt, the kind that comes three to a package. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except she knew it had to belong to Ryan. The soft, pale green cotton matched the material of the one he wore right now.

Another shiver, totally unrelated to a chill, swept over her, dragging with it an awareness of the man who’d found her on the beach and brought her into his home. Not an awareness of him as a kind person doing a good deed. But an awareness of him as a very masculine, very attractive man.

This wouldn’t do. Not at all. She hadn’t missed Ryan’s attention to her rings, especially the one he’d found hidden in her camera bag. The one that looked like a wedding ring.

Her thumb rubbed over the twined bands, rolling them back and forth over her knuckle. The motion was familiar, comforting even. The three intertwined circles of gold rolled together easily as she slid them over her knuckle and off her finger. Sadness flowed over her. Her finger felt naked without the ring. She felt lost without that symbol of being connected to someone.

The bands were nicked and burnished, their shine muted with the patina of constant wear. Lettering etched on the inside surface of one of the bands caught her eye.

She switched on the stained-glass lamp and held the ring close to the light. Tilting it back and forth, she found additional markings. Each band had been inscribed. She swallowed hard, fighting back the rush of grief threatening to swamp her tenuous composure.

The words were familiar. On some level, she’d even expected to find them. Still the emptiness swirled around her. AJD, Together Always, Remember 3/15. The same inscription Ryan had found on the silver tag.

She slipped the ring back on and hugged her hand close to her heart. Pacing the room did nothing to ease the knot in her chest. It wasn’t fair. How could grief this strong exist without memory of the person?

The room began to close in on her. The welcoming coziness became smothering. The light scent of the potpourri turned cloying. She pulled on the loaned clothes, ignoring the rippling awareness of whom the items belonged to, intent on one thing—getting out of the room before she started crying again.

Once out of the bedroom, she regained some small measure of calm. She made her way down the short hall, aware of the soft murmur of Ryan’s voice. As she neared the door to the kitchen, he stopped talking. She held her breath, wondering who was in the kitchen with him. She wasn’t ready to face anyone else yet.

He started talking again and she let out a slow sigh. Whoever it was, they were on the other end of the phone line, not in the kitchen. Her calm façade slipped a notch as his quiet words sank into her awareness.

“I don’t know. It could be a setup, but I don’t think so. You’re the only one who knows I’m here.”

Setup? What was he talking about?

“Yeah, I know. You’re the one with the super, weird-vibe detector, but my gut says she’s okay. She comes off as…real, I guess.”

He was talking about her. Her rubber-soled sandals squeaked on the linoleum floor as she stumbled to a halt in the doorway.

Ryan turned to look at her, his steady gaze never wavering as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. He’d been leaning back against the counter by the door and now he shifted so his entire body faced her. He stood mere inches from her, relaxed, seemingly unbothered by her sudden appearance.

The clean scent of sea air mingled with the tang of the perspiration he’d worked up on his morning run. She was close, too close, too aware of him. Instinct warned her the situation was dangerous, she’d been foolish to trust him so easily.

Before she could step away, his warm fingers wound around her wrist. The pale green of his eyes darkened as he watched her. He swept her with an appreciative gaze, a smile quirking up one corner of his mouth.

“That sounds good,” he said into the phone. “Right, see y’all later.” He returned the phone to its cradle and turned the full strength of his attention to her. “Those clothes never looked better. How ’bout you? Are you feeling better?”

She nodded. “Who were you talking to?”

“The esteemed Jamison McRobbie. Better known as our host, Jamie. I thought he might be able to help us out. He works with the police sometimes—”

“No! No police.” She pulled her arm free from his loose grip and took a quick step away from him.

“AJ?” His soft tone stopped her backward movement.

“No, please, we can’t go to the police.” She fought down the panic threatening to shatter what remained of her hard-gained peace.

“Okay, we won’t.” He reached for her, gently running his hand down her arm. “Can you tell me why we can’t go to the police?”

She closed her eyes and swallowed. A shudder ran across her shoulders, down her back. “I…I don’t know. I just get this huge wave of ‘danger’ at the thought.”

“All right, sugar. Don’t worry about it. We proved your instincts are still pretty sharp, and if they’re telling you to stay away from the police, we will. For now.” He lifted her chin on the edge of his hand.

She opened her eyes. For a moment she lost herself in the pale depths of his steady gaze. How could she not trust him? From the moment they’d met on the beach, his one concern seemed to be helping her. What could he possibly gain from her?

Time stood still as she searched for an answer in his face. “Am I foolish to trust you?” she whispered.

Ryan’s focus shifted from her eyes to her lips. “Probably.” His breath caressed her cheek. “But not for the reason you think.”

His attention to her mouth lasted for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for her to realize how close they were standing to each other, how easy it would be to close that small space. How much she wanted to do exactly that.

Awareness coursed through her, setting her nerve endings on fire. There was more than trust at issue here. She’d just been on the verge of tears over an inscription in a wedding ring, her wedding ring. Whoever her husband was, whatever the status of their relationship, he held a great deal of importance to her. She couldn’t—shouldn’t—be so attracted to Ryan so easily.

But she was. What kind of person am I?

He released her arm and stepped back, putting a little distance between them. Had he been as aware of her as she was of him?

“Now then.” He cleared his throat. “We have something really serious to discuss. Breakfast.”

The sudden change of topic granted her a momentary reprieve from her troubling thoughts.

“’Course, I need to clean up before we leave,” he continued. “But that won’t take long. There’s this great little place about ten minutes away. They do a mean loco moco.”

She realized she was nearly hungry enough to tackle the local dish of rice and hamburger patty topped with gravy.

“Or how does fresh fruit and waffles sound?” Ryan offered the alternative.

“Wonderful.” Her stomach rumbled in agreement. How long had it been since she’d eaten?

“Great. I’ll be ready in two shakes. Why don’t you put your feet up in the living room, while I go get gorgeous?” His quick smile revealed teeth so white they would have seemed fake if not for a slight misalignment of the eye-teeth. He led her into a spacious room filled with wicker furniture.

She sank onto the bright floral cushions of the couch and watched Ryan disappear down the hall.

Her camera bag sat on the coffee table. She crossed her legs tailor style and settled the bag in her lap. Its weight was comforting in an odd way. When she opened the cover, she discovered the contents had been neatly stowed back in their proper compartments. Ryan had done an excellent job of returning the equipment to its original order. It all looked and felt…right.

She ran her fingers over her equipment and pulled out her camera. Everything else in her life might be a blank, but this at least held a familiar certainty. It was the same security she’d experienced earlier, when she’d awakened on the beach and reached out for the only solid object near her.

For a few brief moments she’d been able to forget that she had forgotten. The familiar weight of her trusty Nikon had comforted her. When the sunrise had begun, she’d been able to lose herself in capturing the beauty of it through her viewfinder and saving it on film.

She slipped the camera back into its compartment and pulled the notebook out. She leafed through the pages, looking for something, anything that might trigger her memory. Precise notations of locations, times of the day and camera settings filled the pages. The handwriting held a vague sense of familiarity. She dug a pen from one of the pockets, turned to a blank page and began writing. At first it was nothing more than random words, enough to know it really was her handwriting in the book. Then she refocused, became intentional about what she wrote.

My name is…

She couldn’t finish the sentence. She tried again and again, each time starting on a new line, each time getting no further. She closed her eyes and tried again.

Failed again.

She tore the pages from the book, crumpled them into a tight ball and jammed it into a compartment in the bag. The pen and notebook went back into their pockets and she closed the bag with a snap.

People don’t just go around forgetting who they are for no reason. Something terrible must have occurred to wipe out every bit of her conscious memory.

Relax. That’s what she needed to do, just relax. Little things came when she didn’t try so hard. She leaned her head back against the cushions. Her eyes drifted shut as she rubbed her hands over the bag. Each texture, each contour, felt familiar and reassuring beneath her fingers.

The silver pull on the zip hung cool and solid from its chain. Opening her eyes, she examined it, reading the inscription for herself. Remember. Remember what?

A tear traced a hot path down her cheek.

“AJ?”

She jumped at Ryan’s voice, her hand flying to her chest to catch her wildly beating heart. “Jeez, you scared me! Don’t you ever make any noise when you walk?”

“Sorry. Old habit. You seemed to be pretty deep in thought.”

She wiped the tear away with the heel of her hand before turning to look at him.

His short, light brown hair was damp and standing on end, looking like the latest style in a trendy men’s magazine. He wore khaki shorts and a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt that he’d left unbuttoned and untucked. The white T-shirt he’d changed into hugged the contours of his well-muscled torso and set off his tan. A small gold ring hung on a chain around his neck. With these clothes, he looked as if he’d fit right in with the tourist crowd. Provided the tourists were a bunch of Olympic competitors.

And she was still far too aware of him and his athletic body for her comfort.

“I’ve only been sitting here eight-and-a-half minutes. Did you get a real shower taken?” She shut out the brief image of him in the shower before it could fully develop.

“Yes, ma’am. Even washed behind my ears. Mind if I ask a question?” He waited for her consenting nod before continuing. “How do you know it’s been eight minutes? There aren’t any clocks in here and you aren’t wearing a watch.”

“Eight-and-a-half minutes.” She corrected him. “I always know exactly how much time has elapsed. It comes in handy when timing exposures or developing film.”

“Are you always right?”

“Always,” she replied with absolute certainty. “My turn. How did you manage to shower and get dressed in such a short time?”

“Military training. Heck, anything over five minutes is considered downright leisurely.” He held out one hand to her. “Now, how about that breakfast?”

He led her out the front door and handed her into the passenger seat of a cherry-red Corvette convertible.

“Nice little car.” She watched as he buckled his seat belt and turned the ignition key. The engine came to life with a powerful rumble.

“Jamie’s.”

“Ah, all part of the vacation package?”

Ryan nodded, slipped on a pair of RayBan Wayfarer sunglasses and nudged the stick shift into first gear. As they pulled onto the road, he launched into the story of his first stay on the island.

He kept her entertained all the way to the little restaurant and all through the meal.

For a brief period, she was able to pretend everything was normal.

Chapter Four

Ryan had run through the better part of his repertoire, regaling AJ with carefully sanitized stories of his childhood. It seemed to work. She had actually eaten some fresh fruit and even looked a bit relaxed until they got back into the car.

Now silence fell as they headed for Honolulu. He flipped on the radio, filling the quiet with KNUI’s Hawaiian music. An ad for a photo finisher came on between songs.

AJ cleared her throat. “You mentioned getting the exposed film developed. Do you have a lab in mind?”

“None in particular. With all the tourist trade there’s bound to be a slew of those one-hour places. We can drop the stuff off at one of them.” He glanced at her in time to catch her grimace of distaste. “What?”

Her hands tightened on the camera bag. “Nothing. I’m sure that would be…”

“Like flossing with razor wire.” He reached over and covered her white-knuckled hands. “Scratch the one-hour place. We can stop and check the phone book for professional labs. Maybe one of them will sound familiar.”

“That’s assuming I ever used one or, if I did, that I’ll remember which one it was.”

“Don’t fret yourself. It’s possible you might remember. I did a little Web surfing while you were in the shower, found some information about amnesia. From what I found, the kind of amnesia you have is called psychogenic amnesia.”

“And that means what?”

“It means, sugar, that the memories aren’t really lost, just sort of hidden for the time being.”

“Like a drawn curtain.” She leaned forward a little, hope lighting her face. “So, I’ll remember everything? My name, where I live, all that?”

“Maybe.” He didn’t want to get her hopes up too high. While the research said the amnesia might only last a few hours, it could also last years. “One of the articles said hypnosis or free association might help trigger memories. That’s why looking through the yellow pages isn’t such a crazy idea. You might see a name that’s familiar.”

She nodded and leaned back into the seat, nibbling on her lip in thought.

“Once we get your film taken care of proper like, then we can do a little shopping. Cute as you look in my clothes, I don’t imagine they’re particularly comfortable.” The discomfort was probably mostly his. Every time he thought of the way his shirt draped—he squashed the image before it fully formed. To distract himself, he launched into another story about one of his early visits to the island.

AJ visibly relaxed, watching the scenery flow by as they sped toward Honolulu. As they neared the city, she opened her camera bag, checked her equipment and began sorting through the canisters of exposed film.

Ryan eased up on the accelerator as the city traffic began building around them. AJ glanced up. “Take the next exit. At the stoplight, take a right.”

He opened his mouth then closed it again. She was busy digging through her bag, and he decided not to interrupt her. This might be the beginning of the breakthrough they needed. He wasn’t about to jinx it by asking her a pile of questions.

He made the turn, scooting through the intersection as the light changed from yellow to red. She directed him through a few more turns before telling him to pull over.

“Park in the next block. It’s up ahead a little ways.”

He parked the ’Vette, turned off the ignition and waited, watching her, wondering how she’d react to their surroundings.

She rearranged a few loose items in the camera bag then snapped it shut. When she finally looked at him, Ryan raised one eyebrow.

“What?” Confusion clouded her expression.

“What’s up ahead?”

“The lab.”

“What lab?”

“The film lab that does all…my….” Her voice trailed off on a breathy oh. She twisted in her seat, checking out the surrounding area.

Her directions had taken them away from the busy downtown area to the Kaimuki area. Here, a mix of neighborhood shops lined the street. Out of the tourist path, the merchandise displayed in these store windows catered to everyday life and the needs of the nearby residents. He’d be hard-pressed to find a puka bead necklace or picture postcard anywhere in the vicinity.

He held silent and waited. It took her a bit, but she did continue.

“This is where I get my film developed. They do custom printing for me, too. There’s a little shop in front where they sell supplies, but their main business is processing and printing.” Her voice faded to a whisper. She rubbed her forehead and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “How’d I remember that when I can’t remember my own name?”

“Don’t fight it. The research said you’d remember basic functions. Getting film processed would be pretty basic for a photographer. Let’s take anything that slips through and run with it. Are there any names attached to this place?”

“Uncle Kimo?” She lifted her hands in a questioning gesture.

“Good. Let’s go see if Uncle Kimo can give us some information.”

AJ laid her hand over his as he reached for the keys. Something tightened deep inside. Something he wanted to ignore but couldn’t. Not as long as she touched him. He pulled the keys from the ignition and broke the contact with her hand.

“Ryan, I can’t waltz in there and say ‘Hi, guys, what’s my name?’ That’s a sure bet for getting me hauled off to the loony bin. Or worse, what if I’m wrong and whatever I’m hiding from is linked to this shop?”

“You got a point there.” Ryan tugged at his earlobe. “Do you think you can help me pull off a little undercover investigation?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You go in first. Just act normal, take your cue from their reactions. I’ll come in a minute later. If there’s any hostility, get out. Otherwise, you do your business and when you leave, I’ll see what they’ll tell me.”

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“Hey, I do this for a living.” He was none too sure himself, but no sense telling her that.

“What if it doesn’t work? What if they don’t tell you anything?”

“Now don’t go borrowin’ trouble. If they don’t give me any information, we’ll come back when your film’s ready and see what that tells us.” He gave her an encouraging smile and nodded toward the car door. “Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

“One minute?”

“That’s all. You can time me.” He winked and she rewarded him with a half smile before she got out of the car. He glanced at his watch and scanned the surrounding area. Pedestrian traffic was light. A few import sedans, minivans and a Jeep or two were parked at random intervals up and down the street. Everything looked mostly normal.

When AJ entered the shop, he strolled after her. He stopped to check out the large display window. Gold lettering arched across the glass, proclaiming Kimo Kealoha—Photography Services. The words formed a perfect frame for the reflection of the coffee shop across the street and the nondescript, dark blue sedan parked in front of it. A child’s stuffed toys littered the car’s dashboard. Ryan’s mental radar blipped. Something wasn’t quite right.

He tried to shrug off the sensation. Ever since he’d talked to Jamie he’d been running on yellow alert. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be seeing spooks behind every bush.

A bell jangled overhead as a teenage girl exited the photo shop. Ryan slipped through the door before it swung closed. He wandered in, nodded to the man behind the counter and began browsing. Tucking his sunglasses in the neck of his T-shirt, he kept an eye on the street while keeping an ear on the conversation between the shop clerk and AJ.

“I’ve only got a few rolls of film, but I’m anxious to see how they turn out.” The quaver in AJ’s voice was barely noticeable.

The man behind the counter laughed. “When aren’t you in a hurry?” His grizzled gray hair and rounded shape made him look like an overgrown elf. His voice matched the image. “And don’t we always rush your stuff?”

“And don’t I always appreciate your rushing my stuff?” Laughter eased a little of the tension from her voice. Ryan glanced her way just in time to see the dimple in her left cheek, near the corner of her mouth. He hadn’t seen it before. He’d like to see it again.

The man shook his head as he began sorting the film canisters and writing out work-order tickets. “Some haole was in here looking for you earlier. Funny looking man, all dressed up in a dark suit and a very ugly tie.”

“Really?” AJ’s voice squeaked and Kimo paused in his scribbling to look at her. Ryan turned away to peruse a film display, doing everything he could to look disinterested in their topic of conversation as he worked his way around the store to have a better view of them.

Kimo continued after a short hesitation. “He was tall, skinny. Bad skin, eyes so pale, I’m not sure they had any real color. Seemed to think you’d be in sometime today. Guess he was right. Do you know him?”

AJ shook her head. “I don’t think so. He asked for me by name?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean much, now that you’re starting to make a name for yourself—” He stopped in midsentence, holding up two canisters and shaking them at her. “You just picked this high-speed film up yesterday.” He pointed at another canister. “That infrared, too. Don’t tell me you stayed out all night shooting your experiment just so you could include it in the opening?”

AJ’s eyes widened and she shrugged.

“Ya gotta slow down, girl. You’re so busy shooting the island’s beauty, you never see it. When you get done with that show, promise Uncle Kimo you’ll take some time to look around you, without a camera in the way.”

“Okay, Uncle Kimo. I promise.”

“Maybe I could believe you if I didn’t know you so well. But I do.” Kimo shook his head and returned to writing the work orders. “I’d talk to David if I thought it’d do any good, but it wouldn’t. You and he are too alike to be together so much.”

The color drained from AJ’s face. Her eyes closed and she bit her lip. Kimo never looked up from his task so he missed her reaction.

“It was different when Justin was still alive.” Regret colored Kimo’s words. “He balanced you two. But now all either one of you do is work, work, work. That’s no kind of life.”

It didn’t take a genius to see how much the mention of the two men’s names had shaken her. Ryan took a step toward AJ but stopped at the tiny shake of her head.

“How soon can I see these?” Her voice cracked and Kimo pinned her with a stern look.

“Tomorrow. You go rest, before you collapse.”

AJ opened her mouth, but closed it again without voicing a protest.

Ryan decided it was time to move in. He walked over beside AJ, smiling at her as he leaned sideways against the counter, facing her. “Hi.”

“Hello.” She gave him a once-over. The slight pause seemed to give her enough time to regroup. She turned her attention back to Kimo. “It’s still early. Are you sure I can’t see that film today?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. At nine.”

“Ten and not a minute before. Go home.” Kimo glanced at Ryan. “And watch out for strangers.”

She shook her head at Kimo, looked Ryan up and down one more time.

He straightened away from the counter and watched, fascinated as a blush tinted her high cheekbones. He winked at her and her blush darkened before she turned on her heel and left the store. The bell jangled as the door closed behind her.

“Can I help you?” Kimo was all business. The laughter he’d shared with AJ clearly didn’t extend to a stranger.

Ryan dragged his attention from AJ’s retreating figure and turned back to the counter. “Nice lady. Are you really her uncle?”

Kimo waved a hand in the air. “I watch out for her. It’s a responsibility I take very seriously.” His midnight-dark eyes stared at Ryan, taking his measure and warning him all in one look. “You’re a bit off the tourist track. Where can I give you directions to?”

“Nowhere, really. I’m staying with a friend up on the north shore and thought I’d explore some of the neighborhoods.” Ryan smiled his easy, not-to-worry smile. “Do you have any of those disposable cameras? I hear they work pretty good.”

Kimo pulled one from the shelf behind him and thumped it onto the counter. “That’ll be $15.85. Anything else?”

Ryan grinned as he tossed a twenty onto the counter. “Any chance you’d give me the lady’s name.”

“None. But if you’re really interested, she’s got a show going up at a gallery in a couple weeks. If you’re around that long, you could look her up then.”

“Sounds good. Which gallery?”

“If you’re still around, I’ll tell you then.”

“Fair enough. Something tells me she’s worth sticking around for.” He picked up two store business cards from the small seashell card holder on the counter and tucked one into his shirt pocket. He flipped the other over and wrote on the back, before handing it to Kimo. “If she happens to ask, will you give this to her?”

Kimo read the note on the card and looked back at Ryan. “Pretty confident, aren’t you?”

“It never hurts to be optimistic.”

The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Ryan tapped the counter with his camera and left the store.

He paused as the door swung shut behind him. Worth sticking around for, huh? Now wasn’t the time to delve into that thought. Sliding his sunglasses back on, he scanned the street, then sauntered back to the ’Vette where AJ waited for him.

“Did he tell you anything?” She slid into the passenger seat and turned to face him. Her voice fairly vibrated with excitement.

As he sat next to her in the driver’s seat, he noticed a lanky-looking man in an ill-fitting black suit leave the coffee shop carrying a small brown paper bag, but no coffee cup.

“Not much. You have a show going up at a gallery in a couple weeks.” He reached for the ignition, but stopped with the key halfway in the slot. His yellow-alert status bumped up to red.

The coffee-shop patron was unlocking the passenger door of the navy sedan.

“My show? I’m having a show? Where? What gallery?”

Ryan watched the man get in and duck out of sight.

“Well now. Don’t that beat all?” The man reappeared, got out of the car and locked the door.

“What?” AJ looked around. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

Ryan nodded across the street. “Does the man crossing the street look familiar?”

AJ watched him tuck the brown paper bag under his arm and jog across the street to another nondescript sedan, this one a dark green. “No. Should he?”

“Tall, skinny, couldn’t quite tell about his skin, but you must admit, that was one ugly tie.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “You think that’s the man Uncle Kimo mentioned?”

“I’ll bet dinner out they’re one and the same. Are you ready for a little fun?” He smiled at her. The ’Vette’s ignition turned over and the engine hummed to life.

“What kind of fun?”

“Keep an eye on Ole Slim.” Ryan pulled away from the curb. “We’re going to follow him for a tad and see where he takes us.”

“Why are we doing that?”

He debated telling her for a moment. The stakeout might be totally unrelated to her situation. Or she may know exactly what it was all about. Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to let her know he was aware of what was going on around them. “Well, I figure if he’s interested enough in you to stake out the lab, then we should be interested enough in him to see where he’s heading.”

The sports car responded to his gentle nudge on the accelerator and leaped forward. Within a few blocks they’d caught up with the sedan. Only one car separated them. Ryan followed the sedan through several intersections and around a couple turns, letting other cars come and go between them.

They headed through downtown and into an industrial-park section. Ryan muttered to himself. Rather than enjoying the thrill of the chase, he was more worried about being made. Tailing someone in a cherry-red ’Vette wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. The other driver hadn’t given any indication that he’d noticed them. Yet.

Traffic thinned and the last car between them turned onto a side street, leaving them with no cover. Whatever the guy’s next turn was, they’d have to continue on. He memorized the sedan’s license plate. Later, he’d have the Bureau run it, see if it provided any useful information.

“Time to call it a morning.” Ryan tapped the blinker lever to take the turn at the T-intersection they were approaching. He stopped to let the oncoming traffic clear out of the way.

The sedan continued through the intersection, turned in the opposite direction without signaling and drove through a gap in a high chain-link gate.

Ryan completed his turn, pulled to the curb and studied the rearview mirror. As soon as the sedan cleared the sidewalk, a gate rolled closed behind it. A large sign on the gate warned away trespassers and proclaimed the fenced complex to be private property.

Ryan twisted in his seat to double-check the cross street and verify the address. Excitement buzzed along his nerve endings. The Bureau could do a little property owner check at the same time they ran the sedan’s plates.

As he turned back in his seat, AJ straightened. She’d been slouched down a bit to watch their six through the passenger side mirror.

“What do we do now?” She began nibbling on her lower lip.

“Now, we go shopping.” He merged back into traffic.

“Shopping? But what about that guy?” AJ swung around to stare at him.

“Sugar, even if that gate is unlocked, you can bet there’s going to be a guard close inside. And we’re not exactly invisible in this toy of Jamie’s. There’s nothing more for us here. Not today.”

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