The unknown soldier

He may have lost his memory, but not his mercenary skills. And once Jack Coburn learned his real name, he sought out the woman who could help him piece together the rest of his past. Lola Famosa had hired the green beret months ago to find her missing brother. And that mission had nearly cost him his life.

But locating the lovely doctor presented new dangers. Someone was determined to keep Lola from her quest, and her life hung in the balance. Jack’s first concern might have been regaining his memory, but now it was all about protecting Lola. For she was the one thing this loner was determined to keep.

“Nothing’s ringing any bells.” Except Lola in those jeans as she bent over the drawer. That rang his bells.

She spun around, pinching a card between two fingers. “Got it.”

“It’s a start. Maybe this guy can tell me if I have a home, a family…a wife.”

Lola’s long, dark lashes fluttered. “I doubt it.”

He plucked the card from her fingers and slipped it into his back pocket. “You doubt I have a home, a family and a wife?”

“You may have a home and a family, but no self-respecting wife would allow her husband to go gallivanting around the world saving other people’s families.” Her jaw formed a hard line as if daring him to dispute her logic.

“I don’t know about that.” He held up his left hand. “But I don’t feel married.”

Could he be lusting after this hot doctor if he were?

Green Beret Bodyguard
Carol Ericson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carol Ericson lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Jack Coburn—He has a name on a piece of paper and a million bucks in a suitcase, but no memory. He turns to a beautiful Cuban-American doctor to help him find his way, but ends up bringing danger to her doorstep…in more ways than one.

Lola Famosa—Her brother is missing in Afghanistan and now the man she hired to negotiate his release is back in Miami with no recollection of his mission and a target on his back. She jumps at the chance to help him regain his memory, but fears that his old life will torpedo their growing attraction.

Gabriel Famosa—A research scientist, he was kidnapped to further a terrorist plot. Will the man his sister sent to rescue him regain his memory in time to save him? Or will he be complicit in a plan to hold the world hostage to terrorist demands?

Emilio Diaz—A shady associate of Lola’s crime-boss father, he may just hold the key to Jack’s identity…if he’s not killed first.

Eddie Hidalgo—This young boy is Dr. Famosa’s favorite patient, but being close to Dr. Famosa has its risks.

Dr. Lesley Jerome—A psychiatrist at Miami Hope Hospital, Dr. Jerome is willing to help Jack try to regain his memories by any means necessary.

Hector Villagrande—The man who murdered Eddie’s mother has a grudge against Lola, and getting out of jail on a technicality allows him plenty of opportunity to get even.

Farouk—Prospero’s former nemesis has expanded his business model and taken his terror worldwide, and this time it’s personal.

Colonel Scripps—Prospero’s coordinator, the colonel knows he can summon all of the former team members with one call. He just hopes it’s not too late to save Prospero’s leader, Jack Coburn.

For Margery. Thanks for keeping me company in “The Lounge”.

Contents

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Prologue

An invisible net tightened around Jack Coburn.

His gaze flicked to the black suit with the dark shades. Was he speaking into his lapel? A man at two o’clock straightened his shoulders and reached beneath his jacket. Was he going for a gun?

Adrenaline spiraled through Jack’s body, and the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. He’d arrived in Miami under an assumed name. Did the suits know that fake name? Had they given him that name?

Shifting his eyes to the left, he marked another suspicious person, this one dressed in a loud aloha shirt and talking to himself. Jack picked them out with the ease of a bloodhound on a scent…only he was the prey.

Hanging back a moment, Jack slipped his hand through the arm of a pretty blonde who’d given him a dazzling smile in the coach section of the airplane. She let out a little gasp and Jack ducked his head, his lip close to her ear.

“Can you pretend you’re with me? I’m trying to avoid someone, and if she sees me with you she’ll back off.”

The blonde recovered quickly and a pretend pout hovered at her lipsticked mouth. “Pretend all you want. I’ll help you out, even though you ignored me on the flight.”

Jack twisted his lips into a semblance of a smile. “I noticed you, but I’m kind of…involved.”

He pulled the cap lower on his forehead and scanned the crowd for more agents or government officials or whoever else had him on their radar. Someone jogged past him, and Jack coiled his muscles, preparing for a fight. The man swept up a child in a hug, and Jack released a long breath.

The woman at his side nudged his shoulder with her head. “You’re not involved with the woman you’re trying to hide from, are you?”

“No. She’s the one causing me trouble.”

“How long are we an item?”

“Just until we get through the baggage claim area.” Once he took off with the black duffel that contained everything he knew about his life, he’d be safe…at least for now.

The woman squeezed in front of him on the down escalator. Pointing to the right, she said, “Baggage claim’s over there. It’s been a memorable two minutes.”

Her bright, hard words pierced the brittle barrier of tension encasing his mind. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I can pay for your taxi or…”

She held up her hand, a white card with gold lettering pinched between her manicured nails. “That’s okay. Maybe you can give me a call sometime if things don’t work out with your…involvement.”

He glanced at the card before slipping it into the pocket of his jeans. “Thanks, Rebecca.”

Jack merged with the crowd as it surged into the baggage claim area, his shoulders tense, his body still sore from the tumble he’d taken down the side of a mountain somewhere in Afghanistan. He shoved his hands in the pockets of the cheap jacket he’d picked up at the airport in Frankfurt, acting as if he belonged when, in truth, he belonged nowhere.

The baggage carousel had already creaked to life and was displaying its offerings in a lazy circle. A film of sweat broke out under the band of Jack’s cap. He reached down to swipe at a black bag, but a man stepped in front of him.

“I think that’s mine. These bags all look alike.”

Jack nodded, another fear stabbing his gut. What if somebody had picked up the duffel bag by mistake? That bag had saved his life and gotten him to Miami, where he planned to claim the rest of his life.

The carousel served up another soft-sided black bag, and Jack held his breath, his fingers tingling with anticipation. He leaned over the bag and yanked the strap, lifting it clear of its unclaimed mates. He read the fake name he’d scribbled on the paper airline luggage tag and hitched the bag over his shoulder.

He caught sight of the man in the suit, standing tall and perusing the passengers hoisting their bags from the carousel and greeting friends and family. They must’ve recognized the phony name on the passenger list, but at least Jack had changed his appearance so he looked nothing like his picture on the watch list.

Jack hunched his shoulders, tucked his chin to his chest and made a beeline for the exit. As the glass doors to freedom slid open, someone tapped his shoulder. He swung around, hands fisted, jaw clenched.

The blonde from the plane, Rebecca, widened her eyes and blinked. “I don’t even know your name. What’s your name?”

His mind went blank for a second before he stuttered. “W-Will. Just Will.”

The suit from one corner of the baggage claim area and the Hawaiian shirt from the other glanced at the exit door in unison. Jack swung the duffel onto his back and sprinted outside. He dashed into traffic, crouching behind an airport shuttle van. With his heart pounding, Jack weaved through the vehicles clogging the street in front of the airport.

Finally, he jumped onto a bus headed for a parking lot. He slumped in a vinyl seat, his pulse beating a furious rhythm behind his closed lids.

He’d made it. He’d finally made it to Miami. Now he just had to track down the one woman who could help him. He knew he was Jack Coburn. The young Afghan boy had told him that much. But who the hell was Jack Coburn and why was he a wanted man?

Chapter One

Dr. Lola Famosa rubbed the goose bumps on her arms…and the chill had nothing to do with the cold, dead body reposing on the slab in front of her.

On her way to the hospital’s morgue in the basement, she’d had the sensation of eyes following her. Ridiculous, since she’d taken the elevator down alone and all the doors along the pristine corridor had been closed.

She glanced over her shoulder at the slice of window in the door to the morgue. Squinting through the mesh covering the glass, she gripped the edge of the table, her gloved fingers inches away from the lifeless arm of Elena Hidalgo. Nada.

Lola blew out a breath and dragged the back of her hand across her forehead, the smell of the latex glove competing with the scent of formaldehyde in the morgue. The twin smells jerked her back to reality and the task at hand. Dr. Trapp ran a tight ship down here, and he’d grudgingly allowed her to take a look at Elena Hidalgo while he was on a break.

Dr. Trapp didn’t get why Lola had insisted on taking a peek at the dead crack addict, murdered by her drug-dealing boyfriend. But then Dr. Trapp wasn’t responsible for the well-being of the crack addict’s child, Eddie, who’d been injured in the assault on his mother.

Lola wiggled her fingers, snapping the gloves tighter around her hands. To better treat Elena’s son, Lola wanted to get a sense of this woman, wanted to judge the extent of her trauma. Dr. Trapp planned to do the autopsy later this evening, so Elena Hidalgo lay before her battered but still in one piece.

With one finger, Lola brushed the woman’s dark hair from her bruised cheekbone. Her gaunt, lined face told a story much longer than Elena’s twenty-four years of life. Had she tried to protect her child in the end? Had she felt one last burst of motherly instinct, which had deserted her ever since she’d begged the courts to give her one last chance?

The door to the stairwell creaked on its hinges, and Lola jumped back from her examination of Elena. She banged her elbow on the open door to the freezer where Elena had lain tagged and bagged. Could Dr. Trapp be back from his break already?

Lola’s pulse danced at the base of her throat. She backed up on silent sneakers, away from the scope of the narrow window, and pressed her back against the wall. Running her tongue across her dry lips, her gaze flitted toward the tray of sharp instruments awaiting Dr. Trapp’s steady hand.

If someone broke into this room, a well-placed scalpel could stop him in his tracks. She stifled a gasp. Was that a footfall outside the door?

The morgue remained locked at all times, and she had to practically beg Dr. Trapp for his extra key. So if Dr. Trapp or his medical examiner assistant was lurking in the hallway, either one of them would have access. Folding her arms and gripping the sleeves of her white coat, Lola flattened herself against the icy wall and stared at the door handle. It turned. And stopped. Thwarted by the lock.

A cry gurgled and died at the back of Lola’s throat and she slid down the wall. She could crawl toward the instrument table, unseen by anyone peering into the room. And then what? Grab a scalpel? Hell, she could grab an electric saw.

A shadow darkened the window. Lola splayed damp hands, sweating inside the gloves, on the cool linoleum, as if securing them in starting blocks, waiting for a whistle or some sign to send her scurrying for a weapon.

Maybe someone had come down to the morgue to get a last look at Elena Hidalgo. To mourn her. To curse her.

But Lola’s thumping heart mocked this theory. She knew the stranger outside that door was here for her. He’d been watching her for weeks. Waiting.

The ding of the elevator and the rumble of the doors acted like a cool hand to a fevered brow…her fevered brow. Someone was coming. Voices spilled down the hallway, the cheery click of heels dispelling the ominous silence hovering outside the door to the morgue.

This time when the footsteps halted on the other side of the door, a key scraped in the lock. Lola shot to her feet as the door swung open.

Dr. Trapp raised his reddish eyebrows. “Are you still here, Dr. Famosa?”

Despite the chill in the room, Lola’s cheeks warmed. “I got here a little later than expected.”

“I pulled her out for you.” He plucked a glove from the box and waved it at the tall brunette, shrugging into a white coat. “Do you know Dr. Felson?”

Lola thrust out an arm, and Dr. Felson dropped her gaze to the less-than-pristine glove encasing Lola’s hand. Lola shook her head, her ponytail swinging behind her. “Oh, I haven’t examined the body physically.”

Dr. Felson gave a little wave and a smile. “That’s okay. I’ll pass.”

“I hope you’re not squeamish, Dr. Felson.” Dr. Trapp adjusted his glasses and peered at his vicious instruments. “Autopsies are not for the squeamish.”

Dr. Felson rolled her eyes at Lola. “If I were squeamish, I wouldn’t have survived my training.” She added in a mock whisper to Lola, “Dr. Trapp doesn’t think women can stomach autopsies.”

“I heard that. You’re not a woman, you’re a doctor.” Dr. Trapp wheeled the scale next to the slab

“My point exactly. Anyway, I’m not squeamish, just hygienic.” To prove her point, Dr. Felson strode to the stainless steel sink and cranked on the water.

Lola eyed her wrinkled gloves and flushed again. Although you could eat off this floor if you really wanted to, it was still a floor in a hospital, and Lola’s gloves had been sweeping it moments before.

She peeled off the gloves and dropped them into the trash can. “Did you two see someone in the hallway when you came off the elevator?”

Dr. Felson twisted her head over her shoulder as she soaped up her hands in the sink. “No.”

Lola shifted her gaze to Dr. Trapp. “Dr. Trapp?”

“Hmm?” He’d picked up his saw and was testing the blade with his gloved fingertip.

“Did you see anyone outside the door or in the hallway?” Dr. Felson had turned from the sink, crumpling a paper towel in her hands and drawing her brows over her nose, probably congratulating herself that she’d refused to shake hands with the crazy doctor.

Dr. Trapp glanced up and over the rim of his glasses. “The hallway was empty. There’s nobody down here this time of the day, or should I say night? The pathology department is closed for business. That’s why I prefer to do autopsies now—fewer distractions.”

Lola rolled the kinks out of her shoulders. The intruder had heard the elevator and had taken off the way he’d come down…the stairwell. Or maybe he’d slipped out the exit to the alley. She’d seen the door handle turn. There was no mistaking that.

Dr. Trapp waved a scalpel across Elena Hidalgo’s body like a magic wand, only there was no bringing this sad woman back to life. “Are you done communing with the crack addict?”

Lola pursed her lips. Miami Hope Hospital should be thrilled Dr. Trapp saw only dead patients and not live ones. “I just wanted to have a look at my patient’s mother so when he speaks of her, I have a visual.”

“You’re a pediatrician, Dr. Famosa, not a psychiatrist.”

“Sometimes the two go hand in hand.” Lola shrugged out of her lab coat and dropped it into the laundry bin. “Dr. Felson, can you stand at the door and wait until I get in the elevator? I swear there was someone outside this door earlier and it creeped me out.”

The doctor held up her hands, elbows bent. “Sure, if you get the door. I don’t want to have to wash my hands again.”

Lola cranked open the door and propped it open with her foot while Dr. Felson wedged her shoulder against it to hold it ajar. She winked at Lola. “I don’t blame you. I’m not comfortable wandering around the basement at night, either.”

Lola slipped into the hallway as Dr. Trapp’s voice whined, “I hope you’re not squeamish, Dr. Felson.”

Lola quickened her pace over the freshly mopped floor. It occurred to her that maybe her stealthy stranger had been someone from the janitorial staff. Whoever it was, he or she had been skulking outside the door—no other word for it.

Jabbing at the elevator button, Lola threw a glance at Dr. Felson, still stationed in the doorway of the morgue. Dr. Felson called down the hallway, “I hope it’s not slow tonight. Dr. Trapp’s getting very antsy in here.”

An orange light illuminated the B above the car as the elevator settled into place. The doors rumbled open and Lola flashed a thumbs-up sign to Dr. Felson and slipped inside the confines of the four walls. Safety.

She’d grab one of the security guards to see her safely to her car, and then maybe she could shake this aura of doom that had hung over her for too long. She rubbed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. In reality, she’d never escape the dread that had overcome her life since her brother, Gabriel, had disappeared in Afghanistan…not until he was home safe and sound.

The doors slid open at the lobby level, where a few people still milled around, perhaps coming in to visit patients. Miami Hope’s emergency entrance, which would be bustling, was around the corner and facing a different street.

Lola spied her favorite security guard, Sergio, and waved. “Hola, Sergio. Qué tal?”

Sergio flashed her a big smile. “Hola, doctore. Estoy bien. Trabajando tarde?”

“Sí, I’m working a little late. Can you walk me to my car? Or at least watch me? I’m on this level.”

“No problema.” He took two steps toward the door leading to the parking structure and held it open for her. “Where’s your car?”

“It’s in the second aisle, two from the end. If you could just walk me to the end of the aisle that would be great.”

The soles of her sneakers squeaked on the smooth surface of the parking garage. Sergio’s solid presence beside her was comforting. When they reached her car’s aisle, she put her hand on Sergio’s arm. “This is good. Gracias.”

Lola beeped her remote. Grabbing the handle of her car door, she turned and waved at Sergio, who was still stationed at the end of the aisle. She tossed her purse into the passenger seat and dropped onto the leather on the driver’s side.

She clicked her locks, and almost immediately a frisson of fear spiraled up her spine. Then a hand clamped over her mouth from behind and a husky voice rasped in her ear, “I need your help.”

Chapter Two

The woman’s soft lips parted beneath the loose clasp of his hand, her lipstick sticking to his palm. He clicked the safety of his unloaded weapon in case she got any ideas about laying on the horn. Her hands grasped the steering wheel, her knuckles white against the black leather.

God, he felt like the slime of the earth, but he needed to take her by surprise so she couldn’t warn anyone, couldn’t warn his enemies. Her bottle-green eyes, wide above his hand clamped over the bottom half of her face, met his gaze in the rearview mirror.

“I’m sorry. I need information from you. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Air escaped noisily from her nose and her hot breath condensed on his palm. He cupped his hand, giving her space to breathe. “I’ll remove my hand from your mouth if you promise not to scream. Can you promise me that?”

She nodded, and dark strands of hair that had escaped from her ponytail tickled the back of his hand. He slid his fingers across her soft cheek and held his breath.

Crying out, she scrabbled for the door handle and he cinched her upper arm with his fingers. “I’m Jack Coburn.”

The utterance of his name had a powerful effect on her. She fell back against her seat and jerked her head around to face him. “Y-you’re Jack Coburn? Prove it.”

Out of all the passports and IDs in the black duffel bag, not one had his name printed on it. But he had something better. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew the crumpled letter. He held it out to her, and she snatched it from his hand.

She smoothed out the single sheet of paper against the steering wheel, and Jack coiled his muscles in case she went for the horn. She didn’t.

Her brow creased as she scanned the letter. “I wrote this…to Jack Coburn. But I’ve never met him before, so how do I know you’re Jack?”

He lifted his shoulders, the gun dangling from his fingers, the barrel pointing to the floor of the car. “I don’t know how to prove it to you. I got it straight from an Afghan boy, but I couldn’t bring him with me as a character reference.”

The woman, Lola, curled her slim fingers around the sheet of paper, crumpling it into familiar lines. “What are you talking about? You need someone else to tell you who you are?”

Okay, time to play the pity card, and maybe she won’t scream bloody murder and escape from the car.

Massaging his temple, he dropped his eyelids, peering at her through slits. “Yes, I do. You see, Lola Famosa—” the name rolled off his tongue “—I can’t remember a damned thing about myself or what I was doing in Afghanistan, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with you and this guy Gabriel you wrote about in your letter.”

Was Gabriel her husband? Jack studied Lola’s profile with its firm chin at odds with the pert nose, and the long black lashes that blinked in confusion. If so, Gabriel was one lucky guy…or not. Where the hell was Gabriel, anyway?

She swung around suddenly and jabbed her finger in his chest. “Are you putting me on? What are you doing here? Why did you choose this method—” she waved her hands around the interior of the car “—to contact me? Once you located me, you couldn’t leave me a note at the hospital? You had to go skulking around the morgue?”

The morgue? Jack let that one pass. “The reason I have amnesia is because someone pushed me off the side of a mountain and then left me there to die. When I made it back to the town, the Afghan boy, Yasir, found me. He told me I was some kind of spy. I’m thinking maybe I can go directly to the U.S. Embassy or somehow contact the CIA, but I suspect neither of those august institutions would be thrilled to find me alive.”

Lola gasped. “You think the United States government is after you?”

“I’m on some airport security watch list.” He grabbed her fingers, fiddling with the cup holder in the console. “What does it mean? What was I doing in Afghanistan?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” She shifted in her seat and studied his face with her wide eyes. “You don’t know.”

Tilting his chin toward the letter abandoned in her lap, he said, “I know you were willing to pay me a million dollars to bring your husband home safely.”

Those long lashes swept her cheeks and her bottom lip trembled. Her voice choked. “And you obviously didn’t bring Gabriel with you.”

Before he could stop himself, he traced the soft curve of her cheek with his fingertip. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know who or where Gabriel is, if I ever did.”

A visible shudder coursed through her frame, and then she straightened her shoulders. “Oh, you knew, Mr. Coburn. I paid you a million dollars up front to retrieve Gabe from Afghanistan, to negotiate his release.”

He branded this new bit of knowledge into his brain. One more tiny piece of the puzzle falling into place. “His release from whom?”

“Terrorists.” She lifted her doe eyes to his face, and the look in their depths made him want to take her in his arms and shield her from the world and every bad thing in it.

A car two spaces down roared to life, and Lola stiffened and grabbed the steering wheel. She looked like she could use a drink. First he’d scared the hell out of her and then had to admit he hadn’t a clue to her husband’s whereabouts.

“Do you want to talk somewhere else? Maybe if you can fill me in on some details, I can start to remember.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. And if she didn’t want to fill him in?

He’d come home without her husband. She didn’t owe him anything, and there was no way he was going to force information out of her. He’d done enough damage to her nerves for one night by pulling this stunt in her car.

“Sure. There’s a little bar not too far from the hospital.” She ran both hands across her face as if wiping away tears, when not a single one had spilled onto her cheek.

“Can I sit up front?” He balanced a knee on the console between the two front seats. “I left the gun on the floor. It wasn’t loaded.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.” She dragged her purse by its handle from the passenger seat, and Jack squeezed his large frame into the front.

“Lo siento. If I could’ve done it any other way, I would have.”

Cranking on the engine, she raised one dark brow in his direction. “You speak Spanish?”

“Apparently I speak a lot of languages.” He snapped his seat belt and adjusted the seat, shooting a glance her way. He had to trust she wasn’t going to drive straight to a police station or, worse, call in the suits who’d been staking out the Miami airport.

She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth and furrowed her brow. “Must be strange to lose your memory.”

He didn’t think Lola Famosa, Dr. Lola Famosa, was going to rat him out just yet. She probably wanted information about her husband as badly as Jack wanted information about himself. He could trust her to keep this little meeting to herself…for now.

His shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes. “Strange doesn’t begin to describe it.”

THE TIRES SQUEALED AS LOLA wheeled her Mercedes into a slotted parking space in front of the Cubana Cubano Bar. At this hour on a Monday night, Mario’s place would be quiet enough to talk but just crowded enough for safety. Just in case the man filling her passenger seat wasn’t really Jack Coburn.

She cut the engine and turned her head to study him. He had to be Coburn. He’d fallen asleep before she’d even pulled out of the hospital parking lot. What crazed murderer-slash-kidnapper-slash-rapist would conk out just when he had his prey secluded in her car?

Besides she’d had dreams about that low, sexy voice of his after hearing it over the phone six months ago. There couldn’t be two voices with the power to invade her dreams, could there?

Peering into the backseat, she spotted his gun discarded on the floor of the car. She reached over, checked the safety and stowed it in her handbag. No self-respecting bad guy would abandon his weapon that easily, either.

“Coburn?” She nudged his shoulder. He mumbled and leaned his head against the window, his long, dark hair falling across his forehead.

With his intense, dark eyes closed to the world and his tight jaw relaxed in sleep, he looked almost carefree. Awake, the man vibrated with energy, his long, lean frame poised for action, any kind of action.

That was probably why her father’s friend had suggested she contact Coburn to negotiate Gabriel’s release.

She tapped a solid bicep. Coburn felt as hard as he looked. Her glance dropped to his crotch, and her cheeks heated up in the relative privacy of her car. The poor guy might have some information about Gabriel, the U.S. government might be after him and he definitely had some form of amnesia. And here she was turning him into a sex object.

Could she help it when the man looked like an Adonis?

“Coburn?” She squeezed his arm and pushed at his shoulder again.

Passing a hand over his face, he asked, “Did I fall asleep?”

“You must be exhausted. When did you get back to the U.S.?”

“Over a week ago.” He rubbed his eyes and shook the hair out of his face.

Yep, just about the time someone started watching her. Why did he wait so long to contact her?

“Do you want to go inside for a drink?” She tipped her head toward the bar outside the car window. “We can talk. Maybe I can help you and maybe you can help me.”

He reached into the backseat, and she touched his arm. “I put it in my purse.”

“Is this a safe neighborhood?”

“Not really.”

He dragged a black bag from the floor of the car and slung the strap across his chest. “I’ll take my bag with me, then.”

Lola pushed open the door and stepped inside the dimly lit bar as Jack put his hand on her back. They could’ve been any couple on a date, except she had a weapon in her handbag and he had no memory.

A Latin love song crooned from the speakers, and Lola waved at the short man singing along behind the bar in a lusty baritone. “Hola, Mario.”

“Hey, Lolita. Long time no see, chica.”

“Can you bring us a couple of beers?” She glanced at Jack, who dipped his head in assent. “Two Cristals…and two shots of tequila.”

“A beer and a shot?” Jack lifted one eyebrow, looking awfully sexy for a guy who didn’t know who he was.

Dropping into a leather booth, she let out a gusty sigh. “Believe me, when you ambushed me in my car that was just the last straw in a long line of straws today.”

“You’re a doctor, a pediatrician. Must be rough some days.” The leather creaked beneath him as he slid into the booth across from her and hunched forward on the table.

Jack’s dark gaze bore into her, into her soul, its intensity sending a thrill of fear…or excitement…racing up her spine. Not fear—unease. Or something. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the pulse of the matter. Perhaps his mode of introducing himself in the car with a gun and a hand over her mouth had forever branded him as dangerous. But something about his predicament called out to her, or at least her bleeding heart.

And the fact that he’d just asked her about herself, sympathized with her situation when he must be impatient as hell to pump her for information about himself. “Ask,” not “pump.” She just couldn’t seem to drag her thoughts away from the bedroom while in the same vicinity as this man.

She cleared her throat and her dirty mind. “Yes, I’m a pediatrician. I love it most of the time, but some days it just breaks my heart.”

Her thoughts flitted to Eddie, the boy whose mother had just been sliced, diced and categorized in Miami Hope’s morgue.

Mario danced to their table, bearing a tray and swaying his hips to the beat of the music filtering through the bar. “Dos cervezas y dos tragos de tequila.”

He clicked the bottles and glasses onto the table and winked. “Enjoy.”

Lola picked up her shot glass, clinked it with Jack’s and tossed back the tequila. The fiery liquid burned her throat, and she chased it by biting into a slice of lime. Puckering her lips, she squeezed her lids closed for a moment.

When she opened her slightly watery eyes, Jack’s face swam into focus. His lips were twisted into something close to a smile, and then he wrapped them around the beer bottle and tipped back his head.

“Now that that’s out of the way—” Lola dabbed her sticky fingers on a cocktail napkin “—let’s get down to business.”

“So who is Jack Coburn?” He eased back in his seat, extending his arms along the edge of the red banquette.

“Jack Coburn…you are a hostage negotiator.”

“CIA?”

“Freelance.”

“And you hired me to negotiate for your husband’s release from terrorists in Afghanistan. What was…is your husband doing in Afghanistan?”

At first Lola had been content to allow Jack to believe Gabriel was her husband, when he still had possession of his gun. Now…she wanted to set the record straight. “Gabriel is not my husband.”

Jack’s eyes flickered. With interest? With relief?

“Gabriel Famosa is my brother, and he’s a doctor like me. Well, not exactly like me. Gabe’s a research scientist.”

“Is he doing research in Afghanistan?”

She nodded, taking a sip of beer straight from the bottle. “He was overseas, anyway, working with Doctors Without Borders. Then he heard about a deadly flu strain popping up outside of Kabul. Gabe being Gabe, he rushed to Afghanistan to study the virus. It’s his specialty—the flu virus. He’s been working on flu vaccines for years.”

“Then he was kidnapped and his captors demanded ransom.”

“That’s the weird part.” Lola took another gulp of beer. “They didn’t ask for ransom. Doctors Without Borders found out about the kidnapping and made inquiries as to what the kidnappers wanted, but they never made any demands.”

Jack put his hand over her nervous fingers, picking at the green label on the bottle. “I hate to ask this, Lola, but how do you know Gabriel is alive?”

Her fingers stilled under the warm touch from his calloused hand. “Proof of life. Isn’t that what you hostage negotiators call it? At least that’s what you told me before. Someone sent pictures of Gabe holding a current newspaper to the head of MSF.”

He dropped his hand to the table where he drummed his fingers. “MSF. Médecins Sans Frontières.”

“That’s right. That’s how Doctors Without Borders is known internationally.” How did Jack know all this stuff, including foreign languages, when he couldn’t even remember his own name? Which brought them back to the question at hand.

“D-do you want to go through all this, or do you just want me to tell you what I know about Jack Coburn?”

He traced the rough pad of his thumb around the rim of the shot glass, still full of the clear liquid. “Any background info you can give me is good. So the people at MSF contacted you?”

“Yes.” The call had turned her world upside down. Gabe was all the family she had. “I was ready to give anything to get him back, but no requests were made.”

“Did you try the U.S. government?”

“I contacted the State Department. They informed me they didn’t negotiate with terrorists.” She snorted, the taste in her mouth more sour than the lime she’d just sucked.

“How did you find me?” He wrapped his hands around the beer bottle, the whiteness of his knuckles against his brown hands the only sign of tension.

“An associate of my father’s. He’d heard about you from others in the Cuban community.”

“You’d obviously never met me, since you didn’t recognize me in your car.”

“Never met you. Sent a few emails to an address with one of those free providers. Spoke to you once when we finalized the details of the payment. After you left, neither the email address nor the cell phone number were active anymore. I tried both.”

His brows shot up and a light infused his dark eyes. “Do you still have the emails? Maybe we can trace them somehow.” He slumped back in his seat. “I guess my knowledge of languages and weapons far outpaces my knowledge of computers, since I don’t have a clue how we’d go about doing that, especially with a now-defunct address.”

“We?” she thought. Did he just say “we”? She still needed to find Gabe, find a way to get him back home, but she didn’t want to sign up to help Jack Coburn find himself. Down that path lay danger, an abyss of unknown feelings and complications.

“How long ago did all this take place?”

“At the beginning of the summer, so about six months ago. You went out to Afghanistan in July.”

Jack whistled.

“How did you get out? That must’ve been some fall if you hit your head and lost your memory. Are you injured…I mean physically?”

“I’m sore, bruised, scuffed up, but all parts are in working order…except my mind.”

She wouldn’t mind testing out the working order of a few of his parts. She put her hand over her mouth just in case the booze loosened her tongue. “How’d you get out of the country?”

“What?”

She slid the hand from her mouth and dropped it in her lap, ready to bring it back into service if those naughty thoughts about Jack Coburn clouded her brain again. “How did you leave the country?”

“With the help of this black bag—” he patted the duffel squeezed into the banquette beside him “—and a boy named Yasir.”

“Another round, Lolita?” Carlos called from behind the bar.

She lifted an inquiring brow at Jack, but he held up his hands as if he couldn’t take any more when he hadn’t even knocked back his tequila. “No más, Carlos. Just the check, por favor.”

Shifting her gaze back to Jack, she asked, “Anything in that black bag about my brother?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

Her nose tingled and tears pricked the back of her eyes. When she hadn’t heard from Jack after several months, she’d hoped it meant progress. How could she ever hope to get Gabe home now after she’d pinned all her expectations on this damaged man sitting across from her?

She dropped her lashes and then jerked back, her lids flying open, when the pads of Jack’s fingers brushed her cheek. His fingertips glistened with her tears, and she mopped her face with a damp cocktail napkin.

She blew her nose with the napkin and crumpled it in her fist. “Sorry. You came here with me to find out about yourself, and I’m laying a guilt trip on you.”

He cocked his head. “I don’t feel guilty. Why should I? I may have information about your brother buried in my brain somewhere. It’s not within my grasp right now.”

“I can put you in touch with the man who referred you to me. Maybe he even knows you. He didn’t cop to that when he suggested I engage your services, but maybe he wanted to be discreet.”

“That’s a start. Do you know where I live?” His lips quirked at the absurdity of the question.

“I don’t. Like I said, we exchanged some emails and a phone call. You never gave me your address. I left the money in a locker at a bus depot. Everything was very hush-hush.” She shoved the glasses out of her way and folded her arms on the table. “Where are you staying?”

“Little motel near the water. I like the water…and books. I like books.” He closed his almost ebony eyes and massaged his temples.

Her heart skittered in her chest. “Do you remember things?”

“I have flashes sometimes. Headaches.” He shrugged. “I probably need a good psychiatrist or neurologist. Too bad you’re a pediatrician.”

“I know a good psychiatrist, and she uses hypnosis. Would you be willing to talk to her?”

“Maybe, but I’d like to talk to the man who set us up first.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow.” Lola dug into her purse for her wallet, but Jack flipped a few bills onto the table before she could find it. She shoved them back. “You shouldn’t be tossing your money around, since I’m sure you don’t have much of it.”

He pointed to the black bag. “I have a lot of money, but it probably belongs to you.”

“Oh, no. I paid you that money for taking the job and going to Afghanistan. For all we know, you earned it already. You should at least keep it as compensation for losing your memory. What do you think? A million bucks for a man’s mind?”

“Depends on the mind.”

Shouts from outside the bar cascaded through the open window. Jack jumped to his feet, reaching into his jacket, probably for the weapon Lola still had stashed in her purse.

The man was definitely on edge.

Mario’s bartender, David, scuttled from behind the bar, a white cloth in one hand and a Louisville Slugger in the other. “What was that? Mario went out back to take out the trash a while ago. That was his voice.”

Lola half rose from the booth when Mario himself staggered through the front door of the bar, his face bloodied and his shirt ripped.

Gasping, Lola rushed to his side as he dropped to his knees. “What happened?”

Mario clutched his side and groaned. “Somebody just tried to break into your car.”

Chapter Three

Jack’s blood thumped through his veins as he strode toward the open door of the bar. His fingers twitched. He felt naked without a weapon in his hand.

“Don’t bother. He’s long gone.” Mario, crumpled on the floor, waved a bloodstained hand. “He ran off after we mixed it up, the cabrón.”

David hooked his arms beneath Mario’s and dragged him to a chair. “What happened, boss?”

Mario winced as Lola dabbed the split above his eye with a damp cloth. “I was taking the trash out to the Dumpster in the alley and heard a noise out front. When I looked around the corner of the building, I saw some guy lurking around Lola’s car. I confronted him and the dude fought back.”

“Who looks worse, boss?” David sniggered.

Lola sent him a chilly stare. “David, make yourself useful and call 911.”

Mario sputtered the one syllable that roared through Jack’s head. “No!”

Lola’s hand froze, and she frowned at Mario. “Why not?”

“I don’t want any trouble, Lolita. I don’t want any cops at the bar. It’s bad for business. You can check, but the guy didn’t damage your car.”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off when her gaze collided with Jack’s.

He gave a slight shake of his head. The last thing he needed was a bunch of cops asking questions when he had a bag full of cash and Lola had his gun in her purse.

“Okay, okay, but are you hurt?”

“This?” Mario framed his face with his battered hands. “Bloody nose, cut over my eye and a few bruised knuckles. You’re a doctor. Fix me up.”

Rolling her eyes, she asked David to fetch a first-aid kit, and then set about patching up Mario. When she finished cleaning and bandaging his wounds she returned to the booth where Jack lounged, one hand on his duffel bag. Lola leveled a finger at the shot glass still brimming with tequila. “You drinking this?”

Jack rapped his knuckles on the table. “It’s all yours.”

Lola put the glass to her mouth and swallowed the shot. Then she placed a lime wedge between her plump lips and squeezed, her face contorting for a second at the tartness.

A slow burn traveled through Jack’s core as if he’d tossed back the tequila himself. It was about the sexiest damned thing he’d seen since…well, since the last time she’d sucked that lime.

Pinching the glasses between her fingers, she said, “I’ll give you a ride back to your hotel. Are you sure you’re okay, Mario?”

“I’m fine.” He tapped the bandage over his eye. “Thanks for the doctoring.”

As Jack held the door open for Lola, she tripped on the step to the sidewalk and he grabbed her elbow. “Careful.”

She shrugged him off and took a turn around her car. “Everything looks okay.”

“Anything like that happen here before?” Folding his arms, Jack wedged a hip on the trunk of her Mercedes. She hadn’t seemed to link the attempted break-in of her car to his presence. Could it just be a coincidence?

“Not to me personally, but I told you the neighborhood wasn’t too safe.”

She grabbed the handle of the driver’s-side door, and Jack placed his hand over hers. “I’m driving.”

A spark lit her hazel eyes, not quite green, not quite brown. “You don’t even have a driver’s license.”

“Actually, I do have a driver’s license, but more importantly, I haven’t had a full beer and two shots of tequila.”

“I can hold my booze.” She giggled, belying her words.

He held out his hand. “Maybe, but you’ve had a rough day, and I’ve had a rough day, and I’m not up for a negotiation.”

Stepping back, she took his measure, her gaze traveling the length of his body and settling on his face. She dropped the keys in his palm. “You win.”

Her inventory of his body had heated his blood, had made him feel more alive than he’d felt since he’d climbed down from that mountain in Afghanistan. He hadn’t forgotten the fire that could ignite between a man and a woman. Thank God.

He accompanied her to the other side of the car and opened the door for her. When he dropped in the driver’s seat and locked the doors, he turned to her. “Give me my gun.”

“Planning on using it?”

“You just said this was a lousy neighborhood.”

She unzipped her large handbag, grasped the barrel of his .45 and handed the butt to him. A woman who knew her way around a weapon.

He fished some bullets out of his inside pocket, loaded the gun and slid it under the seat. “What are you doing hanging out in a joint like this, anyway?”

“I like it, and I like Mario. I figure I owe him.” She flipped down the visor and swept a layer of gloss across her lips.

Was she trying to drive him crazy with that mouth?

Jack coughed and shifted into reverse. “Why do you owe Mario?”

“My father was responsible for his father’s death.”

He nearly sideswiped a car. “What?”

Lola held out her hand, showing him her palm. “Long story, not going there.”

“Gotcha. Where to?”

“Make a right at the corner, and then stay left. You’re going to take the freeway ramp heading south.”

He followed her directions, the only words out of her mouth on the drive to her place. Lola seemed to regret spilling that piece of information about her father, not that Jack had any right to pry. But her life seemed as complicated as his own right now.

With the lights of South Beach beaming several blocks to the west, Lola directed him to a pink Art Deco building bordered by towering palm trees.

When he pulled into her parking space in the underground garage, she turned to him. “How are you going to get back to your motel?”

He shrugged. “How I’ve been getting around all along— bus, foot, taxi.”

“You didn’t rent a car with all the cash you have?” Her low voice in the darkness of the car sounded seductive, even saying the most mundane words.

“You still need to leave a credit card when you rent a car, and I don’t want to produce a trail.”

She tossed her dark ponytail over her shoulder. “Why don’t you come up? I can give you the name of my father’s associate—the one who recommended you.”

Should he? If he sank into her pink-frosted building, maybe he’d never want to leave. Never want to face what awaited him when his memory returned. What if he had a wife? Children?

“Sure.” He cut the engine.

As Jack followed her to the elevator, he watched the sway of her hips in her tight jeans. She moved like a temptress even in those canvas Vans she wore on her feet. Not the typical uniform for a doctor, but she hadn’t been on duty. He knew her schedule.

She jabbed the elevator call button with her knuckle, and they watched for the orange arrow to move down the floors. Tapping her toe, Lola sighed. “This elevator takes forever.”

When it arrived they stepped inside, and Jack leaned against the back wall, crossing his arms. “You were off duty today, weren’t you?”

“And you’ve been following me around too long.” She punched the fourth-floor button until he thought her finger would fall off.

“Why were you at the hospital if you weren’t working?”

“Special patient.” Her eyes clouded, shifting to brown.

“Since you see kids, there must be a lot of those.”

She nodded, sealing her lips into a thin line.

He didn’t blame her for clamming up about her little patients. It had to be tough taking care of sick kids, but it was obviously a vocation she embraced—just like shelling out millions to rescue her brother or patronizing a bar out of some sense of remorse or duty.

And what about him? He apparently had a very dangerous career rescuing people he didn’t even know.

Lola slid her key into a dead bolt and then shoved it into the door handle, twisting it to the right. She pushed open the door into a dimly lit room and slapped the wall to turn on a set of recessed lights.

The room came to life in a riot of bright colors and varied textures. If the outside of the building was like pink frosting on a cake, this room occupied the center of that cake—a burst of flavor, delicious and inviting.

Lola tossed her handbag onto a floral couch, and the leaves of an exotic-looking plant shivered and bobbed. Bunches of flowers scattered about the room emitted a swirl of sweet fragrance. Slashes of modern art shared wall space with Cuban street scenes and landscapes.

Jack stood in the center of the room and turned slowly, taking it all in. This room could only belong to a woman named Lola Famosa.

A breathy laugh escaped her lips. “Do you find it a bit overwhelming? I had to take a few pieces from my folks’ place in Gables Estates, especially after Gabe…left.”

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. “This room has the variety and lushness of a rain forest, without the monkeys.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. Do you want something to drink? Water?”

“Water’s good.”

She crooked her finger, and he followed her into the kitchen. The onslaught of colors continued in this room with blue-and-yellow tiles charging across the counters and multicolored dishes lining glass cabinets.

She poured two glasses of water from a bottle in the fridge and slid his across the counter. At least she’d kept a lid on the tequila.

He downed half the water, and when he came up for air he met a glance from slivered eyes—brownish this time. Lola sipped her water carefully and dabbed her lips with her fingertips. “So do you think that attempted car theft was random?”

The same thought had crossed her mind. Might as well play devil’s advocate. “You said it was a bad neighborhood, nice car like yours…awfully tempting.”

“I’ve parked there before. Mario’s known in the neighborhood for having a bad temper…and a .357 Magnum.”

“Maybe this particular thief didn’t know about Mario, his temper or his .357.”

“Maybe.” She clicked her water glass on the countertop. “Do you want Emilio’s number?”

“Emilio?”

“Emilio Diaz, my father’s associate. Name doesn’t ring a bell, huh?” She pulled open a kitchen drawer and sifted through its contents.

“Nothing’s ringing any bells.” Except Lola’s derrière in those jeans as she bent over the drawer. That rang his bells.

She spun around, pinching a card between two fingers. “Got it.”

“It’s a start. Maybe he can tell me if I have a home, a family…a wife.”

Lola’s long, dark lashes fluttered. “I doubt it.”

He plucked the card from her fingers and slipped it into his back pocket. “You doubt I have a home, a family and a wife?”

“You may have a home and a family, but no self-respecting wife would allow her husband to go gallivanting around the world saving other people’s families.” Her jaw formed a hard line as if daring him to dispute her logic.

“I don’t know about that.” He held up his left hand. “But I don’t feel married.”

Could he be lusting after this hot doctor if he were?

“That settles it, then.” She brushed her hands together. “Before you take off, do you want to see some pictures of Gabriel? Maybe they’ll jump-start something for you.”

“Sure.” He owed her that much. He was trying to find himself, and she was trying to find her brother. He felt guilty for abandoning her cause for his. The two were linked, anyway.

She flipped open the laptop on the kitchen table. Her long ponytail hung over her shoulder as she hunched forward, biting her bottom lip. Just his luck the one person in the States who held the key to his identity had to tweak his libido in all the right places. Hell, he thought he’d lost his libido along with his memory until he’d laid eyes on Lola.

Tilting her head to the side, she waved him over. She pointed at the screen. “That’s Gabriel.”

Jack spun a chair around and straddled it. He peered at the screen displaying a dark-haired man with serious eyes, a white doctor’s coat hanging on his lean frame. Dr. Gabriel Famosa.

Why would a group of terrorists kidnap a doctor and not demand ransom from his obviously wealthy family? If they wanted something other than money from the doctor…

A sharp pain sliced through Jack’s head, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The picture of Lola’s brother swam before his eyes.

Dr. Famosa was kidnapped from the street in a planned abduction.

The words came at him through the pain, and he pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, willing more words to bubble from the floating strands of his memory.

“Jack, are you okay?” Lola’s hand swept up his back, resting at the base of his skull. “Do you remember Gabe?”

“I—I—” he dragged a hand through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp “—I remembered someone telling me Gabe’s kidnapping was planned.”

She twirled in a circle and then dropped into a crouch beside him. “You’re remembering. I knew seeing Gabe’s picture would help.”

“Slow down. It may not mean anything—just words—and those words gave me a helluva headache.”

Her smile crumpled and she pushed to her feet. “Where does it hurt?”

“All over.” The sharp pain had dulled to a throbbing ache.

Lola positioned herself behind him and threaded her fingers through his hair. She kneaded his scalp with her fingertips, and he closed his eyes at the soothing sensation.

“Is that better?”

He’d given himself over completely to Lola’s touch. She had healing hands, but he felt much more than solace from pain. As she massaged him, a slow flame had kindled in his belly and threatened to head south.

He cinched her wrist lightly. “That’s better. Thanks.”

Her hand fluttered over his forehead, and she pushed the hair back from his face. “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen. I really think you should see my friend, the psychiatrist.”

She stepped away from him and he immediately missed her warmth. God, he couldn’t afford to get too dependent on Lola. He’d take the card she’d given him and contact this go-between, get his own life back before he could be of any use to Lola and her brother.

She returned with a refilled glass of water, cupping a green gel cap in her palm. “Take this—even though I really want you to remember more, I don’t want you to go through any more pain tonight.”

He pinched the capsule from her hand and popped it in his mouth, chasing it with a gulp of water. “I didn’t try to remember. The words came to me when I saw your brother’s picture. Do you have any more?”

She clicked the mouse and jumped from picture to picture of her brother—sailing a boat, running a race, parasailing—the guy never stopped. All the while, she threw sidelong glances his way, expecting him to fall on the floor in a fit of remembrance.

Jack shook his head, stretching his legs out on either side of the kitchen chair. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

Giving him a crooked smile, Lola lifted one shoulder. “You remembered something, and that’s a start. Maybe when you talk to Emilio, he can give you more information to get the ball rolling again.”

He knew he had to leave, even though he wanted to stay here and talk to Lola all night, find out what made her tick. He was sick of his life or the lack thereof. Sick of wondering, guessing, theorizing.

He eased from the chair and tucked it beneath the table. Clamping the back of his neck and twisting his head from side to side, he sauntered to a set of long, curved windows. “Nice view.”

She joined him, meeting his eyes in the window’s reflection. “That’s why I chose this unit, for the windows on the corner of the curved building and for the view.”

“But you could be living in your parents’ house in Coral Gables?”

“Gables Estates.” She scrunched up her face as if she hadn’t just named the most exclusive area of Miami.

“Nice area.”

“Gabe stays there…when he’s not roaming the globe. He’s less fastidious about his place of residence than I am.”

Jack waited with one raised eyebrow, but she refused to take the bait. He blew out a breath, creating a patch of mist on the window, and patted his back pocket. “I’ll contact Emilio tomorrow.”

“Just do me a favor and don’t stalk him like you did me. He’s not the type of guy to appreciate a hand over his mouth or a gun in his ribs. He’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

“I didn’t follow you long, just enough to get a sense of your schedule and habits—which you should vary, by the way, to be on the safe side.”

She snorted and rubbed a fist on the windowpane, wiping out his breath. “Nice of you to worry about my safety now when you scared the spit out of me at the morgue.”

Jack lifted his jacket off the back of a chair and felt for his weapon. “What are you talking about?”

“The morgue.” She folded her arms across her chest. “When I was in there, you were creeping around outside. I didn’t appreciate it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lola.” He shrugged into his cheap jacket. So that was what she’d meant by the comment in the car. “I never went inside the hospital. I waited in your car.”

Her eyes darkened to a swampy green. “Really? When you jumped me in my car, I figured you were the one lurking around the morgue.”

“I didn’t jump you.” He’d never live that down…but he’d like the opportunity to try.

“Okay, whatever. I guess I can’t lay that at your door.” She bunched the material of her shirt in her fists.

Jack narrowed his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Did something happen in the morgue?”

“No, no, probably just my overactive imagination.”

“I guess a morgue could do that to you.” He zipped up his jacket, feeling the weight and comfort of his gun in the pocket.

“Can I give you a ride back to your motel?”

Good thing she hadn’t invited him to spend the night. He would’ve found that offer harder to refuse.

“That’s okay. I know my way back and you shouldn’t be driving.” He held out his hand. “Sorry about my clumsy methods, but thanks for your help tonight.”

She placed her hand in his, her smooth, cool skin like a drink of fresh water. “I hope…well, I hope you get better. I wrote my cell number on Emilio’s card, if you remember anything else or if you want to talk to my friend, or…”

Jack squeezed her hand, studying her eyes, waiting for the shifting colors to give him some kind of signal. She blinked her dark lashes over the steady hazel, and Jack smirked at his foolish game.

A desperate man took desperate measures.

He allowed her to have her hand back and turned toward the door. “I’ll call if I remember anything about your brother.”

“And what if I need to get in touch with you?”

Was that the sign he’d been waiting for? The invitation to stay? He clenched his teeth. This isn’t a date, Jack.

“I have your number. Maybe I’ll pick up one of those prepaid cell phones.”

A rosy pink stole across her cheeks, but she plastered a quick smile on her face. “Good luck, then.”

Jack slipped out the door and snapped it behind him. Bending forward, he flattened his palm against the door and heard the dead bolt click into place. Without moving an inch, he closed his eyes.

The heat and vitality of Lola’s home buzzed through the door. Lola’s company had poured warmth into his soul. Her breath, her voice, her touch, had all animated him. Made him feel alive. Made him feel like more than a husk of a person. But she hadn’t asked for that role.

He turned and headed for the elevator.

He jabbed at the button, planning to exit through the garage. He’d been intent on getting to Lola’s place and hadn’t been as concerned as he should’ve been about someone following them. Maybe the would-be car thief wanted another shot at the silver-blue Mercedes.

The elevator rumbled up the shaft, taking its sweet time, and Jack shifted sideways in case anyone came through the doors. The panel slid open on an empty car and Jack stepped forward.

That was when he heard the scream.

Chapter Four

Lola stumbled backward. She banged her hip against the corner of the bathroom sink and yanked her towel from the rack. Her gaze darted from the big, dirty footprint in her tub to the window over the shower that someone—not her—had left open a tiny crack.

Jack. Was he still here? She screamed and flew from the bathroom. She tugged at the front door, clutching the towel around her body with one hand.

Tripping into the hallway, Lola almost sank to her knees in relief when she saw Jack lunging toward her door. She threw out a hand to steady herself, clutching the doorjamb, and choked out his name. “Jack.”

His arms wrapped around her, his voice hoarse in her ear. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Someone broke into my place.” She pointed a shaky finger back inside her condo.

He tightened his hold on her. Her fist, still gripping the towel, smashed against her chest, but she felt safe in Jack’s arms.

Still embracing her, Jack moved toward the gaping door. “He’s not still in there, is he?”

She shivered. “Thank God, no, but I saw how he broke in.”

A door opened down the hallway and a man poked his head out. “What’s going on? Are you okay, Lola?”

Warmth touched Lola’s cheek when she realized she had only a towel clutched around her naked body. “I’m fine, Aaron, but I think someone broke into my place. You didn’t notice anything, did you?”

“No, but my wife’s car was burglarized a few months ago. This neighborhood is going downhill. Let us know how he got in and if anything’s missing. We’ll discuss it at the next association meeting.”

When Aaron retreated into his condo, Lola broke away from Jack. “I’d better check to see if anything’s missing.”

He followed her inside and closed and locked the door behind them. “Tell me what happened. What did you see?”

“I was getting ready to take a shower.” Tightening the towel around her body, she glanced back at him. “Thank God you were still here. For once I’m glad that elevator was so slow.”

“Not that there’s much I can do now.”

“No, but…” She wasn’t going to admit to him that his very presence in her condo soothed her. That his dark intensity and his honed muscles convinced her he could protect her from just about anything.

She grabbed his solid forearm and dragged him down the hall to the bathroom. She pointed at the footprint marring the pristine porcelain of the tub. “He came in through the window and must’ve left that way. The footprint is pointing toward the window, so maybe he jumped over the tub when he came in and then stepped in a little water in the tub that muddied the bottom of his shoe when he left.”

“Did you leave that window open?”

“No. He must’ve done that on his way out.”

“What’s on the other side? You’re on the third floor.”

“There’s a balcony that runs along the outside. That’s why I always keep this window closed and locked.” Folding her arms across the towel, she dug her fingers into her flesh. “I always thought this window was too big for a bathroom.”

Jack stood on the edge of the tub and examined the window without touching it. “Looks like the lock could’ve been forced. Call the police and report this. Maybe they can pick up some fingerprints.”

Before her knees started shaking again, Lola flipped down the toilet seat and dropped on top of it. “I didn’t notice anything out of place in any of the rooms.”

“So he was careful. It doesn’t mean he didn’t steal something. Have a look around.”

“I’m going to get dressed first.”

Jack’s brown eyes shifted to the edge of her towel and darkened to an impossible ebony. “I’ll check the rest of your windows and the sliding doors.”

She pushed off the toilet seat and stopped at the bathroom door. “This has something to do with Gabe, doesn’t it? My car…all of it.”

He came up behind her so close, his warm breath caressed the back of her neck. “Or me. Someone knows I’m back in the States. They must’ve figured I’d contact you.”

Goose bumps rushed up her arms, and she tripped into her bedroom. Damn Gabe. How had he gotten into such a mess? And why did he have to drag her into it? And damn Jack, too. When her father died, she thought that shadow of danger always hovering in the background would disappear.

She dropped the towel on the floor and scooped up the jeans and T-shirt she’d worn during the day. Perching on the edge of her bed, she grabbed the phone and called the police. This didn’t warrant a call to 911, but they assured her they’d send a patrol car to check it out.

As she sat with the phone between her knees, Jack tapped on her bedroom door. “Yeah, come on in.”

He nodded toward the phone. “You call the cops?”

“I did. Should you take off before they arrive?” She held her breath. If she didn’t want him to leave before, she really didn’t want him to leave now.

“Nah, they won’t be too interested in me, but I’ll give them a fake name just in case.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “All the other doors and windows seem secure. I went out to the balcony, and it looks like another partial footprint out there but nothing else, and neither one of those prints is clear.”

“I haven’t even checked my stuff.” She bounded from the bed and ducked into her walk-in closet, where she kept a safe. Everything was intact. She dug out a jewelry box where she’d stashed several expensive pieces her mother had worn. Nothing was touched.

“How about your office, your computer?”

Lola went into the second bedroom, which she used as an office, and sifted through her drawers and files, leaving behind a bigger mess than the thieves.

After verifying her tidy burglar hadn’t taken one item, Lola shoved her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders. “I don’t get it. Nothing’s missing. I can tell someone has gone through my belongings, even though that someone has been extremely careful not to leave anything out of place. If he hadn’t left that footprint, I never would’ve known he was here.”

“He was looking for something.” Jack drew his dark brows over his nose. “But he didn’t find it.”

“There’s nothing to find.” Lola spread her arms wide. “If he’d wanted money, he could’ve taken some from my safe. Jewelry? Not interested.”

“Maybe he was looking for some correspondence with me. Some indication we’d been in touch. Some evidence of my location.”

Lola twisted her fingers together as if she could wring out the anxiety. “I don’t know, Jack. None of it makes sense. Do you think he was looking for something in my car, too?”

“It’s possible.”

The knock on the door made Lola jump, and she flashed Jack a wobbly smile. “Probably the cops.”

The bored patrol officers measured the footprint, told her the sole was too smudged to identify the shoe type and dusted her window for prints. There were none.

Her concern about Jack coming in contact with the police was groundless, since they seemed about as interested in him as they did the victimless crime.

They hovered at her door, ready to leave. The taller officer gripped the door handle and turned. “Maybe someone was here when you came home, and you scared him off before he could take anything.”

The other one chimed in. “Maybe it was a friend who needed to get in for some reason.”

Lola blinked her eyes and raised her brows at the unlikely scenarios, but then these guys didn’t know the turmoil of her life. And she wasn’t going to fill them in.

As she ushered them into the hallway, thanking them, the shorter cop, the Cuban, turned slightly. “Aren’t you Eduardo Famosa’s daughter?”

Or maybe they did know the turmoil. Lola’s jaw tightened and she clenched her teeth as she nodded.

The cop’s eyes rounded. “You don’t think this break-in…”

He broke off as Lola narrowed her eyes and tilted her chin. “My father’s been dead for over three years.”

“Of course, of course.” He waved his hands and practically dragged his partner toward the elevator.

Avoiding Jack’s penetrating stare, Lola picked up a cushion in the shape of a daisy and plumped it in the corner of the sofa. “Should’ve figured the guy wore gloves. I suppose a smeared footprint isn’t going to be much use.”

“Who’s your father?”

“My father’s dead.”

“I gathered that, but who was he when he was alive?”

Lola hugged the daisy to her chest and perched on the edge of the coffee table. “My father was an influential businessman in the Cuban community. He had a lot of friends, and he had just as many enemies.”

“Like the barkeep’s father?”

“Mario’s dad was a friend. He just stepped out of line one too many times.”

Jack’s eyes were unreadable slits of obsidian. “Are you saying your father had Mario’s father killed?”

“I have my suspicions, but nobody could prove that.” She rubbed her upper arms. “Nobody could prove anything about my father.”

“That officer’s question has me wondering the same thing. Could any of this—” he waved his arms around the room “—have anything to do with your father’s business?”

She squeezed the pillow tighter. “I don’t think so, Jack. Gabe and I sold off most of Dad’s holdings when he and my mother passed away.”

“Passed away at the same time? How did they die?”

Lola’s throat ached, but only for her mother, the dutiful wife who had deferred to her husband in everything…even death. “There was a radon gas leak in their home. They both died in their sleep.”

Jack sucked in a breath. “Was it an accident?”

“The investigators ruled it an accident…nothing could be proved otherwise.”

“That’s tough. I’m sorry. And now your brother has been missing for over six months.”

“And someone apparently thinks I know something.”

Jack lifted a solid shoulder. “Or someone thinks you know me.”

Okay, time to get a spine back. Lola tossed the pillow onto the sofa. “Thanks for hanging around and talking to the cops with me. Really, I’m completely sober now, and I can give you a ride back to your motel.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone tonight.” He widened his stance and dug his heels into her wood floor as if he expected some kind of resistance.

All her resistance had been stamped out by that dirty footprint in her bathtub, but she should at least give it the old college try. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You’re still shaky. You’re pale. You don’t need to be alone tonight.”

The fluttering in her belly made her feel shaky again, but it had nothing to do with the break-in. Usually when a man tossed around orders, her hackles stood at attention. But her father had given orders to protect himself, never to protect her.

How this man could worry about her when facing his own fractured life spoke volumes about his character. Even if he couldn’t remember his life as a hostage negotiator, those same protective instincts had charged to the forefront of his brain.

“I’ll bunk on that bed of flowers.” He leveled a finger at the sofa. “Looks a lot more comfortable than the lumpy mattress at the hotel.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.” She wrinkled her nose. “Might be a little short for you.”

“I’ll manage. Then I’ll be up and out of here early before you go to work.”

“I’m off for two weeks. Several months ago, I planned a trip to the Bahamas with a couple of girlfriends, but with everything going on I canceled. Couldn’t cancel my time off, though.”

The planes of Jack’s face shifted, hardened. She’d found it difficult through the night to gauge his feelings from his expressions. Perhaps his guardedness came from his memory loss, or maybe his profession had taken over even if he couldn’t remember anything about it.

“Then you can relax and get some sleep. Any chance you have an extra toothbrush?”

“Of course.” She backpedaled toward the hallway, reluctant to tear her gaze away from her savior. Crouching before the hall closet, she grabbed a new toothbrush courtesy of her dentist. Then she reached for the top shelf to retrieve a blanket.

She returned to the living room and interrupted Jack sliding his weapon onto the coffee table.

“I don’t think your intruder will return, but I’ll have a surprise waiting for him if he does.”

Lola dropped the toothbrush next to the gun and placed the folded blanket on the middle cushion of the couch. “I—I’m glad you’re staying.”

“It’s the least I can do since I probably led this guy to your doorstep.” Jack scooped up the toothbrush and shut the bathroom door behind him.

She doubted that, since Jack denied being anywhere near the hospital morgue tonight. She’d drawn someone’s attention all by herself, or at least with the help of her globe-trotting brother.

Lola sauntered to her bedroom, pulling the elastic band from her ponytail. She had no desire to step into the shower now. She dropped the ponytail holder onto the dresser and ran her hands through her hair.

Studying her face in the mirror, she flattened out the crease between her eyebrows with the pad of her thumb. Did Jack Coburn expect her to help him recover his memories? Or would he be off following another path once he spoke to Emilio?

The gaping emptiness she felt at that last thought made her sink to the foot of her bed. How had the man insinuated himself into her mind so quickly and so easily? She’d always been a sucker for a lost cause. And the vulnerability of Jack’s situation, combined with his tough-as-nails exterior, was a potent mix for her addled brain.

She peeled off her clothes for the second time that night and slipped a nightgown over her head. She crawled between the covers and hugged a pillow to her chest.

Groaning, she rolled to her side and punched the pillow. She’d given Jack a blanket but no pillow. The poor guy already faced a night of discomfort on that short couch. She scrambled out of bed and flicked on the hall light. A low light glowed from the living room, and Lola peeked around the corner.

Jack, a pair of boxers hanging low on his hips, stood at the window gazing into the street below. As Lola tiptoed forward, a floorboard creaked, and Jack jerked his head up, a lock of black hair falling over one eye.

“Thought you might need this.” She held up the pillow, willing her gaze to stay pinned to Jack’s face instead of wandering down the length of his hard, lean body.

If Jack felt embarrassed about being caught in nothing but his underwear, his dark eyes burning into her very soul didn’t show it. He held her captive with that gaze, and she froze in the middle of the room, the pillow clutched in her hand.

A current ran between them, strong and vibrant. If she went to him now, fell against his bare chest, it would be more natural than taking her next breath. Everything about him called out to her, demanded a response. Quick. Hot. Sure.

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