An injured woman’s only hope of figuring out who she is relies upon a CIA Agent in Carol Ericson’s Brothers in Arms: Fully Engaged miniseries.

The last thing Miranda Lewis remembers is being shot…then tumbling over the balcony. When a sexy, blue-eyed stranger finds her, she has no memory of who she is or what she’s doing in the jungles of Colombia.

Gage Booker risked his life in the raid on the compound, only to discover his quarry gone and an injured woman left for dead, a woman the covert operative would be a fool to trust. But her amnesia seems real—and so does the passion exploding between them.

He turned suddenly and cupped her jaw with one hand. “I don’t want any harm to come to you, Randi. You’ve been through enough.”

Her heart raced at his warm caress, and she turned her head to press her lips against his rough palm. Murmuring against his hand, she said, “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

He pinched her earlobe and returned his hand to the steering wheel. “We’ll help each other.”

She studied his profile and confusion stirred in her belly. Was that his plan? Help the poor, vulnerable amnesiac so she’d do anything he asked? Tell him anything he wanted to know?

Was he playing her? She’d become so dependent on him that she’d do anything to stay by his side. What if telling Gage Booker everything jeopardized other people? What if spilling her guts to him meant betraying people she loved? People she didn’t even know about yet?

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 head- aches, please visit her website, www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”

Trap, Secure

Carol Ericson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Gage Booker—Prospero Team Three agent who’s hot on the heels of an international arms dealer and discovers a beautiful woman with amnesia instead. If the woman turns out to be the arms dealer’s mistress, it might be Gage’s lucky day...or his worst nightmare.

Randi Lewis—She has no memory, no life, no identity and she’s supposed to trust the sexy spy who rescues her. Does she have a choice?

Nicholas and Angelina Zendaris—Randi’s charges, her love for them is the only reason she stays in the Zendaris household, and the children repay her by saving her life.

Jessica Lehman—A friend of Randi’s from Texas who can tell Randi who she is—if she lives long enough to do so.

Lawrence Jessup—A CIA officer in Panama who offers to assist Randi, but his assistance takes a sinister turn.

Dr. Helen Murdoch—This CIA psychiatrist is more than willing to help Randi recover her memories—just as long as they’re the right memories.

Dr. Elle Fonesca—Gage’s twin sister hypnotizes Randi to help her regain her memory, but worries that her brother’s attraction for the amnesiac will only complicate matters.

Dr. Helen Murdoch—An international arms dealer who was burned by Prospero Team Three; now he wants revenge, and nothing’s going to get in his way this time

For Neil and the boys, always.

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

Randi Lewis clutched the book of fairy tales to her chest as a second thump shook the room.

The children laughed, and Nicky poked his finger at the book. “Did the witch scare you, mademoiselle?”

Randi eked out a smile. Nicky didn’t seem to notice the strange bumps in the nights and the comings and goings of an assortment of odd characters to his father’s palatial home in the middle of the jungle.

But Randi had grown more and more aware—and leery—of them.

Her grandmother had warned her about taking a job in this luxurious but strange household. “Drogas,” Abuelita used to say. Drugs.

But the locals had assured her Nico Zendaris was no drug lord, and Randi had needed the job to help her ailing grandmother. Now with Abuelita dead, nothing was keeping Randi in Colombia.

Nicky’s younger sister, Angelina, tapped her knee. “More story, please, mademoiselle.”

Nothing except these motherless children.

Tugging on one of Angelina’s dark curls, Randi met the girl’s big, dark eyes and said, “But this is the scary part, Angelina. You always cover your ears during this part.”

Angelina dropped her lashes, and her gaze slid to the door. “More story, please.”

Tears choked Randi’s throat. The activities and people in her father’s house did scare Angelina. The girl preferred the make-believe fears of witches and giants to the very real fears of shadowy men, her father’s outbursts and being uprooted and shipped off to other countries at a moment’s notice.

Randi peeled the book from her chest and cleared her throat. “The witch fed the children more and more food—roasted duck and mashed potatoes and thick slabs of bread and cheese and ice cream sundaes.”

Nicky howled. “You’re making that part up. They didn’t have ice cream sundaes in those days.”

“Shh, Nicky. Don’t yell.” Angelina stuck her fingers in her ears.

Patting his sister on the head, Nicky rose to his knees. “I want to see the picture, mademoiselle. I want to see the picture of ice cream sundaes.”

Randi turned the book around to face the kids. Something crashed right beneath them, and she dropped the book.

Angelina scooted closer to Randi and wrapped her arms around her legs.

Randi dropped her hand to Angelina’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t worry. I’m here.”

The crash even caught Nicky’s attention, and he looked up from the fallen book with a pair of round eyes. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure.” Her gaze darted to the intercom on the wall. Mr. Zendaris often used it to communicate with her when she had the children in this room—what he called the nursery—even though Nicky was seven and Angelina had just turned five.

Her tongue swept across her dry lips. She rose from the chair and almost crept across the room to the intercom. On the way, she locked the door of the nursery.

She pressed the intercom button. “Hello? Is everything okay downstairs?”

Mr. Zendaris’s security had set up the intercom so that the people on the other end could hear her, but she couldn’t hear them unless they pressed the button on their intercom. Not that she needed an intercom to hear the noises, shouts and upheaval from downstairs.

Both children whimpered and crowded against her. She pressed them close with one hand and spoke into the intercom again. “Hello? This is Mademoiselle Lewis. I’m with the children. Is there a problem?”

A male voice growled back at her. “Stay where you are.”

On shaky legs, Randi led Nicky and Angelina back to the carpet where they’d been reading. With her fingertips, she pushed them down. “Stay on the floor.”

She sidled against the wall until she reached the large window that overlooked the rolling back lawn of the property. The spotlights that usually glared brightly enough to pick out every blade of grass had been snuffed out. The crescent moon playing peekaboo with the clouds didn’t offer any illumination.

The stillness of the scene outside contrasted with the frantic activity below them. This sounded like more than one of Mr. Zendaris’s rampages.

Someone pounded on the nursery door. “Open up.”

Randi’s heart galloped in her chest, but she recognized the voice of one of Zendaris’s security guards, Costa. She didn’t like Costa, or his overpowering cologne, but at least he treated the children with care.

She crossed the room with Nicky and Angelina hanging on her arms. She unlocked the door and threw it open. “Costa, what is going on down there? It’s frightening the children.”

Sweat gleamed on Costa’s bald pate as he swooped down and swept up the kids, one in each massive arm. “You don’t worry about the kids anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Randi’s blood ran hot and pounded against her temples. “Nicky and Angelina are my responsibility.”

Nicky let loose with a long wail and Angelina looked like a wax figure clamped against Costa’s side, her gauzy pink scarf trailing on the floor.

Randi reached out to smooth Angelina’s soft curls from her face and drape the scarf over her head, but Costa jerked back toward the door. “Not anymore, mademoiselle.”

Nicky began to squirm and shriek. Adjusting his grip on the kids, Costa backed out of the room and kicked the door shut.

Randi lunged for the door and grabbed the handle. It turned, but the door wouldn’t budge. She banged on it with her fists. “Open this door. Let me out of here.”

Someone grunted on the other side of the door, and Randi knew she was a captive. But why? If Mr. Zendaris were just uprooting the kids again and taking them to one of his other homes, why imprison her in the nursery?

On other occasions he’d calmly informed her of his plans for the children and she’d taken the opportunity of their absence to stay with Abuelita for a while. She even accompanied Mr. Zendaris once or twice to Paris, Athens and Budapest.

What changed? Why the commotion downstairs? Why had she been sequestered in the nursery?

She pummeled the door, but only managed to hurt her hands. She scooped up Angelina’s scarf from the floor and wound it around her neck. Taking a turn around the room, she folded her arms across her chest, her fingers digging into her biceps.

A thwacking noise penetrated the room, and she ran to the window. A large, black helicopter descended from the darkened sky. Its lights illuminated the lawn and beyond the manicured grass to the dense foliage that ran to the high walls surrounding the property.

Randi’s breath hitched in her chest, and a chill snaked up her spine. Here and there, members of Zendaris’s security force were scattered along the wall, weapons clutched in their hands.

Was the compound under some kind of siege? And did Zendaris plan to leave her behind to face his enemies on her own?

The air in the room stifled her. She opened the French doors to the balcony that jutted over a flagstone path below. She needed fresh air and freedom, but this route offered no escape, two stories high and with no visible means of reaching the ground.

She wedged her hands on the flimsy railing that encircled the balcony. She’d prohibited the children from coming out here since very little stood between them and a long drop to the unforgiving flagstones.

The moist, heavy air caressed her skin, and she dragged in a breath. The sweet, milky smell of the carnations bordering the lawn tickled her nose just like on any other night.

But this was not any other night.

The helicopter had landed on the lawn, its blades whirring and stirring up debris that danced in the air. If her grandmother were still alive, Randi would go to her, but she’d died over a year ago and still Randi had stayed for the sake of the children. Now Nicky and Angelina had been ripped from her arms.

She heard voices and shuffling outside the nursery door, and she spun around to face the room. The door handle turned slowly, transfixing Randi’s gaze. She held her breath.

Montaña, one of Zendaris’s henchmen, poked his head into the room. In the three years she’d been in Mr. Zendaris’s employ, she hadn’t figured out if Montaña was this man’s real name or a moniker given to him for his size—as big as a mountain. His eyes widened as they scanned the room. Then he caught sight of her on the balcony.

The look he sent her sucked the air from her lungs. She took an involuntary step back.

“W-what do you want? What’s going on?”

Montaña grinned, his gap-toothed smile sending a wave of fear crashing through her body. Montaña never smiled.

He took one lumbering step into the room. The knots in Randi’s stomach tightened, putting pressure on her lungs and nearly cutting off her breath. She felt for the railing behind her and glanced over her shoulder at the drop into darkness.

Clenching her fists, she swung her hands in front of her. “Where is Mr. Zendaris? I demand to see Mr. Zendaris.”

The mountain pointed beyond Randi’s shoulder into the night, toward the whining helicopter.

She swallowed. “Where are the children? I need to see Nicky and Angelina before they leave. I always help them pack.”

Again, like the grim reaper, Montaña silently raised his arm and pointed out the window.

Could she bluster through this? The man was an idiot, a big lump of clay. At least she could outrun him. Dash around him and find someone, anyone with a bit of reason.

Why would Mr. Zendaris want to harm her? The children loved her and she loved them back. He’d commented on it many times in the past. He’d believed the hand of fate had intervened when Randi had shown up in Colombia with her grandmother on the one-year anniversary of his wife’s death.

She clamped her hands on her hips and stamped her bare foot. “I’m going to find the children. I’m going to say goodbye to them. Then I’m going to report you to Mr. Zendaris. This is an outrage.”

Shrugging, the man lifted his hands and wandered into the room. He bent over from his great height to scoop up the book of fairy tales, in which he could easily star as an ogre. He flipped the pages once, twice, and then tossed the book onto the chair where Randi had been sitting, reading to Nicky and Angelina.

Were they really already on the chopper? Was Angelina afraid?

Randi’s heart ached. Then she gritted her teeth. “I’m leaving. You have no right to keep me a prisoner here.”

She marched from the balcony into the room, heading for the chair where she’d kicked off her shoes. She unwound the scarf from around her neck and draped it over the back of the chair, reaching for her shoes.

Montaña grunted and slipped a gun from his pocket.

Randi straightened to her full height and pulled back her shoulders. “I’m telling Mr. Zendaris about this right now.”

Could Montaña hear the quaver in her voice? Did he even care? He must be here on Zendaris’s orders. The man did nothing without Zendaris’s approval.

Montaña advanced on her, holding the gun in front of him.

Randi backpedaled to the balcony, scuffing her heels. A bead of sweat ran down her face. Now the sweet, cloying scent of the flowers smelled like death.

Her feet hit the rough tile of the balcony and still she backed up toward the railing.

Small footsteps galloped up the stairs amid yells and screams. Nicky and Angelina burst into the room, sobbing and screaming. “Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle Randi!”

“Get back! Leave!” Randi thrust out her hands, even though the kids seemed miles away from her.

Montaña growled and charged toward Randi, pointing his gun in the general direction of her head. Both of the children attacked his legs, and Nicky lunged forward to grab his arm just as he was squeezing off a shot.

Red-hot pain seared Randi’s left arm and she toppled backward. The railing cracked beneath her. The children screamed. Randi threw out her arms. They whirred like the blades of a helicopter as she fought to keep her balance.

She lost.

Chapter Two

Gage Booker rappelled down the high wall that surrounded the compound deep in the jungle of Colombia. Ahead of him, members of the Army Special Forces team hit the ground and fanned out onto the property. They’d already taken out the guards stationed at the outer wall, but the international arms dealer, Nico Zendaris, would have additional security guarding the lush grounds and ostentatious mansion.

Gage’s boots met the ground, sinking into the verdant growth that extended to the manicured lawn ringing the house. Before making his way through the underbrush toward the house in the wake of his support team, Gage stopped and sniffed the air. Jet fuel. In the middle of the jungle? His pulse quickened, and he crouched, peering through the bushes at the white mansion gleaming across the rolling lawn. His muscles tensed. His jaw ached.

Lights dotted the windows here and there, but no lights illuminated the outside of the house. A place like this would have security floodlights, sensors... The special team of Green Berets had to be circling the house by now. Where was the gunfire?

It had been too much to hope for that Zendaris would be on this property at the time of their raid, but Prospero had heard murmurings that he might be here. Although Gage would’ve liked a crack at Zendaris, especially after the hell he’d put his Prospero team members through, this particular mission didn’t depend on Zendaris’s presence.

It was enough that they’d finally located one of the elusive arms dealer’s residences. They didn’t even have a picture of him, at least not one without him in a disguise. Nobody knew what the real Nico Zendaris looked like. If Gage could gather photos from the house, they’d be one step closer to identifying him.

He hoped to gather more than just photos. He planned to search and infiltrate Zendaris’s computers, emails, safes, bank accounts. Their source had indicated Zendaris spent a lot of time at this residence. Surely he kept personal effects here. Even a phantom had to put down roots somewhere.

A shout rose from the lawn. Adrenaline pumped through Gage’s veins. He clutched his M4 carbine and crashed through the bushes.

Gripping his weapon in front of him, Gage charged onto the grass, its soggy blades squelching beneath his boots. The Green Berets had secured the perimeter of the house. Shadows moved across the windows, but the silence prevailed.

Captain Denny, the man in charge of the mission, strode from a set of double doors that opened onto a patio at the edge of the yard. “Booker?”

Gage lowered his weapon and puffed out a breath. The shout he’d heard before had been an all-clear signal.

He called back to the captain. “Over here.”

Captain Denny swore a blue streak as he marched across the patio. They met at the edge of the lawn, and Denny barked, “Put some light on this situation!”

From somewhere in the darkness, two powerful flashlights crossed beams, lighting up the patio. The light gleamed on the black stripes beneath the captain’s eyes, lighting his eyes on fire.

“They beat us to the punch, Booker. Except for those few pushovers on the outer wall, the place is deserted.”

Denny’s words landed with a sickening thud against Gage’s temples. They’d been double-crossed. He clenched his jaw against a flickering muscle. “How bad is it?”

“Bad.” The captain jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Computers yanked out of walls, drawers dumped, closets ransacked and wall safes emptied.”

Gage swore and kicked at a lawn chair on the patio. It teetered on one leg for a second and then fell over. “Personal items?”

“Not much. Looks like this slimy SOB has eluded you again.”

Gage slung his weapon across his back. “I’m going in.”

The captain stepped aside and began shouting orders to his men. Not that he had many orders left to give. The Green Berets had successfully completed their mission—gain access to and secure the grounds and house. They’d done that.

It was Gage’s mission that had failed.

He entered the house through the double doors, his boots scuffing on the ceramic floor tiles. A sweeping staircase curved to the second floor and a tinkling chandelier hung from the cathedral ceiling. Paintings adorned the walls, objets d’art lined the shelves.

The weapons business must be good.

Trailing his hand along the built-in shelves, Gage scanned the items—no personal photos. He stepped over shards of glass on the floor—all that was left of the doors belonging to a mahogany case that had been cleared of most of its contents. Had pictures of Zendaris sans disguises once graced this cabinet?

He took a right turn into a cavernous dining room. The dining table reflected the image of a candelabrum centered on its gleaming surface. A vase of flowers nearby, the blooms fresh and buoyant, perfumed the air. Gage crossed the room and pushed through swinging doors to a kitchen, outfitted with enough accoutrements to please the most discerning chef. A kitchen table, tucked in a nook, overlooked the sprawling backyard.

The smell of grilled meat and garlic lingered in the air, and a half-empty wine bottle rested on the countertop. Someone had eaten a hearty meal tonight before abandoning ship.

He yanked open the Sub-Zero refrigerator—its shelves were stocked with enough food to feed a small army. Zendaris had probably employed a small army at this opulent abode.

Cursing, Gage slammed the door, rattling the contents of the fridge. By the look of things, Zendaris himself could’ve been in residence only hours before the raid.

He’d have to question the locals, but he knew he would hit a dead end there. The local inhabitants generally knew to keep their mouths shut when dealing with powerful neighbors like Zendaris. The man probably had a few of them in his employ—his eyes and ears in his absence.

And Zendaris’s absence from this location would be permanent now that it had been compromised.

Tomlinson, one of the Green Berets still occupying the house, called to him from the stairs. “Booker, you down there?”

Gage hit one of the swinging doors with the heel of his hand. “In the kitchen.”

“You need to see what’s on the second floor.”

Gage’s heart jumped. Had Zendaris left something behind? He sped through the dining room and took the stairs two at a time, his heavy boots pounding against the tiles, creating an echo in the empty house.

Tomlinson stood by a doorway and beckoned to him. Gage stumbled into the room and almost tripped over a low table scattered with picture books. “Son of a...”

Gage circled the room, the bright, cheery colors and patterned wallpaper of cartoon characters making him dizzy. “Zendaris had kids, and they stayed here, lived here.”

A sour lump rose from his gut. At least the kids hadn’t been in the line of fire. If the Green Berets had met resistance entering the house, they would’ve shot first and asked questions later.

No matter what their father had done, kids were innocents. He knew that better than anyone. He and his sister couldn’t be held accountable for the stunts their father the politician had pulled over the years.

Tomlinson gestured to the gaping French doors leading to a dark balcony. “The only doors in the house left open.”

“Maybe Zendaris spirited the kids away through the window.”

“Maybe he had to grab something from that balcony.”

On his way to the French doors, Gage trod on a book. He bent over to pick it up. He ran his index finger along the well-worn, gold-leaf cover. “Fairy tales. Yeah, those kids aren’t going to be living any fairy-tale life with that maniac.”

He tossed the book onto a deep-cushioned chair and spotted a gauzy pink scarf hanging over the back of it. He plucked up the scarf with two fingers. The gold threads woven into the material caught the light, and the scarf shimmered in his hands. Some instinct drove him to raise the scarf to his face. An exotic, musky scent tickled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply.

Definitely not a perfume for a young girl. Maybe Zendaris had a twentysomething-year-old daughter. Gage didn’t even know if Zendaris was old enough to have a daughter in her twenties. He crumpled the scarf in his fist and shoved it into the pocket of his fatigues.

A radio crackled and Tomlinson jumped to attention. Captain Denny’s voice boomed into the room. “Out of the house, Tomlinson. Now. We’re meeting at the front of the house.”

“Yes, sir!” He backed up to the door leading to the hallway. “I’ll leave it to you, Booker.”

“Thanks, Tomlinson. Good job tonight.”

Gage clumped onto the dark balcony. The border around the balcony was low enough to sit on—not the safest setup for kids. But then having an arms-dealing father wasn’t the safest setup for kids, either.

In an attempt to add a measure of safety to the low wall, someone had tacked up a wooden border.

Gage’s nostrils flared. A portion of the border had broken away. He crept toward the edge of the balcony and fingered one of the pieces of wood. This was a recent break.

He leaned over the balcony and his heart slammed against his rib cage. A figure, crumpled on the ground, was inching toward the grass from the flagstones.

“You there—halt!”

The blackness of the night obscured his vision, and he strained to make out whether the person had a weapon. “Stop!”

The figure continued to crawl forward, and Gage patted his pockets for a flashlight. He’d left it out on the patio and had parked his radio in the kitchen. He scanned the yard, but the Green Berets had congregated in the front of the house.

He swung his weapon in front of his body. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

Still the form eased forward like a snake on its belly.

Gage blew out a breath. At the rate the guy was moving, he’d never make it to the wall before Gage got down there. And once at the wall, he wouldn’t be able to do anything, anyway.

Unless he had a weapon.

Hoisting his own gun, Gage scrambled back through the room and jogged down the staircase. Captain Denny’s voice bellowed from the front of the house. The mysterious, crawling figure would never be able to circle to the front of the house, but the crawling could be an act.

Gage made a quick detour to the kitchen where he swept his radio from the counter. He strode across the hallway, crunching through the broken glass.

He burst through the doors leading to the back patio and ran onto the lawn, veering toward the left where he’d seen the figure from the balcony. He squinted into the gloom. The clouds had moved over the small slice of moon again, throwing this side of the compound into total darkness. The other side of the house boasted all the light and activity.

The humidity sucked the air from his lungs. He pulled in another breath and wiped his sleeve across his sweating brow, his gaze crisscrossing the lawn in front of the balcony with the broken railing.

A moan filtered through the air, and the hair on the back of Gage’s neck stood at attention. His feet followed the sound, closer to the flagstones than he’d expected. The guy must’ve stopped crawling.

Gage slogged through the damp grass and froze. Seems the man had found the strength to stand, after all. A white oval lifted and dark pools peered at him.

He aimed his gun at the person’s head. “Hold it. Do you have any weapons?”

The small-statured man extended his arm toward Gage, and Gage’s finger tightened on the trigger of his carbine. “Don’t make any sudden moves. I’ve got a weapon pointed at you.”

The figure took a few jerky steps, dropping his arm to his side.

Gage pushed the button on the radio. “Captain Denny, I need light at the back of the house. There’s someone out here.”

Denny answered. “Ten-four.”

Motioning toward the man with his weapon, Gage said, “I have reinforcements. Put your hands behind your head and drop to your knees.”

The man wavered and his arms dangled at his sides. Seconds later, several soldiers charged around the corner from the front of the house, coming up behind Gage. They drew up beside him and aimed their powerful spotlights at the figure swaying on the lawn.

Gage’s jaw dropped as the beams of light illuminated a...woman.

The woman blinked. She raised an arm to her face, resting the back of her wrist on her forehead, covering her eyes.

The soldier on one side of Gage cursed, and the soldier on the other side muttered unnecessarily, “It’s a chick.”

Gage stole forward, leading with his M4. “Don’t reach for any weapons, or I’ll shoot.”

Hell, for all he knew, the woman could be a trained assassin. If she lived in this compound, her loyalty lay with Zendaris. He could even be face-to-face with Zendaris’s mistress. Their intelligence had indicated Zendaris kept multiple lovers.

His nerve endings buzzed. If they could capture one of Zendaris’s girlfriends and grill her, there’s no telling how much information she could give them.

His step lightened as he drew closer and verified the woman didn’t have anything in her hands and no indication of a weapon—at least none that he could see. Her slim, black slacks hugged her hips and legs and her dark-colored blouse stirred in the gentle breeze. How could he have ever thought she was a man?

“Put your hands in the air where I can see them.” He moved within steps of her, so close he could smell the perfume he’d noticed on the scarf—exotic, hypnotic.

She tilted her head and a dark ponytail slid over her shoulder. Still, she didn’t speak. She lifted the hand from her forehead and raised it, palm out.

Gage drew in a quick breath as he noticed the blood streaked across her face. “You’re injured.”

She nodded once and pitched forward.

Gage dropped his weapon where it hung over his shoulder and swooped in before she hit the ground, catching her beneath the arms. Her head bobbed against his belly, and her knees buckled, swaying inches above the wet grass.

He hitched her into his arms, cradling her head. His fingers met a sticky patch of blood matting her hair on one side. He shouted to the soldiers standing in a semicircle, gaping. “Medical. Who has the medical supplies?”

“We’ll set up something on the back patio, sir.”

The men sprang into action and by the time Gage arrived at the patio with the woman clutched to his chest, the soldiers had already set up a stretcher, water and the contents of a first-aid kit, all illuminated by two spotlights.

He laid the woman on the stretcher, and she pinned him with her wide, dark eyes. “W-who are you?”

Did she mean in general or him specifically? She had to know they were U.S. Military come calling for her...lover.

“I’m Gage Booker and these men are from the U.S. Army Special Forces, but then you probably already know that. Why did they leave you behind?”

Her eyes clouded over and her lashes fluttered. “I don’t know.”

One of the soldiers nudged him aside. “I’m the medic on this assignment, Booker, but stay close to assist me.”

Gage moved aside, a jumble of emotions churning in his gut as he watched Perkins clean and dress the woman’s head wound. How had a pretty, young woman like this wound up in Zendaris’s clutches? Then he scoffed at himself. That’s just it: pretty and young. What else did Zendaris need? And she’d probably grown accustomed to the lifestyle he’d offered—until he ditched her.

“Hello.” Perkins ripped the sleeve from the woman’s blouse and pointed to her arm. “This is a flesh wound from a bullet. Just creased the skin.”

The woman turned her head and glanced at the ripped flesh on her arm like she was examining a cut of beef at the market.

“How’d you get that?” As far as Gage knew, no shots had been fired other than the initial volley when they’d taken the men at the outer wall.

Captain Denny loomed over the scene. “Has she given you any information yet?”

Perkins shook his head. “She’s in shock, sir.”

After Perkins tended to the bullet wound and bandaged the gash on her head, he turned away to pack up the supplies.

Gage held a bottle of water to the woman’s lips and she drank deeply. “Do you have any other injuries?”

“No.”

Gage helped her to a sitting position and ran his hands along the smooth skin of her arms, back and legs. She sported a few nasty abrasions, but she didn’t wince at his touch and he didn’t see any more blood. She’d obviously fallen from that balcony and hit her head, but how’d she get the gunshot wound?

If he hoped to get any information from her, she’d have to start talking.

“Booker, we’re heading out. Our mission’s complete.”

Gage stood up and saluted Captain Denny. “Thank you for your assistance, sir.”

The captain eyed the woman sitting on the stretcher. “You’ll take it from here?”

“I’ve got it.”

“We’re exiting through the front gates. It’s a straight shot to the choppers from there.”

Perkins snapped the first-aid kit shut and placed it on a table. “I’ll leave this with you. Don’t let her fall asleep. She probably suffered a concussion, and she’s still in shock. Make sure she stays warm, even in this climate.”

“I’ll be taking her to a hospital just to get her checked out.”

“That’s a good idea.” Perkins pressed a bottle of pills into Gage’s hand. “Have her take one of these twice a day—antibiotics, so her wounds don’t get infected, and make sure she gets a tetanus shot when you get her to the hospital.”

Gage shook the bottle of pills. “Thanks, Perkins.”

The Green Berets left Zendaris’s compound with a lot less fanfare than when they arrived, turning the mission over to him.

At least the raid hadn’t been a complete failure. He’d be leaving Colombia with a prized witness—one of Zendaris’s mistresses.

He crouched next to the stretcher, and the woman took another swig of water. Her cheeks sported new color and her dark eyes had lost their glassiness.

He shook a pill into his hand. “Take this.”

She plucked the pill from his palm and downed it with her next gulp of water.

“I’m going to take you to a doctor. Perkins is okay in a pinch, but we’ll see if you need further medical treatment.” He tilted his chin toward her battered body. “Who did this to you?”

Her long, dark lashes swept her cheeks. “I don’t know.”

Zendaris had picked himself a real beauty. Why wouldn’t he just take her with him? Maybe he’d never been in residence here, and his henchmen left her behind.

“I know you’re not feeling great, but I need to ask you some questions...before we leave.” Gage swallowed. He’d always found it difficult interrogating women. Made him feel like a bully. But he hoped he’d made it clear that he wasn’t taking her anywhere until she answered his questions about Zendaris.

“Do you want to sit in this chair?” He slid his hand beneath her arm and helped her to her feet.

She took the two steps to the chair without wavering and perched on the end.

He pointed to a blanket one of the soldiers had stripped off a bed upstairs. “Are you cold?”

She raised a pair of sculpted, dark eyebrows. “It’s about eighty degrees out here.”

Gage grinned, feeling some tension seep from his shoulders. That was the most words she’d strung together all night—and she’d even made a small joke.

“I guess it’s the shock. Perkins said you might get the chills.”

“I’m fine.”

Dragging another chair close to hers, he said, “Okay, let’s get started. I’m Gage Booker. What’s your name?”

“I don’t know.”

Prickles of anger needled his flesh. So she was going to play it like that, huh?

“This can be easy, or this can be hard, Miss Idontknow.”

She blinked and a small sigh escaped her luscious lips.

Gage bit the inside of his cheek. If he focused on her attractiveness, he’d never get through this. She’d probably used her looks to get out of all kinds of scrapes. But not this time. He pinned his shoulders to the back of his chair.

“You think that’s going to save you? If you’ve been out here...consorting with Zendaris, we can bring you down, too. Make no mistake about it. Where is he? Where is Zendaris? What does he look like? I’m sure you’ve seen the real Zendaris—in the flesh.”

His lips twisted into a sneer because the woman’s eyes had grown bigger and bigger with each question until they took up half her face.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, right. You’ve been with him...how long? How do you think he financed this lavish lifestyle? Did he lay some jewels on you? Some designer duds? Give it up, sweetheart, just like you gave it up to Zendaris. Where is he?”

Her full bottom lip trembled, and a big tear splashed onto her cheek.

Gage swept off his black beanie and raked a hand through his hair. Great. He’d made a woman cry—the last thing he ever wanted to do. But the woman in front of him was no damsel in distress. She had to know Zendaris’s business and that made her complicit in all the death and destruction that business engendered.

“Look, this will go easier on you if you just cooperate.”

She licked her lips, catching the tear on her tongue. “I’d like to help you. I really would, but I can’t.”

Hunching forward, he braced his hands on his knees. “If you’re afraid for your life, we can protect you. We’ll give you a new identity.”

She smiled then, a tremulous smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That would be nice because I don’t even have an old identity.”

He narrowed his eyes. What kind of trick was she playing now? “What are you talking about?”

She spread her hands. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know this Zendaris person. In fact, I have no memory at all.”

Chapter Three

The man’s eyes were slits now—aquamarine slits. How could someone’s eyes be so blue? But they were hard and cold. He didn’t believe her. She didn’t blame him.

He threw his head back and laughed. She shivered. His laugh was as cold as his eyes.

“You want me to believe you have no memory? You don’t know your name or who you are or what you’re doing on Nico Zendaris’s compound?”

She put a hand to her head and traced the bandage there. “I don’t want you to believe anything. That’s the truth, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

The man, Gage, jumped up from the lawn chair, knocking it to the ground. Then he swung around and jabbed a finger in her face. “This could go very badly for you.”

“Too late.” She covered her face with her hands.

She heard him shuffling on the patio, and as she peered at him through her fingers, he righted the chair. He took a seat across from her again, his knees touching hers.

“What do you remember?”

“Does this mean you believe me?”

“Thought you said that didn’t matter to you?”

She’d lied. If he believed her he’d help her, and God knows she needed help. If he didn’t believe her, he’d still help her, at least physically, but his eyes would remain cold every time he looked at her.

“The first thing I remember is coming to on those flagstones. My head hurt, my arm hurt. A strong impulse to get away overwhelmed me, so I started crawling.”

“Was anyone around you? Did you see anything or anyone?”

“No. I heard shouting from somewhere, but I now know those were your marines.”

“Green Berets, and they’re not mine.”

She shrugged and pain shot through her upper left arm. The man who’d treated her said she’d been grazed by a bullet. Why would anyone be shooting at her?

“Are you okay?” Gage half rose from his chair.

So he did care—a little bit. “It’s my arm. My head’s throbbing, too, so if that Green Beret left any ibuprofen in that case, I’ll take some.”

He slid the first-aid kit from the table and popped it open. He sorted through some small envelopes and pulled one free. “You’re in luck.”

He ripped the pack open for her and she downed two gel capsules.

“You don’t know Zendaris or what you’re doing here?”

“I don’t even know my own name. That other name means nothing to me. I don’t even know where I am.”

The impact of her statement sent a rush of nausea to the pit of her stomach, and she doubled over.

“You’re not well.”

“Would you be well if you woke up with no memory and a gunshot wound? Where am I? Who’s Zendaris?”

Her hands had been fluttering in front of her, and he captured them between his. “You’re in Colombia, not far from Barranquilla—at least that’s the nearest big city.”

Barranquilla. “Yo conozco Barranquilla. I know Barranquilla. I—I speak Spanish.”

He studied her with those blue eyes. Were they melting a little around the edges?

“Nico Zendaris is...a bad person.”

“What were you and your friends doing here? Were you going to arrest him?”

“Was he here to arrest?”

She closed her eyes. He still didn’t believe her. “How would I know that?”

He cocked his head, and a lock of brown hair fell over one eye. “Aren’t you curious to know what you were doing in the home of a man like Zendaris? A man who could inspire a raid by the U.S. Army Special Forces?”

“I’m curious about everything. Like why didn’t you leave with the others? Why did they defer to you when that other man, that captain, was obviously in charge of the military guys?”

The line of Gage’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like her questions. He liked her tears better, her sighs, her weakness. Tough. She couldn’t afford to be weak. She had to figure out who she was, what she was doing here and what Gage Booker wanted with her.

“That’s my business, and I’m not about to tell a potential criminal.”

“Can you help me figure out who I am?”

“Oh, I’ll help you. And once you get your memory back, if in fact you ever lost it, I’m going to proceed to pick your brain.”

“That’s something to look forward to.” She put on a sweet smile, even though it hurt her head to do so.

He snatched a full bottle of water from the table and downed half of it. “You’re Nico Zendaris’s lover.”

If he’d intended to shock her with his words, he’d be disappointed. She had no memory of being anyone’s lover and until she did, she’d take no responsibility for what that entailed.

“If you’re so certain I’m Zendaris’s girlfriend, why don’t you know my name?”

“Because we know very little about the man. We don’t even know what he looks like.” Reaching over, he dragged the black backpack toward his feet. He rummaged through the pack, pulled out a file folder and slipped a photograph from the folder. He dropped the picture on the table.

“This,” he tapped the picture with his finger, “is you.”

She hunched forward, squinting at the grainy color image of a man with a bushy mustache, sunglasses and a blue baseball cap, his arm around a tall, slim brunette.

She pulled back with a start, knocking over her bottle of water. Gage snatched the picture away from the spill.

“What’s wrong? That is you, isn’t it?”

“How the hell do I know?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even know what I look like.”

He searched her face, his blue gaze tracking across each of her features. “Against my better judgment, I’m beginning to believe you.”

He shoved back from his chair—this time it stayed upright—and extended his hand to her. “Come with me.”

What choice did she have at this point? She placed her hand in his, and when he curled his fingers around hers, a warm current flowed through her body. His touch felt like the only lifeline she had.

He snatched up his folder and led her into the house. The tiles felt cool against the soles of her bare feet. As she gazed at the crystal chandelier dripping from the high ceiling, Gage pulled her toward an ornate mirror gracing the hallway.

Turning her toward the mirror and standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. Her gaze scanned the woman in the reflection. Large, dark eyes stared back at her from a mocha-tinted face framed by wisps of brown hair coming loose from a ponytail. She knew Spanish because she obviously had some Latin blood.

Her eyes met his in the mirror. His gaze still held suspicions, doubts.

He held up the photo to the mirror. “Could be you, right?”

“He has his arm around the woman. Does that make her his girlfriend?”

He fumbled in the file folder he’d placed on a side table and withdrew another photo, same quality. In this photo, the man had the woman in a tight embrace, laying a passionate kiss on her lips.

She exhaled. “I see what you mean, but I’m sure there are lots of tall brunettes in the world.”

“Wearing this?” He dug into the pocket of his camos and pulled out a scarf with silver spangles threaded through it. He waved it next to the picture, and she noticed the woman in the picture sporting something similar around her neck.

“Where did you get that? I wasn’t wearing it when you found me.” She folded her arms across her chest and turned away from the mirror. She didn’t want to be some bad guy’s girlfriend. She didn’t feel like a bad guy’s girlfriend. Was he a drug dealer?

He jabbed his finger in the air. “I found this upstairs, right before I spotted you from the balcony. You must’ve been in that room, and left your scarf before trying to escape.”

“Who said I was trying to escape? Maybe someone pushed me. Someone obviously shot me.” Despite the warm night, a rash of goose bumps pebbled across her skin, and she hugged herself tighter. “I want to see this room.”

“Follow me.” He placed a booted foot on the first step of the curved staircase and reached out his hand to her. “Are you feeling okay? You look pale.”

“The ibuprofen helped the pain. Now I just want to know who I am.” She placed her hand in his. He must still be worried that she’d make a run for it, but the idea of running made her head spin even more.

They continued up the stairs, and she left her hand in his. She didn’t feel physically wobbly, but emotionally she was about to crack.

She gasped as she followed Gage into the room. Turning in a circle, she drank in the bright colors and cheery furniture. “This is a children’s playroom.”

“Yep.”

Picking up a book of fairy tales, she traced the edge with her finger. “Does this Zendaris have children?”

“We don’t know, but it sure looks like it.”

“Unless this room is for the children of his staff. This is a big place. He must support a lot of people living here.”

Gage gestured around the well-appointed room. “Seems kind of lavish for the staff, doesn’t it?”

She swallowed a painful lump. “Do you think Zendaris could have children with his...girlfriend?”

Gage’s eyebrows snapped together as if it had never occurred to him that she might be the mother of Zendaris’s children.

Her knees felt shaky and she sank into the armchair. Something about this room stirred emotions deep within her, plucked at her heartstrings. Could she be a mother?

She flipped open the cover of the book still clutched in her hand. Her fingers traced over some words in Spanish. “Look.”

Gage took two steps and hovered over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“It’s a note in Spanish. It says, To Randi, May you have a fairy-tale life, Love, Abuelita, little grandmother.”

Gage rubbed his chin, sprinkled with dark stubble. “Who’s Randi?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.” She followed the letters with her fingertip. “Could Randi be one of Zendaris’s children?”

“Then who’s Abuelita? Zendaris, as you can probably tell by his name, is not Latino.”

“The child’s maternal grandmother? Maybe they’re half-Colombian. Maybe that’s why they stay here.”

His hands dropped to her shoulders and the touch felt like a caress. “Are you up for a little more exploration before I get you out of here? I think you need to see a doctor.”

“A head doctor.”

“Maybe that, too.”

She rose from the chair and tucked the book under her arm. As she did so, she noticed a pair of sandals halfway under the chair. She put her hand on Gage’s corded forearm. “Wait.”

She slipped her feet into the sandals and grimaced. “Just like Cinderella.”

They poked their heads into one adjoining room. Little-girl decor—princesses, ballerinas and mermaids— overlooked a disheveled mess. Someone had tossed drawers and emptied closets. All personal effects had been stripped from the room.

They crossed the playroom to the other adjoining bedroom, and the same scene had been played out in the boy’s room.

Gage crossed the hall and she followed, her sandaled feet almost dragging. She didn’t want to see what awaited them in those rooms.

Gage pushed open a door, and a powerful, masculine aroma washed over her. The scent of musk made her head pound even more. The closet doors gaped open and empty hangers swayed back and forth. A neatly made-up king-size bed had a commanding position in the corner of the room, facing a flat-screen TV.

Had she slept in this bed with her children across the hall?

The room led to a large master bath and beyond the bathroom, another door beckoned. She stepped into the adjoining room and gripped the book so hard the edges dug into her palms.

This room had a distinctly feminine touch. It, too, had been ransacked, but clothes still hung in the closet. She crept toward the items and yanked a dress on its hanger from the rack. She held it up to her body and spun around to the full-length mirror.

“It’s a fit.” Gage came into the room with a scowl etched across his face.

Her cheeks warmed. Had she lived here in this house as man and wife with a drug dealer?

She tossed the dress onto the bed. “I still don’t remember anything.”

“Don’t you...Randi?” He pulled a small envelope from the dressing-table mirror and turned to wave it in her face. “They missed something when they ransacked the room.”

Her heart jumped as he pulled a slip of paper from the envelope.

He squinted at the note. “It says, Randi, almost made the trip south to see you when I was in Costa Rica, but remembered visitors aren’t welcome. Come home soon. Love, Jessica.”

“Is there a name and address on the envelope?” Randi must be her name. This was her room, her note. Now that she knew her first name, she’d like to know her last.

He flipped over the envelope. “Just has your first name in care of the Costa residence. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“No, but maybe this is the Costa residence. Maybe you got your signals crossed.”

“Not a chance.”

“What about the return address?”

“The envelope is ripped.” He fingered the corner of the envelope. “I can just make out the name—Jessica Lehman—and the postmark is from Houston, Texas.”

Randi’s throat thickened and she couldn’t swallow. She must have a grandmother somewhere and a friend in Houston. People who cared about her.

Where were they now? Would they be able to help her out of this mess?

She jumped when Gage placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’m sorry, Randi. This must be tough for you.”

She pulled back her shoulders and shrugged off his touch. She’d better not get too dependent on him. He wanted her to regain her memory so that he could pump her for information about Zendaris. Once he got what he wanted, he’d abandon her to whatever fate awaited cast-off lovers of drug dealers.

“Does this mean you believe me?”

“If you’re lying about having amnesia, you’re one hell of an actress, but—” he steepled his fingers and tapped them at the tips “—you could be an Academy Award winner.”

She brushed past him and scooped up an armful of clothing from the closet. “I’m not going out in the world without clothes.”

“Travel lightly. It’s a two-mile hike back to the chopper.”

She dumped the clothes on the bed and dove back into the closet for a bag or backpack. She dragged out a red duffel and flicked the tags on the strap. “Too bad there’s no full name and address. I might’ve been able to reclaim my life sooner rather than later.”

Gage spread his arms. “I think your life was here, Randi—and it left you.”

She dropped onto the edge of the bed, clutching the bag to her chest. “What if those kids across the hall are mine?”

“Then we’ll help you get them back.” He ducked into the closet and grabbed a pair of sneakers. “I think these will work better out in the jungle than those sandals.”

A half an hour later, they stood at the open gates to the compound. Gage had his backpack on his back and his large, black duffel strapped across his body. He’d broken down the scary-looking weapon and stashed it in the duffel.

He’d given her a small pack with a few bottles of water and medical supplies. He’d talked her into leaving the red bag and just stuffing a few items of clothing into his duffel.

“Are you sure you can do this? You just suffered a concussion.”

“I have no memory. What could possibly be worse?”

“Aggravating your injuries with physical exhaustion. We can stay here for a few days, and I can call in for help.”

She shifted the pack on her back. “I’m not staying here another minute.”

“Let me know if you get tired, and follow my footsteps. We’re still a long way from morning, and it’s still dark out here.”

She peered up through the canopy of trees. Even if the sun were rising, it would take a while for its light to reach them beneath the umbrella of branches and leaves.

Gage tromped through the foliage, his boots snapping twigs and crushing leaves along the way.

Randi followed, her mind, or what was left of it, whirring. If everything Gage had said about her was true, maybe she didn’t want to discover her real identity. But maybe her boyfriend had kept his illegal activities hidden from her. Maybe she didn’t know anything about his business.

That wouldn’t make Gage very happy. He’d be counting on her help once she regained her memory. If she claimed no knowledge of Zendaris’s drug empire, Gage wouldn’t believe her, anyway.

She wasn’t sure he believed her now.

Despite her injuries, the hike through the jungle hadn’t sapped her strength. Gage had stopped a few times for water, and it was enough to carry her through. She seemed to regain strength with each step away from the compound.

“We’re here.” He parted some branches for her, and she peered into a clearing. A helicopter beckoned, promising freedom and maybe an identity.

“You know how to fly this thing?”

“I do.”

“But you’re not U.S. Military.”

“I used to be.”

If he planned to grill her, she planned to give as good as she got. She’d drop it for now and let him concentrate on flying. “Where are we going?”

“First stop is a CIA compound in Panama. There’s a hospital there.”

He was CIA? “Then what?”

He hoisted the bags into the helicopter. “We’ll see.”

She shrugged out of the backpack, and Gage stored that next to the other two bags. Then he helped her into the helicopter and secured her seat belt, his hands lingering near her shoulders.

Had he wanted to touch her? Reassure her? She needed it but she’d ask nothing of him. Getting too close to this man would put her on dangerous ground.

He punched some buttons from the array in front of him and even on the ceiling of the chopper. When the blades started thwacking, she clenched the edge of the seat with clammy hands. The sound caused her insides to twist.

Gage pointed to the headphones hanging in front of her, and she slipped them onto her head. His voice purred intimately into her ears. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and gritted her teeth.

He fiddled with more dials and gadgets, and then flashed her a thumbs-up signal.

Just as the chopper lifted from the ground, a new barrage of noises assailed her. This time Gage swore into her ear, and she jerked her head toward him.

“What’s wrong?”

The helicopter shuddered and lunged into the air as the smell of fuel saturated the cabin. With his jaw clenched, Gage slammed a lever forward and the chopper jumped.

She tried again. “Gage, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Someone’s shooting at us.”

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