“You called me Hunter. Do you know me? Is that my name?”

Of course Leah knew him. How could she not know her own husband? Mixed feelings surged through her; then, suddenly, his face and the porch began to spin.

“You look like you’re about to pass out. Are you sick?” He reached out and wrapped his arm around her shoulder to steady her. His touch was a jolt to her senses, and memories of all the other times he’d touched her assailed her.

For four, long, hellish months of agony she’d been sick with guilt and remorse. If it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t have gone out that night, wouldn’t have had the accident in the first place…. He wouldn’t have died.

But he hadn’t died.

How could he have died when he was standing next to her, talking to her, touching her?

Dangerous Memories
Barbara Colley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BARBARA COLLEY

is a native of Louisiana, a mother and a grandmother. She and her husband live in a small suburb of steamy New Orleans. Besides playing with her grandchildren, writing and sharing her stories, one of Barbara’s favorite pastimes is strolling through the New Orleans historic French Quarter and Garden District, both of which often inspire ideas and the settings for her books.

Barbara has always loved mystery, suspense and romance and, according to her mother, has always had a vivid imagination. Also writing under the name Anne Logan, Barbara has had books published in over sixteen foreign languages and has appeared on several bestseller lists. She has also been nominated for a Romantic Times magazine Reviewers Choice Award and is the recipient of the Oklahoma RWA National Readers’ Choice Award, the RWA Artemis Award and the Distinguished Artist Award, in honor of outstanding contributions to the literary arts in Louisiana. In addition to writing romantic suspense, Barbara is the author of an ongoing mystery series.

Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at: P.O. Box 290; Boutte, LA 70039 or visit her Web site: www.eclectics.com/barbaracolley-annelogan.

To my dear friends, Jessica Ferguson

and Rexanne Becnel.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

The sight of the sleeping man on Leah Davis’s front porch gave her a start. He was slumped in a heap of humanity near the steps. His back was to her, his face hidden in the crook of his arm. And just beyond where he lay, on the top step of the porch, was the newspaper, the reason she’d ventured out in the first place.

“That’s just great,” she grumbled, shoving a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Just what I need.” Between the August heat and humidity and the double shifts she’d been pulling at the hospital, not to mention the occasional bouts of nausea, she’d just about gone her limit. And now this.

Shading her eyes against the bright glare of morning sunlight that not even the deep porch of the old Victorian home could block, she stared hard at him.

At least this one appeared to be still breathing, she thought as she noted the slight rise and fall of his back. The last one she’d found on the porch had been dead, cancer and malnutrition according to the coroner’s report.

Still staring at the man, she slowly shook her head. The fact that they kept showing up amazed her. It was almost as if every bum in New Orleans had some kind of built-in radar that directed them to her front porch.

“Thanks a lot, Grandm’ere,” she muttered as she tightened the belt of her thin cotton robe more securely then stepped out onto the porch to get a closer look.

Almost a year had passed since her generous, softhearted grandmother had died, and still they came. Leah had inherited her grandmother’s house, but she had no intention of taking over her grandmother’s charity work as well. Even so, no matter how many times she called the police to come and haul away one of the unwelcome, indigent visitors, more kept showing up to take their place.

Most of them were harmless and simply there for a handout, but Leah had learned not to be as trusting as her grandmother had been.

“Enough’s enough,” she grumbled as she crossed her arms protectively around her slightly rounded abdomen and tapped her bare foot against the wooden floor of the porch. Unlike her grandmother, who had felt that it was her calling in life to help every hungry, homeless man who showed up on her doorstep, Leah didn’t feel that she could take such chances, especially now that she had her unborn baby to protect.

With her eyes still on the man and with every intention of returning inside to call the police, Leah took a step backward toward the door. Instead of going inside though, she hesitated.

Tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, she frowned. There was something different about this one, different from the normal run-of-the-mill bums who had showed up in the past.

For one thing, even though he could use a haircut, his thick, dark hair looked fairly clean and well kept instead of long, greasy and dirty. And instead of the usual sweat and dirt-crusted pants and shirt, this man was wearing what appeared to be hospital scrubs.

Hospital scrubs?

Leah’s frown deepened. Strange. Very strange indeed.

Even so, the hair and clothes had nothing to do with why he seemed different. Though it was probably a silly notion, she could swear there was something familiar about him. That she’d seen him before…somewhere.

Growing more puzzled with each passing moment, she continued staring at him. Was it possible that he was a former patient, someone she’d treated at Charity Hospital? Leah frowned. Now she was really getting paranoid. There was no way a former patient would know where she lived.

So why the nagging feeling of familiarity? Leah had no answer. Maybe if she saw his face, maybe then she’d know.

Just forget it. Go call the police and have his butt hauled off.

Leah glared at the man as indecision warred within her. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered. There was only one way to find out for sure, and though she was curious, she wasn’t careless. Her experiences working as a nurse at Charity Hospital had taught her to be cautious.

She reached just inside the doorway and grabbed the baseball bat that she kept propped there. Unlike her grandmother who, in Leah’s opinion, had always been far too trusting, Leah kept the bat handy, just in case of trouble.

Taking a deep breath for courage, she gripped the bat with both hands and eased over to within a couple of feet of the sleeping man. Using the tip of the bat, she poked him just below the shoulder blades.

“Hey, you!” she called out. “Wake up!”

The man groaned, but he didn’t budge.

Gripping the bat tighter, she poked him again, pushing harder than she had the first time. “You’re trespassing, mister. If you don’t leave I’m calling the police.” She poked at him once more for good measure. “Now, get up!”

Suddenly, like a coiled spring, the man jumped to his feet.

With a yelp of surprise, Leah immediately jerked the bat into a swinging position as she stumbled backward. “Please leave,” she shouted, her legs trembling. “Go on, get out of here.”

Then, the man turned to face her, and she froze. Her breath caught in her lungs, and all she could do was stare at him, her eyes wide with disbelief, her heart pounding like a bass drum against her rib cage.

“Hunter?” she whispered. The baseball bat slid through her nerveless fingers and fell to the porch with a clatter. “No,” she moaned as she slowly shook her head from side to side, trying to deny what was before her eyes. Had she finally lost it, gone over the edge? “Not possible,” she protested. Hunter was dead.

Yet, even while logic dictated that there was no way this man could be Hunter, her insides quivered with the ache of recognition. The same ruggedly handsome face, made even more rugged by the shadow of his dark beard…the same deep-set, steely blue eyes…

Though myriad questions rushed through her head, for the moment, she didn’t care. For the moment, more than anything, she longed to throw herself at him, to once again feel his arms around her, just to assure herself that the man really was Hunter.

Then, their gazes collided, and when she saw the clouded, confused look in his eyes, her mind reeled with her own confusion. Something was wrong…terribly wrong.

He held up his hands defensively. “I don’t mean you any harm,” he said in that rich whiskey voice that had always sent goose bumps chasing up her arms. “You called me Hunter. Do you know me? Is that my name?”

He didn’t know her.

Leah fought to gain control over her runaway emotions.

“Lady, do you recognize me?”

Lady? Even more disconcerted, Leah could do little more than nod. Of course she knew him. How could she not know her own husband? But why did he even have to ask such a question?

Mixed feelings surged through her, then suddenly, without warning, his face and the porch began to spin. Her vision grew hazy then dark around the edges even as she felt her knees buckle.

“Whoa—hey, lady—” He reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulder to steady her. He was a tall man, six foot two to her mere five foot five, and her shoulders fit just beneath his armpit. His touch was a jolt to her senses, and memories of all the other times he’d touched her assailed her.

“Take it easy. You look like you’re about to pass out. Are you sick?”

“No, not—not sick,” she whispered, shaking her head as she gave voice to the half lie.

She had been sick though. For four, long, hellish months, she’d been sick with guilt and remorse. How could she not? After all, it had been her fault. If it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t have gone out that night, he wouldn’t have had the accident…he wouldn’t have died. Despite the heat, a chill ran through her. But how could he have died when he was standing next to her, talking to her, touching her? She began to shiver.

“Hey—” His arm around her shoulder tightened. “You’d better sit down before you fall down.”

Hunter. But was Hunter his first name or his last name? the man wondered as he silently repeated it. He nudged the woman toward the porch swing. She looked exactly as he’d pictured her in the brief flashes of memory he’d had over the past month…well, almost exactly. Same warm brown eyes shot with flecks of jade, same alabaster skin sprinkled with a faint dusting of freckles across a pert, ski-jump nose, all framed by thick shoulder-length auburn hair. The only difference was her body. In his memory she’d appeared to be a lot slimmer. Not that she was fat, far from it; but then again, it was highly possible that his memory couldn’t be totally trusted.

Now that he’d seen her, there was no doubt that she was the one he’d traveled hundreds of miles to find. And even better, just as he’d hoped and prayed, she knew him. But how did she know him…?

Unable to do much else, Leah allowed Hunter to help her to the porch swing. After she was seated, he knelt in front of her.

Leah searched his face. If she’d had any doubts that the man was Hunter, they disappeared. This close there was no denying who he was, right down to the tiny scar on the right side of his forehead where a bullet had grazed him.

“You know me, don’t you?” he asked again. “Is Hunter my name?”

Leah nodded, still trying to make heads or tails of what was happening.

“First name or last name?” he asked.

“Your—your n-name is Hunter Davis,” she blurted out. “And you’re—” Whether it was instinct or her overcautious nature, for reasons Leah didn’t understand, she couldn’t complete the sentence, couldn’t tell him that he was her husband…not just yet.

“Hunter Davis,” he repeated softly, almost in awe, as if savoring each syllable.

“Don’t you remember?” But even as she asked the question she knew he didn’t. If he did he wouldn’t be asking in the first place. Even so, she’d had to ask, if only to hear him say it, to hear him admit it.

His head slumped forward until his chin almost touched his collarbone. “That’s just the problem,” he said. “I don’t remember.” He slowly raised his head until he could look her in the eye. “They tell me I have amnesia.”

It was just as she’d suspected. But who on earth were “they”?

“I was told that I was in an accident and almost died,” he continued. “They said that the car I was driving went out of control and hit an eighteen-wheeler hauling gasoline, then burned. The only reason I survived at all was because I was thrown free.” He cleared his throat. “When I finally woke up, it was a month later—so I was told. I was in a hospital in Orlando, Florida, and didn’t remember any of it, not even my own name. They told me I’d been in a coma.”

Leah frowned. As shocked as she was to see him, she could still think enough to realize he should have been identified right away. So why wasn’t he?

“But what about your billfold? And fingerprints? Didn’t they run a check on your fingerprints?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “My ID must have burned with the car, and when the police ran a fingerprint check, they didn’t find a match.”

“But that’s imposs—” Leah broke off the sentence and clamped her mouth shut.

“What?” he asked. When Leah refused to answer and shook her head, he narrowed his eyes. “You were about to say something. What was it?”

“Nothing.” She forced a smile, hoping it would take the wary edge off her tone. And suddenly, she was wary, big-time wary, and growing more so with each passing minute. Too much of what he’d told her simply didn’t make sense. After all, the police were the ones who had told her he was dead in the first place.

Leah shuddered. They had said he’d been burned beyond recognition, burned to the bones, and she’d buried those bones in the same tomb that held her grandmother’s remains. Then, there were the fingerprints. Hunter was a cop from New York City who had been on leave for medical reasons. His fingerprints would definitely be on file somewhere.

Why would the police have lied to her…and to him? What reason could they possibly have for such a deception?

And whose bones had they given her to bury?

Chapter 2

Leah’s mind raced as she tried to find answers. Her stomach grew queasy just thinking about the hell she’d gone through the night Hunter disappeared. It had been her twenty-eighth birthday. They’d just returned to the hotel room after having dinner, and she’d sent him to the drugstore. She’d waited for Hunter to return…one hour…two hours, then three, until she couldn’t stand to wait a minute longer.

Now, she realized she should have thought it strange that when she finally called the police, they showed up almost immediately. But by the time they had knocked on the hotel-room door, she’d been in such a state she hadn’t been thinking straight. And afterward, after they told her what she’d dreaded the most, she’d been too distraught to think of anything but her loss and her guilt. And she’d spent four months grieving and blaming herself for his so-called death.

But grieving wasn’t all she’d done in that time. She’d spent a lot of it thinking, mostly about their hasty courtship and marriage.

Under normal circumstances, there was no way she would have married a man, any man, after only knowing him for a few weeks.

Leah swallowed hard against the tight ache in her throat. But that particular time had been anything but normal, and Hunter wasn’t just any man. She’d been in mourning when she’d met him, mourning for her beloved grandm’ere, the woman who had raised her since she was five. With her parents’ deaths, her grandmother had become everything to her. When her grandmother had died, the world as Leah had known it, along with the love and security she’d always felt, had disappeared.

Hunter had been on an extended medical leave from the New York City Police Department for psychiatric reasons. He’d been involved in a bad shoot-out, and had accidentally shot and killed an innocent bystander, a ten-year-old girl. As a result, he’d been unable to fire a gun ever since.

For Leah, it had been a time of adjustment and mourning, of coming to grips with being all alone in the world. For Hunter, it had been a time to heal.

They had both been vulnerable and needy and had taken solace with each other and within each other’s arms.

Leah suddenly went still as yet another strange discrepancy occurred to her. “There’s something I don’t quite understand,” she told Hunter. “You say you have amnesia. But if you have amnesia, and you didn’t even know your name, why are you here on my doorstep? What made you think that I might know you? In fact, how did you even know where I lived?”

He shrugged. “I guess that does seem kind of strange, even a contradiction of sorts. But I do have an explanation,” he hastened to add. “I was told that there was a good chance I would regain my memory.”

A momentary look of embarrassment crossed his face and he got to his feet. “This might sound weird,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck and paced the width of the porch in front of her. “But about a month ago I began having flashbacks—memory flashes. Most of them didn’t make sense to me. But in one particular flashback I kept seeing a woman’s face, and an address kept running through my mind.”

He stopped in front of her and motioned toward her. “Your face,” he said. “The same auburn hair, the same brown eyes, the same face.”

Hunter felt heat climb up his neck as he stared at her. He’d seen more than just her face in his recurring flashback, much more. In his mind he’d seen her completely naked. He’d seen himself hovering over her, stroking her, felt her smooth, silky skin, felt her writhing beneath him in the heat of passion, her hands urging him to…

He squeezed his eyes shut. There was no way he could tell her the rest, not until he knew if it what he’d seen in the flashback was true or simply wishful dreaming on his part. With a shake of his head, he opened his eyes then gestured broadly. “And this address. I’m not sure why—” He raked his fingers through his hair. “But, like I said, this address kept flashing through my head. It took me days of hitchhiking to get here from Orlando, but I felt I had to do it or I might not ever find out who I am.”

He dropped down beside her then turned to face her, his left arm across the back of the swing. “I was right, wasn’t I?” Tilting his head to one side he held her gaze. When she nodded, he said, “I need to know what else you can tell me about myself. Please,” he added.

Leah’s mind raced as she considered just how much she should tell him, and after a moment, she decided that divulging some of the facts couldn’t hurt.

“You’re thirty-two years old, and you’re a police officer with the New York City Police Department,” she said. “We met when you took an extended vacation to New Orleans after you were placed on medical leave. You said that you had always wanted to see Mardi Gras but had never had the time off.”

A frown creased his forehead as he mulled over what she’d said, and Leah laced her fingers together tightly in her lap to keep from reaching up to smooth the frown away.

“Medical leave for what?” he finally asked.

As Leah explained about the shoot-out and the ten-year-old girl, a multitude of emotions played over his face. But when she told him the part about him being unable to fire a gun, he stared at her as if she’d just grown horns.

“So it wasn’t just a simple medical leave? I wasn’t physically injured?”

Leah shrugged. “I—I don’t know all the details,” she hedged.

“Who does?”

Leah shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe your captain or your doctor.”

“You mean my shrink, don’t you?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” she repeated slowly, emphasizing each word.

“Then, how do you know me?” he retorted. “And just what was our relationship?”

The answers to his questions stuck in Leah’s throat. She’d known he would eventually ask, and she’d dreaded it, especially since she wasn’t sure how to answer him.

With all of her heart, she wanted to tell Hunter that he was her husband, and she wanted to share with him the wonderful news that he was going to be a father. But even as her hands strayed protectively to her abdomen, a little voice inside warned against revealing everything, warned that she should proceed with caution until she knew more about Hunter’s circumstances. What she’d realized in the months since Hunter’s death was that she didn’t really know him very well at all.

For long moments, a battle raged within her. Tell him… No, don’t tell him. But he’s your husband…but what if there was more to his medical-leave story than he’d admitted? After all, you only know what he told you, and he could have lied, could have lied about everything. Can you afford to take the chance? You’ve got your unborn baby to protect.

Leah finally decided that what she needed was time. Time to digest what he’d told her, and time to further assess his mental state.

“We’re friends,” she finally said. “We’re just really good friends.”

Again, he seemed to mull over what she’d told him, and Leah tensed. She’d never been a good liar, and there was nothing in his expression to indicate whether he did or didn’t believe her. If he didn’t, then what?

After a moment, he finally said, “So, friend, do you have a name?”

Leah’s stomach knotted. He didn’t believe her. Somehow he knew they had been more than just friends, knew that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. “My name is Leah. Leah…Johnson.”

“Leah Johnson,” he repeated slowly, thoughtfully. But to her acute disappointment, his eyes remained blank, without even a spark of recognition. After a moment, he squeezed them tightly shut and whispered, “Damn.”

When Hunter opened his eyes, the brief look of confusion and disappointment that Leah saw in them almost broke her heart. It was evident that he’d hoped that hearing her name would awaken some of his lost memory. But it hadn’t.

“What about family?” he asked. “Do I have any family? Mother, father, brothers or sisters?”

Leah shook her head. Only me, she wanted to say, but she whispered, “No. Your parents both died in an accident when you were a young teenager. After their deaths you lived with an aunt, your mother’s only sister. But she died of cancer not long after you graduated from the police academy.”

Again that same brief, miserable look of confusion and disappointment flashed in his eyes. “Then there’s no one,” he mumbled, pushing out of the swing.

No one but me, Leah added silently as she watched him pace the length of the porch. That they had both been alone in the world had been just one more thing that sealed the bond of need between them despite the short time they’d known each other.

I’ll be your family and you’ll be mine, then neither of us will have to be alone. The words he’d whispered to her when he proposed echoed in her mind, and knife-stabbing guilt pricked at her conscience.

Hunter stopped his pacing near the porch steps and sudden panic seized her. What if he left? After all, as far as he knew, there was nothing to keep him here.

“Why don’t you come inside?” she blurted out before she had time to change her mind. There was no way she could let him leave…not just yet…not until she got some answers that made sense.

“The least I can do is fix you a bite of breakfast.” Half-afraid he would say no, Leah pushed out of the swing. With an eye on Hunter, she stepped over, picked up the bat, then walked purposely toward the front door, leaving him little choice but to follow.

“You don’t have to do this,” he protested, his gaze sliding warily to the bat. But even as he protested, he took a step toward her.

“Don’t be silly.” She motioned for him to follow her.

The look of relief on his face pricked her conscience again, but she ignored it. Once inside, she leaned the bat against the wall, then led him through the parlor and down a short hallway.

“As long as you’re here,” she told him when they entered the kitchen, “maybe you’d like to take a hot shower—clean up a bit—while I cook breakfast?” She turned to see him inspecting the large kitchen and breakfast area.

“I could definitely use a shower,” he muttered, his gaze settling on her face. “But I really couldn’t impose on you like that.”

“We are friends,” she emphasized. “And it’s not imposing if I invite you. I might even be able to rustle up a clean change of clothes for you as well. Last time my uncle came for a visit, he left a few of his things in the closet.”

While it was true that she had an uncle—a great-uncle—the jeans and shirts had actually belonged to Hunter. When she returned from Orlando, she’d packed them away in a box with intentions of giving them to Goodwill. Only problem was, she never seemed able to remember to put the box in her car.

Leah turned away quickly for fear he would somehow be able to see that she’d lied yet again, and she walked over to the phone sitting on the kitchen counter. “Right now, I need to make a phone call and let the hospital know that I won’t be coming in today.”

“You work at a hospital?”

Leah punched out the numbers of the floor she worked on. “I’m a nurse.”

Her call was answered on the third ring, and in a matter-of-fact tone she explained that she needed to take a sick day.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Hunter said when she hung up the receiver. “Not on my account.”

If only you knew, she thought, and taking a deep breath for courage, she turned and faced him. “It’s no problem. Really it’s not. It seems like forever that I’ve seen you and I could use a day off.” She motioned toward the breakfast table. “Why don’t you have a seat and wait right here while I get you those clothes. Feel free to pour yourself a cup of coffee. It’s decaf.” She turned and headed toward the door leading to the bedrooms. “Coffee mugs are on the counter,” she called out over her shoulder.

When Leah reached her bedroom, she glanced over her shoulder again, just to make sure he hadn’t followed, then she headed straight for the dresser. Sitting on top was an eight-by-ten framed photograph of the two of them taken on their wedding day. She hadn’t hired a professional photographer, and the picture was only an enlarged snapshot taken by a friend, but she’d worn a short veil to go along with the white-lace dress she’d bought, and Hunter had rented a tuxedo for the occasion. One look at that picture, and he’d know that they had been more than just friends.

Leah glanced over her shoulder again, just to make sure that she was alone, then she removed the framed picture and placed it in the bottom drawer of the dresser beneath a stack of out-of-season sweaters. After a quick inspection of the room to make sure there was nothing else incriminating, she headed for the closet. In the bottom of the closet near the back was the small cardboard box that contained the remainder of Hunter’s clothes.

After a brief stop in the guest bathroom, Leah returned to the kitchen. Hunter was seated at the breakfast table, staring out the bay window. His hands were wrapped around a steaming coffee mug.

Just beyond the bay window in the tiny backyard, her grandmother had created a lovely garden oasis surrounded by a wall of camellias, azaleas and a host of other evergreens that thrived in the Uptown neighborhood. In the midst of it all was a small goldfish pond, complete with lily pads, and edged by palmetto palms. A water fountain shaped like a fish rose in the center of the pond, and a water spray flowed continuously from the mouth of the fish.

A heavy feeling that had nothing to do with pregnancy settled in Leah’s stomach. Hunter had loved that particular view, and seeing him sitting there, staring out the window was déjà vu. He’d once told her that all that lush greenery had a soothing, calming effect and was a stark contrast to the depressing shades of gray he was used to seeing. He’d said that the only green to be found in New York City was in Central Park.

When Hunter pulled his gaze from the window and stared up at her, the uneasy, jittery feeling she’d had when she’d first seen him on the porch returned with a vengeance. She quickly placed a pair of jeans and a folded knit shirt on the table. “These should fit you,” she said as she backed away. “Sorry there’s no underwear, but even if there was—I mean, even if my uncle had left some, I figured you wouldn’t want to wear someone else’s.”

She was babbling, she realized, babbling because being in such proximity to him, along with the lies she’d already told, was making her nervous. But who wouldn’t be nervous, given the circumstances?

Taking a deep breath, Leah motioned toward the doorway that led to the guest bathroom. “Just down that hallway to the right is a bathroom you can use when you’re ready. I laid out a couple of clean towels and a washcloth. I also left a new razor and toothbrush on the countertop next to the sink.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “Why are you doing this? There’s no way I can repay you.”

Leah felt her cheeks burn with guilt. Unable to face him, she quickly turned away. “What are friends for?” she murmured, almost choking on the words as she busied herself with preparations for breakfast. “Friends” didn’t begin to describe their relationship, but until she knew more about what had happened to him and why, being friends was a lot safer.

Hunter Davis.

As Hunter entered the bathroom, he mulled over his name. Not wanting any unwelcome surprises, he locked the door behind him, and then glanced around the small room. The name felt right, felt as if it fit and was a hell of a lot better than just plain John Doe. But he didn’t remember it. Even knowing his name hadn’t produced the breakthrough that he’d hoped for. His mind was still a blank.

He eyed the jeans and shirt that the woman named Leah had given him and wondered if, like his name, they would fit. Anything had to be better than the hospital scrubs he’d worn for the past three days. Like him, the scrubs were beginning to smell a little too ripe.

Hunter closed his eyes and breathed deeply and slowly. Leah…Leah Johnson…Leah Johnson… He silently repeated the woman’s name.

Nothing. No revelation, no sudden memories. Nothing.

With a frustrated sigh, he picked up the toothbrush and tore off the packaging. When he’d finished brushing his teeth, he used a bar of soap to lather his face and shaved.

His insides quivered with frustration as he rinsed then dried his face. Throwing the towel on the countertop, he stepped over to the shower, jerked back the shower curtain, and turned on the water. Then he took off his watch and slipped off the shoes. After he stripped off the hospital scrubs, he kicked them into the corner.

There was no doubt that Leah Johnson was the woman in his flashbacks. She was even more beautiful face-to-face, and the extra pounds made her look even more womanly, more sexy.

Friends…

She’d said they were just “really good friends.” So if they were only friends, why would her face be the one he remembered? Even more puzzling, why the ache in his gut when he’d first seen her in the flesh, and why the overwhelming urge to crush her into his arms and taste her lips.

With a shake of his head, Hunter stepped into the shower. “Depends on her definition of ‘friends,’” he muttered. Just how good of friends were they? According to the visions he kept having, “friend” was far too tame to describe the relationship between them. Besides, he couldn’t imagine why he would be “just friends” with a woman as beautiful as she was…unless he was married.

Married. “Damn,” he grunted. It had never even occurred to him to ask her if he was married. Surely she would have said so if he was, wouldn’t she? And she hadn’t said so. Besides, if he was married, it stood to reason that he would have had flashes of his wife’s face, instead of just his friend’s face. And if he was married, why would he have come to New Orleans alone, instead of staying in New York? She’d said he’d come for an extended vacation, but that brought up yet another question. If he lived in New York and had just come for a vacation, why was it this address he remembered?

Too many questions and not enough answers, he decided as he turned his face into the spray. The water was steamy hot, and Hunter savored the feel of it against his skin.

It had been three days since he’d had a real shower. With almost no money, he’d been unable to afford even the shabbiest of motel rooms, neither for sleeping nor for cleaning up. Instead, he’d had to make do with washing up in public rest rooms along the way.

What he really needed was a hot whirlpool to soothe his aching right leg. It had been broken in two places when he’d been thrown from his car. According to the doctor who had treated him, it had healed nicely, but it still ached when he walked a lot. And he’d walked a lot during the past three days.

In addition to his leg aching like hell, the two nights he’d spent with hardly any sleep had exhausted him. By the time he’d found the address that kept flashing in and out of his head, it had been past midnight, far too late to be knocking on anyone’s door, especially someone he wasn’t sure he even knew.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the porch. He’d only meant to sit there and wait until morning, until a decent hour to knock on the door. He’d chosen the spot near the steps to wait because he’d needed cover from the prying eyes of neighbors and any patrol cars that might pass by. After everything he’d been through, the last thing he’d wanted was to be picked up by the police, and the huge bush near the steps was wide enough and tall enough to provide just the right amount of cover.

Hunter wrinkled his nose and sniffed. The bathroom door was closed and the shower was running full blast, but he could swear he smelled bacon frying.

She’d said she would fix him breakfast, and Hunter’s mouth watered at just the thought of food.

Not only had it been three days since he’d showered, but the last meal he could remember eating was the egg sandwich he’d had yesterday morning. Unfortunately, it had been the last of his money as well.

At the thought of the money, Hunter swallowed hard and lathered his upper body. Then, using the washcloth, he scrubbed with a vengeance, as if doing so would scrub away the thoughts of how he’d gotten the money.

Stolen money.

Jumping the hospital guard outside his room and knocking him unconscious had been bad enough, but stealing the man’s wallet, his watch and his shoes was even worse. Hunter heaved a sigh. Desperate measures called for desperate actions, and he had been desperate…desperate to escape. Besides, it hadn’t been much money, just barely enough to eat on during the three days he’d been hitchhiking. The shoes weren’t that great, either. They were too tight for one thing. But wearing tight shoes beat the hell out of going barefoot. As for the watch, it wasn’t as if it was gold or anything. It probably didn’t cost more than twenty dollars at most.

Even with all his excuses for doing what he’d done, he felt badly about it. Even before Leah had told him he was a cop, stealing from the guard had bothered him enough to realize that, whatever he was, he was no thief. And somehow, some way, he fully intended to repay every penny he’d taken, including enough to buy the man a new pair of shoes and a new watch. But first he needed to figure out why there had been a guard posted outside his hospital room…and why the hospital had been holding him prisoner.

Hunter turned off the shower, grabbed the towel Leah had left for him and vigorously dried himself. He’d been lucky. When he’d gone in search of something to wear other than the skimpy hospital gown, he’d come upon an unattended cart of sheets, towels and blankets not far from his hospital room. On the cart, secured in a clear plastic bag, were clean scrubs. He’d snatched the bag, and just as he ducked into an empty room to change, he heard the footsteps of the attendant returning to distribute the contents of the cart. Wearing the scrubs and the security guard’s shoes, he’d been able to walk right out without a hassle.

Once outside, he’d only had to walk a couple of blocks before he spotted an all-night café. Judging by all the eighteen-wheelers in the parking lot, the café was also a popular truck stop. Thanks to the generosity of one wizened old trucker, he’d been able to hitch a ride all the way to Alabama.

Hunter pulled on the jeans and shirt. He’d had a lot of time to think on the road, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that there was more to his situation than just the accident, more than just having amnesia. And despite Leah’s statement about them being “just friends,” Hunter’s gut feeling told him that there was a good possibility that she knew more than she was telling. With every fiber of his being, he was certain that she was the key that could unlock his memory, the key to the whole puzzle.

But could he trust her? Should he trust her? After what he’d been through, he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone.

No fingerprints on record.

“Impossible,” Leah muttered as she cracked an egg and dropped the yoke and egg white into the skillet of heated oil. The oil popped and crackled as the egg cooked, and Leah tilted her head to one side when she heard the water pipes in the old house groaning, an indication that Hunter had cut off the shower.

She returned her attention to the egg, and in one smooth motion, flipped it over.

No fingerprints.

Definitely impossible…unless…unless he’d lied about the police not being able to find a match. But what reason would he have to lie?

Leah shook her head. No reason. To be fair, there could be another explanation. The police could have lied to him, just as they had lied to her.

Again though, why? What she needed were answers. But she didn’t have a clue as to how to get them or even where to begin. For all she knew, Hunter could have lied about everything from the very beginning. About being a cop. About his medical leave.

“No!” she muttered with a determined shake of her head, denying the possibility of such a thing. There had to be something else, some other reason for all that had happened.

Suddenly, Leah grew stone still, the spatula in her hand poised just above the skillet. She couldn’t explain it, but without looking, she knew the exact moment Hunter entered the kitchen.

She cleared her throat, mostly to swallow the lump that had formed in it. “You timed that just about right,” she said, scooping the egg from the skillet and sliding it onto a plate next to the first one she’d cooked.

Only then did she glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, he was standing just inside the doorway.

He’d shaved, she noted. The clothes she’d given him didn’t fit quite as well as they had the last time she’d seen him wear them. He’d lost weight, just enough so that the jeans no longer hugged him like a second skin, and the knit shirt was loose instead of molded to his body.

Leah frowned. Though he’d combed his hair, it was still damp from the shower. She should have thought to tell him where she kept the hair dryer.

The sight of Hunter standing there with wet hair reminded her of the first time she’d seen him, and like an old-time movie reel, a kaleidoscope of images played through her mind.

It had been the end of February, the week before Mardi Gras Day, and she’d worked a night shift at the hospital. Though it wasn’t something she normally did, after she left the hospital, she’d let her friend, Christine, persuade her to meet a couple of their co-workers at Café Du Monde in the Quarter for coffee and beignets. Surprisingly the outdoor coffeehouse hadn’t been overly crowded from the influx of tourists in town for Mardi Gras festivities. Leah had decided that most of the visitors were probably still in their hotel rooms sleeping off their previous night of debauchery and carousing.

The sky had been overcast with dark clouds, the damp air of the Mississippi River chilly and breezy. She’d just seated herself with her friends, when it suddenly began to rain. She’d glanced up, and that’s when she’d seen him. He’d been running across the street to take shelter beneath the deep overhang around the outdoor coffeehouse. In his path was a bedraggled bag lady struggling with her shopping cart full of junk that she’d collected.

Then, something amazing had happened, something rarely seen in the Quarter. Though it meant getting soaked, he had stopped long enough to help the old woman push her cart up out of the street onto the sidewalk that ran in front of the coffeehouse. Then he’d pushed it beneath the shelter of the overhang. By the time he’d sat down at a nearby table, he’d been soaking wet.

“Is something wrong?”

Hunter’s question jerked her back to the present. “No—nothing’s wrong,” she told him. She motioned toward the plate of food on the cabinet. “I hope you like your eggs fried.” She already knew he did, but did he remember that he did?

Hunter shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” He stepped farther into the room.

With the spatula, she motioned toward the refrigerator. “There’s orange juice and apple juice in the fridge. Pour yourself a glass of whichever you want and be seated.” She grabbed a mitt and opened the oven door. “Yep, perfect timing,” she reiterated. “Even the biscuits are ready.” A couple of minutes later, she placed the plate of food on the table in front of him. On the plate were the two fried eggs, grits, bacon and a couple of the hot biscuits that she’d buttered as soon as she’d removed them from the oven.

“This looks great,” he told her.

“I’m afraid that the only kind of jelly I have is fig preserves,” she said. “Is that okay?”

Before she realized his intentions, he grabbed her wrist. “You tell me.”

Chapter 3

Leah swallowed hard. Hunter’s manacle grip was anything but gentle, but it was the hard, cold look in his eyes that sent a shiver of fear racing up her spine. “Tell you?” she cried. “Tell you what?” She tugged on her wrist, but his grip tightened.

“If, as you claim, we’re such good friends,” he sneered, “then you would damn well know my likes and dislikes, wouldn’t you?”

Leah tensed and desperation clawed at her insides. She’d been a fool, a lovesick fool. Only a complete idiot would let herself get caught alone with a man with no memory of a past that was questionable.

Stay calm and think. Use your brain. If it came down to a physical confrontation, she’d lose, hands down. Even though Hunter had lost weight, he still outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds. The only thing to do was try to bluff her way out of the situation.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing—” She looked pointedly at his hand around her wrist. “Whatever it is, stop it,” she demanded. “And let go of my arm. Now, please.”

For long seconds he simply stared at her as an array of expressions crossed his face. First confusion, then, when he glanced down at his hand wrapped around her wrist, he paled and confusion changed to shock.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, immediately releasing her. Propping both elbows on the table, he dropped his head forward, and supporting his head with the heels of his hands, he squeezed his eyes closed. “Sorry.” He slowly shook his head from side to side. “I didn’t mean to—it’s just that—” He dropped his hands and looked up at her, his eyes reflecting his genuine remorse. “Everything’s so damn confusing. I don’t know what to think, who to trust, how to act.”

Leah was still wary, but her heart ached for him as she watched him struggle for composure. “It’s okay,” she told him gently. “I guess I’m a bit jumpy, too. It’s not every day that a long-lost friend shows up on my doorstep. In hospital scrubs, knowing my name.” Though she was serious about being jumpy, the last was said in an effort to relieve the tension, an effort that fell flat if his expression was any gauge.

He shook his head. “No—you don’t understand. I need some answers.”

“Well, of course you do,” she said.

At her placating tone, warning bells went off in Hunter’s head, and he threw her a wary look.

“Considering your condition it’s only natural that you want answers,” she continued.

Her tone and expression were full of what seemed like genuine concern, but beneath it all, he sensed fear as well. Was she simply telling him what she thought he wanted to hear? Was the concern reflected in her eyes real or fake?

“Yeah, I want answers,” he finally agreed. “But there’s more to it than just the amnesia.” The not knowing about his past was driving him crazy, and while it was true that he needed answers, even worse than not knowing about himself was the issue of not knowing who to trust. Once again he had to ask himself if he could trust her.

Hunter stared deep into her eyes as if doing so would tell him whether she was trustworthy. He wanted to trust her, and the last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him.

At some point, you have to trust someone. Either that or end up running for the rest of your life.

There was no way he could keep running and, to give her credit, so far she’d done nothing suspicious, nothing but try to help…the food, the clothes…

Hunter swallowed hard. “You know that hospital I told you about?”

Leah nodded.

“They didn’t just release me. I was being held there against my will, and I had to escape.”

Leah backed away from him. First the amnesia, and now he was delusional as well, unless… It had been her experience that the only people they locked up in hospitals were mental patients.

Stay calm. Don’t panic. She forced a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure it seemed like that to you, but—”

His eyes suddenly blazed with fury. “Not just seemed, dammit!” He slammed his fist against the top of the table so hard the dishes rattled. “I’m telling you that I was being kept a prisoner.”

Leah threw up her hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay.” She forced calmness in her voice that she didn’t feel. “Just take it easy.”

Hunter sighed heavily. “Sorry.” His face was bleak with regret. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

Leah’s tensed muscles relaxed somewhat and she felt her professional instincts kick in. In an even, soothing voice, she said, “Maybe if you talk about it, I might understand better. Why don’t you tell me about it—about your stay at the hospital—and the reasons you think you were being held prisoner.”

After a moment, he finally nodded.

Keeping an eagle eye on Hunter, Leah sidestepped over to the cabinet. “Just let me get something to drink.” Without waiting for a response, she poured a glass of apple juice, then seated herself across the table from him. She motioned toward his plate. “Your food’s getting cold. Eat first. Then talk.”

When something that resembled a grin tugged at the corners of his lips, Leah relaxed even more.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled and gave her a two-fingered salute. “Aren’t you eating, too?”

Leah shook her head. “I ate earlier,” she lied. Truth was, she was far too nervous and her emotions in too much chaos to eat, even if she wanted to.

Before Leah had finished even half her juice, Hunter had polished off every bite of food on his plate.

“That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he told her. “From the bottom of my heart and my stomach, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she responded with a smile. “When was the last time you ate?”

“That obvious, huh?” But instead of answering her question, Hunter shoved the plate aside and wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. “Please understand that I’m just trying to figure things out, trying to understand what happened to me and why.”

Leah nodded and in spite of her earlier apprehension, sympathy welled up inside her. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

For several seconds he stared at her, then, as if he’d come to some kind of decision, he began. “When I came out of the coma, I was placed in rehab. My right leg had been badly broken in the accident, and it was almost six weeks before I could walk again without assistance.”

He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “Once I could walk,” he continued, “I was placed in a private room. I was still pretty weak, and at first, I didn’t think about it too much. I mean a John Doe, a charity case, being placed in a private room,” he clarified. “I was just grateful that I didn’t have to share the room with anyone else.” He frowned. “Later, I realized that I was never allowed to go anywhere outside of my room without an orderly accompanying me.

“Anyway—” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “As I felt stronger, I began to feel antsy. I was ready to get out of there so I could find out who I was—find out about my life. But each time I asked the doctor about being discharged, he always came up with an excuse as to why I wasn’t ready. Well, I got enough of that real fast and decided to simply leave.

“Since all I had to wear was a hospital gown, I talked an orderly into getting me some scrubs, and—” Hunter shook his head. “A lot of good that did me. I only got as far as the hospital exit door before they caught me. Before I knew what hit me, one of the nurses popped me with a shot and the lights went out. When I woke up, I was back in my bed with restraints on my wrists and ankles. The scrubs were gone, and I was in a hospital gown again.”

Unbidden outrage and anger at the treatment that he’d received welled within Leah. “Didn’t anyone bother trying to explain?”

Hunter shook his head. “No matter how many times I asked, no one would tell me what was going on, and each time I raised hell, they drugged me. It didn’t take me long to figure out that if I ever hoped to leave that place, I was going to have to play along. I’d have to pretend that I was cooperating. After about a week, they finally removed the restraints and began giving me the sedatives by mouth.”

Restraints…sedatives… Leah frowned, not liking what she was hearing. Until she knew more though, she figured that humoring him would be the best thing to do for now. “So, just how did you escape?” she asked.

“The last couple of nights I was there, I pretended to swallow my pill, and as soon as the nurse left, I spit it out. As long as they thought I was drugged they didn’t watch me as close.”

Hunter paused. He’d seen the fear in her eyes earlier, and since the last thing he wanted was to scare her again, he decided against telling her about the guard outside his door. He’d caught the man half-asleep, and before the guard had realized what hit him, he’d knocked the man unconscious and dragged him into the bathroom out of sight. He’d debated on whether to take the guard’s uniform, but one look at the short skinny man and he’d known that there was no way he could squeeze into the clothes.

“I found some clean scrubs on an unattended utility cart down the hall from my room,” he continued. “With the scrubs on—” He shrugged. “No one paid me any attention. The only door that wasn’t locked was at the emergency-room entrance. Once I found that, I walked right out.”

When Leah shifted in her chair, he could tell she was unsure of how to react to what he’d told her, and he wondered if she would catch his discrepancy about the clothes, specifically the shoes, the one thing he’d glossed over.

As Leah stared into her glass of juice, she tried to digest everything that Hunter had just told her. Everything he’d said, the restraints, the sedatives, all of it only served to confirm her suspicions about him being held in the hospital mental ward. There were also huge discrepancies in his story about escaping. Mental wards had locked doors, and patients didn’t just wander around at will. He wasn’t telling her everything, and every instinct within cried foul. Something just didn’t add up.

“You’re right about one thing,” she finally said, looking up at him. “We do need to find out more about what happened to you and why.” And I need a little time to do some checking around, she added silently. If she could determine exactly which hospital in Orlando had treated him, then maybe she could get some answers. But first she had to figure out how to do so without Hunter knowing that she was checking up on his story.

When Hunter reached up to cover a yawn, Leah figured she’d been handed the perfect opportunity.

“For right now though,” she told him as she stood, “in my professional opinion, I think what you need even more is rest.” She picked up his plate and juice glass. “If you’d like, you can take a nap on that bed in the first bedroom down the hall. Then, when you’ve rested some, we can figure out where to go from here.”

Hunter yawned again. She was right about him needing rest, and the fact that she’d said “we” was certainly encouraging. Did he dare hope that she believed him?

“I am tired,” he admitted. Tired didn’t begin to explain how drained and exhausted he felt, and since he had no money, nowhere else to go and no one else he could trust for the time being… “Maybe just a short nap—if you’re sure that’s okay?”

Leah nodded. “That’s more than okay with me.” She walked over to the cabinet, where she paused. “Tell you what though,” she said. “Why don’t you nap in the bedroom at the end of the hall, instead of the front bedroom? It’s a lot quieter back there. Less street noise.”

There would also be less chance of him overhearing any phone conversations she had. She placed the dirty dishes in the sink, then motioned toward the hall door. “We’ll talk more after you’ve rested.”

Once Hunter had disappeared around the hall doorway, at the last minute, Leah remembered that she hadn’t yet made up her bed that morning. Too bad, she finally decided. As he’d said, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Leah frowned as she wiped off the table. But Hunter wasn’t a beggar, not by a long shot. She transferred the dishes in the sink to the dishwasher. He was her husband, and from the looks of him, he wouldn’t care if there were clean sheets on the bed.

Glancing around the kitchen, Leah began what she’d always called busywork. Wiping the stovetop, the counter, and cleaning the glass front of the oven and microwave. She wanted to give him plenty of time to get to sleep before she began making phone calls.

When Hunter entered the bedroom at the end of the hallway, he immediately realized that it belonged to Leah. For one thing, the bed was unmade.

As he stood, staring at the sheets, just the thought of climbing into the bed that she’d slept in did funny things to his libido. Surely he wouldn’t be feeling this way unless there was a good reason, which, in turn, made him more certain than ever that she hadn’t been exactly truthful about their so-called friendship.

Then, another thought occurred to him. If she’d been untruthful about their relationship, she could be lying about other things as well. What if she was using the same trick he’d used at the hospital? What if she was just lulling him into a false sense of safety so that once he was asleep, she could call the police to come get him?

Get a grip, man. If she’d meant to call the cops on him, she could have easily done so while he was in the shower. Hunter shook his head. Too many days of plotting and planning his escape from the hospital had taken its toll, and he was seeing a conspiracy in everything. Again he reminded himself that at some point, he had to trust someone, and right now, Leah was the only game in town.

Hunter stared at the doorknob. Too bad there wasn’t a lock on the door, but the doorknob, like the house, was old, the kind that required a key.

Near the bed, Hunter pulled off the knit shirt, unsnapped and unzipped the jeans and shucked them as well, then climbed into bed. As he lay his head on the pillow, a musky flowery scent filled his nostrils. The scent felt familiar and safe. Was he imagining things, or was it a memory?

Hunter closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Whether imagined or a true memory, he was too dog-tired to worry about it.

Leah eyed the doorway leading to the hallway. She needed to put some clothes on instead of walking around in her pajamas and housecoat. And she needed a shower. And since she’d sent Hunter off to her bedroom, there was no way she could get into her closet without disturbing him, and disturbing him was the last thing she wanted at the moment.

Leah stood in the middle of the kitchen, debating what to do next, when suddenly the solution to her clothing problem came to her. Maybe, just maybe, there was something in the laundry room that she could wear. If she remembered right, she’d neglected to put away the last load of clothes she’d dried.

In the laundry room, she rummaged through the dryer. Sure enough, she found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Both were faded and wrinkled, but too bad, she thought as she headed for the bathroom. Wearing faded wrinkled clothes was the least of her problems at the moment.

When Leah entered the bathroom, she paused, her hand on the doorknob as she debated whether to leave the door ajar or lock it. But just thinking about being locked up in the small room was enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. For as long as she could remember, being in a small, closed-up space was a surefire guarantee that she would have a panic attack.

Leah pushed the door almost closed, leaving about a six-inch gap. Besides, she comforted herself, if Hunter had meant to harm her, he could have already done so.

She glanced around the bathroom. Hunter had left the room the way he’d found it except for the wet shower curtain and the damp towels and washcloth. Leah’s gaze landed on the small trash basket in the corner. And except for the scrubs he’d been wearing. He’d shoved those into the trash.

She walked over to the basket, pulled out the scrubs, and carefully examined them. “Yes,” she whispered when she finally found what she’d been looking for. Most hospitals stamped their names on the scrubs that they provided to their surgery doctors and nurses. Just as she’d suspected and hoped for, inside the neck of the shirt, stamped with permanent ink, was the name of the hospital, Orlando Memorial. Knowing the name of the hospital would save her a lot of time and trouble, not to mention the cost of making a bunch of long-distance calls.

“Now, that’s strange,” she murmured, noticing, for the first time, the square lump in the pocket of the pants. The lump turned out to be a black billfold, made of plastic that was supposed to resemble leather.

But Hunter’s billfold had been burned in the wreck, so where had this one come from? And why would Hunter have thrown it away? she wondered as she searched through the different compartments.

Leah frowned. Empty. The billfold was empty. Well, duh, what did you expect? Why else would he have thrown it away?

Still perplexed and more wary than ever, she stuffed the scrubs and the billfold back into the trash basket. The answer had to be that he’d stolen it. He’d needed money, and with no available resources, he’d resorted to taking what he needed. But from whom? And what had happened to the person he’d stolen the billfold from? A shiver ran up her spine. Just one more reason to proceed with caution, she decided.

From experience, Leah knew that it usually took about thirty to forty minutes for her to brush her teeth, shower, wash and dry her hair, and dress. By the time she’d dried her hair and was pulling on clean underwear and the jeans, she figured that she’d given Hunter plenty of time to fall asleep. There was just one problem, she thought as she glared down at the front of the jeans. She couldn’t snap the jeans and still breathe.

With an oh-well shrug, she zipped up the jeans as far as they would go and left the snap undone. Once she pulled on the T-shirt, she gave a soft sigh. The T-shirt was midhip length, just long enough to cover the unsnapped, half-zipped jeans.

She glanced at her profile in the full-length mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door, and sighed again. Due to her body build and in spite of her slightly swollen abdomen, with loose clothes on, she didn’t look pregnant yet. Even so, her clothes were getting a bit too snug for comfort, and it wouldn’t be long before she would have to buy maternity wear.

The only way that Hunter would know that she was pregnant was if he saw her naked. Even then, he might think she was simply out of shape or a little overweight.

Just the thought of Hunter seeing her naked sent a wave of both apprehension and desire rushing through her. Lying to him about their relationship was bad enough, but how would he react once he realized she was pregnant?

Leah turned away from the mirror. Best not to think about it for now. There was no point. Until she knew more about what had happened to him, she didn’t intend to get that close. No matter how much her body wanted him.

Once Leah had straightened the bathroom, she stepped into the hallway and stared at the door leading to her bedroom. Hunter had closed the door, but was he asleep yet? Only one way to make sure.

For the most part, her bare feet were noiseless on the wooden floor, but the house was old, and there were places where the floor creaked. Though she tried to avoid those spots, completely avoiding them was impossible. Each time the floor creaked, she froze, her ears straining for the slightest sound coming from the bedroom. When she finally reached the bedroom door, she held her breath, slowly turned the doorknob then eased the door open just far enough to see inside.

Only when she saw that Hunter was indeed asleep did she dare breathe again. He was on his back with his arms thrown out to the side, his chest bare, and he was breathing deeply and evenly. As her gaze settled on his bare chest then moved lower to where the sheet just barely covered his hips, a quiver surged through her veins and her mind burned with the memory of the last time they had made love. Knowing that he was naked in her bed sent another familiar ache of desire surging through her.

Momentarily paralyzed by the depth of her feeling, Leah eased the door shut again. But even with the door shut, the old adage “out of sight, out of mind” didn’t work, and it was several moments before she could finally force her limbs to do her bidding.

Back in the kitchen, she went straight to the telephone, called directory assistance and asked for the phone number of the Orlando Memorial Hospital. The sooner she found out what she needed to know, the sooner she would know for sure exactly what had happened to Hunter.

Once she’d scribbled down the number and disconnected the call, she hesitated long enough to come up with a plan of action. As a nurse, she knew that getting any information about a patient without that patient’s privately assigned patient number was out of the question, a long shot at best, because of HIPA, the Hospital Informational Privacy Act.

Long shot or not, she had to try. Taking a deep breath, she punched out the number. “Admissions, please,” she told the woman who finally answered her call. After several moments she was finally connected.

“Admissions,” a woman’s voice answered. “Virginia Cole speaking. How may I help you?”

At least Ms. Cole sounded friendly enough, which would make her inquiry easier than it might have been.

“Yes—hello, Ms. Cole. Any help you could give me would certainly be appreciated. My name is Leah Johnson, and I’m with Charity Hospital in New Orleans, Louisiana. We’ve just admitted an amnesia patient who claims that he was recently a patient at your hospital. We’d like to start procedures to have a copy of his medical records transferred.”

“What’s the patient’s name and his patient number?”

“He says his name is Hunter Davis,” Leah told the woman. “But he doesn’t remember his patient number, and of course there’s no way we would know it. He said he had been at your hospital a number of months. He was a victim of an automobile accident and he also says that he was in a coma for a couple of weeks.”

“I’m sure you realize that I really can’t give out patient information without the number or proper authorization.”

Leah drummed her fingertips against the kitchen countertop. “Yes, I do realize that, but these are special circumstances. The man has amnesia.”

“Well, I suppose I could check with my supervisor. Can you hold a minute?”

“Yes, I’ll hold.”

While Leah waited, she kept her ears tuned to any noise that would indicate that Hunter had awakened.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the phone clicked in her ear. “Ah—Ms. Johnson? You still there?”

“Yes,” Leah answered.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Johnson,” the woman said. “But we can’t help you.”

Leah’s fingers stilled. Though it was just a gut feeling, there was something in the carefully controlled tone of Virginia Cole’s voice that set off warning bells, a guarded reticence that hadn’t been present when Leah had first asked about Hunter.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely sure,” was the woman’s emphatic answer. “Sorry.”

But Leah wasn’t the type to give up easily, especially with so much at stake. “Well, can you at least tell me if any John Doe’s were admitted about that time?” she asked.

“No, I can’t,” the woman retorted in a flat tone that brooked no argument. Then, without further explanation or even so much as a goodbye, the woman promptly disconnected the call.

“Well, thanks for nothing,” Leah muttered to the dead line. But as she slowly hung up the receiver, her mind raced.

In spite of the woman’s refusal to cooperate, she had proof that he’d been there. How else could he have gotten the scrubs?

Leah turned away from the phone. There was an answer, but it wasn’t one she liked or wanted to dwell on. The only other way he could have gotten the scrubs was by stealing them. But even that answer only conjured up more questions. Why would he have bothered to steal someone’s scrubs in the first place unless he’d been in a position where he’d needed clothes? And the only reason he would have needed clothes was if he’d been a patient in a hospital.

Hunter didn’t want to wake up, but no matter how hard he tried to ignore the building pressure in his bladder, further sleep was impossible.

With his eyes still closed, he groaned and pushed himself to a sitting position. He reached up, rubbed his eyes, and finally opened them. Then, he went stone still.

“What the hell?” With a fierce scowl, he glanced around the unfamiliar, spacious bedroom that was decorated with lace and ruffles. Definitely a woman’s bedroom. But what woman?

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and as he glanced around the room, searching for something, anything, that might give him a clue, his gaze found and rested on a framed photo on the bedside table.

In the photo were two women. One was an attractive older, woman who was probably in her seventies, but it was the other one, the younger woman, that snapped his memory into focus. And along with recognition of the woman, all the doubts and confusion he’d experienced over the past weeks surged through him with a vengeance.

Leah Johnson…the woman he’d seen in his flashbacks…his so-called friend.

Beside the photo was a clock radio, and the digital dial showed that it was 4:00 p.m.

Hunter shook his head in amazement. He’d slept like a dead man for over eight hours, a record for him. No wonder his bladder was about ready to burst.

He dragged himself to the edge of the bed, but when he stood, he did so cautiously. His leg was stiff. From experience, he knew that once he began moving around, it would loosen up.

On the floor beside the bed, exactly where he’d left them, were the jeans and shirt that Leah Johnson had provided. Hunter stepped into the jeans, snapped and zipped them, then pulled the knit shirt on over his head. As he approached the bedroom door, too many days of looking over his shoulder and expecting that any minute he’d get caught made him wary. He tilted his head and listened, but all he heard was the hum of the central air conditioner.

With a shake of his head and a sigh, he eased the door open. The most opportune time for someone to grab him would have been while he was sleeping. Since no one had, it stood to reason that no one was waiting for him to wake up so they could pounce on him.

The hallway was empty, and as he made his way to the bathroom, he listened for any sound that would tell him where Leah was in the house, or even if she was still there.

As he entered the bathroom, he heard the distinct rattle of dishes and caught a whiff of food. Realizing that she was in the kitchen made him aware of just how hungry he was. How long? he wondered. Just how long would she be willing to extend her hospitality? And if she didn’t, then what?

He could always try to contact the New York City Police Department, and he would…eventually. But without money or transportation, his options were limited. Besides, his gut feeling told him that the woman named Leah had all the answers he needed.

The toilet flushing was the first warning Leah had that Hunter was awake, and she tensed as she stirred the pot of soup on the stove top.

Though he hadn’t made a sound, when she ventured a glance over her shoulder, he was standing just inside the kitchen doorway. Deep lines of concentration creased his forehead.

He motioned toward the stove. “Whatever that is you’re cooking smells out of this world,” he said, stepping farther into the room.

In spite of her feelings of trepidation, a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “I call it ham-bone vegetable soup. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to have a bowl.”

An hour and two bowls of soup and a thick ham sandwich later, Hunter groaned, then shoved back from the table and stood. “My memory might be out of whack, but there’s nothing wrong with my appetite. That was good. But you should have stopped me after the first bowl.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed—”

The sharp rap coming from the front door interrupted Leah midsentence.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Hunter demanded.

Leah shook her head. “No, not really.” Trying to ignore the tense wild look in Hunter’s eyes, she tried placating him. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is.” She turned and headed toward the hallway. Before she’d taken two steps, Hunter grabbed her arm, then stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door.

“I don’t know how, but they might have tracked me down,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t let on that you’ve seen me or that I’m here… Please,” he added. “I’m trusting you. I can’t be locked up again, not without first finding out why.”

For several moments Leah stared at him. The wild look in Hunter’s eyes, along with his paranoia, was a stark reminder of just how little she knew about him. It also reminded her that there was a good chance that Hunter had been locked up because he was a mental patient.

Leah covered his hand with hers. “You’re safe here,” she told him. “You can trust me.” But even as she uttered the lie, guilt for the other lies she’d told him reared its ugly head.

Another sharp rap echoed throughout the house, and after a moment, Hunter finally nodded and released his hold on her.

From behind the heavy curtain that draped the front window in the parlor, Leah peered out at the two men who stood on the porch. Both had short, military-style haircuts, and both were dressed in suits and ties. Other than the fact that one was just a bit taller, and one had dark hair and the other one was sandy-haired, they could have been cookie-cutter look-alikes.

Whoever they were, Leah had an uneasy feeling that they weren’t there for a social call. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Hunter was out of sight, she walked to the front door. Once she was at the door, she called out, “Who is it?”

“FBI, ma’am,” one of the men answered. “Open up. We’ve got a search warrant.”

Stay calm…don’t panic. “Just a second, please.” Leah slipped the slide bolt of the chain lock into the doorplate, then opened the door as wide as the chain allowed.

“I’d like to see some ID,” she said. “And the warrant,” she added.

The taller, dark-haired agent flipped open a badge and held it up to the narrow opening of the door.

The badge looked authentic enough, but of course she’d never had reason to see an FBI badge, so there was no way for her to know if it was real or fake. Then he slipped a paper through the opening.

Leah glanced over the paper, and once she saw that it was a warrant to search the premises and she recognized the name of the local judge who had signed it, she decided that the warrant and the agents had to be authentic.

“Ma’am, I’m Agent Lance Martin, and this is Agent Ray Harris.” He motioned toward the sandy-haired man. “Open the door. We need to talk to you.”

“About what? And why do you need to search my home?”

“This is about Hunter Davis,” he said.

The uneasy feeling she’d had a few minutes earlier grew. Leah took a steadying breath as she fought to keep her panic felt from showing on her face.

For several moments she simply stared at the man, trying to buy time. Where was Hunter? she wondered, fighting the temptation to look over her shoulder. Even more important, was he within earshot? If the FBI was there looking for him, he’d be caught for sure. Then another thought suddenly occurred to her. The FBI would also know that she was married to him. What if they said her full name?

“Why are you looking for Hunter?” she demanded.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you.”

“Then just go away,” she told him. “Hunter is dead.”

“Afraid we can’t do that, ma’am. We have good reason to believe that he’s alive, and that you know he’s alive. We also have reason to believe that he’s here in this house. One way or—”

“How do you know that?” she retorted. “Just what makes you think he’s here?”

“We have our sources, ma’am. Now open up. We don’t have a lot of time, and one way or another, we’re coming in. It’s up to you whether we do it peaceably or by force. If you don’t let us in, we can and will break down the door.”

Leah’s heart pumped double time beneath her breasts. She was between a rock and a hard place and had no choice. As she unlatched the chain, she silently cursed her trembling fingers. Glaring at first one man, then the other one, she opened the door.

“This won’t take long, ma’am,” the agent named Ray Harris told her as he and the other agent pushed past her. When both men whipped out guns from the holsters beneath their jackets, a hard fist of terror lodged in Leah’s stomach.

Ray turned and headed for the hallway. “I’ll check back here,” he told the other agent, “while you check through there.” With his head, he motioned toward the door on the opposite side of the room.

Leah stood frozen, her heart racing, as the dark-haired agent disappeared through the doorway and the sandy-haired agent crept toward the hall. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Where was Hunter? Surely he’d overheard what the agents had said, and surely he’d had sense enough to escape through the back door.

The second Ray Harris turned the corner into the hallway, Hunter jumped him, and Leah screamed.

Chapter 4

As Leah’s scream echoed in the house, Hunter grabbed the agent around the neck in a chokehold and latched on to the gun.

Across the room, the dark-haired agent came charging back into the room just as his partner elbowed Hunter in the gut. Hunter grunted from the blow but held on to the gun and tightened his grip around the other man’s neck.

Before the dark-haired agent got halfway across the room, quick as lightning, Hunter twisted the gun, pried it loose from the agent’s hand and rammed it against the man’s temple.

Hunter’s captive stiffened then went still, and the dark-haired agent skidded to a halt. Using his captive as a shield, Hunter forced him into the parlor.

“Easy now,” Hunter told the dark-haired agent, his voice deceptively soft but edged with steel. “Just take it easy and no one will get hurt. Put your gun down and kick it over here. And no funny business.”

Leah’s heart pounded. Would the agent give up his gun?

“We’re not here to hurt you,” the agent told Hunter. Then he knelt down and placed the gun on the floor. “We’re here to protect you.” He straightened, then kicked the gun toward Hunter.

The sound of metal skidding against wood grated loudly in Leah’s ears as the gun slid across the floor then stopped just to the right of Hunter’s feet. Using the heel of his foot, Hunter kicked the gun back behind him into the hallway.

All Leah could do was stand frozen and watch. Was Hunter running a bluff on the agents or had he lied to her about being a cop, about being unable to fire a weapon? Surely if he was a cop the FBI would know about his medical leave and the reasons behind it. But then, maybe they didn’t. Maybe such things came under patient-doctor confidentiality. After all, the agent did give up his weapon.

“Down on your knees,” Hunter ordered. “Hands behind your head.” When the dark-haired agent dropped to his knees and raised his hands, Hunter loosened his hold on the captive agent and shoved him in the direction of the one on his knees. “You, too,” he snarled. “Down. Hands behind your head.”

The agent stumbled but caught himself, and with a backward glare at Hunter, he joined his partner on the floor.

The minute the agent was down, Hunter yelled, “Answers! I want some damn answers. And I want them now! You! Martin!” He waved the gun at the dark-haired man. “Start talking.”

“Easy does it, Hunter,” the agent said. “Like I said, we’re not here to hurt you. We’re only here to take you into protective custody. All I can tell you is that you’re a material witness to a murder committed in Orlando.”

“Yeah, right!” Hunter snarled. “And I’ve got some ocean-front property in Arizona for sale.”

“It’s true,” the sandy-haired agent told him.

“Well, the joke’s on you,” Hunter sneered. “The only thing I remember about Orlando is being held prisoner in that damn hospital. I didn’t even know my own name until this morning. Seems I have this little problem called amnesia.”

“We know that,” the dark-haired agent said evenly. “It’s because of the amnesia that we can’t tell you anything else. You have to remember it on your own, without any prompting or help or else your testimony won’t hold water.”

Breathing hard, Hunter glared first at one man and then the other. Though he didn’t trust either agent as far as he could throw them, their body language told him they were telling the truth.

Body language? Now, where in the hell had that come from? More memory returning or instincts and training? Cop instincts and training? Leah had said he was a cop. No time to think about it now.

“Okay,” Hunter drawled. His steely gaze slid to the sandy-haired agent, then back to the dark-haired agent. “Just for argument’s sake, say I believe you. What then?”

“For your own protection, we’ve been instructed to take you and your wife into custody and take you both to a safe house.”

His wife? Hunter felt as if he’d just been sucker punched. His eyes cut to Leah. You’re safe here… You can trust me. As her words swirled in his head, a cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. She’d lied. And if she’d lied about something like that, what else had she lied about? Was she the reason the feds had showed up? Had she called them after all?

Leah felt her insides shrivel. Hunter’s expression was tight with strain and anger as he glared at her, but the stony look of betrayal in his eyes cut her to the quick. “Hunter,” she entreated. “Please, let me explain.”

Icy contempt blazed in his eyes, but before she could utter another word, he shifted his gaze back to the agents. “Then what?” Hunter demanded, glaring at the men.

Leah swallowed against the ache in her throat. She should have trusted him.

“We’ll keep you in the safe house until a transfer back to Orlando can be arranged,” Lance Martin answered. “There’s a doctor in Orlando that we think can use hypnosis to break through your amnesia without compromising your testimony.”

Safe house? Raw rage boiled up within Leah, rage with herself for not trusting Hunter, but mostly rage against the police and the two agents, the very people who were supposed to uphold the law and protect the innocent.

Her eyes narrowed and she glowered at Martin. She’d been lied to from the get-go, purposely deceived. She’d spent months in anguish, thinking that Hunter was dead and wondering how she was going to raise a child on her own. And while she’d been grieving, these people had kept Hunter locked away, had kept him a prisoner without telling him why. And now they expected to waltz right in and have her and Hunter go along with them like meek little lambs. Well, no more. Enough was enough.

Leah slammed her hand down on a nearby table. “Hey!” she shouted. All three men jerked their heads her way. “My turn to ask questions! Just who the hell do you people think you are, messing in other people’s lives? I’m not stepping foot out that door, not until I get some answers. And if you think otherwise, you’ve got another think coming.”

“Now, now, Mrs. Davis, just calm down,” Martin told her.

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down,” she snapped at him. “And don’t you dare patronize me.” Leah knew she was losing control, but for once in her life, she didn’t care. “I want some answers,” she screamed at him. “And I want them now!”

“All in good time, ma’am,” he told her.

“All in good time?” she cried. “That’s all you’ve got to say? Well, we’ll just see about that!” Leah shifted her glare to Hunter. “Shoot him, Hunter. Just shoot the bastard.”

Though Hunter kept his eyes and the gun trained on the agents, his shoulders tensed and the look on his face bordered on desperation and confusion. It was only then that Leah realized what she had said. How desperate she sounded. She didn’t really want the man dead, she just wanted some answers.

Leah’s face burned with regret.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the baseball bat propped next to the door where she’d left it. Time for a different approach, she decided. Before anyone realized her intentions, she reached over, snatched the bat and jerked it up into a swinging position. Tightening her grip and careful to keep a safe distance, she edged closer to the agent called Martin.

“Back off, Leah,” Hunter demanded.

Leah ignored him, her eyes on Martin. “I said I want answers,” she stormed. “And one way or another, I intend to get them. Either you tell me what I want to know or I’m going to use this bat to hit a home run with your head.” To emphasize her point she squared off and raised the bat a notch higher. “First question,” she snapped. “Why was I told that Hunter was dead? Why not just take us both into protective custody to begin with?”

The agent hesitated only a moment. “It was for your own protection,” he told her. “And for Hunter’s,” he added. “In the beginning we didn’t know if Hunter would live or die, so it was decided that it would be safer all the way around if the perpetrators believed that Hunter had died in the accident. And to make it real, to make them believe that he was dead, you had to believe he was dead, too. If we had told you the truth and taken you into protective custody, they would have known that he was still alive.”

Leah’s anger died a slow death as logic took over. The agent’s answer made sense, and without realizing she’d done so, she eased her grip and lowered the bat.

The moment she lowered the bat, the agent nodded his approval, then turned his gaze to Hunter. “Be reasonable, Hunter. Don’t you see that by refusing protective custody, you’re putting your life as well as your wife’s in grave danger? All it would take would be for the wrong person to spot you—and it could happen. These people we’re talking about have connections everywhere.”

She had been told he was dead? Endless thoughts raced through Hunter’s head, but he kept seeing Leah, brandishing the bat and demanding answers. He could not even imagine how shocked she must have been when she found him on her porch. Though she certainly hadn’t shown it, until now. If she was so ready to defend him, her husband, why had she lied in the first place?

“You know I’m right,” Martin said, interrupting Hunter’s thoughts. “Think about it, man. We can protect you.”

Protect you…protect you…to serve and protect… The agent’s words echoed in Hunter’s head, and without warning, scenes flashed through his mind. With a heart-stopping jolt, he suddenly recognized the scenes for what they were—memories, unbidden memories of another time and another place.

Leah had told him the basics about the incident, and though it could be argued that he was simply being influenced by those words, Hunter knew deep in his gut that the flashes in his head were too detailed and graphic to be anything but real.

It had been New Year’s Eve. Even now he could feel the sting of the bitterly cold night. The 911 call had come from a hysterical child. Her mother’s ex-boyfriend was drunk, threatening to kill her and her mother. Hunter and his partner, Jack O’Brian, had been sent out to investigate the call.

Even before they reached the third floor of the apartment building, they heard the woman’s screams. Together, they kicked in the door. The man had the woman pinned against the wall near a door. From the look of her bloody face, he’d used the gun to beat the hell out of her. It all happened so fast that Hunter had reacted out of pure instinct. Hunter went in low and Jack entered high. Just as they cleared the door, the man, gun in hand, whirled to face them. The man fired and missed, then he dropped to the floor. But in that split second before he dropped and just as Hunter squeezed the trigger of his own gun, the door behind the man flew open. The little girl had died on impact.

Hunter’s insides shriveled as the memory faded. He’d taken an oath to protect the innocent and on that night he’d broken the oath and lost his soul in the process. Putting himself in danger was one thing, but he couldn’t risk another innocent. Not again. Leah had said he couldn’t fire a gun, and he was damn sure she was right, so there was no way he could protect her even if he wanted to.

Taking a deep breath and praying that he was doing the right thing, Hunter slowly lowered the gun, then he turned it butt forward and held it out to Lance Martin.

“You made the right decision,” the agent told him, scrambling to his feet as he reached for the weapon. He handed it to his partner. Addressing both Leah and Hunter, he said, “We don’t have much time. You’ve got about five minutes to pack.”

Ray Harris followed Leah and Hunter back to the bedroom while Lance Martin stayed in the living room to keep watch out front. Once in the bedroom, the agent positioned himself near the window that overlooked the backyard. Hunter was standing at the foot of the bed, and as Leah crammed underwear, a nightgown, T-shirts, a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a couple of pairs of knit pants into a backpack, she could feel Hunter watching her every move.

“I take it these belong to me and not some fictitious uncle.” Hunter plucked at the knit shirt he was wearing. “Are there more where this came from?”

Nodding, Leah reached down and took the cardboard box from the bottom of her closet. “Not many,” she said as she handed the box to Hunter. “You packed most of your stuff for the trip to Orlando. I just left it there.” Unable to maintain eye contact, Leah turned away, then began searching through the closet until she found the spare backpack she was looking for. She threw it to Hunter, and while she made a trip to the bathroom for toiletries, and to change into a better-fitting pair of jeans, he began stuffing the backpack with the clothes from the box.

“Time’s up,” Ray Harris announced when Leah returned. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

With Harris bringing up the rear, Leah and Hunter headed down the hall. When they entered the living room, Lance Martin glanced their way. “Ready?” he asked.

Leah shook her head. “What about my job? I can’t just disappear without telling them something.”

“You’ll have to call and say that you’re resigning.”

Leah glared at Martin. “I can’t just up and quit.”

“Yes, you can,” the agent told her. “And after this is all over, the hospital will be apprised of the circumstances. Now, are you ready?”

Leah shook her head. “I don’t care what you say, I’m not quitting my job. And one more thing—I’ve got to make sure my house is secure,” she insisted. “Make sure all the windows are locked, stop the delivery of the newspaper, have my mail stopped.”

Martin rolled his eyes, then, with a sigh, he said, “Ray and I will check the house now—and later, we’ll take care of the newspaper and your mail. You and Hunter wait there.” He motioned toward the hall where Hunter had jumped Ray Harris.

Within minutes, both agents returned. “All the windows are locked and the back door is secure,” Martin told her. With him in the lead and Harris bringing up the rear, they hustled Leah and Hunter to the car.

Harris drove and Martin rode shotgun. Leah sat as close to the door as she could while Hunter sprawled out behind Martin on the passenger side.

“So where is this so-called safe house?” Hunter asked once they were on their way, bumping along the narrow, uneven street that Leah lived on.

Martin shifted sideways in the seat. “It’s just outside the city, near Kenner,” he said over his shoulder.

“How long before we’re transferred to Orlando?”

“Probably a day or two at the most.”

Leah, still avoiding eye contact with Hunter for fear of seeing only condemnation, listened to his questions and the agent’s answers as they drove beneath the overhanging branches of the towering oaks that shaded the narrow street. As she gazed out the side window at the century-old homes they passed, her mind’s eye kept seeing the betrayal on Hunter’s face when he’d learned that she lied about their relationship.

She should have told him the truth. Shoulda, woulda, coulda, she thought with sarcasm. And hindsight was a wonderful thing.

Across from her, Hunter shifted in the seat. “Another question,” he said, directing his attention to Martin again and interrupting Leah’s self-flagellant thoughts. “How did you know where to find me?”

Leah tensed as her gaze flew from the window to the agent.

“We weren’t sure where to look at first,” the agent said. “The minute you disappeared from the hospital, we put a tap on your wife’s phone, and we also instructed the staff at the hospital to immediately report any inquiries made about you. Then, this morning, we hit pay dirt. Your wife’s phone call to the hospital was what tipped us off.”

“Her phone call?”

Hunter whipped his head around to glare at Leah. At the expression on his face, a cold knot formed in her stomach.

“And just what kind of phone call did she make?” Hunter retorted, sarcasm oozing with each word as his eyes burned a hole in her that went all the way to her soul.

Leah swallowed hard. Caught again. Yet another lie, another betrayal found out.

“She was trying to confirm that you had been a patient there,” Martin answered. “For all the good it did her,” he added. “But it was just the red flag we’d been waiting for. We were dispatched immediately to bring you in.”

“We’ve got trouble!” Harris interrupted in a tense, clipped voice. “We picked up a tail. The black SUV.”

When Martin shifted his gaze to the vehicle’s side-view mirror, Leah heard a pinging sound. The rear windshield splintered and Leah screamed.

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