Jean Barrett - Sudden Recall

“What do you do?” he growled. “Collect the damn things?”

Switching off the instrument, he thrust it into his pocket where it joined the phone he had seized earlier from her purse. Then, tossing his jacket on the floor in order to free both his hands, he advanced on her slowly. The look on his face said he meant business.

Eden backed away from him until she had nowhere else to go. She was pinned against the sink. He towered over her, a daunting figure.

“You have any more surprises in that coat, Eden? Something I should be worried about?”

Before she could stop him, he was pressed up against her, his arms on either side of her, his big hands plunged into her pockets. She could feel the heat of his fingers probing the depths of both pockets. There should have been nothing personal in that search, but there was. Eden found it difficult to breathe.

“Guess not,” he said.

Swallowing, she managed a cool “If you’re through.”

But he was in no hurry to withdraw his hands. They remained in her pockets, making an intimate contact with her hips through the fabric. His eyes were on her face, a seductive gleam in them. He inhaled slowly, deeply.

“Lily of the Valley, huh?”

Her fragrance still intrigued him. And her lower lip.

“It’s quivering again, Eden,” he said, his voice husky.

He was leaning into her so closely she was aware of the stubble on his square jaw, the heat of his hard flesh. This time he did slide a hand out of her pocket, lifting it to the level of her face where the slightly rough pad of his thumb lightly stroked her bottom lip. Eden felt a slow flame coiling deep inside her.

“Take your hand away,” she commanded, her own voice turning hoarse.

“You wanted to play husband and wife. So, all right, we’re playing husband and wife.”

“Stop saying that!”

“Maybe you’d like my mouth here instead of my thumb. Would you, Eden?”

She’d had enough of his steamy games. Whether he was formidable or not, she refused to be intimidated any longer. “You’ve satisfied yourself there’s nothing else in my pockets. Now back off. And count yourself lucky I didn’t try to grab my pistol out of your waistband.” She had considered such an action, but as quick as his reflexes were, that could have resulted in a struggle in which one of them might have been shot.

Motivated by her threat to recover her gun, he stepped away from her. His eyes never left her face. “If you had the gun, would you use it on me?” She didn’t answer him. “Maybe you think I’m some kind of monster. I’m not. At least I don’t think I am.”

“Then what are you? Just an innocent victim?”

“It’s possible.”

“If you believe that, then why don’t you turn yourself in to the police? Tell them as much as you know and let them sort it out.”

“That’s a plan. Except if it turns out I’m a wanted man—” He shook his head. “Uh-uh, I’m not bringing the cops in on this. Not until I know what’s going on and why.”

“So, instead, you’re going to go on playing the tough fugitive who kidnaps women at gunpoint.”

“And makes their lips tremble in tempting ways.”

Eden angrily tightened her mouth. It was a defensive reaction, and he didn’t miss it. He smiled. A sardonic smile.

“You know,” he drawled, “if I wanted to, I think I could make that mouth of yours do a lot more than just tremble. And not by using my thumb, either.”

“You might have lost your memory, but you’re not suffering from a loss of ego, are you?” The awful thing was, she feared there was some truth in what he claimed and that she would have to guard herself against it.

“Could be you’re right,” he admitted. “Only we don’t have the time to test your theory.” Leaning down, he recovered his jacket from the floor. “We’ve still got that shopping to do. Come on, let’s go make that attendant out there think you and I are the happiest married couple in South Carolina.”

THE HOUSEBOAT WAS exactly what she had wanted when she’d bought it a little over a year ago. A quiet getaway far enough removed from the city to guarantee her absolute privacy whenever she needed a few days’ retreat between difficult cases.

But now, looking at the gray houseboat moored at the end of its short pier, Eden regretted the remoteness of the place. There were no neighbors within hailing distance, just the thick vegetation along the shore and the softly flowing river with its reedy shallows where the herons fished.

She was aware of the man who followed closely behind her along the narrow path from the car, bearing their sack of groceries. She was alone with him in this seclusion, not knowing what he intended to do with her. It was a situation that unnerved her on every level.

He, however, was satisfied by the isolation. She could see it in his face when they reached the door of the houseboat, and she turned to him as he spoke to her.

“You’ve got electricity, huh?” he said, noticing the wire stretched from the pole on shore to the side of the houseboat.

“Yes, all the comforts of home,” she said, unlocking the door and spreading it open.

He held out his hand. Knowing what he wanted, she laid the keys on his palm. He was making certain that she wouldn’t try to escape in the car.

“Inside,” he directed her.

She looked at him again when they were inside and the door was shut behind them. His gaze was making a fast survey of the place. It was a simple arrangement. A narrow living room in the center, a tiny kitchen off one end, and at the other end a single small bedroom and bath. All of it was comfortably but plainly furnished in the warm colors that Eden favored.

“Nice and cozy,” he observed. “Just the sort of setting that makes a man think of, oh, I don’t know. An intimate weekend with his wife, maybe?”

The houseboat had never seemed cramped to her before. It did now, as if there wasn’t enough room to contain both of them. But Eden refused to let him see how that worried her. Or to respond to his mockery on the subject of a marriage that had never existed. She had more vital matters on her mind.

“Now can we have that talk?” she asked him.

“Later,” he said brusquely, dumping the sack and his jacket on the bar between kitchen and living room.

“But you told me—”

“I said later.”

He had spotted the portable TV in the bookshelves. The clock on the VCR that accompanied it registered the time as just a minute past twelve. He lost no time in settling on the sofa, the remote in his hand.

“You’re going to watch television?”

“It’s noon. There should be a news broadcast.”

Eden understood his sudden interest then. He was eager to learn of any accident or crime that might offer him a clue to his identity. Leaving him perched on the sofa, knees spread as he leaned earnestly toward the screen, she went into the kitchen area to put away the groceries.

She listened to the broadcast as she fixed sandwiches and poured them glasses of milk. Like him, she hoped to hear of something to which they might connect him, but there was nothing promising in any of the reports.

She brought him his lunch. They ate in silence, his attention focused on the news. And all the while, Eden was conscious of him, wary of his possible danger to her. She remembered he had tried to assure her he wasn’t evil, and last night her instincts had been convinced he was a decent man. But how could she trust any of that when he was driven by a desperation neither of them understood?

Well, she was desperate herself, as only a mother could be. She managed to restrain that desperation through the entire lengthy newscast of both local and national events. But by the time the program wrapped up without results for him, she’d had enough. She wanted answers, and she no longer cared how much she might be risking herself to get them.