Susan Mallery: Tempting Faith

“Is he?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Cort snapped his head up. “You’re sure?”

“We have a witness.”

The pain in Cort’s leg intensified. He thought of the dead man. They’d met in training, almost fifteen years ago. They’d worked together countless times. Had he killed his friend? Jeff was right, it wasn’t supposed to matter. But, dammit, it did. It mattered a lot.

“Don’t push it,” Jeff told him. “It’ll come to you.” He returned to the hospital bed and perched on the corner. The morning sun flooded the small room, highlighting the institutional furniture and scarred green linoleum. “And while you’re getting your memory back, I have an assignment.”

Cort raised his injured leg. “Aren’t I on medical leave?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going home.”

Jeff stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I need you to do something for me.”

“But you said—”

“Unofficially.” Jeff walked over to the window and stared out. “I can’t assign anybody through regular channels. I don’t have specifics, just a gut feeling.”

“Which is?”

“There’s going to be trouble.” Jeff looked at him. “I need you to look after a friend of mine. Provide a little security. Nothing high tech. She’s located—”

“She?”

“Her name is Faith. She lives up in the mountains. Runs a way station. I left a package in her care. The men we took it from might want it back. I want you to be there to stop them. If there’s any trouble, I’ll have the proof I need to officially provide backup. I know it’s asking a lot. I wouldn’t, if I had another option. You up to it?”

Cort thought about his small one-bedroom apartment in D.C. It was late spring. The tourists would be flocking into the city, and the temperature would be rising. Last time he’d stayed at the apartment, the air-conditioning had given out twice in three days. He thought about the time he and Jeff had spent in Iraq. On more than one occasion, the other man had been there to save his skin. This favor sounded like a way to even the score.

Cort grabbed the crutches and used them to help him stand. “I’m up to it.”

“Thanks, Cort.” Jeff collected the duffel bag from the locker against the far wall. “The place isn’t fancy, but I think you’ll like it. Plan on staying a few weeks. Two months at the outside.”

“Who’s this woman? Agency?”

“Private. A friend. You can trust her.”

Cort was doubtful. Trust wasn’t something that came easily to him. “She know what I’m there for?”

“She understands that there might be some problems and is willing to take precautions.” He pointed at the bandage around Cort’s calf. “She’s great with wounds.”

“Sounds like you speak from personal experience.”

Jeff’s blue eyes grew stark. “She took care of me after Lebanon.”

Cort moved into the small rest room and collected his belongings. He worked slowly, giving Jeff time to put the past in its place. His boss had almost died in Lebanon, but that wasn’t what caused his expression to grow bleak. He’d also lost his wife and young son to terrorists.

Cort zipped the shaving kit and hobbled over to the bed. He dropped the case into the open duffel bag. “Seems like I’ll be gone long enough to get back to a hundred percent. You didn’t happen to plan that, did you, boss?”

Jeff shrugged. “It works for both of us.”

“What about South America? What if I don’t remember?”

Jeff pulled the duffel bag shut and slung it over one shoulder. “If you don’t remember by the time you’re healed, you can read the file, and to hell with what the doctor says. You have my word.” Cort nodded. It was something to hang on to. But he knew the price of Jeff’s offer. If he hadn’t recovered his memory, he wouldn’t be coming back. The agency didn’t have a place for someone who couldn’t remember whether or not he’d killed a fellow operative.

“Thanks,” he said. He shrugged into a dark blue jacket, then slipped the crutches in place. “If I have a choice, I won’t be taking you up on your offer. I’ll be at work instead.” “Good.” Jeff walked to the door and held it open. “I want you back. You’re my best man.”

“You always say that,” Cort grumbled. “I heard you were telling John the same thing. We can’t both be the best.”

Jeff grinned but didn’t answer.

Cort followed his boss into the hall of the hospital. Several medical personnel nodded as he passed them. They wore ID tags with photos and numbers, but no names. At the end of the corridor, Jeff turned left. Cort hobbled along behind. He scanned the smooth floor, the walls, the doorways they passed, instinctively looking for escape routes. It wasn’t necessary; he was safe here. Old habits, he thought grimly. In his current condition he would get about ten yards before being taken down. He needed time to heal…and to remember.

A woman stood in the waiting room. As Jeff entered, she smiled her greeting. They spoke softly, but her eyes strayed past her companion. Cort paused in the doorway and met her gaze.

Blue eyes, he catalogued, taking in the flicker of guilt that told him she’d watched him through the two-way glass in his hospital room. Hair: brown, nondescript, long. Medium height for a woman. Work shirt, jeans, boots. Instinctively, he calculated an approximate weight, made a mental note of her straight posture, evidence of physical confidence, and guessed she was in reasonably good shape. Ordinary.

No danger, unless she came armed. His gaze moved back to her face. Mid- to late twenties, he thought, then dismissed the idea that she and Jeff were lovers. They stood close together, as if they’d known each other a long time, but there wasn’t anything between them. The throbbing in his leg picked up a notch, and he shifted his weight to relieve some of the pressure.

“Faith, this is Cort Hollenbeck,” Jeff said, placing his hand on the small of her back and urging her forward. “Cort, Faith Newlin.”

“Nice to meet you.” She extended her hand.

It took him a moment to untangle himself from the crutches. Most people would have been uncomfortable and dropped their arm, mumbling something about it not mattering. She stood there patiently, waiting as if she had all the time in the world.

Her grip surprised him. Not so much the strength of her grasp—given her wardrobe, she wasn’t a socialite. No, it was the rough skin he felt on her palm, the calluses. This woman did physical labor on a daily basis.

Their eyes met. Not unattractive, he thought. He studied the straight short nose and full lips that curved up slightly. As he’d decided before—ordinary. Little temptation there. Just as well. He didn’t need the complication.

“Ms. Newlin.” He nodded.

“Faith.” Again her lips curved up slightly, as she withdrew her hand.

“I’m ready, if you are.”

“Fine.” She glanced at Jeff. “What about medication?”

“Something for pain, some antibiotics in case of infection. I’ll get them.” He looked at Cort. “You’ll want to be armed. A Beretta?”

Cort raised his eyebrows. “Works for me.”

“Faith?” Jeff asked.

She shrugged. “I have rifles, but only one handgun. A small revolver.” She looked at Cort. “You’d probably be embarrassed to be seen with it.”

Interesting. A woman who knew about guns. He hadn’t had a chance to think about this new assignment, but so far it wasn’t too bad. Close quarters with Faith Newlin. She wasn’t a fashion model, but all cats were gray in the dark. Maybe the thought of bullets flying would scare her. Just enough, he thought, trying to remember how long it had been since he’d eased himself between a woman’s welcoming thighs.