Susan Mallery: Tempting Faith

“I’ll get the medication and the gun and meet you at the truck,” Jeff said, handing her the duffel bag and leaving.

Faith hung back, but Cort shook his head. “I’ll go behind you,” he said.

“Suit yourself.” Her long hair, pulled back at the front, but otherwise left free, hung over her shoulders. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sent the strands flying out of her way. “I’m parked in the rear lot. Do you want a wheelchair?”

The look he tossed her had often caused armed criminals to flinch. She simply blinked twice and waited patiently for his response.

“No,” he said at last.

“It’s your neck.”

“Actually it’s my leg.”

She smiled quickly, and he had the thought that it made her look pretty.

“Humor,” she said. “A good sign.”

As she walked past him, he inhaled the scent of her perfume. French. The name of the brand escaped him. Expensive. Out of place. The information joined the rest of his mental file on her. Shifting his weight, he swung the crutches in front of him and started down the hall.

They’d covered about twenty feet when she started to turn right down another corridor. Suddenly she gasped and jumped back, blocking his path. He couldn’t see what had startled her. He heard a loud crash.

Instinctively he dropped the crutches. With one arm, he grabbed Faith around the waist and threw her to the ground. He dropped to the floor, rolled to cushion his fall, biting back a grunt of pain as his weight settled on his injured leg. He came to a stop beside her. With a smooth, practiced motion, he reached for the gun in his waistband.

Nothing. No holster, no weapon. He looked up. Two terrified orderlies stood beside the pile of fallen trays. They started forward to help, took one look at the expression on his face and turned in the opposite direction.

Faith raised herself up on one elbow and studied him. Her blue eyes radiated nothing more than concern. “Did you hurt yourself, Mr. Hollenbeck?”

“Cort,” he grunted, between waves of pain. “I’m fine. What about you?”

She pushed herself into a sitting position. “Nothing broken. Do you need help up?”

“No.”

She scrambled to her feet. After retrieving the crutches, she stood patiently while he maneuvered himself upright. She handed him the crutches.

“I’m not crazy,” he said, knowing exactly how it all looked. Had they told her he’d lost part of his memory?

“That thought never crossed my mind.” She turned and continued walking down the hall.

He could feel blood oozing out of the stitches in his leg. Damn. It had finally begun to heal. Maybe he should get somebody to look at it before—

No. It would stop soon enough. Now that he was close to leaving the hospital, he realized how much he’d hated the confinement. He’d been pretty out of it the first week, but the last few days had crawled by. He’d slowly been going crazy trying to force himself to remember.

Faith stopped at the rear entrance and stepped on the automatic door pad. Smiling at the guard on duty, she spoke her name, then Cort’s. The older man punched a few keys in his computer keyboard, then nodded.

Freedom. Cort inhaled the dry desert air and held back a sigh. Sweet and clean. Enough to go around.

Suddenly the ground shifted and his vision blurred. Instead of the guard and the woman, he saw the dusky interior of a South American warehouse. Dank smells indicated he was near water. The ocean? Was the scent salty?

Danger! The thought exploded in his mind. Get out. Yet as he turned to run, the picture dissolved. His crutch caught on the lip of the door pad. As the flashback receded, he felt himself slipping. Faith leapt to his side and grabbed the shaky crutch. One strong arm gripped his waist and held him steady.

She had curves under that baggy work shirt, he thought as her right breast flattened against his side. The intellectual information battled with a sudden rush of sexual interest. That, more than the fall, returned him completely to the present.

“You all right?” she asked, looking up at him.

She was wary, but not afraid. She should be. Hadn’t Jeff told her what he was capable of? His head began to throb. He’d remembered. Not a lot, but something new. Sweat coated his body. He just wanted to get out of here.

He jerked himself free. “I’m fine. Where’s your car?”

She pointed toward a battered four-wheel-drive pickup.

He angled himself in that general direction and began to lurch toward it.

Jeff met them at the truck. “This should keep you comfortable.” He held a bag of medicine in one hand and a gun in the other.

Cort thought about telling him he’d remembered something, but he held back. He’d know soon enough—when the whole memory returned. Jeff opened the car door and tossed the medication on the dashboard. Cort hopped until the seat pressed against the back of his thighs. After sliding on the cracked vinyl, he lifted his bum leg into the cab and handed Jeff his crutches. Jeff settled them in the back and gave him the pistol.

“Here’s a spare magazine and a hundred rounds.” He set a small paper bag on the floor of the cab. “Try not to shoot yourself in the foot.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Faith dropped his duffel bag in the back of the truck, then gave Jeff a hug. “Don’t forget about my rain check,” she said.

“I won’t.” He held her for a minute.

Cort watched the expressions chase across his boss’s face. He knew the flash of pain came from remembering his wife. Cort looked away. Caring turned a man inside out. Exposed him. That’s why he would never get involved.

Faith slid in next to him and fastened her seat belt. She stared at him until he did the same. Then she smiled. Again, he thought it made her look pretty.

“You going to hold that in your hand the whole way?” She pointed at the gun.

He stared at the weapon, then thought about how he’d reacted to the crashing sound in the hospital. He was tired, and the surgery two days ago had used up the little reserves he’d had. What he needed was twelve hours of sleep. Until then, he wasn’t going to be much good at protecting anyone.

“Here.” He handed her the gun. “You keep it until tomorrow.”

She studied his face. “Fine with me.” She checked the safety, then pressed the button to release the magazine. After pocketing it, she jerked back the slide and looked in the chamber to make sure it didn’t contain a round.

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”

“Then you impress easy.” The gun went in the glove box. “And you’re exhausted. We’ve got over a six-hour drive. Why don’t you get some sleep? I need to make one stop. I’ll wake you there and you can eat something.”

“Sounds great.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. She wasn’t the sort of woman he normally picked, he thought as she started the truck and backed out of the parking space. He couldn’t remember a single one of his lady friends ever owning a gun, let alone knowing how to handle one. And although she’d been friends with Jeff for years, his boss had never mentioned her.

“Here.”

She thrust something soft into his hands. He cracked open one eye. A sweater.

“Use it for a pillow. Lock your door first. I don’t want you falling out if I hit a bump.”

“Thanks,” he muttered as he bunched the sweater and pushed it up against the glass. He pressed down the lock and inhaled deeply. Her scent surrounded him, the elusive essence of that damned French perfume. What was it? He fell asleep still trying to remember the name.

* * *

She saw the first evidence of blood after they’d been on the road an hour. Keeping her attention on the sparsely traveled highway, she occasionally glanced at her sleeping passenger. He rested deeply, barely moving except for the rise and fall of his chest. Her gaze swept over him as she noted his size and strength and wondered at the cause of his injuries. At first she’d thought the dark stain on his white bandage was a shadow.