Rita Herron - Vows of Vengeance

So they could nail her for the murder.

Even though confusion muddled her mind, she knew what they were thinking. Realized she looked guilty. For God’s sake, she’d been holding the gun when the cop had arrived.

And what had this man said—that it had been a year since she’d seen him? Denial swept through her. If she’d ever met him, she wouldn’t have forgotten him. He was too powerful. Virile. Sexy. Intimidating.

Then again, she couldn’t remember anything except her name.

“Stella?”

She studied his features, searching for familiarity, for any dot of a memory to return. His tight jeans accentuated the massive power of his body. He was tall, over six feet, broad-shouldered and muscular. His eyes were dark, too, like two hot coals on fire, probing, unnerving as if he never smiled. A broad jaw brushed with dark stubble gave him a sexy appearance, but the tight set to that jaw indicated he was angry.

Why would this man be angry with her?

“I…don’t know who you are or why you think you know me.” She met his gaze, determined to prove her point, but somewhere deep inside, in the far recesses of her mind, something intangible registered.

A wild and primitive awareness flickered in his eyes, something predatory, an almost hungry look, as if she’d not only met him, but he’d known her intimately.

As quickly as the moment came, it fled, and she was thrust back into the depths of lost time.

“This isn’t funny, Stella.” The man stalked toward her, stopped and gritted his teeth. “I’ve been searching for you ever since you ran out on our wedding night.”

Stella gasped, perspiration beading her lip. Wedding night? What was he talking about? She’d never been married….

Had she?

LUKE STUDIED his wife’s reaction, his temper battling with other emotions he didn’t want to admit. He was glad to see her. Relieved she was alive. Furious that she’d left him.

And he ached to hold her. To grab her, drag her into his arms and tell her how terrified he’d been that she was hurt, in trouble, needing him. How he’d nearly been out of his mind the last twelve months. That he’d imagined horrid scenarios, seen her face in death a thousand times in his mind, her neck twisted or broken, her body covered in blood with glazed eyes.

That he’d made love to her a thousand times in his mind.

Stella stretched her left hand in front of her. “You must have me confused with someone else, mister. I’ve never been married.”

His dark eyebrow shot up. “Stop lying,” he said in an icy tone. “I’m not in the mood to play games and neither are these other officers.” His cold gaze slid across her, sideways to the bed where the dead man lay in a pool of blood, then back to her hands. “Who was he? Your lover?”

Detective Black cleared his throat. “Devlin, maybe you’d better let me handle this.”

Luke glared at him. “What has she told you so far?”

Stella knotted her hands and glanced at the detective as if he were her friend. As if she thought she needed protection from him.

“I don’t know who this man is,” Stella said to Black. “Or what he’s talking about. Do I have family to call?”

“You told me you had no family.” Luke swallowed, grappling for control. After all Stella had put him through, how could she pretend she didn’t recognize him?

Detective Black gestured for Luke to step aside. Reluctantly he did so, well aware Stella tracked his movements.

“I think she may have amnesia or be suffering from shock,” Detective Black said. “I want the paramedics to evaluate her.”

Luke nodded. “All right, but just to cover our asses. She’s lying through her pretty, white teeth.”

Black shrugged. “Then see what you can get out of her. So far, I’ve hit a dead end. She insists she doesn’t remember anything except her name, that she doesn’t know the victim.”

Luke grunted. Hell, maybe she hadn’t known him, maybe she’d picked up a stranger for a one-night stand. “She was in bed with the damn man.”

Not how he’d expected to find her. He’d be a laughingstock all over the bureau. Disgust rode through him in waves. He’d made a fool of himself the last year. Begging the feds to keep looking for her and trying to clear himself at the same time.

Dammit, he’d chased down lead after lead. Tortured himself over what might have happened to her. Blamed himself for not protecting her. Nearly lost his damn career.

And now here she sat, denying their marriage ever existed, pretending not to know his name…

Fury raged through him as he turned back to her. She was trembling and had shrunken back into the chair as if the cheap flimsy plastic might save her. Hating the sympathy that struck him, he stifled the urge to grab a blanket and wrap it around her arms, to calm her.

Instead he steeled his voice. “All right, Stella. Tell me what’s going on.”

Her eyes smoldered with unease. “Like I told the police, I don’t remember what happened. I woke up around midnight and found this man in my bed. B-blood was everywhere.” Her face paled as she picked at the dark stain between her fingers.

“Go on.”

She bit down on her lower lip. “I…had blood on me, then I scrambled off the bed and saw the gun.”

“You were holding it when the security guard arrived.”

“I…I picked it up off the floor. I…” She gestured toward the bed. “I …don’t know this dead man, though…or what’s going on. I…swear it. I don’t even remember checking into the motel.”

“What is the last thing you remember?”

Stella glanced away, rubbed at her temple as if a headache brewed. “Nothing.”

A muscle tightened in his jaw, his agent instincts battling with the memory of her in his arms. He almost believed her. Almost.

Too much circumstantial evidence pointed to the opposite.

He knelt and touched her hands, ignoring the stab of desire the movement cost him. She was shaking, her eyes glued to the crimson stains on her fingers and nails.

He slowly turned her hands over, and saw the powder burns.

Powder burns didn’t lie. Only people did.

“STELLA’S OUT of control.” He poured himself a glass of brandy from the bar in Sutton’s office, swirled it in circles, then downed it in one swooping gulp. While he waited on Sutton’s response, he savored the taste for a moment, the slow burn of the alcohol sliding down his throat and warming his belly.

“I have the situation in hand,” Sutton barked. “She told the police nothing.”

“You lost her a long time ago, Sutton. You should have disposed of her when she first betrayed you and attempted to escape.”

“My plan will work. Just be patient.”

“Patient? Devlin won’t let go. And we’ve put too much into this project for you to go soft.”

“Soft?” Sutton’s voice rose. “If I’d gone soft, how the hell did I pull off what I just did? My plan is a stroke of genius.”

He tapped his nails on the smooth marble bar. “What if it doesn’t work? You’re taking a chance just letting her near the cops. And that bastard Devlin—he’s no fool.” He paused and poured himself another drink. “He didn’t let the hype about his partner being corrupt deter him.”

“It did for a while. He got sidetracked with Stella.”

“You think we can use her to do the same now?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

He harrumphed. Sutton might think he had things under control, but that was near impossible now. Stella was like a pipe bomb—unpredictable. “Know that I’m monitoring your ever movement, Sutton. If Devlin gets too close, if Stella starts remembering and talking, then I’ll kill them both.”

“I understand.”

Did he really? Sutton might be riding the line, but he wasn’t. He was the same ruthless man he’d been trained to be. He took without mercy. Trained the others to do the same. And he hadn’t gone soft.