Lisa Childs - Agent to the Rescue

“I have no news for you,” he said.

She sighed. “Well, that is bad, then.”

“How about you?” he asked. “Any memories?”

Had staring at that diamond brought anything rushing back to her? Any feeling of love for whoever had given her the engagement ring?

She shook her head and then flinched at the motion.

Concern gripped him. “Still in pain?”

“Not so much thanks to the painkillers they’ve been giving me,” she said. “It’s just a dull ache now unless I make any sharp movements.”

“You are tough,” he mused.

The doctor had said that someone had given her quite a blow—probably with a pipe or a golf club. It had lacerated her skin and fractured her skull. But the fracture had probably actually saved her life since it had relieved the pressure and released the blood of what could have been a dangerous subdural hematoma. That was why there had been so much blood. But transfusions had replaced what she’d lost. According to the doctor, she was doing extremely well.

“I am tough,” she said. “So you can tell me about this no news. What do you mean?”

Hopefully, she was tough enough to deal with the facts, because he wasn’t going to keep anything from her. There was already too much that she didn’t know—that she couldn’t remember.

So he replied, “Nobody has filed a missing persons report for anyone matching your description.”

She flinched again, but she hadn’t even moved her head. This pain was emotional. “So no one is missing me.”

“I doubt that’s the case,” he said—because he would have missed her, had he not known where she was, and he barely knew her. “I’m sure there’s another explanation.”

“Like what?” she challenged him.

And because he believed she was strong, he told her the truth. “Your groom could have been the one who put you in the trunk of that car.”

“You think I’m married?” she asked as she glanced down at that ring again.

“I don’t know.” But part of him hoped she wasn’t—the part that had his heart racing over how beautiful she was. Her red hair was so vibrant and her silvery-gray eyes so sharp with intelligence and strength.

“Because this looks like just a solitaire engagement ring,” she said. “There’s no wedding band soldered to it. So I don’t think I’m married.”

“She’s right,” a female voice agreed.

Even if Dalton hadn’t recognized the voice, he wouldn’t have been too worried about someone slipping past Security and getting to her room. He had a guard stationed near the elevators, so no one would get onto the floor without getting checked out.

The only one who was in danger from this woman was him—for disrupting her wedding the day before. He braced himself, for her understandable and justified anger, before turning toward the doorway.

Their arms wound around each other, the bride stood next to her groom. But unlike Dalton, they had changed out of their wedding clothes. Claire wore a bright blue sundress, while Ash wore jeans and a T-shirt. Of course, more than a day had passed since the ceremony.

Dalton really needed to return the damn tuxedo. And shower...

“Aren’t you two supposed to be on your honeymoon?” he asked. He hoped he hadn’t disrupted that, too.

“We’re on our way to the airport,” Ash assured him. From how tightly he held her, he looked as if he couldn’t wait to get his bride alone again. “But Claire wanted to stop by and check on you.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

She clicked her tongue against her teeth, admonishing his dismissiveness. “You were in an accident.”

“It was no accident.” The man driving the trooper’s vehicle had intended to run them off the road.

“That’s even worse,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he said again.

Color rushed to the blonde’s pale-skinned face. “Good. Now I feel a little less guilty for threatening your life when I realized you ditched our wedding to chase down a stolen car.”

He didn’t blame her for being angry with him and could just imagine the words she had probably silently mouthed about him. “I’m sorry, Claire.”

She pulled away from her husband, rushed forward and hugged Dalton. “I’m so glad that you did.” Then she turned toward the bed and smiled at the patient.

“I’m glad, too,” the red-haired woman said, “since he saved my life.”

“He does that,” Claire said. “Saving lives is kind of his thing.” She moved closer to the bed and extended her hand. “I’m Claire Stryker.”

Ash chuckled. “She keeps introducing herself to everyone—even her dad.”

The redhead took Claire’s hand in hers. “I wish I could tell you my name, but...”

“You really don’t remember anything?” Claire asked.

“No.”

“We will find out who you are.” Dalton reiterated the promise that, according to Jared Bell, he’d had no business making. “But in the meantime, we need to call you something.” Besides redhead ...

“Special Agent Campbell suggested Jane Doe,” she reminded him. “I guess that is what unidentified females are called...” But she hadn’t liked it because Jane Doe usually referred to unidentified dead bodies.

But he’d thought she was dead when he had first opened that trunk. He resisted the urge to shudder at the thought of her being dead.

“We could call you Mercedes,” he suggested. He had hesitated to bring it up the day before, but it was better than Jane Doe.

“Mercedes?” she and Claire asked in unison.

“It’s the kind of car he found her in,” Ash explained. “Of course Reyes would go with the name of a car.”

He whistled in appreciation of the vintage Mercedes. “She was a beautiful car...” Before she’d been put in the ditch. And now he knew who owned her. The car. He hoped that there was no guy out there who thought he owned the woman. But she had been put in the trunk like so much baggage...

Claire’s blond brows drew together as she considered the choices. “Jane or Mercedes?”

The redhead shrugged as if she didn’t care what they called her. “It doesn’t matter.”

“We need to find out your real name,” Claire said.

“We will,” Dalton said, but he felt a frisson of unease over how easily he was tossing out these promises. He had never been that guy—like Blaine or Ash. He wasn’t the marine. He wasn’t the hero. He was just the guy who worked hard because his job was his life. It was all he had. It was all he wanted, though.

“I’m really good with computers,” Claire said, which was a gross understatement of her world-renowned hacking skills. “Maybe I could do some digging—”

“I already have a team on it,” Dalton said. “They’re using facial recognition to try to link her to online media pictures. It’s being handled, and you two have a plane to catch.”

“You sure you don’t want our help?” Ash asked. His offer sounded sincere, but Dalton wouldn’t blame him if it wasn’t.

Selfishly, he would love their help. Claire was a genius and Ash was a legendary agent and former marine. But there was no way that Dalton would mess up any more of the Strykers’ plans. They had been through hell to earn their much-deserved happiness.

“I doubt this has anything to do with terrorism or national security,” Dalton said—since that was Ash Stryker’s specialty with the Bureau.

“Then maybe Jared Bell is who you need,” Ash suggested.

The redhead shook her head again despite the fact that the motion had her wincing in pain. Then she turned toward Claire. “You agreed with me,” she said. “You agreed that I’m not married. So if I’m not a bride, I couldn’t be a victim of the Bride Butcher.”