you’re hurt,” the jerk gripping her said, and slung her to the ground into a thick puddle of muddy water saturating the grass. His boot landed on the back of her head, forcing her face into the water. Panic raced through her veins and then into her throat, clogging it with a suppressed scream.
This was going to end terribly.
Grace’s lungs lit on fire with the need to consume air.
Suddenly her right foot connected with his groin, as if it had a mind of its own, releasing his boot from her head. She flipped on her back, gulped in the air, rose up and grabbed the man hunching over her by his shirt collar, pulling him toward her and the ground while placing her feet on his chest. She rolled back into the soggy earth, using the momentum to flip the man over her body and into the taller guy.
They both crumpled into the spongey grass.
How had she done that? The shorter attacker growled and told the other guy, in Spanish, to get a handle on her. Before she had a good clear thought she launched toward the man making it to his feet and muscled him toward the car, then she shoved his head onto the hood with so much force it reverberated through her entire arm. He collapsed and didn’t move.
The last assailant grabbed her hair and she bent forward, tossing him over her, then clutched the jack and slammed it into his head.
Grace dropped it when he went still. Oh no. What had she done? Her body trembled with total fear—from the men, from her behavior. Flight mode kicked in and she sprinted the two miles to the SAR facility.
She busted into Hollis’s office, startling him out of his chair. “I’m a ninja!” she squawked, panting for breath, dripping wet. “I’m a...ninja!” She frantically shook her head, disbelief washing over her again as the scenario replayed through her brain. “I thought I was a chef or a Girl Scout leader. But I’m a ninja! I’m a ninja—”
She assaulted a man with a jack! Yes, he came at her first...but she didn’t even hesitate. A weird predatory urge had taken over and she...she... What had she done?
“Grace,” Hollis said in a calming but wary tone as he swung around the desk, his dark-eyed gaze giving her the strength she needed. “I need you to breathe, honey. Slow down. Let’s press Pause. Get your bearings.” He pushed a mass of wet hair from her face and tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “Focus,” he drawled in his rich baritone voice that always brought her comfort.
“You don’t understand.” He hadn’t witnessed her takedown, beating them like ragdolls with no thought whatsoever. “I have kung fu moves. And I know Spanish!” She told him in perfect Spanish she was a ninja and she thought she’d killed a man.
Hollis’s eyes widened. “What man?”
“Hollis, you know Spanish too?” Of course, he did. He was a former navy SEAL. He’d done a few tours. She was no navy SEAL. But it sure felt like it out there. “I know I’m not making any sense.” Her blood froze and she shivered. The room tipped.
“You’re going into shock.” Hollis raced to the lockers on the far side of the wall and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around her. He lifted her eyelids. “Pupils are dilated.” He cupped her face. “Look at me. Inhale. Exhale.” He rubbed her forearms, working to generate body heat, then he enveloped her, working his hands down her back. “Keep breathing.”
His voice soothed her, his touch eased her knotted muscles as she followed his instructions. Slowly she gained her wits, until the hysteria passed and she could rationally think. “Hollis, two Latino men pulled up behind me on the highway. My tire blew. I’m pretty sure they set it up.” She told him what happened next and how she singlehandedly put them on the ground. Grace had almost been murdered; the fear was overwhelming. Didn’t matter that she had defended herself. She had been harmed. Might be attacked again. She collapsed into his powerful arms. “I can’t be a murderer, Hollis.”
Hollis held her tighter and she melded into him—a safe place. The safest place she’d been since she’d lost her memory, possibly ever. He smelled like oranges and fabric softener. His dark stubble scraped against her cheek as he soothed her with soft shhs. She peered into his eyes, almost as dark as hers, searching for wisdom, answers...hope.
“It’s going to be okay. Let’s go to the site. Figure it out.” He lifted the collar of her jacket. “First go get some fatigues and get dry, then meet me here.” She frantically nodded and did as he instructed. When she returned, she’d wrung out her hair and wrapped it in a wet knot at the base of her neck. She wore khaki fatigues and her spare pair of hiking boots she kept at the facility.
Hollis scrutinized her. “You ready?”
No. She was terrified. Either someone had mistaken her for someone she wasn’t. Or Grace had secrets that were so dark, she didn’t ever want to remember.
* * *
Hollis kept his emotions close to the vest. He didn’t want to cause further panic, didn’t want Grace to be even more afraid, and showing his concern would set her off. Calmly, he escorted her to his pickup and opened the door for her. “It’s going to be okay,” he reassured her again. When he’d found her two years ago during SAR dive drills in the river, she’d been roughed up and left for dead on the bank. She was seizing and frothing at the mouth. He feared the trauma had affected her brain and she’d never recover. By the time he got her to the hospital, she was unresponsive, but breathing, though shallow. Then she’d slipped into a coma. The Grace he knew today might not be the Grace she used to be.
He rounded the truck and climbed in the cab. Grace wrung her slender hands—hands that had a few scars—and chewed on lips that should be kissed not tortured with worrisome gnawing. She was beautiful. Lightly bronzed skin—like the sun had kissed her—and hair as thick and black as night matching her eyes, and long lashes that reminded him of a Southern belle fan. She’d been extremely toned and sculpted when he’d found her, which told him she was a health nut, and the dress she’d been wearing exposed most of her back, revealing scars there as well.
His friend and ER nurse, Daphne, had overstepped HIPAA and confirmed that Grace had past injuries. Broken bones. Two arms. A collarbone. Her right leg. Left ankle. Several fingers. Hollis immediately suspected domestic abuse, but no one came calling for her. He’d called in a favor with an old SEAL buddy who ran a private security company now, but his search hadn’t turned up anything. He had done a missing persons check to see if anyone of her description had vanished around the time Hollis had found Grace, but no one matching her physical appearance had. And without knowing her name, her birthdate or any information that would aid in a background check or missing person’s report, it made things practically impossible. With her scars and broken bones, Hollis and the sheriff had agreed it was best to search for her identity discreetly. If the person who had injured Grace resurfaced, and she didn’t know him or her—and neither did Hollis nor Sheriff Freeman—then Grace was a sitting duck. What quiet investigating and inquiry they had done all hit dead ends. It was as if Grace didn’t exist.
Except she did and it was mind-boggling. Nothing but grace she survived. Day in and out Hollis came and sat at her bedside, talking with her even though she was unresponsive. He needed to call her something. Grace fit. Thackery was his great grandmother’s name. It wasn’t like he could call her Grace Montgomery. Then one day he was reading her a psalm and her eyelids flickered...once...twice and those coffee bean–colored eyes looked into his. For a split second it was like she knew him. Had heard every word he’d ever spoken or read to her. He thought she might even say his name, but then it registered she had no idea where she
