happened if she’d walked into a cage while a wounded animal was sleeping.
She located the pills she’d dropped when he grabbed her, and she turned slowly to face Cort. He leaned against the door of the cab and stared at her. She couldn’t read the expression in his dark eyes. Something flickered there, something black and ugly, but she didn’t know what it meant. Was he berating himself, or her? Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing.
“It could have been worse,” she said at last, her voice a little raspy from the pressure on her neck.
He raised his eyebrows.
“You could have had the gun.”
He didn’t answer. Apparently he had no intention of apologizing.
She held out the pills and the container of orange juice. He took them, tossed back the medication and gulped the liquid without taking his eyes from her face. She wanted to look away but sensed he was challenging her. She forced herself to meet his gaze.
“How long since you’ve been in the field?” she asked.
“Two weeks.”
“That explains—”
“Did Jeff tell you I was having flashbacks?” he asked, cutting her off.
“No.” She swallowed. Great. “Should he have?”
“You tell me.”
He held out the empty juice bottle. She took the plastic container and set it between them. Still his gaze locked on hers. He was making her nervous, but she refused to let him see her squirm. She allowed herself to study the straight line of his nose and the stubble darkening the hollows of his cheeks. He was handsome, she thought with some surprise. Perhaps even beautiful, with the wild unholiness of natural predators.
She shifted in her seat and reached for the sandwich she’d placed on the dashboard. “You’re probably hungry,” she said. “The instructions said to take the medication with food. I have to hook up the trailer and then we’ll leave.”
He didn’t answer. She set the sandwich on his lap and turned toward the door. Before she could touch the handle, he spoke. “I tried to kill you.”
“I know. You’re also trying to intimidate me.”
“What the hell are you still doing in this truck?”
“I don’t scare so easy.”
“Lady, there’s something wrong with you.”
She detected a note of grudging respect in his voice. “You’re not the first person to notice,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. The early afternoon light caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes. Cat eyes. “How long has your leg been bleeding?”
He glanced down at the stained bandage. “Since I fell on it at the hospital.”
“When was the surgery?”
“Two days ago. I think I ripped out some stitches.”
“Terrific.” She opened the door, then paused. “At the way station, we’re over forty minutes from town and an hour and a half from real medical care. Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No.”
She pointed to his leg. “If it gets infected, I’ll probably just cut it off.”
He rewarded her with a slight smile. It didn’t make him look any less dangerous. “Deal.”
She waited, hoping he would say something more. He didn’t. “I’ve got to see to the supplies,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She slipped out of the truck and closed the door behind her.
Cort watched as several men finished loading supplies from the feed store into the back of Faith’s truck. Carelessly, he picked at the food she’d handed him. His head ached, his leg throbbed and the pain in his gut came from a lot more than medication.
He’d almost killed her. If he’d had a knife or, in that split second when he’d lost track of what was real, his gun, she would be dead. For no good reason. She wasn’t the enemy. Just an innocent bystander. He’d never lost control before, and it scared the hell out of him. How was he going to get it back?
He glanced in the side-view mirror and saw Faith talking to a man with a clipboard. She went down the list and pointed at the boxes they were loading into a separate trailer. The man started to argue. Before he’d said more than ten words, Faith planted her hands on her hips and started in on him. In about five seconds, he was nodding and backing up toward the building.
Who the hell was she? He tossed the half-eaten sandwich on the seat and clenched his hands into fists. He’d almost killed her, and she acted like nothing had happened. Jeff had said she needed protection. Cort shook his head. She seemed capable enough to him. He stared at the mirror. Faith stood by the back of the truck, counting the crates being loaded. She moved quickly and easily, as if she’d performed this task a hundred times before. Cool and competent—she turned and he saw the curve of her rear—and very much a woman.
He shifted his leg and felt a spurt of blood, then the warm dampness as it oozed against his skin. He closed his eyes. With a new bandage and a good night’s sleep, physically he’d be fine. A couple of days and he would be a hundred percent. But what about the rest of it? What about his memory?
He went over what he’d remembered right before they left the hospital. Salt air. The ocean. He licked his lips as if the taste still lingered. Darkness. He remembered that. And danger. But from what? He strained to see into the gray mist of his mind. Had Dan been there with him? Had he died there?
Nothing. The past refused to focus. He groaned in frustration. What if he never remembered? Had he killed him? Had he killed Dan?
Cort propped his elbow on the door and rubbed his forehead. What was his mission? Dan was a fellow agent. Deep inside his memory, something clicked into place. Had his friend gone bad? Had Cort been sent to kill him? If he’d gotten the job done, he should forget it. Had he, though? Thoughts circled around and around, until even what he could remember blurred with the fog.
“Stop it,” he commanded himself. He would get nowhere like this. Dan was dead. He knew that for sure. The rest of it would come to him. It had to.
He’d gone too far with the last mission, he realized. He’d felt the warning signs of burnout and had ignored them. He should have turned down the assignment and taken a break. He’d been fighting the war for too long. He hadn’t wanted to be cautious, and now he was paying the price.
Faith opened the door and slid onto the seat. He ignored her. He heard the click as she buckled her seat belt. He needed a plan. Whatever security he had to provide wouldn’t take up too much of his time. He needed to get back in shape physically, and his memory would follow. First— A bump against his shoulder broke into his musings.
“Sorry,” Faith said as she rested her arm on the top of the seat and began backing up the truck. “I hate this part.”
He glanced out the rear window. “What are you doing?”
“See
