himself lucky that she hadn’t tried to convince the saleslady or the waitress to call the cops.
“Since you’ve lost your memory, I’m going to have to explain some things to you before I answer your question.”
She clasped her hands together and leaned forward. She’d done something to her hair, pulling it back from her face, smoothing it into a semblance of order. But water kept trickling from it, one suggestive droplet running down her neck and onto the thin red shirt.
He had to force his eyes to remain on her face and not follow the enticing direction the water had taken. “You have a brother and a sister, but after your parents died, the siblings were split up. Your older brother, Jake Cochran, grew up in foster homes and started looking for you the day he graduated from high school. Until recently, he couldn’t find you. But then he uncovered copies of your birth certificates. The information led him to—”
Her eyes narrowed. “My own brother wants me dead?”
“On the contrary. Jake asked the government to protect you. So here I am.” Clay gave her the simplified version of his story. While Jake had never asked the government to protect his sister, he had hired bodyguards for both sisters. Before Melinda’s bodyguard could contact her, he’d been grievously wounded but had survived for several hours before he’d died. He’d used those hours to contact the director for help.
“And why does my brother think I need protection?”
“We’re not sure.”
“Why don’t we call and ask him?”
“We suspect he’s running for his own life right now.”
“And my sister?”
“She has already gone underground.”
The waitress returned and placed coffee cups and steaming bowls of chowder in front of them. Melinda tasted her coffee and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Clay asked.
“Apparently I don’t like coffee.”
The waitress gave her an odd look.
“Could I have a hot chocolate instead?”
“You like hot chocolate?” Clay asked as he sipped his own black coffee.
“I’m not sure. The request slipped out before I thought about it.”
“Have any of your memories returned?”
She shook her head, but he wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth. “It’s horrible, you know? The worst is not trusting…my own reactions.” She looked at the soup in front of her as if it might bite her, then determinedly looked deep into her bowl. “I don’t even know if I like clam chowder.”
“There’s one way to find out.” Sensing her vulnerability, knowing she was hanging on to her dignity by just a few threads, he handed her the spoon.
She hesitated, then accepted the utensil. He figured she might take the tiniest taste, but she filled the spoon to the rim and took a full bite. “Mmm.” She swallowed and scooped up more of the thick chowder. “Delicious.”
“I know it must be frightening to have forgotten your past, but maybe you could look at it as an adventure—”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Think of all the fun things you can learn all over again.” Like kissing and making love and…Clay shut the thought down hard. He didn’t like his mind drifting while he tried to make a point. He didn’t need the distraction of thoughts about sex. He needed to keep his personal life separate from business, each segment neat and tidy in its own compartment to be taken out and savored at the right time. “Everything is a new experience for you. But maybe they’ll be good experiences.”
“Like when I rode a roller coaster for the first time. I was scared to death but it was a blast.”
“You remember?” he asked, hopeful. He needed her memory to return as soon as possible. It was critical to recovering the documents her brother had sent her.
“I remember the wind in my face. My stomach swooping in fear. It was exhilarating—not the sickening fear I felt back on the beach.”
If one memory had returned, maybe the others would follow. Clay told himself not to push her. He couldn’t afford to scare her again. He needed her trust.
AS MELINDA ATE, she wondered if Clay Rogan was playing her for a fool. But if he meant her harm, if he wasn’t with the CIA, would he have been so concerned about her health? Ignoring his own discomfort, Clay had given her his jacket, and she suddenly realized how cold he must have been, riding in front and taking the brunt of the rain. Imagining the chill factor alone made her shiver.
He noticed immediately, his stormy green eyes narrowing with concern. “Eat some more soup.”
“Yes, Mother,” she teased, thinking the way he looked at her was anything but motherly. He maintained this rock-solid glint at all times, but even so, she discerned a hint of speculative interest there.
Interest in her?
At the thought, she almost dropped her spoon, just barely raised the soup to her mouth without making a total klutz of herself. Realizing that she wanted to trust him, she considered whether she’d believed him too easily. Lots of sickos wanted their women warm and healthy.
Yet every time she glanced into those direct eyes of his, she had trouble thinking of him as a pervert. It was like trying to imagine Clint Eastwood or Harrison Ford as a bad guy. She simply couldn’t discern any evil in his hard, rugged features. On the other hand, she wasn’t so naive that she didn’t know looks could be deceiving.
Frustrated that she couldn’t make up her mind, she shifted uneasily in her seat. Again those all-seeing green eyes noticed. “Something wrong?”
“I have to use the ladies’ room.” She stood. “Be back in a minute.”
She left the table without asking his permission, wondering if he’d allow her to walk away. It took all her willpower not to look back over her shoulder at him, especially when she felt his stare drilling between her shoulder blades.
When she reached the ladies’ room, she turned to enter and barely restrained a gasp. Clay was right behind her. How the huge man had moved so silently, she had no idea. But he’d followed, never letting her move more than two steps away from him.
Frightened and angry that he trusted her so little while he asked her to trust him with her life, she whirled around to confront him. Again he’d anticipated her reaction and was already pointing to the back door. “If those men found my bike, they could barge in and grab you,” he explained.
“You aren’t coming inside?”
He opened the ladies’-room door, glanced at the empty cubicles and the tiny window. Holding the door open for her, he leaned against the hallway wall, a satisfied look in his eyes. “I’ll just wait here to make sure you make it back safely.”
Without another word, she pushed through the doorway, her pulse still
