instead she’d gotten some kind of hired gun. He was a soldier of fortune, for heaven’s sake!
“I told you—I’m a professional soldier. It’s what I was trained for.” He picked up his glass and drained most of it, setting it back down on the table with a little more force than necessary. “I don’t work for just anyone, and I never take on an assignment that could conflict with my loyalties as a citizen of this country. But there’s always trouble somewhere in the world. Right now it appears that someone’s waging war against you.”
She stared at him, her thoughts chaotic. Quinn had just voiced the feeling she’d had for weeks now. She had felt like some unknown person had declared war on her—a very private, very personal war, but war nonetheless. And from the start she’d had the conviction that her enemy wasn’t interested in taking prisoners.
With Quinn McGuire on her side there was a possibility that she might be able to turn the tide of this one-sided battle, Jane thought slowly. But before they came to any definite arrangement he had to know just what she was up against.
As a soldier, he would want as much information as he could about both his enemy—and his ally. How was she supposed to tell him that her adversary wasn’t the only participant in this war whom she knew nothing about?
“You said earlier that tonight was a bad night for stirring up old memories, McGuire.” Her voice was barely above a murmur, but his eyes narrowed in response. She went on, knowing that she was picking her way through a minefield. “You sound like a man who’s got too many of them.”
“Everybody’s got something they wish they could forget,” Quinn said harshly. His eyes seemed almost silvery. “Everyone’s got a few too many memories.”
“Not me.” Jane stared back at him, her own eyes shadowed. “I don’t know anything about my life up until the time when I came to in a hospital bed eleven weeks ago—not even what my real name is or where I come from or if I have a family.”
Her voice cracked. She fought to keep it under control. “And the only person who can fill in the blanks for me is my stalker.”
Chapter Two
Quinn shook his head. “You can’t remember a thing about your life. That’s quite a trick. Could you teach me, do you think?”
His tone was tinged with admiration. She stared at him. “It’s called amnesia,” she said shortly. “It’s not a trick, it’s a medical condition. When I came to in hospital I was told I’d been hit by a car. I had head trauma.”
“Head trauma, was it?” His attitude wasn’t exactly mocking, but there was something off-kilter about the way he was responding. He shoved his glass to one side, his elbow on the table. “What happened next? When did you first figure out this fella was followin’ you?”
His accent had thickened, and again the impulse to get up and leave crossed her mind. But even drunk, the man’s very appearance would provide some protection. He was physically intimidating just sitting there, half-slumped across the table.
“It was a few days after I left the—” She drew in a sharp breath. Looking down at the strong tanned fingers that rested idly on her forearm, she forced her voice to remain even. “We’re not on a date, Mr. McGuire. Please remove your hand.”
“It’s Quinn, as I told you before. And the hand stays. It’s for your own good.”
“What do you mean, for my own good?” Her jaw was so tight she could hardly get the question out.
“I keep a low profile, but who I am and what I do isn’t a complete secret to those in the business,” he said softly. His thumb moved up the length of her forearm in an unobtrusive stroking motion. Her fingertips curled against the smooth surface of the table. “Our conversation was beginning to look too much like what it was—a business negotiation. And there just might be a curious soul or two around who would find it interesting to question you later, to find out what new project I’m considering.” He smiled. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world. Let’s throw them a bone to keep them satisfied, and try to blend in with the other couples in the room.”
“Pretend this isn’t—this isn’t business? If you think it’s necessary, I’ll play along, but not to this extent. Being touched—” Her gaze slid away from his. “Being touched makes me nervous. I don’t like it.”
“I’m not about to start groping down the front of your dress, lady.” The thumb that had been stroking her forearm stilled. “We’re making the barest of human contact.”
“I still don’t like it.” Her voice was firmer this time, she noted with shaky relief. “Please let me go.”
This last request was unnecessary. Already he’d released her, but although there was now a space of a few inches between her arm and his hand, her flesh still retained the heat of his touch.
“I’ve gotten the message—there’s a no-man’s-land around you and I won’t be trespassing again. Let’s hear your story.”
His soft voice was as emotionless as if he were asking her for the time of day, and suddenly Jane knew she’d made a mistake. There’d been no need to fear any blurring of the barriers between herself and this man. Even if she’d involuntarily let her own down, they were nothing compared to the wall that she belatedly perceived around him.
For reasons she didn’t understand, there was a part of her deep inside that was frozen. But Quinn McGuire was ice through and through—glacial ice. He wasn’t like other men. She had nothing to fear from him in that respect.
Except it wasn’t him you were afraid of a moment ago, was it? a small voice in her head asked. It was yourself—and the way you felt when he touched you.
She sat up straighter. “Three days after I was released from the hospital I found work with a cleaning company.” Her shrug was a taut lifting of her shoulders. “It was all I could get. I was a non-person, officially at least, but the rest of the night cleaning crew were in the same situation as I was—no papers, no legal status.”
“Already this doesn’t make sense,” he said carelessly. “Tell me this—why didn’t the doctors contact the authorities when they learned you were suffering from amnesia? Why didn’t they run a check with missing persons?” He lifted his glass and looked at her through the golden liquid, as if he were examining her through a microscope. “You’ll have to shore up the gaps in your fairy tale, darlin’. It’s still a little shaky.”
“You think I’m lying? Why, in heaven’s name? What would I have to gain?”
“Like I said, what I do for a living isn’t a total secret to certain people.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “A couple of years ago a woman tried to spin me a story about needing her husband eliminated. I found out she was a reporter hoping to do an exposé on murder-for-hire.”
“I’m not a reporter—” Jane began, but he didn’t let her finish.
“I’ve had the odd head wound myself, angel. I’ve seen men who’ve totally forgotten their names, what country they were in, what year it was. But they all regained their memories within a day or two.”
“I know it’s rare.” She pushed a stray strand of hair
