just resembled someone he’d dealt with. God knew he came across so many people in his line of work….
Caleb looked closer.
And then he remembered.
Or thought he did. Curious, he decided it bore investigation. But for that, he needed to get closer. Setting down his glass, he tossed a tip onto the counter.
The next moment, he was striding across the crowded floor, carelessly moving aside anyone and everyone in his way with less regard than if they’d been cardboard placeholders.
The closer he got, the surer he became. And yet, it hardly seemed possible.
But it was, wasn’t it? he silently asked that part of his mind that still retained a few less damaged memories, memories that had been gathered before Jane had entered his life.
And before she’d left it.
Red hair, skin like alabaster. Green eyes. Delicate-looking.
It was Claire Santaniello.
No one else had hair quite that shade of red. Confusion snaked its way through him at the same time that a tiny microchip of warmth made its appearance.
Damn, what was she doing here in a place like this?
Assessing the situation with lightning speed, he told the other man to back away. The expression in the other man’s eyes was pure malevolence as he looked away from Claire and at him.
“You want her for yourself?” the other man growled, holding on to Claire’s wrist as firmly as a handcuff. “Tough. I was here first.”
This was absurd. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever conceived of this kind of scenario. Served her right for not standing her ground and leaving the moment she realized what sort of place the girls were bringing her to.
“Nobody was ‘first,’” Claire snapped, losing her patience. “I’m not some bone you two can scrap over. I’m not interested. In anybody,” she declared with finality just in case the man who’d just come to her so-called rescue had any ideas about the “winner getting the spoils” once he got rid of Neanderthal Man.
It was Claire, all right, Caleb thought. He was sure of it. “You heard the lady,” he said evenly. “She wants you to go.” It wasn’t a statement, it was an order.
The other man obviously saw it as more of a challenge. “You gonna make me?”
“Why don’t you step up to the plate and see?” Caleb’s voice took on a sort of deadly calm. He deliberately moved so that the other man could see the holstered gun strapped on beneath the navy sport jacket.
His eyes fastened on the weapon, Claire’s would-be lover sucked in his breath. He let loose a scathing curse before abandoning the virtual tug-of-war.
“She’s probably frigid,” he threw in with contempt. “You’re welcome to her.” With that, he turned away and melted into the crowd.
Squaring her shoulders, Claire turned around to get a good look at the man who had come to her aid. She was torn between thinking that chivalry wasn’t dead and wondering if she’d just gone from the frying pan into the fire.
Most of all, she didn’t want this new contestant in the battle of the dance floor thinking that she was some kind of defenseless weakling. She’d stood up to more dangerous men than the one who’d just left. Of course, that had been when she and God had been on speaking terms.
Was this some guardian angel He’d sent in His place? She would have liked to think so, but she had a feeling that wasn’t the case. “Thank you, but I could have handled him.”
“No, you couldn’t,” Caleb said matter-of-factly. There wasn’t a hint of amusement in his voice, but neither was there any annoyance. “He had at least a hundred pounds on you.” He paused, then added, “He’s not a little boy you can just send off to bed because it’s past his bedtime.”
The voice was deep and slightly gravelly. There was no reason for it to be familiar, and yet, the cadence managed to rustle a deep, faraway corner of her mind.
Did she know him? Was he someone she’d gone to school with? The lighting was far from good, designed more for seduction and to hide imperfections than to highlight anything. Claire squinted, studying the rugged, chiseled face, the somber yet ever so slightly amused expression beginning to emerge. Her eyes shifted to his sandy-blond hair and light blue eyes.
He didn’t look familiar, but that didn’t take away from the fact that he somehow seemed familiar. She wasn’t about to ask “Do I know you?” because even she knew that would sound like a line and it might very well open an undesirable door.
And then the familiar stranger stopped being a stranger with his very next words.
“What’s the matter, Claire?” he asked. “Don’t you remember me?”
She stood there, trapped in a memory that refused to gel even if it did produce flashes in her head. “You know my name.”
“I know a lot of things about you,” he told her, his amusement growing. “I know you used to like to watch detective shows, but that you wouldn’t if you had any homework to do. You did it first, then watched. I know you used to sing to yourself when you were studying when you thought no one was around to hear you.”
Her mouth dropped open as she stared at the tall man before her. She should know him, she realized, and yet, no name rose to her lips. “Who are you?”
Caleb had no idea why he didn’t answer her question directly, why he didn’t just tell her his name instead of choosing to prolong the mystery for her just a little longer. He nodded at the table, indicating that she take a seat, then, switching it around, he straddled a chair himself. He watched her sink down into the nearest one as if she intended to shoot up to her feet at any second.
“Who do you think I am?” he asked her.
Claire stared at him intently, her green eyes sweeping over him. When he’d stood behind her and she’d turned around, she’d noted that he was almost a foot taller than she was. The man had shoulders like a football guard and it wasn’t thanks to any padding in his jacket. She could tell by the way he moved.
“Possibly what I’d imagined my guardian angel looked like,” she answered, her mouth curving slightly, “but then if you were my guardian angel, that Neanderthal wouldn’t have been able to see you.”
For a glimmer of a moment, he was back in the past. The past where anything was possible and the blinding hurt hadn’t found him yet. Caleb decided to give her another clue.
“I became a cop because of all those detective shows you used to watch. You didn’t know it, but I used to sneak out of my room and watch them with you. I’d sit on the top step, just outside my bedroom door, and watch the show—when I wasn’t watching you,” he added. Then, for the first time in a very long time, he allowed himself a genuine smile. “I had one hell of a crush on you, Claire.”
He said her name as if they were old friends. So why couldn’t she remember him?
Who was he?
“I
