from the pounding headache, she was in no condition to fight. Actually, even if she’d been perfectly healthy, she would have been no match for two-hundred-plus pounds of lean, angry muscle. So she had no intention of provoking his anger.
Her mouth was still dry, but she was reluctant to ask for more water, preferring that he keep his distance. “What do you want with me?”
With a don’t-mess-with-me look, he set down the cup beside her and folded his arms across his broad chest. “I want answers.”
“Don’t we all.”
He jerked his thumb toward the mouth of the cave, at the body beneath a blanket. A bloody knife lay next to it. “Why did you kill my partner, Jackson?”
She hadn’t killed anyone. Or at least she didn’t think she had. Her mom had always told her the best defense was a strong offense, so at his accusation, she came out swinging. “How do I know you didn’t kill him?”
“The man was like a father to me. Besides, I’m not the one with blood on my sleeve.”
As his words sank in, she glanced down at her sleeve to the dark stain and shivered.
He was accusing her of…murder. Her mind couldn’t wrap around the thought. Murder? Oh, God. Why couldn’t she remember? If only the pounding behind her eyes would diminish, she might think more clearly.
Like an expert interrogator, he gave her no time to recuperate from his allegation. “And before you lie and tell me you didn’t kill him, you might want to consider that I saw the bloody knife in your hand.”
She had to concentrate, but a black hole in her memory seemed to have sucked away every recollection. “I can’t remember.”
“How convenient, Ms. Brandon.”
He seemed to emphasize her last name with a mocking tone, then wait for her reaction. But how was she supposed to react? She’d told him the truth. She was born Carlie May Brandon and she’d never married, never gone by another name. Had she been working this case undercover and used an alias? But Carlie didn’t do undercover. She was just a uniformed officer who patrolled the streets. Her gaze strayed to the body and skittered away. What had happened?
Think.
The last moment she recalled was stopping a speeder on the causeway connecting Tampa and St. Petersburg. Harry had teased her about letting off the cute guy in the Corvette with just a warning. It had been Tuesday, around 5:00 p.m.
“What day is this?” she asked.
Sean didn’t seem surprised she’d lost track of the days; his expression didn’t change one iota. But then, he looked as if he were carved from the same unforgiving rock that formed mountains. Beneath his full-length parka, he wore a black wool shirt, heavy denim pants and sturdy hiking boots. From his heavy clothing, the cold climate and the camping gear in the cave, she guessed they were in the mountains, someplace up north or out west. Colorado or Canada, maybe.
Wherever she was, time didn’t seem to have much meaning. She didn’t hear the sounds of civilization. No cars, no trains. No police sirens indicating help on the way. Obviously she wasn’t in Florida anymore and could only count on her own resources.
The man standing over her was a formidable opponent. Yet he didn’t seem the usual street criminal. Intelligence gleamed from his eyes, and the set of his mountainous shoulders warned her of his self-control. She doubted she could incite him into making mistakes.
At least he was talking to her. “It’s Saturday,” he told her.
She’d lost four days. Four days. “You’re sure?”
“Very. It’s October 30.”
She blinked when he added the year. No way. He had to be trying to trick her. But his words had been so offhand, downright casual. And what reason would he have to lie? She swallowed hard and tried for a normal tone. “Are you sure?”
He cocked his head, his deep baritone suspicious. “Lose a day?”
Stunned, she blinked hard, fighting back tears. “Near as I can tell, I’ve lost over two years.”
Two years gone, vanished as if she’d never lived them. She had to stay calm, in control of her rising panic. The knock on her head could have caused a temporary memory loss. Surely her memory would return if she just concentrated hard enough.
Ignoring his eyebrows raised in disbelief was easy while thoughts raced through her head like a runaway train. What was wrong with her? It was as if she’d never lived the last two years. Panic surged through her. She had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten here. Suppose her memories never returned? Suppose she had killed Jackson?
Fear clamped around her chest and squeezed. At least she’d retained most of her memories. She remembered her family, her friends, her job. But she’d lost two whole years. And she’d awakened in a cave and been accused of murder. She suspected no one would believe her memory loss, and even if they did, they might lock her up and toss away the—
Stop it. You’re a trained professional. Act like one. Focus on the facts.
She wasn’t completely helpless. She had a real sense of who she was, a cop—not a murderer. If she’d killed Jackson, she must have done so in self-defense. But even as a cop, she’d never had cause to pull her gun.
Still, a lot could have changed in two years. Perhaps she’d made detective or gone into undercover work.
While she remained silent, Sean McCabe stared at her as if waiting for her to admit she’d lied about the partial amnesia. His acute stare told her he was taking her lack of memory personally, and like a dog gnawing a juicy steak bone, he wasn’t about to let her go until he was satisfied.
She wished she could lie, because that would mean she was in possession of her full memory. All her recent recollections were gone—more than twenty-four months’ worth. Trying to force a memory only made her head ache worse. Gingerly she touched the knot. Perhaps when the swelling receded, her memories would return.
Her partial amnesia could have been worse. After all, she remembered her name, her childhood and her parents. She had a job with the police department, a family that loved her and many friends. All she needed to do was find a phone, and even if her memories never returned, they could fill her in.
Slowly her speeding heart calmed. She was alive, and at the moment her accuser didn’t seem inclined to hurt her. She wasn’t even sure if she was being held hostage, but if so, perhaps she could escape.
If his intentions were honorable, if he thought she’d murdered his friend, why hadn’t he called the police? She stared back into the darkened eyes surveying her with a mixture of pity and bridled anger and wondered if revealing her memory loss had been a mistake.
His tone was low, harsh. “Tell me what you remember.”
“About what?” she asked, vowing to give him nothing he could use against her.
“About…us.”
“Us?” That one word rocked her, hinting at a former and possibly a current personal relationship. Although his mountain-man ruggedness was attractive,
