don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
He stood very still, watching her, waiting for her to talk. Not going to happen. She knew better than to open the floodgate and allow her nightmare memories to pour into the real world.
Deliberately, she changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”
“I could go for a sandwich.”
Up close, he was disturbingly handsome with well-defined features and a dark olive complexion. His eyes were green—dark and deep. Not even his thick, black lashes could soften the fierceness in those eyes. He’d be a formidable enemy.
She noticed a swelling on his jaw and reached toward it. “You have a bruise.”
Before her fingers touched his face, he snatched her wrist. His movement was so quick that she gasped in surprise. He had the reflexes of a ninja. Immediately, he released his grasp.
As he moved away from the table, she could see him gathering his strength, pulling himself together. He went through the dining room into the living room. His gaze darted as though assessing the room, taking note of where the furniture was placed. He ran his hand along the mantle above the fireplace. At the front door, which she’d left open, he peered outside.
“Looking for something?” she asked.
“I like to know where I am before I get comfortable.”
“Reconnaissance?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Trust me, Jack. There’s nothing dangerous in this cabin.” He wasn’t entering an insurgent hideout, for pity’s sake. “I don’t even have a dog.”
“You live alone.”
Women living alone were never supposed to admit that they didn’t have anyone else around for protection, especially not to a stranger. Her hand dropped to the hammer on her tool belt. “I’m good at taking care of myself.”
“I’m sure you are.”
Though he kept his distance, she didn’t like the way he was looking at her. Like a predator. “Would you please stop pacing around and sit?”
“Before I do, I need to take something out of my belt.” He reached behind his back. “I don’t want you to be alarmed.”
Too late. “Of course not.”
He pulled an automatic pistol from the waistband of his jeans. The sight of his weapon shocked her. She’d made a huge mistake by inviting him into her cabin.
THE THROBBING IN HIS HEAD made it hard to think, but he figured he had two options. Either he could shoot Caitlyn and steal her car or he could talk her into handing over the car keys voluntarily.
Shooting her would be easier.
But he didn’t think he was that kind of man.
He reassured her again, “Nothing to worry about.”
“I’d feel better if you put the gun down.”
“Not a problem.” He placed the SIG on a red heart-shaped trivet in the center of the table, took a step to his left and sat in the chair closest to the kitchen. From this angle, he had a clear view of the front door.
She asked, “Do you mind if I check your weapon?”
“Knock yourself out.”
She wasted no time grabbing the gun. Expertly, she removed the clip. “Good thing you had the safety on. Carrying a gun in your waistband is a good way to shoot your butt off. Why are you carrying?”
There were plenty of lies he could tell her about why he was armed, but an efficient liar knows better than to volunteer information. “It never hurts to be prepared.”
She gave a quick nod, accepting his response.
Apparently, he was good at deception. When she’d asked about his military service, he hadn’t hesitated to cite the 10th Mountain Division, even though he didn’t remember being in the army or being deployed.
His story about the car accident had been a simple and obvious lie. Everybody had car trouble. Claiming an accident prompted automatic sympathy.
If he’d planned to stick around for more than a couple more minutes, he would have felt bad about lying to her. She was a good woman. Kindhearted. When he’d said he was hurt, she’d rushed to help him, offered her shoulder for support.
Taking his gun with her, she headed toward the kitchen. “I hope egg salad is okay.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I told you before, call me Caitlyn. I’m not old enough to be a ma’am.”
And you can call me Jack, even though I’m pretty sure that’s not who I am. He rolled the name around in his memory. Jack Dalton. Jack. Dalton. Though the syllables didn’t resonate, he didn’t mind the way they sounded. Henceforth, he would be Jack Dalton.
Caitlyn poked her head into the dining room. “If you want to wash up, the bathroom is the first door on the right when you go through the living room.”
He followed her directions, pausing to peek into the closet near the front door. If he was going to be on the run for any period of time, he’d need a jacket. A quick glance showed a couple of parkas and windbreakers. Nothing that appeared to be his size. A rifle stood in the corner next to the vacuum cleaner.
At the bathroom, he hesitated before closing the door. If the men who were chasing him showed up, he didn’t want to be trapped in this small room with the claw-footed tub and the freestanding sink. He checked his reflection in the mirror, noting the bruises on the right side of his face and a dark swelling on his jaw. Looked like he’d been in a bar fight. Was that the truth? Just a bar fight? The simplest answer was usually the correct one, but not this time. His problems ran deeper than a brawl. There were people who wanted him dead.
He searched the medicine cabinet. There was a wide selection of medical supplies. Apparently, a woman who swaggered around with a tool belt slung around her hips injured herself on a regular basis. He found a bottle of extra-strength pain reliever and took three.
After trekking through the forest, his white T-shirt was smeared with dirt, and he didn’t exactly smell like a bouquet of lilacs. He peeled off the shirt and looked in the mirror again. In addition to patches of black and blue on his upper right arm and rib cage, a faded scar slashed across his chest from his clavicle to his belly button. He had a couple of minor scratches with dried blood. A deeper wound—newly healed—marked his abdomen. What the hell happened to me? These scars should have been a road map to unlock his memory.
Still, his mind was blank.
He washed his chest and pits. His worst injury was on the back of his head, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. No matter how he turned, he couldn’t see the damage.
There was a sound outside the bathroom door. A car approaching? They could be coming, could
