Conard County Marine (14 page)

“Throwing a pebble seems like a childish thing to do.”

He agreed, but he wasn’t going to tell her the other interpretations he could put on it. Such as that the guy had seen her laughing and had been angry, striking out in the only way he could when she wasn’t alone. Childish or not, he’d had the sense to stay on the sidewalk, out of the grass that might have made him trackable. Definitely not an idiot.

He helped her unfold the heavyweight blue curtains. Fortunately, they had ring hooks that clamped around the rod, and while she held the bottom to take most of the weight off, he strung all the panels. An easy job, and fifteen minutes later, after a little arranging, the living room was no longer visible from the street.

His arms had tightened a little after being over his head too long, but it didn’t take much effort to shake them out.

“That’s not going to make Glenda happy,” Kylie remarked as she stood back and surveyed their work.

“Why not?”

“Because she loves it when it gets warm enough to take them down and let the light in.”

He slipped his arm around her shoulders, loving the way she melted into his side. “I think Glenda will understand.”

“I’m sure.” Kylie sighed and retreated to the sofa. “I’m beginning to feel like a prisoner. It was bad enough when I was just afraid and couldn’t remember so much of my life, but now I feel trapped in a cage.”

Well, he couldn’t deny that she was. Out there on those once-safe streets was a killer who still wanted her. That was certainly one definition of prison. Covering the windows, staying with her every second as a guard...that was another definition.

He paced for a while, wondering how he could ease her mind even a little. In some ways, she was a lot like the young guys he took into their first truly dangerous situations, but in her case she didn’t have any training to prepare her or stand by her in the clutch.

God, she must feel at sea with a big hole in her memory and a shadowy figure stalking her. He wouldn’t blame her if she freaked out.

But she hadn’t yet. Somehow she always found the internal strength and resilience to take each new blow. He admired the hell out of her.

But all this stress was clearly exhausting her, and sleeping on the couch night after night couldn’t be truly restful for her.

“Kylie?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you go to bed? Your real bed. You need some decent sleep.”

For an instant her face froze, and her eyes darted as if expecting something to leap at her from almost any direction. Then she visibly shook herself. She’d slept alone before, after all. Reaching for her independence. But it had been
her
idea then. “You must be awfully tired of me.”

“I’m not tired of you at all!” His protest was vehement. “Whatever gave you that idea? That I think you need a good night’s sleep? I know it isn’t easy with all that’s going on. I’ll be right there, I swear. And you don’t have to worry about me dozing off because I’ve trained myself to wake at the slightest sound. Survival. So just go get ready for bed.”

“Really? You can wake?”

“My ears are better than any alarm clock. I put cats to shame, okay?”

That at least brought a small smile to her face. “Cats, huh?”

“Believe it. Now go get ready for bed. I’ll tuck you in, if you want.”

He watched her climb the stairs, feeling his insides swelling with emotions he didn’t want to deal with right then. He could afford only one thing: watching that woman and keeping her safe. Afterward...well, afterward might be a long time away.

*

So he could get Cooper away from the woman. Todd headed back to the old car, thinking about that chink. Cooper had been outside for nearly ten minutes looking for whoever had thrown that pebble. That meant that given a proper excuse, he could separate the two of them.

He just had to think of a way. And he would. Of that he was very certain.

Chapter 8

K
ylie washed up, changed into a fresh cotton nightshirt and climbed beneath the sheets. She had to admit Coop was right about going to bed. It felt a whole lot more comfortable than the couch. She had a feeling she might indeed sleep better, as long as he was there. As she’d discovered the one night she’d tried this alone, she still woke with panic attacks. But that hadn’t happened once when he was there.

She could do this, but not alone.

“Coop?”

A minute later he appeared in the doorway. “Now that’s a nice sight, you in a real bed.” He smiled.

“Stay with me?”

He hesitated, eyeing the rocker in one corner, then seemed to shake himself.

“Sure,” he said.

She was so relieved when he chose to lie down beside her on top of the covers. Fully clothed, still wearing his boots, but right beside her, big, strong, warm and safe.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Just behave.”

She surprised herself by emitting a small giggle. “No marines caught with their drawers down, huh?”

“Never.” Then he rolled onto his side. The only light in the room came from the lamp on the end table behind him, leaving him in shadows as he propped his head in one hand. “Now, it could be that I’d like nothing better. In fact, I’m quite sure I’d love to make love to you until exhaustion overwhelmed us. But you don’t need me to explain why the timing stinks.”

“Not after the rose,” she admitted. She hated it, though. She hated it that some sick man had destroyed her life once and was trying to destroy it again. “You know, Coop, I’ve devoted my life to helping people, to saving lives. But right now I think I’m capable of murder. Hasn’t he stolen enough from me?”

He sighed. “Not by his lights evidently.” He reached out his other hand and brushed her hair back from her face before cupping her cheek. “We’ll get through this, Kylie. I’ll keep you safe and we’ll get this guy.”

“Nobody can promise that.”

“I’m not nobody, okay?”

She believed him. He’d been to war, he’d led men into battle...she couldn’t have asked for a better protector. But even marines failed sometimes. There were enough of them in Arlington National Cemetery to prove it.

She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch, wishing she could have so much more. “Promise me,” she said.

“What?”

“That when this is over we’ll make love. Wild, wonderful love.”

“Oh, hey, lady, I can promise that for certain. You drive me to the edge. I can’t look at you without wanting you. We will have our day. Maybe lots of days, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

She felt his lips touch her forehead lightly and he whispered back, “You can’t imagine the ways I want to love you. I want to know every square inch of you. I want to make you so hot you glow.”

A shiver ran through her, one of pure delight, and in an instant she flamed with desire. “You’re killing me,” she murmured.

“Sorry. I’ll keep the sexy talk for another time.”

“Yeah, before you find out that nurses can go on the attack, too.”

A soft laugh escaped him. “I’m looking forward to that. Now sleep, darlin’. Please sleep.”

So she closed her eyes, hoping her fluttering nerves would settle enough to let her. His gentle stroking of her hair was soothing, and finally she felt sleep creeping up on her. Wonderful, soothing sleep.

Then in her mind something flashed and she sat bolt upright, a scream escaping her.

*

Coop hit instant readiness, leaping from the bed fully alert. Nothing had changed; he was sure he hadn’t dozed, and not a single unusual sound had broken the quiet of the night.

But there was Kylie sitting bolt upright, staring at something only she could see. Part of him wanted to pull the knife he kept tucked in his boot, but his training warned him against it. Nothing had actually happened, so why scare Kylie?

But something had scared her and he had the definite feeling it had happened inside her.

Afraid of disturbing her when she was caught in some terror, probably a form of the PTSD he knew all too well, he remained standing by the bed.

“Kylie,” he said gently. When she didn’t respond he made his voice a bit sharper. “Kylie! Do you hear me?”

After what seemed forever, she turned her head a bit and croaked, “I remembered something.”

He gathered it wasn’t a good memory. “Tell me?”

“A knife,” she murmured. “A knife. It flashed as it came down on me. I can feel the blow...”

Thank God he hadn’t pulled out his own knife. Under these circumstances the fallout from that could have been thermonuclear. “Can I sit beside you?”

“Yes.” Barely audible.

He eased down beside her, trying not to startle her in the least little way. “Did you see anything else?”

“Just the knife.” Then she turned into him, burying her face in his shoulder as if she wanted to crawl inside of him.

He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her as tightly as he dared. “I’m here. That was just a memory. Come back to me, Kylie. Please.”

She came back, all right. The sobs racked her entire body and her tears soaked his shirt. Gently he rocked her, trying to soothe her. Of all the things to remember, he thought bitterly. Not a useful face, just the flash of the knife that had tormented her. The memory of pain.

“I’m sorry,” she hiccuped a few minutes later.

“No need,” he said sincerely. “I know what it’s like. Cry it out, Kylie.”

“Do you cry?”

“I get angry.”

She sniffled and another wave of sobs ripped through her. “I’d rather be angry.”

He was certain she’d get there eventually. How could she not? She hadn’t been exaggerating in the least when she said this guy had stolen everything from her. Her future, her sense of security, her memory. That was a helluva list, and didn’t even begin to address the physical suffering she had endured. He honestly hoped she remembered no more of it. The guy’s face would be the only useful thing to remember about that attack.

The rest of her memory...that would be a good thing to get back, but he’d bet at this point she’d always wonder what was still missing and whether she could trust herself.

Another terrible thing to do to someone. Sure, memory was flexible and was always being rewritten, but to lose it all and then face having to trust it as it came back in dribs and drabs? He doubted she’d even be able to pick up her schooling where she’d been forced to leave off simply because she’d never be certain of her knowledge.

Anger thrummed in him, tamped down because he didn’t want her to sense it, but he felt growing inside himself more than a need to protect this woman. He wanted to avenge her.

That wasn’t good. He’d always felt vengeance was wrong, the worst of all possible motivations, but he couldn’t escape the fact that he wanted vengeance right now.

Gradually Kylie’s sobs eased, and she sagged into his embrace, exhausted by the storm that had just ripped through her. Holding her close, he stroked her back and hair and wished he could do something more. But this was it, to just be here. It didn’t feel like anywhere near enough.

“I soaked you,” she said eventually, her voice hoarse.

“I’ve been wet before.” He gave her a squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”

It was almost painful to let go of her, but he made himself do it. First he went to the bathroom and got a warm, damp washcloth. Perching beside her, he gently wiped the tears from her face. Her eyes remained puffy and red, but at least he could get rid of the salty tears.

Her gown was damp, too. “Got a fresh nightie or something?”

“Yeah. Top drawer.”

He rose, headed for the bathroom to dump the washcloth, then returned to the dimly lighted bedroom. She was off the bed, already pulling her damp nightshirt over her head.

He froze. In the lamplight she looked almost bronze, perfect in every line as she stretched her arms over her head. He’d seen plenty of naked women, but this one appeared more perfect to him than all the rest. High, small breasts, a tiny waist, long willowy legs.

And scars. Even in the dim light he could see where the attacker’s knife had slashed her as if he wanted to ruin her beauty. Amazing he hadn’t gone for her face, but he’d sure tried to ruin all the rest.

Catching himself, realizing Kylie might be upset if she caught him gawking, he stepped back quickly and went to his own room to change into a blue sweatshirt. The night held a spring chill now.

When he got back to her room, she was covered by a flannel nightshirt and rubbing her arms. “When did it get so cold?” she asked.

Probably about the time she remembered the knife, he thought, but avoided saying. “It’s still spring,” he said as cheerfully as he could. “Now get under those blankets.”

He wished he could get under them with her. The memory of her sexy body was seared into his brain and still flaming. Bad timing. He knew all about bad timing and how catastrophic it could become.

She slid under the covers and wiped her arm over her face. “Sorry about all the tears.”

“I told you, no need.” He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her.

“So you get angry?”

“I think it’s a guy thing. Tears might be more productive.”

“Do you smash things?”

“I try very hard not to do that. I usually succeed.”

One corner of her mouth tugged down. “What do you get mad about? Your cemetery?”

That slammed him. It shouldn’t have because he’d told her about it. But then he added a piece of the truth he rarely shared, because somehow it seemed important that she know this before she decided what kind of man he was. “My cemetery,” he agreed. “And the people who must be standing weeping beside all those graves.”

She sat up quickly and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Coop, I’m so sorry.”

Hesitantly he put his arms around her. “War has a price, Kylie. We all pay it—everyone who gets involved, civilian or military. Different people pay different prices because none of us are the same, but we all pay in some way. It’s inescapable.”

“How do you deal?”

“The same way you’re dealing. One foot in front of another, day by day. We can’t change the past. What matters is what we do with the next moment, and the next. I’m no pacifist. I believe in what I do. I’m trying to do the right thing. Sometimes I wonder if I am, but I have to keep moving forward and do the best I can.”

She rested against him gently, almost as comforting as a blanket. “That’s what I need to do, too. Keep moving, even though this creep is out there still.”

“Well,” Coop admitted, “he’s a hell of a wrinkle. But everyone’s on the lookout for you, especially me and Glenda. So maybe instead of worrying about him every minute, you should be thinking about all the tomorrows still to come. Like maybe medical school?”

She sighed, and he felt her soften even more. Apparently her moments of terror had receded into the background, and he was thankful for that.

“Medical school is a pipe dream,” she said finally. “I know it. First of all, I have this amnesia problem, but even without that, I figured I couldn’t afford it. Not even with loans. I mean, any way I looked at it, I’d need a job at the same time, it would take four years and then I’d need to intern and...well, I could maybe be looking for a job in my midthirties. That’s a big commitment, and I am kind of worried I might not be able to do it alone. I started hearing about medical students who get married just to have a spouse to pay the living expenses. I wouldn’t want to use someone that way. It turned me off.”

“I can see why.” He certainly could. But if it was really her dream... Well, not his place. Apparently she’d been happily working toward being a physician’s assistant. “So do you think you’ll resume your degree program?”

“My master’s? I don’t know. Every time I think about my amnesia I get queasy. How much have I forgotten? I don’t even know if I’d be fit to go back to regular nursing now. Maybe I’ll feel differently later, but right now I’m uncertain about everything.”

“Time will help with that, I think.” He sure hoped so. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to be going through life with such a huge hole in your memory, unable to trust almost everything about yourself.

Most people went through life thinking of themselves as a seamless flow into the distant past. This woman’s life had been interrupted. No seamless flow for her. Yeah, that would make her uncertain about most things. And even if her memory came back, like she said, would she entirely trust it? Probably not.

She spoke again. “Thank you for being so patient with me.”

“Patient?” The word surprised him. “I’m not being patient.”

“Sure you are. I’ve wrecked your entire vacation and you didn’t even know me until my sister dragged you into this. You could be off having a good time instead of babysitting me.”

The word shook him. He took her by the shoulders and held her a few inches away so he could look into her face. “I don’t feel like a babysitter. I’m not being patient. In fact, I should probably thank you for giving me a chance to try to protect you. It feels good, damn it.”

“Really?” She searched his face, then the corners of her mouth tipped up. “You’re an awfully good man, Evan Cooper. Thank you for watching over me.”

He couldn’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t want to. Well, except for one sicko, anyway. “My pleasure and my honor,” he answered. “Now...do you think you can sleep?”

He wasn’t surprised by her answer.

“I’m afraid to close my eyes again.”

Well, he could hardly blame her for that now. “Wanna try for the couch again?”

She hesitated. “Maybe so. I haven’t had any trouble sleeping with my head on your lap.”

Small comforts. He was glad to offer his lap, but he wished he could really help this woman, help her escape her terror.

But he’d wished for a lot of things in his life, and few enough of them had come his way.

*

A short while later, Kylie lay on her side on the sofa, her head cradled on Coop’s thigh. It was a powerful thigh, hard, too hard to be called a pillow, but somehow more comfortable and reassuring than a real, soft pillow. She felt that strength, that power beneath her cheek and she felt secure. Even his masculine scents, stronger when she was this close, reached out and enveloped her in a more pleasant reality. The possibility of an exciting one.