Forget Me Not (19 page)

He wasn't paranoid.

He hadn't imagined the attempt on his life.

On the heels of that startling revelation came the sudden urge to flush out his attacker and discover the motive for eliminating him. If Sebastian was right and he'd been left behind at the warehouse in Pyongyang, then his faceless enemy had been after him for some time.

Jesus, who the hell was it? Someone on the inside, Forrester had said. Someone on the team? The idea was inconceivable. Every SEAL he knew was a true-blue patriot like him, willing to die for his team members, never to betray them.

Locked in Gabe's memory was the answer to the question. He slapped himself on the forehead, wanting to dislodge the secret.

With a string of muttered oaths, he turned toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. He could feel his self-identity solidifying anew, prompted by the stubborn determination to seek out his foe and destroy him before he himself was destroyed.

"Everything okay, Dad?" Mallory met him at the top of the stairs. Seeing the look on his face, she took a wary step back.

"Yeah, great," he said, welcoming the flood of adrenaline in his bloodstream. "Let's finish this project." He stripped off his T-shirt, no longer wanting to hide the scars that marred his flesh. He'd earned them, by God. He was going to catch the sorry son of a bitch who'd put him through hell this last year and make him suffer for what he'd done.

Mallory stared at him in consternation. "Okay," she said, moving to the far side of the deck, where Reggie was taking a break. The two of them had nearly finished sanding the picnic table.

Gabe snatched up the sander and resumed his work, pushing it over the railings with firm, determined strokes. A car went by on the street below and Gabe snatched his head up, jumpy as a squirrel on a high-voltage wire.

Obviously, his imprisonment had affected his nervous system. He'd better calm down and refocus or he'd never be a SEAL again. The time had come to pull the mother of all crabs from its burrow.

H
elen could see the trio up on the deck, still hard at work. It was three-fifteen in the afternoon and the sun glared down at them from a cloudless sky. Mallory would be sunburned by now if she hadn't used sunscreen. Helen shook her head and sighed. Why, oh, why, didn't fathers think of these things?

She caught herself in the middle of that question. Gabe isn't really Mallory's father, she reminded herself. He'd never gone to the trouble to adopt Mallory legally. She killed the engine and scrambled out of the car, wearing me lettuce-green halter top she'd bought at Leila's studio.

Up on the deck, a radio played softly, masking the sound of her ascent. She peeked around the corner, anticipating the sight of teenagers hard at work.

They hadn't heard her. All three of them were rubbing me wooden deck furniture with sandpaper, a sound that made her molars clench. Her gaze slid from Reggie's flame-red curls to Mallory's sunburned skin to Gabe's bare back, glistening with sweat.

And then she saw them. Scars puckering the skin of his magnificent torso. A gasp filled her lungs. Each scar was different: one still purple and healing, others faint and pale. She couldn't imagine what on earth would have caused such marks, but the force and the malice behind each one of them was painfully apparent. Her heart seemed to twist and fold over on itself.
Oh, Gabriel, what did they do to you ?

He straightened abruptly and swiveled, catching the look of horror on her face before she had a chance to recover. With a frown, he averted his gaze.

Oh, no, he'd misinterpreted her dismay.

Prompted to reassure him, she marched straight up to him, forcing him to make eye contact. He squinted down at her, his hair windblown and sweat glistening on the hard lines of his jaw. She offered him a smile that made his brow clear.

"You're hard at work," she said brightly, glancing at the smooth wood around her.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her heart beat faster to know that he was thinking of kissing her.

"We're almost done," he said. "Did you have a good time with the old folks?"

His interest took her aback. He'd seemed truly proud of her this morning when she announced where she was going. "Yes, thank you."

"I like that top," he added, flustering her further as his gaze lingered on her chest.

"I bought it from Leila's shop this morning." At his confused look, she added, "Leila Eser, my friend who owns a ballet studio?"

He shook his head minimally, letting her know that he didn't remember.

"Well, listen, since you guys, are almost done, I thought you might want to go out for dinner or something."

"We' re done now," Mallory declared. She threw down her square of sandpaper and snatched up a pitcher, turning it upside down to shake the last drop of fruit punch from it

Reggie collapsed in a deck chair and groaned.

Helen winced. He looked painfully pink, especially about the ears. "Er... next time you guys work outside you'd better wear sunscreen," she couldn't help but point out. "You look like lobsters."

Oops. She saw the dismay on Gabe's face as he took in the pink glow to Reggie's and Mallory's skin. "Oh, crap," he muttered. "All right, guys. You heard the lady. Sunscreen tomorrow when we work in the front yard."

"What!" Mallory cried, dabbing at the stain she'd just put on her shirt. "Oh, come on," she groaned. "We worked all day today!"

Helen watched with bemusement as Gabe gave Mallory a frown and crooked a finger at her. There was something different about him this afternoon. Working on the deck had revived him somehow. He leaned down and whispered in her daughter's ear.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Helen darted a look at the taut plane of his abdomen. He'd put on some badly needed weight since his homecoming, but every sinew and muscle of his tortoiseshell stomach was still in evidence. The line of dark hair that arrowed from his navel to the waistline of his shorts had the same effect as it always had. She reached for the back of a chair, stricken with desire.

Lifting her gaze, she intercepted the little smile on Mallory's face as her daughter bent down to gather up scraps of sandpaper.

"What?" Helen asked, sensing that something had just gotten past her.

"What do you mean, 'what'?" Gabe retorted, winding up the cord on the electric sander. "We still have to stain the deck," he said, switching topics on her abruptly, "but now you can go barefoot and not get a splinter."

Helen took in the smooth lines of the deck with a rush of appreciation. "I love it," she said honestly. "Thank you so much."

Gabe offered her a steady look. "You don't have to thank me. I live here, too."

Tension squeezed back inside her. She shouldn't let him get away with that kind of comment. He made it sound so permanent, and she'd already told him he was going to leave when his memory returned.

But now was not the time to press the issue. Healing Gabe's mind was her first priority. Besides, she had no issues with the Gabe before her. This Gabe was amazing. He kept her daughter safe from temptations. And even with the scars on his chest, he looked like a god in his low-slung shorts.

Yes, it was risky business, putting off their inevitable separation. But she refused to be so heartless that she would cast out a man plagued with irrational fears and stripped of his memories. When the old Gabe manifested himself, she would know her work was done.

It was a thankless job, no doubt. But Gabe had been a proud and independent male, a true patriot, and a tremendous asset to the military. She owed it to the world to restore him to his former glory, even if it meant that he would take back the warmth she now basked in.

"So," she suggested, "why don't you guys clean up? Reggie, you want to come to dinner with us?"

As Reggie debated with Mallory over the severity of his sunburn, Gabe took a step closer to Helen. He smelled like sweat and Mallory's Berry Bouquet body wash, and she found herself wanting to fill her senses with him, wishing she could touch him and not worry that he would wind up breaking her heart.

"Thanks," he said, his gaze searching.

It was obvious he sought a reason for her willingness to spend time with him. "It was Dr. Terrien's idea," she admitted, unwilling to give him false encouragement. "He wants me to take you places we've been before."

"Ah." The light in his eyes abruptly dimmed. He gave her a bittersweet smile and walked past her without another word, heading down the steps to put his tools away.

She wished suddenly that she could take her words back, if only to banish that disillusioned smile.

She should have gotten a virgin margarita.

Helen had reasoned that a good strong drink would numb her to Gabe's virility. Wrong. It made her think reckless thoughts as she gazed at his neck, so tan and strong above his crewneck collar; at the hard line of his jaw, the sensual curve of his lower lip. All she could think about was how desperately she wanted him to kiss her again.

It wasn't entirely the tequila's doing, though. It was Gabe's fault, too. In contrast to last night, when he'd seemed leery of stepping foot outside the house, he struck her as indestructible now.

He'd selected a booth near the rear of the restaurant and put his back to the wall, where he scanned the room with a patient watchfulness that made Helen shiver and think about sex.

At the same time, he managed to make pleasant conversation, the way he used to do when he was courting her. She found herself mesmerized by his clever thoughts, his slightly sarcastic sense of humor, his insight into just about every subject that existed.

No wonder she'd fallen in love with him! She caught herself in that thought. Oh, no, she was doing exactly what she swore she'd never do! She was letting down her guard; letting Gabe lure her back to him, when she knew—
she just knew
—he would freeze her out again. As soon as his memory returned, as soon as he became a SEAL once more, he would turn his back on her and disappear, shrugging off her love as if it meant nothing to him.

Sitting immediately beside him, Mallory looked as flushed as Helen felt, her eyes bright and shiny, her mouth tipped in a perpetual smile as she chattered on about her school schedule that had come in the mail that day.

And Mallory was only drinking root beer. Which, in Helen's opinion, didn't go with Mexican, but who could account for teenage tastes?

The food arrived, still sizzling, a perfect complement to the wooden booths, exposed beams, and whitewashed walls. Helen watched Gabe bite into his fajita-style pizza. "This is good," he muttered, momentarily distracted from his vigilance.

She knew he would like the food. They'd come to this restaurant before, about two years ago. In contrast to this pleasant interlude, that had been a disappointing family outing, with Gabe thinking of his next assignment. Memories of that night were supposed to keep Helen focused, to remind her that she was only helping him along his way. This was not a prelude to reconciliation.

Yet the past seemed to be fading before her very eyes. Gabe took a swig of his drink, smiled at her, and pointed at her chicken taco salad with his fork. "How is it?" he inquired.

"Great," she said. "Good." It wasn't half so delicious as the way he smelled, but she didn't say that. He'd dredged up the bottle of cologne she'd given him their last Christmas together. She would have sworn he'd never used it before. She definitely would have remembered.

"This is the best food I've ever had," he added, taking another hearty bite.

"Is that your way of putting down my cooking?" She fixed him with a stern eye, hoping to whip up some vestige of her resentment. She felt awfully vulnerable without it.

"No," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, his forehead creased with apology. "No, your cooking is great."

A laugh of disbelief escaped her. "Okay, now that's doing it a little rare," she said. "I know my cooking is pathetic."

"All right, it is pathetic," he agreed, a teasing light in his eyes, "but that just makes moments like these more special, don't you think?"

She did. In fact, this moment was becoming way too special. She was drowning in bliss, savoring every minute of being the perfect family unit, wishing it could always be this way, knowing it wouldn't. The old Gabe would eventually come back, and then what?

The arrival of more salsa saved her from having to answer him. As the waiter moved away Mallory piped up, "So, did you, like, eat rice for a year, Dad?" She gave him a pitying, sidelong look.

Helen held her breath. She'd avoided the topic of Gabe's captivity for two reasons. One, it seemed taboo to discuss it Two, how was he supposed to answer if he couldn't remember?

As Gabe glanced at Mallory, a faraway look entered his eyes. "Yeah, I think so," he replied, tipping back his beer.

Clearly encouraged, Mallory pressed on. "Are you starting to remember stuff?"

"Yeah," he said shortly, a sign that the conversation was disturbing him.

"We're supposed to be remembering what happened before Dad left," Helen interrupted, giving her daughter a meaningful look.

"Do you remember eating here before?' Mallory wasted no time in firing this question off to Gabe.

He looked up rather surprised, his gaze flickering around a room he clearly did not recognize. "No," he said.

"You were all stressed out about going somewhere dangerous, and I spilled my Sprite by mistake and you yelled at me."

Gabe looked from Mallory to Helen with dismay. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Honey, let's not talk about bad things," Helen encouraged. "Let's just have fun tonight."

Have fun?
Heavens, where did that thought come from? But Gabe's grateful look assured her she'd said the right thing. She took a bite of her salad and chewed, searching for an appropriate subject to bring up. So much about their prior relationship screamed
keep off.

Then she remembered Dr. Terrien's suggestion that she ask Gabe about his past. "So, who were your role models when you were a kid, Gabe?"

He gave her a funny look, pizza suspended halfway to his mouth. "Er..." He searched his memory. "I guess Bruce Springsteen doesn't count?" Squinting, he searched his mind for a moment. "Senior Chief Black, who told me I could be an officer. Oh, and Sergeant O'Mally," he said definitely.