Stranded with the SEAL (5 page)

O
livia stared
out the frosted window pane to the swirling scene beyond. Somewhere out there was her life, the people who knew her and the things she cared about. Had anyone even realized she was missing? Did she have family and friends concerned about her whereabouts, or was she as lonely in her forgotten life as she was in this limbo?

At least there was Trevor, though she sensed he was lying to her about his real reason for being here. She’d seen the way he was limping and knew he must be in considerable pain, so why venture out on foot?

Maybe his friend was a woman. A lover. The thought made her uncomfortable. But why shouldn’t he have a lover? He was nothing to her, not even a friend. She pulled the sweater she’d found tighter around herself, the cut and style just slightly too small. It was cold in the cabin despite the fire, and she wondered if he would suggest they sleep together for warmth as they had done the night before.

Surely it must have been for warmth.

She felt her cheeks flush. She might not remember the woman in the mirror, but she certainly remembered the pull between a woman and man, and there was one hell of a pull between them.

When they kissed, desire had spread through her like fire through dry kindling. She got so aroused, so quickly, she was shocked by her own reaction. Just thinking about it made her body come alive.

But she couldn’t have affected him the same way. It was clear he wanted to get out of the cabin at the earliest opportunity, and it was his guilt over the accident that required him to stay. In her current state, she didn’t care what kept him here, as long as something did.

Olivia sighed heavily and opened a cupboard, staring at cans of soup but seeing only Hawk’s face inches from her own. She forced her eyes open wide. “Soup. Pick a can of soup, Livy.”

She opened drawers and dusty cupboards, finding a can opener and pot and setting the soup on high. No one had been in this house in a long time, that was certain. She washed her hands, wondering when Trevor — Hawk — would be back.

It was an appropriate nickname for the man. He paid attention. He’d caught her reference to the “all-but deserted mountaintop” before she caught it herself.

How the hell did I know that?

The hair on the back of her neck went up. Had she been in this area before? Did she live somewhere nearby? This remote location must be familiar to her in some way if she was making comments like that, yet nothing in this place seemed familiar at all.

She dried her hands on a dusty and yellowed towel, throwing it in the direction of the counter with a grimace. This cabin would be so nice if someone just gave it a once-over.

There were hardwood floors and high ceilings and strips of leaded glass in the windows, but any character it might have had was overshadowed by neglect.

Even the slightest bit of housekeeping would go a long way, and it would give her something to do besides look in the mirror and feel like she was losing her mind.

She began looking for cleaning supplies. Finding none, she wandered around until she discovered a broom closet near where she and Trevor kissed. She rested her head against the doorjamb, remembering the way his mouth had overpowered hers, lust coming quickly through her bloodstream like a drug.

It was a good thing he’d pulled away, because she’d been so caught up in her own fierce reaction to his kisses she’d wanted to ride that wave all the way onto the seashore. That was truly frightening. It was like an override switch on good judgment had been thrown the moment his lips melded with hers.

And they were stuck here — alone together — for the foreseeable future.

I made sure of that, didn’t I?

The distinct smell of smoke made her head turn sharply, the nearly forgotten headache slamming into her skull with the motion. She ran back to the kitchen.

There, on the stovetop, was the yellowed kitchen towel, on fire. Without thinking, Olivia threw open a slender cupboard next to the range hood, knocked sugar and salt and spices out of the way, and withdrew a small fire extinguisher. She pulled the safety pin and sprayed the flames until nothing remained but the charred towel, covered in foam.

Her heart pounded.

She looked at the extinguisher in her hand as if it was a bloodied knife.

Her earlier words came back to her.
…all-but-deserted mountaintop…

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” she chanted, her eyes jumping from the table to the refrigerator to the cupboard where she’d found the fire extinguisher.

Her mind was playing tricks on her, keeping secrets while she desperately needed the truth. “If you know this place, you’d better tell me now,” she said to herself. “No more of this amnesia bullshit, Olivia.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her memories back into place, but none came. She opened her eyes. If she knew what was in one cabinet, maybe she knew what was in another. Her gaze went to the cupboard over the refrigerator, and she exhaled a shaky breath. “Pitchers, a big blue platter, baskets,” she whispered, reaching for the handle as if it might be hot and burn her.

A ceramic blue platter.

Several baskets.

She moved them out of the way with shaking fingers. Two drink pitchers stood in the back of the cabinet.

Son of a bitch.

Trevor called from the great room. “Olivia?”

She slammed the cupboard door as he walked into the kitchen. “What?”

“Is something burning?”

“Not anymore.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you left.”

He narrowed his eyes. “The snowshoes don’t fit right. I need some string or something.” He moved to the stove. “What happened?”

“Just a little fire. It’s okay.” She waved her hand. “I accidentally put a kitchen towel on a hot burner.”

“Is that foam from a fire extinguisher?”

She nodded. “Yep. Lucky thing I found it.”

He leaned against the counter, and she wanted to lean into him, to take from his strength and release her own weakness. He could take that from her, hold her up when everything she knew was falling backwards. She took a step back, noting the disappointment in his eyes and suspecting it matched her own.

“You okay?” he asked.

She longed to tell him the truth, confide in him that she’d clearly been here before and knew this place on some level. But hadn’t he only agreed to stay with her because of her memory loss? She was helpless, and he was clearly a helper. If her memory returned, he’d be gone faster than she could say run.

No, she would keep this new discovery to herself, at least until there was something more important to share than baskets and a fire extinguisher. “I’m fine. Just a little freaked out by the fire.”

“I don’t blame you. It’s all right now.” He gestured toward the hallway. “I’m going to go look in the garage. I think I saw some twine in there.”

“Good luck.” She watched as he turned and walked away, confident she’d made the right decision.

M
arco Acero crossed
one Italian leather loafer over the other and tugged on his French cuff. “Frankly, Señor Alvarez, it doesn’t matter what you want.”

The gray-haired man across the table tapped his gold pen on his palm, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. “My people are prepared to make you a fair settlement.”

“The goods have been bought and paid for, and there will be no bickering at this point in the negotiations.”

“These are not negotiations. This is thievery.”

Acero smirked. “Semantics.”

“You are nothing but a common thief!”

The intercom in the middle of the conference table beeped. “Bella Grayson’s on the phone, sir.”

His lips tightened into a firm line.

“You can put it through, Helen. Mr. Alvarez and I are finished.” He waited while the older man left the room, then stared at the phone, wondering what Bella could want. If there were a way to find out without speaking to the bitch, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Once he and Brooke were married, he planned to push Bella out of his wife’s life completely. His eyes went to a high shelf, three gold statuettes glittering back at him. For now, he would put on a show worthy of Brooke’s Emmy Awards. He pressed the button on the phone.

“Hello, Bella! Did you see your sister’s fine performance on Saturday Night Live this weekend?”

“I caught part of it.”

“The ratings are through the roof. Everyone tuned in to find out who Brooke Barrons will be marrying.”

“Let me guess. She didn’t tell them.”

“You keep the public’s interest by withholding the information they want.”

“Riiighht. Listen, Olivia was supposed to pick me up at the airport in Denver yesterday, but she didn’t come. I keep calling her, but I just get her voice mail.”

Denver?
He narrowed his eyes. “So call Gallant.”

“I did. He said she sent him home Saturday night after the show. Told him his services weren’t required.”

He swore colorfully in Spanish. “She said she wouldn’t do that again.”

And Gallant should fucking know better, but that’s another conversation.

“But my sister doesn’t belong to you, and she doesn’t always want your goons following her around.”

“My employees keep her safe.”

“Your employees smother her independence.”

He looked at the golden clock on his desk. “Why did you wait so long to contact me?”

“Because I don’t like you, and if she took some time off to reconsider becoming your wife, then that seemed like a good thing. But now I’m worried.”

“So it’s me you turn to, because you know I will find her. You say I don’t care for her, but I am the only one taking care of her.”

“Bullshit…”

Marco hung up the phone and brought his finger to his mouth, biting down hard on the nail. He’d given Brooke everything she ever wanted and then some. He’d facilitated her fame and hired the staff who created the incomparable Brooke Barrons out of a tomboy named Olivia Grayson, who wore dirty sneakers and cut-off jeans.

That was the easy part. Making her fall in love with him had been more of a challenge. But Brooke had a weakness, an insecurity he had twisted to his advantage.

The woman hated to be alone.

He’d simply taken away the people she loved, and she had come running to him like a hungry puppy.

She was his now.

Bella hadn’t taken care of her sister! If she had, Brooke never would have agreed to marry him. He stopped biting his nails and dialed the phone. He had too much invested in Brooke to loose her now.

A
n hour later
, the dust in the cabin remained untouched as Olivia searched for memories. With Trevor gone, she was free to explore without him suspecting she was familiar with the cabin. Drawer after drawer, she rifled through generic clothing and possessions, nothing giving a clue as to its owner.

Exhausted and frustrated, she flopped face-up on the queen-sized bed and stared at the ceiling. There, in the corner of the room, was a framed-out rectangle that could only be the access to the attic.

“How did I miss this?” she mumbled, pulling down a slender handle and exposing a compact ladder. She eagerly reached up to extend it, and froze.

An image appeared in her mind, her own hand on this ladder, tucking it and the access door away. A tremendous sadness filled her spirit at the memory. What was up here that could make her feel so empty inside? She searched her mind for the answer, just as she’d done with the kitchen cupboards.

Everything.

A chill went up her spine. It was dark, and she grabbed a flashlight she’d found before venturing up the ladder with cautious footsteps. Poking her head into the attic, she shined the light in a circle. The space was small and half the height of a normal room, with a stack of boxes on one end, the smell of old newspapers and stale air making her wrinkle her nose.

Settling next to the pile, she pulled down the first box. “Pictures” was scribbled in marker across the top, and she felt her stomach tighten as she opened the box and pulled away the newspaper wrapped around a frame.

A middle-aged man had his arms around two smiling girls in their graduation caps and gowns. One of those girls was her.

She covered her mouth.

Her eyes glazed over as she remembered…

She was in a car, driving in that too-fast reckless way you always had to drive to get up Warsaw Mountain in the snow, when she suddenly feared she’d missed her turn and slowed down the slightest bit — just enough to lose momentum and the traction of her tires on the road.

Then she was stuck, cursing as she tried to push the car on the snow-covered roadway, the wind from the storm howling in her ears. That must have been when Trevor hit her. She never would have heard him coming in that storm.

He’d been telling the truth.

She picked up the graduation picture again, touching the face of the man and the girl, feeling her throat tighten. Ellie and Frank. She held the picture to her chest.

This place didn’t just happen to be close to the accident scene. This had been her destination all along. Her breathing got faster as the realization sliced through her new reality. “I was coming here. I had to get something…to find something…”

Her head began to ache as she concentrated. She could remember the urgency, the importance of her journey, but could not for the life of her remember what it was. “Damn it, Olivia,” she said out loud. “What were you looking for, and why was it so important that you had to drive through a blizzard to find it?”

T
revor put on the snowshoes
, grabbed a shovel he’d found in the garage, and took off down the driveway. It was snowing as if it would never stop, and he pulled his hood over his head as he limped through the snow. He took his time, babying his knee, testing to see which positions could hold weight as his mind replayed his kiss with Olivia in one continuous, torturous loop.

The walk was punishing, and he was a man who needed punishment. He had no right to take the kisses she offered, not when he was keeping the most basic information about her life a secret. Worse yet, he knew he’d be hard-pressed to deny himself if and when she offered him more.

You’re a fucking bastard.

With every step, his thoughts of Olivia grew more inappropriate. Fantasy stepped in where reality left off, the race of his imagination a welcome distraction from his physical discomfort.

When he rounded the corner onto the main road, the mailbox was nowhere in sight. It had been completely covered in snow. He looked around him at the woods, noting two distinctive trees to mark the turn, and headed for the accident scene, the downward slope of the road causing his knee to catch and grind.

A noise echoed in the distance and he froze, his eyes narrowing. It sounded mechanical, possibly an engine of some sort. He stood still, his ears carefully listening for several minutes. Could it be a snowplow, come to free them from their isolation? Or a helicopter in the sky, searching for the missing Olivia? Surely her fiancé was aware of her location and that she didn’t get wherever she’d been heading, which could pose one hell of a problem for Trevor if that fiancé of hers came looking for her here.

Hawk couldn’t afford to be seen on Warsaw Mountain.

Olivia already knows you’re here.

He cursed out loud.

Steele’s death was bound to make headlines. How would he keep Olivia from turning him in? He shook his head. He’d deal with that when he had to.

He stopped walking and listened hard for the sound for several seconds. It seemed to have stopped.

Rounding the wide corner before the accident scene, it felt as if he was going further back in time than twenty-four hours, as if the accident had been days or weeks earlier, as if he’d known Olivia longer and been sidetracked from his mission far longer than he really had.

Several small drifts of snow remained close to the crash site, and Trevor began digging with the shovel. Drift after drift proved to be exactly that—a formation of snow caused by the wind.

He was just about to give up when his shovel caught on something solid. He dug out a suitcase, one side of it charred and dented from the blast. Beneath it was a long, white plastic garment bag emblazoned with Beverly Hills Bridal in silver letters.

He hadn’t found his coat, but he’d managed to find Olivia’s wedding dress.

Great.

He had to take the dress and the suitcase with him. He owed her that much, but given that he hadn’t told her she was engaged, the dress was bound to be an awkward discovery. Draping the garment bag over his arm and picking up the case, he was nearly back to the cabin when the same mechanical sound caught his attention once more.

This time, he was sure it was a snowmobile, the rise and fall of the engine’s purr now easily familiar. There was someone else on this mountain. Someone with transportation and gasoline. Hopefully it was a kindly neighbor, but he couldn’t discount the possibility it was one of Steele’s men.

He began to move more quickly, tuning out the sensations from his knee. He had to find the snowmobile’s tracks, had to trace them back to their source so he could find gasoline to get to Steele.

Hawk was nearly back to the cabin’s drive when he found the tracks, two parallel lines in the snow that meant he would be able to kill Steele after all.

“Booyah!” he exclaimed. He’d wanted this for years, hundreds of days spent planning to get the man responsible for Ralph’s death, and with a snowmobile he knew he could do it.

The snowmobile’s tracks suddenly reversed direction. Trevor furrowed his brow as he followed them up the hill with his eyes. The rider had changed direction and turned back to follow Trevor’s tracks.

The snowmobile was heading toward the cabin.

Adrenaline shot through Hawk’s system. His mind began to race. He’d left Olivia alone. Alone and vulnerable, even though he knew they were close to Steele’s compound.

It could be a neighbor who saw the smoke from our fire and wants to make sure we’re okay.

But as a Navy SEAL, he’d learned to trust his instincts, and his instincts were screaming that she was not safe. His breath came in heavy pants. He followed the tracks within sight of the cabin and as they veered in a wide arc around the tree line. Whoever was driving that snowmobile was scouting, just as he himself would have done, then the tracks disappeared into the woods.

Was the rider staring back at him from the trees, hidden from view, or was he truly gone?

He had to see if Olivia was okay before investigating further. He ran inside, throwing the garment bag and suitcase into the garage. “Olivia?” he called. “Olivia!”

“Here, I’m down here,” came the answer, and he bolted down the hall toward her. Just as he entered the room and caught a glimpse of her dusting, the sound of a snowmobile’s engine roared to life right outside the cabin walls, making them jump.

“Get down!” he yelled, tackling her. “Stay away from the windows!”

She did as she was told, cowering on the floor. He had to get a weapon. He stayed low, quickly getting to the kitchen and yanking open a kitchen drawer. He selected a seven-inch knife, its blade gleaming, and his mind flashed back to Ralph on the floor of Steele’s warehouse, gagging on his own blood as he begged Steele for his life.

Steele would not have another chance to hurt someone else Trevor cared about. He took another knife out and slammed the drawer shut. His heart was hammering in his chest now, a steady rhythm beating like a warrior’s drum.

He walked back to the bedroom and began rifling through the closet. The snowshoes had been awkward. He needed something faster and had spotted just the thing when he inventoried the cabin.

She asked from the floor, “What’s going on, Trevor? Who was that outside?”

Her plaintive voice pawed at him as he flipped through heavy coats and brightly colored parkas. One had ski goggles attached to the hanger.

She pulled at his arm. “Talk to me, damn it! Who was that out there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

He stopped and met her glassy eyes. “I’m telling the truth.” Trevor turned back to the closet. “There’s nothing to be scared about.” He caught sight of something shiny in the back of the closet and forced the hanging clothes apart.

There, on the back wall, were the several sets of cross-country skis he’d been looking for. He pulled them out, along with poles and boots. “I’m just going to catch up to that person and see if I can get some gasoline.”

“But you told me to get down,” she said. “To get away from the windows, like someone was shooting at us.”

He forced his foot into a too-tight snow boot and looked at her like she was hallucinating. “No one was shooting at us.”

“Trevor! Stop bullshitting me!”

He turned back to the closet, searching for gloves and deciding what to say.

“I don’t know who was on that snowmobile, but I don’t have a good feeling about them, and I’m going after them to see what I can find out.”

She looked from his ski boots up to his face. “You can’t possibly catch him.”

“I think I can.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?” she whispered.

“Former Navy SEAL officer Trevor Hawkins, current lieutenant commander of HERO Force Alpha Squad. Put the fire out and the lights off until I know what we’re dealing with. Take this knife and keep it with you at all times.”

She looked at the blade in her hand and took a step backward.

He zipped up his parka and pulled the goggles over his eyes, then slipped out the door without another word.