White Lies (15 page)

           
 
It all fit. The plastic surgery on his face to
alter his appearance; the bandaged hands to prevent fingerprints being taken.
Had they done surgery to alter his fingerprints, too? Horrible thought: had
they also deliberately damaged his larynx to change his voice? No, surely not.
She couldn't believe that. All the doctors had fought so hard for his life, and
Frank had been so anxious. No wonder. The man was probably Frank's friend!

           
 
But was the amnesia real? Or was the man
faking it so he wouldn't have to

           
 
"remember" any of the details of
their supposed life together? Amnesia would be a convenient excuse.

           
 
She had to believe the amnesia was real, or
she would go mad. She had to believe that "Steve" was as much in the
dark as she was, maybe even more so. And Frank had been sincerely distressed
when Major Lunning had told them about the amnesia.

           
 
So that left her back at the beginning. If she
told Frank she knew Steve wasn't really Steve, the game would be up and they
would have no more use for her. She was a screen, useful only to provide
incontrovertible proof that the man who had survived the explosion was Steve
Crossfield.

           
 
So she had to go along with the deception and
continue pretending he was Steve, because she loved him. She had fallen in love
with him before she even knew what he looked like; she had loved his relentless
will, his refusal to give in to pain, to stop fighting. She loved the
uncomplaining way he went about recovery and rehabilitation. Except for
occasional frustration at his lack of memory, he hadn't let anything get him
down. She had fallen in love with the man while he was stripped down to his
basic character, without any of the cam-ouflaging layers added by society. She
couldn't give him up now. Yet neither could she take him as hers; she was as
caught in the web of circumstance as he was. He trusted her, but she was being
forced to lie to him about something as basic as his identity. She knew the
man, but she still knew nothing about his life. Dear God, what if he were
married?

           
 
No, he couldn't be. Whatever game they were
playing, they wouldn't tell a woman that she was now a widow, then give her
husband another identity. Jay simply couldn't believe that of Frank. But there
could still be a woman in Steve's life, someone he cared for, someone who cared
for him, even though they weren't married. Was there such a woman waiting for
him now, weeping because he'd been gone for so long, and she was terrified that
he would never come back?

           
 
Jay felt sick; her only choices were twin
prongs of the devil's pitchfork, and either would be pure torment. She could
either tell him the truth and lose him, very possibly throwing him into danger,
or she could lie to him and protect him. For the first time in her life she
loved someone with the full force of her nature, with nothing held back, and
her emotions propelled her toward the only choice she could make. Because she
loved him, she could do nothing but protect him, no matter what the cost to
herself.

           
 
Finally she got up and threw her clothing
haphazardly into suitcases, not caring about wrinkles. Two months ago she had
stepped into a hall of mirrors, and she had no way of knowing if the
reflections she saw were accurate or a carefully constructed illusion. She
thought of her chic apartment in
New York
and how much she had worried about losing
it when she'd lost her job, but she couldn't think now why it had seemed so
important to her. Her entire life had been thrown off kilter, and now it
rotated on a different axis. Steve was the center of her life, not an apartment
or a job, or the security she had fought so hard to win. After years of
struggle she was throwing it all away just to be with him, and she had no
regrets or moments of longing for that life. She loved him. Steve, yet not
Steve. His name, but another man. Whoever he was, whatever he was, she loved
him. She found a box and dumped into it the few personal articles such as books
and pictures that she'd brought to
Washington
. It had taken her less than an hour to get
ready to leave forever.

           
 
As she went back and forth, loading things
into the car, she looked around carefully, wondering if any of the people she
could see supposedly going about their own business were in reality watching
her. Maybe she was getting paranoid, but too much had happened for her to take
anything for granted, even the appearance of normalcy. That very morning she
had looked into fierce, golden eyes and realized that everything that had
happened during the past two months had been a lie. The blinders of trust had
been stripped from her eyes, making her wary.

           
 
Suddenly she felt a driving need to be with
him again; uncertainty made her desperate for him. He was no longer a patient
in need of her care and attention, but a man who, in spite of his memory loss,
would be more surefooted than she was in this world of shifting reality. The
instincts and reactions she had wondered about were now explained, as was the
scope of his knowledge of world politics. He had lost his identity, but his
training had remained with him. He and Frank were lounging in the hospital
room, patiently waiting for her. Jay barely managed a greeting for them; her
eyes were on Steve. He had changed into khaki pants and a white shirt with the
sleeves rolled back over his forearms. Even as lean as he was, he still gave
the impression of power. His shoulders and chest strained at the cotton shirt.
With the bandages gone from his eyes, he had shed the last semblance of being
in need of care. He looked her over from head to foot and his eyes narrowed in
a look of sexual intent as old as time. Jay felt it like a touch, stroking over
her body, and she felt both warm and alarmed. He got to his feet with lazy
grace and came to her side, sliding his arm around her waist in a possessive
gesture. "That was fast. You must not have packed much."

           
 
"It wasn't actually packing," she
explained ruefully. "It was more like wadding and stuffing."

           
 
"You didn't have to be in such a hurry. I
wasn't going anywhere without you," he drawled.

           
 
"Both of you have to go shopping,
anyway," Frank added. "I didn't think of it, but Steve pointed out
that neither of you has clothes suited to a
Colorado
winter." Jay looked at Frank, at his
clear, calm eyes and friendly face. He'd been a rock for her to lean on these
past two months, smoothing the way for her, doing what he could to make her
comfortable, and all the time he'd been lying to her. Even knowing that, she
simply couldn't believe he'd done it for any reason other than to protect
Steve, and because of that she forgave him completely. She was willing to do
the same thing, so how could she hold it against him?

           
 
"There's no point in shopping here,"
Steve said. "Or even in
Denver
. If we go to a city, we'll have to get what
some department-store buyer thinks is stylish for a winter vacation. We'll stop
at some small-town general store and buy what the locals buy, but not at the
town closest to the cabin. Maybe one about a hundred miles from it."

           
 
Frank nodded at that impeccable logic, as well
as the ring of command in Steve's raspy voice. He was taking over the show, but
then, they hadn't expected anything else; amnesia didn't change basic character
traits, and Steve was an expert at logistics. He knew what to do and how to get
it done.

           
 
Jay didn't exhibit any surprise at the
precautions. Her deep blue eyes were calm. Having made her decision, she was
ready for whatever happened. "Will we need any sort of weapon?" she
asked. "After all, we'll be pretty isolated." She had the urbanite's
distaste for guns and violence, but the thought of living on a remote mountain
put things in a different light. There were times when guns were practical.

           
 
Steve looked down at her, and his arm
tightened around her. He'd already discussed weapons with Frank. "A rifle
wouldn't be a bad idea."

           
 
"You'll have to show me how to shoot.
I've never handled a gun." Frank checked the time. "I'll make a call
and we'll get started. By the time we get to the airport, the plane will be
ready."

           
 
"Which airport are we using?"

           
 
"National. We'll be flying in to
Colorado Springs
, then driving the rest of the way."
Satisfied with the way things had turned out, Frank went to make his call.
Actually he had to make two calls: one to the airport to have the plane
readied, and another to the Man to bring him up-to-date.

           
 
After a series of small delays, it was
midafternoon before the private jet actually took off from
Washington
National
Airport
, and the sun was already low in the pale
winter sky. There was no way they could make it to the cabin that night, so
Frank had already made arrangements for them to stay overnight in Colorado
Springs. Jay sat by a window, her muscles tense as she looked down at the
monochromatic scenery without really seeing it. She had the sensation of
stepping out of one life and into another, with no bridge by which to return.
She hadn't even told her family where she was going; though they weren't a
close-knit group, they did usually know everyone's location. She hadn't seen
any of them at Christmas because she had remained at the hospital with Steve,
and now it was as if a tie had been severed.

           
 
Steve sat beside her, his long legs stretched
out as he lounged in the comfortable seat and pored over several current news
magazines. He was totally absorbed, as if he'd been starved for the written
word. Abruptly he snorted and tossed his magazine aside. "I'd forgotten
how slanted news coverage can be," he muttered, then gave a short laugh at
his own phrasing. "Along with everything else."

           
 
His wry tone splintered her distracted mood
and she chuckled. Smiling, he turned his head to watch her, rubbing his eyes to
focus them. "Unless my vision settles down, I may need glasses to
read."

           
 
"Are your eyes bothering you?" she
asked, concerned. He'd worn sunglasses since leaving the hospital, but had
taken them off when they had boarded the plane.

           
 
"They're tired, and the light is still
too bright. It's a little hard to focus on close objects, but the surgeon told
me that might clear up in a few days."

           
 
"Might?"

           
 
"There's a fifty-percent chance I'll need
reading glasses." He reached over and took her hand, rubbing his thumb
over her palm. "Will you still love me if I have to wear glasses?"

           
 
Her breath caught and she looked away. Silence
thickened between them. Then he squeezed her hand and whispered roughly,
"All right, I won't push. Not right now. We'll have time to get everything
settled."

           
 
So he intended to push later, when they were
alone in the cabin. She wondered exactly what he wanted from her: an emotional
commitment, or just the physical enjoyment of her body? After all, it had been
at least two months since he'd had sex. Then she wondered who had been the last
woman to lie in bed with him, and jealousy seared her, mingled with pain. Did
that woman mean anything to nun? Was she waiting for him, crying herself to
sleep at night because he didn't call?

           
 
They spent the night at a motel in
Colorado Springs
. Jay was surprised to find there was only a
light dusting of snow on the ground, instead of the several feet she had
expected, but random flakes were swirling softly out of the black sky with the
promise of more snow by morning. The cold pierced her coat, and she shivered as
she turned the collar up around her ears. She would be glad to get something
more suitable to wear.

           
 
Steve was tired from his first day out of the
hospital, and she was exhausted, too; it had been a hard day for both of them.
She lay down across the bed in her room and dozed while Frank went to get
hamburgers for dinner. They ate in Frank's room, and she excused herself
immediately afterward. All she wanted was to relax and gather her thoughts. To
that end she took a long, hot shower, letting the water beat the tension out of
her muscles, but it was still hard to think coherently. The risk she was taking
frightened her, yet she knew she couldn't go back. Couldn't—and wouldn't.

           
 
She tied the belt of her robe securely and
opened the bathroom door, then froze. Steve was stretched out on her bed, his
arms behind his head as he stared at the television. The picture was on, but
the sound was off. She looked at him, then at the door to her room, her brows
puckered in confusion. "I thought I locked the door."

           
 
"You did. I picked the lock."

           
 
She didn't move any closer. "A little
something you remembered?" He looked at her, then swung his legs off the
bed and sat up. "No, I didn't remember it. I just knew how to do it."

           
 
Good Lord, what other suspicious talents did
he have? He looked lean and dangerous, his battered face hard, his yellow eyes
narrow and gleaming; he was probably capable of things that would give her
nightmares, but she didn't fear him. She loved him too much; she had loved him
from the moment she had first touched his arm and felt his will to live burning
in him. But her nerves jangled as he stood and took the few steps he needed to
reach her. He was so close now that she had to look up to see his face; she
could feel the heat emanating from his body, smell the warm, musky male scent
of his skin.

           
 
He cupped her cheek in his palm, his thumb
rubbing lightly over the shadows fatigue had smudged under her eyes, making
their blueness seem even deeper. She was pale and jittery, her body trembling.
She had taken care of him for months, spending all day, every day, at his
bedside, willing him to live and pulling him out of the darkness. She had
filled his whole life to the point that even the shock of having amnesia paled
in comparison. She had gotten him through hell. Now the strain was telling on
her, and he was the stronger one. He could feel the tension in her, vibrating
like a string at the point of breaking. He slid his arm around her waist and
pulled her forward until her body rested against his. His other hand moved from
her cheek into her heavy brown hair, exerting just enough pressure to bring her
head against his shoulder.

           
 
"I don't think this is a good idea,"
she whispered, the sound muffled in his shut.

           
 
"It
feels
 
like a damned good idea," he
muttered. Every muscle in his body was tightening, his loins growing heavy with
desire. God, he wanted her. His hands moved over her slender body.
"Jay," he whispered roughly, and bent his head to hers.

           
 
The hot, needful pressure of his mouth made
her dizzy. The stroking of his tongue against hers made her tighten inside with
pleasure so piercing it was almost unbearable. Her hands lifted to the back of
his neck, clinging as all strength washed out of her legs. She barely noticed
as he turned with her still in his arms and forced her backward until the bed
nudged against the backs of her knees. She lost her sense of balance, but his
arms supported her as she fell back, and then his hard weight came down on top
of her.

           
 
She had forgotten how the pressure of a man's
body felt, and she inhaled sharply as quick response flooded her veins. The
wide expanse of his chest flattened her breasts, and the swollen ridge of his
manhood pushed against her feminine mound, his thighs controlling the restless
movement of her legs. He kissed her again and again, barely letting her catch
her breath before his mouth returned to take it away once more. Feverishly they
strained together, wanting more. He pulled at the belt of her robe until the
knot gave and the fabric parted, exposing the thinner fabric of her nightgown.
He made a rough sound of frustration at this additional barrier, but for the
moment he was too impatient to deal with it. His hand closed over her breast,
kneading the soft flesh, his thumb making circles on her nipple until it
tightened into a nub.

           
 
She whimpered softly into his mouth. "We
can't," she cried, desperation and desire tearing her apart.

           
 
"The hell we can't," he rasped,
taking her hand and moving it down his body to where his flesh strained at the
fabric of his pants. Her fingers jerked at the contact; then a spasm of pain
crossed her pale face, and her hand lingered involuntarily, exploring the
dimensions of his arousal. He caught his breath. "Jay, baby, don't stop me
now!"

           
 
She was stunned at how quickly passion had
exploded between them; one kiss and they were falling on the bed. Her lips
trembled as she stared up at him. She didn't even know his name! Tears burned
her eyes and she blinked them away.

           
 
He groaned at the liquid sheen welling in her
eyes and kissed her again with rough passion. "Don't cry. I know this is
fast, but everything's going to be okay. We'll get married as soon as we can,
and this time we'll make a go of it." Shocked, she swallowed convulsively
and barely managed to speak.

           
 
"Married? Are you serious?"

           
 
"As serious as a heart attack,
baby," he said, and grinned roguishly. The tears burned again, and again
she forced them back. Misery filled her. She wanted nothing more than to marry
him, but she couldn't. She would be marrying him under false pretenses,
pretending he was someone he wasn't. Such a marriage probably wouldn't even be
legal. "We can't," she whispered, and a tear rolled out the corner of
her eye before she could catch it.

           
 
He rubbed the wetness from her temple with his
thumb. "Why can't we?" he asked with rough tenderness. "We did
it before. We should be able to do better this time around, with our prior
experience."

           
 
"What if you've remarried?" She
gulped back a sob as she frantically thought up excuses. "Even if you
haven't, what if there's someone else? Until you get your memory back, we won't
know
!"

           
 
He froze above her; then, with a sigh, he
rolled off her to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling. He swore with a
precise, Anglo-Saxon explicitness that was all the more jarring for the control
in his voice. "All right," he finally said. "We'll get Frank to
check it out. Hell, Jay, he's already checked it out! Isn't that why they had
to get you to identify me?"

           
 
Too late she saw the trap, and saw also that
he wasn't going to give up; with his usual steamroller determination, he was
flattening the obstacles in his path.

           
 
"You could still have some... someone who
loves you, someone waiting for you."

           
 
"I can't promise you I don't," he
said, turning his head to watch her with his predatory golden eyes. "But
that's not a legal deterrent. I won't let you get away from me because some
unknown woman somewhere may be in love with me."

           
 
"Until you get your memory back, you
can't know that you aren't in love with someone else!"

           
 
"I
know
,"
he snapped, propping himself up on his elbow and leaning over her. "You
keep coming up with excuses, but the real reason is that you're afraid of me,
aren't you? Why? Damn it, I know you love me, so what's the problem?" He
was so arrogantly sure of her devotion that her own temper flared, but only for
a moment. It was true. She had revealed it in a thousand different ways. She
admitted shakily, "I do love you." There was nothing to be gained
from denying it, and actually saying it aloud held its own painful sweetness.
His face softened and he put his free hand on her breasts, gently cupping them.
"Then why shouldn't we get married?"

           
 
It was hard to concentrate with his palm
burning her flesh through the thin cotton of her gown, and her body quickened
again. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her, and denying him was the
hardest thing she'd ever done, but she had no choice. Until his memory
returned, she was in limbo. She couldn't take advantage of him now by marrying
him under false pretenses.

           
 
"Well?" he demanded impatiently.

           
 
"I love you," she said again. Her
lips trembled. "Ask me again when your memory has returned, and I'll say
yes. Until then, until we're both certain it's what you want, I... I just
can't."

           
 
His face hardened. "Damn it, Jay, I know
what I want."