Tempting Faith

Suddenly the ground shifted and his vision blurred. Instead of the guard and the woman, he saw the dusky interior of a South American warehouse. Dank smells indicated he was near water. The ocean? Was the scent salty?

Danger! The thought exploded in his mind. Get out. Yet as he turned to run, the picture dissolved. His crutch caught on the lip of the door pad. As the flashback receded, he felt himself slipping. Faith leapt to his side and grabbed the shaky crutch. One strong arm gripped his waist and held him steady.

She had curves under that baggy work shirt, he thought as her right breast flattened against his side. The intellectual information battled with a sudden rush of sexual interest. That, more than the fall, returned him completely to the present.

“You all right?” she asked, looking up at him.

She was wary, but not afraid. She should be. Hadn’t Jeff told her what he was capable of? His head began to throb. He’d remembered. Not a lot, but something new. Sweat coated his body. He just wanted to get out of here.

He jerked himself free. “I’m fine. Where’s your car?”

She pointed toward a battered four-wheel-drive pickup.

He angled himself in that general direction and began to lurch toward it.

Jeff met them at the truck. “This should keep you comfortable.” He held a bag of medicine in one hand and a gun in the other.

Cort thought about telling him he’d remembered something, but he held back. He’d know soon enough—when the whole memory returned. Jeff opened the car door and tossed the medication on the dashboard. Cort hopped until the seat pressed against the back of his thighs. After sliding on the cracked vinyl, he lifted his bum leg into the cab and handed Jeff his crutches. Jeff settled them in the back and gave him the pistol.

“Here’s a spare magazine and a hundred rounds.” He set a small paper bag on the floor of the cab. “Try not to shoot yourself in the foot.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Faith dropped his duffel bag in the back of the truck, then gave Jeff a hug. “Don’t forget about my rain check,” she said.

“I won’t.” He held her for a minute.

Cort watched the expressions chase across his boss’s face. He knew the flash of pain came from remembering his wife. Cort looked away. Caring turned a man inside out. Exposed him. That’s why he would never get involved.

Faith slid in next to him and fastened her seat belt. She stared at him until he did the same. Then she smiled. Again, he thought it made her look pretty.

“You going to hold that in your hand the whole way?” She pointed at the gun.

He stared at the weapon, then thought about how he’d reacted to the crashing sound in the hospital. He was tired, and the surgery two days ago had used up the little reserves he’d had. What he needed was twelve hours of sleep. Until then, he wasn’t going to be much good at protecting anyone.

“Here.” He handed her the gun. “You keep it until tomorrow.”

She studied his face. “Fine with me.” She checked the safety, then pressed the button to release the magazine. After pocketing it, she jerked back the slide and looked in the chamber to make sure it didn’t contain a round.

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”

“Then you impress easy.” The gun went in the glove box. “And you’re exhausted. We’ve got over a six-hour drive. Why don’t you get some sleep? I need to make one stop. I’ll wake you there and you can eat something.”

“Sounds great.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. She wasn’t the sort of woman he normally picked, he thought as she started the truck and backed out of the parking space. He couldn’t remember a single one of his lady friends ever owning a gun, let alone knowing how to handle one. And although she’d been friends with Jeff for years, his boss had never mentioned her.

“Here.”

She thrust something soft into his hands. He cracked open one eye. A sweater.

“Use it for a pillow. Lock your door first. I don’t want you falling out if I hit a bump.”

“Thanks,” he muttered as he bunched the sweater and pushed it up against the glass. He pressed down the lock and inhaled deeply. Her scent surrounded him, the elusive essence of that damned French perfume. What was it? He fell asleep still trying to remember the name.

* * *

She saw the first evidence of blood after they’d been on the road an hour. Keeping her attention on the sparsely traveled highway, she occasionally glanced at her sleeping passenger. He rested deeply, barely moving except for the rise and fall of his chest. Her gaze swept over him as she noted his size and strength and wondered at the cause of his injuries. At first she’d thought the dark stain on his white bandage was a shadow.

“Damn,” she muttered softly. Over the next hour, the stain spread until it was the size of a half dollar. It showed no signs of letting up. He must have torn open his stitches when he’d dropped to the floor in the hospital.

She picked up a cassette and pushed it into the player. The radio was the only thing new in the cab. The vehicle itself had almost a hundred and fifty thousand miles on the odometer, but the engine had been replaced in the last six months and the tires were only two weeks old. She didn’t care how the truck looked on the outside; she spent the money necessary to keep it running well. Without her truck available to pick up food, the cats would starve in a matter of days.

Two hours later she saw the sign for her turnoff. She moved to the right of the four-lane freeway then exited onto the two-lane highway that would take her north and home. Her passenger continued to sleep. She turned off at the tiny town of Bowmund and headed for the grain and feed.

At least one thing had gone right today, Faith thought as she signed for the supplies. Everything was ready. As soon as the boxes were loaded, she could head up the mountain. After picking up a quart of orange juice and a plastic wrapped sandwich from the grocery store, she walked back to her truck. Cort slept where she’d left him, resting his head against her sweater and the passenger window.

She eased open her door and slid into the seat. Where was that bag of medicine? She saw the white paper in the far corner of the dashboard. As she grabbed it, she glanced down. The blood on his bandage had widened to a circle the size of a grapefruit.

“If that doesn’t stop, we’re both in trouble,” she said, not bothering to keep her voice down.

He didn’t stir. She counted out the antibiotic dosage, confirmed that the instructions said to take the medication with food and touched his arm.

“Cort, wake up. You’ve got to take a couple of pills.”

Nothing.

She pressed harder against his biceps, noting the thickness of the muscle. “Cort, wake up!”

It was like teasing a tiger. Without warning, he jerked upright, then spun and grabbed her. Before she could catch her breath, he’d pulled her head against his shoulder, holding her tight with one arm across her throat and pressing the other arm against her midsection.

“One more move,” he growled into her ear, “and I’ll kill you.”

Chapter 2

Faith didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe. She held herself still, stifling the overwhelming urge to fight him. She wouldn’t win. He had the strength and the skill to snap her neck with one swift jerk.

Her lungs burned for air. Panic threatened. Don’t, she commanded herself. She’d been in worse situations. The trick was to keep her head. He would figure out she wasn’t the enemy.

The steely arm around her throat loosened slightly. She drew in a deep breath. Her gasp sounded loud in the still cab.

Cort swore and released her completely. She fell forward and supported herself by pressing her hands against the seat. She inhaled deeply and coughed. Thank God. The cab darkened for a second, then came into focus.

After she caught her breath, she gingerly touched her neck, knowing that she would bear bruises for several days. She should have known better than to startle him, she thought, shaking her head in disgust. The same thing would have happened if she’d walked into a cage while a wounded animal was sleeping.

She located the pills she’d dropped when he grabbed her, and she turned slowly to face Cort. He leaned against the door of the cab and stared at her. She couldn’t read the expression in his dark eyes. Something flickered there, something black and ugly, but she didn’t know what it meant. Was he berating himself, or her? Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing.

“It could have been worse,” she said at last, her voice a little raspy from the pressure on her neck.

He raised his eyebrows.

“You could have had the gun.”

He didn’t answer. Apparently he had no intention of apologizing.

She held out the pills and the container of orange juice. He took them, tossed back the medication and gulped the liquid without taking his eyes from her face. She wanted to look away but sensed he was challenging her. She forced herself to meet his gaze.

“How long since you’ve been in the field?” she asked.

“Two weeks.”

“That explains—”

“Did Jeff tell you I was having flashbacks?” he asked, cutting her off.

“No.” She swallowed. Great. “Should he have?”

“You tell me.”

He held out the empty juice bottle. She took the plastic container and set it between them. Still his gaze locked on hers. He was making her nervous, but she refused to let him see her squirm. She allowed herself to study the straight line of his nose and the stubble darkening the hollows of his cheeks. He was handsome, she thought with some surprise. Perhaps even beautiful, with the wild unholiness of natural predators.

She shifted in her seat and reached for the sandwich she’d placed on the dashboard. “You’re probably hungry,” she said. “The instructions said to take the medication with food. I have to hook up the trailer and then we’ll leave.”

He didn’t answer. She set the sandwich on his lap and turned toward the door. Before she could touch the handle, he spoke. “I tried to kill you.”

“I know. You’re also trying to intimidate me.”

“What the hell are you still doing in this truck?”

“I don’t scare so easy.”

“Lady, there’s something wrong with you.”

She detected a note of grudging respect in his voice. “You’re not the first person to notice,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. The early afternoon light caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes. Cat eyes. “How long has your leg been bleeding?”

He glanced down at the stained bandage. “Since I fell on it at the hospital.”

“When was the surgery?”

“Two days ago. I think I ripped out some stitches.”

“Terrific.” She opened the door, then paused. “At the way station, we’re over forty minutes from town and an hour and a half from real medical care. Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No.”

She pointed to his leg. “If it gets infected, I’ll probably just cut it off.”

He rewarded her with a slight smile. It didn’t make him look any less dangerous. “Deal.”

She waited, hoping he would say something more. He didn’t. “I’ve got to see to the supplies,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She slipped out of the truck and closed the door behind her.

Cort watched as several men finished loading supplies from the feed store into the back of Faith’s truck. Carelessly, he picked at the food she’d handed him. His head ached, his leg throbbed and the pain in his gut came from a lot more than medication.

He’d almost killed her. If he’d had a knife or, in that split second when he’d lost track of what was real, his gun, she would be dead. For no good reason. She wasn’t the enemy. Just an innocent bystander. He’d never lost control before, and it scared the hell out of him. How was he going to get it back?

He glanced in the side-view mirror and saw Faith talking to a man with a clipboard. She went down the list and pointed at the boxes they were loading into a separate trailer. The man started to argue. Before he’d said more than ten words, Faith planted her hands on her hips and started in on him. In about five seconds, he was nodding and backing up toward the building.

Who the hell was she? He tossed the half-eaten sandwich on the seat and clenched his hands into fists. He’d almost killed her, and she acted like nothing had happened. Jeff had said she needed protection. Cort shook his head. She seemed capable enough to him. He stared at the mirror. Faith stood by the back of the truck, counting the crates being loaded. She moved quickly and easily, as if she’d performed this task a hundred times before. Cool and competent—she turned and he saw the curve of her rear—and very much a woman.

He shifted his leg and felt a spurt of blood, then the warm dampness as it oozed against his skin. He closed his eyes. With a new bandage and a good night’s sleep, physically he’d be fine. A couple of days and he would be a hundred percent. But what about the rest of it? What about his memory?

He went over what he’d remembered right before they left the hospital. Salt air. The ocean. He licked his lips as if the taste still lingered. Darkness. He remembered that. And danger. But from what? He strained to see into the gray mist of his mind. Had Dan been there with him? Had he died there?

Nothing. The past refused to focus. He groaned in frustration. What if he never remembered? Had he killed him? Had he killed Dan?

Cort propped his elbow on the door and rubbed his forehead. What was his mission? Dan was a fellow agent. Deep inside his memory, something clicked into place. Had his friend gone bad? Had Cort been sent to kill him? If he’d gotten the job done, he should forget it. Had he, though? Thoughts circled around and around, until even what he could remember blurred with the fog.

“Stop it,” he commanded himself. He would get nowhere like this. Dan was dead. He knew that for sure. The rest of it would come to him. It had to.

He’d gone too far with the last mission, he realized. He’d felt the warning signs of burnout and had ignored them. He should have turned down the assignment and taken a break. He’d been fighting the war for too long. He hadn’t wanted to be cautious, and now he was paying the price.

Faith opened the door and slid onto the seat. He ignored her. He heard the click as she buckled her seat belt. He needed a plan. Whatever security he had to provide wouldn’t take up too much of his time. He needed to get back in shape physically, and his memory would follow. First— A bump against his shoulder broke into his musings.

“Sorry,” Faith said as she rested her arm on the top of the seat and began backing up the truck. “I hate this part.”

He glanced out the rear window. “What are you doing?”

“See that big trailer there? It’s supposed to be attached to this truck. That’s what we haul up the mountain.”

The trailer looked to be about as wide as the truck, maybe ten feet long and eight feet high. The painted sides didn’t bear a logo.

“What’s inside?”

“Food.” She adjusted the steering wheel slightly and eased up on the accelerator. “Damn. Why do they have to watch? It makes me crazy.”

He followed the direction of her gaze and saw a group of old men standing on the porch in front of the feed store. The building itself looked like it had been built during the forties. “What are they waiting for?”

“Me to mess up. They can’t believe that a mere woman can handle a truck, let alone a trailer. They do this every time I come in for supplies.”

“You ever mess up?”

A strand of her long hair fell over her shoulder. She flicked it back with a quick jerk of her hand and grinned. “Nope.”

He found himself smiling in return. She made a final adjustment of the steering wheel, eased up on the accelerator and waited for the truck to roll to a halt.

“Did it!” she said and faced front. After rotating her shoulders to release the tension, she bounded out of the cab. “I just have to hook us up and then we’re out of here. You want something more to eat?”

“No,” he said. Then added a belated “Thanks.”

As promised, she made quick work of the hitch. In less than ten minutes, the tiny town had been left behind and they began to drive up a steep mountain road.

Cort shifted in his seat, trying to ease the pain in his leg. Faith handled the truck easily, as if she were used to the winding roads. He studied her strong but small hands as they worked the gearshift. Who was she, and why wasn’t she frightened of him? He’d almost killed her. She didn’t look or act stupid, so what was her story?

He watched the road ahead. Tall trees, a few of them redwoods, came down to the edge of the highway. Recent spring rains left a carpet of lush new grass.

“I’m sorry,” he said, staring straight ahead. “For what happened before. I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn’t. Apology accepted.”

“That’s it?” He glanced at her. She seemed intent on her driving.

“What more do you want?”

Something. He could have done a whole lot more than hurt her. “I almost killed you.”

“I’m as much to blame. I shouldn’t have startled you. I know better.”

“How? Jeff said you were a civilian.”

She gave him a quick smile. “Don’t worry. I am. But I’m used to working with dangerous animals.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promised.

“I know.”

“How?”

“It won’t happen again, because I won’t startle you a second time. I’m a quick study.”

He shifted in the seat until he faced her. He propped his injured leg on the hump in the floor that divided the cab in half.

She rested both her hands on the steering wheel. Short nails, he thought. No polish. Sensible work clothes. He inhaled. But she wore French perfume.

“How do you know Jeff?” he asked.

“We met about six years ago. He was friends with the lady I worked for. When Jeff was hurt in Lebanon—” She glanced at him.

“I know about that,” he said.

She nodded. “He came to stay with us for a few months. I helped patch him up. Kept him company. That sort of thing. We became friends.”

“So you’re a nurse?”

“Not exactly.” She flashed him a smile, then sobered. “I guess when you go through what he did, you remember the people who got you through it.”

Cort thought about those days. Jeff’s injuries had been lifethreatening, but it was the loss of his wife and child that had almost killed him. Four years ago. Before Jeff had been promoted. They’d worked together several times. Been gone enough for Jeff’s marriage to falter and Jeff to start worrying about it. The worry distracted him and ultimately almost got him killed. He’d made the decision to do whatever it took to save his marriage, then boom. Jeanne and his son were dead.

Cort shook his head. It wasn’t worth it. Relationships weighed a man down. Caring about anyone got in the way of getting the job done.

“Tell me about the way station,” he said.

“We’re about fifteen miles from our nearest neighbors,” she said. “I have three college kids coming in part-time to help. We personally own about two hundred acres and have another thousand of leased forest land. There’s a fence around most of the compound and a main gate at the entrance. We’re pretty isolated.”

“What’s the way station for?”

She looked at him. Surprise widened her blue eyes. “I keep cats.”

“Cats?” He rubbed his pounding temple.

“Jeff didn’t explain?”

“No.” He cursed under his breath. Cats? What had his boss gotten him into? He glanced at Faith. In her jeans and shirt, with her sensible work boots and unmade-up face, she didn’t look like his idea of a person who kept bunches of cats, but then when had he ever met one? “So you keep, what, twenty of them in the house?”

She chuckled. Her smile could only be described as impish. “No cats in the house, I promise. And no more than forty or so at a time. I don’t have the room.”

“Forty?” He swallowed. Maybe he should have taken his chances with his D.C. apartment and the tourists.

“They aren’t a bother.”

“I bet.”

“Oh, but Sparky does sort of have the run of the place.”

“Sparky? Does he sleep in the house?”

“No, he sleeps in the office. He’s our mascot.”

“Great.” He pictured some flea-bitten alley cat cowering in the corner.

“He was Edwina’s favorite. Edwina is the lady who used to run the way station.”

“So there really are forty cats?”

“And Sparky.”

Oh, Christ. Cort leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Why was Jeff doing this to him? His boss was normally a pretty fair guy. Had the last assignment been messed up that badly?

He allowed himself to get lost in the pain, controlling his breathing and counting out his heartbeats. It wasn’t until the truck slowed that he looked around.

She’d stopped to make a left-hand turn onto a dirt road. A small sign stated that they were entering the Edwina Daniels Feline Way Station.

She stared at the entrance. “The gate’s open. I wonder why?” She shrugged. “Maybe the kids knew I’d be coming back.”

“What’s normal procedure?” he asked.

She pointed to the small black box attached to the sun visor on the passenger’s side of the cab. “It’s remote controlled.”

He picked up the transmitter. “Looks like it’s for a garagedoor opener.”

“It is. We modified it.”

Which meant the electronic device on the gate could be defeated by a ten-year-old.

After shifting into neutral, she pulled on the lever that switched the truck from two- to four-wheel drive. “Hold on.”

He gripped the window frame with one hand and the back of the seat with the other. His fingers rested inches from her shoulder. The truck turned onto the dirt road and immediately hit a huge bump.

“The gullies got worse with the spring rains,” she said.

“I’ll bet.”

They lurched over a rock as, behind them, the trailer hit the first bump. The combined action loosened his grip and jarred his injured leg.

He swore.

“Sorry.” Faith gave him a quick glance. “I’ll try to go slower.”

“Not on my account,” he ground out as fresh blood seeped from the wound. He resumed his hold on the window frame and the back of the seat. This time, a few strands of her hair became trapped under his hand. The soft silkiness distracted him from his pain and he wondered what a woman like her was doing out here, alone except for some college kids and a few dozen cats.

Before he could formulate an answer, they took a sharp turn to the left and rolled onto a paved road.

“What the—” He glanced behind at the dirt torture session, then ahead at what looked like a good mile of asphalt. “You care to explain that?”

“It’s to discourage visitors. We keep the bumps and rocks because they’ll scare off anyone in a car.”

“Probably lose the whole chassis.”

“That’s the idea.”

“And the paved road?”

She shrugged, then moved the lever from four- back to two-wheel drive. “It’s convenient. We have another two miles to go.”

“You don’t want anyone near your cats, do you?”

“Only invited guests. The foundation is privately funded. There are about two hundred donors. The bulk of the money comes from Edwina’s estate. We have the donors out a couple of times a year for fund-raisers, but we put planks over the ruts so their limos don’t lose their transmissions.”

“Smart move.”

She rolled down her window and inhaled. “Almost home. I can smell it.”

He rolled down his window and took a tentative sniff, half expecting to smell eau de Kitty Litter. Instead the scent of leaves and earth filled him. The road was plenty wide enough for the truck. Tall trees and thick underbrush lined both sides of the pavement. Birds and rustling leaves filled the quiet of the warm June afternoon. He inhaled again, noticing the sweet scent of flowers. Peaceful. Exactly what he needed.