Secret Agent, Secret Father

“For the record, I agree with my father, too.” At Jacob’s raised eyebrow, she added, “To a certain point. But that doesn’t mean I can do what he wants. We need to get you out of here before he gets back.”

“We?”

“I have to find out what happened last night and you’re my only lead to the answers.”

“I thought I was to have bed rest.”

“I couldn’t risk his overhearing anything else,” she said impatiently. “He would’ve stopped us. You’re not safe here.”

“What if I don’t ever remember, Grace?” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Why not let the police handle it?”

“They can’t be trusted. Not yet. Not until we find out who killed Helene. Don’t you see?”

“If I remember right, the police are the ones who find murderers.”

Her head snapped up, and what he saw was genuine fear. “Not if they’ve already decided on a suspect.”

“Me.” When he tried to maneuver his feet to the floor, she placed a hand against his good shoulder.

“Please, let me help you. If you move too fast, you could break open the stitching.” Before he could stop them, her fingers drifted across his skin.

He caught her wrist, but this time with gentle fingers. His intent was to stop her, but the action brought her closer.

He caught her scent, breathed it in. Without thought, his thumb skimmed her pulse. When it jumped, his did, too. Slowly, he pulled her toward him until her hand rested against his chest. Her eyes met his and what he saw made him stop. The desire was there, but more than that, he saw panic.

He let her go. “I’m not so weak I can’t put a pair of pants on.”

Pink flushed her cheeks, but from embarrassment or temper, he wasn’t sure.

She stepped back, letting her hands drop to her sides, but not before she made them into fists.

Temper, then.

When she walked to the closet, her actions were fluid, almost regal. And when she yanked open the door, he almost smiled.

She skimmed the hangers with her hand, pulled out a pair of slacks and a sweater. Judging from the high-end material of the charcoal V-neck sweater and the black chino slacks, he wasn’t hurting for money.

“These should do.”

“I guess they will.” When he reached to take the hangers from her, pain exploded in his shoulder. He swore and grabbed at his arm, locking it to his side. “I’m going to need your car.”

She tossed the clothes onto the corner of the bed. “Don’t be stupid. You’re not in any condition to drive.”

He had to give the woman credit; she did snooty with a certain sex appeal.

“You’re going to need someone to get you around.”

Pointedly, he glanced at his gun. “I have a feeling I’m pretty self-sufficient.”

But what he wasn’t was flush. He needed cash.

Money, he knew, would open many more doors. “Did I have a wallet?”

She picked a slim, brown wallet from the dresser and handed it to him. “There’s almost a thousand dollars, a few credit cards and your driver’s license in there.”

Instead of opening the billfold, Jacob laid it on the bed beside him. He’d search through it after she left the room.

“Now, do you want my help dressing?”

“No, I can handle it myself.” He was in no mood to deal with the fluttery touch of her hands against him again.

“There’s a brand-new toothbrush in the bathroom’s medicine cabinet and fresh towels on the rack,” she noted, then walked over and turned on the bathroom light for him. “You’re not strong enough yet to take a shower. And even if you think you are, you can’t risk getting your bandages wet.”

“I’ll manage.” He leaned back against the headboard and studied her through half-closed eyes.

“You didn’t take me to the hospital because I’d be vulnerable.” The fear was back with his statement, tightening her features, only for a heartbeat but long enough for him to see. And understand.

“Running will only protect me for so long. And like your father said, puts you at risk whether you’re with me or not.”

“I told you I want answers. And once your memory returns I’ll get them,” she replied. “And I’m hoping neither of us will need protection.”

“About my other scars.” When her eyebrow lifted in question, he clarified. “You wouldn’t know how I acquired them, would you?”

“No. We were never that close,” she replied evenly. But at what cost, he thought.

“Then why is it that little bits I am remembering seem to revolve around you?” Even without her reaction to him a few minutes prior, his instincts were telling him they’d been intimate. The tightening of his groin, the itch at the base of his spine, told him that if he didn’t watch himself, they just might be again.

“Maybe because I knew Helene.”

“Maybe,” he replied, but he didn’t believe it. “Do you have a picture of her?”

“Yes.” She went to her dresser and slid open the top drawer. After a moment of digging, she pulled out a newspaper photo. She crossed the room and gave it to Jacob. “This was taken the day we opened The Tens. Our bar. Her bar,” she corrected, then sighed. “Actually, I have no idea whose bar it is now.”

“We need to find out,” he decided. “Could be the new owner wanted a premature switching of titles and I got in the way.” He studied the picture. It was a waist-to-head shot. Even with that, Jacob could tell the woman was tall and on the athletic side but not enough to detract from her overall femininity. He glanced at the deep cut of the buttoned jacket with no blouse to ruin the sleek, cool effect of the navy business suit.

One of Helene’s arms was casually looped around Grace’s shoulders. Her hair was a deep red, spiked softly around the sharp angles of her cheeks, emphasizing a long nose, its feminine point.

“Do you recognize her?”

“No,” he said, taking one last look before glancing up. “Can I keep this?”

When she nodded, he placed it by his wallet.

“Do you need help to the bathroom?”

He contemplated the wide span of hardwood floor between him and the bathroom door. “I can manage,” he said and hoped he was right.

“Then I’ll make you some toast. And some coffee.” She turned to leave.