Collecting Evidence

“Yes, a baby boy named Jack. He’s fifteen weeks old now.” And he might be mine.

Sister Margaret pressed a hand to her pale face. “We thought she might be running from an abusive boyfriend or husband, but she never mentioned a child, so we had no idea. If we had, we would have reported her missing right away.”

Dylan arched a brow, confusion clogging his head. “I don’t understand. Didn’t Aspen tell you what happened?”

“That’s the reason I wanted to talk to you,” Sister Margaret said softly. “Aspen was unconscious when she was brought in. And when she regained consciousness…well, she didn’t remember anything.”

Dylan’s chest pounded. “You mean, she didn’t remember the car crash or attack?”

Sister Margaret shook her head sadly. “I mean, she didn’t remember anything. Not about what happened to her, not even her name or that she has family.”

Dylan sat back in the chair, trying to absorb the missing piece the woman had just revealed. Amnesia would explain why Aspen hadn’t contacted Emma or returned home for Jack.

Or called him for help.

“What did the doctor say about the amnesia?”

Sister Margaret looked shaken. “That the head injury could have caused her memory loss, but that the trauma could have been a factor, as well.”

“Basically, she blocked out the events because they were too painful,” Dylan said.

“Yes.”

“Will she regain her memory?” Dylan asked.

The sister shrugged, her hands twisting together in her habit. “Probably. But that may take time. And Dr. Bennigan advised us not to push her, that doing so might traumatize her even more.”

Dylan stewed over that revelation, bracing himself to meet an Aspen who had no idea who he was. “So what prompted you to finally report her appearance to the police?” Dylan finally asked.

The sister shifted nervously. “Someone broke into the center earlier, into the room where Aspen was sleeping and attacked her. She told us to call the police.”

Dylan fisted his hands by his sides. Dammit, had Perkins and Watts tracked down Aspen and broken into the shelter to finish the job?

ASPEN SAT ON THE FLOOR with the children surrounding her, her voice low as she recanted the legend of the Sky People. “Manitou is the Great Spirit—he lived all alone in the sky. But he was lonely so he made a big hole in the sky and built the mountains, then sent snow and rain down to make the world more beautiful.”

“Did he make the animals, too?” a curly red-haired four-year-old asked.

“Yes,” Aspen said with a smile. “He made all the animals and the birds. But soon, like children and grown-ups do sometimes, the animals began to fight. So Manitou decided he needed a king to rule them all.”

“Was it a lion?” a little boy asked.

“A dinosaur?” another suggested.

Aspen shook her head. “No, a grizzly bear.” She reached up her arms and held them wide. “Now give me a big bear hug and say night-night.”

The kids giggled and hugged her, and as they parted, she looked up to see Sister Margaret standing with a man in the doorway.

Her breath lodged in her chest in a painful surge. He was broad-shouldered and tall, so masculine with his wide jaw and chiseled features that her stomach fluttered with nerves. Thick black hair brushed his ears and forehead, long black lashes framing the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, eyes like the sky on a clear Colorado day.

Yet he looked dangerous and imposing, anger radiating off him in waves. And those startling eyes were intense, haunted, seemed to be trying to see deep into her soul, and made a chill skitter up her arms.

So did the scar that slashed his chin.

Although even that scar didn’t detract from his good looks.

One of the mothers herded the children to the back rooms for bed, and Aspen stood slowly, her ankle still slightly weak from her tumble with her attacker.

Sister Margaret offered her a tentative smile and gestured for the man to follow.

“This is Special Agent Dylan Avecedo. He came to take you home, Aspen.”

Fear slithered through Aspen as she met his gaze. Then he extended his hand and she placed hers inside his large palm, and a warm feeling of awareness shot through her. Something about those eyes seemed…familiar.

Had she met this man before?

But how would she have known a federal agent? Did he have the answers to her missing past?

And if he did, was she ready to hear the truth?

Chapter Three (#ulink_701a05af-1b9c-5efe-a02b-2ba7cfa02e72)

God, Aspen was even more beautiful that he’d remembered. Seeing her sitting on the floor with those kids triggered childhood memories of his mother doing the same with him and his siblings.

And served as a reminder that Aspen had intended to help children before her life had been interrupted by a murder.

Her long dark hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder, her chocolate colored eyes huge and so sultry that once again he lost himself in the beautiful depths.

They were also pensive, pained by her loss.

Damn, he could almost feel the turmoil inside her, the need to replace her missing past with the truth. Yet she instinctively knew the truth wouldn’t be pretty, and she was frightened.

“Detective?” Her voice was pleading, searching his for answers. Answers that he didn’t have.

He studied her for any sign of recognition, for any glimmer that she would welcome him back in her life. That she knew that he could be trusted to stay by her side.

But he saw no indication that she knew who he was…or that she’d ever melted beneath his hands and mouth like a wanton lover.

Instead she looked at him as if he was a perfect stranger.

That hurt. He wanted her to know him, to recall what they’d had together, to want his touch as much as he craved hers.

Her face flushed slightly as he clung to her hand, and the trembling in her petite body and flushed expression in her eyes offered him a seed of hope. Even if she didn’t remember him, there was something there, a simmering, immediate attraction, just as the first time they’d touched and fallen into bed.

She was serving cocktails in that casino in Vegas, wearing a short little black skirt with a cropped T-shirt that hugged her breasts and exposed the smooth brown flesh of her flat stomach. Her voice had purred like a kitten, her movements fluid and seductive, her body so tempting that he had had to caress her bare skin.

That body he knew so well. One he’d tasted and explored and memorized.

One he’d wanted so often over the past few months that he’d fantasized about having her again and again.