White Lies

  He liked making her lose her temper. It was exciting, in a primitive way, to watch those blue eyes narrow like a cat’s. It was the final sign that he’d tormented her into attack. The day he’d thought she was an intruder and tracked her in the snow, then tackled her, her rage had startled him, caught him off balance, but it had excited him. Most people who knew Jay would never think she was capable of that kind of anger, or that she would physically fight anyone. It told him a lot about her, about the passionate, volatile side of her personality and about what it took to bring it out. Probably very few people could make her angry, but because she loved him, he could. And after he’d provoked her to anger, he liked to wrestle with her and love her out of her temper.

  Physically she delighted him. She was still too thin, though she ate well, but he liked to watch her trim hips and rounded buttocks in her tight jeans too much to complain. Her skin was satiny, her breasts high and round, her exotic mouth full and pouty; no matter how she dressed, she turned him on because he knew what lay under those clothes. He also knew that all he had to do was reach for her and she’d turn into his arms, warm and willing. That kind of response enchanted him; there was something so new about it, as if he’d never known it before.

  Then one morning they got up to find that it had snowed again during the night, and it continued snowing all during the day, not hard, just a continuous veil of flakes sifting down over the meadow. Except for trips outside to bring in more firewood, Jay and Steve spent the day in the cabin, watching old movies. That was an extra benefit of the satellite dish; they could always find something interesting to watch on television, if they were in the mood. It was perfectly suited to a lazy day when they had nothing better to do than to lie around and watch the fat snowflakes drifting down.

  Just before dark, Steve left to check the area, something he always did. While he was gone Jay began cooking dinner, humming as she did so, because she was so contented. This was paradise. She knew it couldn’t last; when his memory returned, even if he still wanted to marry her, their lives would change. They would leave here, find another home. She would have to find another job. Other things would take up their time. This was time set aside, out of the real world, but she meant to enjoy every minute of it. Briefly a dark thought intruded: This could be all she had. Perhaps it was. If so, these days were all the more precious.

  Steve entered through the back door, slapping snow off his shoulders and shaking it out of his hair before taking off his thick coat. “Nothing but rabbit tracks.” He looked thoughtful. “Do you like rabbit?”

  Jay turned from the cheese she was grating for the spaghetti. “If you shoot the Easter Bunny…” she began in a threatening tone.

  “It was just a question,” he said, and grabbed her for a kiss, then rubbed his cold, beard-roughened cheek against hers. “You smell good. Like onion and garlic and tomato sauce.” Actually, she smelled like herself, that sweet, warm, womanly scent he associated with her and no one else. He buried his cold nose against her neck and inhaled it, feeling the familiar tension growing in his loins.

  “You won’t get any points for telling me I smell like onions and garlic,” she said, returning to her chore even though he kept his arms looped around her waist.

  “Even if I tell you how crazy I am about onions and garlic?”

  “Humph. You’re like all men. You’ll say anything when you’re hungry.”

  Chuckling, he released her to set the table and begin buttering the rolls. “How would you like to take a trip?”

  “I’d love to see Hawaii.”

  “I was thinking more in terms of Colorado Springs. Or maybe Denver.”

  “I’ve been to Colorado Springs,” she said, then looked at him curiously over her shoulder. “Why are we going to Colorado Springs?”

  “I’m assuming Frank doesn’t want us returning to Washington, even briefly, so he’ll fly the doctor out to check my eyes. That means, logically, either Colorado Springs or Denver, and I’m betting Colorado Springs. I’m also betting he doesn’t want the doctor to know the location of the cabin, so that means we go to him.”

  She had known he would have to have his eyes checked again, but just talking about it brought the real world intruding into their private paradise. It would feel strange even seeing other people, much less talking to them. But reading strained his eyes, and enough time had passed for them to realize his sight wasn’t going to improve. She thought of how he would look in glasses, and a warm feeling began spreading in her stomach. Sexy. She gave him a smile. “Yeah, I think I’d like to make a trip. I’ve been eating my own cooking for a long time now.”

  “I’ll get in touch with Frank after dinner.” He could have done it then, but filling his stomach was more important. Jay made great spaghetti, and getting in touch with Frank could be time-consuming. First things first.

  After the dinner dishes had been cleaned and Steve was in the shed contacting Frank, Jay stretched out on the rug in front of the fire, for the first time thinking about the chic little apartment in New York that Frank had been keeping for her. It contrasted sharply with the rustic comfort of the cabin, but she much preferred the cabin. She would hate to leave it; it would be beautiful here during the summer, but she wondered how much longer they would be here. Surely Steve’s memory would return before then, and even if it didn’t, how much longer would it be before Frank told him the truth? They couldn’t let him live another man’s life forever. Or could they? Had that been the plan? Did they somehow know he’d never get his memory back?

  The mirrors kept reflecting back different answers, different facets to the puzzle, different solutions. And none of them fit.

  “Are you asleep?” he asked softly.

  She gasped and rolled over, her heart jumping. “I didn’t hear you come in. You didn’t make any noise.” He always moved silently, like a cat, but she should have heard the back door. She’d been so deep in thought that the sounds hadn’t registered.

  “The better to sneak up on you, my dear,” he growled in his best big-bad-wolf voice. He joined her on the rug, sinking his hands into her hair as he angled her mouth up toward his. He kissed her slowly, deeply, taking his time and using his tongue. Her breathing altered, and her eyes grew heavy lidded. Desire was a heavy warmth inside her, slowly expanding until it completely filled her.

  They weren’t in any hurry. It felt too good to lie there in the warmth of the crackling fire and savor their kisses. But eventually the heat was too much, and she moaned as he unbuttoned her flannel shirt, parting the edges to press his lips to the swollen curves of her breasts. He lay on top of her, his heavy legs controlling hers even though she twisted restlessly. She wanted more. Moaning again, her voice sharp with need, she turned until her nipple brushed against his mouth. Lazily he extended his tongue and licked it, then clamped his mouth over it and sucked strongly, giving her what she needed.

  The firelight burnished her hair with golden lights and her skin with a rosy glow as he unfastened her jeans and pulled them off. Her mouth was red and moist, glistening with the sheen of his kisses. Abruptly he couldn’t wait any longer and jerked his own clothes off. The flannel shirt still hung around her shoulders, but even that was too much. He pulled it away from her and knelt between her legs, draping her thighs over his as he bent forward to enter her, fusing their bodies as surely as their lives were fused.

  They lay together for a long time afterward, too content to move. He put another log on the fire and pulled on his jeans, then put his own shirt around her to stave off any chill. She sat in the circle of his arms, her head on his shoulder, wishing nothing would ever happen to disturb this happiness.

  He watched the waving yellow flames, his rough chin rubbing back and forth against her hair. “Do you want kids?” he asked absently.

  The question startled her enough that she lifted her head from his shoulder. “I…think I do.” she replied. “I’ve never really thought about it, because it just didn’t seem like an option, but now…”
Her voice trailed off.

  “Before, we didn’t have much of a marriage. I don’t want it to be like that again. I want to come home every night, live a normal life.” He tightened his arms around her. “I’d like to have a couple of kids, but that’s a mutual decision. I didn’t know how you felt about it.”

  “I like kids,” she said softly, but guilt assailed her. They hadn’t had any kind of a marriage before! He was feeling guilty for another man’s acts.

  “Yeah, I like them, too.” He smiled, still watching the fire. “I get a kick out of watching Amy—”

  Jay jerked away from him, her eyes wide with something like panic in them. “Who’s Amy?”

  Steve’s face was hard, his mouth grim. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I feel as if I just ran into a brick wall. The words just slipped out, then bam! I hit the wall and there’s nothing.”

  Jay felt sick. Had she been so wrong in trusting that Frank wouldn’t have set this up if Steve had been married? Was he a father as well as a husband?

  Steve was watching her and sensed the direction of her thoughts, if not the content. “No, I’m not married and I don’t have any kids,” he said sharply, pulling her back to him. “It’s probably just a friend’s little girl. Do you know anyone with a little girl named Amy?”

  She shook her head, not looking at him. The terror was back; she felt stiff with it. Was his memory returning? When it did, would he leave? Paradise could end at any time.

  Steve lay awake long after they had gone to bed that night. Jay slept in his arms, as she had every night since the chinook blew, her hair streaming over his left shoulder and her warm breath sighing against his neck. Her bare, silky body was pressed all along his left side, and her slender arm was draped across his chest. She had looked so panicked for a second when he’d mentioned Amy’s name, whoever Amy was. He held her closer, trying to erase that panic even from her sleep.

  This would probably happen a lot, a casual remark triggering flashes of memory. He hoped they wouldn’t all scare her so much. Was she truly afraid he wouldn’t want her when his memory returned? God, couldn’t she feel how much he loved her? It went beyond memory. It was in his bones, buried in the very depths of his existence.

  Amy. Amy.

  The name flashed through his mind like fire and suddenly he saw a little girl with glossy dark hair, giggling as she shoved a chubby, dimpled fist into her mouth. Amy.

  His heart began pounding. His memory had actually supplied a face to go with the name. He didn’t know who she was, but he knew her name, and now her face. The mental picture faded, but he concentrated and found he could recall it, just like a real memory. Just as he’d told Jay, she must be a friend’s daughter, someone he’d met since their divorce.

  He relaxed, pleased that the memory had solidified. His sexual satisfaction made his body feel heavy and boneless, and his chest began to rise and fall in the deeper rhythm of sleep.

  “Unca Luke, Unca Luke!”

  The childish voices echoed in his head and the movie began to unwind in his mind. Two kids. Two boys, tearing across a green lawn, jumping and shrieking “Unca Luke” at the tops of their lungs as they ran.

  Another scene. Northern Ireland. Belfast. He recognized it even as a tingle of dread ran up his spine. Two little boys played in the street, then suddenly looked up, hesitated and ran.

  Flash. One of the first two little boys looked up with a wobbly lower lip and tears in his eyes and said, “Please, Unca Dan.”

  Flash. Dan Rather stacked papers at his newsdesk while the credits rolled.

  Flash. A bumper sticker on a station wagon said, I’d Rather Be at Disney World.

  Mickey Mouse dancing… Flash…a mouse crawling through the garbage in an alley… Flash…a grenade sailing in slow motion through the air and hitting a garbage can with a loud thump; then a louder thump and the can goes sailing… Flash…a white sailboat with sassy red-and-white striped sails tacking closer to shore and a tanned young man waves… Flash flash flash…

  The scenes ripped through his consciousness, and they were truly only flashes, following each other like pages of a book being flipped through in front of his eyes.

  He was sweating again. Damn, these free-association memories were hell. What did they mean? Had they truly happened? He wouldn’t mind them if he could tell which ones were real and which ones were just something he’d seen on television or in a movie, or maybe even imagined from a scene in a book. Okay, some of them were obvious, like the one of Dan Rather with the credits rolling across his face. But he’d watched network news many times since the bandages had come off his eyes, so that could even be a recent memory.

  But… Uncle Luke. Uncle Dan. Something about those kids, and those names, seemed very real, just as Amy was real.

  He eased out of bed, being very careful not to wake Jay, and walked into the living room where he stood for a long time in front of the banked fire, watching the embers glow. Full memory was close, and he knew it. It was as if all he had to do was turn a corner and everything would be there; but turning that mental corner wasn’t as easy as it sounded. He had become a different man in the months since the explosion; he was trying to connect two separate people and merge them into one.

  He had been absently rubbing his fingertips with his thumb. When he noticed what he was doing, he lifted his hand to look at it. The calluses were back, courtesy of chopping wood, but his fingertips were still smooth. How much of him was left, or had his identity been erased as surely as his fingerprints had been? When he looked in the mirror, how much of it was Steve Crossfield and how much of it was courtesy of the reconstructive surgery? His face was changed, his voice was changed, his fingerprints gone.

  He was new. He had been born out of the darkness, brought to life by Jay’s voice calling him toward the light.

  Regardless of what he did or didn’t remember, he still had Jay. She was a part of him that surgery couldn’t change.

  The room had taken on a chill as the fire died, and finally he felt the coldness on his naked body. He returned to the bedroom and slipped under the quilt, feeling Jay’s body warmth wrap around him. She murmured something, moving closer to him in her sleep, seeking her usual position.

  Instantly desire fired through him, as urgent as if it hadn’t been slaked only an hour or so before. “Jay,” he said, his voice low and dark, and he pulled her beneath him. She woke and reached for him, her hands sliding around his neck, and in the darkness they loved each other until he had no room for memories other than those they made together.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THEY LEFT THE cabin early the next morning so they could rendezvous with Frank at Colorado Springs that afternoon. Jay felt a wrench at leaving the cabin; it had been their private world for so long that, away from it, she felt exposed. Only the thought that they would be returning the next day gave her the courage to leave it at all. She knew that eventually she would have to leave it forever, but she wasn’t ready to face that day right now. She wanted more time with the man she loved.

  She intended to ask Frank the name of the American agent who had been “killed.” He might not tell her, but she had to ask. Even if she couldn’t say it aloud, she needed to know, she had to put a name to her love. She looked at him as he skillfully handled the Jeep, holding it steady even on the snow, and her heart swelled. He was big and rough-looking, not handsome at all with his rearranged features, but just one glance from those fierce yellowish eyes had the power to make her dizzy with delight. How could they ever have thought they could pass this man off as Steve Crossfield?

  Their subterfuge was riddled with holes, but she hadn’t seen them until she had been too deeply in love with him to care. They had relied on shock and urgency to keep her from asking the pointed questions to which they would have had no answers, such as why they didn’t use blood type or their own agent’s dental records to determine the identity of the patient. She had known at the time that Frank was hiding something from her, but she had been
too concerned over “Steve” to think it was anything more than protecting the details of a classified mission. The truth was that she had been misled so easily because she had wanted to be; after the first time she had seen him lying in the hospital, so desperately wounded but still fighting with that grim determination of his that burned through unconsciousness, she had wanted nothing more than to be by his side and help him fight.

  They were to stay at a different motel than the one they’d been in before, because Frank didn’t want to take the chance the desk clerk might recognize them. They even used different names. When they got there, Frank had already arrived, and he’d made reservations for them under the names of Michael Carter and Faye Wheeler. Separate rooms. Steve looked distinctly displeased, but placed Jay’s overnighter in her room without comment and went along to his own room. The eye specialist checked Steve’s eyes immediately; then he was taken to an optometrist to be fitted for glasses, which would be ready for him the next morning. Jay remained behind, wondering what strings Frank had pulled and whose arms he had twisted to get everything done so fast.

  They returned a little after dark, and Steve came immediately to Jay’s room. “Hi, baby,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. Before she could answer he was kissing her, his hands tight on her arms, his mouth hard and searching.

  She shivered with excitement, crowding closer to his body as she dug her fingers into his cold hair. He smelled like wind and snow, and his skin was cold, but his tongue was warm and probing. Finally he lifted his head, a very male look of satisfaction stamped on his hard face. He rubbed his thumb across her lips, which were reddened from contact with his. “Sweetheart, I may freeze my naked butt off sneaking into your room tonight, but I’m not sleeping alone.”