Snowbound Targets

“Here, let me have that.” He took the ice pack from her and carried it over to the sink. “It’s going to be OK, I promise,” he said. “All of it. Your memory will eventually come back.”

“How do you know?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“I just do.” Which as explanations went, wasn’t really one at all. Despite that, she believed him.

Outside the storm continued to rage. She imagined the snow piling up and shivered.

He noticed. “This cabin has been in my family for decades and has withstood all kinds of weather. This is just our first blizzard of the season.”

“I understand,” she replied, though she wasn’t sure if she really did. While she couldn’t be positive, she had a sneaking feeling she wasn’t used to cold weather. “So if you don’t have television or internet, what do you do to pass the time?”

“You can read,” he answered promptly, pointing to a bookcase full of hardback books. “I also have a deck of cards, so we could play poker or something, if you’d like.”

“Poker?” She frowned. “I’m not sure I know how.”

“I can teach you.” He crossed to his desk and moved her duffel to the floor then got a deck of playing cards out of the center drawer. “It can be a lot of fun.”

“Sure. Why not?” While she still felt a bit hesitant, this sounded like a harmless way to pass an hour or two.

Sitting down across from a handsome, capable man in his warm and comfortable cabin while a blizzard raged outside should have made her feel secure and cozy. And part of her did. But the other part, the side of her that knew things her subconscious mind didn’t know, felt uneasy and unsettled, aware that unseen danger lurked right around the corner.

At least the blizzard provided a momentary deterrent. No one would be foolish enough to trek up here in weather like this. She told herself to relax.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” he asked, making her realize he’d been watching her while she grappled with her nameless fear.

She lifted her chin. “I will be. Let’s play cards.”

Once he shuffled the cards, Jason laid them out, explaining the different combinations and which ones ranked the highest. She watched him intently, nodding at all the right places. At least she appeared to be present, grounded by her attempt to learn to play a game she probably once had known.

He’d never seen someone as lost as the woman he’d dubbed Lucy, at least here in the States. There were many like her in Kabul, hollow-eyed empty women struggling to stay alive—or hoping to die. Most of them had already lost everything and, unlike Lucy, they had no hope of every getting any of it back.

Lucy’s flashes of memory appeared to be coming more often. He supposed that was a good thing. Logically, it had to mean her memory would soon be rapidly returning. Her struggles to remember tugged at his heart.

The more time he spent with her, the more he liked her. In fact, he already knew he liked her a little too much. Sexy and sensual and beautiful and plucky—all combined to make her nearly irresistible. Even though he considered her off-limits, he couldn’t help but appreciate her charms.

And the way she watched him sometimes... Almost as if she was as hungry for him as he’d begun to be for her. But then again, he would continue to keep his distance. She had to be feeling pretty mixed-up right now.

As appealing as he might find her, he’d never been the type to take advantage of a woman and wouldn’t start now. But knowing that didn’t make him desire her any less. He could imagine the forced proximity during the blizzard would only make it worse.

“And what is the connection? I just can’t figure it out.” He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud until she answered.

“The connection to what?” she asked.

“You and me.” He laid down the cards and waved his hand. “Why my cabin? Clearly, you didn’t simply find your way here. Someone brought you and left you.”

“Do you think so? I hadn’t really thought about that. I guess I’ve been so consumed with trying to figure out who I am that I haven’t even considered how I ended up here.”

He got up and grabbed his satellite phone, then remembered.

“Once this storm lets up, I’m going to call a buddy of mine in military intelligence. He’ll have access to a lot more information than the local sheriff did. Maybe he could get a lead on a missing woman who matches your description.”

Though she nodded, he could tell by her frown that this bothered her. She set her hand facedown and grimaced.

“What’s wrong?”

“If I’m in danger, I don’t want anyone to know where to find me. Not before I regain my memory and know exactly what’s going on.”

Normally, as a reporter, he tended to discount conspiracy theories without proof. But over the last several years, he’d gotten inadvertently caught up in more than one covert operation. This had made him realize anything was possible.

In other words, she could be right to worry. He decided to keep his thoughts to himself. “I’ll be discreet,” he promised. “He’s used to me working on stories, so that’s what I’ll tell him I’m asking for.”

She still appeared doubtful, but she finally nodded. “If you think it will help.”

“Couldn’t hurt. But since I can’t call out and we have nothing else to do, how about we go ahead and play poker?”

To his surprise, she was a natural. Either she caught on quickly, or she’d accessed some prior knowledge of how to play the game. She won the first three hands. “Beginner’s luck,” he told her, grinning.

“Are you letting me win?” She wrinkled her nose at him in suspicion.

Desire struck him low in the gut, rendering him momentarily speechless. Gathering his thoughts furiously—now he found her cute too—he spoke. “Of course not. Beginner’s luck is a common phenomenon. Trust me, it won’t last.”

She tossed her head at that. “We’ll see. Deal another hand.”

He did.

They played for several hours. When he noticed her yawning, her shoulders drooping, he pronounced her the winner and called it a night. “You need to get some rest,” he told her. “You’re welcome to have my bed if you give me a moment to change the sheets.”

“No.” Her immediate and vehement response startled him. Something must have shown in his expression, as she softened her tone. “The couch will be fine. You’ve done enough, letting me stay here, feeding me, keeping me safe. I won’t put you out of your bed.”

“I really don’t mind,” he said, meaning it.

“I know you don’t. But I’ll be fine on the couch. It’s comfortable and close to the woodstove. I like it.”

Because she seemed so exhausted, he decided not to press the point. “Your choice,” he told her. “Do you need an extra blanket, or is what you have there enough?”

“I’m good.” She gestured at the mound of blankets she’d been using. “These are more than enough, thanks.”

“Well, good night then.”

She stared at him, her eyes glittering huge in her pale tired face. “Good night.”

Hating the way she watched him, as if afraid he would take advantage of her, he checked to make sure the front door was locked and dead-bolted before he got a glass of water and carried it to his room. He debated for a moment before deciding to close his bedroom door. Figuring she’d probably feel safer with it closed, he made a quick pit stop in the bathroom. After brushing his teeth, he returned to his room and shut the door.

Lucy had already turned out all the lights. A quick glance revealed a lump under the covers on the couch. Good.

After climbing into his own bed, he clicked off the lamp and let himself drift into sleep.

A loud scream awakened him. Instantly alert, he rushed to his door, yanked it open and headed to the couch, using the soft glow of the woodstove to guide him.

She screamed again before he reached her, a shrill yet guttural sound of true terror. He reached for her, calling her name.

The instant his hand connected with her shoulder, she exploded into action. Grabbed his arm, jerked him toward her. She brought up one knee and twisted her body and threw him to the floor.

Stunned, he lay there, trying to catch his breath. At least she’d stopped screaming.

A second later, wide-eyed and shaking, she crouched down next to him. “Jason! Are you hurt? I’m so sorry. I thought...”

Still dazed, though no longer half-asleep, he rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. “What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice flat. “You started screaming like you were under attack. I rushed out here to check on you, and you take me down?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it. Her beautiful eyes shone with tears. “I had a nightmare,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know it was you. When you touched me, I thought you were attacking me. I’m so sorry.”

Of course, then he felt like a total ass. Moving toward her to take her in his arms and offer comfort, he froze when she flinched away from him.

He cursed low, under his breath. “I wish I could get ahold of whatever son of a bitch hurt you,” he said. “Please know I will never hurt you. Ever.”

Slowly, she nodded. Then she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

Touched, stunned and slightly alarmed, he held her, gently stroking her silky-soft hair and desperately trying not to notice the fullness of her breasts pressing into his naked chest through her T-shirt.

Finally, she moved away. Both relieved and disappointed, he swallowed. She clicked on the light and climbed back onto the couch, sitting cross-legged and pulling the blankets up to her chin. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asked, even though he didn’t expect an answer.

“Self-defense classes,” she responded, and then looked as surprised as he felt. Blinking, she mulled over what she’d just said. “I can picture the class. There were about fifteen people, all women. We took turns learning the moves.”

“Can you remember where it was?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s gone.”

“It’s okay.” Damn, he wanted to hold her again. But she’d let him know quite plainly, without saying a word, that she’d come to him if she needed comfort. “Will you be all right now?” he asked. “Going back to sleep, I mean.”

“Sure.” She waved him away. “You can go back to bed. I’m sorry I woke you. I’m probably going to sit here for a bit, until I feel more comfortable.”

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he finally nodded. “If you need to sleep with the light on, feel free.”

Back in his room, he relived the way she’d taken him down. So easily, and he probably had close to a hundred pounds on her. She’d had a great instructor, that’s for sure. He’d need to be careful not to make any unexpected moves around her. He fell asleep thinking of how good it had felt to hold her.

He woke in the morning to the kind of perfect utter silence one only experiences after a fresh snowfall. The brilliant white light streaming in his bedroom window made him squint, though he knew exactly what he’d see if he looked out. He’d always loved the way the entire world felt remade and clean, as if the blanket of snow promised a fresh start.

Corny, maybe. But after spending months in blowing sand, he truly loved the cool mountains and the winter’s snow.

Checking the clock on the nightstand, he saw it was a little after seven. He stretched and felt a twinge in his arm and back. Then he remembered what had happened last night. He wondered if she’d actually gotten any sleep.

He moved quietly down the short hall to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he brushed his teeth and got dressed. Then padded into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

A quick glance at the couch revealed that Lucy still slept. With the light on. Gazing at her sleeping so peacefully, he felt an unfamiliar and unwanted tightness in his chest. They’d just met, but he already felt close to her. And responsible for her, as if she’d somehow become more than an acquaintance, more than a friend even. As if she’d become family.

Shaking his head at his crazy thoughts, he brewed his coffee, glad that he’d get a chance to drink it in peace and quiet. He needed some time alone to try and figure out what to do about the woman he’d named Lucy.

First up, he’d need to do some research on amnesia. He jotted some quick notes in the notebook he kept on the table. He wanted to know what could cause someone to lose their memory. He also needed to learn how to help them regain it, and to find out a time frame so he’d have an idea how long such a thing might take.

Second, he’d need to put out some discreet feelers with some of his contacts. Surely, when a woman went missing, people would notice. Somewhere, she had to have friends and family who were worried about her and missing her. He would try to find those people.

And if, as she suspected, she was in some sort of danger, he’d find out why and from whom. He hadn’t spent years working as a journalist without developing some intense investigating skills. He would learn her identity, and soon.

He’d just finished his first cup of coffee and was contemplating getting a second, when his satellite phone rang. Answering quickly, hoping the sound hadn’t awakened Lucy, he heard nothing but static at first.

Then an unfamiliar voice spoke his name. “Is this Jason Sheffield?”

Cautiously, he answered in the affirmative. “How did you get my number?”

“This is NCIS special agent Paul Groesel. We’re investigating the disappearance of one of our officers, Rick Engles. I understand you spoke with him right before he went missing.”

“Rick’s missing?” Floored, he shook his head. “We talked right before I flew back to the States. What happened?”

“We don’t know. I was hoping you might have some insight.”

He thought back to the conversation with Rick. “He didn’t say anything. I’d just finished a story when a suicide bomber hit the hotel I was staying at. I grabbed my camera and got some pics, and then pitched in as best as I could helping. Rick was on his way in and we’d hoped to grab breakfast or something the next day, but with everything that happened, we couldn’t.”

“I see. You’re saying that you didn’t see him at all?”

“Exactly.” A horrible thought struck him. “Was he injured in the attack?”

“Again, we’re not sure,” the NCIS agent said. “His body hasn’t been recovered. Thanks for your help. If I have any further questions, I’ll give you a call.”

Stunned, Jason thanked him and said goodbye. He thought back to that night, so much chaos and bloodshed. Most of the victims had been locals instead of the foreign dignitaries and reporters the suicide bomber had wanted to kill. He’d held more than one Afghan while they died. Many had suffered horribly. Most had been women and children.

That night had been the main reason he’d decided to take some time off. He’d come to the cabin to lick his wounds and try and heal. He hadn’t been able to even look at the photos he’d taken and wasn’t sure when he would. Even the thought of touching his camera made him nauseous. He’d carry the scars from that night a long, long time.

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