Читать книгу Magnum Force Man - Amanda Stevens - Страница 11

Claudia lunged for the gun, grasped the grip in both hands and whirled to face him. “Don’t move! I’ll shoot. That I promise you.”

He hadn’t set foot outside the bedroom doorway, and now he gazed at her in bewilderment. “I’m not here to hurt you. I came to save you.”

“Save me?”

Dear God, could that be true? Had someone really sent him here to protect her?

But who? Not even her closest friends knew where she’d run off to or why. She hadn’t even clued in the police.

And why now, after two years of being on her own?

It didn’t make sense. Nothing about this whole crazy situation made any sense, especially her reaction to him. She was afraid and fascinated all at the same time.

And against her better judgment, she felt a welling hope nudge away her suspicion. But only for a moment.

Then her defenses came back up, and she steeled her spine and tightened her grip on the revolver.

Be careful here. Remember your motto: trust no one.

Thankfully, her good sense and natural skepticism came rushing back full force. Maybe he was just trying to catch her off guard. Why he hadn’t attacked her when her back was to him, she had no idea. Obviously, his agenda included more than just murder.

You’re going to die and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.

Her chin shot up. We’ll just see about that.

She wouldn’t go quietly. That was for damn sure.

Still, she prayed it wouldn’t come to that. But if he meant her harm, the gun was her best defense. She just hoped he couldn’t see how badly her hands trembled. She was shaking so hard she didn’t dare put a finger on the trigger. Never put a finger on the trigger unless you’re prepared to shoot. She wasn’t. Not until he made the first move. Then she would blast away. Not without regret, but certainly without hesitation.

She clutched the grip. “Who are you?”

“My name is … Jack Maddox.”

The way he paused before he revealed his name reinforced her suspicions. He’d probably pulled that name out of thin air. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Who sent you here?”

“… sent me?” He touched fingertips to his temples and pressed. “I … don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” “I don’t … know.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How did you find me?” “I don’t know.” This was going nowhere fast. Claudia glared at him. “What were you doing out there on the road all alone tonight?” “I don’t know.” “Where did you come from?” “I don’t know.”

“Were you in some sort of accident?” Well, duh. Although, whether she’d actually hit him or not was still up for debate.

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know these things?” she asked in frustration.

His dark gaze held hers for the longest moment. “I’ve been … erased.”

A hair-prickling draft lifted the hair at the back of Claudia’s neck, as if a ghost had just slipped past her. She resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder. “Erased? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t … remember.” The fingertips pressed more deeply into his temples. He squeezed his eyes closed and swayed for a moment as if his knees were about to buckle. Then his lids snapped open and he caught her in the most penetrating gaze she’d ever endured. Suddenly, it was Claudia who felt a little weak in the knees.

She tried to suppress a shiver as that dark gaze held hers. “Are you saying you have amnesia?”

“Amnesia? Yes … I have amnesia.” His hands dropped to his sides. Claudia tried not to follow the motion.

The way he said amnesia without any inflection seemed to suggest he was merely repeating a word he didn’t quite comprehend. But how could he not know the meaning of amnesia? He obviously spoke English and he didn’t strike Claudia as illiterate. Something about him just didn’t compute, though, and the conversation went beyond peculiar. It was downright disturbing.

“I need you to believe me,” he said.

And I need you to get your crazy ass out of my house.

Maybe it was only the flicker of candlelight, but somehow he seemed bathed in an ethereal blush. There was just something so truly weird about him. About all of this.

And he was just so … naked.

“What do you need me to believe?” she demanded. “The danger …”

“Oh, I’m very interested in hearing all about this danger you keep talking about. But first could you … do something about that?” She waved the gun over his naked form. Killer or not, the play of shadow and light on all those lean muscles was very distracting. “Throw a blanket around yourself or something.”

He vanished back into the bedroom to comply, and Claudia tried to compose herself before he reappeared a moment later in the doorway.

“That’s better,” she said. “As soon as the power comes back on, we can dry your clothes.” If she didn’t kick him out in the cold first.

“Thank you.”

Such sincerity. Such humble gratitude. He wasn’t making this easy for her. “What did you mean earlier when you said I was going to die and there would be nothing I could do to stop it?”

“It’s true,” he said. “You won’t be able to stop it … but I can.”

“How?”

“By changing your destiny.” “Well, that’s mighty big of you.” Crazy as a loon, Claudia thought.

“I came here to save you.”

“So you keep saying. Just who are you saving me from?”

“Those who wish to kill you.”

“How do you know—” She caught herself and paused with another shiver. “What makes you think someone wants to kill me?”

He gave her a strange, probing look.

Then his gaze shifted to the kitchen a split second before the teakettle began to whistle.

Before the teakettle whistled.

Now it was Claudia who gave him a hard stare as she hurried into the kitchen to turn off the burner.

She placed the gun on the counter within easy reach and was just debating on whether to offer him tea— which would hopefully keep him calm—when he asked from across the room, “What is chamomile?”

Slowly, she turned to face him. “Why did you ask that?”

Then out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the container of teabags by the stove and realized he must have read the side of the tin. Whatever else might be wrong with him, he obviously had excellent eyesight and hearing.

“You’ve never had chamomile tea?” When he didn’t answer, she muttered, “I guess you wouldn’t remember if you’ve been erased.”

Erased.

Good heavens.

“Chamomile is a member of the daisy family,” she said, striving for a conversational tone. The last thing she wanted to do was inadvertently set him off. There was a good possibility that instead of coming here to murder her, he could be just some troubled soul who’d stumbled into the middle of the road at an inopportune time. In which case, the best thing to do was try and keep him calm. “The tea is an acquired taste, but it’s wonderfully relaxing. Would you like a cup?”

She could do with a bit of stress relief herself, Claudia thought.

When he started toward her, she said quickly, “No, no, that’s okay. Just stay there. I’ll bring it to you.”

She got down a second cup and poured hot water over the teabag. When it had properly steeped, she mixed in a little lemon and honey, then grabbed the gun and carried the drink into the living room where she placed it on a table in front of the fire.

Returning to the kitchen, she fixed herself a fresh cup. By the time she came back into the living room, he’d settled himself on the floor before the fire.

“Make yourself at home,” she murmured.

He picked up the cup and took a tentative sip of the tea. “Tastes like flowers.”

“As I said, it’s an acquired taste.”

He drank some more. “It’s hot. Feels good.”

“You must have gotten a chill out there in the rain. It’s pretty cold tonight and your clothes were soaking wet.”

That was another thing about him that puzzled Claudia. His shirt, pants and lightweight jacket were hardly suitable for November weather in the Black Hills. Not to mention his canvas shoes, which were drenched all the way through. It was a wonder he didn’t have frostbite.

But maybe the inappropriate clothing wasn’t so strange after all. Before the storm, they’d been enjoying a warm spell in the area. The daytime temperatures had been so mild that Claudia had even been able to continue her morning hikes to enhance her cardio workout.

With the storm, the thermometer had dropped to a more seasonable chill, reminding her that soon enough the snows would come. She would be sequestered in the cabin for long days at a time, sometimes with no phone or power. Not a single, solitary soul to keep her company.

She shuddered in dread.

Better lonely than dead, she reminded herself.

But back to the stranger …

Perching on the arm of a chair, she rested the revolver on her thigh as she sipped her tea and watched him. He had the blanket wrapped around him, and the way he gulped the hot drink made him seem young and kind of endearing.

But in the glow of the fire, Claudia could see the muscle definition in his bare arms and shoulders. He was strong and probably anything but vulnerable. If she let down her guard for even a second, he could easily overpower her.

“Let’s talk about this memory loss of yours.” She set the teacup aside, but kept the gun on her thigh.

He put down his tea and gazed up at her, looking very mysterious and downright ethereal with the light flickering over his features. His dark hair was cropped short and Claudia had the sudden notion that if he wasn’t an escaped mental patient, he might be in the military or law enforcement. That could explain how he’d found her. Maybe someone was finally looking into the group responsible for Dr. Lasher’s murder. Maybe he had been sent to protect her.

Then again, for all she knew, he could have been sent by the people who wanted her dead. She couldn’t lose sight of the danger he potentially posed just because he had nice eyes and kept insisting that he’d come there to save her.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked. He blinked. “The woods. The road. You.” “In other words, you don’t remember anything before tonight?”

He sighed and seemed to settle more deeply into the blanket. “I don’t want to remember.” “Why not?”

He closed his eyes and shuddered. “… Pain …”

“You remember pain? Then maybe you were in some sort of accident. A car wreck maybe.” It was possible he’d been so dazed and confused, he’d wandered miles from the scene of the crash and then stumbled into the path of her oncoming vehicle.

“The needles hurt,” he said.

Something in his voice—a faint note of fear, nothing more—brought the image of a caged animal to Claudia’s mind. For a moment, she forgot about the possible threat he brought with him. She even forgot to breathe.

He turned to stare into the flames. “I don’t like memories.”

Claudia’s heart beat so hard against her chest, she could hear the echo in her ears.

I don’t like memories.

What on earth had happened to him?

And why did she have an irresistible urge to kneel beside him on the floor and wrap her arms around him?

Why, suddenly, did she want to save him?

This made no sense. She could feel compassion without chucking her common sense. He was still a stranger and she still had to protect herself.

And as for the needles … an escapee from a psychiatric ward might have such memories, mightn’t he?

She bit her lip. “I can understand why you may not like memories,” she said softly. “But if we’re going to figure out why you’re here and why you think I need saving, then we need to know if there’s anything else you can tell me.”

He stared into the fire for a long time, and then his gaze lifted. “Coronet Blue.”

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s what I remember,” he said. “Coronet Blue.” And then, quite unexpectedly, he smiled.