Читать книгу Dangerous Memories - Barbara Colley - Страница 9

Leah swallowed hard. Hunter’s manacle grip was anything but gentle, but it was the hard, cold look in his eyes that sent a shiver of fear racing up her spine. “Tell you?” she cried. “Tell you what?” She tugged on her wrist, but his grip tightened.

“If, as you claim, we’re such good friends,” he sneered, “then you would damn well know my likes and dislikes, wouldn’t you?”

Leah tensed and desperation clawed at her insides. She’d been a fool, a lovesick fool. Only a complete idiot would let herself get caught alone with a man with no memory of a past that was questionable.

Stay calm and think. Use your brain. If it came down to a physical confrontation, she’d lose, hands down. Even though Hunter had lost weight, he still outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds. The only thing to do was try to bluff her way out of the situation.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing—” She looked pointedly at his hand around her wrist. “Whatever it is, stop it,” she demanded. “And let go of my arm. Now, please.”

For long seconds he simply stared at her as an array of expressions crossed his face. First confusion, then, when he glanced down at his hand wrapped around her wrist, he paled and confusion changed to shock.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, immediately releasing her. Propping both elbows on the table, he dropped his head forward, and supporting his head with the heels of his hands, he squeezed his eyes closed. “Sorry.” He slowly shook his head from side to side. “I didn’t mean to—it’s just that—” He dropped his hands and looked up at her, his eyes reflecting his genuine remorse. “Everything’s so damn confusing. I don’t know what to think, who to trust, how to act.”

Leah was still wary, but her heart ached for him as she watched him struggle for composure. “It’s okay,” she told him gently. “I guess I’m a bit jumpy, too. It’s not every day that a long-lost friend shows up on my doorstep. In hospital scrubs, knowing my name.” Though she was serious about being jumpy, the last was said in an effort to relieve the tension, an effort that fell flat if his expression was any gauge.

He shook his head. “No—you don’t understand. I need some answers.”

“Well, of course you do,” she said.

At her placating tone, warning bells went off in Hunter’s head, and he threw her a wary look.

“Considering your condition it’s only natural that you want answers,” she continued.

Her tone and expression were full of what seemed like genuine concern, but beneath it all, he sensed fear as well. Was she simply telling him what she thought he wanted to hear? Was the concern reflected in her eyes real or fake?

“Yeah, I want answers,” he finally agreed. “But there’s more to it than just the amnesia.” The not knowing about his past was driving him crazy, and while it was true that he needed answers, even worse than not knowing about himself was the issue of not knowing who to trust. Once again he had to ask himself if he could trust her.

Hunter stared deep into her eyes as if doing so would tell him whether she was trustworthy. He wanted to trust her, and the last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him.

At some point, you have to trust someone. Either that or end up running for the rest of your life.

There was no way he could keep running and, to give her credit, so far she’d done nothing suspicious, nothing but try to help…the food, the clothes…

Hunter swallowed hard. “You know that hospital I told you about?”

Leah nodded.

“They didn’t just release me. I was being held there against my will, and I had to escape.”

Leah backed away from him. First the amnesia, and now he was delusional as well, unless… It had been her experience that the only people they locked up in hospitals were mental patients.

Stay calm. Don’t panic. She forced a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure it seemed like that to you, but—”

His eyes suddenly blazed with fury. “Not just seemed, dammit!” He slammed his fist against the top of the table so hard the dishes rattled. “I’m telling you that I was being kept a prisoner.”

Leah threw up her hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay.” She forced calmness in her voice that she didn’t feel. “Just take it easy.”

Hunter sighed heavily. “Sorry.” His face was bleak with regret. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

Leah’s tensed muscles relaxed somewhat and she felt her professional instincts kick in. In an even, soothing voice, she said, “Maybe if you talk about it, I might understand better. Why don’t you tell me about it—about your stay at the hospital—and the reasons you think you were being held prisoner.”

After a moment, he finally nodded.

Keeping an eagle eye on Hunter, Leah sidestepped over to the cabinet. “Just let me get something to drink.” Without waiting for a response, she poured a glass of apple juice, then seated herself across the table from him. She motioned toward his plate. “Your food’s getting cold. Eat first. Then talk.”

When something that resembled a grin tugged at the corners of his lips, Leah relaxed even more.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled and gave her a two-fingered salute. “Aren’t you eating, too?”

Leah shook her head. “I ate earlier,” she lied. Truth was, she was far too nervous and her emotions in too much chaos to eat, even if she wanted to.

Before Leah had finished even half her juice, Hunter had polished off every bite of food on his plate.

“That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he told her. “From the bottom of my heart and my stomach, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she responded with a smile. “When was the last time you ate?”

“That obvious, huh?” But instead of answering her question, Hunter shoved the plate aside and wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. “Please understand that I’m just trying to figure things out, trying to understand what happened to me and why.”

Leah nodded and in spite of her earlier apprehension, sympathy welled up inside her. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

For several seconds he stared at her, then, as if he’d come to some kind of decision, he began. “When I came out of the coma, I was placed in rehab. My right leg had been badly broken in the accident, and it was almost six weeks before I could walk again without assistance.”

He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “Once I could walk,” he continued, “I was placed in a private room. I was still pretty weak, and at first, I didn’t think about it too much. I mean a John Doe, a charity case, being placed in a private room,” he clarified. “I was just grateful that I didn’t have to share the room with anyone else.” He frowned. “Later, I realized that I was never allowed to go anywhere outside of my room without an orderly accompanying me.

“Anyway—” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “As I felt stronger, I began to feel antsy. I was ready to get out of there so I could find out who I was—find out about my life. But each time I asked the doctor about being discharged, he always came up with an excuse as to why I wasn’t ready. Well, I got enough of that real fast and decided to simply leave.

“Since all I had to wear was a hospital gown, I talked an orderly into getting me some scrubs, and—” Hunter shook his head. “A lot of good that did me. I only got as far as the hospital exit door before they caught me. Before I knew what hit me, one of the nurses popped me with a shot and the lights went out. When I woke up, I was back in my bed with restraints on my wrists and ankles. The scrubs were gone, and I was in a hospital gown again.”

Unbidden outrage and anger at the treatment that he’d received welled within Leah. “Didn’t anyone bother trying to explain?”

Hunter shook his head. “No matter how many times I asked, no one would tell me what was going on, and each time I raised hell, they drugged me. It didn’t take me long to figure out that if I ever hoped to leave that place, I was going to have to play along. I’d have to pretend that I was cooperating. After about a week, they finally removed the restraints and began giving me the sedatives by mouth.”

Restraints…sedatives… Leah frowned, not liking what she was hearing. Until she knew more though, she figured that humoring him would be the best thing to do for now. “So, just how did you escape?” she asked.

“The last couple of nights I was there, I pretended to swallow my pill, and as soon as the nurse left, I spit it out. As long as they thought I was drugged they didn’t watch me as close.”

Hunter paused. He’d seen the fear in her eyes earlier, and since the last thing he wanted was to scare her again, he decided against telling her about the guard outside his door. He’d caught the man half-asleep, and before the guard had realized what hit him, he’d knocked the man unconscious and dragged him into the bathroom out of sight. He’d debated on whether to take the guard’s uniform, but one look at the short skinny man and he’d known that there was no way he could squeeze into the clothes.

“I found some clean scrubs on an unattended utility cart down the hall from my room,” he continued. “With the scrubs on—” He shrugged. “No one paid me any attention. The only door that wasn’t locked was at the emergency-room entrance. Once I found that, I walked right out.”

When Leah shifted in her chair, he could tell she was unsure of how to react to what he’d told her, and he wondered if she would catch his discrepancy about the clothes, specifically the shoes, the one thing he’d glossed over.

As Leah stared into her glass of juice, she tried to digest everything that Hunter had just told her. Everything he’d said, the restraints, the sedatives, all of it only served to confirm her suspicions about him being held in the hospital mental ward. There were also huge discrepancies in his story about escaping. Mental wards had locked doors, and patients didn’t just wander around at will. He wasn’t telling her everything, and every instinct within cried foul. Something just didn’t add up.

“You’re right about one thing,” she finally said, looking up at him. “We do need to find out more about what happened to you and why.” And I need a little time to do some checking around, she added silently. If she could determine exactly which hospital in Orlando had treated him, then maybe she could get some answers. But first she had to figure out how to do so without Hunter knowing that she was checking up on his story.

When Hunter reached up to cover a yawn, Leah figured she’d been handed the perfect opportunity.

“For right now though,” she told him as she stood, “in my professional opinion, I think what you need even more is rest.” She picked up his plate and juice glass. “If you’d like, you can take a nap on that bed in the first bedroom down the hall. Then, when you’ve rested some, we can figure out where to go from here.”

Hunter yawned again. She was right about him needing rest, and the fact that she’d said “we” was certainly encouraging. Did he dare hope that she believed him?

“I am tired,” he admitted. Tired didn’t begin to explain how drained and exhausted he felt, and since he had no money, nowhere else to go and no one else he could trust for the time being… “Maybe just a short nap—if you’re sure that’s okay?”

Leah nodded. “That’s more than okay with me.” She walked over to the cabinet, where she paused. “Tell you what though,” she said. “Why don’t you nap in the bedroom at the end of the hall, instead of the front bedroom? It’s a lot quieter back there. Less street noise.”

There would also be less chance of him overhearing any phone conversations she had. She placed the dirty dishes in the sink, then motioned toward the hall door. “We’ll talk more after you’ve rested.”

Once Hunter had disappeared around the hall doorway, at the last minute, Leah remembered that she hadn’t yet made up her bed that morning. Too bad, she finally decided. As he’d said, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Leah frowned as she wiped off the table. But Hunter wasn’t a beggar, not by a long shot. She transferred the dishes in the sink to the dishwasher. He was her husband, and from the looks of him, he wouldn’t care if there were clean sheets on the bed.

Glancing around the kitchen, Leah began what she’d always called busywork. Wiping the stovetop, the counter, and cleaning the glass front of the oven and microwave. She wanted to give him plenty of time to get to sleep before she began making phone calls.

When Hunter entered the bedroom at the end of the hallway, he immediately realized that it belonged to Leah. For one thing, the bed was unmade.

As he stood, staring at the sheets, just the thought of climbing into the bed that she’d slept in did funny things to his libido. Surely he wouldn’t be feeling this way unless there was a good reason, which, in turn, made him more certain than ever that she hadn’t been exactly truthful about their so-called friendship.

Then, another thought occurred to him. If she’d been untruthful about their relationship, she could be lying about other things as well. What if she was using the same trick he’d used at the hospital? What if she was just lulling him into a false sense of safety so that once he was asleep, she could call the police to come get him?

Get a grip, man. If she’d meant to call the cops on him, she could have easily done so while he was in the shower. Hunter shook his head. Too many days of plotting and planning his escape from the hospital had taken its toll, and he was seeing a conspiracy in everything. Again he reminded himself that at some point, he had to trust someone, and right now, Leah was the only game in town.

Hunter stared at the doorknob. Too bad there wasn’t a lock on the door, but the doorknob, like the house, was old, the kind that required a key.

Near the bed, Hunter pulled off the knit shirt, unsnapped and unzipped the jeans and shucked them as well, then climbed into bed. As he lay his head on the pillow, a musky flowery scent filled his nostrils. The scent felt familiar and safe. Was he imagining things, or was it a memory?

Hunter closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Whether imagined or a true memory, he was too dog-tired to worry about it.

Leah eyed the doorway leading to the hallway. She needed to put some clothes on instead of walking around in her pajamas and housecoat. And she needed a shower. And since she’d sent Hunter off to her bedroom, there was no way she could get into her closet without disturbing him, and disturbing him was the last thing she wanted at the moment.

Leah stood in the middle of the kitchen, debating what to do next, when suddenly the solution to her clothing problem came to her. Maybe, just maybe, there was something in the laundry room that she could wear. If she remembered right, she’d neglected to put away the last load of clothes she’d dried.

In the laundry room, she rummaged through the dryer. Sure enough, she found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Both were faded and wrinkled, but too bad, she thought as she headed for the bathroom. Wearing faded wrinkled clothes was the least of her problems at the moment.

When Leah entered the bathroom, she paused, her hand on the doorknob as she debated whether to leave the door ajar or lock it. But just thinking about being locked up in the small room was enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. For as long as she could remember, being in a small, closed-up space was a surefire guarantee that she would have a panic attack.

Leah pushed the door almost closed, leaving about a six-inch gap. Besides, she comforted herself, if Hunter had meant to harm her, he could have already done so.

She glanced around the bathroom. Hunter had left the room the way he’d found it except for the wet shower curtain and the damp towels and washcloth. Leah’s gaze landed on the small trash basket in the corner. And except for the scrubs he’d been wearing. He’d shoved those into the trash.

She walked over to the basket, pulled out the scrubs, and carefully examined them. “Yes,” she whispered when she finally found what she’d been looking for. Most hospitals stamped their names on the scrubs that they provided to their surgery doctors and nurses. Just as she’d suspected and hoped for, inside the neck of the shirt, stamped with permanent ink, was the name of the hospital, Orlando Memorial. Knowing the name of the hospital would save her a lot of time and trouble, not to mention the cost of making a bunch of long-distance calls.

“Now, that’s strange,” she murmured, noticing, for the first time, the square lump in the pocket of the pants. The lump turned out to be a black billfold, made of plastic that was supposed to resemble leather.

But Hunter’s billfold had been burned in the wreck, so where had this one come from? And why would Hunter have thrown it away? she wondered as she searched through the different compartments.

Leah frowned. Empty. The billfold was empty. Well, duh, what did you expect? Why else would he have thrown it away?

Still perplexed and more wary than ever, she stuffed the scrubs and the billfold back into the trash basket. The answer had to be that he’d stolen it. He’d needed money, and with no available resources, he’d resorted to taking what he needed. But from whom? And what had happened to the person he’d stolen the billfold from? A shiver ran up her spine. Just one more reason to proceed with caution, she decided.

From experience, Leah knew that it usually took about thirty to forty minutes for her to brush her teeth, shower, wash and dry her hair, and dress. By the time she’d dried her hair and was pulling on clean underwear and the jeans, she figured that she’d given Hunter plenty of time to fall asleep. There was just one problem, she thought as she glared down at the front of the jeans. She couldn’t snap the jeans and still breathe.

With an oh-well shrug, she zipped up the jeans as far as they would go and left the snap undone. Once she pulled on the T-shirt, she gave a soft sigh. The T-shirt was midhip length, just long enough to cover the unsnapped, half-zipped jeans.

She glanced at her profile in the full-length mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door, and sighed again. Due to her body build and in spite of her slightly swollen abdomen, with loose clothes on, she didn’t look pregnant yet. Even so, her clothes were getting a bit too snug for comfort, and it wouldn’t be long before she would have to buy maternity wear.

The only way that Hunter would know that she was pregnant was if he saw her naked. Even then, he might think she was simply out of shape or a little overweight.

Just the thought of Hunter seeing her naked sent a wave of both apprehension and desire rushing through her. Lying to him about their relationship was bad enough, but how would he react once he realized she was pregnant?

Leah turned away from the mirror. Best not to think about it for now. There was no point. Until she knew more about what had happened to him, she didn’t intend to get that close. No matter how much her body wanted him.

Once Leah had straightened the bathroom, she stepped into the hallway and stared at the door leading to her bedroom. Hunter had closed the door, but was he asleep yet? Only one way to make sure.

For the most part, her bare feet were noiseless on the wooden floor, but the house was old, and there were places where the floor creaked. Though she tried to avoid those spots, completely avoiding them was impossible. Each time the floor creaked, she froze, her ears straining for the slightest sound coming from the bedroom. When she finally reached the bedroom door, she held her breath, slowly turned the doorknob then eased the door open just far enough to see inside.

Only when she saw that Hunter was indeed asleep did she dare breathe again. He was on his back with his arms thrown out to the side, his chest bare, and he was breathing deeply and evenly. As her gaze settled on his bare chest then moved lower to where the sheet just barely covered his hips, a quiver surged through her veins and her mind burned with the memory of the last time they had made love. Knowing that he was naked in her bed sent another familiar ache of desire surging through her.

Momentarily paralyzed by the depth of her feeling, Leah eased the door shut again. But even with the door shut, the old adage “out of sight, out of mind” didn’t work, and it was several moments before she could finally force her limbs to do her bidding.

Back in the kitchen, she went straight to the telephone, called directory assistance and asked for the phone number of the Orlando Memorial Hospital. The sooner she found out what she needed to know, the sooner she would know for sure exactly what had happened to Hunter.

Once she’d scribbled down the number and disconnected the call, she hesitated long enough to come up with a plan of action. As a nurse, she knew that getting any information about a patient without that patient’s privately assigned patient number was out of the question, a long shot at best, because of HIPA, the Hospital Informational Privacy Act.

Long shot or not, she had to try. Taking a deep breath, she punched out the number. “Admissions, please,” she told the woman who finally answered her call. After several moments she was finally connected.

“Admissions,” a woman’s voice answered. “Virginia Cole speaking. How may I help you?”

At least Ms. Cole sounded friendly enough, which would make her inquiry easier than it might have been.

“Yes—hello, Ms. Cole. Any help you could give me would certainly be appreciated. My name is Leah Johnson, and I’m with Charity Hospital in New Orleans, Louisiana. We’ve just admitted an amnesia patient who claims that he was recently a patient at your hospital. We’d like to start procedures to have a copy of his medical records transferred.”

“What’s the patient’s name and his patient number?”

“He says his name is Hunter Davis,” Leah told the woman. “But he doesn’t remember his patient number, and of course there’s no way we would know it. He said he had been at your hospital a number of months. He was a victim of an automobile accident and he also says that he was in a coma for a couple of weeks.”

“I’m sure you realize that I really can’t give out patient information without the number or proper authorization.”

Leah drummed her fingertips against the kitchen countertop. “Yes, I do realize that, but these are special circumstances. The man has amnesia.”

“Well, I suppose I could check with my supervisor. Can you hold a minute?”

“Yes, I’ll hold.”

While Leah waited, she kept her ears tuned to any noise that would indicate that Hunter had awakened.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the phone clicked in her ear. “Ah—Ms. Johnson? You still there?”

“Yes,” Leah answered.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Johnson,” the woman said. “But we can’t help you.”

Leah’s fingers stilled. Though it was just a gut feeling, there was something in the carefully controlled tone of Virginia Cole’s voice that set off warning bells, a guarded reticence that hadn’t been present when Leah had first asked about Hunter.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely sure,” was the woman’s emphatic answer. “Sorry.”

But Leah wasn’t the type to give up easily, especially with so much at stake. “Well, can you at least tell me if any John Doe’s were admitted about that time?” she asked.

“No, I can’t,” the woman retorted in a flat tone that brooked no argument. Then, without further explanation or even so much as a goodbye, the woman promptly disconnected the call.

“Well, thanks for nothing,” Leah muttered to the dead line. But as she slowly hung up the receiver, her mind raced.

In spite of the woman’s refusal to cooperate, she had proof that he’d been there. How else could he have gotten the scrubs?

Leah turned away from the phone. There was an answer, but it wasn’t one she liked or wanted to dwell on. The only other way he could have gotten the scrubs was by stealing them. But even that answer only conjured up more questions. Why would he have bothered to steal someone’s scrubs in the first place unless he’d been in a position where he’d needed clothes? And the only reason he would have needed clothes was if he’d been a patient in a hospital.

Hunter didn’t want to wake up, but no matter how hard he tried to ignore the building pressure in his bladder, further sleep was impossible.

With his eyes still closed, he groaned and pushed himself to a sitting position. He reached up, rubbed his eyes, and finally opened them. Then, he went stone still.

“What the hell?” With a fierce scowl, he glanced around the unfamiliar, spacious bedroom that was decorated with lace and ruffles. Definitely a woman’s bedroom. But what woman?

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and as he glanced around the room, searching for something, anything, that might give him a clue, his gaze found and rested on a framed photo on the bedside table.

In the photo were two women. One was an attractive older, woman who was probably in her seventies, but it was the other one, the younger woman, that snapped his memory into focus. And along with recognition of the woman, all the doubts and confusion he’d experienced over the past weeks surged through him with a vengeance.

Leah Johnson…the woman he’d seen in his flashbacks…his so-called friend.

Beside the photo was a clock radio, and the digital dial showed that it was 4:00 p.m.

Hunter shook his head in amazement. He’d slept like a dead man for over eight hours, a record for him. No wonder his bladder was about ready to burst.

He dragged himself to the edge of the bed, but when he stood, he did so cautiously. His leg was stiff. From experience, he knew that once he began moving around, it would loosen up.

On the floor beside the bed, exactly where he’d left them, were the jeans and shirt that Leah Johnson had provided. Hunter stepped into the jeans, snapped and zipped them, then pulled the knit shirt on over his head. As he approached the bedroom door, too many days of looking over his shoulder and expecting that any minute he’d get caught made him wary. He tilted his head and listened, but all he heard was the hum of the central air conditioner.

With a shake of his head and a sigh, he eased the door open. The most opportune time for someone to grab him would have been while he was sleeping. Since no one had, it stood to reason that no one was waiting for him to wake up so they could pounce on him.

The hallway was empty, and as he made his way to the bathroom, he listened for any sound that would tell him where Leah was in the house, or even if she was still there.

As he entered the bathroom, he heard the distinct rattle of dishes and caught a whiff of food. Realizing that she was in the kitchen made him aware of just how hungry he was. How long? he wondered. Just how long would she be willing to extend her hospitality? And if she didn’t, then what?

He could always try to contact the New York City Police Department, and he would…eventually. But without money or transportation, his options were limited. Besides, his gut feeling told him that the woman named Leah had all the answers he needed.

The toilet flushing was the first warning Leah had that Hunter was awake, and she tensed as she stirred the pot of soup on the stove top.

Though he hadn’t made a sound, when she ventured a glance over her shoulder, he was standing just inside the kitchen doorway. Deep lines of concentration creased his forehead.

He motioned toward the stove. “Whatever that is you’re cooking smells out of this world,” he said, stepping farther into the room.

In spite of her feelings of trepidation, a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “I call it ham-bone vegetable soup. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to have a bowl.”

An hour and two bowls of soup and a thick ham sandwich later, Hunter groaned, then shoved back from the table and stood. “My memory might be out of whack, but there’s nothing wrong with my appetite. That was good. But you should have stopped me after the first bowl.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed—”

The sharp rap coming from the front door interrupted Leah midsentence.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Hunter demanded.

Leah shook her head. “No, not really.” Trying to ignore the tense wild look in Hunter’s eyes, she tried placating him. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is.” She turned and headed toward the hallway. Before she’d taken two steps, Hunter grabbed her arm, then stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door.

“I don’t know how, but they might have tracked me down,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t let on that you’ve seen me or that I’m here… Please,” he added. “I’m trusting you. I can’t be locked up again, not without first finding out why.”

For several moments Leah stared at him. The wild look in Hunter’s eyes, along with his paranoia, was a stark reminder of just how little she knew about him. It also reminded her that there was a good chance that Hunter had been locked up because he was a mental patient.

Leah covered his hand with hers. “You’re safe here,” she told him. “You can trust me.” But even as she uttered the lie, guilt for the other lies she’d told him reared its ugly head.

Another sharp rap echoed throughout the house, and after a moment, Hunter finally nodded and released his hold on her.

From behind the heavy curtain that draped the front window in the parlor, Leah peered out at the two men who stood on the porch. Both had short, military-style haircuts, and both were dressed in suits and ties. Other than the fact that one was just a bit taller, and one had dark hair and the other one was sandy-haired, they could have been cookie-cutter look-alikes.

Whoever they were, Leah had an uneasy feeling that they weren’t there for a social call. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Hunter was out of sight, she walked to the front door. Once she was at the door, she called out, “Who is it?”

“FBI, ma’am,” one of the men answered. “Open up. We’ve got a search warrant.”

Stay calm…don’t panic. “Just a second, please.” Leah slipped the slide bolt of the chain lock into the doorplate, then opened the door as wide as the chain allowed.

“I’d like to see some ID,” she said. “And the warrant,” she added.

The taller, dark-haired agent flipped open a badge and held it up to the narrow opening of the door.

The badge looked authentic enough, but of course she’d never had reason to see an FBI badge, so there was no way for her to know if it was real or fake. Then he slipped a paper through the opening.

Leah glanced over the paper, and once she saw that it was a warrant to search the premises and she recognized the name of the local judge who had signed it, she decided that the warrant and the agents had to be authentic.

“Ma’am, I’m Agent Lance Martin, and this is Agent Ray Harris.” He motioned toward the sandy-haired man. “Open the door. We need to talk to you.”

“About what? And why do you need to search my home?”

“This is about Hunter Davis,” he said.

The uneasy feeling she’d had a few minutes earlier grew. Leah took a steadying breath as she fought to keep her panic felt from showing on her face.

For several moments she simply stared at the man, trying to buy time. Where was Hunter? she wondered, fighting the temptation to look over her shoulder. Even more important, was he within earshot? If the FBI was there looking for him, he’d be caught for sure. Then another thought suddenly occurred to her. The FBI would also know that she was married to him. What if they said her full name?

“Why are you looking for Hunter?” she demanded.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you.”

“Then just go away,” she told him. “Hunter is dead.”

“Afraid we can’t do that, ma’am. We have good reason to believe that he’s alive, and that you know he’s alive. We also have reason to believe that he’s here in this house. One way or—”

“How do you know that?” she retorted. “Just what makes you think he’s here?”

“We have our sources, ma’am. Now open up. We don’t have a lot of time, and one way or another, we’re coming in. It’s up to you whether we do it peaceably or by force. If you don’t let us in, we can and will break down the door.”

Leah’s heart pumped double time beneath her breasts. She was between a rock and a hard place and had no choice. As she unlatched the chain, she silently cursed her trembling fingers. Glaring at first one man, then the other one, she opened the door.

“This won’t take long, ma’am,” the agent named Ray Harris told her as he and the other agent pushed past her. When both men whipped out guns from the holsters beneath their jackets, a hard fist of terror lodged in Leah’s stomach.

Ray turned and headed for the hallway. “I’ll check back here,” he told the other agent, “while you check through there.” With his head, he motioned toward the door on the opposite side of the room.

Leah stood frozen, her heart racing, as the dark-haired agent disappeared through the doorway and the sandy-haired agent crept toward the hall. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Where was Hunter? Surely he’d overheard what the agents had said, and surely he’d had sense enough to escape through the back door.

The second Ray Harris turned the corner into the hallway, Hunter jumped him, and Leah screamed.