Читать книгу A Night Without End - Susan Kearney - Страница 13

Carlie’s head pounded and pain stabbed behind her eyes, yet a sense of urgency forced her to open her eyelids. She needed to…She had to…Had to what?

Where the hell was she? She lay on a sleeping bag inside a fair-sized cave. The mouth-watering scent of coffee tantalized her stomach, which made embarrassingly loud noises.

“How’s the head?”

At the sound of a deep baritone, she craned her neck. Pain shot down from her nape to her back. She gasped and fought through the swirling tunnel of blackness to study the man hovering over her.

Although he’d asked how she felt, he didn’t look particularly concerned. Actually, he leaned aggressively forward, straining the fabric of his shirt, appearing as if he couldn’t decide whether to help her or hit her, but perhaps that was because he was blurry around the edges. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again, willing herself to focus. This time he came in as clear and crisp as a focused camera lens. The combination of his gray-eyed stare, harsh cheekbones and five-o’clock shadow caused her to tremble. Even his thin lips drawn in a tight line seemed judgmental and disapproving.

She had never seen him before. Who was he?

She tried to sit up and discovered her wrists were numb. Clenching and unclenching her fingers, she forced the blood back into them. After flexing her arms, she realized her gun had been removed from her holster, and a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach kicked in. A cop never gave up her weapon.

Something was wrong. And it wasn’t just the odd circumstance she’d found herself in. She was wearing ugly boots, a heavily padded olive jacket and khaki slacks. And cold seeped through her thermal underwear into her bones. Thermal underwear? Where had that thought come from? Her eyes widened as a flurry of snow fluttered just behind the strange man. Snow! It didn’t snow in Tampa, Florida.

“What happened? Who are you? Where am I?”

His eyes, as enigmatic as a wolf’s, darkened. “I already told you—”

“You did?” His words implied they’d already had a conversation. She drew an unsteady breath and tried to remember, but the pain in her head was taking its toll. Why didn’t she know this man? Lord, with those hard gray eyes and the lightning rush of her pulse whenever he looked at her, she didn’t know how she could have forgotten him. He had a fierce way of staring that made her feel like he was sizing her up as prey. Yet he held so still, and she sensed if she made one wrong move, he would pounce.

Damn it. Why couldn’t she remember?

She and Harry, her partner, must have been working a case that had gone down wrong, but she couldn’t recall any details, and a tight knot slowly formed in her stomach. “We’ve met before?”

One eyebrow cocked in skepticism. “You don’t remember me?” he asked very deliberately. “I’m Sean McCabe.”

His icy flash of doubt annoyed her as much as it confused her. “Carlie Brandon.”

“Brandon?” He shook his head and let out a long, low whistle of disbelief. “There’s no need to lie. I’ll try and help if I can.”

Lie? She’d told him the truth. The knot tightened another notch. Yet, despite her memory loss she tried to remain calm. Maybe he wasn’t the enemy.

In the haunting gray light of the cave, she could see a tight expression on his lips, and she realized he’d told her almost nothing about her situation. He seemed tense, a leashed force of taut muscles primed to spring if she made the wrong move. As a frisson of dread swept through her, she fought to keep the rising fear from her voice. “Could I have some water, please?”

When he didn’t hesitate to pour water from a canteen into a tin cup, she sagged against the sleeping bag, relieved. He didn’t seem to want to mistreat her. And when her numb fingers couldn’t hold the cup, he raised it to her lips with a hand that looked as if it had spent a long time in the wilderness. She’d always noticed a man’s hands. Indicating he worked with them for a living, his hands were large, the palms and pads of his fingers callused, the fingers long and without adornment. But then she didn’t need the lack of a ring to tell her this man wasn’t married. She couldn’t imagine any circumstance where he would share himself with a woman.

Although he eyed her steadily, he seemed uncomfortable around her, as if unsure whether to treat her with consideration or hostility. Her injury and weakness seemed to irritate him almost as much as it did her.

The water was cold, surprisingly refreshing, as if it had come straight from the refrigerator. She doubted politeness would soften him up. Still, she tried. “Thanks.”

Her words had no more effect on him than they had on the rocky walls around her. Still, she was aware of his intense scrutiny, the subtle aura of power he radiated as he completed the ordinary task of screwing the cap back onto the canteen and tossing it onto a pile of camping gear.

“I need to know what happened here.” His voice echoed darkly in the tomblike chamber. “Why don’t you tell me your real name—for starters.”

At his words, confusion settled in the pit of her gut. He acted as if he was giving her a test, as if he knew her name and that she’d been lying to him. Had a lunatic taken her captive? He’d said he’d help, had given her water, then sharpened his tone as if she were a habitual liar. For all she remembered, he could have been the one who’d caused the pounding at the base of her skull.

Her inability to recall her circumstances wasn’t just inconvenient but downright alarming. She didn’t recognize the partially covered body just outside the cave. Most likely, she’d been working a case and ended up here, but she hadn’t an inkling where here was or of how to play out her situation. Worse, her partner might be just around the bend, either hurt or injured, and depending on her to get them out of here.

Why couldn’t she remember? “I’m not lying. I have identification in my…”

But she wasn’t in uniform. Wild, speculative thoughts coursed through her. She must have been drugged. Taken somewhere. She reminded herself that Harry must be looking for her. If she could just stay alive, help would arrive. She swallowed hard and forced her gaze to the man looming over her. He looked hard and about two seconds away from doing her bodily harm.

Dizzy from the pounding headache, she was in no condition to fight. Actually, even if she’d been perfectly healthy, she would have been no match for two-hundred-plus pounds of lean, angry muscle. So she had no intention of provoking his anger.

Her mouth was still dry, but she was reluctant to ask for more water, preferring that he keep his distance. “What do you want with me?”

With a don’t-mess-with-me look, he set down the cup beside her and folded his arms across his broad chest. “I want answers.”

“Don’t we all.”

He jerked his thumb toward the mouth of the cave, at the body beneath a blanket. A bloody knife lay next to it. “Why did you kill my partner, Jackson?”

She hadn’t killed anyone. Or at least she didn’t think she had. Her mom had always told her the best defense was a strong offense, so at his accusation, she came out swinging. “How do I know you didn’t kill him?”

“The man was like a father to me. Besides, I’m not the one with blood on my sleeve.”

As his words sank in, she glanced down at her sleeve to the dark stain and shivered.

He was accusing her of…murder. Her mind couldn’t wrap around the thought. Murder? Oh, God. Why couldn’t she remember? If only the pounding behind her eyes would diminish, she might think more clearly.

Like an expert interrogator, he gave her no time to recuperate from his allegation. “And before you lie and tell me you didn’t kill him, you might want to consider that I saw the bloody knife in your hand.”

She had to concentrate, but a black hole in her memory seemed to have sucked away every recollection. “I can’t remember.”

“How convenient, Ms. Brandon.”

He seemed to emphasize her last name with a mocking tone, then wait for her reaction. But how was she supposed to react? She’d told him the truth. She was born Carlie May Brandon and she’d never married, never gone by another name. Had she been working this case undercover and used an alias? But Carlie didn’t do undercover. She was just a uniformed officer who patrolled the streets. Her gaze strayed to the body and skittered away. What had happened?

Think.

The last moment she recalled was stopping a speeder on the causeway connecting Tampa and St. Petersburg. Harry had teased her about letting off the cute guy in the Corvette with just a warning. It had been Tuesday, around 5:00 p.m.

“What day is this?” she asked.

Sean didn’t seem surprised she’d lost track of the days; his expression didn’t change one iota. But then, he looked as if he were carved from the same unforgiving rock that formed mountains. Beneath his full-length parka, he wore a black wool shirt, heavy denim pants and sturdy hiking boots. From his heavy clothing, the cold climate and the camping gear in the cave, she guessed they were in the mountains, someplace up north or out west. Colorado or Canada, maybe.

Wherever she was, time didn’t seem to have much meaning. She didn’t hear the sounds of civilization. No cars, no trains. No police sirens indicating help on the way. Obviously she wasn’t in Florida anymore and could only count on her own resources.

The man standing over her was a formidable opponent. Yet he didn’t seem the usual street criminal. Intelligence gleamed from his eyes, and the set of his mountainous shoulders warned her of his self-control. She doubted she could incite him into making mistakes.

At least he was talking to her. “It’s Saturday,” he told her.

She’d lost four days. Four days. “You’re sure?”

“Very. It’s October 30.”

She blinked when he added the year. No way. He had to be trying to trick her. But his words had been so offhand, downright casual. And what reason would he have to lie? She swallowed hard and tried for a normal tone. “Are you sure?”

He cocked his head, his deep baritone suspicious. “Lose a day?”

Stunned, she blinked hard, fighting back tears. “Near as I can tell, I’ve lost over two years.”

Two years gone, vanished as if she’d never lived them. She had to stay calm, in control of her rising panic. The knock on her head could have caused a temporary memory loss. Surely her memory would return if she just concentrated hard enough.

Ignoring his eyebrows raised in disbelief was easy while thoughts raced through her head like a runaway train. What was wrong with her? It was as if she’d never lived the last two years. Panic surged through her. She had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten here. Suppose her memories never returned? Suppose she had killed Jackson?

Fear clamped around her chest and squeezed. At least she’d retained most of her memories. She remembered her family, her friends, her job. But she’d lost two whole years. And she’d awakened in a cave and been accused of murder. She suspected no one would believe her memory loss, and even if they did, they might lock her up and toss away the—

Stop it. You’re a trained professional. Act like one. Focus on the facts.

She wasn’t completely helpless. She had a real sense of who she was, a cop—not a murderer. If she’d killed Jackson, she must have done so in self-defense. But even as a cop, she’d never had cause to pull her gun.

Still, a lot could have changed in two years. Perhaps she’d made detective or gone into undercover work.

While she remained silent, Sean McCabe stared at her as if waiting for her to admit she’d lied about the partial amnesia. His acute stare told her he was taking her lack of memory personally, and like a dog gnawing a juicy steak bone, he wasn’t about to let her go until he was satisfied.

She wished she could lie, because that would mean she was in possession of her full memory. All her recent recollections were gone—more than twenty-four months’ worth. Trying to force a memory only made her head ache worse. Gingerly she touched the knot. Perhaps when the swelling receded, her memories would return.

Her partial amnesia could have been worse. After all, she remembered her name, her childhood and her parents. She had a job with the police department, a family that loved her and many friends. All she needed to do was find a phone, and even if her memories never returned, they could fill her in.

Slowly her speeding heart calmed. She was alive, and at the moment her accuser didn’t seem inclined to hurt her. She wasn’t even sure if she was being held hostage, but if so, perhaps she could escape.

If his intentions were honorable, if he thought she’d murdered his friend, why hadn’t he called the police? She stared back into the darkened eyes surveying her with a mixture of pity and bridled anger and wondered if revealing her memory loss had been a mistake.

His tone was low, harsh. “Tell me what you remember.”

“About what?” she asked, vowing to give him nothing he could use against her.

“About…us.”

“Us?” That one word rocked her, hinting at a former and possibly a current personal relationship. Although his mountain-man ruggedness was attractive, she was positive they couldn’t be lovers. She felt no connection to him, could dredge up no past feelings about him one way or the other. And yet, a certain awareness zinged through her every time she looked at him. She noticed the way his eyes softened around the edges every time she winced in pain, the way he jutted his jaw at a certain angle when he didn’t get the answers that he sought, the way he held his back to Jackson’s body, as if keeping the man out of sight would lessen the pain of his loss. But as for real memory, for all she knew, she’d never met Sean McCabe before she’d awakened and told him her name was Carlie Brandon.

Thoughts swirling in a muddy haze of confusion, she’d never felt at such a disadvantage. Her lack of knowledge undermined her normal confidence. Confused and hurting, she wanted to close her eyes and sleep until the pain receded.

“Do you remember fighting with Jackson?” he asked softly, too softly, more than a hint of menace and resolve in his tone.

She rubbed her pounding temple, wishing she didn’t feel so vulnerable, wishing for her gun. “I don’t remember fighting with anyone.”

“And no one else is here with you?”

She forced her eyes to stay open. At least Sean was considering the possibility that someone else may have killed Jackson. While thankful for his ability to focus on facts, what she really wanted was his trust. She sensed that once this man made up his mind, he would pursue his goal no matter how difficult the challenge.

She wanted him on her side and decided to use every ounce of her persuasive abilities to prove her innocence. Right now, it would be wonderful if he believed her, but she’d settle for what she could get. “The first thing I remember is you asking how my head felt. I don’t know where I am or how I got here.”

“You’re in Alaska.”

“Alaska!” She sat up abruptly and pain sliced down her neck.

“Easy.” With a big hand on each of her shoulders, he steadied her.

He smelled of cedar and a hint of wood smoke. For a moment she thought he might insist she lie back down. Instead he held her until she stopped swaying and she took comfort in his support. In her injured state, the last thing she needed was to crack her head again. She accepted his help, and yet she sensed the crackling tension in him. Obviously he wanted to find answers to Jackson’s murder as badly as she did.

While she couldn’t be certain whether to trust him, she’d come to the conclusion Sean McCabe would not act with haste. No matter how deep his feelings, he was a man with unusual self-control.

“I don’t remember how I got here. I’m from Florida.”

Her head spun. Her stomach refused to settle. And she wished he’d stop staring at her as if she were an exotic animal in a zoo. “How do we know each other?”

Before he answered, voices and several dog barks from outside the cave interrupted. A new voice echoed through the cave. “Sean! You want us to bring the sleds into the mine or leave them out—”

Three men entered the cave. The first man was huge as a grizzly bear and looked as if he’d never used a razor. His black beard must have been a foot long. He towered over a slender youth who wore neon-green ski gear, goggles on his forehead and five earrings in his left ear. The third man looked ordinary enough, except when he scowled at her, she spotted a gold front tooth.

From somewhere in her mind came a saying about women searching for husbands in a state where men outnumbered women eight to one. The odds were good but the goods were odd. Even with the knot on her head she couldn’t have dreamed up an odder assortment of men.

All three visitors took in Jackson’s body beneath the blanket and then their hostile gazes settled on her. At the anger and accusations in their faces, she wanted to lie back down and close her eyes, but she forced herself to remain sitting upright.

The man with the long beard pointed at her and spoke with a harsh growl. “Marvin said my brother killed his murderer.”

No wonder the man eyed her with such hostility. He was Jackson’s brother. Automatically, she looked for a similarity in features—but she had no idea what the man she’d supposedly killed looked like.

As if sympathetic to her plight, Sean placed himself between her and the intruders and sat on a crate by the camp stove. “I was mistaken, Roger.”

“Hell of a mistake,” chided the man with the gold tooth. “We could have all walked into a trap.”

Carlie kept quiet, her gaze flickering from the other men to Sean, who’d clearly taken charge. He had a stillness about him, a calm that spread outward from his center, which reassured her.

But Roger, Jackson’s brother, was clearly incensed. And while the gold-toothed fellow seemed to find her predicament diverting, the twenty-something kid in the ski clothes looked none too happy with her, either.

The kid tossed his goggles to the ground and unzipped his ski jacket. “Want me to call—”

“Why bring in outsiders?” Roger muttered through his beard as he peered at her with a scowl. “We should string her up right now.”

The man with the gold front tooth turned his head and spit out a stream of tobacco juice. “I’m not hanging no female.”

“There will be no vigilante justice on this mountain,” Sean said with an authority that sliced through the argument and had the men looking at their feet. “If she killed Jackson, she’ll get the justice she deserves.”

The men settled around the stove, forming a circle that closed her out, their argument swirling around her like a tornado. Amid the shouts, an aura of great stillness surrounded Sean. He did not shout. He did not shift from foot to foot or clench his fingers. And he didn’t just take up space, he controlled it.

Exhausted, she lay back in the blankets, bunching the material in her fists. Sean appeared to be in charge and inclined to protect her from the others.

But who would protect her from him?

AFTER TYLER UNZIPPED his ski jacket, he poured coffee, and Sean glanced at Carlie. Although he caught an alert gleam of speculation in her expression, the effort to hold up her head was costing her. Fatigue crept in around the edges of her eyes and her mouth drew into a tight line of pain. She’d clenched her jaw, but after she caught him watching her, she’d forced her features to relax, as if admitting to pain was a weakness. He couldn’t help but admire her mettle. She was strong, this woman, and he’d long ago discovered that strength often hid powerful passions. He couldn’t help wondering what kind of passions simmered beneath her surface. He also wondered if she thought she’d told him the truth.

She required medical treatment, but first, he had to think of the best way to calm down Roger. Jackson’s brother had one hell of a temper. He loved nothing better than a good fight. Next to fighting, he liked shouting, but once he settled, he had a good heart. And he never held a grudge.

Sean wished he could have a few moments alone with the man. From his clenched fists to the tight cords in his neck, Jackson’s brother appeared as if the grief bottled up inside him was ready to burst. But short of a fistfight, Sean had no way to ease Roger’s grief, fearing even a few kind words might set off Roger in front of the others.

Tyler set the coffee back on the stove, but not before shooting Carlie a look of angry speculation. He, too, had liked and respected Jackson, who had been popular among the men, not just because he was an old-timer and one of the partners in the Dog Mush, but because he had the habit of adopting strays, the lost, the lonely, the forgotten. So even the irreverent Tyler held him in high esteem, and his anger at his murderer was fully justified in his eyes.

Sean next glanced at Marvin. His normally gold-smiling visage was tight, as if having difficulty holding his poker face. Sean had his work cut out for him to defuse the men’s anger. Carlie was a stranger; Kesky’s inhabitants held a natural distrust of outsiders that was common in small towns and more prevalent in the Alaskan wilds.

Not liking the way all three men glared at Carlie and fearing their hostility could erupt into violence, Sean squatted back on his heels and accepted a cup of coffee. “When I called Marvin, I thought she—” he jerked his thumb at Carlie “—was dead, too.”

“Too bad you were wrong.” Roger’s dark brows drew together as he stared at his brother’s body.

“Why did she kill Jackson?” Marvin asked, his gambler’s eyes assessing Carlie with an interest that made Sean’s protective urges kick in.

“She isn’t going to tell,” Tyler said with a superior smirk that he probably thought made him appear worldly but instead revealed a hurt young man trying to be brave after the recent loss of his father in a hunting accident. “I’ll bet she’s claiming she didn’t even do it.”

“I’m not sure she did,” Sean said. At his words, the woman relaxed her body and eased her head back onto the sleeping bag.

Roger finally broke the tense silence. “Care to explain that, boss?”

Three pairs of male eyes locked on Sean as if he had the cabin fever that makes a man insane after spending too long indoors during winter. They all needed time to look at the murder more rationally. Calmly, he sipped his too-hot coffee, relishing the liquid as it burned his tongue.

“Those pretty eyes are playing havoc with your thinking,” Marvin said before Sean replied. “There wasn’t nobody up here except the old man and the girl. Who else could have done in Jackson?”

“There isn’t anyone else here now,” Sean stated with cool logic. “But suppose someone attacked both of them?”

“What are you implying?” Roger asked.

“When I first came into the cave, she looked dead. Maybe our killer made the same mistake.”

“Jeez.” Tyler shook his head in disgust. “I’m not believing my ears.”

“Is that what she said?” Eyes narrowing, Roger clenched and unclenched his fist.

Sean kept his gaze on the men, yet he was very aware of the woman on the sleeping bag. She’d been remarkably quiet during their discussion, not once interrupting to defend herself. He couldn’t fault her judgment and he respected her ability to realize that right now, remaining silent was the better part of valor. If she moved so much as an inch, they’d know it. But she wasn’t trying to escape. Instead she stared at him with pain-filled eyes edged with hope.

He softened his tone. “Look, all I’m saying is that Carlie was injured, too. Other possibilities exist. And I want to look into all of them.”

Tyler nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“You aren’t the law,” Marvin challenged Sean without quite meeting his eyes.

“I should be in charge,” Roger muttered. “He was my brother.”

Sean ignored the interruptions. “Jackson practically raised me from a boy. I want to find his killer just as badly as you, maybe more. But I refuse to jump to any hasty conclusions.”

“Seems to me you’re jumping over backward to give the pretty lady the benefit of the doubt,” Roger complained.

Roger should know better. Jackson’s brother was well aware of Sean’s debt to the old prospector. He’d never forget Jackson’s patience as the man taught him to trap, hunt and solve word problems for school. When a restless boy had complained of homework, it was Jackson who had explained the value of an engineering degree, who helped Sean focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past. Sean would never forget the love Jackson had freely given to a homeless boy. Nor would he forget that Jackson deserved justice.

“She’s even got blood on her sleeve,” Marvin added. “What more proof of murder do you need?”

Tyler pointed rudely at Carlie. “What don’t we let her speak for herself?”

Sean stared the kid down. “She has a knot on her head the size of a goose egg. And she can’t remember anything that happened.”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “Wow! You’re saying she’s got amnesia?”

“How convenient,” Marvin muttered. “Ten to one, she did it.”

“We’re not betting on a poker game here,” Sean admonished him.

“You believe her?” Tyler’s boyish voice rose an octave, indicating how upset he’d become as the news of another death sank in. After his own father’s accident, Tyler had become close to Jackson, often tagging along as the old miner hiked the mountain. Tyler would don his skis and tear down the slope with daredevil enthusiasm.

“Yes.” Sean held Tyler’s stare. “I’m inclined to believe her.”

Tyler dropped his gaze and blinked away a tear. “Mind telling us why, boss?”

Actually Sean minded a lot. He didn’t want to reveal Carlie’s identity and that she was Bill’s widow.

If Carlie hadn’t killed Jackson, then the person who had could be after her, too. Sean had known Bill’s work for customs was dangerous, had speculated the car accident that had taken his life might not have been an accident. During Bill’s assignment in Alaska, the men had fished, hunted and shared stories around a campfire. But Bill had been closemouthed about his cases and now Sean wished he knew more. In fact, how did he know that Bill’s murderer hadn’t followed Carlie to Alaska to kill her, too? Jackson may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Until the real killer was apprehended, Carlie wasn’t safe. Sean needed to keep her where he could watch over her, but how? He felt an obligation to protect his friend’s widow until they learned the truth. He owed Bill his life. When a wall of the mine had collapsed, a timber had trapped Sean. With his air running out, he wouldn’t have survived—but at risk to his own life, Bill had crawled back, dug him out with his bare hands, pried off the timber and saved him from suffocation.

Sean always paid his debts.

But how could he protect Carlie if the authorities took her away to Fairbanks? He wanted her close by until she recovered her memory. She had no reason to trust him, a stranger, and he didn’t believe she would stay with him willingly. And he needed to keep her identity secret, even from his friends in this small town where rumor spread faster than bear grease.

An idea suddenly popped into his mind. “I was hoping you all would give the lady—”

“She ain’t no lady,” Marvin protested.

Tyler turned on Marvin. “Let the man finish his sentence, will you?”

Sean stood and hooked his fingers into his belt. “We’ll give her our protection until we find out the truth. Jackson’s killer might be after her, too.”

“That’s some story you’re expecting us to swallow,” Roger muttered.

“There’s something I haven’t told you boys,” Sean said, lowering his voice to appear as if he was taking them into his confidence.

“Well, don’t keep us in the dark. Tell us.” Tyler’s tone rose, revealing his eagerness to hear a secret.

While Sean glanced out of the corner of his eye at Carlie, he did his best to keep his voice steady. “I want you to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“But why?” Roger prodded.

“Because on my last trip into the city, we married. The lady’s my wife.”