Marching Orders. Delores Fossen

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      Hell.

      Anna was pregnant.

      With her eyes brimming with tears, she levered the gun slightly higher. “And now I want to know what you’ve done with my baby’s father.”

      Chapter Four

      Anna’s hands throbbed from the death grip she had on the gun. A dull ache drummed in her head, and her heart. What was left of her breath was lodged in her throat.

      But those were the least of her worries.

      Aches and throbs were nothing in the grand scheme of things. Not when her world had just spun completely out of control.

      She tried to blink back the tears but failed. One slid down her cheek, and she feared others would follow.

      “You’re, uh…” He let out a ragged breath. “Pregnant?”

      Anna nodded, not risking her voice. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. It’d been a secret, something wonderful and precious that she’d hoped to share with Rafe on their honeymoon. Instead, she’d shared it with this man.

      This stranger.

      He reached behind him, fumbled around until he located the bed, then sank down onto the mattress. He groaned and buried his face in his hand.

      “Pregnant,” he repeated. “Judas freaking priest! Why didn’t somebody bother to tell me before now?”

      His reaction confused her even more. He seemed far more concerned about her pregnancy than the fact she’d just discovered that he was an imposter.

      “Who are you?” Anna asked.

      He looked up at her and mumbled some words of frustration. “Why don’t you put the gun down, and then we’ll talk?”

      “No.” She had no intention of letting go of that gun. Not anytime soon. She already felt vulnerable enough standing there in the flimsy gown that she’d put on for what was supposed to be her wedding night.

      Oh, God.

      Her wedding night. And this man was supposed to be her husband. He wasn’t. Anna was sure of that. But it suddenly didn’t matter who he was. Because if he was there with her, then where was Rafe?

      “Is Rafe dead?” She dreaded the question, but dreaded the answer even more.

      He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “I knew this would happen. I just knew it.”

      That didn’t do a thing to ease that ache. “Is he dead?” she repeated.

      “No. Hell no.”

      She believed him. Or maybe she just wanted to believe him. It didn’t matter. Anna latched on to that thread of hope. Rafe was alive, and as long as he was alive, somehow she would find him.

      He opened his eyes, and his gaze snapped to hers. “I have to call someone. I’d rather you not shoot me when I try to do that. Deal?”

      The almost arrogant request didn’t sit well with her. Of course, at this point nothing would sit well except maybe to see the real Rafe come walking through the door.

      “I’m not in a deal-making kind of mood.” Anna raised the gun so he’d remember that she was the one in charge here. “Where’s Rafe?”

      He tapped his forehead. “Right here, darling. And before we start a game of twenty questions, Colonel Shaw needs to know about this, understand?”

      So, Colonel Shaw was in on this—whatever this was. It made the cut even deeper since she’d known him since she was a child. It didn’t help, either, that she was holding a gun on a man who was a dead ringer for someone that she loved more than life itself.

      Ignoring her and the weapon, he snatched up the phone and punched in some numbers. Anna didn’t have time to threaten him again, and from his resolute expression, it wouldn’t have mattered. If this man was some spy, or some enemy combat specialist, then he likely knew that she couldn’t pull the trigger.

      Not with that too-familiar face staring at her.

      It would be like shooting Rafe.

      “We’ve got a huge problem,” he said into the phone, then hung up. “Colonel Shaw will be here in a few minutes,” he relayed to her.

      “I don’t want to wait for him. I want answers now. Why are you doing this? Who are you, and what have you done with Rafe?”

      He began to button his shirt. What he didn’t do was even spare her a glance. “That’s a real long story. Best to put away that gun before you do something we’d both regret.”

      “I won’t regret shooting you if you’ve harmed Rafe,” she informed him.

      He laughed, a short burst of sound, but there was no enjoyment in it. “God, you do love him, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to confirm it. “Believe me, I’m sorry about that. Sorry about the pregnancy, about everything. If I could have done this a different way, I would have. You deserve better than this.”

      Anna pushed his apology aside. “Where is he?”

      She’d meant to make that question sound more like a demand, but her voice crumbled. More tears welled up in her eyes. It was hard to stay resolute when her heart was breaking into a thousand pieces.

      “Please,” Anna begged. “I need to know what’s happened to him.”

      He lifted his hands in a why-me gesture. “I didn’t lie about that.” He tapped his forehead again. “He’s here. I’m here. Things are just a little messed up right now.”

      She shook her head, not understanding. A whirlwind of emotions went through her. Fear. Doubt. Dread. Mostly dread. If this was Rafe, then obviously something terrible had happened. “Did they brainwash you?”

      “Not exactly.” He motioned toward the gun.

      “Look, why don’t you put that down—”

      “Not until you answer me, damn it!”

      “All right.” He stood and crammed his hands deep into his pockets. He didn’t avoid looking her in the eye this time. “You want the story? Well, here it is. My captors used a so-called truth serum. A nasty barbiturate cocktail that did a real number on me and some of my brain cells. It had an unexpected side effect—retrograde memory loss—and the neurologist here at the base hasn’t been able to reverse it.”

      She stared at him, afraid to feel relief that Rafe was alive, after all. “You have amnesia?”

      He angled his head back and grimaced. “No. Well, not in the strictest sense of the word. Basically, I can remember everything except the last year of my life.”

      The last year. Twelve months. That didn’t take long to sink in.

      “We’ve known each other only a little more than a year,” Anna СКАЧАТЬ