Frozen Memories. Cassie Miles

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СКАЧАТЬ Going into the hospital meant admitting defeat. She needed to convince Spence that she was okay, and they should get back to work. “I’m fine.”

      “Do you remember dinner?” he asked.

      “Of course, I do.”

      “Prove it.”

      Dinner at the home of General and Mrs. Thorne with one outside guest followed a certain ritual. Angelica, along with her brothers and sister, had attended hundreds of Lana’s simple but elegant dinners. This one wouldn’t be much different.

      “The centerpiece on the table was made of pinecones painted orange and blue...” It was football season, and her father was a season ticket holder. “In a salute to the Denver Broncos.”

      “What did we talk about?”

      She knew this one: the primary topic for every true Bronco fan. “We discussed the quarterback. Elway was mentioned.”

      Spence nodded, and she brightened. I’m going to get away with this. She continued, “Mom served Cornish game hens and cheesy potatoes. The pie was pecan.”

      She could tell by his expression that she’d nailed the menu of her mom’s favorite dishes. “Is that accurate?”

      He gave another terse nod. “Do you remember why we’re here?”

      She took a leap of logic. He was FBI; she was NSA. He had come looking for her. “We’re on assignment together.”

      “I still want you checked out,” he muttered. Then he looked toward Pastor Clarence. “Can you give me a ride to my car?”

      “Sure, but I need to dig out the driveway to the garage. And that might take half an hour or forty-five minutes.”

      “I’ll hike,” Spence said as he started loading his weapons back into their holsters. After he slipped into his parka, he picked up the extra-large backpack and dropped it at her feet. “I brought your clothes, boots and a jacket. While I’m finding the car, you can get dressed.”

      “I’m not going to the hospital,” she said firmly. “I’ll call my dad. He can pick me up.”

      “Not a chance.” Spence forced his words through a tight-lipped grin. “I want General Thorne to like me. That’s sure as hell not going to happen if I tell him how I slacked off on the job and let his daughter get kidnapped. And then, even worse, I have to call him for help.”

      Though Angelica didn’t want to turn to Daddy for help, she considered having Spence rescue her to be equally frustrating. She hefted the pack by one strap and slung it over her shoulder causing a pain that crawled up and down her spine. She held her breath and willed the hurt to stop. She didn’t have time to be injured. She refused to be taken out of the game.

      Spence said she was kidnapped. Kidnapped? That must be why those thugs had her in the van and why he’d been searching for her. “Did they demand a ransom?”

      “No.”

      Well, of course not. Kidnappers wouldn’t ask the FBI for money. “What about my father? Did they contact him?”

      “This isn’t about money,” Spence said. “At least, it’s not about the piddling amount that a kidnapper could demand.”

      She didn’t understand. If her kidnappers hadn’t been after money, why did they take her? “Is it because—”

      He stepped up close, interrupting before she said too much. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder at Clarence and spoke to her softly. “We’ll talk about this later.”

      “But I—”

      “Later.” He took the backpack from her grasp, asked directions from Trudy for someplace private and carried her pack up the staircase and into a guest bedroom. Pillows were stacked at the head of a queen-size bed, and the brightly patterned duvet was neatly made. With the door partially closed so the pastor and his wife couldn’t hear, Spence whispered, “I’m guessing that they kidnapped you because of the computer codes you were working on before we left. That’s the bad news. The good news is that you must have hit a nerve. You’re on the right track.”

      “Would computer codes be worth more than a ransom?”

      “Hell, yeah.” He raked his fingers through his sun-streaked hair. “The weapon codes stored at NORAD can be used to activate, launch, deploy and shut down various missile and satellite systems, mostly for ICBMs. Foreign governments would pay a small fortune for that information.”

      “I got it.”

      “Do you remember the kidnappers or what you told them?”

      “I’m drawing a blank.” What if she’d given up the codes? She might have already betrayed their mission. This investigation might have a real unhappy ending. “I’m sorry.”

      “Once we get back to the hotel, I have a technique that’ll help you remember.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Get changed. I’m going to pick up the car.”

      When he left her alone in the bedroom, Angelica placed the backpack on a cedar chest at the foot of the four-poster bed, which was one of the few surfaces free from knickknacks or photos. She unzipped the main compartment. The soft beige turtleneck, the jeans and the lightweight, superwarm Patagonia jacket were familiar. As she changed into the clothes, she remembered when she’d bought them, remembered trying them on, washing them and taking them out of the dryer. Her memory seemed back to normal, except for recent events.

      It was as if a neuroprogrammer had reached into her skull and erased chunks of her brain. Last night and yesterday were totally blank. Until Spence had explained the investigation at NORAD, she didn’t know why she was here. What kind of computer hacking did she do? Who taught her? And then, there was Spence. He was the most fascinating puzzle of all. She remembered him but didn’t know if they were tangled in a hot-and-heavy relationship or if they were just friends.

      When she raised her arms to slip the turtleneck over her head, her torso twisted and she felt a stab of pain from the big, nasty bruise on her side and hip. Unwilling to admit how truly lousy she felt, Angelica forced herself to stand erect. Wearing her own clothing felt good. Even better, she found a makeup kit and toiletries in the backpack.

      Confronting the mirror that hung above the dresser was horrific. From her snarled black hair to her chapped cheeks to her hazel-green eyes, which were road-mapped with red squiggles, she was a mess. How could Spence even look at her without gagging? If she ever hoped to find out what kind of relationship she had with him, damage control was necessary.

      After she combed her hair, put on lotion and dabbed at the worst parts of her face with makeup, she looked around the guest bedroom. On the top of the dresser was an army of clay figurines that were obviously sculpted in kindergarten classes. And there were tons of framed photos of kids in costumes, playing games, skating and skiing.

      Trudy was the opposite of Angelica’s mom, who kept tidy scrapbooks and limited her displays to formal pictures, such as wedding photos, graduation pictures and framed diplomas. Angelica figured she was more like Trudy, favoring snapshots of kids with dirty faces and stolen moments caught on film. She liked to think that pictures were a good way to capture memories, her memories.

      Eyes СКАЧАТЬ