Secret Delivery. Delores Fossen

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      This was certainly a complication Alana hadn’t expected. That guard had some nerve to report his car stolen after he’d held her captive. And better yet—to call her armed and dangerous. The guard had been the one with the gun.

      “I did steal the car,” she admitted. “But I had to. They were holding me captive.”

      “They?” It was his cop’s voice. Laced with skepticism and authority.

      “A guard and a nurse. I don’t know their names, but I can describe them.” Well, she could if she didn’t pass out first. “They held me at a house in the woods for…a long time. But I escaped.”

      “How’d you manage to do that?” He didn’t believe that, either. She could tell from his tone.

      “I spit out some of the meds they always gave me at night. And I pretended to fall asleep. Then I sneaked out of my bedroom, grabbed the guard’s keys and ran. I drove away before he could stop me. But there must have been another car somewhere on the grounds, and he used it to come after me.”

      Jack Whitley made a sound that could have meant anything. “I need you to turn around and place your hands flat against the wall.”

      “You’re arresting me?” She clamped her teeth over her bottom lip to keep it from shaking. Too bad she couldn’t do something to stop the rest of her body from trembling. Mercy, she was freezing.

      “I’m placing you in custody,” he corrected, “until I can get this straightened out. Go ahead. Hands on the wall. I need to search you.”

      Alana had no idea what else to do, so she complied. The painted concrete block wall was smooth against her palms, and she rested her head against it, as well, hoping it’d help her think straight.

      The overhead fluorescent lights crackled on, and she heard him walk closer. “Legs slightly apart,” he ordered. “And don’t make any sudden moves.”

      Alana held her breath while he ran his left hand over her wet cotton nightgown. Down her bare legs, all the way to her equally bare feet. He repeated the process on the inside of her legs and thighs. She made a slight involuntary hitching sound when the back of his hand brushed her there. It was a reminder for her that she wasn’t wearing any panties.

      The sheriff made a similar sound, but his was more of surprise. Maybe now he’d believe that she had truly escaped with literally just the gown on her back.

      “I think you’ve got a fever,” he let her know. “You might be sick.”

      A fever. That might explain why she felt so horrible.

      “Turn around, slowly,” he said, his voice a little gentler now. “We’ll go into my office, and you can sit down. If you’re not feeling better after a few minutes, I can drive you to the hospital and have your temperature checked.”

      Alana did turn, but she kept her weight against the wall in case her legs gave way. She got her first good look at the man she had thought she could trust. Now she wasn’t so sure.

      It was Jack Whitley all right.

      She recognized that midnight-black hair. Those intense gunmetal-blue eyes. He wore jeans and a white shirt with his badge clipped onto a wide leather belt with a rodeo buckle. Definitely a cowboy cop in both appearance and attitude.

      “I told you the truth about being held hostage,” Alana insisted.

      But if he heard her, there was no indication of it. His eyes widened, then narrowed. “Alana Davis?” he snarled.

      “You remember me.” The intense look in his eyes was scaring her.

      “Yeah. I remember you.”

      Too bad she couldn’t recall exactly what she’d done to rile him. And there was no mistaking that she’d done just that. “You helped me.”

      He glared at her. “Eight months ago, I pulled you from your car when you went over the bridge at Mill’s Creek.”

      Yes. Images flashed through her mind. Icy water. She couldn’t breathe. Trapped in her car. She tried to make the pieces fit and finally nodded. “You saved my life.”

      He didn’t take his eyes off her. “And you ran away from the hospital the first chance you got. You didn’t tell anyone why you were leaving or where you were going.”

      Alana didn’t remember that at all. Why would she have done that?

      “Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing, or why you showed up here like this. But it doesn’t matter,” he stated. “You’re not getting Joey back.”

      “Joey?” She shook her head.

      That riled him even more. “Are you saying you don’t remember him?”

      Alana forced herself to concentrate on that name. Joey. But it meant nothing to her.

      “I’m confused about some things. Not about being held captive,” she admitted. “Or you rescuing me from my car eight months ago. I know those things happened. But I think this fever’s making it hard for me to concentrate. ”

      “Right.” That was all he said for several long moments. “I’ll call the doctor and see if he’s still at the hospital,” he grumbled.

      Jack shoved his gun back into his shoulder holster, caught her arm and led her to his office. He put her in the chair adjacent to his cluttered desk, and snatched up the phone.

      While Jack made a call to the doctor, Alana tried to force herself to think, to assemble the memories that were fragmented in her head.

      Had she really left the hospital after Jack saved her?

      “My brother,” she mumbled. Then she groaned. Maybe her brother, Sean, had heard about her accident and had done what he usually did.

      Taken over her life.

      If she’d been incapacitated, he would have had her removed from the hospital. And yes, he would have done that without telling anyone, including the sheriff. Sean wouldn’t have approved of the medical care, or lack thereof, that she might be getting in a small country hospital.

      And had Sean then taken her to the house in the woods?

      Probably not.

      Alana leaned forward so she could lay her head on Jack’s desk. There weren’t many bare spots on the scarred oak, but there was plenty of stuff. A flyer showed a picture of a woman with the word missing beneath her name, Kinley Ford. Several old newspapers. An outdated chunky computer monitor, stacks of files, not one but two chipped coffee mugs, a half-eaten slice of chocolate cake on a saucer.

      She saw the fax about the car she’d supposedly stolen and would have gotten angry all over again if she hadn’t spotted a framed photograph of Jack holding a baby boy. The baby wore denim overalls, a miniature cowboy hat and red boots. Both Jack and the baby were grinning.

      Staring at the baby, Alana reached for the picture, but Jack snatched it away from her and put it into his center desk drawer.

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