Undercover Memories. Alice Sharpe

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      Chapter Two

      While she built up the fire, he told her about waking up on the riverbank in his current condition. It was a struggle to get the words out. For one thing, his head felt as if it was going to explode. And for another, he was tired beyond endurance.

      He didn’t mention the gun, which was still in its holster tucked under his jacket. He wasn’t sure why he was reluctant to tell her. He just was.

      “The second time I woke up I was in the forest. It was almost dark and it was raining,” he added as she handed him a cup of tea she’d brewed on the gas stove in the kitchen. She was a restless woman, or maybe she was just nervous, which, given the circumstances, wasn’t surprising. Still, given the state of his head, he wished she’d stop moving around so much.

      He had a feeling that at any other time in his life, he would have enjoyed watching her move. She was very slim with blond hair cut kind of uneven in a quirky way, falling long over one side of her face. Her ears were each pierced two times, and she wore small stones that glistened in the flickering light from the fire just as the whites of her eyes did. She looked to be in her late twenties.

      “So you just stumbled around until you came to my cabin?” she asked.

      “I broke into another one first,” he admitted. “But there wasn’t anything to eat. Yours looked lived in, so I came through a window in the mudroom. You had food in the fridge and your bed looked too good to pass up.” He paused for a heartbeat. “In retrospect, probably not the best idea to pass out in an obviously occupied place, but my thinking was a little fuzzy.”

      She studied him a minute. “You really don’t know your name?”

      “No.”

      “I have to call you something.”

      “Call me John Doe. It’s as good as anything else. What should I call you?”

      “Paige Graham. Okay, John Doe. What do you want to do?”

      “Sleep,” he said, quite honestly. “Though if you want me to leave, I understand.”

      “I’m not going to force you out into a thunderstorm,” she said.

      “I appreciate that.” He rubbed the back of his neck and did his best not to groan. “How about we put off making further decisions until morning? Maybe if I sleep, my memory will return. You take the bed—”

      “That’s okay. It’s kind of…swampy. You can have it. I’ll take the couch. If you’ll hand me your damp clothes, I’ll hang them here by the fire. And I should bandage a couple of these cuts—”

      He waved her off with a limp flick of his fingers. “I’m too tired to worry about anything right now. You’re sure about the bed?”

      “Positive.” He saw the way her gaze flicked toward the front door. There was no way to keep her from leaving as soon as he closed his eyes. Nor was there any way to make sure she didn’t use the big knife she’d hidden in the desk drawer unless he tied her up, and he wasn’t going to do that. Frankly, at that moment, he didn’t particularly care what she did. He had to sleep.

      He got to his feet and looked into her gray eyes. “Good night, Paige Graham.”

      She almost smiled. “Good night, John Doe.”

      * * *

      THE LIGHTS WENT ON AT 6:45 a.m. Paige knew this because she’d spent the night sitting on the sofa with the cleaver, just in case. At the moment when the lamp blazed, she was staring at the clock, trying to figure out what to do.

      Getting power back made that decision easy. The first order of business was to see if there was anything on the news about an escaped convict or a serial killer. She got up quickly and crossed the room to the small television set that sat inside a hutch. She turned it on and adjusted the old-fashioned rabbit ears until the only channel she’d been able to pick up was clear enough to watch.

      She heard the shower start running, but she kept the volume low anyway. More rain was predicted for today. A woman in New York had won the lottery. Firemen had saved a puppy that fell through the grating into a culvert. Interest rates were up. Unemployment was down. She was about to give up and go start a pot of coffee when the picture on the screen changed to one of a forest. A reporter stood next to what appeared to be an abandoned campsite.

      As Paige listened to the sketchy details, her fingernails bit into her palms. At a nearby park that was still closed for the season, an unidentified man had been savagely attacked. He’d been airlifted to Green Acre and was listed in critical condition and in a coma. Another man was wanted in connection with the attack. His name was John Cinca and he was a bodyguard working out of Lone Tree, Wyoming. Police were combing the area looking for him. A car rented under his name was found abandoned in the park. Another car was there, as well, abandoned, this one stolen. There were no witnesses and the reason for the attack was unclear.

      They flashed a picture of John Cinca on the screen.

      John Doe.

      Paige found herself standing. She had to get out of here! She ran to the door and looked through the window.

      During the night, the rain had turned to snow and left a few inches on the ground. She would leave a visible trail if she attempted to walk away. Her car was right there. She had to get her keys.

      But John was in the bathroom, and so were her jeans with the keys in the pocket. The bedroom door was ajar and opened the rest of the way noiselessly. She all but floated across the floor to the bathroom. That door opened silently, as well. She could discern the outline of John’s body through the shower curtain. Yikes, he was muscular! She grabbed her jeans, closed the door and retraced her steps across the bedroom.

      Once in the living room, she pulled the keys from the pocket and snagged her coat and handbag off the back of a chair. She glanced back at the bedroom door—the coast was still clear although the shower had gone off. Man, why hadn’t she grabbed her shoes? No matter, just get out while the getting is good.

      She opened the door and tiptoed onto the deck, avoiding the plank she’d noticed squeaked the day before. Looking back as often as she looked forward, she made it to the car but chose to unlock it with the key rather than risk the noise it made with the keyless entry button. The door opened quietly and she slipped inside. She left the door unlatched but the car started beeping when she inserted the key, so she closed it, wincing at the thud it made.

      Taking a deep breath, she turned the key while staring at the front door. The car roared to life, but at that СКАЧАТЬ