Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

T he next morning Connor awakened earlier than Zoe and slowly eased his body away from hers, despite how comfortable he'd been holding her. In fact, he'd enjoyed having her snuggled up against him. It felt so right he'd been tempted to take it further, which was what woke him up. No matter if she'd been willing, he wouldn't take advantage of her when she was injured and reliant on him. It wouldn't have been honorable. A man ain't nothin' if he ain't got his honor, Grandpa drilled into him over and over as he grew up. Thanks to his time in prison, he was determined to live the rest of his days getting his honor back.

So, he went to the bathroom, then let Duke out and back in, loaded new wood into the stove, stoking the fire to get going again. He was making his coffee by the time she stirred. Standing by the stove, he watched as she wiggled her way to the edge of the bed, scooting those long legs over the side until her feet touched the ground.

"Want some help?" he asked, fighting the urge to take the choice out of her hands and once more scoop her into his arms. As much as he wanted to do that, he knew she needed to get some sense of control about her body and her world back. They hadn't known each other more than a few days, but he got the feeling normally Zoe was a very independent woman.

"You don't have any crutches lying around, do you?" she said with just a touch of humor in her voice.

"No, but I can walk with you to the bathroom," he said setting his coffee mug on the counter.

She raised her gaze from where she'd been studying her leg and foot. "I guess that's best. As much as I want to believe I can do it by myself, realistically, I might just fall flat on my face."

Without comment, he walked over and stood in front of her, but slightly to her left side, holding his arms out. Her left shoulder would prevent her from getting any strength in that left arm. She was going to need to use her good arm to pull on his body and put most of her weight on her uninjured right leg, and that was just standing.

"I can do this," Zoe said, more for herself than to reassure him. She laid her hands on his arms, took a few breaths, then gripped hard as she pulled her body into a standing position.

Connor braced his legs to take some of her weight and steady her. The trembling of her arms and the way her fingers dug into his skin spoke of the effort it was taking her to remain vertical. "I've got you."

She kept focusing on her feet for a few breaths.

"How's the leg feel?" he asked.

"The pain isn't too bad. More like an old ache. Not sharp or stabbing," she said, lifting her gaze to meet his. She pulled her top lip between her teeth as if fighting the pain anyway. "Not sure how it's going to do walking."

"Well, just take it one step at a time," he said trying not to grin at his pun, just to see her narrow those fascinating eyes at him.

She complied. "Don't give stand-up comedy a try. You'll starve."

There had to be something wrong with him to get such pleasure out of riling her temper. But he got the feeling she couldn't pass up a challenge. He also liked the fire in her eyes and the heat that filled her cheeks when she was pissed off, even the slightest.

Sex with her would be scorching hot.

He shoved that inappropriate thought out of his head. "When you're ready."

"Give me a second."

"The longer you wait, the harder it's going to get to take that first step."

"Had many broken legs, have you?" she snapped. Then she looked down at his arms and shook her head. "I'm sorry. My mother always said I was a terrible patient."

"Cranky?"

"Crabby. Mean. Whiney."

"You haven't been whiney."

She chuckled. "Just cranky, crabby and mean, huh?"

He liked hearing her laugh. It wasn't loud or giggly like some women. More like a warm hug saved for special occasions. Something she didn't do often. "Nothing I can't handle."

"Good thing, you're sort of stuck with me, at least until the snow melts."

He leaned a little closer. "I know what you're doing."

She looked at him. "Just evaluating my circumstances."

"No. You're procrastinating." He stared into those blue eyes, willing some of his strength to her. "You can do this. I won't let you fall."

His reassurance that he was there for her made her eyes well with tears, and she blinked them back, nodding. "Okay. I'm ready."

With a sidestep he moved to her injured left side. Still holding tightly onto his arms, she put her weight on him as she stepped forward with her right leg, then moved the left equal to it.

"There, you did it."

"I didn't fall flat on my face."

"I wouldn't let that happen."

Slowly, she got into a rhythm of one right footstep, move the left even, before taking another until they reached the hallway to the bathroom.

"Okay," he said, stepping in front of her once more. "Let's take a breather. How's the leg doing? Much pain?"

She shook her head. "Same as when I stood."

He studied the tension on her face. "What has you worried?"

"Other than I have a memory resembling Lorraine Swiss cheese?"

"Lorraine Swiss cheese? That's rather specific."

She shrugged. "You know how some Swiss cheese has great big holes in it?"

"Yeah."

"Lorraine looks more like lace. Lots of small holes in various shapes and sizes. That's what my memory feels like. I also like the Lorraine Swiss the best." She let out a disgruntled snort. "See, I can tell you which flavor of Swiss cheese I like, but I can't remember something so important someone wants to kill me to keep it quiet or who the bastard is."

"But you know it's a man," he pointed out.

"Yes. It's definitely a man," she said without hesitation.

"Just one?"

She stared off into space just over his shoulder as if considering what she knew, testing it. "I think it was one man shooting me."

"But?" he nudged her.

"There's something or someone more." She scrunched her eyes.

"Head hurting again?"

"Every damn time I try to focus on what got me in this position, it feels like my head is going to explode."

"Well, let's focus on another problem then."

She blinked and looked at him. "Like I need another one?"

"How are we going to get you down this hallway? We both won't fit going side by side like we did across the room."

"You walk backwards in front of me," she said. "But don't pull on me."

"Got it. You're in charge. I'll follow your lead on this."

She inhaled and slowly let it out. "Okay. Let's go."

Conscious not to pull her with him, he stepped backwards with his left foot and paused. She followed with her right foot, then moved her left and then he stepped back with his right, imitating her pace of lining up his feet before taking another back with his left.

They fell into a pattern, a sort of slow dance.

"If you start humming some waltz music, I'll kick you," she muttered as they moved.

"Idle threats don't work with me," he said, fighting the urge to grin.

She glared up at him as she moved her left foot into place. "I didn't say when I'd kick you, just that I would."

Several more steps and they crossed through the bathroom threshold.

"Wait," she said.

He froze. "We're almost there."

"I know. Move to my left," she said, then added, "Please."

"Since you asked so nicely." He did as she asked, as she shot him that irritated look again.

Before he could ask her what the next part of her plan was, she let go of his arm and slammed her right hand up against the bathroom wall. Shifting her weight onto her arm and hand and slightly away from him, she took another step.

He fought the urge to take control of the situation and tried to be nothing more than a wall on her other side she was holding onto as she moved towards the sink and toilet. It was only four more steps, but Zoe looked like she was traversing miles to get there.

Finally, she grasped hold of the edge of the sink, moved her left leg forward and released her hand on his arm.

"I did it," she said, breathlessly.

"Yes, you did," he said taking a step back and studying her. Sweat was on her upper lip and she was paler than when she'd sat on the side of the bed. "You okay?"

She nodded and licked her lips. "Yes. You can go. I can take it from here."

Dismissed. Trying to remember she was in pain and struggling to get some kind of control over her situation, he ignored the irritation welling inside him at her tone and strode to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "Call when you want to go back."

"I will."

Without another word, he left her alone and went to get breakfast started, praying he didn't find her flat on her face when he came back.

?

Fifteen minutes later. Zoe stood at the sink, staring at her bruised face in the mirror. Smoothing back her hair on the right temple, she studied the scabbed-over crease that looked like a scrape about four inches long. Four inches to the right and it would've been right between her eyes.

An assassin's shot.

How had she not died? Because she'd seen the shooter and moved as the flash from the gun went off. That wasn't a memory. It was instinctive knowledge. Like she'd done it before. Or had been trained to always observe her surroundings and prepared for attack.

Lowering her hair in place to cover most of the wound, she evaluated the rest of her face. The abrasions on her cheeks and nose made her look like she either had a bad rash or a deep sunburn. At lease she didn't have a split lip to go along with the scrapes and cuts this time. She considered that thought. Yes, she'd been in fights before where she got a busted lip and a black eye. Funny, for some reason the condition of her face didn't upset her. She'd never considered her appearance for vanity's sake—another fact about herself she was sure of. How she looked was more a necessity for whatever job she was doing. Part of a disguise.

She paused. Was that why she had such trouble remembering who she was, because she pretended to be so many different people?

The ballroom was a nightmare. Floor to ceiling glass windows looked out into Washington, D.C.'s nightline. Giant glass snowflakes hung from the ceiling of the giant room. Glass sculptures and Christmas trees filled the floor and table spaces. If that wasn't problematic enough, many members of the country's elite milled around the room. Congressmen and senators—both reelected and newly elected—cabinet members, judges, military leaders, and campaign donors. Even some celebrities who were more outspoken in politics were in attendance for one of the many inauguration balls for celebration of the first ever female president.

Unlike those who were here to be seen, she had a job to do.

Clutching the arm of the man beside her—her two-inch spiked heels making her even in height with him—she scanned the room as they walked down the steps into the room, looking for…Luke and the tall, beautiful brunette dancing with him, the senator's ward that Adrian Bricker, the arms dealer she was currently acting as bodyguard for, wanted to meet.

The image shifted.

Still dressed in the skin-tight, sequin-studded gown and with a gun in one hand, she kept her other on the back of Bricker's shoulder, slightly pushing him down the stairs. Gunfire sounded above them as they all followed Luke and Abby to the basement of the hotel.

They waited quietly, something for which she'd threatened to shoot Adrian herself if he didn't stay mute, until the coast was clear for them to leave the stairwell. Her cousin was trying to save all of them. Luke was like that. She, however, had her own agenda and it wasn't to let Adrian Bricker fall into the hands of the FBI, DHS or even the local cops, which would blow her cover as a bodyguard, until she had the name of his supplier and the location of the stolen missiles he was trying to sell. Both of which might lead her to the whereabouts of her mentor, Markus Louden.

The image changed again.

She and Bricker stepped through the hole in the cement wall of the hotel into the abandoned underground tracks where the terrorists had entered hours earlier.

"How did you know this was here?" he asked, as she grabbed his arm and steered him up the tunnel.

"It's my job to know how to keep you safe and out of sticky situations," she said as they made their way away from the hotel.

Thankfully, he didn't talk anymore until they stepped through a hidden door to one of the Metro stations filled with other people overly dressed for all the balls being hosted about town. Bricker pulled out his phone to call his chauffeur to pick them up at the Metro entrance, then slid his hand down to feel her butt.

Leaning in to kiss his ear like a girlfriend too horny or drunk to care who saw them lusting after each other in public, she whispered in his ear. "Get your hand off my ass, or I'll shoot you right now."

She blinked, the visions clearing. She was back in the bathroom of Connor's cabin.

Okay. She might play different roles while working undercover with slime balls like Bricker, but apparently, she was a badass, who didn't let men push her around.

Except Connor.

Yes, he'd left her alone in here when she demanded it, but she had a feeling he wouldn't have left her no matter how bitchy or insistent she was unless he believed she'd be okay. The man carried her down a mountainside, for crying out loud. No way would he let her get hurt under his watch. He might've served time in prison—something she was going to have to investigate at some point—but he was a natural protector.

"You're not some little wimpy woman who lets any situation get the better of you," she told the bruised and battered woman staring back at her in the mirror. "You're smart. You're strong. Time to get it together and figure this problem out."

Using the wall to help her, she made her way across the bathroom to the door, took a few deep breaths, and called out. "Connor!"

She opened the door and there he stood, leaning against the wall, his massive arms folded over his chest.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked, holding tight to the doorknob.

"Long enough to hear your little pep talk to yourself," he said, and thankfully didn't smirk. Not that she'd seen him smirk, but if he did, she'd have to kick him, and she was having enough trouble staying vertical as it was. "Want me to carry you back, or you think you can do it on your own?"

"I'd like to try on my own, if you don't mind walking backwards in front of me again." She hated having to admit she might need help, but the reality of the situation was she was far from being able to do things completely on her own. Connor was the most dependable person in her world.

He pushed away from the wall and turned to face her, studying her intently, to the point of irritation. Then he nodded and took a step backwards. "I can do that."

Bracing her right arm against the wall, she let go of the bathroom door and pressed her left arm against the opposite wall of the hallway. Determined to at least do one step on her own, she took a right step forward, letting her uninjured right side take most of the weight until she had her left foot even.

"That's one," Connor said, and she shot him a drop-dead look.

"You're not going to count each step."

He took another backwards one. "Yes, I think I am."

"That wasn't a question," she muttered making her second step, knowing just how to not put too much weight on her left side.

"Two."

She paused to glare once more. "Seriously?"

"Yes. I can clear this hallway in like four strides. You need to know how many it will take you going in this fashion." He moved again, passing one of the closed doors. He opened it halfway.

"Why did you do that?"

"You can grab the frame with your left hand and take some of the strain off that shoulder."

"Ah, good idea," she said, doing just as he suggested. Holding onto it and letting her muscles adjust to her new posture, she peeked in the room. There was an unmade double bed with a quilt folded on top and two pillows stacked on it, a dark wooden antique dresser stood against the wall and a rocking chair sat in the corner beneath the window.

"Your room?" she asked, taking the time to stand still and let the muscles of her leg adjust to supporting her.

"My grandparents. Mine was across the hall," he said, opening that door, too. "They slept together in their room until my grandmother passed away when I was in the Army. Grandpa couldn't sleep in there alone anymore, so he moved my old bed into the front room. Just made sense for me to leave it in there when I came home."

Not knowing any words to add to the conversation, she nodded and stepped forward until she could grasp the other doorframe on her right side. She peeked in to see several sizes of dog cages, two large bags of dog food, shelves containing dog treats, leashes, collars and what looked like fetch toys.

"I start the dogs out in cages as pups until they are house trained. Then everything comes in here for storage."

"Do you ever do two or more dogs at a time?" she asked, taking another step. He continued to move in front of her, just at an arm's length distance, counting each step.

"Tried it once. Utter chaos at first. Eventually, they shaped up. More importantly, I learned a valuable lesson."

"What was that?" she asked as they came to the end of the hallway.

"Nine is your final count from the bathroom to this spot," he said, letting her survey the rest of her journey.

The bed was about three feet away, but her body was telling her it might as well be a mile, she wasn't going to make it there on her own.

She didn't have to ask for help. Connor simply held out his arms for her to grab hold of. Once she had a good grip, he helped her make the last few steps and pivot to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I learned that the dogs needed to be trained alone to learn to listen to their handlers, be dependent on them as a team of two, and not be distracted by other dogs or people."

While she'd been in the bathroom, he'd made the bed and folded down the covers so she could easily get back in. Two of the pillows were propped up so she could sit up, and one of the other two pillows was positioned so her left leg could rest elevated.

"You're not going to let me eat sitting up, are you?" she asked as she took in the setup.

"If you insist on sitting on the edge of the bed, you can."

"But you think I've been on my leg long enough and it needs to be elevated and I'd be stupid to push it too much this first time walking on it."

He shrugged, as if to say she'd read his mind.

"Thank you for at least not verbally telling me I was being stupid," she said lifting her leg and starting to scoot back in the bed.

He gently grasped her lower leg, supporting it as she moved, letting her be in control. Once she was settled back against the pillows, he positioned her leg over the pillow, then bent down to study the splint.

"Look okay?" she asked, studying his thick dark blond hair. It had a bit of a wave and curl to it and she remembered how soft it felt against her arm when he carried her.

"Appears to be holding up. It's not a professional splint or a cast, so we'll need to keep an eye on it until we can get you into town and the doctor can treat it properly." He raised his head and stared at her, holding her captive with the warmth she read in his gaze.

Her stomach picked that moment to growl, breaking the connection.

"Sounds like you're ready for breakfast. You must've worked up an appetite with all that walking," he said, as he went to the stove and picked up one of the plates of food he had warming on the side.

"Oh, more of those delicious biscuits," she said as he laid the wooden plank in her lap once more and sat the food in front of her, her mouth watering at both the sight and smell.

"Honey?"

She blinked at the endearment, then looked to see him holding the jar of fresh honey once more, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, yes, please."

Once he was settled beside the bed with his food, they ate in silence, him occasionally slipping a piece of bacon or biscuit to Duke who lay patiently at his feet.

"He doesn't beg much," Zoe said after half her food was gone.

"He's trained not to." As if confirming that to the hound, Connor reached down and patted his head in a sign of approval for his behavior.

"Why?" she asked, smearing more honey on the second half of her biscuit.

Connor took a gulp of his coffee. "A number of reasons. First, I want him to depend on me or his handler for food. He needs to always follow commands. If he's rewarded for begging, he'll believe he can beg from anyone. He needs to associate rewards for following instructions and achieving goals."

"Like finding someone lost or injured out here?"

"That's right."

"I hope you gave him a reward for finding me."

Connor just tilted his head and stared at her.

"Of course you did." She leaned to the side to fix her gaze on Duke. "Thank you for doing your job and finding me, Duke."

If a dog could smile, the coonhound gave her one with a tilt of his head to match his trainer.

Zoe finished off her food and drank the last of her water, then set the plank with her empty plate and glass to the side of her on the bed. "Do you have any paper and a pen?"

"I live in a cabin in the woods, not a cave," Connor said going to the cupboard and pulling out a drawer. He brought both items over to her and collected the dishes. "What do you need them for?"

"I want to write down everything I've learned about myself. Maybe it will trigger me to remember more. And if I uncover more facts about myself and my past, maybe I'll discover what it was that had me on the mountain road on a rainy night." She paused and gasped. "It was raining that night."

"Yes, it was."

"You didn't tell me that, did you?"

He shook his head. "Not that I remember."

"That's a memory from that night and it didn't make my head hurt." Drawing a line down the center of the paper he'd given her, she divided it into two columns. Then she wrote the fact she'd been driving on the mountain road in the rain at the top of one column. "I'll put old memories or something about myself on the left side and memories about my shooting on the right."

"Aren't you afraid pushing it will hurt your head?" Connor asked as he washed the dishes.

"It might, but I have this feeling it's really important that I remember something. If I don't push myself past the pain, I may not ever remember. And if I don't remember, then something bad is going to happen."

Finished with the dishes that were drying in the rack on the counter—damn, the man was efficient —he retrieved something from the drawer and marched back to the bed, flicking the cover from her left hip.

"What?" she yelped in surprise, trying to flip the cover back over her hip. It was bad enough her leg had to be exposed to the cold.

"Stop," he said, laying big hand on hers and holding up his other to show her the measuring tape. "I need to get a measurement."

"What for?"

He measured her from the top of her hip bone down to heel. "A cane."

"Oh."

He readjusted the quilt and sheet, this time making sure her leg was mostly covered. "I have a few words you should add to your list."

"Really?" she asked, wondering what he'd learned about her.

"Curious. Suspicious. Stubborn."

"I'm not suspicious."

He gave a pointed look at the quilt on her hip.

"Well, I was curious about what you were doing."

"You were suspicious of my intent," he said, holding up his hand to stop her from talking. "And you should be. You're staying in a cabin with a man you don't know. You're injured and vulnerable. Then suddenly, I'm exposing your hip and upper thigh. Yeah, you're suspicious when you need to be."

"Well, for the record," she said, locking her gaze with his. "I was surprised, not suspicious. I told you earlier. I trust you."

"Like I told you before, maybe you shouldn't."

"Too bad, I do."

He pointed at the paper she held. "Stubborn."

Without further discussion, he replaced the measuring tape in the drawer, put on his coat, hat and gloves, then picked up a small-handled ax he had near the firewood. "I'll be out at least an hour," he said pointing at the antique clock on the mantle. "Please wait for me to get back before you try to walk again." He opened the door and called, "Duke!"

The hound bounded out the door. Connor followed with a firm pull on the door and not another word to her.

She watched out the window as the pair loped off the porch and up the path, the hound heeling at the big man's side.

Connor was wrong. Duke trusted him. She trusted him.

Setting the plank back on her lap, she laid the paper on it and wrote in the personal column curious and stubborn. She'd give him those incites. Suspicious? Well, she'd wait and see.

Next, she made a third column and listed the names of her family she'd remembered so far. Cousins: Luke, Sami. She held the pen slightly off the paper. There were more cousins. Boys. Matt and Dave. She jotted those down. Zach. Two of them. Her grandfather and her brother. Her twin brother. No, there'd been three. Her dad. She wrote those down.

Sarah. Mom. She smiled as she wrote her name in the family side. Her mother had been the most patient woman in the world. Although she wasn't a pushover or wimpy. She meted out discipline when necessary and was consistent, treating her and Zach the same, the only difference was Zach didn't push the boundaries. She always did. Always tried to see how far she could go and not break the rules or break the rules for good reasons.

Determined. She added that to the other column under stubborn.

Abby from the winter ball that went bad. She married Luke. Both worked undercover for the government—Homeland. Yeah, that's where they worked.

A flash of light from on-coming headlights shot through the inside of the converted van to show the faces of the other members of the team. She'd contacted Luke and Abby, hoping they could get someone at Homeland to infiltrate the party tomorrow night. Instead, they'd showed up with the guy Castello she'd met at the inaugural ball fiasco, Castello, and some guy named Carlisle.

"Who are these guys?" she asked Luke, glaring at him like she had when they were kids and he ratted on her to their parents.

"You've met Frank Castello, a former Deputy U.S. Marshal," Luke said, then pointed at the other man. "This is former FBI agent Jake Carlisle, Sami's husband. They run EIS, Edgars Investigative Services, a private investigation group that works outside the boundaries of the government."

"I needed someone official for this Lucifer," she said, using the nickname she'd given him as a kid that he hated.

He glared at her. "You asked for help. Someone who could act quick and discreetly. Someone to keep you out of the limelight on the takedown. Got news for you cousin, the government is neither quick nor discreet. You know that or you would've asked your own people for help." He paused and leaned in a little closer. "Who do you work for again?"

She gave him a shrug. "Can't tell you."

Zoe blinked to clear the memory. It was connected to the earlier one she'd had with Abby in the fancy bathroom, so she knew how it ended. Things were starting to coalesce in her head. Now if she could just remember what sent her up a mountain road on a rainy night.

She added Jake and Castello's names to her people side of the paper, listing what government agencies they'd both worked for, then glanced at the clock. Connor and Duke had only been gone half an hour. What she'd give to be able to go on a hike in the snow with the pair. As she stared out the window, water dripped from the icicles clinging to the edges of the porch roof. It must be getting warmer. How long until the road to town was cleared and Connor would take her to the doctor in town?

And how long until whoever tried to kill her came looking for her?