Memory Reload

“You think I’m married.”

“Aren’t you?”

AJ opened her mouth to deny it, but the words caught in her throat. “I…I don’t know…. It seems as though, if I am married, I should feel something, some sense of urgency to get back. And I don’t.”

“So you’re running from something,” Ryan said. “Maybe it’s not a good marriage. Are you afraid to go back?”

“No. It’s not that. It’s more like…”

“Like what?”

“Sadness. Like I’ve lost something and I’ll never find it again.”

Ryan knew that sadness too well. He could no more ignore the pain in AJ’s voice than he could stop the tide from rising.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, to apologize for the pain his conversation had brought. The need to protect her kept growing.

All he would allow himself was a touch. Only one touch. He tucked her hair behind her ear and traced the line of her jaw with the tip of his finger. The velvet softness of her skin sent a bolt of desire crashing headlong into his best intention to keep his distance…

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

We have a superb lineup of outstanding romantic suspense this month starting with another round of QUANTUM MEN from Amanda Stevens. A Silent Storm is brewing in Texas and it’s about to break….

More great series continue with Harper Allen’s MEN OF THE DOUBLE B RANCH trilogy. A Desperado Lawman has his hands full with a spitfire who is every bit his match. As well, B.J. Daniels adds the second installment to her CASCADES CONCEALED miniseries with Day of Reckoning.

In Secret Witness by Jessica Andersen, a woman finds herself caught between a rock—a killer threatening her child—and a hard place—the detective in charge of the case. What will happen when she has to make the most inconceivable choice any woman can make?

Launching this month is a new promotion we are calling COWBOY COPS. Need I say more? Look for Behind the Shield by veteran Harlequin Intrigue author Sheryl Lynn. And newcomer, Rosemary Heim, contributes to DEAD BOLT with Memory Reload.

Enjoy!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Memory Reload

Rosemary Heim

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rosemary Heim grew up on a dairy farm, attended a one-room schoolhouse, lived in an English castle and settled in Minneapolis. She shares a charming (needs work) old house with her husband and four cats. Rosemary would love to hear from readers. You can visit her Web site at www.rosemaryheim.com or mail her c/o Midwest Fiction Writers, P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

AJ—woke with a camera, a loaded gun and no memory. All she wants is to find her home.

Ryan Williams—FBI Special Agent. Between assignments, he’s returned to this island hideaway for a little R and R.

Jacquelyn Kingston—FBI Special Agent in Charge. She watches over her team members from a distance.

Justin Angelini—He started an investigation and ended up dead.

David Angelini—He picked up the investigation after his brother’s death. Now he’s disappeared.

Jamison McRobbie—Mysterious and gifted, he offers shelter to his friends.

Kimo Kealoha—Photo lab owner and friend to AJ. He seems to have information everyone wants.

Tim Pela—FBI Special Agent. He has a few secrets of his own.

Frank Sullivan—A man pulling the strings behind the scenes.

John Danse, Carly and Matt Adams—FBI Special Agents. Will their help cost Ryan and AJ their chance for a future?

First, last, always,

To Will

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As with many books, especially first books,

there is a plethora of people to thank.

First off, thank you to Susan Litman,

for opening the door and providing gentle

(and patient) guidance on this new journey.

On the technical side, thank you to Maureen Lease

and David Kitchen for answering my questions about the

FBI. Any errors or inaccuracies are due to my

flights of fancy, not their information.

Thank you to Jackye Plummer, Penelope Neri and

Andi Sisco Pike for answering my Hawaii questions

and to Sandy Morris for the medical info.

Kat Baldwin and Karen Sanders, there aren’t words

enough to express my appreciation of your patience

while I learned all those pesky writing skills.

Jade Taylor, thank you for the wonderful title.

Stacy Verdick Case, your “drainstorming”

led to a satisfying A.F. and so much more.

Yea to the power of three!

Thanks to my friends and family who believed

in the dream and encouraged me, to the wonderful

members of MFW, and Rex, the best German shepherd

I never knew.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Ryan Williams ran as if the devil was dogging his tail. Too bad some devils couldn’t be outrun. Like memories of betrayal.

He slowed from his flat-out run. Wave-packed sand gave a little with each step, cushioning his bare feet as he raced along the shoreline. Bloodred fingers of light streaked the sparse clouds as the sun breached the horizon.

Blood red.

The thought raised goose bumps along his arms in spite of the tropical warmth.

Day two of his leave and he hadn’t shaken the images from the last mission yet. Dealing with a traitor was never easy. It became doubly hard when innocent people were hurt. Thank God everyone was going to be okay.

And thank God for well-to-do friends who issued standing invitations. Once again, Jamie’s “guest cottage” offered Ryan refuge, a safe place far away from the Bureau and all its intrigues. The north shore of Oahu was about as far away from Quantico as he could get. He needed every inch of that distance.

His breathing approached normal as he continued slowing down, cooling off from his customary five-mile run. He rounded the small bend in the shore, passing the tall palm trees that marked the final leg of the course he’d laid out four years earlier on his first visit.

He headed away from the ocean, winding through the small grove of coconut palms. He loved the quiet of the beach at sunrise, the solitude, the freedom. It provided exactly the break he needed.

He cleared the tree line high on the beach, skidded to a stop and quickly stepped back behind the nearest trunk. Up ahead, a figure crouched in the sand.

Who the devil was that? Ryan wasn’t particularly pleased with the idea that someone had managed to invade this private stretch of heaven.

A quick scan of the surrounding area came up empty. No other intruders staked out on the beach. No boats in the water. No movement among the trees. No vehicles within eyesight. Not much could have gotten past the estate’s security defenses, even this early in the morning. So how had this intruder gotten so close?

Regretting the absence of his gun, he left the tree cover and crossed down the beach to confront the intruder. The shushing waves masked what little sound his footsteps made.

From behind, he couldn’t tell much about the person except that it was female. Long black hair lifted on the gentle breeze, seeming to defy gravity. He had a brief view of a slender back, narrow waist and softly rounded hips before the breeze died. The hair settled back into a solid curtain.

Oh yes. Definitely female. Interest of another sort stirred.

He adjusted the angle of his approach so he could get a better look at her. It didn’t do much good. An expensive-looking 35mm camera obscured the woman’s face. A large black camera bag rested in the sand next to her. She kneeled, facing the water, motionless except for her fingers on the camera lens and shutter release.

He glanced out over the horizon, searching for what held her attention. Just empty water met the morning sky. The few clouds stretched and shredded colors as the sun rose higher.

Was that what held her attention? That play of color?

When was the last time he’d been so engrossed by something as simple, as innocent as a sunrise?

Probably never.

He stopped a few feet from her and waited for her to notice him.

A minute passed. Then several more. The sun rose higher, breaking free from the ocean. Still the woman kept taking pictures, not stopping until she ran out of film. She never looked away from the rising sun as she quickly rewound the film, opened the camera back and removed the film cassette.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed as he watched her quick movements. It took her less than a minute to reload the camera and begin shooting again.

She must be nuts. All alone on a deserted beach and she was oblivious to everything but the horizon. That was a good way to get hurt. Or worse.

Unless she wasn’t alone. He performed another recon of the beach and nearby tree line. Still empty. All appeared as it should.

He stepped closer. When that failed to draw her attention, he cleared his throat. Still no response. Finally he spoke. “Excuse me, miss. This is a private beach.”

She hesitated long enough to glance in his direction. He caught a glimpse of one pale gray eye edged with thick black lashes as she gave him a thorough up and down. She turned back to her camera and the sun without a comment.

Such a dismissal might have irritated Ryan if he hadn’t noticed other details. She wasn’t as unconcerned as she tried to appear. He could see her chewing on her lower lip and her throat worked around a swallow.

Good. She should be nervous. He stepped closer.

“Thirty-eight seconds. That’s all I need.”

He stopped short as her soft voice floated to him on the morning sea breeze. He checked his watch, noted the sweep of the second hand, marked the time. The old habit, left over from days of split-second, life-and-death missions, hadn’t faded with the passage of time. He made another quick scan of their surroundings. The last thing he wanted was to be the sitting duck caught by this pretty decoy.

She finally lowered her camera, clipped the lens cap in place and returned her equipment to her camera bag. Ryan glanced at his watch. Thirty-eight seconds, exactly.

“As I was saying, this is private property. How’d you get here?”

The woman glanced around. A small frown creased her wide forehead. “I…walked.”

“That’s a fair piece of walking. It’s a few miles from the nearest road. Unless you crossed the estate grounds.” He stepped closer.

She closed the quick-release catches on her bag and stood with a fluid movement. He got his first good look at her and a tiny alarm went off.

Her T-shirt and leggings were black and snug fitting, like something worn to hide in nighttime shadows. The pale skin of her bare feet blended into the sand. Her left hand clutched the wide black nylon strap of the bag over her right shoulder, her right hugged the bag close to her hip. “Then I’d better be on my way.”

A haunted look passed over her finely molded features as she looked around the beach. She didn’t move.

Something was definitely off here. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. Ryan didn’t need Jamie’s psychic powers to feel the waves of panic rolling through her. The need to protect, a need rooted deep in his childhood, rose up, stronger than his government training of self-preservation. He held out one hand and stepped toward her. “I’m staying with a friend. His place is just up the beach. I could give you a lift back to your car if you’d like.”

“No!” She backed up a step. Her right hand slipped into the wide front pocket of the camera bag.

“What’s wrong? I maybe could be of some assistance to you.” He kept his voice soft, calming, letting his southern-gentleman drawl come on thick. That sometimes did the trick when he needed to get around personal defenses.

“No. I…I didn’t mean any harm. I didn’t see anything…. Just…let me go.”

“I’d like to oblige, miss, but my mama raised me to be a gentleman. She’d tear a strip offa me a mile wide if I left a woman on a deserted beach to fend for herself.” He smiled, hoping to reassure her.

It didn’t work.

Her right hand swung up and pointed a pistol in the general vicinity of his chest. “Please, just let me go. Forget you ever saw me.”

Ryan held both hands up, palms out. The gun was a matte black, 9mm Glock. Standard issue for the FBI and many other law enforcement groups. Not only didn’t she have the first clue how to use it, she was terrified of it. Both hands, knuckles white, clutched the grip. The gun dipped and wavered as she held it as far away from her body as she could.

He kept steady eye contact with her, not bothering to watch the gun. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Her shoulders hunched tighter and her eyes narrowed.

“Uh, miss? That gun isn’t going to do you much good, unless you’re fixin’ to throw it at me.”

A frown drew her dark eyebrows together. “You don’t think I’ll shoot?”

“Well, you can certainly try, but the ammo magazine is loose, the safety’s on and your finger’s nowhere near the trigger.” He couldn’t really tell about the mag from where he stood but the last bit, at least, was true. As long as she kept her finger off the trigger. He closed the gap between them with a single stride, wrapped one hand around her wrist and eased the gun from her trembling fingers. “Now, maybe you better tell me what this is all about.”

“Are you a cop?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’? Who are you?” She tugged slightly at the hand still holding her, but she didn’t struggle.

Her skin felt like silk, smooth, and warm. The pulse in her slender wrist raced against his fingertips. He stood too close but couldn’t bring himself to step away and break the physical contact with her.

“You know, for a trespasser, you sure do ask a lot of questions.”

“Wouldn’t you? Alone on a beach, accosted by a stranger…”

“One you just pulled a gun on.” He sighed and the tantalizing fragrance of something soft and tropical blended with the aroma of the sea and sand around them. The delicate scent teased his senses. The wrong kind of curiosity stirred again. He released her wrist and put a little distance between them. “Look, maybe we should start over.”

He tucked the confiscated gun into the back waistband of his ragged cutoff fatigues, dusted his hands clean of sand and perspiration and held out his right hand. “My name’s Ryan Williams.”

She gave his hand a quick shake, releasing it as though she’d been shocked. He sure had been. The quick voluntary contact had sent a tingle racing straight from the palm of his hand to his belly.

“How do I know you’re really who you say you are?”

Ryan grinned and shook his head. She was an intriguing mix of wariness and innocence. His fingers tapped a drum-roll against his hips as he thought for a moment. His grin widened and he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. How’d a picture ID do?”

He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a thin leather case. Flipping it open, he handed it to her. He watched her reactions as she looked at his Bureau identity cards. Her shoulders loosened a little.

“Okay.” She handed the wallet back. “Unless of course it’s a fake.”

“No, ma’am.” He crossed his heart and held up his hand in the old Boy Scout salute. “I swear it’s genuine, certified real.”

She nibbled on her generous lower lip as she looked around. Ryan wondered what her lip tasted like. Sunshine and sea? Awareness zinged across his nerves, warming him at the thought. The silence lengthened as he waited for her to reveal her name.

When it became clear she wasn’t about to trust him with that bit of information, he pulled her gun from his waistband. She took a quick step away from him.

“Whoa, whoa. Take it easy.” He released the ammo mag, emptied the bullets into his palm and dropped them into his pocket. Reinserting the mag, he emptied the remaining round from the firing chamber before holding the gun out to her on the palm of his hand. “Here, why don’t you hang on to this. You really can’t shoot me now, but it might come in handy if you feel the need to hit me with something.”

A hint of a smile rewarded his small jest.

“Do you need a ride someplace? Or is there someone you want to call?”

She shook her head as she slipped the gun back into the camera case. He was caught for a moment, watching the sun dance off the silky ripples of her hair. Her soft sigh brought his attention back to her mouth. Dang, she was biting her lip again.

“You said you live near here?” Her words brought him back.

“My friend does. I’m staying in his guest cottage. Why don’t we go back there, have a glass of lemonade and, if you want, you can tell me what’s going on?”

Her pale gray eyes looked him over. Silence stretched between them as her study extended to their surroundings.

Ryan waited, tamping down his impatience. Some instinct told him it was important for her to make the decision without pressure.

“All right. I’ll come with you, but only long enough to call a taxi.”

“Fair enough.” Instead of pumping his fist in victory as he wanted, Ryan swept his arm in front of himself. “Right this way.”

They headed down the beach in silence. She kept up with him, walking with an easy grace in spite of the soft sand dragging at their feet. He was acutely aware of her slender form beside him, just out of reach, but near enough to keep his senses on red alert.

She was the perfect height, tall enough to tuck under his chin, but not so short he’d get a kink in his neck bending down to kiss her. Hold your horses, boyo. This is not an appropriate direction to be thinking.

The small bungalow, hidden among another bunch of palms, came into view none too soon. He held the back door open for her and she stepped past him. She stopped just inside the tidy little kitchen, inspecting her surroundings.

Ryan made a production of brushing the sand from his feet before stepping onto the clean terra-cotta tile floor, giving her as much time as he could to look around. The more comfortable she was with her surroundings, the more likely she would be to confide in him.

The door clicked shut behind him. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he would have missed her slight flinch.

He stepped around her and moved to the other side of the room. Maybe she’d relax some if he kept his distance a bit better than he had been. “I imagine you might want to freshen up a bit.” He pointed down the hall. “Why don’t you go on through to the bathroom while I get that lemonade?”

She hesitated, her hand clenching and releasing on the camera bag’s shoulder strap.

Ryan cleared his laptop and paperwork from the small round kitchen table, turned away and began opening cupboards, setting out glasses and a plate. He waited until he heard the bathroom door close before turning around. A swift survey of the room confirmed his suspicion. She wasn’t letting that bag out of her sight.

When she returned he was sitting in one of the ladder-back chairs, leafing through a recent Smithsonian magazine. A plate of gingersnaps, a frosty pitcher of lemonade and two tall glasses filled with ice covered the bright yellow tabletop. The second chair at the table turned out, an open invitation for her to sit down.

Ryan sat up straight and tossed the magazine onto the counter behind him. He squelched the urge to stand and hold the chair for her as she joined him.

She slid onto the chair without changing its position. The camera bag settled on her lap, her hands curled into white-knuckled fists around the bag’s handle. She flexed her hands a couple of times, then lowered the case to the floor, looping the shoulder strap over her knee. Her back never touched the chair’s ladder-back. An air of quiet panic swirled around her.

The clinking of ice filled the room as Ryan poured them each a glass. He took a cookie for himself, then pushed the plate closer to her. “Not exactly the breakfast of champions, I know, but I figure it’s got the same basic ingredients—grain, eggs, sugar.”

A fleeting smile answered his attempt at humor.

She took a tiny sip of the lemonade and set the glass back on the table. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “For suggesting I come back here.”

Ryan shrugged. “My mama raised me to be a gentleman.”

Another smile flickered across those full lips of hers. He couldn’t help noticing how they shone with moisture from the lemonade. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, damning himself for noticing every little detail of her appearance.

“She did a fine job. Are you from…” She cleared her throat again. “I can’t quite place your accent.”

“Don’t guess I sound much like any one place. I moved around quite a bit when I was growing up, mostly in the South.”

She nodded and the silence crept back in. Ryan wanted to ask her some questions of his own, but decided to bide his time. Maybe if she asked a few more questions, got to know a bit more about him, felt a little more comfortable, she’d begin to open up herself.

“You don’t live here?” She looked around the retro-chic kitchen.

“No, just visiting. Jamie lets me stay here whenever I have the time.”

“Nice friend.”

“Yeah.” Ryan took another swallow of lemonade to keep from asking her anything.

“Where do you call home?”

“Nowhere in particular.” He shrugged. “I’m kind of a nomad. My job takes me away for extended periods of time, so I’ve never really set up a permanent base.”

“How sad,” she murmured. Her face reddened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Ryan shook his head and waved away her concern. “No offense taken. I just never saw any reason to settle down. Homebody is not in my nature.”

“What do you do?”

“At the moment, nothing. I’m…between assignments.”

“But a government job?” She busied herself wiping the condensation from the sides of her glass.

Ryan nodded and waited for the next question. He had a pretty good idea what it might be.

“So, what, are you a secret agent, or something like that?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” She laughed, a bit nervously he thought. “I guess you probably can’t tell me much more.”

“Not much more to tell. I’m posted to the Office of Professional Responsibility. It’s my job to smoke out bad agents and see that they pay for their treason.”

She straightened in her chair, looking at him with a slight tilt to her head.

“I could give you a number to call. A couple numbers, actually. My boss and a buddy. They’ll vouch that I’m on the up-and-up.”

“I can call them directly? Any time?” The idea seemed to reassure her. She eased back into her chair.

“Any time. It’s not a problem.” He leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back legs. It wasn’t much of a stretch for him to reach the little message pad and pen hanging on a hook by the cordless wall phone. The chair settled back on all four legs. He wrote the numbers, explaining as he went. “The first number is for Jacquelyn Kingston. She’s my supervisor at the Bureau. John Danse is a fellow agent I just worked with. He’s not exactly a buddy, but he’ll vouch for me. The last number is for this house.”