a .357 Magnum.”
“Maybe this particular thief didn’t know about Mario, his temper or his .357.”
“Maybe.” She clicked her water glass on the countertop. “Do you want Emilio’s number?”
“Emilio?”
“Emilio Diaz, my father’s associate. Name doesn’t ring a bell, huh?” She pulled open a kitchen drawer and sifted through its contents.
“Nothing’s ringing any bells.” Except Lola’s derrière in those jeans as she bent over the drawer. That rang his bells.
She spun around, pinching a card between two fingers. “Got it.”
“It’s a start. Maybe he can tell me if I have a home, a family…a wife.”
Lola’s long, dark lashes fluttered. “I doubt it.”
He plucked the card from her fingers and slipped it into his back pocket. “You doubt I have a home, a family and a wife?”
“You may have a home and a family, but no self-respecting wife would allow her husband to go gallivanting around the world saving other people’s families.” Her jaw formed a hard line as if daring him to dispute her logic.
“I don’t know about that.” He held up his left hand. “But I don’t feel married.”
Could he be lusting after this hot doctor if he were?
“That settles it, then.” She brushed her hands together. “Before you take off, do you want to see some pictures of Gabriel? Maybe they’ll jump-start something for you.”
“Sure.” He owed her that much. He was trying to find himself, and she was trying to find her brother. He felt guilty for abandoning her cause for his. The two were linked, anyway.
She flipped open the laptop on the kitchen table. Her long ponytail hung over her shoulder as she hunched forward, biting her bottom lip. Just his luck the one person in the States who held the key to his identity had to tweak his libido in all the right places. Hell, he thought he’d lost his libido along with his memory until he’d laid eyes on Lola.
Tilting her head to the side, she waved him over. She pointed at the screen. “That’s Gabriel.”
Jack spun a chair around and straddled it. He peered at the screen displaying a dark-haired man with serious eyes, a white doctor’s coat hanging on his lean frame. Dr. Gabriel Famosa.
Why would a group of terrorists kidnap a doctor and not demand ransom from his obviously wealthy family? If they wanted something other than money from the doctor…
A sharp pain sliced through Jack’s head, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The picture of Lola’s brother swam before his eyes.
Dr. Famosa was kidnapped from the street in a planned abduction.
The words came at him through the pain, and he pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, willing more words to bubble from the floating strands of his memory.
“Jack, are you okay?” Lola’s hand swept up his back, resting at the base of his skull. “Do you remember Gabe?”
“I—I—” he dragged a hand through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp “—I remembered someone telling me Gabe’s kidnapping was planned.”
She twirled in a circle and then dropped into a crouch beside him. “You’re remembering. I knew seeing Gabe’s picture would help.”
“Slow down. It may not mean anything—just words—and those words gave me a helluva headache.”
Her smile crumpled and she pushed to her feet. “Where does it hurt?”
“All over.” The sharp pain had dulled to a throbbing ache.
Lola positioned herself behind him and threaded her fingers through his hair. She kneaded his scalp with her fingertips, and he closed his eyes at the soothing sensation.
“Is that better?”
He’d given himself over completely to Lola’s touch. She had healing hands, but he felt much more than solace from pain. As she massaged him, a slow flame had kindled in his belly and threatened to head south.
He cinched her wrist lightly. “That’s better. Thanks.”
Her hand fluttered over his forehead, and she pushed the hair back from his face. “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen. I really think you should see my friend, the psychiatrist.”
She stepped away from him and he immediately missed her warmth. God, he couldn’t afford to get too dependent on Lola. He’d take the card she’d given him and contact this go-between, get his own life back before he could be of any use to Lola and her brother.
She returned with a refilled glass of water, cupping a green gel cap in her palm. “Take this—even though I really want you to remember more, I don’t want you to go through any more pain tonight.”
He pinched the capsule from her hand and popped it in his mouth, chasing it with a gulp of water. “I didn’t try to remember. The words came to me when I saw your brother’s picture. Do you have any more?”
She clicked the mouse and jumped from picture to picture of her brother—sailing a boat, running a race, parasailing—the guy never stopped. All the while, she threw sidelong glances his way, expecting him to fall on the floor in a fit of remembrance.
Jack shook his head, stretching his legs out on either side of the kitchen chair. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”
Giving him a crooked smile, Lola lifted one shoulder. “You remembered something, and that’s a start. Maybe when you talk to Emilio, he can give you more information to get the ball rolling again.”
He knew he had to leave, even though he wanted to stay here and talk to Lola all night, find out what made her tick. He was sick of his life or the lack thereof. Sick of wondering, guessing, theorizing.
He eased from the chair and tucked it beneath the table. Clamping the back of his neck and twisting his head from side to side, he sauntered to a set of long, curved windows. “Nice view.”
She joined him, meeting his eyes in the window’s reflection. “That’s why I chose this unit, for the windows on the corner of the curved building and for the view.”
“But you could be living in your parents’ house in Coral Gables?”
“Gables Estates.” She scrunched up her face as if she hadn’t just named the most exclusive area of Miami.
“Nice area.”
“Gabe stays there…when he’s not roaming the globe. He’s less fastidious about his place of residence than I am.”
Jack waited with one raised eyebrow, but she refused to take the bait. He blew out a breath, creating a patch of mist on the window, and patted his back pocket. “I’ll contact Emilio tomorrow.”
“Just do me a favor and don’t stalk him like you did me. He’s not the type of guy to appreciate a hand over his mouth or a gun in his ribs. He’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
“I didn’t follow you long, just enough to get a sense of your schedule and habits—which you should vary, by the way, to be on the safe side.”
She snorted and rubbed a fist on the windowpane, wiping out his breath. “Nice of you to worry about my safety now when you scared the spit out of me at the morgue.”
Jack lifted his jacket off the back of a chair and felt for his weapon. “What are you talking about?”
“The morgue.” She folded her arms across her chest. “When I was in there, you were creeping around outside. I didn’t appreciate it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,