Trap, Secure. Carol Ericson

      “No, but maybe this is the Costa residence. Maybe you got your signals crossed.”

      “Not a chance.”

      “What about the return address?”

      “The envelope is ripped.” He fingered the corner of the envelope. “I can just make out the name—Jessica Lehman—and the postmark is from Houston, Texas.”

      Randi’s throat thickened and she couldn’t swallow. She must have a grandmother somewhere and a friend in Houston. People who cared about her.

      Where were they now? Would they be able to help her out of this mess?

      She jumped when Gage placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’m sorry, Randi. This must be tough for you.”

      She pulled back her shoulders and shrugged off his touch. She’d better not get too dependent on him. He wanted her to regain her memory so that he could pump her for information about Zendaris. Once he got what he wanted, he’d abandon her to whatever fate awaited cast-off lovers of drug dealers.

      “Does this mean you believe me?”

      “If you’re lying about having amnesia, you’re one hell of an actress, but—” he steepled his fingers and tapped them at the tips “—you could be an Academy Award winner.”

      She brushed past him and scooped up an armful of clothing from the closet. “I’m not going out in the world without clothes.”

      “Travel lightly. It’s a two-mile hike back to the chopper.”

      She dumped the clothes on the bed and dove back into the closet for a bag or backpack. She dragged out a red duffel and flicked the tags on the strap. “Too bad there’s no full name and address. I might’ve been able to reclaim my life sooner rather than later.”

      Gage spread his arms. “I think your life was here, Randi—and it left you.”

      She dropped onto the edge of the bed, clutching the bag to her chest. “What if those kids across the hall are mine?”

      “Then we’ll help you get them back.” He ducked into the closet and grabbed a pair of sneakers. “I think these will work better out in the jungle than those sandals.”

      A half an hour later, they stood at the open gates to the compound. Gage had his backpack on his back and his large, black duffel strapped across his body. He’d broken down the scary-looking weapon and stashed it in the duffel.

      He’d given her a small pack with a few bottles of water and medical supplies. He’d talked her into leaving the red bag and just stuffing a few items of clothing into his duffel.

      “Are you sure you can do this? You just suffered a concussion.”

      “I have no memory. What could possibly be worse?”

      “Aggravating your injuries with physical exhaustion. We can stay here for a few days, and I can call in for help.”

      She shifted the pack on her back. “I’m not staying here another minute.”

      “Let me know if you get tired, and follow my footsteps. We’re still a long way from morning, and it’s still dark out here.”

      She peered up through the canopy of trees. Even if the sun were rising, it would take a while for its light to reach them beneath the umbrella of branches and leaves.

      Gage tromped through the foliage, his boots snapping twigs and crushing leaves along the way.

      Randi followed, her mind, or what was left of it, whirring. If everything Gage had said about her was true, maybe she didn’t want to discover her real identity. But maybe her boyfriend had kept his illegal activities hidden from her. Maybe she didn’t know anything about his business.

      That wouldn’t make Gage very happy. He’d be counting on her help once she regained her memory. If she claimed no knowledge of Zendaris’s drug empire, Gage wouldn’t believe her, anyway.

      She wasn’t sure he believed her now.

      Despite her injuries, the hike through the jungle hadn’t sapped her strength. Gage had stopped a few times for water, and it was enough to carry her through. She seemed to regain strength with each step away from the compound.

      “We’re here.” He parted some branches for her, and she peered into a clearing. A helicopter beckoned, promising freedom and maybe an identity.

      “You know how to fly this thing?”

      “I do.”

      “But you’re not U.S. Military.”

      “I used to be.”

      If he planned to grill her, she planned to give as good as she got. She’d drop it for now and let him concentrate on flying. “Where are we going?”

      “First stop is a CIA compound in Panama. There’s a hospital there.”

      He was CIA? “Then what?”

      He hoisted the bags into the helicopter. “We’ll see.”

      She shrugged out of the backpack, and Gage stored that next to the other two bags. Then he helped her into the helicopter and secured her seat belt, his hands lingering near her shoulders.

      Had he wanted to touch her? Reassure her? She needed it but she’d ask nothing of him. Getting too close to this man would put her on dangerous ground.

      He punched some buttons from the array in front of him and even on the ceiling of the chopper. When the blades started thwacking, she clenched the edge of the seat with clammy hands. The sound caused her insides to twist.

      Gage pointed to the headphones hanging in front of her, and she slipped them onto her head. His voice purred intimately into her ears. “Are you okay?”

      She nodded and gritted her teeth.

      He fiddled with more dials and gadgets, and then flashed her a thumbs-up signal.

      Just as the chopper lifted from the ground, a new barrage of noises assailed her. This time Gage swore into her ear, and she jerked her head toward him.

      “What’s wrong?”

      The helicopter shuddered and lunged into the air as the smell of fuel saturated the cabin. With his jaw clenched, Gage slammed a lever forward and the chopper jumped.

      She tried again. “Gage, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

      “Someone’s shooting at us.”