fighting the overwhelming terror with his comforting embrace. Was she a fool to trust him? She didn’t know. Yet something about him made her want to believe she could. Ignoring her pounding heart through willpower alone, she forced herself to focus on the man beside her.
She breathed in the clean scent of his aftershave. His black leather jacket was open, and against her cheek, the soft cotton fabric of his black T-shirt felt comforting. Blue-black stubble covered his strong jaw. A thin scar creased his chin left of the cleft. She stared at his firm, chiseled lips. Lips made for laughing, for teasing, for kissing.
She blinked free of the trance and pushed away. “I—I’m okay,” she said, her voice a scratchy whisper.
His piercing blue gaze questioned her. “You’re not okay. Let me take you to emergency.”
“No!” Sara took in several deep gasps, aware of his arm still curled firmly about her shoulders. “Maybe later,” she added, not wanting to appear hysterical. “First, let’s go to the motel. Maybe if I see something familiar…” She held on to that hope as she stole another sidelong glance at him.
His arm uncurled from her shoulders, and he straightened, restarting the engine. The wind tousled his thick black hair as he pulled the convertible onto the road.
She drew a wisp of hair from her face and turned to stare out the windshield.
“The motel isn’t much farther,” he said finally. “Officially, we’re on an island, Bellwood Island, which is connected to the mainland by a causeway. The island is surrounded by sand dunes, which makes a great tourist attraction. The town of Bellwood Harbor has a winter population of 260, swelling to 20,000 between the Fourth of July and Labor Day.”
She glanced at the lobster boats bobbing in the harbor. “Nothing seems familiar.” She stared out the window, her head reeling in an effort to remember anything. Along Main Street, empty colonial homes and vacant boutiques lined both sides, silently waiting for their owners to return with the warm weather. Empty flower boxes hung from the storefront windows, waiting for summer’s red geraniums, blue verbenas and white petunias to spill from the planters. An empty flagpole stood in the park square, and she could imagine Old Glory waving proudly as the Fourth of July parade streamed past.
So she knew about small New England towns, after all. Was her memory coming back? The idea filled her with excitement and dread. Dear God, why was everything so confusing?
Judging by the dashboard clock, it had taken them less than five minutes to drive through the village. Now more sand dunes stretched along both sides of the road. To the east, the Atlantic glistened, a blue horizon. When her eyes turned back to the road, an L-shaped single-story building appeared ahead. She stared blankly at the white block letters painted across the black slanted roof: SAND DUNE MOTEL.
Now maybe she’d find some answers.
“NOTHING LOOKS FAMILIAR?” Liam asked, relieved that his voice didn’t betray the skepticism he was feeling. From what Willie had said, Sara hadn’t suffered enough of a physical head trauma to produce complete amnesia. He found it hard to believe she couldn’t remember something.
He jammed his fists into his pockets and studied her as she examined the slacks, cotton turtleneck and wind-breaker hanging inside the closet.
“I obviously wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said finally, removing the jacket from the hanger and sliding her arm through the sleeve. So far, she’d said very little about what was going on inside that lovely head of hers.
Damn, but he couldn’t figure her out. Was she for real, or was she putting on an Academy Award performance? Sara was hardly his idea of a covert operator, yet he couldn’t rule it out.
Only last week, Interpol had notified the TALON-6 headquarters in New York City that a terrorist had been arrested in London and plea-bargained with them, offering information about a plan to steal the Land-Net 17, Liam’s latest design for an electronic security net. Was Sara part of that plan? He thought of that silky red hair and those long, incredible legs. Hell, everyone including the local priest knew that Liam O’Shea had a weakness for tall, beautiful redheads.
Anything was possible. Until the schematics for his security net were safely in the hands of the Defense Department’s Advanced Research Projects Agency, Liam knew he couldn’t leave anything to chance. Especially a disarming redhead who looked as though she’d just stepped out of his most erotic dream.
He felt like a bastard for doubting her, yet he wouldn’t put it past the terrorist mentality to think they could infiltrate TALON-6 with a woman like Sara. He’d made no secret of the fact that he was a self-proclaimed protector of alluring, downtrodden women. Especially a woman with sexy-as-sin looks combined with innocence and vulnerability. He was the first to admit it would be his favorite way to go down.
She turned toward him as she took a seat on the edge of the king-size bed. Her fingers sifted through the meager contents of a straw bag. She was truly stunning, he decided. Her hair hung down her back in a lustrous curtain of red. Long eyelashes swept her cheekbones as she studied the set of keys, the billfold and a tube of lipstick, as though she could piece together the framework of her life from these few articles.
What must it be like to lose a lifetime of personal memories? What was it like to feel mentally naked and completely vulnerable? He felt a tug of compassion for what she must be going through. Yet how could he possibly imagine the depth of her fear and panic?
Was there a special man in her life? Had the guy told her how very desirable she was? For a brief, insane moment, Liam wanted to be that man.
He swallowed against the surge of heated desire. He’d better get some sleep. He was becoming delusional. He shook away the thought and strode toward the window. Across the road he could see an expanse of sun-bleached sand, then cold gray sea for miles. A sailboat tilted back and forth in the breeze. For an odd moment, Liam was reminded of when he was six years old and had found a stray kitten after Labor Day along the sand dunes. Some bastard had abandoned the animal. His mom had let him keep it and he’d called it Tiger. He glanced back at Sara, whose head was bent over the assorted items in her hand. Would tender loving care heal her as it had his pet?
She must have sensed him watching her because she lifted her head and that megawatt green-eyed gaze fixed on him. He fought back the urge to pick her up and cradle her in his arms.
She wasn’t a lost kitten. And until he received the results of the background check that he’d asked his TALON-6 partner, Clete Lawton, to run, Liam needed to keep his emotional distance.
“If you’re about through,” he said, giving his watch a glance, “I think we should leave.”
“Nothing looks familiar,” she said, brushing her hair away from her face. “It’s as if these things belong to someone else.” She put the gold cap back on the tube of coral lipstick, then opened the billfold and stared again at the driver’s license and her photo. She lifted her gaze to his, and if she was acting, he sure as hell admired her talent.
Still, she hadn’t noticed one thing. He picked up her straw bag from where she’d left it on the bed and pulled out the picture of a man in his early thirties, standing in front of a palm tree. Liam had found the photo hidden in a side pocket in the lining of her bag when he’d gone through her possessions earlier that morning. At the time, he’d wondered if the photograph would trigger her memory. “Know who he is?” Liam asked her.
She stared at the photo, then shook her head. “No.”
“Is he Gregory Urquhart?”
“I—I don’t know. Should I?”
“Urquhart is listed as the person to contact in case of emergency.” Liam lifted a brow as he showed her the ID card inside her wallet. “Think this is an emergency, Sara?” He couldn’t quite hide the sarcasm from his voice.
Her lips opened slightly. “I don’t know. Y-yes. Yes, it is.”
Was Urquhart her ex-husband? Lover? Why else would she be hiding his photo?