Dying for Love (27 page)

Exhaustion tugged at Amelia as John drove her back to her studio. His buddy had done a rush job to install the security system, and he showed her how to set it.

Her ears were still ringing from the explosion, and she couldn’t erase the image of the Baylers’ dead bodies from her mind.

Whoever had shot them was a cold-blooded murderer.

She shook off her jacket as they entered, the painting of Sadie and Ben drawing her gaze.

Was she crazy to think she might have that someday? To want love for herself? To want the little boy she’d given birth to?

She looked up at John, and her heart melted with longing and need. The dream she’d had of him teased her, and her body warmed.

But the thought of the Baylers’ little boy in the hands of the ruthless person who’d killed the couple made her tremble.

If Mark was her son, and the Commander hadn’t taken him all those years ago, Mark’s birth father might have returned for him.

“Amelia, are you all right?”

Dried blood darkened his forehead and the bruise on his cheek looked stark. “I should ask you that. Come on.”

She took his hand and led him to the bathroom, then gestured toward the toilet. “Sit.”

“What?”

“I’m going to clean your wounds,” she said. “You really should have gone to the hospital.”

“I’m fine.”

She gently shoved him onto the seat. “I said sit. I want to take care of you.”

His dark gaze met hers. “I should be saying that.”

“You have taken care of me,” Amelia said.

She wet a cloth and wiped at the blood on his forehead. His skin felt hot to the touch, his breathing growing heavier as she tended his wound.

She raked his hair back from his forehead to apply antibiotic ointment and a butterfly bandage, and he gripped her hips with his hands. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Another smile tugged at her mouth. So he
wasn’t
immune. He felt the heat between them, too.

Instead of pulling her to him though, he stood and clutched her hands in his. “Enough.”

“Why?” Amelia asked, an angry note to her voice.

His gaze latched with hers, a flicker of regret there. “You’re too good for me. You’re strong, resilient, beautiful.”

Amelia’s pulse clamored. No one had ever said that to her. “So are you, John. You almost got blown up today, and I was attacked. For all we know, we might die tomorrow, so why not comfort each other tonight?”

Emotions glittered in his eyes as if he wanted to walk away, but in the heat of the moment, her argument made sense.

She lifted her hand and squeezed his arm. “I don’t know how you do what you do, John. It takes a special man to risk his life to save strangers.”

“They’re children,” John said gruffly. “Innocent kids.” He cradled her hand between his. “Just like you were.”

The cries and screams of the CHIMES echoed in Amelia’s head. “I’m trying to forget that time.”

“Forgetting isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” John said.

She swallowed at the anguish in his voice. “You sound like you know that firsthand.”

He sighed wearily. “I do. A few years ago, I had an accident and lost years of my life.” He dropped his head forward with a pained sound. “I don’t even know what my real name is.”

She’d forgotten days and nights, but John had lost years where he had no knowledge of where he’d been or what he’d done? Or if he even had a family?

At least she’d had Papaw and Sadie, and they had loved her unconditionally.

Touched by the anguish in his eyes, she cupped his face between her hands, stood on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to his.

One touch of his mouth to hers set her body on fire with need and hunger.

He moaned low in his throat, a sound so raw that it sent a thousand erotic sensations cascading over her body.

But he started to pull away again.

“Why are you always shutting down?” she whispered.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said gruffly. “How to be what you need. What you want.” He dropped his head forward. “What you deserve.”

“You are exactly what I need right now.” Amelia looped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips across his heated skin. “I need your hands, your mouth, your lips . . . ”

His breath brushed her cheek as he trailed his hands down her hips and coaxed her toward the bedroom.

Raw passion and hunger drove John to succumb to his need for Amelia.

The moment he’d seen her, he’d wanted her.

He’d been lying to himself when he said he wouldn’t take advantage of her. He’d seen snippets of himself as a killer. But he wasn’t that man anymore . . .

He would do anything to keep her safe.

She kissed his neck, and his skin burned with an ache that only she could assuage. He eased her back on the bed, passion exploding between them in a rush of pleasure and moans as they tore at each other’s clothes.

Her satiny skin glided against his as he rose above her. This time she whispered his name in a guttural groan, and he trailed his fingers over her breasts, teasing her nipples to hard buds that he drew into his mouth.

She raked her fingers across his back, urging him closer, and he suckled her until she lifted her hips in silent invitation. Stoked by the way she rubbed her foot up his calf, he kneed her legs apart, his thick cock pulsing between her legs.

“I want you, John,” Amelia whispered against his neck.

God help him, her feminine scent was intoxicating.

Dammit, he wanted her, too. Wrong or right, it didn’t matter. He had to have her. Be inside her. Feel her body joining with his.

At the last minute, common sense kicked in, and he dug a condom from the pocket of his jeans, rolled it on, and thrust inside her. Amelia cried out his name as he filled her to the core.

She wrapped her legs around him, and he lifted her hips, pulling in and out, teasing her clit with his cock, then filling her again and again. Together they built a frantic rhythm, naked bodies sliding against one another as the tension built.

Her body quivered, and she trailed her fingers down his back as the first shudders of her orgasm gripped her. John ran his hands over her breasts, toying with her nipples as she met him thrust for thrust. Finally he gripped her hips and plunged harder, deeper, the heat waves building inside him, emotions teetering on the surface as his release claimed him and he poured himself inside her.

Shudders tore through Amelia as her orgasm gripped her, but images of John and her together hit her as the waves receded.

John holding a gun on her. John ordering her to obey. To be quiet.

Locking her in that room.

John saluting the Commander and keeping her hostage. John aiming a gun at her and ordering her back inside the hospital room.

Tears flooded her eyes, fear and horror clutching her.

Amelia rose from the bed, her body shaking. Dear God, John hadn’t been her lover. Not even her friend.

He had worked with the Commander. Had held her prisoner.

And now what was he doing? Had he lied to her? Was he playing some kind of sick game by insisting he had amnesia?

Bile rose to her throat, and she raced to the bathroom, slammed the door, and fell to her knees in front of the toilet.

Thoughts tumbled through her brain . . . if he worked for the Commander, had he gotten close to her to keep an eye on her?

Maybe he even planned to get rid of her as the Commander would have done . . .

Fuck. He stared at the sketch the newscaster flashed on the television screen, his blood boiling.

That picture was him.

Goddamn son of a bitch. He threw a beer bottle at the screen and watched the bottle shatter.

Agitated, he stood and paced to the window and looked out. He was safe for now.

But he’d need to change his appearance soon.

Become someone else so those asinine cops couldn’t catch him.

Or stop him from finishing what he’d started.

Laughter gurgled in his throat. He was going to make the world a better place.

And if it didn’t work, at least everyone would know his name when he was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Six

J
ohn’s heart pounded. What the hell had just happened?

One minute he and Amelia had been entwined in each other’s arms in the throes of passion, and the next she’d run from the bed as if she was terrified of him.

He scrubbed his hands over his hair and felt the Band-Aid Amelia had applied with tenderness.

Emotions tightened his chest. God, he wanted her again.

But something was wrong.

He tugged on his jeans and walked over to the bathroom door, then paused to listen. It sounded as if Amelia was retching.

Sweat broke out on his brow, dread clenching his gut. He had a bad feeling, but he forced himself to knock anyway.

“Amelia,” he said in a low voice. “Are you okay?”

Silence.

“Please open the door.”

“Go away,” she said in a shaky voice.

“No, tell me what’s wrong.”

She suddenly swung the door open, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. She looked pale and angry and scared.

“I remembered something.”

She’d dragged on a robe that she wrapped tighter around her as if the thought of the two of them naked turned her stomach.

“You . . . you worked for the Commander. All this time I thought my dreams about you meant . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

Shock bolted through John. “You dreamed about me?”

“Yes.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace as she released a bitter laugh. “But now I see you were there to help him. To keep me prisoner.”

John felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. He’d had snippets of memories, but not that he’d held her captive.

Had he worked for Arthur Blackwood?

“I’m sorry, Amelia, I had a head injury—”

“Did you help him steal my baby?” Tears tumbled down her cheeks. “What did you do with him, John? Is that the reason you agreed to work with me, to keep me from finding out the truth?”

“No.” He shook his head in denial, but how could he be certain of anything when the past was a void? When some of his memories didn’t make sense?

“That’s it, that’s the reason you came to Slaughter Creek, to watch me, to make sure I didn’t find my baby.”

He reached for her. He had to comfort her, reassure her she was wrong. But she shoved him away, betrayal hardening her eyes.

“That’s not true, Amelia. Think about it.” He forced a calm to his voice, desperate to convince her, to convince himself. “You came to me, remember? You asked for my help.”

She paced across the room, tapping that same rhythm on her arm as she gained momentum. “Because I thought you were one of the good guys. But hell, that was probably some show, a setup.” Her voice stung him. “You helped the Commander torture us, didn’t you?”

“No. I . . . I don’t remember everything from my past. I had an accident six years ago and have amnesia.”

“How convenient,” Amelia said.

Jesus, he should have told her sooner. “It’s true. I work for the TBI. I’m investigating the kidnapping case.”

More than anything, he wanted to defend himself. Assure her he wasn’t the monster she believed him to be.

She backed away, her eyes wild with panic.

“But you were there, you held a gun to my face and locked me in that hospital room. I saw you with the Commander.”

How could he deny it when he’d wondered if he’d done something bad in his previous life?

“I’m not that person anymore,” he said, his voice hoarse. “When I woke with amnesia, maybe I joined the TBI to atone for what I’d done.”

Amelia pointed to the door. “Get out. Or does that not fit with your plans? Did you come here to get rid of me once and for all?”

“Of course not,” John said. “I care about you, Amelia.” More than he should.

“Care about me?” Her voice bordered on hysteria. “For all I know, you got me in bed so you could kill me in my sleep.”

“Amelia, no—”

She threw up a hand to stop him from speaking, then wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please leave.”

He reached for her again. He wanted to hold her so badly he ached. “I told you I’m sorry. I may have been that person before
—
”

“You
are
that person.” Anger sharpened her voice. “And I was a fool to fall in bed with you. But I won’t fall for your tricks or lies again.”

She pointed toward the door, and he decided he should leave. She needed time. Hell, they both did.

He grabbed his shirt, holster, and gun and strode from the bedroom, self-recriminations beating him up as he left.

Amelia paced the studio, so overcome she could barely breathe.

John had lied to her. Betrayed her.

While all this time, she’d been falling in love with him.

What was she going to do now?

Was he trying to find her son or trying to keep her from discovering the truth?

For all she knew, he could have warned the Baylers to leave . . .

A hollow emptiness opened up inside her. What a fool she’d been. All her life people had used her. Now, just when she thought she was strong and independent, she’d let John slip under her defenses. She’d thought he even cared, that they might have something special between them.

She would never trust another man in her life.

Blinking back tears, she removed the paintings of John from the closet, grabbed a knife, and slashed the drawings she’d done of him. They were filled with emotions, her memory that the two of them had not only been lovers, but that they’d been in love.

That he was her savior.

What a lie.

She had to find her baby herself. But how?

Brenda. Brenda had befriended her when she’d written those profiles on the CHIMES subjects. She’d been a straight shooter. She wanted the story, but she also respected the subjects and had been sympathetic to their suffering.

Swiping away her tears, she retrieved her cell phone and pressed Brenda’s number.

John didn’t want to leave Amelia, especially knowing she hated him. But how could he blame her?

His phone buzzed. Arianna. He snatched it up. “Yeah?”

“Agent Strong, the tech team has just picked up something from the buzz on the Internet.”

“What?”

“Another bombing is planned. Tonight.”

John went cold inside. “Where?”

“UT Knoxville. Apparently there’s a protest rally there this evening.”

“What kind of protest?”

“Something about overturning the government, restructuring the social-welfare system.”

John mentally thumbed through the other target sites. A women’s clinic. A DFACS office.

“It’s not SFTF,” she said. “Roper was right. They advocate defending the country but are not terrorist oriented. This other group is the opposite. They think making a bold public statement is the only way to be heard and to make changes.”

“Call ahead and alert the local authorities that Coulter and I are on our way. They need to beef up security for the event.”

“Done.”

She hung up, and he phoned Coulter and explained the situation. Coulter agreed to meet him at the TBI headquarters.

John flipped on his siren and raced through traffic. Coulter was waiting for him outside, and they rushed toward Knoxville. John flew around cars on the interstate while Coulter phoned ahead to the local law enforcement agencies and explained their suspicions. Nick Blackwood was going to meet them there, too.

“We need plainclothes security teams interspersed through the crowd. Also alert campus security at UT,” Coulter said to the chief of police. “We believe the attack will occur tonight at the protest rally. We also believe the bomber will be an adolescent or teenage boy who’s been brainwashed into believing he’s on a mission for his people. In the last situation, the killer strapped dynamite to his body. In the first instance, he put a pipe bomb in a backpack and set it down. But the bomb exploded before he got too far away, and he died in the explosion.”

Anxiety knotted John’s shoulders as he drove, but finally they arrived in Knoxville. They went straight to the UT campus and parked near the protest rally. Already hundreds of students had gathered, carrying signs advocating government changes, some shouting that the breakdown of society and the family was the government’s fault.

A podium was set up for speakers to take turns, and the press roamed the crowd, taking photographs and interviewing individuals. The rally seemed peaceful at the moment, but a group of nonsupporters had gathered at one end and were shouting at the others to go home.

The peaceful protests could erupt into violence at any second.

John would be furious when he found out what she was doing.

But Amelia no longer cared what he thought. Or what anyone else thought, for that matter.

She’d been a puppet on a string when Arthur Blackwood had experimented on her, and she’d kept her silence afterward because of her therapy, and out of respect for Sadie.

But her son’s life might depend on her finding him.

After all, the Commander could have used him as he had her and the others. God knew he’d abused his two sons, Jake and Nick. Sadie had confided in her that he’d subjected them to extreme physical tests of survival as well as mental tests to turn them into soldiers and the kind of men he deemed soldier worthy.

Ignoring the warning that another hailstorm was imminent, she met Brenda at the local TV station, and they chatted for a moment, then Brenda directed her cameraman to set up for the interview.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Brenda asked. “The last few months must have been difficult for you.”

“They have been, yet I feel like I’ve gotten my life back, Brenda. At least my sanity, so if you’re worried I’m going to fall apart on you, don’t. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.”

“I never doubted that,” Brenda said with a squeeze to her hand. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Thank you. You’ve been a good friend.” She hadn’t trusted Brenda to begin with, but Brenda had definitely been loyal and treated her with kindness. Brenda had also respected her privacy, and the profile she’d written had painted her in a positive light.

“Then let’s do this,” Brenda said. “I’ll start with a brief introduction, then prompt you with questions. Also, the station set up a tip line connected to the police department. We’ll give out that number at the end.”