Forget Me Not (6 page)

He glanced at the two fingers where his nails were growing in. So pins had been jammed under his fingernails or maybe a hammer had smashed them till they bled. Big deal. He wouldn't have spilled his guts over that.

What if they'd pulled his tooth, though? He slid his tongue into the groove where his eyetooth had been. He'd had a bad experience as a kid, when the Novocain had failed to take. He didn't like people messing with his mouth.

By the time he reached the water, Gabe was quaking with fatigue. Mallory and the dog had headed down the beach to his right, too far ahead for him to catch up. They hadn't even seen him.

Dam Neck Naval Base stood on his left. Gabe studied the sweeping shoreline, relieved to recognize the missile detection drones rising from the dunes a short distance away. Farther down the beach stood the Shifting Sands, club and restaurant combined. Beyond that, the city of Virginia Beach.

Hallelujah! He knew this place. There wasn't any question he belonged here. This was his life. He planned to settle in and find himself. And then his wife could kick him out.

The strength leaked out of his legs, and he sat abruptly in the sand, brooding.

Not only was his career in jeopardy but his marriage was falling apart.

Unless he could fix it. She hadn't kicked him out yet.

As stubborn as he was, he didn't intend to bow out without putting up a fight. He shoved his feet into the sand and earned a nasty pinch on his pinky toe
.

A crab scuttled back into his burrow. Gabe regarded the hole where the crab hunkered out of sight, kind of like his memories.

With a perverse need to expose the crab, he grasped a reed that had washed ashore, inserted it into the burrow, and teased the creature into grabbing on. Gabe tugged, but the sucker had a solid toehold. He tugged harder, and the crab let go.

Well, there you have it.
He tossed aside the stick with disgust Sebastian was right. His memories would have to come on their own.

But was he ready for them? The thought of remembering everything filled him with sudden dread. Was it just that he didn't want to relive the torture he'd endured? Or had he done something awful that he didn't want to face?

Aware that his jeans were growing damp, Gabe turned his head to eye his house, his cozy little cottage by the sea. He thought of the woman inside—gorgeous, strong in a way that both pleased and worried him.

Determination made him sit straighten He didn't want to move out, not even when his memories returned. He liked what he'd done with his life, couldn't understand why he'd taken it for granted. He liked his house, his dog, his stepdaughter. His wife was incredible, taking the time to care for him, even when it was obvious she had better things to do. Not only that, but she smelled good.

He wanted to keep her. Whatever it took, even if it meant sacrificing his commitment to the SEALs, he was determined to make her change her mind. He rose to his feet and beat the sand off his jeans.

Mallory had caught sight of him and was running toward him, dog straining at the leash. "What'd Mom say?" she asked, out of breath, as she drew up alongside him.

He was struck by the vulnerability in her eyes. "It was nothing," he said, forcing a smile. He could sense that Mallory needed careful handling.

"She's letting you stay, isn't she?" she asked, bending to pet the dog.

"Yeah, sure."

"Come on then." She gestured toward the house. "Let's go have lunch."

Grateful that at least the kid wanted him, Gabe fell into step beside her as Priscilla pulled her sled-dog style toward the house.

"You want some advice?" Mallory asked as they moved along the fence.

He glanced at her, intrigued. "Okay."

"If I were you, I'd take it slow. Mom still has feelings for you, you know. They just need to grow back." She gave him a sidelong look full of teenage wisdom.

Gabe's heart beat faster. Was Mallory right? Did Helen still have feelings for him? God, he hoped so. If she did, he would nurture those feelings the way Helen nurtured her wildflowers. But did he even know how? He'd married her, thinking he could make her happy and look what had happened. She'd stated herself that it wasn't his absence that had driven her love to extinction. It was the sad fact that he'd ignored his family, that he didn't know how to love.

Was he any different now than he'd been before? Yes ... maybe. His imprisonment, though he couldn't remember it, had changed something inside him, something he couldn't put a name to. It was a feeling, really, just a quiet, patient
something
inside him.

He wanted to be a SEAL again, the best that he could be. But more than that, he wanted to be a husband to Helen and a father to Mallory. That would be his strategy, he decided, to nurture them both and prove he was someone in their lives worth keeping.

H
e slept until late in the afternoon. Gold filaments of sunlight shot through the back windows of the house as Gabe ventured from the study, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Hello?" His voice bounced off the high ceiling as he called for his family.

No one was home. Not even the dog came running.

He shivered, chilled by the unexpected isolation. Pausing in the kitchen, he poured himself a drink. Silence wrapped itself around him, giving him an eerie sense of déjà vu. He gazed out at the ocean, seeking comfort, but even the deep sapphire waves seemed far away.

Yet he belonged here, he assured himself. Other than Helen's ultimatum ringing in his ears, there wasn't any need to feel so adrift, so apart.
So vulnerable.

He let his gaze wander, touching on the built-in bookshelves and furniture, seeking some hint of himself in this place. There were lots of books and school pictures of Mallory, but no pictures of himself.

He emptied his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He wanted to find proof that this was home, evidence that Helen once loved him, that a future for them wasn't impossible.

He'd found nothing in the study where he'd slept, save his college diploma hanging on the wall next to Helen's. The place to look, he decided, was the master bedroom.

He moved purposefully past the study and Mallory's room, The door to Helen's bedroom was partially ajar. He pushed it open wider, wondering if he'd recognize it. Her flowery fragrance floated out to greet him. It was the only thing familiar.

The room was practical, which pleased him. A king-sized bed dominated the right wall. The quilt and curtains were a collage of earth tones and canyon colors, and the four walls had been painted a dusky peach. There were more books here—romance novels—stuffed into oak bookcases, left on the bedside table. But most of them were old and worn, covered with a light film of dust. She hadn't read any lately.

He eyed the bed, his chest growing tight as he pictured Helen sprawled across it. The oak headboard, with its knotted rope design, matched the bureau and mirror. He realized his dresser, which was now in the study, completed the suite. It had gone in the empty space against the wall, here.

Surely there were traces of him in this room. But as he scanned the bookshelves and tabletops, he realized that other than a collection of Tom Clancy novels, there was no evidence that a male had ever lived here. There was nothing that he could claim as his own.

He probed deeper, desperate now. Surely Helen hadn't obliterated all of him—because if she had, men she'd already expunged him from her life; there was no way to win her back, despite what Mallory said.

He wandered into the walk-in closet and found some clothing—a couple of dress shirts and slacks painstakingly wrapped in plastic, with matching shoes lined up beneath.

Was this him? The clothing struck him as vaguely familiar. Yes, now he remembered. He'd had himself fitted by the most expensive men's clothier in Coronado. He'd liked dressing up on his off hours. It had made him feel important.

Reaching under the plastic, Gabe rubbed a suit sleeve between his thumb and finger. The quality in the fabric did nothing for him. He doubted he'd wear it again, except maybe to a wedding or a funeral.

He turned away, dismayed to find so little of himself. He must have spent as much time away as Helen and Mallory had suggested. While he understood his drive for excellence, he couldn't understand why he'd have preferred the office to Helen's company.

Unless he 'd been afraid of her and the power she wielded.

A familiar feeling coursed through him, as if he'd come to that same conclusion over and over again in the recent past.

He stepped from the closet and spied a bathtub through the open door across the room. It was a nice tub, big enough for two and fitted with jets. But what caught his attention was the standing picture frame, surrounded by half-melted candles.

There, among the candles, was a picture of himself. He approached the tub and studied the scene. The candles were melted to mere nubs. He doubted Helen had been praying for him, not when severing ties was at the top of her agenda. So what was this about?

He picked up the photo and regarded it. He felt as if he were looking at a stranger.

The warrior in the, picture was someone to be reckoned with. He wore desert camouflage, his hair neatly shorn, and a confident smile on his too handsome face. He also looked like a man too revved up to slow down, eyes blazing with ambition.

Gabe's gaze slid to his reflection in the mirror. He hardly looked like the same man. Leaning toward the mirror, he compared differences.

There were new marks on his face: several white lines around his mouth from getting his lip split open; a scar just below his left eyebrow. He had dark circles under his eyes now, too. His cheeks were hollowed out. He pulled his lips back in a grimace. The missing eyetooth gave him a piratical look.

But the eyes were the same.

He stared at his reflection and those gold-green eyes stared back at him.
Jaguar.
The code name sounded in his head with the clarity of someone talking in his ear. He'd gotten the name before his memory failed him, five years ago when he'd joined SEAL Team Twelve.

For someone with such good vision, you can't even see what's right in front of you.

This time Helen's voice was unmistakable, coming out of the past Gabe drew back, starred by the clarity of the memory and the aching accusation in her tone. They'd been arguing over Mallory, who'd done something wrong, something for attention.

"Gabe?"

Helen's voice had him turning in confusion. Was she really calling him or was he still remembering?

The sound of running feet was his only other warning. With a bark, Priscilla located his whereabouts, blocking his hasty retreat from the bathroom. Gabe cursed his sluggish reactions. He'd been caught, first by the dog who cornered him and then by Helen, who drew up short at her door, amazed to find him in her bathroom, clutching his picture.

At the sight of her, all thoughts fled his mind. Her skin was flushed from a recent run. Her long hair was in a pony-tail. The spandex top she wore left her midriff bare and her nipples clearly delineated. "Were you looking for something?" she asked, still breathing hard.

Her frosty tone accused him of invading her space. He felt it important to explain his actions, but the sight of her nipples had narrowed his focus considerably and he had to straggle to think. "I was, uh, looking for a picture of me." He held up the frame to show her that he'd found it.

She glanced at it, myriad emotions in her eyes.

Gabe looked at the candles in the bathroom, then back at her, conjecturing, but unwilling to press her.

"I, um..." She licked a droplet of sweat off her upper lip, while coloring fiercely.

"You don't have to explain," he said quickly. He didn't want to hear what kind of ritual she'd enacted in order to forget about him.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked, looking relieved.

He let his gaze drift deliberately down her scantily clad frame. "Not that you'd want to give me," he said, unable to check his self-pitying smile.

A haunted look crossed her face.

"Guess you want to take a shower," he said, having mercy on her. He headed out of the room, edging by her in the process.

In the same time, the dog bolted past him, knocking him into Helen, who hit the door. She sucked in a breath at the full-body contact and tried to melt into the wood. Only the tips of her breasts touched his chest.

"Sorry," he muttered, electrified by the feel of her pebble-hard nipples against his chest. Hot and sweaty as she was, she smelled delicious.

He was a lot sorrier to have to step away from her. "I'll be in the family room," he added, hoping against all odds that she'd call him back and indulge his fantasy of seeing her strip that top off. But as he drifted down the hallway, the only sound that followed him was the firm shutting of her door followed by the click of the lock.

The encounter left him weary. He paused by the study to stick the picture into his dresser, where he buried the handsome stranger under a pile of socks. He was no longer the confident warrior who'd taken his good fortune for granted. He was scarred and he was scared. He may even have betrayed his country—the ultimate traitor.

Helen struggled to focus on her cooking. She'd never felt at ease in the kitchen in the first place, but Gabe's presence in the living room made her feel twice as inept. She hadn't gotten used to his presence yet. Dishing the pork chops into the hot pan, she found herself regarding him from the corner of her eye.

She'd always been weak where Gabe was concerned. The breadth of his shoulders never failed to rouse her awareness of him. His virility charged the room with a sexual undercurrent that had been absent in her life for over a year. His presence caused an abrupt awakening of her libido that made it difficult to marshal her thoughts, made her feel awkward and unfocused.

She thoroughly resented his effect on her. She'd been perfectly happy to live a nunlike existence. It jarred her peaceful self-occupation to have him in her life again.

If Mallory wasn't sitting close to Gabe, looking happy as a clam watching a game show for kids, Helen would be tempted to order Gabe out of the house, right now, so she could at least draw a full breath.