Reckless (28 page)

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FORGOTTEN.

He was the key.

Joey Bradshaw shifted in the hard little
chair and studied him. It was the first time she'd seen him...with
her eyes. Everything was the same, though. The square, cruel
jawline, the thick, dark lashes that tried to soften its effect,
the tiny, crescent-shaped scar amid the curling black hairs at his
wrist. His hair seemed blue black against the stiff, white linens.
The only difference was that, at the moment, he was breathing. Even
his scent was exactly as she’d imagined it. A blend of blatant male
virility and some spicy shaving cream. Such a potent mix was a
pleasant distraction from the disinfectant aroma of the
hospital.

She’d left her half sister Toni in a hospital
not far from this one only a few weeks ago. Toni was fine. All
wrapped up in testifying against a drug kingpin, promoting her
brand new true crime book, and house hunting with the man who’d won
her heart and got her a puppy instead of an engagement ring.

Joey’s other sister, Caroline, might not be
so fine. And that was why Joey was here.

The handsome man’s eyes opened, blinked into
focus and narrowed as he studied her. Beyond his curious expression
she saw nothing. They were empty, those deep brown eyes. Vacant,
just as the doctors had warned her they would be. It was cruel,
what she had to do to him. It might not even work. But what choice
did she have, really? She'd foreseen her sister Caroline’s murder.
It was going to happen right after the murder of the man in the
bed.

"Do I know you?" He sat up slightly as he
spoke and the sheet slipped down to his waist. He wore no hospital
gown. The sight of his tanned skin, stretched taut over a broad
chest sent a little shiver of pure appreciation up her spine. In
answer to his question, she nodded.

He shook his head, frustration showing in the
way his gaze intensified. "Bad enough I couldn't remember my own
name. I can't believe any blow to the head would make me forget
you,
lady, whoever you are."

Heat crept up her neck and yet another round
of doubt came with it, She wasn't sure if his lighthearted flirting
would make this easier or harder. Especially since the attraction
was mutual. She'd prepared herself for the sexual magnetism that
drew her to him. She'd sensed it before she'd ever come here—and
decided she could handle it. But if it was a two-way street,
traveling it might get damned complicated. For a moment she
seriously considered getting out of her chair, walking out the door
and never turning back. She’d spent too much time in hospitals
lately. She’d almost lost one sister to the mob. Now another sister
was in the sites of a serial killer.

No rest for the gifted, she supposed.

Then she glanced at his chest again, and in a
flash that left her dizzy, she saw it bloody; pale skin between
splashes of crimson. She felt the stillness of once-powerful lungs,
and the deadening silence of a magnificent heart.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

Joey forced her white-knuckled grip on the
chair arms to ease and dragged her gaze from his chest, back up to
his milk-chocolate eyes. Numbly she nodded. She shifted in the
chair, leather creaking against vinyl.

"You gonna tell me who you are, or am I
supposed to guess?"

"You'd never guess in a million years," she
said softly to the man she'd never met until today. "I'm your
wife."

"My...
what
?"

"Your wife."

He shook his head slowly and she could feel
how badly it ached. A white bandage at the back of his skull stood
like a banner of surrender amid his soft, sooty hair. The car
accident that had put him here had caused no other injury. Only
that one blow to the head, and the resulting memory loss. For
Joey's purposes, it was the perfect opportunity to intervene in a
deadly situation.

"My wife." He closed his eyes briefly, then
opened them again, studying her with poorly disguised
skepticism.

"You don't believe me."

He shrugged, eyes narrow, almost mocking.
What had happened to the emptiness? Her mind was wide open. The
problem was, she had no control over what she "picked up," and what
she didn't. The images, the feelings, were random. God knew there
were some things she'd rather not feel at all. Sickening, horrible
things.

"I don't believe much of anything until I see
proof," he told her. "That's just the way I am."

She frowned. "And how do you know
what
way you are?"

The sardonic smile died and the clouds
returned to his eyes. "I don't know. That just came out." He shook
his head slowly.

Joey felt a rush of sympathy for him,
followed quickly by a rush of guilt. Her presence here wouldn't
make things any easier. "It must be pretty lousy, forgetting your
entire life." Worse yet, with what she was doing to him.

He searched her face. "I've talked to the
people I work with—"

"At the
Chronicle,"
she inserted, just
to show him she knew.

He nodded, his gaze intensifying, never
wavering from hers. "They filled in a lot of the blanks for me. But
no one mentioned a wife. How do you explain that?"

She wasn't unprepared. She'd known which
bases would need covering, and she'd covered them. He had no
family, or none she'd been able to trace. There would be no
doubting in-laws to contend with. She called to mind the lines
she'd rehearsed for this moment and cleared her throat. "Did they
tell you about your weekend in Vegas?"

He nodded, his face wary. "I went there to
follow up a lead on...a story.”

"The Syracuse Slasher." His eyes widened, but
he hid his surprise quickly. "Your lead was a dead end. But the
trip wasn't entirely wasted." She reached down to the backpack on
the floor beside her and pulled out the rolled, ribboned document.
The scent of fresh ink worried her, but she doubted he'd notice
that. She handed it to him, kept talking as he unrolled it. "When
you asked me to go along, I had no idea what you were planning,
Ash."

He frowned over the marriage certificate that
proclaimed Ashville Allan Coye and Josephine Belinda Bradshaw were
husband and wife. For what she’d paid for the thing, he’d better
not find a single flaw.

Finally he shook his head. “So I have a wife.
It's so odd. It's like I've never seen you before in my life. I
hope that doesn't hurt your feelings too badly."

"I knew what to expect." She swallowed,
failing to remove the hard lump in her throat

"So we were just married on Saturday?” he
asked. “And no one else knew about it?"

"That's right. We arrived back on Sunday
night. I went to my house and you went back to your apartment...to
pack a few things, you said. When you didn't come back, I didn't
know what to think."

"And now that you know?"

She drew a bracing breath and steadied her
jangling nerves. It was necessary, she reminded herself. If she let
him out of her sight for a minute, it could mean disaster. And this
was the only way. She couldn't very well go to the police. They'd
laugh her right out of the building. They'd never believe her. Very
few people ever had. It was sickeningly ironic that she could get
people to accept lies more easily than the truth. The super at the
building where Ash lived, for example. He'd bought this same story,
hook, line and sinker, and unlocked the apartment for her. If she'd
told him the truth, he'd have dialed 911 to report a woman having
an obvious psychotic break.

Except with her dad. The one who’d raise her,
not the one who’d sired her, He’d never doubted her gift. He'd
never accused her of having an overactive imagination. But he was
nothing to her now. Less than nothing.

"Well?" Ash prompted, reminding her he'd
asked a question.

She straightened her spine, met his velvety
brown gaze. "I’m hoping we can pick up where we left off." She let
her eyes search his face, tried to put longing into her expression.
It was easier than it ought to be. "That is...if you still want
to."

Ash felt his eyebrows arch. So she wanted to
play house with him. Well, that would require some serious
consideration. He studied her again. Her hair was a mixture of
honey gold and strawberry blond. It was wild and long. His gaze
lingered on her exotically slanted, emerald green eyes and the
black velvet forest surrounding them. She was small, no more than
five feet tall, and she had incredible legs. No contour was hidden
beneath the skintight leather pants she wore. The rest of her shape
was concealed by her matching jacket. She smelled like fresh air
and leather, and she looked at him like she was trying to see right
through him.

"Can we do that, Ash? Pick up where we left
off?”

He licked his lips. "I'm thinking." Who the
hell
was
she, anyway? What was her game?

She rose, scooping her backpack from the
floor and dropping it on the chair. Then, turning her back to him,
she bent over it. He heard the rasp of the zipper, watched her
rummage around in the bag. Watching the subtle movements of her
black-leather-encased, perfectly round backside, he felt himself
inclined to go along with her scheme, whatever it was.

When she turned, she held a pair of
jeans—
his jeans
—and a pale gray button-down dress shirt.
Holy shit, she’d been in his apartment.

"These are for when you're released." She
opened the narrow closet opposite the bed and busied herself
hanging the clothes. She'd brought socks, too, underwear, his cross
trainers. He noticed that her hands trembled just slightly as she
stowed each item in the closet. "I wasn't sure what kind of shape
your other clothes were in, after the accident."

He just watched her. She was obviously
nervous, seemingly making things up as she went along. She couldn't
seem to hold his gaze or sit still or stop filling the tense
silence. "Is there anything else I can bring you? Magazines or
books or—"

"No." He was baffled. "Look, um..." He
glanced down at the marriage certificate in his hand. "Josephine—"
She grimaced and her nose wrinkled. Damn. When she wasn't
outrageously sexy, she was unbearably cute.

"It's Joey, and I'll only forgive that
mistake once, amnesia or no amnesia.”

He couldn't help but smile as he tapped the
paper in his hand. "That's not what it says here. Josephine Belinda
Bradshaw."

"Well, regardless of what it says there, my
name is Joey." Her lashes lowered over those impossibly green eyes
and she added, "Joey Coye."

He shook his head. He'd have to resist the
cries of his body that were telling him to go along with her scam,
whatever it was, just in case she planned to let him exercise a few
husbandly prerogatives. He reminded himself that women like her
were not his type. And that this was a serious game she was
playing. She was up to something.

"Okay. Joey, then. Do you mind me asking how
you got into my apartment?"

Her eyes focused on his, filled with enough
innocence to fool the devil himself. "You gave me a key, Ash."

"Oh."

The investigative reporter inside jumped with
questions. His libido was making noises of surrender. Loud noises.
But the still-small voice of self-preservation squeaked its
dissent.

Because, after all, the accident had been no
accident. Someone was trying very hard to kill him.

Then again, forewarned was forearmed, right?
And what better way to find out what she was up to than to play
this out? She certainly looked harmless enough.

“Ash? Is anything wrong?"

He sighed. "No. As a matter of fact, you
couldn't have come at a better time. They’re springing me
today."

Her eyes doubled in size at that instant.
"T-today?"

"Yeah. Got the news ten minutes before you
got here. So if you'll hand me those clothes, I'll be ready to
leave by the time they bring in my discharge papers.”

"Leave?"

"You
are
taking me home, aren't you?"
He was enjoying her panic, but he was careful not to show it. He
kept his expression blank, trusting.

"Home? I don't—"

"No." He stopped her before she could say
anything else. Eyes downcast, he bit his lower lip to keep from
grinning. "It's okay, I understand. I thought when you said you
wanted to pick up where we left off..." He swallowed an imaginary
lump. "It's all right. What kind of a husband would I be, like
this?”

He'd called her bluff. He'd watched her
squirm, and now he was giving her a way out. Obviously whatever
scam she was pulling wasn't meant to extend beyond this hospital
room. He could wait until later to do a background check on her,
figure out what this fiasco had been all about.

But wait a minute. Oh, hell no! She marched
to that closet, gathered up his clothes, brought them to the bed,
then perched on the mattress and gripped his shoulders. Her eyes
stabbed into his with unmistakable sincerity and some kind of raw
power.