LITMIR.BIZ

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Chief, I’ve got enough problems without you being mad over whether I can find the bathroom during the night. If I couldn’t take care of myself, I wouldn’t have left home, I think, no matter what the situation there. Okay?”

      He raised his hands in surrender. “Are you hungry?”

      “Starved.”

      He started to stand. She put a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place, felt his muscles clench. “I can fix something for myself. Have you eat— Oh! Good morning, baby.”

      She closed her eyes a moment as she flattened her hand on top of her belly. “She’s been quiet this morning. I’d started to worry.”

      “She?”

      A smile lit up her eyes. “Don’t ask me how I know that. Do you want to feel her?”

      Before he could answer, she grabbed his hand and placed it where hers had been. Even though her sweater made a bulky barrier, the intimacy startled him silent. The wonder of feeling something poking at her from inside made him relax his hand.

      “Amazing, isn’t it?” she said, breathless, then laughed when the baby kicked harder.

      J.T. stood. He couldn’t allow that kind of bond to form between them, not now, not ever. That baby belonged to some other man.

      And becoming a father was a fantasy J.T. had long ago abandoned.

      “Max wants you to call him,” he said abruptly, picking up the phone and punching a speed dial number. “I’ll fix breakfast today. Tomorrow you can.”

      “You expect me to still be here?” She put the receiver to her ear. “No reports have come through?”

      “None. Oatmeal okay?”

      “Do you have chocolate chips?”

      He must have looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, because she grinned.

      “Cravings. It’s like eating an oatmeal and chocolate chip cookie for break— Good morning, Dr. Hunter. This is Gina Banning.”

      J.T. listened to her answer Max’s questions as he measured water, salt and oatmeal into a microwavable bowl, then went in search of chocolate chips. He’d already fixed a bowl of orange sections, mixed with banana slices and sprinkled with chopped walnuts. It had been a long time since he’d made anyone breakfast.

      “He says my blood pressure was pretty high last night, so he’ll stop by in a little while to check it again,” Gina said, coming up beside J.T. “What can I do to help?”

      “Everything’s under control. No chocolate chips, but I can break up a candy bar, if that’ll work.”

      “That would be great. Just a few small pieces tossed in when the oatmeal is done. A little goes a long way. Thanks.” She pressed her cheek to his arm for a second, then moved away.

      Hell. He’d forgotten how touchy-feely she was. This was never going to work. She was only adding fuel to the explosion sure to blast the roof off when her memory returned—and she was bound to blame him. He would take responsibility for the other times she’d gotten mad at him, because he’d brought that upon himself, but not this time. Not for following orders. Well, maybe Max had finished his research on amnesia and would decide it was okay to give her some of her missing puzzle pieces. J.T. needed to know why she was here. He wanted to know why she was pregnant but not married.

      “The coffee’s decaf,” he said, angling his head toward the coffeemaker. “But there’s milk and orange juice, too.”

      She helped herself to the juice. “Where’s Deputy?”

      “He’s got a dog door, so he comes and goes.” He started the microwave, then leaned against the counter, his arms and ankles crossed. “I’m surprised he’s stayed outside this long, actually, given how deep the snow is and how little he likes cold weather. He usually finds himself a sunny spot in the living room to nap in.”

      “Your home is beautiful. And the view! The view is simply spectacular.”

      “It was a big change for a city boy. Hadn’t even seen snow until I moved here. I had to learn how to drive in it.”

      She swirled her juice in the glass, eyeing it instead of him. “Is there enough social life here for you? I mean, I assume you’re not married or I would’ve met Mrs. Ryker by now.”

      “I keep her locked in the attic.”

      Her head lifted in a flash. She frowned, then she tossed a paper clip at him.

      He caught it on the fly. “There’s no Mrs. Ryker. It wouldn’t be easy being married to me. I’m never really off duty, although I’m not always on the clock. I tend to stay in uniform, because looking the part is half the battle.”

      “It suits you.”

      Simple words accompanied by her slow, thorough inspection of his…uniform, he assumed. But the flicker of purely female interest he saw in her eyes whisked him back to the night they’d met.

      After a few seconds she put a hand to her forehead.

      “Headache again?” he asked.

      She nodded. “That was sudden. I’d been doing so well, too.”

      “Any other memories come to you?”

      “Images that don’t make sense.”

      “Like what?”

      She settled on a stool at the counter, set her glass down with a precise movement, then rolled it between her hands. He reminded himself that she didn’t remember him, that even though she said she would trust him, they were only words, and certainly not reason enough for her to confide in him. Some amount of caution would be ingrained in her.

      “It’s as if someone took a bunch of movie clips and put them onto one tape,” she said after a while. “Flashes of people, and all of them seemed…I don’t know, angry or something.”

      “At you?”

      “I’m not sure. There’s a man—he’s young and nice looking. He isn’t as tall as you, I don’t think, and he’s kind of stocky. Or maybe he’s just muscular. It’s hard to tell. His hair—” she sliced a hand front to back over her head “—is cut really short, like a soldier.”

      Eric, J.T. thought.

      “He’s wearing a suit and tie, and there’s a flower on his lapel, so maybe it’s my wedding. Maybe he’s my husband? Why wouldn’t I recognize him, though? Then there’s a woman, not my mother, but about her age, and she’s crying. Crying so hard and pointing at me. And then the scene switches to my father, calling me…”

      Pain dulled her voice, stealing what J.T. had always been drawn to—her optimism. She’d seen the good in everything, everyone…except him. She’d never forgiven him for what she called “leading her on” that first night, then turning his back on her.

      “My father is calling me a brood mare. He’s saying he thought I was smarter than that.”

      The defeat in her posture knocked on J.T.’s teetering wall of detachment. “Do you think these images are real or dreams?”

      “I saw them as I woke up, so I hope they’re dreams.”

      The microwave beeped. He leaned across the counter and wrapped his hands around hers, still clamping the glass. “Let it go for now, Gina.”

      She lifted her gaze. “But to run like I did, J.T.? I had to be protecting my baby. Nothing else makes sense. I think what hurts is that I don’t seem to have anyone I trusted enough to help. Don’t I have friends? Why wouldn’t I go to my parents? Or one of my brothers or sisters? I have three of each, you know. Three older sisters and three younger brothers.”

      J.T. served her breakfast as she sat, her chin propped on her hand, a frown of concentration

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