Chapter Eight. The visual tableau of them reflected in the mirror--their faces close together, arms enfolding each other

The visual tableau of them reflected in the mirror--their faces close together, arms enfolding each other, seen only from above waist level--made it appear they were entwined in a lovers’ embrace.

The image made Kat acutely aware of Jake’s soft skin under her hands. And she was fixated on the small hand pressing gently into the base of her neck. Kat closed her eyes. A tremor raced through her body. She was certain Jake noticed.

Jake glanced at herself only long enough to think, Yes, I know you. She was mesmerized by the image of them together. The vision sent a scorching rush of heat through her body. She looked at the woman who held her just in time to see Kat’s eyes close tight, an unreadable expression on her face.

Jake gently squeezed Kat’s shoulder, a gesture that was almost a caress.

Kat’s eyes shot open.

Their eyes met. Neither woman spoke for several heartbeats.

Finally, Kat looked away. She cleared her throat, not thoroughly trusting her voice at the moment, and managed only two words. "So...familiar?"

"Yes," Jake answered. She looked at their reflection again. Kat would not meet her eyes. After a moment, Jake said, "I kind of had an idea what I looked like. It’s reassuring, despite the fact I look like a raccoon."

A trace of a smile appeared on Kat’s face at that, and her eyes met Jake’s again.

"But seeing myself didn’t stir up any memories of my past," Jake said.

Both women relaxed a bit at that, relief reflected on their faces. Kat just nodded and carried Jake back to the bedroom. Once again Jake glimpsed the living room, kitchen, and office. She wanted to get a better look at the rest of the place, but she didn’t want to impose further on Kat. Not at the moment, anyway. She must be getting tired of lugging me around. Though she really looks like it’s no effort at all. She’s not even breathing hard. Jake could feel Kat’s taut muscles beneath her hand.

Kat focused on taking even, steady breaths. She was anxious to distance herself from the raw sexuality of Jake’s body. Her nerves simply couldn’t take it.

As they neared the bed, Jake suddenly gripped Kat’s shoulder again and said, "Wait."

Kat froze and looked reluctantly toward the blonde, her face only inches away.

But Jake wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at the two large photographs hanging above the bed.

One was a close-up of a lynx, eyes half closed, lazing in the sun in a meadow dotted with purple wildflowers. The other was an equally impressive shot of a bobcat, his brown, spotted coat vividly outlined against a snowy backdrop. "They’re wonderful. I hadn’t seen them before," Jake said. "I notice you have a kind of theme going in the different rooms. Water beasts in the bathroom. And predators in here, right?"

Kat nodded. "You’re very observant, aren’t you?"

"What’s in the other room?" Jake asked.

"You’ll see soon enough," Kat said, setting Jake back on the tan flannel sheets. She pulled the fleece blanket up again to cover her. "Right now, you need to rest. And I’m going to go out for a bit. I won’t be long." She gave Jake a little smile as she reached over to shut off the lamp.

She was halfway to the door when Jake’s voice stopped her.

"Kat?"

She paused and turned back toward the bed.

"Thanks again. Sorry I’m so much trouble," Jake said.

"You’re no trouble," Kat lied as she left. Jake could turn out to be nothing but trouble. Kat felt it.

Jake closed her eyes and settled back into the pillow, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep immediately. Her heart still hammered in her chest. It had started pounding during the seconds? minutes? while they were standing in front of the mirror. Sure seemed like a long time, but I bet it wasn’t. I guess that’s what you call chemistry.

Her mind jumped to a place she didn’t want it to. Did I--could I--have felt this with the person I married? She didn’t want to think about being married. But something kept reminding her of it. And what about children? That thought hadn’t occurred to her until now. Surely you can’t forget your own children.

Though Jake sensed her attraction to Kat was mutual, she would not act on it. Not while there were so many variables outstanding, so many questions unanswered. Who knows how much the situation and my amnesia might be screwing with my emotions. Besides, if I have a spouse, surely my feelings for Kat will disappear when my memory returns. Won’t they?

Chapter Nine

In his younger days, he was called Otter because of his appearance. He had a lean and lanky frame then, and a habit of wearing his dark hair slicked back with copious amounts of hair grease. He had the same dark eyes as his namesake; lifeless eyes, the eyes of a predator. And he had an otter’s temperament. Playful one minute, jovial, but capable of sudden, unspeakable viciousness.

His hairstyle hadn’t changed much, but he combed it more to one side now in an unsuccessful effort to cover a bald spot. The lean physique was gone too, replaced by the softened flesh and paunch of middle age. But he still had a clever mind and infinite patience--tools essential to his chosen profession.

He’d been out of prison for six months, living in fleabag hotels and picking up whatever odd jobs he could. It was hard to get back into his old line of work. He had been out of touch for seven years, and too many others were now competing for the same contracts. He also lacked the money to invest in the kind of surveillance equipment and other toys that were needed on the bigger jobs.

So he answered the ad for this contract not expecting to collect on it. It was one of the biggest he’d ever heard of, for one thing, so he was certain it would attract a lot of takers better equipped than he was. But he’d lucked out, perhaps because of his past association with Garner. He’d not only been given the opportunity, he’d been provided with enough cash up front to take care of his immediate needs, including the rental of the dark green Ford Explorer he was driving.

He wanted the million, of course. It would set him up for life. But he’d almost have taken the contract for nothing when he found out who the target was. The icy bitch he held responsible for his incarceration.

Otter hadn’t liked Hunter from their first meeting, and that dislike had turned to loathing when she had left him stranded during the job they did together, taking away his only means of escape.

He spent his time in prison dreaming of revenge. He hadn’t tried to find her since his release only because he had no idea where she might be and he lacked the resources to look. Otter knew how dangerous Hunter was and would proceed cautiously, but his overpowering need for vengeance and the million-dollar reward overrode any misgivings he might have had about going up against her.

He could see a green mileage sign that indicated Tawa was just another twenty miles down the road.

I’m coming, bitch. He licked his lips in nervous anticipation. It’s payback time.

Chapter Ten

Kat suited up in her parka and arctic boots. She was standing in a concrete-lined tunnel some twenty feet long that connected the living area of her bunker to an underground garage. From this connecting chamber there was also a small offshoot tunnel that went straight up. Ladder rungs led up through the smaller passageway, which was just large enough for a person to pass through. It was her emergency exit and had never been used.

She used the tunnel as a giant storage closet. Pegs in the walls held a variety of coats, and along the floor were snowshoes, snow boots, and hiking boots. A couple of large military-surplus metal drums contained gloves, hats, scarves, and other odds and ends.

Once she was appropriately garbed for the bitter cold outside, she walked down the tunnel to the two-inch-thick steel door that led to the concrete garage that housed her generator, water pumping system, and snowmobile. She unlocked the door by punching a series of numbers into a security keypad in the wall. The steel door and long tunnel effectively insulated the living room from the constant, droning noise of the generator. The machine was hydroelectric, powered by a small stream that ran through the hill. Next to the generator was a large, well-equipped toolbox. Kat opened it and withdrew a small metal pry bar and jammed it into one of her pockets.

Kat glanced at the snowmobile. It would cut her time to and from the crash site by at least an hour, but it would also create a much more visible trail. She’d checked the monitors before suiting up and knew that a thin layer of new snow had partially covered the track her sled had made when she’d brought Jake back to the bunker. But it was still visible. And it wasn’t snowing at the moment. Kat glanced at her watch. Three a.m. She was surprised to discover it had been just over forty-eight hours since she’d rescued Jake. She’d lost all track of time. No wonder I’m so tired. She decided to walk. She was still a bit unnerved by the way she was responding to Jake, and she wanted some time alone to ponder what was happening. She punched more numbers into another keypad--this one on the wall leading to the outside--and a large panel slid open, revealing the dark night beyond.

Kat retrieved the toboggan and stepped outside with it, breathing deeply of the fresh air. She opened a small hidden keypad on the outside of the panel and punched in the code to close the doorway behind her.

From the outside, the entrance was well camouflaged. An intruder would have to be within ten feet to tell it wasn’t the natural slab of rock and moss that it appeared to be from a distance.

She’d brought a flashlight, but the bright moon lit her surroundings well enough for her to avoid obstacles on her way to the wreck. She set off toward the road at a fast clip, torn about whether she hoped to find clues in the wreck that would jar Jake’s memory.

Jake wasn’t sure how long she had slept, but her bladder was full again and in urgent need of relief. She called out Kat’s name and waited expectantly, trying a second time, a little louder, when some time had passed with no response.

Pretty soon she could ignore it no longer. She leaned over and turned on the light, then peeled back the covers and slid her legs over the side of the bed. She dropped the short distance to the floor, trying to keep her weight off her left knee.

The concrete floor was cold against her bare feet. She shivered under the thin T-shirt. She hopped over to the dresser, debating with herself only a moment before opening one of the drawers. It seemed like an invasion of her host’s privacy, but Jake was freezing, and her discomfort outweighed the nigglings of her conscience.

The drawer she opened contained socks and underwear. The socks, all black or navy, were neatly paired and arranged in a tidy row. Underwear and bras--also dark colored and most of them silk--were folded in tidy piles. Kind of a neat freak, aren’t you? Jake resisted the urge to touch the smooth fabrics, but she couldn’t stop herself from briefly imagining Kat wearing them.

She picked out a thick pair of soft cotton socks, closed the drawer, and leaned against the dresser to put them on. Doing so meant flexing her injured knee and putting weight on it, a task that sent a sharp pain to the joint. She waited for it to subside, then opened the next drawer down.

This one contained T-shirts, also meticulously folded and stacked. Jake gave in to her curiosity and glanced through them, but all were as nondescript as the one she wore. The next drawer contained sweatshirts and heavy pullovers. Like the T-shirts, they were plain and dark colored: black, brown, burgundy, navy, charcoal, and dark green. So you’re not a pastel kind of gal, Jake thought.

She reached for a sweatshirt. She was glad it was much too large for her, for it easily slipped over her splint and extended well below her waist. Warmer now, she shut the drawer and moved toward the doorway, the pain in her knee intensifying with every tentative, limping step.

She negotiated the few steps into the bathroom and relieved herself, then made her way to the sink, glancing at herself in the mirror again as she washed her hands. Without Kat’s distracting presence this time, Jake took a few minutes to examine her injuries. The bruising around her eyes was a dark bluish purple, with streaks of mottled yellow. Not a particularly attractive shade on me.

She also noticed for the first time the clotted blood in her hair. She ran some water and tried to wash out as much as she could one-handed, careful not to wet the bandages on her face. She was happy with the result, but the prolonged time on her feet was taking its toll. Her knee had begun to throb, and she felt a little light-headed. Better get back to bed.

Jake wanted to explore a bit more, but it would have to wait until she was stronger. She hobbled back to bed, finding it momentarily difficult to maneuver herself back onto the high surface with her bad knee and splinted arm. Finally she lay back, exhausted from her efforts, and relaxed into the pillow. Despite the ache in her knee, she was soon fast asleep.

Kat began her inspection of the crash site by raking the high-powered halogen flashlight beam over a wide area around the wrecked car. An inch or two of new snow had fallen, obscuring anything small that might have been thrown from the vehicle when it flipped over, so she knew any search of the ground could only be perfunctory at best.

She moved to the driver’s door, still ajar from the rescue two nights previous. A light dusting of snow had blown into the car through the door and rear windshield, which had shattered when the vehicle flipped over. Kat crawled into the sedan and began a meticulous examination, checking the glove compartment again, and under the seats, the floor mats, over the visor. She found a few odds and ends. Some fast-food wrappers. Kleenex. A map of Michigan. A tube of Chapstick. A pair of gloves--women’s size small. The gloves were thin leather and form fitting. Not very appropriate for winter, Kat noted. But very much like the ones I wear when I’m on a job and don’t want to leave fingerprints.

She could find no car registration, title, or insurance information. The car key, still in the ignition, was on a small ring with several others. Kat pulled it out to examine it more closely. There were six keys in all, in a variety of shapes and sizes but with no markings to tell what they opened or operated. There was nothing in the interior of the car to help conclusively establish Jake’s identity.

She carried the keys to the back of the car and ran her flashlight over the trunk, which had been partially caved in. The ignition key fit in the lock and turned, but the compartment remained stubbornly closed. Kat took the metal pry bar out of her pocket and popped the trunk.

Shining her flashlight inside, she quickly dismissed the spare tire, jack, and toolbox that dominated the space. Her eyes were drawn to a silver case. One she was well familiar with. It was an expensive Pelican case--indestructible, waterproof, and essentially jimmy-proof. She owned several herself and used them for transporting weapons and delicate camera equipment. This one was a little more than two feet long, less than half that in width.

The case was locked. She tried the keys on the key ring she’d taken from the car. The third one fit neatly into the lock and turned. She took a deep breath before she opened it, suspecting what she would find inside. She wasn’t disappointed. The contents confirmed her worst fears.

She stood for several long moments staring down at a photo of herself. It lay atop a high-powered sniper rifle, neatly disassembled and packaged in a custom-cut foam interior. It was an AWC M91 BDR. A premier takedown rifle. She had one almost exactly like it back in her weapons room, but hers was tactical black and this one was NATO green. The case had cutouts to fit the stock, sling, barrel, scope, torque wrench, and cleaning kit.

Kat felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. Her mind accepted what she’d tried so hard to resist. Jake was the bounty hunter who was after her. But the rest of her still refused to believe it. She couldn’t understand how the seemingly gentle woman she’d been tending to, had felt such an attraction to, was a paid killer, just like she was. She’d known a lot of them in her time, and she just couldn’t wrap her mind around Jake being a member of that cold and ruthless fraternity.

Kat knew almost immediately that what she should do and what she would do about this revelation were two entirely different things. She would not ordinarily hesitate to kill another bounty hunter foolish enough to come after her. But that was impossible with Jake.

Another option would be to transport Jake by sled to Tawa and leave her at the small clinic there. But without sedatives, it would be a painful, arduous trip for the injured woman. And she’d also then know the route to the bunker, meaning Kat would have to abandon it and move to another safe house.

Kat didn’t care for that choice either, and not because she bemoaned the loss of her favorite hideaway. Unbelievable, she thought, shaking her head. Jake was on her way to kill me and I still want to protect her and get to know her. What the hell is happening to me?

Suddenly a new thought occurred to her. What if Jake never regains her memory? Kat considered the possibilities. If she didn’t tell Jake what she knew, and if Jake never remembered, what then?

And maybe she isn’t married after all, she considered. Few in her line of work were, for a number of obvious reasons. And Kat herself had been known to wear a wedding ring as part of a disguise for a job.

Could this new knowledge change everything? Despite their evidently mutual attraction, Kat had refused to allow herself to really consider any possible relationship with Jake. But she’s just like me. Maybe she’ll understand me and accept what I do. A tiny flicker of something ignited in her. It was hope, an emotion she was unable to recognize. If she doesn’t regain her memory, is there a chance for us?

Her decision made, she closed the Pelican case and loaded it on the sled, then headed toward the hill where she’d left her own rifle and the deer carcass. That logical inner voice that usually guided her actions tried to warn her against what she was about to do. What if she does remember? What if she wakes up one day and wants to kill you? Kat was surprised at how much she wanted to ignore the voice.

The first hint of dawn was breaking as Kat returned to the bunker and checked in on Jake. Her patient was sound asleep, her face relaxed and serene, but her hair was wildly mussed, the blunt-cut strands sticking up in all directions. She just looks so damn cute. How the hell can she be an assassin?

She didn’t dwell on the fact that it appeared as though Jake was out to kill her; she just couldn’t believe her instincts about this woman were so far off base. There were still some things that didn’t fit, true. Like where the hell had Jake been going and why was she driving so fast? The lack of ID now made more sense, and so did the stolen car. But there was no way she could have known I was out on that hillside that night.

She left Jake to sleep and retrieved the two rifles from where she’d left them in the tunnel. She put them both in her weapons room after spending a considerable amount of time drying and cleaning the rifle she’d left in the snow. Then she spent an hour or so cutting up the deer. Something had gotten to the carcass, probably a coyote or fox, but a large portion was still untouched. There was enough for several meals. Most went into the freezer, but two tenderloins were set in the fridge to thaw for tomorrow’s dinner.

Kat went into the bathroom to wash up and glanced into the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes. She needed sleep. And soon. But she had to smile faintly at herself despite the uncertainty ahead. Maybe everything will be just fine, she lied to herself. If only Jake just never gets her memory back.

Kat had taken three steps toward the bedroom when she froze, ears cocked. Had she heard something? A moment later she heard it again. A cry of pain from behind the closed bedroom door.

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