me?â
Her wide smile startled him even more. âYouâre my fiancé.â
He blinked.
âThink about it. Itâs ready-made. Youâre U.S. Army.Ranger, Special Forces, Deltaâit doesnât matter. What matters is that youâve been searching for me since I disappeared from the conference. With your connections, you managed to locate me and get me out of that dank dungeon DeBruzkya stashed me in. But when I passed out, you were forced to order the chopper to set us down.â She shrugged. âWe didnât make it across the border. Everyone knows that ever since the day DeBruzkya came to power, the borders have been locked down tighter than a Soviet-era ruble exchange. Only medical and relief personnel are allowed through, and then only if theyâre carrying the proper documentation. Naturally we thought that Orloffââ
ââas hospital chief-of-staff, could provide it.â Jared nodded. Like the Maglite tube, it was brilliant. Close enough to the truth to be believable, yet still deceptively simple. Aiden Swift would have been impressed to see his protégé now.
He knew he certainly was.
âIt just might work.â He leaned forward and tapped the lid to the laptop. âPage sixty-seven of that backgrounder is even more fascinating. For two years our local boys have suspected the good doctor of providing medical relief on the sideârelief to DeBruzkyaâs enemies. No one has been able to tie Orloff directly or even indirectly to the rebels, but that doesnât mean much. The man may simply be that good. The aid and concealment Orloff provided Robert Davidson and his fiancée is enough to warrant a cautious benefit of the doubt.â
âI agree.â
That was it, then.
Damned if Hatch wasnât right, after all. They made a surprisingly decent team. The thought stunned him. Anxious to cover it, he changed the subject to familiar, professional ground. âHave you remembered anything more aboutââ
âNo.â She flushed. âSorry.â
So was he. Of all people, he should have known better.It just went to show how much this woman had managed to affect him in so short a time. He leaned forward and closed his hand over hers. âItâs okay. Itâll come back.â
âHow can you be so sure?â
That whisper. The pain simmering within it sliced deeper than both his gashes before heâd injected the painkillers. There was no way he could tell her the truth. He squeezed her hand, instead.
It was a mistake.
Much as he hated admitting it, it was yet another example of that telling symptom. If waking up in this womanâs arms hadnât confirmed it, the heat searing his fingers did. Touching Alex Morrow without a stethoscope in his hands qualified as extremely poor judgment. Especially when the air between them seemed to warm and shift, as well, magnifying the early-evening shadows that were beginning to steal into the cabin, enhancing the shadow of desire that had slipped into her eyes.
He watched the pulse at the base of her neck pick up its tempo until it matched the thudding of his heart.
He released her hand slowly, carefully, deliberately ignoring the questions that crowded into her eyes as he backed away. âHow far did you get?â
She blinked.
He jerked his chin toward the laptop on the makeshift nightstand across the cabin before she could misconstrue his question. âYour own reading. How far did you get?â
Her gaze cleared. Her lips twisted sheepishly. âNot as far as you.â
He actually laughed. âAt least you wonât dream it.â
âYou do?â
Perhaps because the question seemed motivated by genuine curiosity, he answered it. âYeah.â
âYouâre kidding?â
âI wish I was. Just last week I fell asleep to the first Dear John letter I ever got. I was twelve. She broke it offbecause I didnât know how to French
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