Killer Body

Elle James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Tabla of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Copyright

About the Author

Golden Heart Winner for Best Paranormal Romance in 2004, ELLE JAMES started writing when her sister issued a Y2K challenge to write a romance novel. She managed a full-time job, raised three wonderful children and she and her husband even tried their hands at ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas) in the Texas HillCountry. Ask her, and she’ll tell you, what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry 350-pound bird! After leaving her successful career in Information Technology Management, Elle is now pursuing her writing fulltime. She loves building exciting stories about heroes, heroines, romance and passion. Elle loves to hear from fans. You can contact her at ellejames@earthlink.net or visit her website at www.ellejames.com.

This book is dedicated to my family—my husband,

daughters, son, grandson, mother, father, sister,

brothers and all my extended family.

Because … family is everything.

Chapter One

Dawson Gray clutched the phone in a death grip to keep his hand from shaking. “I’m not right for this job. Isn’t there a surveillance gig I could cover? What about Jack, can’t he do it?” This was just the kind of job his buddy Jack was best at. Dawson didn’t want to disappoint his new boss, but he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s life other than his own.

Private investigation is what he’d signed up for when he’d joined the Lone Star Agency. Taking pictures of cheating spouses, he could handle. Protecting someone from an unknown enemy, never again.

He stared at Laredo’s Doctors Hospital from the parking lot, dreading the visit. The last two times he’d been in a hospital had left him with the permanent need to stay clear. When he was in the military he had to stand at the bedside of the young corporal he’d been responsible for and watch him slowly bleed to death of wounds from an IED roadside explosion. Then he had to witness his wife’s death, or rather he missed saying goodbye to the only woman he’d ever loved. She’d died before he’d arrived.

“The D.A. in Laredo needs someone today. I’d send Jack, but he’s not available. You’re the only agent not tagged at this time.” Audrey Nye sighed over the line and pleaded with him. “I need you to do this. A woman’s life depends on you.”

His boss’s words made his stomach knot and his palms sweat against the steering wheel. Who was he to provide protection to anyone when he’d already lost too many of the people he cared about? How could Audrey give him this assignment when he’d only been sober for two months? Two months wasn’t enough to make him qualified to blow his nose in public, much less watch over the welfare of a woman who’d been left for dead in an alley. He opened his mouth to tell his boss he couldn’t take the job, but she beat him to the punch.

“Dawson, you can do this. I wouldn’t have assigned the case to you if I didn’t think you could handle it. Laredo itself isn’t bad, but the city’s so close to the border a lot of the drug-war fighting happening in Mexico bleeds across the Rio Grande. You’re trained in Special Ops, you know how to use a weapon. I know you’re right for this job. You’re there, you might as well check it out. If you still don’t think you’re up to it, I’ll find someone else, even if I have to take the case myself.”

When his female boss, with no military training whatsoever, volunteered to take on a potentially violent bodyguard gig, he knew he had a problem. Dawson’s jaw tightened and he drew in a deep breath. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Dawson. I knew you would.” Before he could comment, she continued. “The D.A., Frank Young, is scheduled to meet you at the nurses’ station on Savvy’s floor. He’ll fill you in on the details. Tell them you’re her fiancé or they won’t let you in. Don’t let on to anyone you’re anything else. The D.A. wants this all to be low-key. Got that?”

“Yes, ma’am.” As long as it stayed at the pretend level. Dawson wasn’t in a position to be anything other than a hired protector. Since his wife’s death two years ago, he’d been nearly suicidal. Brokenhearted, he’d volunteered for the most dangerous of missions in Iraq, taking risks no one in his right mind would dream of. He hadn’t been in his right mind. Not since Amanda’s death. After nearly getting killed three times and a mandatory psych evaluation, his commander shipped him home and Dawson had gotten out of the service.

He shifted his truck into Park, pulled the keys from the ignition and pushed the door open. Heat hit him like a steamroller. The glaring Texas sun beat against the black asphalt.

Thankful for the thick soles of his cowboy boots, Dawson stepped out of the truck and stood.

An image of his wife lying across sterile sheets with tubes and wires attached to her sent a shiver over his body despite the oppressive morning heat. His heart thundered against his chest and he couldn’t quite catch his breath as he approached the door to the hospital lobby. The sudden craving for whiskey hit him so hard he wanted to drop to his knees.

A woman carrying a baby stepped through the sliding doors on her way to the parking lot. She smiled at him and held the door open. “Are you going in?”

He nodded and hurried forward to hold the door for her so that she could grab hold of a toddler while she juggled the baby in her arms. “Thanks.”

Dragging in a deep breath, he stepped inside the cool interior of the hospital and marched toward the information desk.

An older woman sat behind the desk, peering over the top of her glasses. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Savvy Jones’s room.”

The woman touched her finger to a keyboard, one letter at a time.

Dawson bit his tongue to keep from groaning. That ubiquitous hospital scent of disinfectant filled his lungs and made him feel nauseous.

The woman smiled up at him. “Are you a relative?”

Dawson forced the words past his constricted throat. “I’m her … fiancé.”

The woman directed him to the fourth floor, giving him a room number and pointing out the elevator.

After he stepped into the elevator and selected the floor, Dawson’s fingers curled into tight fists. He watched the numbers change above the keypad. The elevator stopped on the third floor, a young nurse stepped in, her eyes widened and her gaze swept over him. “Hi.” She smiled and tucked a strand of long blond hair over her shoulder. “Visiting?”

He barely cut her a glance. “Yeah, my fiancé.”

Her shoulders slumped and she sighed. “The hunks are always taken.” She flashed another smile and held out her hand. “I’m Dani. Call me if things don’t work out.”

“Things will work out.” If he had anything to do with it, they would. He’d perform his protective duties until a suitable replacement could be found, then he’d be on his way back to San Antonio and his next assignment. He nodded toward the door opening on the fourth floor. “Getting off here?”

She shook her head. “I wish, but no.”

Dawson stepped out into a hallway, read the signs on the wall and followed the one toward Savvy’s room. At the nurses’ station he stopped. Audrey had said that the district attorney who’d contracted for a bodyguard would meet him there.

A man stood with his back to Dawson, a cell phone pressed to his ear. His voice was barely a murmur. Tall, with sandyblond hair and wearing a tailored business suit, the guy had to be the district attorney.

He turned, spied Dawson and nodded. “Check on it, will you?” he said into the phone. “If she is who this guy thinks she is, we have to handle things carefully. Call me later with what you find out.” He disconnected and faced Dawson with his hand held out. “You must be Dawson Gray. Ms. Nye told me all about you.”

“Not much to tell.” Dawson accepted the man’s hand. His grip was firm, if somewhat cool.

“Frank Young, Webb County district attorney.” He dropped Dawson’s hand and nodded toward a corner. “Ms. Jones’s room is down that hallway. The nurse says the sedative should be wearing off soon.”

“Ms. Nye said you’d fill me in on the case.”

Young nodded. “Last night Ms. Jones was found in the alley behind the Waterin’ Hole Bar and Grill, where she works, with what appeared to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound to her left temple. Fortunately for her the injury was only a flesh wound. The unfortunate part is that the gun found beside her and that she supposedly used to shoot herself happens to be the same gun used to kill Tomas Rodriguez.”

Dawson gritted his teeth. “Are you telling me she killed Mr. Rodriguez?”

“I can’t tell you anything. When she woke up this morning she was so doped up the nurses couldn’t get anything coherent out of her. When they asked her questions, she swore she couldn’t remember anything.”

“About the shooting?”

Young shook his head. “Anything, as in even her name.”

Dawson glanced toward the hallway. “Amnesia?”

“That’s what the doctors are saying. It could be temporary, or it could be permanent. Only time will tell.” Young crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you sure it’s not just a convenient stall? She can’t testify in a trial if she can’t remember.”

The D.A. nodded. “That’s very true.”

“What about her other mental faculties? Can she talk?”

“Yes, she asked the nurses for water and told them that she was cold and wanted a blanket. No slurred speech or problems following simple directions.”

“Why hire a bodyguard? Why not post a policeman on her?”

“With all the trouble from across the border, the police force is shorthanded. And I’m not so sure I can completely trust the force to handle this matter as delicately as is needed.”

“Why?”

“Why?” The D.A. stared at Dawson as though he expected more from him. “Do you know who Tomas Rodriguez is?”

Dawson shook his head. “Name sounds familiar.”

“I suppose the border troubles don’t always make national news. Make no mistake, though, people around here know the name.” The D.A. looked left then right before going on. “Tomas Rodriguez was the son of Humberto Rodriguez, one of the most powerful leaders of Nuevo Laredo’s drug cartel.”

Dawson stared at the closed door. “Which paints a bright red bull’s-eye on Ms. Jones.” Great, he was in for a rough time of protecting a potential murder suspect from being killed by an avenging father with an army of mercenaries.

“Exactly. Once word gets out that Tomas is dead, which it probably has by now, Rodriguez will be gunning for her and I’m not so sure the police force will stand in the way.”

“Are they that corrupt?”

“No, it’s just that they have families to worry about. Some of them have family on both sides of the border. If they want their loved ones to remain alive, they have to stay out of it. Anyone standing in the way of Rodriguez’s desire for vengeance on the person responsible for killing his only offspring will suffer consequences.”

The woman had her death warrant signed before Dawson had even shown up for work. “If she killed Tomas, why don’t you lock her up?”

“Another fact I just learned a few minutes ago when I talked to one of the nurses has me worried, something I haven’t shared with the press or anyone else.”

“I thought you said Ms. Jones doesn’t remember anything.”

Frank Young gave a mirthless laugh. “She doesn’t. But some things you don’t forget even when you forget your name.”

Dawson crossed his arms over his chest, impatient with the other man’s dramatic pause. “Enlighten me.”

“The prints on the weapon match the prints from her left hand. Since she shot herself after she supposedly shot Tomas, she had to have used her left hand.”

“Your point?” Dawson snapped, the smell of disinfectant making him eager to get to the crux of the matter so that he could get the hell out of the hospital.

“She used her right hand to eat breakfast this morning. Ms. Jones is right-handed.” As if sensing the importance of the D.A.'s words, the busy hallway stilled. No nurse pushed through a door, no patient ventured out. Silence filled the space after Young’s announcement.

“She’s right-handed?” Dawson’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the district attorney, the full impact of those words sinking in.

The D.A. nodded. “Exactly. Why would a right-handed person shoot herself in the head with her left hand?”

“You don’t think she shot herself.” It was a statement, not a question. “You think that whoever killed Rodriguez shot the woman and made it look like murder-suicide.” The pulse in his temple throbbed and he pressed his fingers to the growing ache.

“Right.”

“And whoever tried to kill her the first time will most likely try again.”

“Right, again. Murderers don’t normally like loose ends.”

“She’s the only one who saw the crime take place?”

“As far as we know. No one else has stepped forward.” The D.A. nodded toward her door down the hall. “She hasn’t actually pointed any fingers. Since she probably didn’t shoot Rodriguez, I can’t put her in jail.”

Dawson scoped the hallway again with new purpose, his gaze narrowing at every person passing by. “Whoever killed Tomas Rodriguez won’t want to give her the chance.”

A dull ache throbbed against the side of her head. She struggled to open her eyes and adjust to the fluorescent light in the hospital room. She lifted her hand to press against her temple, but her hand was tied to something.

An IV was taped to the top of her hand. She vaguely remembered the tubes from the last time she’d woken, when the nurses had insisted on cranking her bed into an upright position to eat a breakfast she couldn’t taste. What had happened? Why was she lying in a hospital and why did her head hurt?

What else was wrong with her? She tested movement of her toes. The sheet near the end of the bed wiggled and she let out a sigh. She wasn’t paralyzed. She attempted to sit in the bed and made it halfway up before collapsing back. The effort was exhausting.

Again, she tried to remember what brought her here. Had she been in a wreck? Where was her family? A sudden emptiness filled her chest, pressing hard against her heart. Did she have a family? She glanced around at the sterile room. No flowers, no get-well cards, no signs of anyone caring whether she lived or died. She didn’t know which was worse, that she couldn’t remember who should care about her or that she didn’t actually have anyone who cared about her. For the life of her, she couldn’t picture anyone, couldn’t name a name, not even her own.

Her heartbeat jumped, her breath coming in low shallow gasps. The more she tried to remember, the more she realized she couldn’t. Where had she been, what was she doing? How had she gotten hurt?

A violent shiver shook her body, having nothing to do with the temperature in the room and more to do with the fact she couldn’t remember her name or even what she looked like.

She tried again to sit up in the bed, this time succeeding. An uncontrollable urge to run hit her. Before she could think, she yanked the tape off her hand and pulled the IV needle out. Cool air raised chill bumps on her legs as she slid them from beneath the sheets and let them drop over the side of the bed.

She slipped off the mattress, her bare feet touching the cold floor. For a moment, she thought no problem. Then her knees buckled, her muscles refusing to cooperate. With a dark sense of the inevitable, she cried out as she crumpled to the floor.

She lay still for a few moments, willing the air to return to her lungs.

The swoosh of a door opening and closing made her turn toward the sound.

“Help,” she called out.

No one answered.

Irrepressible fear gripped her so firmly she couldn’t breathe. A hospital usually meant a safe place where people went to recover from their injuries. Why then did panic seize her and squeeze the air from her lungs?

Footsteps neared, rounding the corner of the bed.

She shrank back, looking up at a man wearing green-blue staff scrubs.

“Savvy Jones?” he asked through the matching mask on his face, his words heavily accented.

“I d-don’t know,” she whispered.

The man’s dark brown eyes narrowed, his bushy black brows dipping low on his forehead. He lifted a pillow from the bed. “Let me help.” Instead of reaching out to lift her, he bent beside her.

“I can get up myself,” she said, although she doubted she could. “If you’ll just move back. Please.”

The man didn’t move back. He reached out, his dark-skinned arms covered in tattoos of vicious red devils and blue-green dragons.

Alarmed by the violent nature of the pictures on the man’s arms, she scooted backward until her head bumped into the table beside the bed. “Leave me alone.”

“I will,” he said, his voice cold, menacing, “once I take care of you.”

The pillow came down over her face, pushing her head against the cool tiles of the floor.

She fought and screamed into the pillow, her struggles useless.

The man held her down with minimal effort, his body bigger, stronger—his goal, murder.

Chapter Two

“I have a court case at ten,” District Attorney Young said. “I left an officer at her door, but he knows he can leave as soon as you arrive. I’m counting on you to keep the woman safe. Can you handle it?”

Despite his self-doubt, Dawson nodded.

The D.A. handed him a business card. “As soon as she’s coherent, give me a call. I’ll be here. Hopefully she’ll wake up soon, this time with her memory intact so we can get down to the business of catching a killer.”

A killer who could be very anxious to finish the job. Dawson accepted the card and turned it over in his hand as the man in the suit walked away.

Okay, so he had his work cut out for him. One witness to a murder, one drug lord on a mission to kill the person who killed his son. A stroll in the park, no doubt.

He walked to the corner in the hallway. As he turned and spotted an empty chair outside the room Ms. Jones was supposed to occupy, the skin on the back of his neck tightened. Where was the cop? Had he gone in to check on the patient? Had he left his post?

Dawson jogged the remaining distance to the door, his hand raised to knock against the wood. He probably worried for nothing. The cop had to be inside.

A muffled thump carried through the solid door. Dawson shoved the door open and raced inside, his first impression one of an empty bed.

His first day on the job and he’d already lost his client.

Movement caught his attention on the floor around the other side of the bed. A figure wearing blue-green scrubs hunched close to the floor, a pillow in his hands, devils and a dragon tattooed on his forearm. Beneath him slim, curvy legs flailed and kicked.

“Hey!” Dawson grabbed the man by the shoulder and yanked him off balance. He threw the guy to the floor, away from the woman he assumed to be Savvy Jones.

Savvy shoved the pillow aside and gasped for air, her face red, her eyes wide. “He tried to k-kill me!”

The man masquerading as a member of the hospital staff rolled to his feet and swung a tree-trunk-size arm, backhanding Dawson.

Dawson raised his hand to block, but the force of the man’s swing sent him slamming against the wall. He stumbled and righted himself, but not soon enough to stop the attacker from racing for the door. Nor did he get a good look at him; his face was covered in a surgical mask. Dawson threw himself at the man, catching him by the ankle before he cleared the door.

The big man tripped, fell into the swinging door and out into the hallway, crashing into a nurse passing by with a cart filled with medication. The cart upended, the nurse hit the floor and pills scattered. The perpetrator scrambled to his feet. In one awkward leap, he cleared the nurse and ran for the stairwell.

Dawson followed, skirting the nurse and cart. Before he got halfway down the hallway, he realized he couldn’t go after the man. If he did, that left Savvy Jones unprotected. He stopped just past the spilled cart, his fists clenched, his heart pounding. Then he turned and helped the nurse to her feet. “Call the police. Tell them someone just tried to kill one of your patients. The man is headed down the stairwell.”

The woman nodded and limped toward the nurses’ station.

A man dressed in a Laredo police uniform rounded the corner and ground to a stop, his eyes widening. Then he ran toward Dawson, pulling a pistol from his holster. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

Anger surged through Dawson and he advanced on the man.

The man’s eyes widened and he pointed the gun at Dawson’s chest. “I’ll shoot.”

“Then make it count.” In a flash, he knocked the pistol from the cop’s hand, sending it clattering across the floor. His next move had the cop slammed face-first against the wall, his arm locked behind his back in a painful grip. “Were you the officer assigned to guard Savvy Jones?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Let me go, or I’ll bring you up on charges.”

“And I’ll have your badge,” Dawson said. “I’m the bodyguard the D.A. hired to do the job you obviously couldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You left your post.”

“I got called away to handle a shooting in the E.R.” He didn’t struggle. “It turned out to be a false call.”

“And you left Savvy Jones unprotected.” Dawson jammed the man’s arm up higher. “She was almost killed.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dawson shoved the man away. “Get out of here.”

The officer retrieved his weapon, holstering it. “I’ll have to clear this through the D.A.”

“Then clear it. I have a job to do,” Dawson said.

“As do I. Step aside.” A man in green scrubs, with a stethoscope looped around his neck hurried toward Savvy’s door.

“Stop right there.” Dawson’s tone brooked no argument.

The man in scrubs held up his badge. “I’m Savvy Jones’s doctor.”

Dawson scanned it, his eyes narrowed. “No one goes in here without my permission.”

The doctor crossed his arms over his chest. “And what clearance do you have?”

He patted his chest where his Glock usually rested in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket and moved to block the doorway. “I’m Ms. Jones’s bodyguard. If you need any more clearance than that, contact the D.A.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” The doctor performed an about-face and marched toward the nurses’ station. A gathering of orderlies and nurses keeping at a distance from Dawson’s threatening stance, parted to let the doctor through.

Dawson had been away long enough. He entered Savvy’s hospital room and dodged around the end of the bed to find a slim young woman lying on the floor, gasping for air. Her hospital gown had hitched up in the struggle, exposing a significant amount of peaches-and-cream skin and a silky slip of forest-green panties. Strawberry-blond hair spilled down her back and across the floor in long wavy strands. A bandage covered the left side of her head with a white band of gauze wrapped around her forehead to keep it in place.

“What’s going on?” She pressed a hand to her eyes, dragging in deep breaths.

“Someone doesn’t like you much.”

She groaned. “I don’t think I ever want to see another pillow. Especially if it’s over my face.”

“Are you okay?” Dawson squatted next to her. “Want me to call the nurse?”

“No, as long as I can breathe, I’m okay.” Deep green eyes blinked open and widened. “Who are you? You aren’t armed with a pillow, are you?” She leaned to the side to peer around him.

“No pillow, just me, Dawson Gray.” He held out his hand. “I’m your bodyguard, and if anyone asks … your fiancé.”

“Bodyguard? Fiancé?” Her green eyes widened. “Which one is it?”

“Officially, your bodyguard.”

Savvy shook her head. “And I didn’t think this day could get weirder. Well, thanks for coming to my rescue.” Her forehead crinkled into a frown and she winced. “Ouch. Remind me not to frown. It hurts.” She looked at the outstretched hand, but didn’t take it. “Should I know you? I mean, you being my fiancé and all.”

“No. We’re meeting for the first time.”

“Good, because I don’t remember you. Still, how could you be my fiancé if I’ve never met you? Am I a mail-order bride or something? I’m confused.” She pushed up on her elbows and closed her eyes. “Is it me, or is the room spinning?”

“It’s definitely you.” He nodded toward her head. “You’ve got a head wound and someone just tried to smother you. I’m sure neither is helping. Other than that, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I think so. Although my legs didn’t give me any warning before they gave out.” Her lips twitched.

“Give yourself a break. You’ve been through a lot by the looks of it.” He shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you, maybe we could get you into the bed.” He scooped his hands beneath her legs and lifted, straightening. For as tall as she was, she couldn’t weigh much over a hundred pounds.

“Hey!” Her eyes widened and she wrapped an arm around his neck. “Not so fast.”

“Sorry.” He laid her back against the pillows and adjusted the hospital gown around her, his fingers brushing against the silky skin of her thigh. What was he doing? Dawson snatched his hand away and stuffed it into his pocket.

Savvy lay still, her face pale. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

The urge to protect hit him so hard, he stepped away. He had no right to be her protector. Qualifications for this job included a proven success rate.

His record stunk. He’d lost his wife, lost a soldier and almost lost his mind. Dawson turned toward the door, retreat foremost in his mind. “Excuse me. I have a call to make.”

“Please,” she called out in a small, scared voice.

The one word halted his forward progress and made him turn back. Big mistake.

She leaned toward him, her wide-eyed gaze darting from him to the door. “Do you have to leave me—” her voice faded, and she shrank back against the sheets “—alone?”

With his hand in his pocket already fishing for his cell phone, he paused. “I’ll be right outside the door. I won’t let anyone past me.”

“Please …” Her fingers plucked at the hospital gown, bunching it, causing the hem to inch up her legs. “I don’t even know how I got here.”

Dawson clutched his cell phone, his brain telling him to leave. Now. But his misguided instincts pulled him back toward the bed and its occupant. “You don’t remember how you got here because you were unconscious.”

Savvy shook her head slowly and winced. “No, it’s worse than that.” Her full, bottom lip trembled and she turned away from his gaze.

Dawson’s chest squeezed tight and he forced himself to hold back—not to reach out to her. The woman needed someone to talk to. That someone was not him. “How so?”

“I don’t remember where I was.” She looked to him with those trusting green eyes. “Can you tell me?”

Dawson sighed. He couldn’t leave her when she looked at him like a lost puppy. Calling himself every kind of fool, he retraced his steps to the foot of her bed. “You were found in an alley behind a bar.”

She reached up to brush away a tear slipping from the corner of one eye, her shoulders straightening. “What bar?”

“The one where you worked.”

A frown lined her forehead and she pressed a hand gently to the bandage on the side of her head, closing her eyes. “I don’t remember working. Are you sure I worked at a bar?” Eyes as green as a forest of pine blinked up at him, the shadows beneath them making her appear more like a waif than a fully grown young woman.

“So they say.” Dawson tore his gaze away from those eyes and glanced toward the door. God, he didn’t want to be responsible for another living soul. The way things were going, Savvy would threaten more than his confidence. The curves of her calves, the swell of her thighs peeking out from the edge of the cotton hospital gown, the way her eyes glittered with unshed tears, spelled disaster to everything male and primal inside him.

She leaned forward and touched his arm. “Tell me something, please.”

“What?” he growled, anxious to get outside the room, away from Savvy and her green-eyed gaze. He had to make a call to Audrey before he made the biggest mistake of his life.

A soft sniff made him freeze.

Two fat tears rolled down Savvy’s cheeks and plopped onto the sheet. “I know your name is Dawson Gray.” Her fingers tightened on his arms convulsively. “Do you know mine?”

She held her breath and waited for his answer.

Dawson’s gaze dropped to where her hand clutched at his sleeve. “Savvy,” he said, his voice hoarse, gravelly, as though he had to strain to say the one word. He cleared his throat. “Your name is Savvy Jones.”

“Savvy.” She let go of his arm and lay back against the pillow, her frown deepening. “Savvy.” She rolled the name off her tongue, closing her eyes and willing her memory to return. The more she tried the more her head pounded. At last she dragged in a deep breath and admitted, “I can’t remember.” She opened her eyes and stared at him through a glaze of moisture. “I can’t remember anything before waking up in the hospital.”

“You’ve had a head injury. The memory lapse could be temporary. At least you didn’t forget the basics.”

She snorted softly. “Basics? I don’t remember my entire life? How old am I? Are my parents alive? Where did I grow up? Am I—” Her gaze dropped to her ring finger and her breath caught in her throat. Was the skin around her ring finger a shade lighter than the rest of her hand? Or was it her imagination? She stared up at him, her heart a big lump in her throat. “Am I married?”

Dawson shrugged. “I don’t know. The D.A. didn’t mention it.”

“The D.A.?” She stared up at him.

“District Attorney Frank Young.” Dawson frowned, clearly uncomfortable with her questions. “The man who hired me to protect you.”

“Why is the district attorney interested in me?”

“He should fill you in when he comes to see you.” He reached in his pocket. “He asked me to call him when you came out from under the sedative.”

“Do you think he’ll know all about me?” She twisted the fingers of her right hand around her left ring finger as though she’d done it before when a ring had been there. “I could be married and not remember it.” Her hands shook and she could barely drag air into her lungs. “I might have family out there worried about me.”

“The D.A. should know.”

Savvy shook her head. “What if he doesn’t?”

“You worked in the bar. Someone there would have to know your family. They would need to be notified about your condition.”

“Yeah …” She eased back against the pillow, her heart slowing to a regular pace, the lump in her throat still a problem. “They would have notified my family … if I had any.”

“Maybe you should rest.” He glanced toward the door.

Savvy wasn’t ready to let him leave, she had so many questions needing answers she refused to let Dawson out of her sight. “How did I get injured?” She touched her fingers to the bandage on the side of her head. “What happened?”

Again, he glanced toward the door. “Let me get the doctor.”

“No!” She grabbed for his sleeve. “Stay with me. Tell me what you know.”

“Look, lady, all I know is that I was hired by the district attorney to play bodyguard to you until you could remember what happened.”

“Did the D.A. tell you what happened?”

“Only that you shot—” Dawson clamped his lips shut for a second before continuing “—received a gunshot wound to the head. You should ask him for the details.”

Savvy gasped, her heart slamming against her chest, beating so fast the wound at her temple throbbed. “Gunshot?” She tried to remember, tried to picture herself in an alley, but couldn’t. She didn’t think she’d ever worked in a bar. And to be shot in an alley behind one? It didn’t feel right. “Who shot me?”

Dawson shifted ever so slightly, but just enough that Savvy could tell he didn’t want to respond. “I don’t know.”

“You know something, or you wouldn’t have hesitated when you answered.” What was he hiding?

Dawson dug in his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “I really need to make a call. Do you mind?”

“Yes, I do mind.” She pinned him with her stare. Now, that felt natural, as if she’d been in some position of authority at one time. “Are you or are you not my bodyguard?”

He hesitated. “The D.A. hired me to protect you.” He glanced down at his phone. “But I’m not the right guy for the job.” He stared at her with chocolate-brown eyes she could fall into. A thick, dark strand of coffee-colored hair fell down over his forehead.

She wanted to reach out to push it back. Instinctively, she trusted him. She had to, she didn’t know anyone else, and he didn’t want to be her bodyguard. “Why?” she asked, her voice softening. Something had him tied in a knot. Worrying about him helped keep panic about herself at bay. “Why do you think you’re the wrong man for the job? You managed to save me from being smothered.”

His hand tightened on the cell phone, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles twitched. “That guy should never have made it into your room.”

“But then you weren’t here yet. And once you got here, you took care of him.” She raised her brows, challenging him to come up with another excuse, which she was certain he would.

“I’ve never been a bodyguard.”

That didn’t matter to her. He knew how to fight and defend. He had to have learned it somewhere. “Were you ever a cop, FBI agent, in the military?”

“Military,” he said tightly.

Savvy pressed on. “Soldier or staffer?”

“Soldier.” He dragged in a deep breath and huffed it out.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you were a soldier, you know how to use a gun. You know how to defend yourself and others.”

He grunted, his brown eyes darkening to an inky black. “I’m not the right man for the job.”

“I ask you again, why?” She waited, refusing to let him leave without a reasonable answer, and to her, there wasn’t one.

“Because, damn it, I’m no good at it!” He swung away and stomped toward the door.

“Dawson,” she called out. Savvy’s voice caught on his name, her stomach flip-flopping as the only man she felt she could trust was leaving.

His hand smacked against the solid door, absorbing the force needed to swing it open. “I’m not the right man for this job.”

“Please,” she whispered. “You’re the only person I can trust in a world of strangers.”

“Why me?” he said, his back to her.

“Because you’ve already proven yourself. You’ve saved me once.”

“But that doesn’t mean I can do it again.”

“Maybe not, but I know you’ll try.” Why wouldn’t he turn and face her? What made him so certain he couldn’t handle this job? “I don’t know anyone else,” she said, not too proud to plead.

He turned toward her, his face blank, emotionless. “You don’t know me.”

“Right now, I don’t know anyone.” How could she convince him? The thought of Dawson walking out the door and leaving her alone left her feeling so scared she couldn’t think straight. “I’ll take my chances with you.”

For a long moment, he stared at her, his eyes fierce, his body stiff. Finally, he shrugged. “It’s your life.”

Chapter Three

Dawson paced the length of the tiled floor, careful to keep his footsteps quiet while Savvy slept the afternoon away. With each pass beside her bed, he studied the woman.

Strawberry-blond hair splayed out in a tangle across snow-white sheets. Auburn lashes fanned across pale cheeks where a dusting of freckles gave her the youthful appearance of a teenager. That was all that reminded him of a teen. The proud tilt of full breasts couldn’t be hidden completely by the shapeless hospital gown. Those legs—long, silky smooth and toned—made him think of how they’d feel wrapped around a man’s waist. Lush coral-colored lips could inspire kisses from even the most devout bachelor.

But not Dawson Gray. When he’d lost Amanda, his high-school sweetheart, his wife, the mother of his unborn child, he’d sworn never to walk that path again. He refused to expose himself to that kind of agony again.

Savvy Jones could only ever be a job to him. He’d do well to remember that and not allow her attributes to blind him to the danger surrounding her or the unrest raging in the border town of Laredo.

Dawson stopped in front of the window as the sun slowly sank over the city skyline. A dusty red haze clouded the air as the plump orange globe melted into shades of pink and gray.

District Attorney Young had called to inform him that he’d be by shortly to question the witness.

Dawson glanced over his shoulder at Savvy. He didn’t have the heart to wake her. The police had come and gone, asking Savvy a barrage of questions of which she had few answers. The doctor had made his rounds after consulting with the D.A., still prickly from his run-in with Dawson. But he’d informed Savvy that she would heal quickly, and that she was lucky it had only been a flesh wound. No damage to her skull except for the lump she’d acquired when she’d fallen to the pavement, resulting in a mild concussion. Nevertheless, the hospital staff kept a close eye on her to watch for any brain swelling. If all went well, she’d be allowed to leave the hospital the following morning.

Which introduced a whole new set of complications for Dawson. Where would Savvy go? Would she insist on him tagging along to babysit her? Could he let her step outside the hospital without him to face whatever threat lurked in the shadows of the city?

He’d waited until she was truly asleep before attempting to place a call to Audrey. Despite Savvy’s confidence in him, he still wanted out.

Audrey wasn’t answering her cell or returning Dawson’s call. The assignment stuck until he could get through to the boss and arrange a replacement.

“You didn’t leave,” a gravelly voice said behind him.

Dawson spun in Savvy’s direction. She lay against the pillows, her eyes open, studying him.

“No. I can’t leave until I find a replacement.”

“Thanks.” Her pretty lips twisted. “Nice to know I’m such a burden.” She blinked and stretched, her left arm only going as far as the IV would allow before she dropped it to the sheets. “Would you do me a favor?”

Realizing he was staring, Dawson nodded. “Depends on what it is.”

“I need to see if I can stand on my own two feet.” She pushed the sheets aside and slowly sat up, dragging the IV tube with her.

Dawson hurried forward and gripped her elbow to steady her. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Shouldn’t you wait for a doctor or nurse?”

“No, I need to do this on my own.” Although her face paled several shades, she shook her head. “Just let me get my head on straight.” She leaned against his arm for several long moments, breathing in and out with even, measured breaths.

Dawson stiffened and would have pulled away, but she held on to him, a reminder that she needed help to balance and that he couldn’t release her or she’d fall.

“Okay, I’m ready.” With a little scoot that raised her hospital nightgown daringly high up her thigh, she eased off the side of the bed. “I have to warn you, the last time I tried this, I dropped like a rock.” She laughed, the sound as shaky as the hand she slipped into his.

Hell. Dawson switched hands and wrapped his arm around her waist, the skin peeking through the openings at the back of her hospital gown disturbingly soft and smooth against his forearm.

He helped her find her feet and held her up until she stood flat-footed on the cool tiles.

Her pink toenail polish shone brightly in contrast to the plain white flooring. A sweet, girlie color Dawson wouldn’t expect on a redhead or a strawberry-blonde, but it suited her.

“Got it?” Dawson asked.

She nodded and smiled, her overbright eyes shining up at him. “Funny what you take for granted when you have it. I never would have thought I’d need help standing on my own two feet.” Her smile slipped. “But don’t worry. It’s one step closer to getting you off the hook.” Her mouth pressed into a thin line and she attempted a step forward.

“How’s that?” Dawson moved alongside her, letting her lean into him as much as she needed.

“As soon as I can get around on my own, you won’t need to hang around.”

Dawson frowned. “What about the bad guys trying to kill you?”

“I gave it some thought.” Her gaze shifted away from him to the window. “Once I’m out of here, I’ll be extra careful. I’m sure I can manage just fine.”

“Yeah.” Dawson admired independence, but bravado was just plain stupid. “You think you could fight off a guy like the one who paid you a visit earlier? The one with the pillow and the body mass of a refrigerator?”

Savvy’s entire body shook and she staggered on her next step.

Dawson pulled her close to keep her from falling flat on her face. She felt right against him, her narrow waist snug in his grip, the top of her head fitting just below his chin. Not too short and not too thin. Amanda had been quite a bit shorter than him. So small he’d treated her like a fragile porcelain doll, afraid he’d break her. In the end he had. She’d been too small to deliver their baby. Both Amanda and their baby had died in childbirth.

Dawson’s hands tightened. The guilt he’d lived with for the past two years weighed more heavily than the woman in his arms.

“Hey, you don’t have to hold me so tight. I think I have it now.” Savvy pushed against his chest, leveraging herself into an upright position.

Dawson jerked his hands free and stepped away from Savvy as if she were a red-hot poker, heat rising up his neck from the collar of his shirt.

Savvy cried out, “Wait!” Her knees buckled and she would have fallen if Dawson hadn’t reached out and dragged her back into his arms.

She slammed against his chest, her face buried in his shirt, her hair tickling his nose, soft and silky despite its tumbled disarray.

A low laugh rumbled from her chest, pressing her breasts into him. She finally glanced up. “Guess I wasn’t as ready to be on my own as I thought.” Her fingers bunched in his shirt and she sighed. “I’m still a little light-headed, but I’ll be ready by morning.”

He stared down into eyes so green they rivaled the forests of east Texas. With her body smashed against his, he couldn’t hide the effect she had on him. The hard ridge pushing against his fly nudged against her belly. “Where will you go?”

Savvy’s eyes widened and a peachy-rose flush spread across her cheeks. “I don’t know.” She laughed, a sound completely devoid of humor. “I don’t remember where I live …”

“Oh, good, she’s conscious.” Frank Young blew through the door without knocking, sliding his cell phone shut with one easy, practiced move. “Do you think you can answer some questions for me?”

Dawson slowly turned Savvy around where her bare backside faced the window, not Frank Young’s prying eyes.

Savvy nodded.

Frank’s eyes narrowed and he got right to the point, “Well, then, what do you remember from last night?”

Savvy deadpanned. “Nothing.”

“Nothing whatsoever?” Frank’s brows rose.

“Until Dawson told me, I didn’t even know my name.” If Dawson hadn’t already witnessed the effect of her memory loss on her, he might have missed the quaver in her voice.

The D.A. missed it completely. “I’ll have a talk with the doctor. There has to be a way to get your memory back.”

“Let me save you the effort.” Savvy’s shoulders pushed back, her spine stiffening beneath Dawson’s hand. “He said the amnesia could be temporary or could just as easily be permanent. Only time will tell.”

Young’s eyes narrowed and he stared hard at Savvy. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

Savvy glared at the D.A. “Why would I lie about a thing like that?” She waved at the hospital room. “How would you like to wake up in a hospital room, with strangers, and no idea who or what you are? Try it sometime, although I don’t recommend it.” She nudged Dawson’s arm. “I need to sit.” The hand on his arm shook, but Savvy’s face remained firm and unwavering.

“My apologies, Ms. Jones.” Frank Young’s head dipped toward her. “You might not understand just how important it is that you remember what happened.”

“Since I can’t remember, maybe you can tell me why it’s so important.”

“Ms. Jones, a man was killed in that alley, by the gun the police found in your hand.”

Dawson’s arm tightened around Savvy as he fought the urge to plant a fist in the district attorney’s smug face.

Savvy leaned into him, her face waxy white, making the freckles stand out across her nose and cheeks. “They found a gun in my hand?” She stared down at her right hand and then reached up to touch the gauze circling her head. “Why would I have shot someone? Was he shooting at me?” Her fingers found the lump of bandages over her left temple.

“That’s what we need to know. Why would you shoot Tomas Rodriguez and then shoot yourself?”

Savvy stared up at Dawson, her brows furrowed. “I shot someone then I shot myself?” She shook her head. “Is this true?”

Dawson grabbed her cold hands and held them in his, wishing the D.A. would back off. “That’s the way it appeared.”

“Why do you think I shot someone and myself? There has to be a reason … evidence.”

“When your coworker found you, she reported that you had a gun in your hand.” The D.A. crossed the room and stood directly in front of her, his gaze intense, drilling into hers. “The same one used to shoot yourself in the head and to kill Tomas Rodriguez. The only fingerprints on the weapon are yours.”

Her eyes widened and she stared at Young. “I don’t remember.” She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, her head swinging from side to side. “I don’t remember anything.”

Frank Young’s lips pursed into a tight line. “I suggest you do something about getting your memory back, Ms. Jones, or you could be tried for the murder of Tomas Rodriguez.”

Savvy looked to Dawson, her eyes searching for answers. “How can I be tried for a murder I can’t remember committing?”

“The evidence is circumstantial,” Dawson said in an attempt to reassure Savvy.

“If my fingerprints are on the murder weapon, the evidence isn’t just circumstantial, it’s damning.” She turned to the D.A. “What can I do?”

“Stay in town.” Frank Young brushed a speck of dust off his fancy suit, before looking up at Savvy again. “No formal charges have been brought against you, as yet. That could be only a question of time. In the meantime, you and Mr. Gray have bigger problems than the federal court system.”

Savvy laughed, the sound verging on hysterical. “What could be worse than being accused of murder?”

“Tomas Rodriguez was Humberto Rodriguez’s only child.” Dawson stared down into her face, his hands holding hers firmly in his. What else could he do? He couldn’t shield her from the truth any longer. She needed to know what she was up against. “Humberto Rodriguez is the kingpin in the Mexican drug cartel in Laredo’s sister town, Nuevo Laredo, and some say even here in Laredo. He’s also known for his ruthless and vindictive streak.”

Savvy pulled her hands free of Dawson’s, a frown tracing furrows in her forehead. “Does he think I killed his son?”

“The local news media got hold of the story.” Young glanced up at the empty television screen. “Everyone in south Texas and the northern regions of Mexico knows Tomas Rodriguez is dead. It’s been all over the news stations. Once Humberto gets wind that you were the one holding the smoking gun, we’ve no doubt he’ll be after you. Based on the earlier attack I was informed of, sounds like he already knows who and where you are.”

Savvy lay back against the pillows and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Great. Everyone knows who I am but me.”

The Dawson of a couple months ago would have headed for the nearest bar to escape his troubles. And frankly, the call of whiskey had him licking dry lips. One glance at the pale, defenseless woman lying in the hospital bed dispelled any lingering desire to drown his worries in booze. The police force hadn’t protected her. Young had been right, someone who didn’t have a stake in the region needed to handle this job.

“Knock, knock.” A dark-haired woman poked her head through the door and smiled.

Dawson stepped between the door and Savvy’s bed, shielding her from any possible threat.

“This is Savvy Jones’s room, right?” The woman eased through the doorway, her brows dipping low on her forehead.

“Yes, it is, Ms. Scott.” Frank Young closed the distance between them. “Please come in. Maybe if Ms. Jones sees a familiar face it will jog her memory.” Young cupped the woman’s elbow and drew her toward the bed. “Savvy, do you remember Liz Scott? She’s the coworker who found you in the alley.”

Savvy stared up at the slim woman with the long, dark brown hair hanging down around her shoulders.

She wore faded jeans and a white cotton blouse with the sleeves rolled up. “Hi, sweetie,” Liz said in a soft Southern drawl as she set a bud vase with a single yellow rose on the nightstand beside the bed. “I brought you some clean clothes for when they release you.” She held up a canvas bag, tears pooling in her eyes as she forced a shaky smile. “How are you feelin'? You gave us all quite a scare.”

Panic swelled in Savvy’s chest as she looked up at the woman and tried to remember her. She looked nice, and she acted as if she knew her, but nothing triggered in her memory to remind her who she was. “Do I know you?”

Tears tipped over the edge of Liz’s eyes and she forced a laugh. “Yes, honey, you do. We work together at the Waterin’ Hole. You’re the only one there who keeps me from walloping the customers. And you babysit my Charlie sometimes.” Liz glanced across at the D.A. and back at Savvy and shrugged. “What did the doctor say about the memory loss? Does he think it’s only temporary?”

Savvy shrugged. “We won’t know until the memories return … or not.” She leaned forward and grasped Liz’s hand. “I’m sorry, but could you tell me more about … me?”

“I’ll tell you everything I know.” Liz’s lips twisted into a wry grin. “Which doesn’t amount to a whole hill of beans.”

“Why?” Savvy asked, anxious to recover her past and frustrated about the lack of information forthcoming. “Am I a bad person?”

“Oh, no, not at all. You’ve been the best thing since sliced bread to me and Charlie.” Liz held her hand and perched on the side of the bed. “You’re not just my coworker, you’re my friend and have been since you came to live in the same apartment complex four months ago.”

“Where?” Savvy gulped, drinking in everything the woman said, wanting so badly to fill the empty spaces in her memory. “Where do we live?”

“In the Oasis Apartments complex close to the Waterin’ Hole. You’re in 212, Charlie and I are in 215. Which reminds me …” She dropped Savvy’s hand and stood, digging in her back pocket. She pulled out a folded sheet of paper and handed it to Savvy. “Charlie sent this.”

“Charlie …” Another name she couldn’t put a face to. She fought back tears as she accepted the paper and unfolded it. A large, purple heart drawn in crayon filled the page. In the center, written in a child’s bold print, were the words We love you, Savvy.

A familiar ache filled her chest as she stared down at the crinkled paper. Familiar and yet forgotten in the depths of her muddled mind. “Charlie is …”

“My seven-year-old, precocious daughter.” Liz patted Savvy’s arm. “She worships the ground you walk on.”

Savvy stared up at the woman, her eyes blurring with tears. “I don’t remember her.” Her tears fell on the page she held, a sob rising up her throat. “I don’t remember whether or not I have a family and, I’m so sorry, but I don’t remember you.” More tears followed until her body shook.

Liz rubbed her back, her hand warm and comforting. “Oh, sweetie, it’ll be okay. You’ll get it back.”

The D.A. moved closer. “Yes, and when you do, I want to talk to you. I—we need to know who else was in that alley with you and Tomas Rodriguez. It could mean all the difference in your defense.”

Her eyes widening, Liz stepped between the D.A. and Savvy. “Savvy didn’t kill that man. She wouldn’t do that.”

Could she really be tried for murder? Did they really think she’d killed a man? Savvy raised her hands. The most frightening question yet was could she have done it? Think, Savvy, think! She squeezed her eyes closed and pressed the bridge of her nose with her fingertips. The more she tried to remember, the more her head ached. When she opened her eyes, the two men stared at her. The D.A. hovering like a vulture ready to pounce on roadkill. Dawson with pity and concern written into the lines creasing his forehead. God, she didn’t want to think, and didn’t want anyone’s pity, especially from this man who claimed to be her bodyguard, albeit a reluctant bodyguard. Her chest ached and her eyes burned. Savvy didn’t want to cry, but couldn’t hold back much longer. She reached out and gripped Liz’s hand. “Please, make them go away.”

Through her tears, she could see the slight narrowing of Dawson’s eyes. He turned to the D.A. and took his arm, steering him toward the door. “Look, you said you didn’t think she did it. Give her some space. Maybe she’ll remember who did.”

Frank hesitated, “But I have more questions.”

“Questions she obviously can’t answer. Let the woman rest. She’s been through enough for one day.”

With that, Frank Young let the bodyguard herd him out of Savvy’s hospital room, the door swinging closed behind them.

“There, now.” Liz smoothed the hair out of Savvy’s face and smiled at her. “They’re gone. Is there anything I could do for you?”

“Yes.” Savvy gulped back the ready tears and scrubbed the end of the sheet across her cheeks. “You can tell me who I am.”

Liz squeezed her hand. “Well, now, I can tell you this … you showed up four months ago at the apartment complex, looking for a furnished apartment. I remember that day because you looked kind of sad and desperate. All you had with you was a small bag filled with clothes. You didn’t have a job and only carried enough money in your pocket to pay the first month’s rent. The apartment manager almost didn’t let you rent because you didn’t even have a driver’s license, credit card or any other form of identification on you.”

“None? But where did I come from? Why did I go there?”

“You said you’d driven until you’d run out of gas and very nearly ran out of money.” Liz’s lips twisted. “You never told me why. I think you were running away from something or someone.”

Savvy’s forehead crinkled, pulling at the bandage at her temple. The pain reminded her that she was awake, alive and not dreaming this horrible nightmare. Who am I?

“I hope you don’t mind, but after the ambulance carried you away to the hospital, I checked through your purse, hoping to find information about next of kin, but didn’t find a driver’s license, medical insurance or any other form of identification.” Liz shrugged. “I’m not sure if you have someone somewhere who could be getting worried about you. I’ve been your friend for four months, but I don’t know much about your past.”

Savvy shook her head, pulling her hand from Liz’s warm fingers. “It’s as if I don’t exist.” Her chest tightened, making it harder for her to breathe. The room seemed to shrink in size as she stared at the sterile white walls of the hospital room, her heartbeat increasing its pace until it pounded against her ribs. “I need to get out of here.”

Liz frowned. “Has the doctor released you? Are you cleared to leave?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I have to get out.” She pushed the sheets aside and slid her legs over the side of the mattress, ready to walk out, until she remembered her previous attempts and how weak she’d been. She hated being dependent on anyone, but knew she might end up reinjuring her head if she fell again. “Will you help me?”

“Of course, but should you be getting up?” Liz gripped Savvy’s elbow and helped her to her feet. “I mean, you’ve had a head injury.”

Determination to do this on her own filled Savvy and stiffened her legs. This time when her feet hit the floor, she remained standing. Whether she trembled from the effort or from the lingering effects of the drugs still wearing off, she didn’t care. “That’s good. I can do this.” Now what? She couldn’t waltz out of here in a hospital gown.

“I don’t know about this.” Liz held on to her arm, her gaze darting for the door as if hoping the two men would return and rescue her. “You should stay until the doctor says you’re good to go.”

“I can’t. I have to get back to familiar surroundings. Maybe that will help me to remember.”

Still holding her arm, Liz stepped in front of her. “You’re pushing it, Savvy. You need to take care of yourself.” She cupped her face with her hand. “Honey, you could have died.”

“I might as well have never lived. I don’t remember anything. Do you even have a clue how that feels? My mind is completely blank. Nothing. Nada.” Savvy threw her hand in the air and teetered.

“It’ll take time, sweetie. You might not get your memory back in a day.” Liz stared at the door. “You’re not ready to go out there. It’s crazy.”

“I’m spinning my wheels here in the hospital, getting nowhere. Nothing here triggers a single memory. Nothing. I need familiar territory. I want to go to my apartment to see if anything comes back.” Savvy’s hand raised to Liz’s still cupping her face. “If you’re really my friend you’ll help me.”

For a long moment, Liz stared into Savvy’s eyes, then she glanced at the bandage swathing her head and finally she sighed. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

“No, I think I can manage.” Relief flooded Savvy. Tightrope-like tension followed immediately. She let go of Liz and took several tentative steps toward the bathroom. Although wobbly, she managed on her own. At the bathroom door, she grabbed for the handle.

“Hey, you’ll need these.” Liz eased past her and set the bag of clothes on the floor inside the bathroom. “Don’t be a hero. I can help. All you have to do is ask.”

Savvy gave her a shy smile. “Thanks. I will.” She closed the door between them and leaned on the bathroom sink. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and stared into the mirror, hoping that seeing her own face would trigger her missing memories.

Hope died when she gazed at the woman in the reflection. A white bandage covered her left temple, held in place by a strip of gauze wrapped around her head. Strawberry-blond hair, matted with specks of blood fell over her shoulders and down her back. Deep green eyes looked back at her … eyes of a stranger. Nothing in the mirror made her remember this woman, or her past.

A sob rose up her throat and she choked it down. She couldn’t cry over her loss—she wouldn’t. If she wanted to recover her memory, she had to go to familiar places, touch her things, live the life she’d been living to get it back, memories and all.

Since her face didn’t jog her memory, she’d have to go to the places she’d lived and worked. If they didn’t find evidence of another suspect, she’d be arrested and charged with the murder of Tomas Rodriguez. The sooner she remembered, the sooner she could clear her name, before the authorities decided to toss her in jail.

A sense of urgency filled her as she dug into the gym bag Liz had brought. She found clean jeans, a blue Dallas Cowboys T-shirt, panties, bra and white tennis shoes, a hairbrush and toothbrush.

Careful not to disturb her wound, she washed her face, dressed, stopping now and again when her head swam with the effort. Clothed and feeling a bit steadier on her feet, she tackled the gauze circling her head, peeling it off, round by round. When she pulled the bandage away, a two-inch square, white gauze bandage peeked out of the edge of her hairline near her temple.

Using a clean washcloth, she dabbed at the dried blood and residual orange-colored disinfectant used around the bandage. Gently working the brush through her hair, she restored it to some semblance of order, draping the hair over the wound as best she could, hiding most of it. Pale and shaky, she stepped from the bathroom, having accomplished the tasks in less than five minutes. “I’m ready. Can you give me a lift?”

Liz held out her arm. “If you insist. I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”

“I have to do it. Someone has to be trying to frame me. Until I remember what happened, I’m the prime suspect. My memory is the only thing standing between me and jail.”

“Savvy, you may or may not get your memory back.” Liz smiled sadly. “What then?”

“I’m taking this one bite at a time.” Savvy pushed through the door to her room and out into the hallway, walking right into Dawson’s chest.

Oh yeah, she had to convince her court-appointed bodyguard to let her leave the hospital.

Chapter Four

Dawson gripped Savvy’s arms and steadied her. “Why are you out of bed?”

She straightened and pushed away from him. “I’m going home.” When she tried to pull free of his hands, his grip tightened.

“Not until the doc releases you, you aren’t.”

She stared up at him, her mouth thinning, tears awash in her eyes. “I have to. Don’t you see? I can’t remember anything here. I have to be around my own things.”

“You can wait until tomorrow.”

“No.” She reached up to pry his hands loose, her weakened state making her attempt ineffectual. “I can’t wait until tomorrow. Not knowing is driving me crazy. Let me go.” A single tear tipped over the edge of her eyelid and slid down her cheek. “Please.”

He could have resisted if she’d yelled and screamed at him, but the one tear and her anguished plea jerked at his heart, reawakening the dormant organ. How could he resist those eyes staring up at him as if he held her world in his hands? For a moment, he wavered. “No, it’s not safe out there.”

Savvy’s lips twisted in a half grin, her eyes shimmering. “And it’s safe here?”

She had a point. The attack that morning had almost ended his assignment before it had begun. “It’s easier to protect you inside a building than out in the open. The avenues for attack multiply exponentially once you step out the hospital doors.”

“Either I get attacked outside or I go crazy stuck in my room. I prefer to take my chances.” She brushed away the moisture from her eyes and laid a determined hand on his arm. “Are you with me? Because, if not, I’ll go without you.”

Electric impulses shot up Dawson’s arm where Savvy’s hand touched him. The low sexy voice, the eyes glittering with unshed tears threatened to bring him to his knees, if he let it. With a hard-won deep breath, he shook off her hand, unwilling to let himself care more about her than the job warranted. “It’s your funeral.” He turned, and without offering her any assistance, he marched toward the exit.

Liz leaned close and whispered in a not-so-quiet voice, “A bit uptight, if you ask me. But very sexy in that he-man kind a way.” She gave a soft wolf whistle.

Dawson shook his head. “I heard that.”

A bright pink flush rose up from Savvy’s collar and flooded her cheeks. “I wouldn’t know. He’s just a bodyguard to me, for the sake of whatever, he’s my fake fiancé.” Her gaze connected with his as if daring him to refute her statement.

“Not your real fiancé?”

“No, it just makes it easier for him to get past the nurses.”

Liz’s cheeks dimpled. “In that case, would you mind if I made a pass at your guy?”

Savvy’s fingers clenched into fists at her sides, and she bit down hard on her lip. “He’s not mine. Do whatever you like.” She pushed a long strand of strawberry-blond hair over her shoulder and closed the distance between herself and Dawson.

He’d bet behind that tough-gal exterior, her legs shook and she teetered on the verge of collapse. With her shoulders flung back, she didn’t let a single sign of weakness shine through. She probably thought that if she did, Dawson would have her back in the hospital so fast her head would be spinning more than it already was.

Damn right he would. But he couldn’t help admiring her pluck. He preferred it over the tears.

Pausing at the glass door, Dawson performed a three-hundred-sixty-degree turn, his gaze going to every corner of the lobby before he stared out at the street quickly growing dark. A gathering of fifty or sixty people stood in front of the emergency entrance. Scattered among them were news reporters and camerapersons, at the center stood the D.A.

Savvy peered through the glass. “Why is there a crowd?”

Though her voice came out weaker than a whisper, Dawson heard it.

Dawson’s jaw tightened. “Looks like the D.A. is giving a statement.”

“The news report about Tomas’s death generated quite a stir.” Liz grinned. “The people out there are actually here to thank you for shooting Tomas Rodriguez.”

Savvy’s hand rose to her throat and she tried to swallow. “But why?”

“Tomas had a nasty habit of raping young women on both sides of the border,” Liz answered.

“If people knew this, why wasn’t he caught and prosecuted?” Savvy asked.

Liz’s lips twisted into a frown. “The rape victims never brought charges against him. Word is that he threatened to kill family members if the victims turned him in. These people are here to thank you, Savvy, for saving their young girls from that monster.”

“I don’t remember shooting anyone,” Savvy said quietly.

A chill snaked its way down Dawson’s spine as he stared out at the women and children standing outside the hospital holding up signs written in Spanish and English. The one sign he could make out from behind the glass doors of the hospital said Thank God and Thank Ms. Jones. A lead weight settled in his gut and he backed away from the door, intent on taking Savvy with him. “There are too many people out there. This is a bad idea.” Dawson faced Savvy, blocking her path to the door.

“I’m going home.” Savvy touched his arm. “Don’t worry, if something happens to me, I won’t blame you.”

He stared down at the hand on his arm, the gentle touch searing his skin. “You won’t have to, I’ll blame myself.” His glance rose to her face. “Give it another day.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head without breaking eye contact. “Besides, I want to hear what the D.A. has to say.”

With a sigh and a cold sense of dread, he faced the door. “Then at least stay behind me. If someone wants you dead, they’ll be waiting for a clear shot.”

“Wow, you’ve got me convinced.” Liz’s eyes darted left and right. “You don’t think someone will try to hurt her out there, do you?”

“Someone wants her dead in a bad way,” Dawson responded without taking his gaze off the crowd. “Ready?” He looked around at Savvy’s pale face. “It’s your call.”

She nodded, straightening her spine. “I’m ready.”

He had to hand it to her. She might be stupid to step into the line of fire, but she had nerve. Dawson pushed through the glass doors. “Stay close.”

SAVVY WALKED OUT into the heat of south Texas behind Dawson, hovering so close to him that when he came to a stop, she bumped into his back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. The closer you are to me, the less of a target you’ll make.”

She swallowed. “But what about you?”

A low chuckle rumbled inside his chest, shaking the hand she rested on his warm back. “Don’t worry, if I get hurt, I won’t blame you.”

Wouldn’t blame her? How could he not blame her? Savvy second-guessed herself. Neither she nor Dawson would be hurt if she did as he’d asked and stayed in the hospital for at least one more night.

A quick look behind her firmed her resolve. No. She couldn’t go back in there. She’d always think of the hospital as a plain white void where she’d woken to nothing. No memory, no past, no family. She gritted her teeth and clutched the fabric of Dawson’s shirt in her fist. She couldn’t go back.

Savvy touched Dawson’s arm, urging him to stop so that she could listen to what the D.A. had to say.

“Did Savvy Jones really kill Tomas Rodriguez?” A reporter held a microphone in the D.A.'s face, her cameraperson behind her.

“At this point Savvy Jones is just a person of interest. An investigation is being conducted. As we learn more, we’ll keep the media informed.”

A man with shaggy brown hair, carrying a pocket-size camera pushed his way through the crowd of reporters. “What do you know about Ms. Jones?”

The D.A. frowned. “That she lives in Laredo and works as a waitress at the Waterin’ Hole Bar and Grill.”

“Is Savvy Jones her real name?”

“Rest assured,” Young said, “we’re conducting an investigation on all persons involved in the incident, including a thorough background check on each.”

“Is it true Ms. Jones has only been in Laredo for the past four months?”

“Yes.” Young’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have a particular direction you’re going with this line of questioning?”

The man looked all innocence. “No. Just checking.”

Savvy leaned forward. “Why is that man asking so many questions about me?”

A woman in the crowd pointed at Savvy and shouted, “It’s her!”

Then as if surrounded by quicksand, Savvy was quickly engulfed in a swarm of hot bodies and grasping hands. A large woman pushed her way between Dawson and Savvy, cutting her off from her lifeline.

Savvy reached out for Dawson, but couldn’t quite get past the determined woman who had grabbed her hands, pressing kisses to the backs of her fingers. “Gracias, señorita, gracias!” She stuffed a photograph into Savvy’s hands and, curling her fingers around the tattered edges, she kissed her hands again and moved away.

Jostled from one person to another, with flashbulbs blinding her, Savvy fought to breathe in the crush.

A young woman who couldn’t be more than sixteen hugged her neck, tears running down her face. “Thank you, Ms. Jones. Thank you,” she said in heavily accented English. She released her to let someone else through.

Savvy panned the crowd, frantically searching for the tall Texas bodyguard. It didn’t take long to spot him, but not until her gaze met his chocolate-brown stare did her heart slow.

Dawson towered over the women, pushing his way back through the mob to get to her. When he reached her side, he slid a hand around her shoulders, tucking her beneath his arm, effectively blocking access to her.

“Por favor, señor, we wish to thank the señorita for taking care of Tomas Rodriguez for good.”

Dawson shook his head and said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the crowd, “Tomas Rodriguez’s killer has not yet been identified.” With one arm around Savvy and the other clearing a path, he pushed his way through the crowd toward the parking lot.

Before they’d moved more than a dozen feet from the hospital entrance, the shaggy-haired man with all the questions shoved his pocket camera in her face and a flash blinded her. “Ms. Jones—if that’s really your name—where did you live before Laredo? Does the name Jameson mean anything to you?”

Savvy held up her hands to block more of the blinding flashes. “I don’t know anyone by that name. And I don’t know the answers to any of your questions. Please, leave me alone.”

Another reporter held a microphone in her face. “How do you feel about the death threats from the drug lord, Humberto Rodriguez?”

Dawson’s brown eyes blackened and a storm cloud of a frown dug into the lines of his face. “Move.”

“I just want a minute of your time, Ms. Jones,” the man with the little camera called out over the other reporter’s question.

With her head ready to split wide open, Savvy leaned against Dawson’s broad chest. “Let’s get out of here.”

Before the crowd could pen them in again, Dawson hooked an arm around Savvy’s waist and half lifted, half dragged her through the throng.

The stitches on Savvy’s head throbbed. She stumbled and righted herself, a full-fledged panic attack pushing her toward the cars lined up in the parking lot.

A tremor shook her from head to toe. She could barely get herself out of the hospital parking lot. How had she thought she could survive in Laredo without Dawson’s help? She was still weak. “I should have stayed put in the hospital.”

“We can always go back,” Dawson said, his voice low and intense, his eyes inscrutable in the gathering darkness. He slipped an arm around her waist and held her against him, his head swiveling right and left.

“Whoever tried to kill me earlier might try to hurt you, too.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m in it until a replacement can be found.”

Savvy’s chest tightened. Dawson hadn’t even wanted the job. “Maybe none of this would be happening if I could remember,” Savvy whispered so low she didn’t think he’d hear her.

Apparently Dawson heard her, because he replied softly, “Sometimes it’s better if you can’t remember.”

Savvy’s gaze jerked to his, but he’d turned his face away from her. Did Dawson have ghosts he’d rather forget? What could be so incredibly bad that you’d want to forget your past?

Curiosity burned inside her and she opened her mouth to ask him what he wanted to forget. “Dawson—”

The brooding man stopped in front of a pickup truck and yanked open the door. “Get in and stay low.” His guttural growl effectively stemmed the flow of questions she wanted answered. With his help, she climbed up into the truck and adjusted the seat to lie back enough she couldn’t see over the dash and consequently no one could see her through the side windows.

DAWSON CLIMBED IN next to her. Without another word, he inched out of the parking lot, slipping out a side street. Not until they were two blocks away did the gravity of their departure hit him. He gripped the steering wheel, wondering if he’d made a terrible mistake taking her away from the hospital.

Adrenaline faded away, leaving him drained and in desperate need of a drink. With every ounce of resistance, he passed a corner liquor store, forcing himself to focus on his task. Until Audrey sent an agent to relieve him, he couldn’t touch even a drop of alcohol.

Savvy reclined in the seat beside him. Her arm rose to cover her eyes, emphasizing the sensuous curve of her breast and the taper of her narrow waist. Dawson’s groin tightened, as did his grip on the steering wheel. He should focus on the road ahead, not the woman lying beside him.

Several blocks and mind-clearing breaths later, he still couldn’t keep himself from stealing another glance in her direction. The steady rise and fall of her chest reassured and alarmed him at the same time. This woman depended on him to keep her alive. For the past two years, he’d barely kept himself alive. What kind of life was it when a man buried himself in a bottle to escape his failures? Looking back, he realized he’d chosen the coward’s way out. If the past could be undone, he’d go back in a heartbeat and fix all his mistakes.

Dawson stopped for a red traffic light, staring out the window at the light without really seeing it. If he could fix his past mistakes, would that have changed the outcome? Would Amanda and their baby still be alive? Would Corporal Benson have lived through the roadside bombing? Dawson shook his head. Going back wasn’t an option. As Audrey had told him over and over, moving forward was the only way to forgive your past.

A horn honked behind him. The traffic light had turned green.

Dawson pulled his head out of the past and moved forward, reminding himself to focus on today, now, this woman who depended on him.

“Why do you want to forget your past?” Savvy said, her eyes closed, her arm still resting over them.

The question broadsided him and he answered before he could think. “My mistakes cost lives.”

Her arm dropped to her side and those green eyes stared across at him.

using the traffic as an excuse not to face her, he drove on, kicking himself for even giving her that much. Savvy Jones didn’t need to know all the sordid details of his past failures. He made a turn at the next street and glanced in the rearview mirror. Another vehicle turned behind him, the headlights blinding him.

The car sped up until its bumper almost touched Dawson’s heavy-duty truck bumper.

Adrenaline jolted through his veins and he pressed his foot to the accelerator to put distance between him and the dark car behind him.

“Did it involve a woman?” Savvy asked, adjusting her seat to an upright position.

“Don’t,” Dawson barked out, his mind on the car behind him and the narrow street ahead.

“I’m sorry. Is it too painful to talk about?” Savvy stared ahead. “Since I don’t remember my past, I guess I’m curious about others.”

“Savvy, now’s not the time.” Dawson prepared to make a sharp turn at the next street corner to see if the car behind him would do the same. If so, they had a problem.

She sighed. “I get it. You don’t want to talk about it. I just feel so … empty.”

Dawson’s heart squeezed in his chest, but he couldn’t respond, not when they might have a tail. He whipped the truck to the right, taking the turn so fast, the bed of the truck slipped sideways. The car stayed with them.

She sat up straight and glanced out the side mirror, holding her hand up to block the bright lights blinding her.

“Hold on, we’re going to make another sharp turn.”

She gripped the handle above the door frame as he spun the truck left at the next corner. “Do you always drive like this?”

“Only when I’m being followed.”

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