FORGOTTEN MEMORIES

None of her training prepares astronaut Natasha Stark for what she wakes up to three weeks after her groundbreaking space voyage: a target on her back—and no memories. But there’s something oddly familiar about the FBI agent who rescues her. Christopher Barton can’t believe he drew the mission of safeguarding his long-ago fiancée and her daughter—a child he has every reason to believe is his. To learn the truth, though, he has to help Natasha regain her memory. But with threats mounting against the family he hopes to join, Chris is running out of time to take down the assailants before they kill the woman he never forgot and the child he never knew existed.

Natasha couldn’t hold back the fear.

But she refused to cry at seeing her second dead crew member. “That could have been me,” she said, turning away from the body as she recalled the gunshots fired at her and the explosion at her home.

“I’m not going to let that happen to you. I promise.”

The funny thing was, she believed Chris. She didn’t know him, but there was something about him...something familiar, comforting, like the touch of his fingertips against her skin. Or was her scrambled brain imagining things?

Chris pulled away, and the moment was over. “I’m calling a team over. We need to mobilize as many resources as we can to get this figured out.”

“Good plan.” She’d delve into her hazy memories of this man another time. There were more important things to deal with right now. “We need to warn the other crew before it’s too late.”

The front window blew out, shattered by a bullet, and glass exploded at them.

She got the message, loud and clear: it was already too late.

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for spending a little slice of your holidays with Chris and Natasha! You’re probably wondering about the Orion space program that features in this story—is the race to Mars a real thing? Sure is! NASA’s Orion program is real, and it’s under way, though I accelerated the timeline here for the sake of story. But you can read all about it on NASA’s website and elsewhere online.

Those of you who’ve read Outside the Law will likely recognize Natasha’s last name. She’s the niece of a dastardly character from that book, but she has worked hard to make a name for herself in a typically male-dominated field. I believe that as long as we’re following God’s leading in our lives, we can accomplish great things. Sometimes it will require leaning on a trusted team for support. Sometimes it will mean sacrifice. But when we’re inside God’s will, our lives are forever changed.

I love hearing from readers. Find me on Twitter (@_MichelleKarl_) or at michellekarl.com and let me know if you’re having a snowy or sunny Christmas. Have a merry Christmas and happy New Year, friends!

Blessings,

Michelle

MICHELLE KARL is an unabashed bibliophile and romantic suspense author. She lives in Canada with her husband and an assortment of critters, including a codependent cat and an opinionated parrot. When she’s not reading and consuming copious amounts of coffee, she writes the stories she’d like to find in her “to be read” pile. She also loves animals, world music and eating the last piece of cheesecake.

Silent Night Threat

Michelle Karl

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;

What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?

—Psalms 8:3–4

For Dave, Micah and Dad, who get the joke.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

The nameplate on the gold bracelet that circled her wrist read Natasha. She winced at the sharp pain that split the back of her skull as she moved into a seated position and twisted the shiny chain, searching for something—anything—that might provide a clue as to what she was doing lying by the side of the road with a gun in her hand.

A gun! She scrambled backward in the dirt, leaving the weapon behind. A rumble in the distance told her a car was headed her way. Should she leave the gun there or throw it into the ditch?

Where am I? It felt as though her entire head was on fire, and black spots clouded her vision when she turned to try to take in her surroundings. What little she could make out didn’t help: a long road, grass on either side, trees along the edge of the grass. She sniffed the air but didn’t smell anything beyond lingering exhaust fumes, dirt and copper. Copper?

Warmth blossomed along the right side of her temple, a thicker and more concentrated heat than the sun’s rays beating down overhead during this unusually warm afternoon. Where was she? What day was it? What month, for that matter? No one with any sense would be lying outside midday in the heat and humidity, regardless of the location or time of year. She lifted her hand to the side of her head and touched something hot and sticky. Alarm shot through her insides as her fingers pulled back, slick with deep, crimson blood.

It’s not bright red, she thought. I’ve been here for a little while, at least.

But she had no idea how she’d gotten there. Or why. Or if she should even trust the bracelet around her wrist. Natasha? It sounded vaguely familiar, but felt strange as she rolled the word around on her tongue. She needed to get back to the city and ask... Ask who? What city?

Panic rose as her brain refused to recall important details. How did she get here? Did anyone know where she was, and would anyone miss her? Where did she work? Where did she live?

Her breath grew shallow as the lack of details increased in scope, and while some part of her cerebral cortex recognized the danger in hyperventilating while already injured and lying out in the sun, she couldn’t quell the sense of terror that threatened to send her consciousness retreating back into darkness. The black spots in her vision grew larger as the roar of the engine grew louder.

I should move, she thought, but her limbs refused to budge. I should get out of here, away from the gun. What if I’ve done something terrible?

A large shape passed by, and the vehicle engine cut out. The shape came into focus between the black spots at the same time as she heard a car door open and footsteps crunch across the side of the road toward her.

“Ma’am? Are you all right?”

She couldn’t respond. She didn’t know how, and her voice refused to cooperate. The person became clearer as he moved closer—a man with dark hair and a tanned complexion, bearing the broad shoulders of a weight lifter. She knew that because she lifted weights, too.

She did? She did!

I remember that, at least.

“I’m Special Agent Chris Barton of the FBI, and I’m here to help.” The man crouched, entering her field of vision. “Looks like you could use a ride to the hospital.” His gaze flicked down, concern blossoming across his features. She followed his line of sight, confused...and then remembered a gun sat only a few feet away from her. “Hang on... Natasha? Natasha Stark?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

“Who that is.”

His eyes widened and cut sideways, toward the gun. Her stomach lurched as his hand slipped inside his pocket. Was he going to arrest her? “And that’s not mine. I think.”

“You think?”

“I don’t know.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, trying to quell the throbbing, but the motion only sent a fresh wave of ache through whatever wounds marked her head and face. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything.” She looked up at him and stilled a gasp of surprise at the sudden wave of familiarity that washed over her. She couldn’t place him, but she didn’t automatically flinch as he reached for her, brushing his fingers across the top of her head.

A hiss escaped from between his teeth, and she pulled away in alarm.

“Sorry,” he said, inching closer in his crouch. “You’ve got a nasty gash and growing goose eggs on different parts of your head. When you say you can’t remember anything, what do you mean? Your name? Where you are? How you got here? Who I am?”

She shrugged, her eyes becoming hot with tears. She blinked them away—this was no time to let emotions take over.

She couldn’t remember, and everything hurt. “All of the above. I mean that I can’t remember anything.”

“Nothing at all? You’re sure you don’t recognize me?”

She tried to shake her head, but the motion caused a spark of pain to rocket through her temple. She sucked air through her teeth instead of offering a response. What had he called her? Natasha? Like the bracelet, she thought. My name. It must be my name.

“Okay, okay. That’s not ideal. Look, I’m going to make a call and get an ambulance and the local police down here,” he said. “It’s going to be all right, but I don’t want to hurt you further.” He pursed his lips as he looked at her, brow furrowed.

Natasha couldn’t help but stare at his arms, flexed and tense as he rested them on his knees as he crouched. Well-defined muscles stood out in all the right places, and his dark brown eyes shone with kindness and concern. “What is it? Should I recognize you? Have we met?”

“It’s okay if you don’t remember right now. Don’t exert yourself—we can discuss it later. Hang on a sec.” He stood and ran back to his blobby vehicle—her vision still hadn’t cleared up enough to make out a proper shape—and returned with a water bottle and holding a dark blue shirt sporting the bright yellow letters FBI. He uncapped the bottle and poured a splash of water on it. “This should help. It’s a little cold, but that will probably feel good. You’ve got a lot of blood and dirt on your face. You can use the shirt to wipe it off if you want, but you might also need this to stanch any bleeding that starts up again.”

“Is that likely?”

“I have no idea. I’m an FBI agent, not a doctor.”

What did she have to lose? She ran the garment across her face. The water was chilly and refreshing, which momentarily diverted her attention from the pain that kept leaping from one side of her skull to the other. She rubbed the shirt gently across her forehead and back, wincing as the fabric came in contact with the place where she’d drawn back sticky fingers minutes earlier.

“Let me help,” he said, reaching for the shirt as she pulled it away from her face. “I can turn it inside out and pour a little more water on it.”

She’d looked up at him as he moved forward to take the garment, now grimy with dirt and blood, but he remained still as a statue in his half crouch, mouth open and fingers brushing the edge of the material. He blinked rapidly, all color drained from his cheeks as he stared at her wrist. Her bracelet? She touched it, then glanced up to meet his eyes.

“I’m Natasha,” she said. “But you said something else. My last name.”

He nodded, gaze flicking back to the shiny bracelet. “Stark. Your name is Natasha Stark, you’re an astronaut with NASA’s Orion space program, and twenty-four hours ago, you disappeared.”

* * *

Christopher Barton hardly believed his eyes. It was nearly impossible to reconcile the woman sitting in the dirt with the memory of the last time he’d seen her. Twelve years ago, Natasha Stark had been a shrinking image in his rearview mirror as he’d driven away from her and the future they’d planned on having together, and for those twelve years he’d done everything he could to put the memory of his first and only love out of his mind.

And now here she was, tossed right back into it. All it had taken was joining the FBI and getting reassigned to Brevard County in Florida after his two-year probation as a new agent, combined with raising his hand on a missing person’s case that had come up early this morning. He should have asked who the missing person was before volunteering to spearhead the search. He should have also backed down the moment he realized that it was none other than Natasha Stark, his former fiancée.

He could still scarcely believe it, and yet here she was, sitting on the ground with a gun by her side, looking up at him as though she’d never seen him before in her life. Something was very, very wrong.

“Natasha...Stark?” she asked, voice wavering. He took the shirt from her outstretched hand, and sunlight glinted off the gold bracelet around her wrist. His breath caught, and he didn’t trust himself to say another word. “I believe you. Good thing I wore my bracelet,” she mumbled, and he wasn’t sure if she was being serious or trying to make a joke. “I’m fortunate you recognized me with a face this dirty. Or did the bracelet help with that, too?”

“It didn’t have to,” he said, willing his limbs to move. He poured more water on the shirt and pressed it against her head as gently as possible. His entire body had begun to tremble, and his ankles wobbled in the crouch. He’d thought he’d be fine, once he found her. That it wouldn’t matter. Twelve years was a long time. “Hold this here. Looks like you’re not bleeding anymore, but just in case.”

“What do you mean it didn’t have to?”

Was she playing with him? It would be just like Natasha to play a prank on him—like the Natasha he knew twelve years ago, when they were still kids. Well, technically not kids but teenagers, but it seemed like more than a lifetime ago. The way she looked at him now, though...he didn’t see any mirth. She looked nervous and scared.

He tried to put the pieces together. Head trauma, confusion and a gun within reach. According to NASA, she hadn’t shown up for an appointment yesterday morning and no one had been able to get in touch with her since, putting the timeline since she’d been missing at approximately twenty-four hours. He’d only searched this area of highway based on a tip a passerby had phoned in to local police. This wasn’t the kind of case the FBI would normally be called in on, but Natasha’s situation wasn’t normal. He’d never in a million years have anticipated that she would become, of all things, an astronaut. It meant working with other people from different walks of life, different economic backgrounds, in a more sensitive capacity than many other jobs. International partnerships were on the line, and occasionally crew members on the same team didn’t even speak the same language or more than a few common critical words and phrases. Not exactly the kind of thing her parents had been great at, and he’d thought their influence had rubbed off on her. They might still be together if it hadn’t.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped it against the palm of his hand. “Let’s try to put some pieces together while we wait for help to arrive. What’s the last thing you can remember?”

A shallow sigh escaped her lips. “I’m not sure. But what you said sounds right...feels right. NASA? Yeah. I think I went in for...a physical exam. No, I was on my way to a physical exam. A checkup.”

“That’s a good start. You’re doing great. Can you tell me anything about that appointment? What time? What building?” She started to shake her head but grimaced at the movement. A humming in the distance cut through the sounds of nature and the occasional whoosh of a passing car, but he focused his attention on Natasha. She definitely needed a doctor and fast. Head trauma wasn’t the kind of injury that a person could take their time getting checked out, and considering the important details she’d already forgotten... Well, the longer the delay, the more severe the injury could become. Right now, she didn’t even remember herself, let alone him.

“At work,” she mumbled. “Because I was in space.”

“Even better. See? You haven’t forgotten everything.” He tried to reassure her and keep her calm as the buzzing noise grew louder. Were they near an airfield? He didn’t think so. “Sit tight. An ambulance will be here soon. A lot of people have been looking for you, and they’ll be glad to hear you’re all right.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze shifted past his shoulder. She squinted, like she couldn’t figure out what she saw. “Is that a drone?”

Chris twisted to look as a sudden gust of air whipped past his cheek. Dirt kicked up in the small space between them.

She coughed. “What was that?”

“That’s definitely a drone,” he said, taking in the boxy shape and the rotating blades that whipped around at high speeds to keep the device aloft. “What is it doing out here?”

The drone dropped several feet and moved closer—and this time, Chris heard the muffled bang.

“It’s shooting at us!” Natasha shouted, dropping the borrowed T-shirt. Alarm flared in Chris’s stomach. He lunged for her and wrapped her in his arms, picked her up and then dived for cover behind his truck as the drone released another shot. He opened the passenger door and lifted Natasha inside. They couldn’t stay out in the open; the drone operator could maneuver around to the other side of the vehicle and easily continue shooting.

“Lie down in there,” he instructed. “Make yourself into as small a target as possible. Cover your head.” She did as he instructed, and as soon as she was in position, Chris climbed in on her side, stepping over her to slide into the driver’s seat. A bullet slammed against his door with a clank as he started the Suburban. His window cracked and bowed inward, protecting them for now, but the bulletproof glass could only take so many hits. Without hesitation, he stepped on the gas and veered his SUV back onto the road, heart pounding in his chest.

“Tasha? You still with me?” His insides tightened as he anticipated her response.

“Yes” came her thin, choked reply. “Is it gone?”

He checked the rearview mirror. The drone still hovered in the air, but it didn’t appear to be following them. He continued checking as they drove away, and eventually the machine became a black dot in the distance. Who on earth would use a drone to shoot at Natasha? He supposed it was possible that the drone had been shooting at him, but an armed drone was the kind of weapon to be used on a fixed target—it took time to fly one, and the operator needed to know where to go. He’d been driving around for hours. She’d been by the side of the road for who knew how long. It seemed like an inefficient and cumbersome way to assassinate a person, even though it did provide an element of anonymity. Unless the police were able to take the thing down. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it, but a weaponized drone was no small thing to buy, equip and maneuver with accuracy. And if someone wanted to kill her outright, why on earth had he found Natasha lying in the dirt with no memory of how she’d gotten there and with a gun by her side?

“It’s gone,” he said. “Do you have any idea why someone would be shooting at you?”

She grew silent. Her shuddery breathing told him that not only was she in physical pain but the situation had already begun to take a mental toll. He had no doubt that once she got cleaned up and received treatment for her injuries, she’d be much better equipped to begin dealing with what was clearly memory loss.

“I’m going to use my radio to contact local police and let them know what happened here—all right? When I went to get water for you earlier, I let the FBI know I’d found you, and they contacted emergency services.” She responded with a barely audible affirmative as he fired up his Bluetooth system to make the call. “But now that we’re in the car, I’d rather not wait. We should get you to a hospital to get looked over.”

As he called in the incident to police dispatch, Natasha worked her way back up to a seated position and buckled in. From the corner of his eye, he could see she appeared to be struggling to remain conscious. He needed to get her to a doctor as quickly as possible.

“Try to stay awake,” he said. “I know it’s hard and you must be in a lot of pain, but it’s going to be a whole lot worse if you fall asleep. I’ll get you into good hands as fast as I can, so just—”

Bam! His vehicle swerved to the right before he reacted to the hit. The Suburban’s tires crunched against dirt as he gripped the wheel and corrected the vehicle’s course.

What in the world...? He checked the rearview mirror and saw nothing, then turned his head just as a second hit slammed against them, once again slightly bumping the SUV off course. With his head turned, Chris saw a navy blue Range Rover with deeply tinted windows hiding in his blind spot. He couldn’t see the driver through the front windshield, but he had a bad feeling about the situation.

After all, someone had to have been in charge of the drone. And it appeared that they weren’t pleased that Chris had found Natasha. There was no doubt in his mind—someone wanted to kill Tasha Stark, and he’d just become her human shield.

TWO

Natasha braced against the door and seat. Another slam against the side of the vehicle attempted to push them off the road, but the man who’d rescued her—Chris? Yes, Chris—had a firm grip on the wheel and kept them on course. His biceps and forearms flexed from the strain of each hit, and his jaw was set in a determined grimace. She blinked against the exhaustion that had started to call to her, telling her to close her eyes and surrender to the darkness. But Chris’s earlier words and a memory deep within her consciousness told her that she had to remain awake at all costs.

She strained to look over the back of the seat and out the rear window, despite the agony of turning her head. The blue Range Rover had dropped back, moving away from the side of their vehicle.

“Are they done?” she mumbled. “Will they leave us alone, since they clearly aren’t going to get us off the road that way?”

Chris shook his head and spoke through clenched teeth. “There’s more than one way to run a car off the road.”

“It looks like they’re done, though. They’re slowing down.”

She wasn’t sure if she heard correctly or if Chris actually growled under his breath. “Sit back in your seat, Tasha. Brace yourself. Please.”

“But why?” She looked at him in confusion. “They’re not—” She swung her gaze back at the Range Rover. Despite having dropped back moments earlier, it was now gaining on their SUV at an alarming rate. With a gasp, she sat back and tensed her shoulders just as a heavy slam against the back door sent their vehicle lurching forward. Metal scraped against metal, sending a high-pitched screech through the cabin.

“That’s why,” he said. He grabbed the gearshift, and their vehicle’s engine revved higher, sending them lurching and then zooming forward. “Why aren’t there any police around when you need them?”

“You already called them—aren’t they on their way?”

“I sure hope so. I’d call again if I didn’t need all my focus to make sure we stay on the road.” As if on cue, the truck heaved again, but this time a sickening crunch accompanied the hit. Another hit followed only a few seconds afterward, and the SUV swayed from side to side. In the mirror, she saw a piece of metal go flying from their vehicle into the ditch. The license plate!

Please, Lord. Help us. Natasha swallowed down her fear as a sense of peace and assurance settled across her shoulders. I haven’t forgotten You. I know You’re here.

Despite the direness of the situation, she had a strong faith—that much she remembered. God was with her, even in times like this. She didn’t need to panic.

“Tell me how to use your radio system,” she said, taking deep breaths to manage the rolling waves of ache in her head that seemed to increase with every jolt of the vehicle. “I’ll tell the police which direction we’re headed in case they’re coming from the other way.”

“Are you sure?” Chris poked at a button. The next slam against the SUV caused them to swerve since he had only one hand on the wheel.

“You need to keep us on the road,” she said. “We need help, and I don’t know how else to get it.”

“All right.” His gaze flicked over to take her in, probably to make sure she was conscious enough to handle it. “There’s a button on the right that says—”

He’d looked at her for a fraction of a second, maybe less, but it was enough.

The next hit clipped the SUV in just the right way. The wheels slipped against the asphalt, and they skidded across the roadside stretch of dirt, tipping them toward the ditch. Their vehicle bucked, leaned and tilted sideways. Natasha screamed as they went airborne, the remnants of a prayer on her lips as Chris’s strong arms reached out to grab her and pull her toward him, away from the window.

The SUV landed on its side in the ditch, and she and Chris jerked sideways in their restraints. As the airbags exploded, slamming their heads back against the headrests, Natasha tasted blood in her mouth, and her vision was once again nothing but sparks. She tried to speak, but no words came as she struggled for breath. Something hissed, and the creak of metal under tension echoed in her ears before the world grew deathly silent.

She didn’t hear anything. Nothing at all, and that seemed even more frightening than before.

Her blood ran cold as a car door slammed.

* * *

As the world came back into sound and focus, Chris heard the wail of sirens growing rapidly louder. Somewhere nearby, a car door slammed. The crunch of tires against pavement told him that a vehicle had just driven away. He dared to hope that it meant the Range Rover was not only done with them but in the police’s sights.

He flailed his free arm, searching for Natasha, and a momentary surge of panic took hold as he realized that he couldn’t hear her breathing. Then she released a long sigh, and relief flooded through his every pore. She was still alive. But if she did indeed have a concussion, all of those hits would have made it exponentially worse. She needed to get to a hospital without further delay—they’d be able to call the right people to come and take care of her and close off his involvement in her life. If the FBI didn’t ask him to continue the investigation into why she’d disappeared, that was.

He didn’t want to be around when she remembered him. She’d probably be angry enough as soon as she realized that her ex-fiancé had put his arms around her, even to save her life. As soon as Natasha was secure at the hospital and the officer in charge at his FBI branch gave him the go-ahead, he’d be on his way and out of her life again, just like she’d wanted twelve years ago.

Despite having tried so hard to forget, the memory came too easily. He had been eighteen years old; she’d been seventeen. She’d worn a yellow sundress with tiny white flowers, the hem of the dress swishing above her knees, despite the cooler temperatures of late November. Her auburn hair had been knotted above her head in a messy bun, with loose strands falling about her face and framing her sharp features. Around her neck had been a topaz gemstone set among three diamonds, a beautiful piece of jewelry given to her on her sixteenth birthday by her father. It had looked completely out of place on a girl who stood barefoot in the sunshine with a wrist full of plastic bead bracelets. Under those plastic beads, he’d hoped, was the gold name bracelet he’d given her as a promise six months before proposing. But he hadn’t been able to see it, and for some reason that had hurt almost as much as the small diamond ring that her father had yanked out of her hand and practically thrown at him when Chris refused to take it from Natasha’s open palm. Go, the man had said. She’s done with you. Don’t bother our family with your filth again. She’s too good for you, and you know it. Come here again, and I’ll have you arrested.

Chris had looked past the man’s shoulder, his eyes pleading, his heart aching with painful disbelief. Natasha had wrapped her arms around her middle, protective and closed off to him. She’d understood his unspoken question, but had only narrowed her eyes and shaken her head.

That simple gesture had said it all. And when she’d opened her mouth as if to speak to him, to explain, he didn’t want to hear it. He’d turned around and left—the city, the state, the entire South—to try to banish the pain of her rejection. What had ever made him think that someone like Natasha could truly love him? She’d been a rich, spoiled girl with a daddy who handed everything to her on a silver platter—including his prejudiced beliefs. Chris should’ve known that they’d surface in her eventually. He should’ve known she wouldn’t think he was good enough for her. Just because his family lived in low-income housing. Just because they relied on food stamps and welfare. He couldn’t afford to get arrested, for Natasha’s father to follow through on his threat. His family couldn’t afford it; they needed Chris’s meager paycheck to get by. No, he couldn’t buy Natasha pretty things, but even with helping his family out, he’d worked odd jobs and saved for more than a year to buy her a diamond ring, like she deserved.

Sure, they were young, but he’d thought their love was stronger than that.

If she hated him so much, if she’d thought she was so much better than him, why had she even given him the time of day in the first place?

“Sir? Can you hear me?” The authoritative voice of a police officer cut through the painful memories. Chris had worked hard to turn his family’s situation around. They still struggled, but since joining the FBI, he’d been able to move his parents to a decent home that they could finally call their own. He’d bought a used car for his little brother last month, so he could have an easier time making ends meet and staying out of jail. Money and status weren’t what mattered for his family, and they never had been. He couldn’t say the same of the Starks. The arrest of Natasha’s uncle a few months ago—the former vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the Pentagon—had made that clearer than ever.

Maybe it was a blessing that Natasha hadn’t recognized him right away.

“There are two of us in the cab,” Chris called back to the officer. “An agent of the FBI and a woman who’s seriously injured and needs immediate medical assistance.”

“Emergency services are on their way,” the officer said. “Hold tight.”

That was exactly what Chris planned to do—despite how much it hurt.

* * *

Natasha balked at the doctor as he delivered the news. Even his cheerful, Christmas-light-patterned bow tie didn’t help ease the shock. Psychogenic and retrograde amnesia, he told her.

Amnesia, really? She felt much better with the pain medication in her system, and the doctors had even confirmed that despite the bumps and cuts on her head, she hadn’t physically sustained anything more than a mild concussion, whiplash and various cuts and bruises. She could hardly take it all in as the doctor suggested that whatever had happened to her before Special Agent Barton found her had been severe and shocking. Her initial head trauma had likely caused the retrograde amnesia, but more disturbing was the suggestion that her autobiographical memory loss had been caused by intense psychological stress.

“We can definitely confirm that you are Natasha Stark,” said the doctor. Dr. Olsen, she read off his name tag. “We’ve printed out this info sheet for you with your name, address and medical history. I recommend you keep this with you on your person for the time being, in case any additional medical issues arise. That said, you’re probably going to want to head over to Titusville as soon as possible so they can have a look at you.”

Natasha blinked at the sheet a nurse handed her. This was her, her identity, all on an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch piece of paper. The name and address evoked a strong feeling of home, but she couldn’t picture it. She closed her eyes, trying to remember. It didn’t work.

“When will I get my memories back?” She attempted to hide the hitch in her voice. “And why would I go to Titusville? I see that I live there, but what do you mean? Who wants to look at me?”

Dr. Olsen looked over his shoulder at someone in the back of the room, then back at her. “Agent Barton says you work at NASA. That, I’m happy to say, is absolutely true. You were due to report at Kennedy Space Center yesterday for one of your scheduled checkups.”

“You said as much to me yourself when I found you.” Chris emerged from behind the doctor, a limp magazine in his hand. “Only you never arrived for the physical. And since NASA is a government agency, we were called when you didn’t report as scheduled.”

Dr. Olsen chuckled and smiled at Natasha. She liked him; he seemed kind. “Three weeks ago, Ms. Stark, you were looking at this planet from space. You just returned from a six-month mission in low-Earth orbit on the Orion, testing that new Deep Space Module everyone’s been talking about. Well, everyone in the scientific community, that is. Based on the success of your mission, looks like NASA’s really pulled ahead with their plans to launch the first manned mission to Mars.”

“How do you know that?” Chris asked. “That can’t be in her medical records.”

Dr. Olsen smiled sheepishly. “No, but I do have a niece in her daughter’s class at school. Hayley must be happy to have you back, Ms. Stark.”

“Daughter?” She had a daughter! Why couldn’t she remember her own child? She felt even more desperate to get her memories back. The face of a girl with curly chestnut locks and expressive eyes materialized in her mind like a developing Polaroid—young, preteen, with an affinity for sparkly pink lip gloss and purple chokers.

“Daughter?” Chris echoed. “How old is she?”

“How old is Hayley?” Dr. Olsen tapped a pen against his clipboard. “My niece is in sixth grade, so that’d put the students around eleven or twelve years old, I’d think.”

“Twelve years old,” Chris murmured. “I see.”

Natasha’s mental image solidified, carrying a wave of emotions, smells and sensations. The comfort of a soft, fragile baby as it lay in her arms. The stern face of an older man—her father?—as he entered the room. This caused a sudden rush of fear that shifted the scene into a new memory of standing in the middle of a department store, arms laden with a heavy basket of shampoo, a pair of child’s sneakers and laundry soap, as her head whipped from one side to the other, searching. “Hayley, honey?” she’d called, heart beating faster with each passing second. “Sweetheart, where are you? Hayley?” Relief had flooded her veins as a cherub-cheeked toddler burst out from under a clothing rack, shouting, “Surprise, Mommy!” with arms stretched over her head in a V—and immediately, the memory shifted again and Hayley stood in the same pose, arms lifted, standing on a three-tiered podium. A gold medal gleamed around her neck, and she waved at Natasha in the crowd. She recalled feeling a swell of pride as her daughter won first place in a Florida Gold Coast special event for swimmers aged twelve and under.

Natasha exhaled slowly, concentrating on the memories of her daughter and trying to burn them into her brain. “Yes, that’s correct,” she said. “She turned twelve a few months ago.”

Chris cleared his throat. “Does Natasha have an emergency contact listed in her file? Husband? He might be able to bring her daughter over and help jog some more memories.”

Dr. Olsen scanned the chart. “There are two emergency contacts here. One is listed as a parent, not a spouse. The other is her NASA physician.”

In a flash Natasha knew that was correct—and that she didn’t want to talk about her parents. A glance down at her left hand confirmed what she suspected even without remembering it specifically. “I’m not married. Please don’t tell me someone called my father.”

The nurse in the room placed a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “Yes, dear, but I’m afraid no one was able to reach him. We tried the second emergency number for the specialized NASA physician and got through. We’ve been instructed to have you contact him as soon as you’re able.”

A knock on the door brought a second nurse into the room. “Dr. Olsen? There are officers here who’d like to take the patient’s statement, now that she’s stable.”

“Police?” She glanced at Chris. “Why do I need to talk to the police if you’re FBI?”

He held up his phone. “My job is to find you and, as of thirty minutes ago, continue to investigate your disappearance. The local authorities will go after the guy who ran us off the road and help figure out where that gun came from. We’ll be working together but best to bring them up to speed on an event like this with a direct statement so they can be on the lookout.”

Natasha wrapped her arms around her middle as the police officers shuffled into the room and made the appropriate introductions. One of the nurses raised the front half of the hospital bed so Natasha could speak to the officers without physical strain, which she appreciated—she already felt mentally exhausted, like her brain was attempting memory gymnastics but kept missing the landing mat. She told Officers Kirby and Lee about waking up by the side of the road with a gun in her hand, and Dr. Olsen confirmed the relevant medical details regarding her memory loss. She recounted her and Chris’s harrowing escape from the drone and provided what details she could about the vehicle that had knocked them off the road.

“And you have no idea why anyone would try to kill you?” Officer Kirby looked unconvinced, his eyebrows high enough that they were almost hidden under his cap. “No known enemies?”

“I’m a scientist,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “An astronaut. I’ve never considered myself a high-value assassination target.”

“You should,” Chris interjected. “You’re a highly trained specialist working toward national interests.”

Officer Kirby cleared his throat, seemingly unappreciative of Chris’s commentary. “And how did you come to have a firearm in your possession?”

“I already told you I don’t know. I don’t remember. I’m not a gun owner.”

“So you do remember things about yourself.”

“I don’t—” A sharp pain tore through her head, and she lay back, closing her eyes. She remembered some things and not others, and she had no idea why or how. She heard Dr. Olsen tapping his pen against his clipboard again.

“I think that’s enough questions for today,” the doctor said, his tone stern. “Miss Stark requires rest. Her brain should recover all the missing information eventually, but you’ll do neither yourselves nor your investigation any good if you push for details that she’s presently unable to access.”

Officer Lee pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to Natasha, then handed a second card to Chris. Natasha took hers and ran her fingers along the edges. “Call us as soon as you remember anything,” the officer said with a tight but genuine smile.

“Wait,” Natasha said as the officers made to exit the room. They paused. “The gun. Did you find it?” Kirby and Lee exchanged a look that caused Natasha’s stomach to flip-flop.

“Yes,” Officer Lee finally said. “And there’s one round missing from the chamber. Your clothes have been claimed by law enforcement and are being tested for gunshot residue.”

“Her clothes?” Chris stepped to Natasha’s side and placed his hand on the edge of the hospital bed as if trying to protect her from the officer’s words. “Why? We’re the ones who were used as target practice.”

“So you’ve said,” Officer Kirby chimed in, pushing past his partner. “But it was your job to find her, yes? You’ve found her. Investigate why she went missing if you have to, but don’t question how we choose to pursue our own investigations related to the incident. We have a firearm that’s been discharged, a woman with no memory and no additional witnesses to this reported drone attack. Ms. Stark claims to have nothing to do with the firearm, and this way we can make sure of that. Wouldn’t you prefer to know for certain that the gun isn’t yours, Ms. Stark?”

Of course she wanted to know that for certain, but she also had a bad feeling that if the tests proved otherwise, she’d be in a world of trouble. “What happens if you find residue on my clothes?”

Officer Kirby scowled and began to speak, but Officer Lee cut in first. “It will be inconclusive,” she said. “It only means the weapon was discharged within a few feet of you, not that you fired it yourself. Either way, maybe it will help put some pieces together in your own mind.”

“The FBI will be pursuing the threat against Ms. Stark, specifically looking into the tech that took shots at us,” Chris added. “How far will your own investigation go?”

Officer Lee shrugged. “We’ll try to reconstruct the accident, wait for what the tests say and put out a BOLO for the vehicle you described, but that’s really all we can do at present. My captain has ordered us to cooperate with the FBI, so we won’t step on your toes on purpose.” She nodded at Natasha. “I hope you get your memories back and feel better in time for Christmas, Ms. Stark. My son loves spaceships and also wants to be an astronaut when he grows up. Our entire family watched the live stream when the Orion returned.”

Warmth blossomed in Natasha’s cheeks as the officer smiled at her, and she wished she could remember more about the event Officer Lee described. “Thank you so much.”

As the nurse ushered the officers out of the room, Chris sighed and tented his fingers, pressing them against his mouth. Something inside Natasha wanted to reach out and offer comfort, even though she had no idea why she’d want to comfort him, a complete stranger. No matter how appealing she found him. Now that she had a moment to look at him without being in the midst of panic, she had to consciously keep her mouth from falling open. He had olive skin and deep brown eyes, a square jaw and full, bow-shaped lips that she couldn’t help but envy. His nearly black hair was cut short enough to not require serious maintenance but long enough to make the messy bed-head style he wore look natural. Her eyes followed the curve of his profile as he stared after the retreating forms of the police officers. His presence felt so familiar, but when she tried to rack her brain for memories, all she got in return was a fuzzy, dull ache. He seemed to sense her watching him and turned to regard her with a questioning glance. Her heart jumped as if he’d defibrillated it.

She couldn’t help it. She needed to know. “How do we know each other?”

His complexion paled. “Excuse me?”

“You asked me if I recognized you, after you found me. I feel like I know you, but obviously...”

“You can’t remember.” He dropped his hands and shoved them in his pockets. His shoulders rose, and he stared at the floor as if trying to come up with an answer. “Natasha, the thing is—”

“Sorry, I need to interrupt for a moment.” Dr. Olsen pulled several sheets of paper from his clipboard and handed them to Natasha. “These are prescriptions for painkillers and a list of recommendations as we discussed earlier in regard to managing your injuries. Please take them to your physician at NASA. Will they be arranging transportation, or will you be making your way over on your own? As long as you go there directly, I’ll consent to your release.”

More doctors, more tests, more paper hospital gowns? She didn’t like it, but the more people with ideas about getting her memory back, the better. “Can someone call them for me?”

“We can’t—”

“I’ll call,” said Chris. “She’s my responsibility. I’ll make sure she gets there safely.”

She smiled at him in gratitude, but after what they’d both gone through, she also couldn’t help but wonder whether going anywhere with him was safe—after all, no one had been shooting at her before this supposed FBI agent had come to her rescue.

THREE

Natasha had a twelve-year-old daughter. His relationship with Natasha Stark had ended a little over twelve years ago.

Every time he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye as they drove, he had to swallow down the lump that formed in his throat. They had been young and foolish and had made the mistake of becoming intimate before truly understanding the consequences. But even so, Chris had loved her with his whole heart. They’d stopped their covert trysts after attending a church youth rally, where Natasha had gone up to the front of the auditorium during an altar call to dedicate herself to living for Jesus and pursuing a life of faith. He hadn’t been fully convinced, but he’d respected her decision and tried to do right by her. He’d talked to the leaders in her church, read his grandmother’s Bible and decided that the right thing to do was propose.

Even at the time, he’d wondered if Natasha had taken to her faith so suddenly because her family demanded it of her or because she really believed. As a state senator, her father had an image to maintain, a certain theoretical family standard to uphold in order to be better positioned for reelection. Her father had never approved of him, but he hadn’t interfered in their relationship. Chris had thought that asking Natasha to marry him would be enough to keep them together. Clearly he’d never been enough for her, either.

She was too much like her father. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but what choice had he had? She hadn’t fought back or disagreed. Her father’s threat ensured that he left and never contacted them again, and Chris hadn’t been about to humiliate himself by groveling. And he hadn’t wanted to. He’d heard what Mr. Stark called his parents when he thought Chris couldn’t hear, and it wasn’t a description Chris would ever repeat in polite company.

When an email had come from her, he’d deleted it. When a letter arrived, he’d burned it. If her faith and her father had turned her against him, made her believe she was better than him, he wanted nothing to do with it or with her, ever again.

And now Natasha was in his FBI vehicle, wearing clothes from the hospital lost-and-found box—a button-down plaid shirt and a pair of oversize swim trunks tied tightly at the waist. Her clothes had been taken for testing. A twelve-year-old daughter, he repeated to himself. Could Natasha have kept something like that from me all this time?

She wouldn’t be able to answer that question until she got her memories back. He tried not to care, and he tried to tell himself he could be patient. Now that he worked in the area, he could ask her about Hayley someday in the future. But something deep inside persisted in wanting to be near the girl now, or at the very least catch a glimpse of Hayley. At least then I’ll know, he thought. One way or the other. A father would recognize his own daughter, wouldn’t he? For both their sakes, he hoped his suspicions were wrong. Then he could put it out of his thoughts and concentrate fully on wrapping up this case and getting out of Natasha’s life as quickly as possible.

“Do you think we could swing by my place first?” She held the sheet from the doctor out in front of her. “It can’t be too far of a detour.”

Chris’s heart skipped a beat. “I don’t see why not. The NASA physician isn’t expecting you at a certain time?”

“I’m supposed to get there as soon as possible, but there’s not a set time, no. Before everyone goes home for the day, I assume.” She chuckled softly, then sighed. “I’m already at an embarrassing disadvantage by not being able to remember critical pieces of information. I’d rather not further embarrass myself by showing up to my place of employment in lost-and-found couture.”

“Point taken. Your address is on the sheet from the hospital, right? Punch it into the GPS, and we’ll make the stop.”

He turned the volume up on the radio once she’d entered the address, and the cheerful sound of Christmas carols resonated through the SUV’s interior, discouraging further conversation. What would they say to each other, anyway? Any conversation would be one-sided and risk mentally taxing Natasha further. The whole situation seemed like a terrible mess, and in his professional opinion, it seemed like she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A mugging gone sideways, maybe—though that didn’t explain the drone or the car wreck. That was targeting, plain and simple, possibly by muggers who thought she’d caught a glimpse of their faces? It seemed a little extreme to go to such lengths, but he couldn’t discount any possibility.

“It’s going to be a pain replacing my ID,” she muttered. “It’s not like I can call the credit-card companies and confirm my identity to replace the cards. And at Christmas, too! There’s no time to get this figured out and get all my cards replaced in just a week. I hope I’ve already done the shopping for Hayley’s gifts. No child should wake up to an empty space beneath the tree. Oh, I hope I already have a tree, too.”

“Maybe the credit-card company’s security questions will jog your memory, or maybe those will be some of the details you didn’t lose,” he suggested. “You never know until you try.”

“Good point.” She sighed again. “And thank you. For doing this, for driving me. You didn’t need to.”

“I kind of did. It’s been my assignment to find you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you to fend for yourself after all that’s happened. Besides, you haven’t quite found all of yourself yet, so to speak.”

She laughed, a strong, deep sound that warmed him from the inside. He’d forgotten how much he missed that sound—and he hadn’t counted on how much it would hurt to hear it again.

“I appreciate that. And I definitely could use a friendly face for a while longer. Technically, right now you’re my oldest friend.” She grew quiet for a few minutes before continuing the conversation. “Are you married, Agent Barton?”

“Christopher. Call me Chris.”

“Okay, Chris. Are you married? Kids?”

There was that lump in his throat again. “No, can’t say that I am.” He sneaked a look at her. She blinked at him with her wide-eyed innocence, and it took all his restraint not to blurt out the truth. But what good would it do? Her head had started pounding at the hospital after a few questions from the police. Tossing out information from a bad situation that had happened twelve years ago would serve only to exacerbate her condition. As soon as he thought she was healthy enough to handle it, they’d talk. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he wanted to delay any longer than necessary.

She reached over and squeezed his upper arm. “Hey, it’s okay. These things happen when they’re supposed to happen.”

“Did I look sad?” Well, that was embarrassing.

“Kind of, yes. A muscle in your cheek has this tic...” Her voice trailed off as everything inside the car seemed to grow still. Even the radio had grown quiet, causing the silence to permeate every molecule of air between them.

All those years ago, she’d used to kiss that very spot on his cheek every time he’d retreated inside himself. He’d been the glue holding his family together—between his mom’s ill health, his dad’s gambling addiction and his younger brother’s tendency to spend nights locked in a cell, someone had needed to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Natasha always knew when the weight of responsibility was beginning to crush him underfoot, and she used to tenderly place her lips against his cheek.

“Make a left turn in fifty feet,” said the disembodied voice of the GPS. “Your destination will be on your right.”

“Does any of this look familiar?” Jolted out of memory, he scanned the street as they turned onto it. She lived in a decent-looking neighborhood, a typical middle-class residential area. Inflatable Christmas decorations lay flat on a number of lawns, colorful fabric puddles waiting for nightfall so they could come to life. Other homes were decorated with strings of lights, plastic reindeer and garland streamers that rustled in the breeze. He’d grown up in Florida, but after a few years in the Midwest and farther north, in states that actually received snow in December, it was odd to reconcile inflatable snowman decor with green lawns and palm trees.

He noted the decreasing house numbers, then pulled the Suburban up alongside the curb in front of a row of attached condos. They were tall, boxy buildings, with beige siding and single-car garages. It looked like a few of the units were slightly wider than the others. A double staircase led from the ground level up to the main floor, and a set of sliding glass doors opened onto a small balcony on each top floor. The front yard of each wasn’t much more than a bland, rectangular bit of grass with a young tree in the center.

“You’re number thirty-seven, right? I think that’s what I read on the paper.” For some reason, he’d expected Natasha to live in a fancy Tuscan-style home, something with a three-car garage, a colonnaded porch, tall palm trees and a pool out back. Something more like the home she’d grown up in, a place that aligned more with her family’s beliefs about wealth and social status.

“Thirty-nine, actually,” she said, folding the papers back up. “I used to live in thirty-seven, but Hayley and I swapped units with our neighbors right before my launch, really lovely people. Thirty-seven is one of the slightly wider units with an extra bedroom, and since they had a baby on the way with two other children under three, we—” She froze midsentence. “How do I know that?”

“Dr. Olsen said your memory loss would be selective, remember? I’d say this is a good sign.” He cut the engine and hopped out, then jogged around to the other side to open the door for her. “It’s late afternoon, almost four o’clock. Will Hayley be home?”

Natasha squinted up at the condos, her gaze swinging between numbers thirty-seven and thirty-nine. “She...might be? If I’ve been missing, she’s probably been staying with the neighbors. She stays there when I have overnight training or a conference to attend. In exchange, and for a bit of spending money, she babysits for Rania after school sometimes, so Rania can have a bit of personal time. With the baby, of course. Hayley got her babysitting certificate as soon as she turned twelve. The course fee was her birthday present.” Her voice rose with excitement as she recalled details about her daughter.

Maybe yours, too, he told himself. “Your daughter sounds like quite the entrepreneur. Smart kid.” He swallowed hard. That lump in his throat refused to go away. “Does she look after the kids in your current place or next door at the old place?”

Natasha didn’t respond, but took the first flight of steps halfway up to unit thirty-nine before pausing. She remained still for a moment, then turned around and came back down. A small red mailbox was positioned on the outer wall next to the garage door, decorated with a gaudy gold-and-silver tinsel wreath that looked like it had come from a discount store. Natasha placed her hands on either side of the mailbox and lifted it off the wall. A strip of duct tape underneath held two house keys in place, which she removed before replacing the mailbox.

“Either place,” she said. “And Hayley has her own set of keys to get inside, but... I remembered these were here.”

“Another good sign.” He rocked back and forth on his heels as nervousness dug in further. As Natasha started to climb back up the steps, a large, silvery-gray mass of fur and muscle careened up the sidewalk, leaping toward her with massive front paws. “Look out!”

He lunged for the dog. Instead of shouting in alarm, Natasha laughed and leaned into the creature’s awkward embrace. Its paws scrabbled against her legs and torso. As they greeted each other, the dog dropped back onto all fours and took small steps backward, punctuating its movements with short, terse barks.

“You know this dog?” Chris asked. “Something’s clearly got him worked up.”

“It’s a she,” Natasha said, ruffling her fingers along the fur at the dog’s collar. She bent to read the tags. “Her name is Fin. Short for Infinity. She belongs to the neighbors.”

“Infinity? Cute.” Chris couldn’t help but smile. “She has such an unusual coloring! I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

“Silver Lab,” Natasha said, trying to beckon the dog back to her waiting hands. “I love dogs, but I’m away too often to care for one myself. Maybe when Hayley’s a little older.”

“What’s she doing on the loose?”

“She must have escaped from the backyard, or maybe Hayley let her out by accident. Not a problem. I’ll let her back in the house so Rania doesn’t come home and wonder where her dog has wandered off to.” As Natasha crossed the driveway to her old condo, the dog followed after her, barking and whining. When she reached the steps, Infinity’s whining grew stronger and her tail drooped. The dog placed her front paws on the bottom steps but refused to follow Natasha up.

Chris’s heart squeezed at the sounds coming from the agitated canine. “Hey, something’s not right here—don’t you think? She seems worried.”

Natasha reached the first landing and looked over the railing at him. Under different circumstances, he might have made a joke about the moment feeling like a scene out of Romeo and Juliet—after all, their families hadn’t liked each other, just like that ill-fated couple’s—but it would fall flat without Natasha’s memories of the two of them. Based on the way her memories of Hayley and her home were pouring back into her brain, however, it wouldn’t be long before she remembered him, too.

“She’s probably just nervous about the kids,” she said. “They can be loud, especially if Rania’s youngest has a screaming tantrum. He’s still learning not to pull on Fin’s ears and tail—oh, there I go again, remembering things. It’s so strange—like one moment, there’s nothing inside my head, and the next moment, there’s too much and I have to let it out. Sorry. You probably don’t care to know all these random facts I’m spilling. Long story short—the poor dog likely needs a quiet place to rest.”

“If you say so.” But the dog’s whimpering increased to an all-out wail as Natasha climbed the remaining steps. The instant she inserted her key in the lock, Fin tore up the stairs, reaching Natasha just as she turned the key. Fin leaped up, grabbed Natasha’s shirt in her teeth and yanked backward. Natasha stumbled back with a cry of surprise, her fingers brushing against the front door and sending it swinging inward just as a mighty pull from Fin dragged her down the first flight of stairs.

And then the front of the house exploded.

* * *

Natasha’s breath came in ragged gasps as she clung to the dog’s soft fur. Muffled sounds rang in her ears as she blinked away the dust and debris that obscured her vision.

“Tasha!” Chris barreled across the short space to reach her—how had she gotten on the ground?—and knelt by her side. “Are you all right? Does anything hurt?”

For a moment, she thought she felt the dog beneath her grow still, and her insides tightened. Then the large, furry body rolled underneath her and sneezed. Thank You, Lord. “I think Fin just saved my life,” she said. Her words sounded strange, and her body felt worse than it had when she’d arrived at the hospital earlier, but that didn’t matter. There was something very, very important she was forgetting. Something critical—

It returned to her in a flash.

“Hayley!” She pushed to her feet and stumbled toward the demolished staircase, not caring how much her body hurt. She’d climb the drainpipe or knock down the garage door to get inside if she had to, because if her daughter and those little ones had been inside the house during the explosion... “Hayley, can you hear me? I’m coming!”

Strong arms wrapped around her from behind and pulled her away from the smoking remains of the front entrance above them. Chunks of the door and the landing fell, but she didn’t care. She’d find a way in. She’d break down the door at the back of the house, or—

“Tasha, no! It’s not safe.” Chris’s breath across her neck made her pause. She stopped struggling against his grip. “Does Hayley have hair like yours? Curly? Reddish brown? A girl just came outside at your place.”

Sure enough, the sound of feet pounding down the next-door steps was followed by her daughter’s strained cries. “Mom? Mom! You’re home!”

Natasha pulled free from Chris’s grasp and opened her arms to embrace her daughter. She squeezed her tightly once, then held her out at arm’s length. “You’re all right? The others, too?”

Hayley nodded, her eyes wide and teary. “Yeah, we’re fine. I just heard a boom and looked out the window and saw smoke. What happened? Where have you been?”

The reality of seeing her child alive and well sank in, and she clutched Hayley to her chest again.

“Mom, I can’t breathe,” Hayley said, her voice muffled. When she pulled away, the girl’s eyes flicked to the side and back again. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be away overnight? It’s not on our calendar. The Kaifs said you probably just forgot to write it down, but I know you don’t forget that kind of thing and I was freaking out. Who’s that?”

“Who?” Natasha followed her daughter’s gaze to see Chris, standing back and staring at the two of them. He looked pale and shaken, but she suspected she looked even worse for wear. “Oh, that’s Agent Barton from the FBI. He helped me when—You know what? It’s a long story and I’ll tell you after we get this all figured out.” The poor Kaifs and their lovely home. A week from Christmas, no less! Could it have been a natural-gas leak? But she didn’t smell mercaptan, the odorant that gas companies added to natural gas so that even the smallest leak could be immediately detected. Ruling that out, could it have been wiring gone wrong? She thanked God that the children hadn’t been inside. She ushered Hayley, Chris and Fin into her own home, where they could keep an eye on Rania’s children. The house felt strange and yet familiar at the same time. She needn’t have worried about having a tree, because she’d clearly gone all out decorating for the holiday. A Christmas tree sat in the corner of the living room, tall enough to touch the ceiling, the branches so filled with lights and a random assortment of handmade ornaments that they bowed toward the floor. She didn’t remember making them, but at the same time, they felt...right. As she took in the rest of the room, it was bizarre to see some things she recognized but others that looked out of place. She was a stranger in her own skin, with nothing to grasp on to but thin, random memories like wispy strands of tinsel.

A bulletin board next to the refrigerator listed emergency contacts and neighbors’ phone numbers—and a large calendar listed all of hers and Hayley’s appointments in detail. She used her landline to call Rania while Chris made his own calls to the FBI and local police. With help on the way, Natasha sank into the living room’s tan suede couch. Hayley returned to the floor to play with the children, who were oblivious to everything but the brightly colored plastic blocks and noise-making toys around them. Fin jumped up and placed her head and paws on Natasha’s lap. She stroked the dog’s shiny silver coat, grateful for her neighbors’ intelligent pet.

“Fin must have known there was a problem,” she murmured. “Dogs can sense danger that our limited human senses can’t. Labradors are particularly intelligent.”

Chris half stood and half sat against the arm of the couch, not fully committing one way or the other. It was similar to the pose he’d taken next to her hospital bed, as if he was preparing to bolt at any moment.

“I’ve heard that, as well. If she hadn’t pulled you away from the door... Well, as it was, the blast sent you both flying down the rest of the steps, but she took the hit for you. It’s probably why you’re not unconscious from another blow to your head. Fin deserves an entire bag of treats, if you ask me.”

“Maybe two.” She sighed, grateful indeed. “I just can’t believe it. I’ve heard of natural-gas explosions happening without much warning, but the entire area would smell like rotten eggs from the mercaptan if that was the cause. Whatever it actually was, I thought newer homes like these would be more secure, less prone to issues.”

“When did you say you switched apartments?” Chris’s voice was soft but carried an undercurrent of tension. “Recently?”

She nodded. “Right before I left on the Orion mission.”

“And the move is on record?”

“No, not yet. It was a bit of a last-minute decision since the Kaifs had only just started telling people about their pregnancy and I was leaving the following week. We figured we’d fill out the official paperwork when I got back, and got approval from the homeowner’s association for the whole thing. It’s been easy enough to simply hand off mail to each other, but I don’t see why that’s important right now.”

“Don’t you?”

She shook her head, then winced. It still hurt. She might be running high on adrenaline from what had happened, but both her mind and body had taken a massive beating today. She needed to take it easy.

“Natasha,” Chris said impatiently. “Think about it. How many attempts on your life have there been today? You’re on record as living next door. Someone thinks that’s your home. That was no natural-gas explosion. That was a bomb, and it was intended to kill you.”

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