Книга - A Night Without End

A Night Without End
Susan Kearney


When Carlie Myers woke up from a blow to the head, two years were erased from her memory. She couldn't recall how she'd gotten to Alaska, or why she was being blamed for murder. And she didn't know if the sexy stranger who claimed to be her husband was telling the truth…Rugged Sean McCabe wanted justice for his partner's murder. Yet one look in the deep green of Carlie's eyes and he knew she was innocent. Which meant she needed protection. He'd told her a white lie to keep her close–yet how would Sean keep his 'wife' safe and satisfied without putting his heart in jeopardy?







The king-size bed was big enough to hold them both.

Carlie saw no reason for either of them to spend an uncomfortable night.

She sat up and slipped her hand into his. “We’ll both sleep in the bedroom.”

Sean’s eyes went wide. “But you don’t remember me.”

“I won’t put you out of your bed.”

“I’ll be fine on the couch.”

Carlie refused to believe he wanted her to leave him alone. Although Sean seemed to be a lone wolf, fit and capable of taking care of himself, she wanted to help him ease his grief.

“Even if I can’t remember our wedding vows, we are husband and wife.”

Sean took her by the shoulders, shaking her. “Let me get this straight. You want to share my bed tonight.…”


Dear Intrigue Reader,

A brand-new year, the launch of a new millennium, a new cover look—and another exciting lineup of pulse-pounding romance and exhilarating suspense from Harlequin Intrigue!

This month, Amanda Stevens gives new meaning to the phrase “men in uniform” with her new trilogy, GALLAGHER JUSTICE, about a family of Chicago cops. They’re tough, tender and totally to die for. Detective John Gallagher draws first blood in The Littlest Witness (#549).

If you’ve never been Captured by a Sheikh (#550), you don’t know what you’re missing! Veteran romance novelist Jacqueline Diamond takes you on a magic carpet ride you’ll never forget, when a sheikh comes to claim his son, a baby he’s never even seen.

Wouldn’t you just love to wake up and have the sexiest man you’ve ever seen take you and your unborn child into his protection? Well, Harlequin Intrigue author Dani Sinclair does just that when she revisits FOOLS POINT. My Baby, My Love (#551) is the second story set in the Maryland town Dani created in her Harlequin Intrigue book For His Daughter (#539).

Susan Kearney rounds out the month with a trip to the wildest American frontier—Alaska. A Night Without End (#552) is another installment in the Harlequin Intrigue bestselling amnesia promotion A MEMORY AWAY.…This time a woman wakes to find herself in a remote land in the arms of a sexy stranger who claims to be her husband.

And this is just the beginning! We at Harlequin Intrigue are committed to keeping you on the edge of your seat. Thank you for your enthusiastic support.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor, Harlequin Intrigue


A Night Without End

Susan Kearney






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Susan Kearney likes suspense-packed romance with an unforgettable twist. She’s also more than fond of feisty heroines and heroes with soft hearts and hard heads. Sue lives in Florida with her husband, two children and two Boston terriers.


Books by Susan Kearney

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

340—TARA’S CHILD

378—A BABY TO LOVE

410—LULLABY DECEPTION

428—SWEET DECEPTION

456—DECEIVING DADDY

478—PRIORITY MALE

552—A NIGHT WITHOUT END










CAST OF CHARACTERS


Carlie Myers—A policewoman whose murky memory couldn’t call up the previous two years. She’s determined to discover her past so she can have a future.

Sean McCabe—An educated man who is just as experienced in a rough mining camp, a sophisticated boardroom or the bedroom. Sean claims he’s Carlie’s husband. So why does he seem like a stranger?

Jackson McCabe—The murder victim and Sean McCabe’s adopted father. Jackson was a back woodsman with a heart big enough to take in a homeless boy.

Roger McCabe—Jackson’s angry and grieving brother. But is Roger really grieving or does he have something to gain by his brother’s death?

Ian Finley—A rich banker with a stake in Sean’s mine. He’s prosperous and has his finger on the pulse of the small mining town.

Tyler—Were his dreams of gold a delusion? Caught between boyhood and manhood, Tyler has a propensity for showing up at the scene of a crime.

Marvin—A gambler always ready to play his hand. With a poker face and a flashing gold tooth, Marvin stands back and watches events unfold—with seemingly no reason to commit murder.

Sally—Jackson’s lady friend who is ready to move on. Did she really love Jackson or was it his money she wanted?


For Angela Catalano, my editor,

whose invaluable help is very much appreciated.

And for B.C., who gives excellent advice. Thank you.




Contents


Prologue (#u0d4c3593-a1e7-522e-933b-fd0942588653)

Chapter One (#ub8dc8dab-65d4-5b92-9adc-a39ab3edf07b)

Chapter Two (#u3948d0d2-8bc3-5516-a7e5-b2184d6bbb34)

Chapter Three (#uef56fa7c-c0a4-5960-b50e-10112cfbc2ba)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue


“Did I hear right? Did you say Alaska?” Carlie Myer propped one hip against the kitchen counter, twisted the phone cord and tried to keep the trembling from her voice.

Her husband, Bill, preoccupied and even more secretive than usual, hadn’t been himself lately, but now his former bubbling enthusiasm returned to his voice and came in loud and clear from his car’s cell phone. “I want to show you Chikosh Pass in summertime.”

Perhaps she’d let him talk her into going on an Alaskan vacation, after all. Besides, relief from the tropical heat of August in Tampa, Florida might not be so bad.

If she didn’t know better, from the way he described Alaska, she’d have thought he longed for his old job back. He was practically crooning into the telephone with his husky bedroom voice that he knew she had difficulty refusing. “You haven’t lived until you’ve kayaked blue glacial rivers and climbed Mount Kiska—”

“You know I don’t like the cold.” Or the wilderness. She was a city girl, born and bred in the Sunshine State. And nothing relaxed her better than Florida sun, palm trees swishing in a seventy-five-degree breeze and the aroma of suntan oil on a white-sand beach.

“Come on, Carlie. It’ll be romantic. The aurora borealis is unbelievable at night.”

“So are the mosquitoes that suck a human being dry in half an hour—”

“Think of camping with the scent of spruce in your hair. Fresh salmon baked the way you like it—”

“What about grizzlies?”

Even if she accompanied him to Fairbanks, his intention to revisit his old haunts raised issues she preferred to forget. He made the trip sound so sentimental and appealing, but he had almost died in those frigid mountains he loved.

“You can sleep with your gun under the pillow,” Bill teased.

In spite of her suspicions, Carlie allowed a smile to surface. A seven-year veteran of the Tampa Police Department, she considered her sidearm as necessary as most women did a tube of lipstick. However, on their wedding night, Bill had insisted he wasn’t sharing her with a .357 Magnum and urged her to leave the weapon on her nightstand—a small compromise she’d made after the happiness he’d given her. That she was considering a trip to practically the North Pole was a testament to how much she loved him.

Every so often she had to remind herself that even the best marriage required compromises. If he wanted to return to Alaska, she’d go along with his request, but not before making one of her own.

“This is strictly a vacation, right?”

“And what else would it be? I’m a happily married man.”

The thought of running into one of his old girlfriends was the least of her worries. And he knew it.

“No digging into unsolved cases?” she asked. Bill had worked for Customs in Alaska before he’d received a promotion and transferred to Florida. And he was damned secretive about his work. For all she knew he was still on the same case that had almost taken his life. Fear curdled in her gut. “Promise me, you’ve put the past behind you.”

“Now, honey, we’re just taking a little visit, and I may check out a few things. You aren’t going to lose me. There’s nothing to fear—”

Through the receiver, car horns blared in her ear. Metal screeched. Glass shattered.

“Bill? Bill! Talk to me, damn it.”

His car phone went dead.

“God, no. Please, please, please don’t do this to me.”

With frantic fingers, she redialed his number, but the call wouldn’t go through. Pain and panic slammed into her. Numbly, she tried the police department next.

But she didn’t need anyone to tell her he was dead. Every cell in her body shuddered as the special connection they had shared was brutally severed.

He was gone. She would never again see his warm smile, never again hear his husky laughter or feel the comfort of his embrace. She wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shaking, but the gesture did nothing to halt the tears raging down her cheeks or the shivers crawling over her soul.

Bill was gone.

And deep in her heart she knew the fear had just begun.




Chapter One


Fifteen months later

The herd of elk spooked, taking off on a mad run, and, on the alert, Sean McCabe instantly froze. He read danger in the Alaskan bush easily, rapidly and expertly. While many Alaskans were at home in the woods, his senses were more acute than most, and years in these mountains had endowed him with almost a sixth sense. His ears picked up not just normal animal activity—but the lack of noise. An arctic warbler in the willow thicket had ceased to sing.

Sean did not move, all senses keenly focused. The abnormal stillness spoke to him. In the bush, game could be frightened by an angered grizzly, an approaching storm, a forest fire or an imminent earthquake. But he didn’t see any bear signs, didn’t smell smoke, and though he expected snow within hours, the sky remained blue and clear. Still, his neck prickled with an acute perception of danger and he shifted his stance with vigilant caution.

Well aware wildlife could sense vibrations in the ground long before people felt an earthquake, Sean dumped his heavy backpack of supplies and sprinted toward the Dog Mush Mine. If a tremor were to hit, he might have only moments to warn Jackson, who was most likely prospecting deep in the cave and unaware of the unusual stillness on the mountain.

A Sitka black-tailed deer bolted past Sean into a stand of white spruce and disappeared behind a hummock. A woodchuck dived for its burrow while a snowshoe hare bounded through the gooseberry bushes. Forcing his feet faster along the steep, well-trod trail, he redoubled his effort to reach his partner. And friend.

Jackson was family, the father he’d never had. Twenty years ago when Sean had been a lost and lonely eight-year-old brat, he’d run away from the very thought of a foster home, and the old prospector had taken him in. At first he’d been afraid of the miner, but he soon learned Jackson’s gruff exterior hid a heart of melted gold nuggets. He’d taken in a hungry and defiant boy, fed him and educated him, given him the tools to make a living.

An eagle wheeled in the sky with a cacophony of cries. With a primal caution, Sean rounded the last bend in the trail, his boots pounding the hard-packed dirt. A bone-chilling gust pummeled him, but as he dashed into the mine past Jackson’s bivouac site, the sheer rock pinnacle cut the wind. An eerie stillness made the hairs on the back of Sean’s hands stand on end.

“Jackson! Get out! You hear me, there’s an—”

Sean skidded to a halt. In the dim light of the mine, two bodies lay in the dirt. He had no trouble spotting Jackson’s yellow Arctic parka.

“Jackson? You okay?”

Heart jackhammering, Sean reached out and touched the old prospector’s neck, searching for a pulse. His body still warm, Jackson didn’t let out so much as a moan. Sean couldn’t find any reassuring evidence of a heartbeat.

No!

He leaned over Jackson, desperate for a sign that he still lived, straining for the slightest whisper of a breath.

He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

Gently Sean turned the man over. Blood drenched the yellow jacket, soaked into the dirt. And now he knew what had spooked the game.

Death.

No! Not Jackson. Not the man who meant the world to him. It couldn’t be true.

A gaping wound and fresh blood on Jackson’s chest indicated that the old prospector had been stabbed just minutes ago. Sean’s vision clouded with a red rage. Spinning on his heel, he slammed his fist into the wall, welcoming the pain in his knuckles, wishing it took his mind off the agony of his loss.

Sean barely glanced at the second body. That Jackson had killed his attacker didn’t satisfy him.

Jackson was the only father Sean had ever known. Unrelated by blood yet bonded by their love of this wild land, the willful boy and the crotchety old prospector had made a family. And now he was gone.

Murdered.

Murdered in the mine he loved.

Jackson’s open eyes were frozen in surprise, horror and pain. The look of a man betrayed.

Sean ached to take out his grief and frustration with his fists. Instead, he ruthlessly quashed his anger, sank onto the floor and cradled his adoptive father’s head on his lap. Rocking, Sean smoothed back Jackson’s hair, gently closed his eyes.

He couldn’t be dead.

But Sean couldn’t deny the truth of the cooling body in his arms.

“I’m sorry, old man. I should have been here sooner. I should have been here when you needed me most.” His eyes filled with tears. He could say no more. Just sat in the cold, rocking Jackson, feeling his warmth slip away and his body grow cold.

Finally, Sean stood on legs grown numb and floated a blanket over the body. Authorities needed to be notified. He pushed his choking grief deep inside and reached for the walkie-talkie clipped onto his belt.

He pressed the talk button, cleared his throat to make the words come out. “Sean to base.”

“Marvin here,” answered the radio operator.

“I’m at the Dog Mush. Jackson’s dead.”

“Come again. Did you say dead?”

“Murdered.” The word tasted bitter in Sean’s mouth.

“I’m sorry. Real sorry. I liked that old man.”

Jackson and Marvin had played poker every Friday night for years. Was Sean imagining the voice choked with tears coming over the radio or did they have poor reception?

“Any sign of who killed him?”

“Looks like Jackson took out the other guy before he died. Send up a couple of men with sleds for the bodies.”

“Roger that. Anything else?”

“Notify the authorities in Fairbanks.”

“Will do. Base out.”

Sean’s attention turned from Jackson to the smaller man who lay unmoving on his back in the dirt, the bloody knife still in his hand. Who was he? He faced away from Sean and a hood partially covered his face, and Sean didn’t recognize the pea-green jacket or the barely broken-in boots. Perhaps his pockets held identification.

Sean knelt beside the murderer, wishing he was still alive—so he could slam a fist into his face, close his hands around his throat and kill him again. If his thoughts were vicious and primitive, at least they were honest. He’d spent eight years in the civilized east, learning that an Italian suit and tie could hide men as vicious and deadly as grizzlies. He preferred the uncrowded mountains, the unpolluted air and the sweat equity of his rough-hewn log cabin to the greedy and callous life in the big cities.

He liked to think of these mountains as pristine and uncontaminated by humanity’s cruelties, a place where man could coexist with nature, not destroy it. Now murder had come to his own neck of the woods, staining the land with a good man’s blood.

And he could do no more than take Jackson’s murderer to the authorities. While leaving the killer’s body on the mountain for carrion to feed on held a certain appeal, Sean knew the police would need to identify the attacker. But with snow coming, it might be days before anyone in an official capacity could reach the town. Once the weather socked in the remote mountain town of Kesky, the only transportation in or out was by dogsled.

Before he changed his mind and left the body to rot, Sean snaked out his hand toward the murderer’s front pocket. What he’d assumed was a corpse snapped to a sitting position, yelled and swiped the knife at his gut.

Sean cursed and with a hunter’s reflexes jerked aside, tumbling away from the weapon. While shock and grief had dulled Sean’s senses, Jackson’s murderer must have been gathering strength and waiting for the opportunity to attack. Sean had broken up enough fights among the miners to know this man was skilled in how to wield a knife or he would stab the weapon—not slice it. Off balance, Sean took a moment longer than he would have liked to recover and scramble upright.

Prepared and agile but unsteady on his feet, his opponent stood and shifted the knife to his right hand. In the dim light, the bloody weapon appeared almost black. The sneaky little bastard was threatening him with the same weapon he had used to murder Jackson.

Relishing his jacked-up senses, Sean felt his adrenaline pump. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, grasping for the attacker’s wrist, grappling for control of the weapon. One quick twist of the captured wrist and the murderer dropped the knife to the dirt and would have spun away if not for Sean’s tight grip.

With his free hand, the man reached into the pea-green jacket, no doubt intent on retrieving another weapon. Like hell would Sean allow that sneaky maneuver. He twisted the surprisingly delicate wrist harder, drawing a grunt of distress.

And received a sharp kick to his shin, an elbow jammed into the ribs. Sean ignored the biting pain. With grim determination, he hung on, using his superior strength and weight to wrestle the other man to the ground.

Together, they toppled, Sean landing on top of a wiry body, straining to escape. He estimated his opponent at five foot nine to five foot ten, no match for his conditioned six foot four. Still the shorter man struggled.

The jacket’s hood fell back and sunny-gold hair spilled across the dirt. What the hell? His hot blood chilled. Sean flipped his opponent over and stared into the face of a woman with eyes as fierce and wary as a cornered fox.

Jackson’s murderer was a woman?

The astonishing revelation of her gender caused him to loosen his grip. That’s all she needed to take advantage. Strong, determined and clearly capable, she rolled away and kicked his feet out from under him. He fell hard, but not without grasping a handful of golden hair, trapping her beside him.

Panting furiously, she looked mad enough to spit bullets, confused enough to make a foolish mistake. She inched her hand inside her jacket.

“Don’t even think it.” He clamped his free hand over her wrist, imprisoning her.

She narrowed eyes that surged with green anger, bewilderment and a hint of fear. Now that he held her trapped, he expected her to plead, cry or beg forgiveness.

Instead she threatened him. “Assaulting a police officer is a federal offense.”

“And what’s murder?” he countered, not buying her claim of being an officer of the law for a millisecond.

“I didn’t—”

“Lady, I walked into this cave and found you next to Jackson.” He fought down the urge to shake her until the lies from her chapped lips ceased. Although she was strong for a female, her neck looked fragile, easy for him to snap. Fighting his own grief, anger and lust for revenge, he sought to tamp down his wildly surging emotions.

“That doesn’t mean I killed him.”

“The murder weapon was in your hand.”

“Which hand?”

“The left.”

She glanced at the blood-smeared cuff of her left sleeve. “I’m right-handed.”

She sounded indignant at his accusation, but then what could he expect from a killer? He shrugged away his doubts. “The way you wield that knife, you’re probably ambidextrous. No doubt you’d have liked to kill me, too.”

Her voice was calm and even, as if accustomed to dealing with tough situations. “I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“Really?” He didn’t believe her story, not with the evidence right before his eyes.

“I came to and sat up. I didn’t even know the knife was in my hand. Then you attacked.” She stared at him as if she thought he was the one who was confused.

But he wouldn’t be taken in so easily by her innocent demeanor. That’s probably how she’d killed Jackson. He frowned and raised his voice. “You expect me to believe your flimsy explanation?”

At his harsh accusation, her entire body shuddered and slumped. Her eyes rolled to the top of her sockets.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

He wanted answers. And she’d either fainted on him or she was an excellent actress. Either way, Sean wasn’t taking any chances. Without relinquishing his grip on her wrist, he perused Jackson’s supplies.

A rabbit snare caught his eye. Perfect. Within moments he’d firmly tied the woman’s hands behind her back. He supposed she wouldn’t like her helpless position much once she came to and discovered that he’d trussed her like a goose—but she should have considered the consequences before she’d killed Jackson. Out here, men took care of their own.

Unwilling to risk any further unpleasant surprises, Sean unzipped her jacket and started to relieve her of the gun she’d reached for. He noted her curves with mechanical efficiency. What a waste. Unconscious, her features relaxed into an attractiveness he might have found appealing if they’d met under other circumstances.

She had unusually symmetrical features, wide-set eyes, angled cheekbones and lightly tanned skin framed by that lion’s mane of golden hair. No wonder she’d taken poor Jackson by surprise. But Sean wouldn’t let that angelic face fool him. His only interest in her womanly curves was to discover where she’d hidden the weapon she’d been so obviously reaching for.

He unzipped her jacket, parted the flap. Beneath her arm, she wore a shoulder harness with a sheathed gun clearly visible. He reached out to take the weapon.

She came to with a groan. Startled, he jerked his hand back, grazing her breast.

She stared at him accusingly—as if he were doing something wrong. “What are you…?”

He watched her arms strain as she discovered her tied wrists, noted the slight widening of her eyes that betrayed a hint of fear. He opened her jacket wider.

She flinched. “Don’t!”

He could have reassured her. But a murderer didn’t deserve courtesy. “I’m taking your gun—before you shoot me.”

Her brows furrowed and a shadow hovered in her sea-green eyes. “Why would I want to shoot you?”

She spoke with such conviction he almost believed in her innocence. But he’d already seen her weapon. And she wouldn’t distract him with clever questions. Reminding himself she was his prisoner, slowly and deliberately, he reached for her weapon. With her hands tied behind her, pulling her arms tight, her gun lay wedged between her arm and her breast. He slid his fingers over the handle of her gun, watching her stiffen as the back of his thumb touched the curve of her breast. He’d sensed how much she’d detested the brush of his fingers. Tough. Letting her keep the weapon wasn’t an option. But he wouldn’t take advantage of her helplessness, either. He would honor Jackson by respecting what the old miner had taught him, and that homespun knowledge included acting the gentleman. He drew the gun out firmly, knowing she thought the worst of him, uncaring whether she believed he was about to harm her.

She’d taken his only family. She deserved to pay.

After checking her weapon to ensure the safety was on, he stuffed the gun into his jacket pocket. She watched him warily, only her ragged breathing revealing her fear. Starting beneath her arms, he patted her down, noting her lean waist, slender hips and long legs with trim ankles tucked into high-topped boots. By her clenched jaws, he surmised she was gritting her teeth, but she didn’t utter a protest—not that it would have stopped him from searching for identification or another weapon.

He half expected her to attempt to kick him and remained alert. But although he could feel anger radiating off her, she remained stiff, unmoving.

When he reached her ankles, she rolled to her side. “Satisfied?”

Her question annoyed him. Who did she think she was to utter challenges? She could damn well answer his questions. He rocked back on his heels and stared at her. “Why did you kill Jackson?”

“Who’s Jackson?” she countered with what appeared to be genuine puzzlement.

Sean resisted slamming his fist into her face. It wasn’t in him to hurt a woman—no matter what she’d done. However, he had no intention of revealing that fact. He might extract more answers if she feared him. “Come on, lady. I don’t have time to play twenty questions.” He jerked her to her feet.

A moan broke from her tightly compressed lips and she slumped and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her. For her thin frame, she was surprisingly heavy. Remembering her strength, he realized she must be lean muscle.

Frowning, he eased her down onto Jackson’s bedroll. “You hurt?”

She didn’t answer but curled her legs under her and tried to scoot away from him like a wounded animal in a trap.

He pressed a firm hand to her shoulder. “Hold still, lady, before you do more damage.”

“The name’s Carlie. Carlie Myer.”

Bill’s wife? Stunned, Sean rocked back on his heels, suspicious as hell. She couldn’t be Carlie Myer, could she? Two years ago, Bill had been one of Sean’s best friends. They’d hunted and fished together, and Bill even owned a two percent share in the mine. Sean had been sorry when Bill had left Alaska and gone to Florida but was happy for his friend when he’d married a beautiful blond cop named Carlie and settled down.

Last year, Bill’s death had hit him hard. He’d even written the widow a letter of condolence, but until today, Sean had never set eyes on Bill’s wife.

And now both Jackson and Bill were dead.

Last time Sean had flown into town, he’d picked up a surprising message from his friend’s widow. She’d wanted to visit him, so Sean had laid in supplies. Two weeks ago, he’d been expecting Carlie Myer’s visit. In all the scenarios he’d played over in his mind about why she’d wanted to see him, he’d never imagined her turning up alone at the Dog Mush. He’d expected her to come to Alaska to check out her inherited investment in the mine. When she hadn’t shown up in Fairbanks on the prearranged date, he’d figured she’d changed her mind and stayed in Florida.

Now she’d arrived, literally out of nowhere. And finding her way into his neck of the mountains wasn’t easy, especially for a woman born and bred in Florida’s Suncoast. Perhaps she wasn’t alone? Maybe an accomplice had run off into the woods and left her for dead. Warily he looked over his shoulder, but he spied nothing amiss.

Once more he reminded himself that if she was Carlie Myer, she was a cop and sworn to uphold the law. Bill had been a straight arrow, unlikely to hook up with a cold-blooded killer. Bill might have judged her incorrectly, but his friend had been keenly perceptive about people’s characters. And just knowing this woman had been married to his friend made Sean question his previous conclusion that she was a murderer. Still, he’d found her with the knife in her hand.

She’s your best friend’s widow.

Yet minutes ago he’d been so sure she’d killed Jackson. He’d seen Jackson’s blood on her left sleeve, the knife clenched in her fingers. The hard-packed floor of the mine gave him no sign that anyone else had or had not been here.

But she’d said she was right-handed.

So why was the blood on her left sleeve?

She’s a cop.

Had she really tried to swipe him with the knife? Or had she sat up groggy the way she’d claimed, and before she’d gotten her bearings, he’d attacked? Sean was no longer certain. The facts didn’t add up.

“How did you get here?” he asked. “Why did you kill the old prospector?”

Carlie didn’t answer. Once again she’d slipped into unconsciousness. Had she been hurt in the fight with Jackson? Sean’s suspicions might be diminishing but they didn’t vanish. Two of his friends had encountered this woman—and both of them were dead. Still, he’d been so ready to blame her for Jackson’s death, he hadn’t checked to see if anyone else was near.

Perhaps both she and Jackson had been attacked. If she hadn’t killed Jackson, then the person who had could be after her, too. The killer could be outside on the mountain, getting away even now.

Sean knelt beside her and covered her with a spare blanket. When she moaned and turned her head to the side, he spied blood and a nugget-sized bump three inches above the base of her neck, and he winced. So that’s why she’d passed out. Had she sustained the injury while fighting Jackson? Or had someone else hit her? Either way, she probably had a concussion and shouldn’t be left to sleep. He shook her shoulder, trying to wake her up. Not even one long eyelash fluttered. But the bleeding had almost stopped.

As he stood, his hand brushed a piece of plastic that must have slipped from her pocket during their struggle. Curious, he read the name on the driver’s license. Carlie Myer. Bill’s wife—no, widow, he corrected. Absently, he slipped her license into his pocket, pleased he’d confirmed her identity, but found it odd she carried no purse or backpack.

Sean considered untying her, believing he’d misjudged the woman. But first he’d look around.

Deciding there was little more he could do for Carlie until she awakened, Sean took more careful notice of the mine. Jackson’s supplies, camp stove and tools were neatly stacked along one wall. Dishes cleaned and set out to dry from breakfast indicated the prospector had eaten alone.

Exiting the mine carrying Jackson’s body, Sean knelt and gently set Jackson’s body down. He searched the hard-packed earth but saw no signs of struggle, no footprints in the dirt. Normal sounds of the forest had returned. Arctic warblers fluttered in the willow thickets, crickets chirped and Dall sheep grazed in the high grasslands.

Through the first flutters of snow, he looked below to the town of Kesky, population one-hundred and two. They had a bank, a post office, a church, a grocery and hardware store and a one-roomed schoolhouse. In a town that size, a stranger would be noticed, especially an attractive woman. He doubted she’d passed through Kesky without being spotted. Had someone followed her up the mountain?

He and Jackson employed twenty men to work the main mine. None of the miners would have allowed Carlie to make the rough climb to the Dog Mush unescorted. Maybe she’d come up with Jackson. But why?

Unfortunately, she hadn’t divulged in her letter the reason she’d been so intent on coming to see Sean. When she awakened, he intended to get some answers.

He returned to the cave, lit an oil lamp and examined the unconscious woman again. She displayed no other signs of injury. Her face was unnaturally pale, but neither cut nor bruised. Her chest rose and fell with rhythmic precision, and from the way she’d fought, he doubted she had any broken limbs.

She let out another groan and turned onto her side, tilting her neck at an odd angle. Hoping her sole injury was the bump on her head, Sean did his best to make her more comfortable, untying her hands, folding a blanket to pillow her head.

He should have known Bill wouldn’t have let himself be hogtied by anyone less than a beauty. But did those lush lips and dark eyelashes hide a mystery that could get a man killed?

Staring at her wouldn’t give him the answers he needed. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to study her lightly tanned skin, her straight, no-nonsense nose and lips that hinted at passion. No wonder his friend had fallen in love and married so quickly.

Sean forced his gaze away. Although he wasn’t hungry, he primed and lit Jackson’s stove and set water on it for coffee to boil, again wondering why she had come to Alaska to see him.

He’d have to be patient until she could tell him. Sean knew how to be patient. He could track an animal for miles. He could spend months working a vein in the mine. He could certainly wait for the answers this woman could supply.

He had no doubts she’d had a rough time. And with that knot on her head, no doubt when Carlie awakened she’d have one hell of a headache.

A cool gust whipped around the corner and into the cave, and Sean shivered as if a dark cloud clutched at him. Shaking off the eerie portent, he added coffee to the pot. He wouldn’t let his grief or his temper or his heart rule his decisions. He’d keep an open mind until he possessed the facts. Pondering over the best way to learn the truth, his gaze again turned to the unconscious woman. One way or another, she was going to tell him exactly what had happened—if she ever woke up.




Chapter Two


Carlie’s head pounded and pain stabbed behind her eyes, yet a sense of urgency forced her to open her eyelids. She needed to…She had to…Had to what?

Where the hell was she? She lay on a sleeping bag inside a fair-sized cave. The mouth-watering scent of coffee tantalized her stomach, which made embarrassingly loud noises.

“How’s the head?”

At the sound of a deep baritone, she craned her neck. Pain shot down from her nape to her back. She gasped and fought through the swirling tunnel of blackness to study the man hovering over her.

Although he’d asked how she felt, he didn’t look particularly concerned. Actually, he leaned aggressively forward, straining the fabric of his shirt, appearing as if he couldn’t decide whether to help her or hit her, but perhaps that was because he was blurry around the edges. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again, willing herself to focus. This time he came in as clear and crisp as a focused camera lens. The combination of his gray-eyed stare, harsh cheekbones and five-o’clock shadow caused her to tremble. Even his thin lips drawn in a tight line seemed judgmental and disapproving.

She had never seen him before. Who was he?

She tried to sit up and discovered her wrists were numb. Clenching and unclenching her fingers, she forced the blood back into them. After flexing her arms, she realized her gun had been removed from her holster, and a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach kicked in. A cop never gave up her weapon.

Something was wrong. And it wasn’t just the odd circumstance she’d found herself in. She was wearing ugly boots, a heavily padded olive jacket and khaki slacks. And cold seeped through her thermal underwear into her bones. Thermal underwear? Where had that thought come from? Her eyes widened as a flurry of snow fluttered just behind the strange man. Snow! It didn’t snow in Tampa, Florida.

“What happened? Who are you? Where am I?”

His eyes, as enigmatic as a wolf’s, darkened. “I already told you—”

“You did?” His words implied they’d already had a conversation. She drew an unsteady breath and tried to remember, but the pain in her head was taking its toll. Why didn’t she know this man? Lord, with those hard gray eyes and the lightning rush of her pulse whenever he looked at her, she didn’t know how she could have forgotten him. He had a fierce way of staring that made her feel like he was sizing her up as prey. Yet he held so still, and she sensed if she made one wrong move, he would pounce.

Damn it. Why couldn’t she remember?

She and Harry, her partner, must have been working a case that had gone down wrong, but she couldn’t recall any details, and a tight knot slowly formed in her stomach. “We’ve met before?”

One eyebrow cocked in skepticism. “You don’t remember me?” he asked very deliberately. “I’m Sean McCabe.”

His icy flash of doubt annoyed her as much as it confused her. “Carlie Brandon.”

“Brandon?” He shook his head and let out a long, low whistle of disbelief. “There’s no need to lie. I’ll try and help if I can.”

Lie? She’d told him the truth. The knot tightened another notch. Yet, despite her memory loss she tried to remain calm. Maybe he wasn’t the enemy.

In the haunting gray light of the cave, she could see a tight expression on his lips, and she realized he’d told her almost nothing about her situation. He seemed tense, a leashed force of taut muscles primed to spring if she made the wrong move. As a frisson of dread swept through her, she fought to keep the rising fear from her voice. “Could I have some water, please?”

When he didn’t hesitate to pour water from a canteen into a tin cup, she sagged against the sleeping bag, relieved. He didn’t seem to want to mistreat her. And when her numb fingers couldn’t hold the cup, he raised it to her lips with a hand that looked as if it had spent a long time in the wilderness. She’d always noticed a man’s hands. Indicating he worked with them for a living, his hands were large, the palms and pads of his fingers callused, the fingers long and without adornment. But then she didn’t need the lack of a ring to tell her this man wasn’t married. She couldn’t imagine any circumstance where he would share himself with a woman.

Although he eyed her steadily, he seemed uncomfortable around her, as if unsure whether to treat her with consideration or hostility. Her injury and weakness seemed to irritate him almost as much as it did her.

The water was cold, surprisingly refreshing, as if it had come straight from the refrigerator. She doubted politeness would soften him up. Still, she tried. “Thanks.”

Her words had no more effect on him than they had on the rocky walls around her. Still, she was aware of his intense scrutiny, the subtle aura of power he radiated as he completed the ordinary task of screwing the cap back onto the canteen and tossing it onto a pile of camping gear.

“I need to know what happened here.” His voice echoed darkly in the tomblike chamber. “Why don’t you tell me your real name—for starters.”

At his words, confusion settled in the pit of her gut. He acted as if he was giving her a test, as if he knew her name and that she’d been lying to him. Had a lunatic taken her captive? He’d said he’d help, had given her water, then sharpened his tone as if she were a habitual liar. For all she remembered, he could have been the one who’d caused the pounding at the base of her skull.

Her inability to recall her circumstances wasn’t just inconvenient but downright alarming. She didn’t recognize the partially covered body just outside the cave. Most likely, she’d been working a case and ended up here, but she hadn’t an inkling where here was or of how to play out her situation. Worse, her partner might be just around the bend, either hurt or injured, and depending on her to get them out of here.

Why couldn’t she remember? “I’m not lying. I have identification in my…”

But she wasn’t in uniform. Wild, speculative thoughts coursed through her. She must have been drugged. Taken somewhere. She reminded herself that Harry must be looking for her. If she could just stay alive, help would arrive. She swallowed hard and forced her gaze to the man looming over her. He looked hard and about two seconds away from doing her bodily harm.

Dizzy from the pounding headache, she was in no condition to fight. Actually, even if she’d been perfectly healthy, she would have been no match for two-hundred-plus pounds of lean, angry muscle. So she had no intention of provoking his anger.

Her mouth was still dry, but she was reluctant to ask for more water, preferring that he keep his distance. “What do you want with me?”

With a don’t-mess-with-me look, he set down the cup beside her and folded his arms across his broad chest. “I want answers.”

“Don’t we all.”

He jerked his thumb toward the mouth of the cave, at the body beneath a blanket. A bloody knife lay next to it. “Why did you kill my partner, Jackson?”

She hadn’t killed anyone. Or at least she didn’t think she had. Her mom had always told her the best defense was a strong offense, so at his accusation, she came out swinging. “How do I know you didn’t kill him?”

“The man was like a father to me. Besides, I’m not the one with blood on my sleeve.”

As his words sank in, she glanced down at her sleeve to the dark stain and shivered.

He was accusing her of…murder. Her mind couldn’t wrap around the thought. Murder? Oh, God. Why couldn’t she remember? If only the pounding behind her eyes would diminish, she might think more clearly.

Like an expert interrogator, he gave her no time to recuperate from his allegation. “And before you lie and tell me you didn’t kill him, you might want to consider that I saw the bloody knife in your hand.”

She had to concentrate, but a black hole in her memory seemed to have sucked away every recollection. “I can’t remember.”

“How convenient, Ms. Brandon.”

He seemed to emphasize her last name with a mocking tone, then wait for her reaction. But how was she supposed to react? She’d told him the truth. She was born Carlie May Brandon and she’d never married, never gone by another name. Had she been working this case undercover and used an alias? But Carlie didn’t do undercover. She was just a uniformed officer who patrolled the streets. Her gaze strayed to the body and skittered away. What had happened?

Think.

The last moment she recalled was stopping a speeder on the causeway connecting Tampa and St. Petersburg. Harry had teased her about letting off the cute guy in the Corvette with just a warning. It had been Tuesday, around 5:00 p.m.

“What day is this?” she asked.

Sean didn’t seem surprised she’d lost track of the days; his expression didn’t change one iota. But then, he looked as if he were carved from the same unforgiving rock that formed mountains. Beneath his full-length parka, he wore a black wool shirt, heavy denim pants and sturdy hiking boots. From his heavy clothing, the cold climate and the camping gear in the cave, she guessed they were in the mountains, someplace up north or out west. Colorado or Canada, maybe.

Wherever she was, time didn’t seem to have much meaning. She didn’t hear the sounds of civilization. No cars, no trains. No police sirens indicating help on the way. Obviously she wasn’t in Florida anymore and could only count on her own resources.

The man standing over her was a formidable opponent. Yet he didn’t seem the usual street criminal. Intelligence gleamed from his eyes, and the set of his mountainous shoulders warned her of his self-control. She doubted she could incite him into making mistakes.

At least he was talking to her. “It’s Saturday,” he told her.

She’d lost four days. Four days. “You’re sure?”

“Very. It’s October 30.”

She blinked when he added the year. No way. He had to be trying to trick her. But his words had been so offhand, downright casual. And what reason would he have to lie? She swallowed hard and tried for a normal tone. “Are you sure?”

He cocked his head, his deep baritone suspicious. “Lose a day?”

Stunned, she blinked hard, fighting back tears. “Near as I can tell, I’ve lost over two years.”

Two years gone, vanished as if she’d never lived them. She had to stay calm, in control of her rising panic. The knock on her head could have caused a temporary memory loss. Surely her memory would return if she just concentrated hard enough.

Ignoring his eyebrows raised in disbelief was easy while thoughts raced through her head like a runaway train. What was wrong with her? It was as if she’d never lived the last two years. Panic surged through her. She had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten here. Suppose her memories never returned? Suppose she had killed Jackson?

Fear clamped around her chest and squeezed. At least she’d retained most of her memories. She remembered her family, her friends, her job. But she’d lost two whole years. And she’d awakened in a cave and been accused of murder. She suspected no one would believe her memory loss, and even if they did, they might lock her up and toss away the—

Stop it. You’re a trained professional. Act like one. Focus on the facts.

She wasn’t completely helpless. She had a real sense of who she was, a cop—not a murderer. If she’d killed Jackson, she must have done so in self-defense. But even as a cop, she’d never had cause to pull her gun.

Still, a lot could have changed in two years. Perhaps she’d made detective or gone into undercover work.

While she remained silent, Sean McCabe stared at her as if waiting for her to admit she’d lied about the partial amnesia. His acute stare told her he was taking her lack of memory personally, and like a dog gnawing a juicy steak bone, he wasn’t about to let her go until he was satisfied.

She wished she could lie, because that would mean she was in possession of her full memory. All her recent recollections were gone—more than twenty-four months’ worth. Trying to force a memory only made her head ache worse. Gingerly she touched the knot. Perhaps when the swelling receded, her memories would return.

Her partial amnesia could have been worse. After all, she remembered her name, her childhood and her parents. She had a job with the police department, a family that loved her and many friends. All she needed to do was find a phone, and even if her memories never returned, they could fill her in.

Slowly her speeding heart calmed. She was alive, and at the moment her accuser didn’t seem inclined to hurt her. She wasn’t even sure if she was being held hostage, but if so, perhaps she could escape.

If his intentions were honorable, if he thought she’d murdered his friend, why hadn’t he called the police? She stared back into the darkened eyes surveying her with a mixture of pity and bridled anger and wondered if revealing her memory loss had been a mistake.

His tone was low, harsh. “Tell me what you remember.”

“About what?” she asked, vowing to give him nothing he could use against her.

“About…us.”

“Us?” That one word rocked her, hinting at a former and possibly a current personal relationship. Although his mountain-man ruggedness was attractive, she was positive they couldn’t be lovers. She felt no connection to him, could dredge up no past feelings about him one way or the other. And yet, a certain awareness zinged through her every time she looked at him. She noticed the way his eyes softened around the edges every time she winced in pain, the way he jutted his jaw at a certain angle when he didn’t get the answers that he sought, the way he held his back to Jackson’s body, as if keeping the man out of sight would lessen the pain of his loss. But as for real memory, for all she knew, she’d never met Sean McCabe before she’d awakened and told him her name was Carlie Brandon.

Thoughts swirling in a muddy haze of confusion, she’d never felt at such a disadvantage. Her lack of knowledge undermined her normal confidence. Confused and hurting, she wanted to close her eyes and sleep until the pain receded.

“Do you remember fighting with Jackson?” he asked softly, too softly, more than a hint of menace and resolve in his tone.

She rubbed her pounding temple, wishing she didn’t feel so vulnerable, wishing for her gun. “I don’t remember fighting with anyone.”

“And no one else is here with you?”

She forced her eyes to stay open. At least Sean was considering the possibility that someone else may have killed Jackson. While thankful for his ability to focus on facts, what she really wanted was his trust. She sensed that once this man made up his mind, he would pursue his goal no matter how difficult the challenge.

She wanted him on her side and decided to use every ounce of her persuasive abilities to prove her innocence. Right now, it would be wonderful if he believed her, but she’d settle for what she could get. “The first thing I remember is you asking how my head felt. I don’t know where I am or how I got here.”

“You’re in Alaska.”

“Alaska!” She sat up abruptly and pain sliced down her neck.

“Easy.” With a big hand on each of her shoulders, he steadied her.

He smelled of cedar and a hint of wood smoke. For a moment she thought he might insist she lie back down. Instead he held her until she stopped swaying and she took comfort in his support. In her injured state, the last thing she needed was to crack her head again. She accepted his help, and yet she sensed the crackling tension in him. Obviously he wanted to find answers to Jackson’s murder as badly as she did.

While she couldn’t be certain whether to trust him, she’d come to the conclusion Sean McCabe would not act with haste. No matter how deep his feelings, he was a man with unusual self-control.

“I don’t remember how I got here. I’m from Florida.”

Her head spun. Her stomach refused to settle. And she wished he’d stop staring at her as if she were an exotic animal in a zoo. “How do we know each other?”

Before he answered, voices and several dog barks from outside the cave interrupted. A new voice echoed through the cave. “Sean! You want us to bring the sleds into the mine or leave them out—”

Three men entered the cave. The first man was huge as a grizzly bear and looked as if he’d never used a razor. His black beard must have been a foot long. He towered over a slender youth who wore neon-green ski gear, goggles on his forehead and five earrings in his left ear. The third man looked ordinary enough, except when he scowled at her, she spotted a gold front tooth.

From somewhere in her mind came a saying about women searching for husbands in a state where men outnumbered women eight to one. The odds were good but the goods were odd. Even with the knot on her head she couldn’t have dreamed up an odder assortment of men.

All three visitors took in Jackson’s body beneath the blanket and then their hostile gazes settled on her. At the anger and accusations in their faces, she wanted to lie back down and close her eyes, but she forced herself to remain sitting upright.

The man with the long beard pointed at her and spoke with a harsh growl. “Marvin said my brother killed his murderer.”

No wonder the man eyed her with such hostility. He was Jackson’s brother. Automatically, she looked for a similarity in features—but she had no idea what the man she’d supposedly killed looked like.

As if sympathetic to her plight, Sean placed himself between her and the intruders and sat on a crate by the camp stove. “I was mistaken, Roger.”

“Hell of a mistake,” chided the man with the gold tooth. “We could have all walked into a trap.”

Carlie kept quiet, her gaze flickering from the other men to Sean, who’d clearly taken charge. He had a stillness about him, a calm that spread outward from his center, which reassured her.

But Roger, Jackson’s brother, was clearly incensed. And while the gold-toothed fellow seemed to find her predicament diverting, the twenty-something kid in the ski clothes looked none too happy with her, either.

The kid tossed his goggles to the ground and unzipped his ski jacket. “Want me to call—”

“Why bring in outsiders?” Roger muttered through his beard as he peered at her with a scowl. “We should string her up right now.”

The man with the gold front tooth turned his head and spit out a stream of tobacco juice. “I’m not hanging no female.”

“There will be no vigilante justice on this mountain,” Sean said with an authority that sliced through the argument and had the men looking at their feet. “If she killed Jackson, she’ll get the justice she deserves.”

The men settled around the stove, forming a circle that closed her out, their argument swirling around her like a tornado. Amid the shouts, an aura of great stillness surrounded Sean. He did not shout. He did not shift from foot to foot or clench his fingers. And he didn’t just take up space, he controlled it.

Exhausted, she lay back in the blankets, bunching the material in her fists. Sean appeared to be in charge and inclined to protect her from the others.

But who would protect her from him?

AFTER TYLER UNZIPPED his ski jacket, he poured coffee, and Sean glanced at Carlie. Although he caught an alert gleam of speculation in her expression, the effort to hold up her head was costing her. Fatigue crept in around the edges of her eyes and her mouth drew into a tight line of pain. She’d clenched her jaw, but after she caught him watching her, she’d forced her features to relax, as if admitting to pain was a weakness. He couldn’t help but admire her mettle. She was strong, this woman, and he’d long ago discovered that strength often hid powerful passions. He couldn’t help wondering what kind of passions simmered beneath her surface. He also wondered if she thought she’d told him the truth.

She required medical treatment, but first, he had to think of the best way to calm down Roger. Jackson’s brother had one hell of a temper. He loved nothing better than a good fight. Next to fighting, he liked shouting, but once he settled, he had a good heart. And he never held a grudge.

Sean wished he could have a few moments alone with the man. From his clenched fists to the tight cords in his neck, Jackson’s brother appeared as if the grief bottled up inside him was ready to burst. But short of a fistfight, Sean had no way to ease Roger’s grief, fearing even a few kind words might set off Roger in front of the others.

Tyler set the coffee back on the stove, but not before shooting Carlie a look of angry speculation. He, too, had liked and respected Jackson, who had been popular among the men, not just because he was an old-timer and one of the partners in the Dog Mush, but because he had the habit of adopting strays, the lost, the lonely, the forgotten. So even the irreverent Tyler held him in high esteem, and his anger at his murderer was fully justified in his eyes.

Sean next glanced at Marvin. His normally gold-smiling visage was tight, as if having difficulty holding his poker face. Sean had his work cut out for him to defuse the men’s anger. Carlie was a stranger; Kesky’s inhabitants held a natural distrust of outsiders that was common in small towns and more prevalent in the Alaskan wilds.

Not liking the way all three men glared at Carlie and fearing their hostility could erupt into violence, Sean squatted back on his heels and accepted a cup of coffee. “When I called Marvin, I thought she—” he jerked his thumb at Carlie “—was dead, too.”

“Too bad you were wrong.” Roger’s dark brows drew together as he stared at his brother’s body.

“Why did she kill Jackson?” Marvin asked, his gambler’s eyes assessing Carlie with an interest that made Sean’s protective urges kick in.

“She isn’t going to tell,” Tyler said with a superior smirk that he probably thought made him appear worldly but instead revealed a hurt young man trying to be brave after the recent loss of his father in a hunting accident. “I’ll bet she’s claiming she didn’t even do it.”

“I’m not sure she did,” Sean said. At his words, the woman relaxed her body and eased her head back onto the sleeping bag.

Roger finally broke the tense silence. “Care to explain that, boss?”

Three pairs of male eyes locked on Sean as if he had the cabin fever that makes a man insane after spending too long indoors during winter. They all needed time to look at the murder more rationally. Calmly, he sipped his too-hot coffee, relishing the liquid as it burned his tongue.

“Those pretty eyes are playing havoc with your thinking,” Marvin said before Sean replied. “There wasn’t nobody up here except the old man and the girl. Who else could have done in Jackson?”

“There isn’t anyone else here now,” Sean stated with cool logic. “But suppose someone attacked both of them?”

“What are you implying?” Roger asked.

“When I first came into the cave, she looked dead. Maybe our killer made the same mistake.”

“Jeez.” Tyler shook his head in disgust. “I’m not believing my ears.”

“Is that what she said?” Eyes narrowing, Roger clenched and unclenched his fist.

Sean kept his gaze on the men, yet he was very aware of the woman on the sleeping bag. She’d been remarkably quiet during their discussion, not once interrupting to defend herself. He couldn’t fault her judgment and he respected her ability to realize that right now, remaining silent was the better part of valor. If she moved so much as an inch, they’d know it. But she wasn’t trying to escape. Instead she stared at him with pain-filled eyes edged with hope.

He softened his tone. “Look, all I’m saying is that Carlie was injured, too. Other possibilities exist. And I want to look into all of them.”

Tyler nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“You aren’t the law,” Marvin challenged Sean without quite meeting his eyes.

“I should be in charge,” Roger muttered. “He was my brother.”

Sean ignored the interruptions. “Jackson practically raised me from a boy. I want to find his killer just as badly as you, maybe more. But I refuse to jump to any hasty conclusions.”

“Seems to me you’re jumping over backward to give the pretty lady the benefit of the doubt,” Roger complained.

Roger should know better. Jackson’s brother was well aware of Sean’s debt to the old prospector. He’d never forget Jackson’s patience as the man taught him to trap, hunt and solve word problems for school. When a restless boy had complained of homework, it was Jackson who had explained the value of an engineering degree, who helped Sean focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past. Sean would never forget the love Jackson had freely given to a homeless boy. Nor would he forget that Jackson deserved justice.

“She’s even got blood on her sleeve,” Marvin added. “What more proof of murder do you need?”

Tyler pointed rudely at Carlie. “What don’t we let her speak for herself?”

Sean stared the kid down. “She has a knot on her head the size of a goose egg. And she can’t remember anything that happened.”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “Wow! You’re saying she’s got amnesia?”

“How convenient,” Marvin muttered. “Ten to one, she did it.”

“We’re not betting on a poker game here,” Sean admonished him.

“You believe her?” Tyler’s boyish voice rose an octave, indicating how upset he’d become as the news of another death sank in. After his own father’s accident, Tyler had become close to Jackson, often tagging along as the old miner hiked the mountain. Tyler would don his skis and tear down the slope with daredevil enthusiasm.

“Yes.” Sean held Tyler’s stare. “I’m inclined to believe her.”

Tyler dropped his gaze and blinked away a tear. “Mind telling us why, boss?”

Actually Sean minded a lot. He didn’t want to reveal Carlie’s identity and that she was Bill’s widow.

If Carlie hadn’t killed Jackson, then the person who had could be after her, too. Sean had known Bill’s work for customs was dangerous, had speculated the car accident that had taken his life might not have been an accident. During Bill’s assignment in Alaska, the men had fished, hunted and shared stories around a campfire. But Bill had been closemouthed about his cases and now Sean wished he knew more. In fact, how did he know that Bill’s murderer hadn’t followed Carlie to Alaska to kill her, too? Jackson may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Until the real killer was apprehended, Carlie wasn’t safe. Sean needed to keep her where he could watch over her, but how? He felt an obligation to protect his friend’s widow until they learned the truth. He owed Bill his life. When a wall of the mine had collapsed, a timber had trapped Sean. With his air running out, he wouldn’t have survived—but at risk to his own life, Bill had crawled back, dug him out with his bare hands, pried off the timber and saved him from suffocation.

Sean always paid his debts.

But how could he protect Carlie if the authorities took her away to Fairbanks? He wanted her close by until she recovered her memory. She had no reason to trust him, a stranger, and he didn’t believe she would stay with him willingly. And he needed to keep her identity secret, even from his friends in this small town where rumor spread faster than bear grease.

An idea suddenly popped into his mind. “I was hoping you all would give the lady—”

“She ain’t no lady,” Marvin protested.

Tyler turned on Marvin. “Let the man finish his sentence, will you?”

Sean stood and hooked his fingers into his belt. “We’ll give her our protection until we find out the truth. Jackson’s killer might be after her, too.”

“That’s some story you’re expecting us to swallow,” Roger muttered.

“There’s something I haven’t told you boys,” Sean said, lowering his voice to appear as if he was taking them into his confidence.

“Well, don’t keep us in the dark. Tell us.” Tyler’s tone rose, revealing his eagerness to hear a secret.

While Sean glanced out of the corner of his eye at Carlie, he did his best to keep his voice steady. “I want you to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“But why?” Roger prodded.

“Because on my last trip into the city, we married. The lady’s my wife.”




Chapter Three


His wife?

They were married? Sean’s announcement stunned Carlie speechless as the men carried Jackson’s body down a steep trail. Although she’d suggested leaving the body in the mine until a homicide detective investigated the crime scene, Sean had informed her animals would get to the body before the authorities could arrive. So they’d packed Jackson onto a sled, and Carlie tried not to think about the murdered man. Instead she considered Sean’s claim that they were husband and wife.

The men’s silence in the pine forest was broken only by the slide of falling rocks, the crunch of leaves, snaps of twigs underfoot and the occasional masculine grunt. Buffeted by a heavy head wind and flanked by sheer rock walls, the trail—consisting of icy sheets and compacted snowdrifts alternating with steep dirt patches—was not conducive to asking questions.

But Carlie couldn’t resist glancing at Sean McCabe, who claimed to be her husband. He walked with the grace of a mountain cat and was just as unapproachable. For a man who was supposed to be her spouse, he hadn’t exhibited much sympathy toward her plight. His face, all harsh planes and angles, never turned her way. And yet, behind his mask of indifference, she sensed his keen interest in her.

What kind of husband was he?

From the first time she’d awakened, he’d accused her of murder. Why would a husband think the worst of his wife? And he’d given no indication then they had a personal relationship, treating her as if they were strangers. Nor had he given her explanations about the two years she couldn’t remember.

To be fair and give him credit, although he was still grieving over Jackson, he had defended her from the other men’s aggression.

He had helped her.

But she expected more from a man to whom she had committed to spend the rest of her life; he had to back her no matter how suspicious her circumstances.

But he had.

He hadn’t, however, gone out of his way to reassure her; not by a glance or a squeeze of the hand had he indicated he was more than a casual acquaintance.

While she couldn’t remember him, she’d assumed her marriage would contain a certain intimacy, a bonding greater than other relationships. She must have loved him if she’d married this man. But even if her memories were gone and she couldn’t recall her own feelings, why couldn’t she find any evidence of his feelings for her?

He must have been shocked when she couldn’t remember him, more shocked to find her next to the dead body of his adoptive father with the murder weapon in hand. Although he’d been grieving, he hadn’t acted shocked, he’d spoken clearly, concisely and taken charge right off the bat. But still…a husband should always support his wife. What kind of man had she married?

A small slab of snow broke loose and shot down a gully, reminding her she’d awakened in another world. Where had she met Sean? She must have loved him to distraction to have moved to Alaska, left her family and given up a job she loved. She felt awful that she couldn’t remember their first dance, first kiss or making love. Knowing they must have shared these intimacies as man and wife, she had difficulty reconciling her husband with the man who’d recently accused her of murder. No matter how often she searched his flinty stare, she could find no display of tenderness or affection. Right now, she’d settle for just a little familiarity.

But he seemed as forbidding as the mountain’s summit. And just as hard to reach.

They strode past alders, willows and pine, and she took the opportunity to observe him. Sure, his body appealed to her. Who wouldn’t be attracted to those mountainous shoulders tapering to a lean waist and narrow hips? Nor would she deny her fascination with how the northern sunlight played off the angles of his tanned skin. His black hair was cut short in a style she found attractive. But the outside was just window dressing. And looking at him gave her few clues to his thoughts.

Frustrated by her lack of memory, she peeked down to the one-street town below. A church squatted next to a few stores. Cabins, chimneys curling wispy smoke into the blue sky, dotted the steep landscape. She figured the town couldn’t have a population of more than a hundred people, and if the town was anything like Riverview where she lived, folks knew one another’s business. Likely some of these people would have attended their wedding and the town paper would have published the story.

So why didn’t either Roger or Marvin or the college-age kid named Tyler know she was Sean’s wife? While Sean’s announcement had left her breathless and shocked, Roger’s jaw had dropped, his pink lips peeking through his thick beard. Marvin’s eyes had gone wide. Only Tyler had simply cocked an eyebrow and taken the news in stride.

Their reactions piqued her suspicions. Not only didn’t they recognize her as Sean’s wife, they didn’t appear to know that Sean had married.

Yet she couldn’t deny the wedding ring beneath her glove. During the last two years, she must have met Sean, fallen in love and married. But the only emotion she could dredge up whenever she looked at him was curiosity and tingling awareness of his presence.

Just past head-high willows, the trail ahead widened and forked. With no discussion among them, Sean sent the three men with Jackson’s body down the right path of the mountain and gestured for her to follow him to the left.

Ice covered the steeper part of the trail, but Sean walked without concern, his feet steady. Silent, like a hunter. No twigs snapped beneath his feet. His clothing didn’t rustle. He moved as one with the mountain, quickly, quietly, methodically.

While he seemed at ease in the silence, she could no longer hold back her maelstrom of questions. “Where are we going?”

“To my cabin.”

She halted in her tracks, didn’t bother masking the suspicion in her tone. “Your cabin. If we’re married, don’t I live there, too?”

“You will now.” He kept walking in that steady stride that could eat up miles.

Her annoyance rising, she hurried to keep up. Was he deliberately being obtuse? How could she have married such a poor communicator?

She caught up, tugged on his arm, drawing him to a stop. “Do we or do we not live together?”

She didn’t like the way her words came out breathless, but blamed it on the lack of oxygen in the high altitude and not his stare or the full force of his personality hitting her squarely and making her feel jumpy. At the intensity on his face, she wanted to take a step backward. But hell could freeze over before she’d let him think he could intimidate her.

“It might be better if you remembered on your own.” His voice sounded reasonable.

“Better for whom?” she countered, her temper rising. “Look, mister, I appreciate you keeping your friends from stringing me up from the nearest tree, but I don’t know you from squat.”

“Are you in the habit of marrying strangers?” he teased, a gleam in his eyes softening his face.

“Obviously I’ve picked up some bad habits.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Now, why don’t I find that hard to believe?” she muttered, wondering how he’d changed the subject so smoothly. But she refused to let him distract her. “If you’re my husband, then start acting like it. I want some answers and I’d like them now. Please.”

“My cabin…our cabin,” he corrected himself, “is around the next bend. We can talk there.”

He set off without waiting for her agreement, once again leaving her to either tag along after him or not. Her blood sizzled at his refusal to answer simple questions. For a moment she considered hiking back to where the trails separated and heading into town and the nearest phone.

But Marvin, Tyler and Roger had gone ahead with Jackson’s body. She shuddered at the welcome she imagined they would give her if she showed up alone. Her other alternative was to remain here and freeze—not too appealing. The sun had begun a rapid descent behind the mountain’s summit, shadows lengthened and the temperature dropped ten degrees. She could only guess how cold the night would become, and not even her hot temper would keep her warm.

Furious, she stomped off after Sean, slipped around a bend and almost bumped into him. He didn’t appear the least bit sheepish or surprised to be caught waiting for her.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he steadied her. “Slow down. This last stretch is the steepest.”

He didn’t exaggerate. The trail took a forty-five-degree bend downward. The remains of last winter’s snow had compacted into a sheet of ice and clung to the mountainside. If he hadn’t waited for her, she might have tumbled down the steep incline face-first.

“I don’t want you to open up that knot on your head.”

“Thanks.”

Maybe a hard fall would knock some sense into her. Or better still, bring her memories back. She had no business traipsing down the mountainside alone. Carlie was a city girl—the closest she got to camping was the Holiday Inn. But then Sean would know of her limited ability to survive in the wild, so he had no business leaving her to fend for herself. A bear could get her.

Before she lost hold of her temper once again, she forced herself to think. Maybe she’d learned some new wilderness skills in the last two years and had now forgotten them. She couldn’t keep making assumptions as if those two years hadn’t happened and then blame Sean for treating her for the tenderfoot she had been and now was again.

Besides, she had other problems to worry about. She’d been accused of murder. Sean’s cabin might end up being more prison than sanctuary, and it was only a matter of time before the authorities placed her under arrest.

She gazed up into his face, searched his eyes that flickered with a glint of humor amid the concern, and sensed he would treat her fairly. He wouldn’t let a mob string her up. She’d be safe with him.

With no warning, Sean yanked her against him, pulled her off balance and toppled backward toward the ledge.

“Hey—”

Her protest died in her throat as he locked his arms around her back so tightly, she had difficulty drawing a breath. With the force of a tidal wave, he hurled them over the precipice.

She braced for a jolting crash, but they landed with only a minor bump. But they were sliding. Sliding.

Wind whistled in her ears. Hair wrapped around her eyes, blocking her vision. Had he gone crazy, throwing himself over the cliff’s edge and taking her with him? Was he trying to kill her?

Rational thought fled as she shook her face free of her hair, and when she could see again, she gasped in terror. Although Sean had taken the weight of the fall on his back and she’d landed on top of him, they shot down the mountain, gathering speed with no visible way of stopping. Headfirst and chest to chest, they slid down the icy peak, skidding dangerously close to large rocks and pine stumps, generating miniature avalanches and rock slides.

Desperately she searched for a handhold to slow or halt their mad fall. But her grasping fingers felt nothing but loose rock and icy snow.

Fifty yards down hill, a huge boulder stood in their path. They’d never survive a head-on collision.

“Roll!” Carlie ordered, grabbing his jacket and twisting as hard as she could to the right, taking Sean with her into a spiral. Corkscrewing down the mountain, they rolled over and over, plunging and bumping ever downward.

Forced to shut her eyes to avoid ice, pebbles and forest debris, Carlie clung to Sean and prayed for a gradual stop. When they bounced into thin air, her stomach lurched.

They landed with a thud that tore them apart.

She slid on her side for an instant before she realized somehow she’d done a one-eighty-degree turn and now was pitching downward feet first.

Sean had also turned around and skidded below her. But the path had gone right. They both were falling straight toward a cliff so steep, she couldn’t even see where they would land.

With the last of her strength, she dug in her heels, slowing her momentum. But not enough.

Even worse, it appeared as if Sean had managed to stop his mad slide. She was about to run into him and knock them both to their deaths.

She tried to fling her body to one side, would have succeeded, but a hand clamped over her ankle, jerking her to a stop a mere ten feet before the cliff’s edge. For a full minute she just lay on her back, staring straight up into the darkening sky and appreciating her every breath.

Sean lightly squeezed her ankle. “You okay?”

“Just dandy.”

She took a mental inventory. Her hands and feet, knees and elbows all seemed to be in working order. She thanked her lucky stars they’d landed on one of the huge patches of ice and snow that clung to the mountain’s north face.

“You sure?”

“Oh sure, I’m fine. It’s just the usual boring day in the life of Carlie Brandon. I wake up to find I’m practically at the North Pole, two years of my life are missing and I’m married to a man I don’t recognize. As if that’s not enough to deal with, my darling husband accuses me of murder and then…for no apparent reason, he throws me off a cliff.”

“I had a reason.” He turned on his side to look at her, the husky timbre of his voice deepening.

“Care to share it with me?”

“A red circle of laser light centered on your temple.”

He’d thought someone was trying to kill her. “So you decided to save me by hurling me over a cliff. You couldn’t have told me to duck?”

His lips twitched at her sarcasm but his amusement never reached his gray eyes. “Someone was sighting a gun at your head. Ducking wouldn’t have taken you out of the line of fire.”

She frowned, tried hard to recall one tiny fact from the last two years that could give her a clue to who wanted her dead, but came up with zip. Instead, she concentrated on her current predicament. She hadn’t seen any red dot of light. “I didn’t hear a shot.”

He climbed to his feet and shook snow from his hair and collar. “That doesn’t mean someone wasn’t out to get you.”

She lay on her back looking up at him. Had he saved her life? Or recklessly endangered it? Since he’d gone down the mountain with her, placing his own life in jeopardy, she was inclined to believe him.

He reached down and helped her to her feet. His hand was warm, strong, gentle. But he released her as quickly if touching her flesh had burned him—another unhusbandlike gesture.

“I think whoever killed Jackson thought he killed you at the mine, too.”

“And when he discovered differently, he came back to finish the job?”

“Maybe.”

She suspected he’d deliberately softened his opinion so she wouldn’t freak, exhibiting a kindness she hadn’t suspected. But she was tough, a cop. She wouldn’t fall apart. Her legs were only shaking because they’d slid a gazillion feet and had almost gone over a cliff.

Yeah, right. And Alaskan bears were tame.

With their dark clothing against the white snow, they would make easy targets. She suddenly felt vulnerable on the mountainside. Where was the weapon she never let out of her sight?

She glanced over her shoulder and scanned the cliff above but saw no sign of movement in the evergreen trees. “We should take cover.”

Sean led her back toward the trail, staying clear of the dangerous areas and taking her onto a well-worn dirt path that curved gently across the terrain. “It’s possible someone was hunting deer or elk. Or just watching us through their scope and had no intention of firing.”

She shook her head, discounting the possibility. “You didn’t think so at the time or you wouldn’t have hurled us off the mountain.” She hurried after him, noticing he hadn’t let the gap between them get as big as before. “How many people in town have guns with laser sights?”

“You might as well ask how many people live in town. Everyone has guns. Or easy access to a weapon.”

She dusted the snow off her shoulders, wincing at a sore spot. “I’m focusing my suspicions on Roger, Tyler and Marvin. They are the only ones I’m aware of who know I’m alive and where we’re heading. Did they have enough time to reach town and circle back?”

“Tyler, and maybe Roger, could move that quickly. Marv is more comfortable at a poker table than in the woods.”

So the brother and Tyler were her prime suspects—not that she was crossing Marvin off her list. “The first thing I need to do is—”

“Rest. I want the doctor to look at that knot on your head.”

“I’m fine,” she protested, briefly wondering if doctors here made house calls. “But the longer I wait to question the suspects, the easier it’ll be for them to forget details or make up lies.”

“Maybe so. But I’m not traveling in the dark. So unless you plan to head into town alone…”

“WHERE’S THE PHONE?” Carlie asked before she’d even removed her Arctic parka.

No admiration for the cozy touches nearly foreign in the male-dominated Kesky. No appreciative comments over the homestead he’d worked an entire summer to build. He supposed he shouldn’t expect a woman to understand that while he’d cut western red cedar, notched logs and sanded the pine flooring, the mountain cabin had become as much a part of him as this glacier-fed wilderness paradise. His small diesel generator hummed, supplying all the electricity they needed. She had to point out the one convenience he couldn’t supply.

“I don’t have a phone.”

“What?” Her eyes widened, and unwilling to take his word, she stalked across the pine floor, ducked her head into the kitchen, paused, then marched into the bedroom to check for herself.

He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the hook on the back of the door. He hung up her coat, too. Alaska was no place for a woman. The harsh winters didn’t agree with them. Sure, a few tough gals lived in Kesky, but there could be no denying that the long winters took their toll.

A memory of his mother, sick and shoveling snow, made him remember his promise to himself. He’d never ask a woman to stay with him. Especially not a woman accustomed to beaches and tropical heat.

And now he’d gone and done just that. He’d lied to Carlie, telling her they were man and wife. At the time, his lie had seemed the right thing to do. But now…

He considered telling her the truth.

She cleared her throat loudly. “You expect me to stay here without a phone?”

So much for telling the truth. She was already looking for excuses to leave and he’d be damned if he’d give her another one. He walked to the freezer, took out some ice, wrapped it in a towel and handed it to her. “Put this on that lump on your head and maybe the swelling will go down.”

“Thanks.”

She’d leave in a heartbeat if he didn’t give her a powerful reason to stay. Still, he hesitated. Jackson had brought him up better than to become a liar.





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