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Pity.
‘Hey, Doc …’ the patient mumbled. ‘Do you think she’s got a funny face? I think so. But I really like it.’
The doctor sighed. ‘That’ll be the painkillers kicking in.’
‘Great voice too,’ Jared told them next. ‘Makes me think of sex. Does it make you think of sex?’
‘Son, you need to get some rest. Stop fighting it.’
The doctor slid Rowan a glance, his smirk in no way hidden.
‘You might want to leave before he proposes.’
‘I might want to hear it for blackmail purposes.’ Come to think of it, she might just want to hear it for her own selfish reasons.
But it was a moot point. The man on the bed was already asleep.
‘Do we have the all-clear to fly him elsewhere in the morning?’
The doctor nodded. ‘Get him X-rayed as soon as you can … keep him hydrated, keep an eye on him.’
‘Thank you for your co-operation.’
‘Not a problem—no matter what my wife says. Always a pleasure to help our special intelligence service.’ The doctor smiled his charmingly distinguished smile. ‘Who do I bill?’
Jared woke in a bed that didn’t rock with the rhythm of the ocean. It wasn’t his bed—he knew that much. His bed for the past two years had been a narrow bunk beside the engine room of Antonov’s super-yacht. It had been a floating fortress, locked down so hard that no one had been able to get near it undetected, and it had been more than capable of sinking anything that tried.
His bed hadn’t been soft, like this one, and his bunkroom sure as hell hadn’t contained a chest of drawers beneath a wooden window. Was that a pot full of strawberries sitting on top of it? He thought he remembered being puzzled by them last night as well. Because … why?
He opened his eyes a little more, turned his head and discovered lime-coloured sheets and a floral magenta and green comforter. If this was a motel he was clearly in the lollipop suite—but he didn’t think this was a motel.
He rolled over onto his back and winced at the pain that seared through his body. There’d been a doctor at some point last night. The doctor had told him that his estimate of two cracked ribs had been a little under. There’d been pills last night too, and then there’d been blessed oblivion.
He was at Lena’s farmhouse. He remembered now.
And he could use a couple more of those painkillers.
He heard a door open and then footsteps that seemed to stop at the end of the bed. He opened his eyes a little more. Pretty was his first thought. Funny was his next.
It was the woman from last night. He remembered her mouth and her ears. He didn’t remember her eyes being quite such a tawny vivid gold.
‘You awake?’
He also remembered her voice. His body heartily approved of her voice. ‘Mmm …’
She wasn’t just any woman. She was a director of counter-intelligence and he was in deep trouble. She wore a white collared shirt, dark grey trousers and a thin silver-coloured necklace that looked as if it would break the minute someone tugged on it. She was older than him by a few years and then some, and he was attracted to her, aware of her, in a way that he hadn’t been aware of a woman for a very long time.
‘We met last night,’ he offered, in a voice still thick with sleep.
‘So we did.’
No rings on her wedding finger. No rings anywhere on those slender, expertly manicured fingers.
‘Not sure I remember who you are, though. Memory’s a little fuzzy.’
Could be he was winding her up—just a little. Could be he wanted to see if her eyes would flash with irritation at having to introduce herself again, section director being such a forgettable position and all.
But her eyes did not flash with irritation. Instead, crinkles formed at the edges of them as she smiled, slow and sure. ‘Oh, you poor darling man. I knew you were confused last night, but I didn’t know you were that far gone. I’m your sister’s wedding caterer.’
‘I see.’
He really didn’t see.
‘You don’t remember begging me to give you a lift to the nearest motel?’ She looked so guileless. Damn, she was good. ‘Because I did. Take you to the nearest motel, I mean. But the night manager took one look at you and remembered that he didn’t have any vacancies. I was a little sceptical, but he was very certain. He figured you were either going to puke all over the room or die in your sleep, or both, and apparently that’s bad for business. Also, you had no ID. He didn’t like that either.’
Jared smiled. He had no idea where she was going with this story, but he figured he might as well let her run with it. Or maybe he just liked hearing her voice.
