UNFORGETTABLE Read online

  "Faith?" he called, gently gathering her into his arms again. "Faith? Can you hear me?"

  A small groan escaped her lips and her eyes fluttered open once more. She frowned when she saw him. Déjà vu, Lex thought, limp with relief.

  "Dammit, Nash," she groaned irritably. "My head hurts. What the hell happened?"

  Profoundly relieved, he felt a laugh stutter out of his mouth. Nash again, eh? "Come on. I'll take you inside."

  She twisted in his arms, tried to look over his shoulder. "Did that bastard Boyle get the jump on me?" she asked heatedly. "Please tell me he didn't."

  Boyle? Who the hell was Boyle? "No one got the jump on you. You fainted again."

  Her eyes flashed with outrage and she tried to wriggle out of his arms. "I have never fainted in my life, Nash, as you well know." She glowered at him. "What are you playing at?"

  An alarm sounded in Lex's head and he paused to consider her. Something wasn't right here. He didn't know precisely what, but knew it all the same. She was acting … weird. "I'm not playing at anything. I think you may have seen Pooh," he said grimly.

  "Pooh who?" she asked, clearly bewildered. "Is that some sort of code name I'm not familiar with?" She growled under her breath. "If Larson has left me out of another key briefing, heads are gonna roll. I mean it, Nash. I'm sick of his commando tactics."

  Larson? Briefing? Commando tactics? Lex's head whirled with confusion. What the hell?

  "Darling, you know how I love it when you carry me around—" she nuzzled his ear and her voice lowered to a suggestive purr "—but unless you're planning on carrying me to bed, I wish you'd put me down."

  The warning bell he'd heard seconds ago became a full-throttle alarm. A finger of trepidation slid down his spine. Frowning, Lex lowered her to her feet and steadied her when she would have swayed. She looped her arms around his neck and brushed those carnal lips he'd just been fantasizing about over his mouth. Heat detonated in his loins, pushed his rod immediately to attention.

  He drew back. "Faith, I'm not—"

  She scowled. "Faith? Darling, you know I prefer that you use my own name when we're alone."

  "Your own name?" he asked skeptically. That bad-shrimp sensation returned full force.

  "Yes," she said, clearly exasperated with him. "My own name—Zoe."

  The bottom dropped out of his stomach.

  "It keeps me grounded, particularly when we're on a mission. I'm Faith and Candy, Lisa and Monica and all those other names when I'm with other people." Her intense gaze searched his. "You're the only person I can be Zoe with. Please remember that, okay? It's a little thing, but it's important to me." She smiled then, and laced her fingers through his. "Now, come along, Nash. We have a jewel thief to catch, remember?"

  Oh, sweet Lord, Lex thought, his mind racing. What in God's name had just happened? What the hell was going on? What—

  She suddenly jerked him forward, ensuring that he'd find out … whether he wanted to or not.

  * * *

  4

  « ^ »

  "It's temporary traumatic amnesia, brought about by the blow to the head," Doc Givens explained. He mopped a hand over his face. "I've heard about it before, of course, but this is the first time I've ever seen it happen."

  Lex absorbed the impact of the doctor's words as he and Trudy stood out in the hall of the small office, while Faith dressed after her examination. She'd balked at coming to the doctor's office, calling the cut on her temple the "merest scratch," but he and Trudy had both insisted. He had to give Trudy credit, she'd recovered well from the initial shock of learning that her boss and friend suddenly believed that she was the heroine of her own books.

  Lex'd had to explain what had happened—while repeatedly reassuring an irritated "Zoe" that Boyle hadn't gotten the drop on her—to Trudy, who, though bewildered and worried, nonetheless smoothly segued into one of Faith's characters—Melanie, an assistant.

  Trudy's brow knitted in annoyed perplexity.

  "But I've researched traumatic amnesia before for Faith and the kind of amnesia you're talking about would take a more serious blow to the head, one that would likely cause brain damage." She fidgeted irritably. "This doesn't make any sense."

  "Normally, I would agree," the doctor told her, "but remember the brain is a mysterious organ. Medical research has made many strides in learning how it functions, but there is still more unknown than known. This is her heroine, a woman she knows as well as herself—a woman who likely is based somewhat on herself—or, more likely, who she wants to be. It was the last thing she'd written, correct?"

  Trudy nodded. "Yes. She won't start the next book until promotion for this one is finished."

  "Then it's fresh on her mind. It's what 'Zoe' would be doing. She's been preparing for the role, had even gotten the wardrobe, you say. For all we know, the blow to the head may have been all her subconscious needed to catapult her into the fantasy."

  Equally astounded and numb, Lex blew out a breath. "So she believes she's at my lodge to catch a thief?"

  "That would be my guess, yes," Doc replied.

  Of all the things that had gone wrong this year, this simply had to be the kicker. He was astounded. Utterly astounded. "So what do we do now? Do we play along? Or do we try to tell her who she is, jog her memory?"

  Doc looked up quickly. "You shouldn't do anything of the sort. I'm afraid you'll have to play along. To do anything else might send her deeper into this fantasy. When she's ready to come back, she will."

  Lex swallowed the urge to curse. "How long do you think that will take?"

  Doc smiled sadly. "Now, see, that's the million-dollar question, Lex. It could come back any second, in a week, in a month. Who knows? If it goes beyond a week, I'd advise that she see a neurologist, though I'm not sure that one could help. I think this is more a subconscious choice than anything else." Doc looked at Trudy. "She'd been nervous about this weekend, you say?"

  Trudy nodded. "Yes."

  Givens grew silent for a moment. "Let's give it a week. Does she have any family, a husband we should call?"

  "No," Trudy replied. "Her parents are both dead and she was an only child. If she has any other family, then I'm not aware of it."

  "Okay, then," he said with a nod.

  Trudy rubbed her head once more and began to pace the short length of the hall. "Oh, hell," she said, her voice filled with panic, anxiety and dread. She whirled around and faced them. "What are we going to do?" she hissed frantically at Lex, as though he were supposed to come up with the answer. "All those people will be here day after tomorrow, ready to play To Catch a Thief." She groaned. "God, what a disaster. What am I going to do?" she wailed in a whisper.

  Lex's heart sank. He mentally flushed his season, and the possibility of another season, down the toilet. He'd come so close to making it, had survived everything else that had been thrown at him this year, but he just didn't see any way around this, any way out of it. Dread ballooned in his belly. This was something he couldn't fix. "There's only one thing to do—you're going to have to call it off."

  Her eyes widened and she harrumphed as though he'd lost his mind. "Absolutely not. That is not an option." She pivoted once more, clearly trying to come up with some way to salvage the weekend.

  Lex blinked. Then what the hell did she plan to do? Carry on? How would that be possible, when the star player thought she was … exactly who she was supposed to be, he realized, his heart beginning to pound. It could actually work, Lex thought cautiously, afraid to hope, to even entertain the idea.

  Trudy abruptly stopped. "Okay, we've only got a minute before she comes out, so this is what we're going to have to do." Her voice vibrated with determination. "You will have to play the part of Nash. She—"

  His eyes widened. "But—"

  "No buts," Trudy interrupted tightly. "She already thinks you're him. Hell, she thought you looked like him from the get-go."

  So that was who he reminded her of? Lex wondered absently. Nash, th
e hero in her books?

  "I'll play Melanie, because that has worked so far," Trudy continued. "John can handle some of the behind the scenes stuff, and fake the phone calls from Larson." She frowned thoughtfully. "The only problem that I see is her name. For the purposes of this weekend, she has to be called Zoe—her fans expect it—yet 'Zoe' believes that she's undercover." She hummed under her breath. "I don't know. I'll have to think about that. I'll figure it out." Her gaze found Lex's once more. "But you'll have to cram. Big time. Everybody here knows their part but you and, aside from Zoe, of course, you have the most important role."

  Cram? Lex thought wildly. When was he supposed to cram? Hell, he barely had time to sleep.

  Lex wanted this to work more than anything—he had a lot riding on it, more than the rest of them, after all—but he wasn't a fast reader and he suspected he'd be an even lousier actor. There was no way he would be able to handle this. He hated it, regretted it, but he just didn't see how he could make it work.

  He couldn't be Nash Austin.

  He shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck, then readied his mouth to tell Trudy this. But apparently she'd read his expression, and abruptly cut him off.

  "I'll make it worth your while."

  He stifled a bitter laugh. "If it was about the money, I'd say yes. But it's not. I just don't have the time, and I damn sure don't have the ability."

  Besides, playing the part of a woman's lover was a role he simply wasn't all that comfortable with, particularly under these circumstances. What would Faith think of him when her memory returned? He mentally snorted. Hell, she'd think he was an opportunistic lecher, that's what she'd think, because if he played the part of her lover, there was no way in hell he'd be able to keep his hands off her. He'd have to have her, and his conscience simply wouldn't allow him to do it.

  Trudy uttered a figure that would replace his leaky roof and then some. His conscience shut up.

  Stunned, Lex stared blankly at her. "You have to be kidding."

  "No, I'm not," she said levelly. The bubbly drill sergeant had vanished. "If we call this off the bad publicity would cost us a hell of a lot more. It would be disastrous." She paused. "Will you do it?"

  Lex hesitated. Indecision gnawed at him. But then he imagined fixing his roof, buying a few new things for the lodge, putting a little away for a rainy day.

  He imagined doling out the promised Christmas bonuses.

  He imagined being able to take a deep breath out of satisfaction and relief, rather than to lessen the perpetual balloon of anxiety he carried around his gut.

  It was a business arrangement, he told himself, trying to rationalize his ultimate decision. He'd have to act—actors got paid, right?

  Though his conscience twinged in imaginary warning, Lex finally nodded. "Yeah, I'll do it."

  Trudy sighed, obviously relieved, then smiled. "Excellent."

  Faith opened the door and stepped into the hall, oblivious to the tension gathered there. "Melanie, what the hell am I wearing? I'm—" she pulled the beige sweater away from her body and looked down at herself in apparent disgust "—colorless."

  "You were in disguise until we got to our location," Trudy improvised without the smallest hesitation. "Then you hit your head, and haven't had time to change."

  Looking adorably confused, Faith merely nodded. "That explains that. What about my gun?"

  Jesus, Lex thought and resisted the urge to do a double take. Her gun?

  "It's back at the lodge. I've received a message from Larson," Trudy said gravely, deftly directing the conversation away from firearms. "He'll call at five for an update. Apparently, there's been a change in plans."

  Faith digested this bit of information. She looked at Lex. "What about Boyle? Has he surfaced yet?"

  Lex's brain froze. "Er…"

  "Not that we're aware of," Trudy interjected smoothly. "You'll have to put him out of your head for the time being." She summoned a faint smile. "We have other crooks to catch."

  Lex breathed a sigh of relief as this bizarre scene played out around him. That was close. Before this went any further, he had to get back and read those damn books. There was no way he'd be able to pull this off otherwise.

  Faith turned and shook Doc's hand. "Thanks for patching me up."

  Doc smiled. "You're welcome. You can have ibuprofen for pain, and be sure and call me if you need anything."

  Faith nodded. "Certainly." Her gaze darted from Lex to Trudy. "Okay, people. Let's roll. I've got to get back and figure out what the hell is going on." She shook her gorgeous head and a disgusted breath poofed softly from between her supremely carnal lips. "I'm totally lost."

  He and Trudy shared a look as she sashayed off.

  Join the club, Lex thought ominously.

  "I think Larson is on something," Zoe muttered as she disconnected. She frowned. "He doesn't sound like himself at all."

  Looking somewhat startled, Melanie glanced up. "What did he have to say?"

  "You were right. Plans have changed. He suspects Boyle is behind the latest theft and that the trade-off will happen here this weekend. Not Boyle himself, mind you. A couple of his lackeys. Boyle won't sully his own hands, the ball-less bastard." She blew out a disgusted breath. Heaven help that SOB when she finally put him away, Zoe thought. If it was the last thing she ever did, she'd send his worthless ass to jail, or personally sentence his unholy soul to hell.

  Zoe gave Melanie a smile. "In an ironic twist, there's a To Catch a Thief party here this weekend. Can you believe it? It's just like Boyle to use something like this. It suits his twisted sense of humor," she said grimly.

  Melanie murmured a nonsensical sound in agreement.

  "At any rate, Larson has arranged for us to participate and will e-mail you the character profiles ASAP. Nash will play lodge owner, which is just as well, because he seems to know the layout quite well already." That was her man, Zoe thought, with a small smile. So efficient … at everything. She sighed. "As for me, Larson has arranged for me to host the festivities, and I won't require a different name, but will use my own." Zoe chewed her bottom lip, then sat down on the edge of the bed. Unwarranted fatigue weighted her shoulders. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, but Larson is in charge and I'm obliged to follow orders."

  Even though she didn't particularly care for it. Zoe liked to call the shots herself. She trusted her own judgment more than anyone else's.

  Nash was the only exception to that rule—she trusted him with her life, her heart, her body—all of it.

  God, her head ached. She didn't remember falling, but the butterfly bandage on her temple was evidence that she had. Zoe had been injured on many assignments—she'd taken a bullet in Bangkok, had been stabbed in Cozumel, had sustained countless broken ribs, cuts and abrasions—yet she couldn't recall anything hurting as badly as this damn headache. She frowned. It was truly bizarre. In fact, this entire day had been bizarre.

  She shook off the sensation and released a beleaguered breath. "We'll do our preliminary surveillance over the next couple of days, learn our parts. We'll also have Nash check the guest register and make sure that we put prime suspects in easy-to-monitor rooms." She took stock of her surroundings, careful to always note pertinent details, and paused as something odd struck her. "Where are Nash's bags?"

  A line emerged between Melanie's brows. "I'm sorry?"

  Zoe sat up once more and scowled at the room at large. "Nash's bags. I don't see them."

  "Oh. He must have left them downstairs," Melanie said, and for some reason, her assistant's answer rang more like sudden inspiration than bona fide truth.

  A funny feeling camped in the back of Zoe's neck, that same telling sensation she got when something didn't vibe quite as it should. Presently, though she couldn't put her finger on precisely what, something didn't feel quite … right. "I think I'll go downstairs and check it out. I need to have a look around the place, anyway."

  Melanie quickly discarded her PDA and scrambled from her seat nex
t to the window. She hurriedly smoothed her hair away from her face. "I'll, uh, come with you."

  "No, that won't be necessary. You stay here and get some rest. Trust me," Zoe told her, summoning a wry smile. She picked up her gun from the bureau, then slipped it into the waistband at the back of her skirt. "You're going to need it."

  Zoe easily retraced her steps down to the huge great room. Funny how crooks sometimes chose the most beautiful places to conduct their business, she thought, admiring the vaulted ceilings and exposed beams. The stacked stone and rough-cut cedar were utterly charming, inspired a cozy feeling of warmth, happiness and home. Huge braided rugs covered the worn hardwood floors and antique quilts were hung on the walls, giant patchwork pictures that added splashes of color that fit the natural decor.

  Rather than drape the windows, the owner had left them bare, choosing rather to frame the outdoors, which was presently garbed in a rich tapestry of fall color. As Zoe gazed around the room, a curious feeling, one that couldn't be readily described, much less named, stole into her heart. Though this day had felt oddly peculiar, something about being in this place gave her an inexplicable sense of security.

  The sound of Nash's voice drew her gaze, pushing a small it-figured smile to her lips. He stood behind the registration counter efficiently checking something on the computer, a cordless phone wedged between shoulder and ear. A grimace moved across his handsome face and Zoe smiled as she read a hot oath form on those incredible lips.

  Just looking at him made something hot and achy stir in her loins, made her belly quiver and the breath ease out in a stutter from her lungs. A sense that was familiar yet new fluttered warmly through her chest, and she was startled to recognize the new as anticipation. Her heart pounded in that same frantic beat it had when she'd been desperately waiting for their first kiss, that do-or-die longing that romantics rhapsodized about in lyrics and verse.