Out of Uniform

Of course he wasn’t asking her out. She’d taken a long look at herself, and she didn’t find the final product all that impressive. She seemed more like a regular robin with plenty of beige and brown, splashed with that garish red dress across her middle.



Dee gripped the can to quell her shaking. “Sure. I should meet everyone and dispel rumors. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”



“I’m not worried about that.” He rubbed a thumb along his forehead, then turned back to the counter. “First, we have to take care of food now. Is there anything you can’t eat? Any allergies I should know of?”



She thought of the EpiPen she kept close. This seemed like the perfect opening. “I don’t know.”



Jacob glanced over his shoulder. “Excuse me?”



“I don’t know if I’m allergic to anything.”



“Okay.” His brows met for a moment before he shrugged. “Then it’s leftover stew. Any problems with that?”



“I don’t know.”



He pivoted on one heel to face her, a tic starting in the corner of one eye. “Don’t feel obligated to stay for dinner if you’re too hung over from your night out.”



This wasn’t going well at all. “That’s not what I meant.”



“Then feel free to explain what you did mean.”



“That’s just it. I don’t know.” She braced her back against the chair. “The first thing I remember is waking up here this morning.”



Jacob’s whole body straightened into a steely line of tension. Muscles rippled beneath his Air Force T-shirt.



Her hands clenched so tightly the aluminum can dented. The ping reverberated in the silence. If he didn’t talk soon, she would snap. “Well?”



“That son of a bitch.”



What? “Who?”



“Your ‘Mr. Smith.’” Jacob stomped across the yellowed linoleum for two lengthy paces before kneeling at her feet. “We have to get you to a doctor, make sure you aren’t having some adverse reaction to the drugs. You were sick earlier, and you’re pale. You may not be over the worst.” He scrubbed a restless hand over his military-short hair. “Damn it, I wonder if he used Rohypnol or GHB.”



His words offered a flicker of hope. Could that be it? “Amnesia drugs?”



“Yeah, episodic amnesia meds. Creep in a bar drops one in a woman’s drink. She blacks out for a while, then forgets what happened to her the night before.”



Disappointment tasted more bitter than bile. “Only one night?”



“Roughly. That happened to the girlfriend of someone in my squadron about a year ago. The experience really put her through hell.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll get somebody in here to handle the desk while—”



“Jacob.”



“—I’m gone. I’ll throw the truck in four-wheel drive, and we’ll—”



“Stop!”



“What?” He pressed a broad palm to her forehead. “Are you ill?”



The comfort of his touch left her on shaky ground, but she couldn’t afford to weaken now. “I haven’t just forgotten a few hours. I can’t remember anything.”



Dee lifted a trembling hand from her can and nudged the W-2 form toward him with one finger. “I can’t fill this out because I don’t know my real name or address. I can’t tell you anything about myself.”



His gaze shifted from compassionate to suspicious. “Nothing?”



“I’m afraid not.”



His eyes went from suspicious to piercing blue. Then he laughed.



“Did you hear me?”



Another laugh rolled free, a dark rumbly sound like an incoming storm. “Oh, yeah, I heard you.” He shook his head. “I’m laughing at myself, not you.”



“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better right now.”



Jacob pulled the bubbling stew from the burner and pitched the pot holder into the sink. “You’re saying you have amnesia.”



“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”



“That’s a good one.” He lounged against the counter. “You’ve got a bump on your head. Right?”



She reached to feel around under her loose hair and yeah, the tender spot was still there. A lump, too? Or just a lumpy skull? Tough to tell, but maybe that was the cause. “As a matter of fact, I do.”



“Of course.” He nodded, obviously doubtful. “I would have chosen the alien abduction route. Has more flair. Maybe even toss in an Elvis sighting for fun.”



Her hand drifted to her stomach, just over her scar and a churning well of panic. She’d thought through a thousand scenarios where someone might take advantage of her vulnerability, but she’d never considered she wouldn’t be trusted. “I’m sorry I don’t have a huge gash on my head to offer as proof. But you have to believe me.”



She stuffed down a sense of steely pride and anger she could ill afford right now.



His chest rose with each steady breath. “You know, Dee Smith, there’s one thing that absolutely pushes my buttons, and that’s someone who lies to me.”



“But I’m not—”



“Amnesia?” He nudged the form back to her. “If you want to keep your job, you’ll have to come up with a better story than that.”



“You don’t believe me.”



Jacob snorted. He’d meant what he said about hating liars. His father had backed out on promises, concocted grandiose schemes, flat out fabricated too many times. A need for truth, people he could trust, had driven Jacob to join the military.



After thirteen years in the Air Force traveling the world, he’d seen it all. But in all that time he hadn’t come across a Dee Smith yet. “Do you really think I intend to pass out a pay slip without running a background check or filing paperwork?”



Apparently she did. There went the possibility of hiring her on as help with Emily.



Dee’s head fell to rest on her folded hands. “Perfect end to a perfectly wretched day.”



Jacob refused to let the dejected slump of her shoulders sway him. “You can always tell me the truth.”



“Yeah, right.” She sat up again in the dinette chair.



“If you’re in some kind of trouble with the law—”



She tipped her face toward him, her defeated expression replaced by tight-lipped frustration. Or could it be anger?



“Hmm. Am I in trouble with the cops? How would I know? Aliens erased my memory in their sensory deprivation chamber. My whole history is stored on their spaceship with Elvis flying it through the galaxy at light speed.”



“Now that’s more like it.”



Spunky as well as prideful. If only the evening had led to dinner instead of this. She’d had a bad day? In the past six weeks he’d been shot and lost his father.



“Never mind.” Dee snatched her coat from the back of her chair and charged toward the door, arms pumping.



“Running away again? I’m getting mighty damned tired of chasing you out into the snow.”



“Who asked you to?”



She had a point. She also had a great set of h*ps twitching beneath that bulky sweater and his body had picked one hell of an inconvenient time to react. “Where do you think you’re going?”



“To my room.” She spun to face him, her hair swinging a satiny blanket around her face. “It is still my room if I pay for it, isn’t it? Even if I don’t work here anymore.”



“How do you plan to finance that one?”



“Elvis floated me a loan before he left.” Dee stuffed her arms into her coat and marched through the archway.



Yeah, right, she’d gone to get money. She would probably hole up for the night until she could cut out or concoct a better story.



Jacob glanced at the empty chair across the room, a seat with a missing spoke on the back. He’d been thirteen, tipped the chair and fell over. His mother had been alive in those days and had given him an icepack for his sore head.



No amnesia there. In fact, too many memories floated around this place.



Jacob pulled a spoon from the drawer with half the anticipation he’d felt when starting the meal. He turned to start eating straight from the pot—and stopped.



Dee stood framed in the archway, her fists clutched by her side, her cheeks flushed from the elements.



Passing time with her wouldn’t be a hardship. Except she didn’t look all that happy with him. Her eyes glinted with icicles that rivaled the spikes frozen from his eaves.



Dee glided across the room like a debutante and placed folded bills on the table. “There’s enough to cover tonight. No need to drive me into town tomorrow. I’ll hitch a ride on the tour bus.”



“So you have somewhere to go after all.” He tossed his spoon on the counter. Just as he’d predicted, she would slip from his life as quickly as she stumbled into it.



“Sure.”



“Well, then, I guess that’s it.” Jacob slid the cash from the table and wove the folded paper through his fingers, flipping it twice. He didn’t need or want her money, just the woman who’d had the patience to pass time with a mouthy teenager.



Lifting her hand, he pressed the cash into her palm. “Don’t worry about the room. You earned it today. I don’t think the IRS will come after me for one day’s work-for-a-room trade off.”



Her hand felt good in his, small and soft. Her pulse fluttered against him like a bird, her bones easily as fragile. He couldn’t make himself let go.



With a twitch, she tried to pull away, then grew still, too still. Tight lines around her mouth eased. Her brown eyes shifted, melting into a warm shade of chocolate.



She swayed, ever so slightly, toward him.



Still he cradled her hand in his, his forearms so close to her br**sts he could feel the heat of her. He could also smell the lingering scent of hotel cleaning supplies, but it mingled with something essentially Dee. Something unique, intoxicating, more unique than any of those high-priced perfumes he’d seen marketers hocking on television.



Of its own volition, his head dipped. His chin brushed just beside her temple. He filled his lungs and senses with another lingering breath of her hair, of her. Dee. “Just tell me your name. I can help you through whatever’s going on. Running never solved anything.”



Hypocrite. He forced himself not to flinch. He hadn’t been around for his sister.



Dee’s hand fisted in his. Easing back a step, she placed the money on the table by the salt and pepper shakers before turning on her heels.



Regret and frustration jockeyed for dominance in his testosterone-fogged brain. Why was his gut twisting into knots over this woman he’d only just met?



Pausing, she spun back and carefully peeled off three more dollars. She slapped them on the table. “Here. This should be enough to cover my call on your cell phone to the Tacoma Police Department.”



Dee cleared the doorway before he could close his mouth.



The Tacoma PD? Why would someone running from the law call the cops? She wouldn’t.



She also wouldn’t lie about calling the cops to get his sympathy. A fabrication like that could be too easily traced.



Could she have been telling the truth after all?



Damn.



He sprinted after her, right back into the storm.



Chapter 5



“I told William we shouldn’t travel in this storm.” An older woman gripped the tour bus driver’s hand as she disembarked.



Dee held the lodge door open as the driver braced the frail woman with a hand to her back. Idling in the parking lot, the silver bus chugged exhaust into the night. Snowflakes danced in the headlight beams.



After Jacob’s damning disbelief, she’d dashed from his apartment straight into a rolling tide of guests swelling through the door in search of a warm room. She’d absorbed the sight of that tour bus like a piece of salvation rumbling a diesel tune in the parking lot.