Indestructible Page 8

  “Damn, I hope not.”

  To prove his point, Drew cocked his arm and snapped a quick jab to Mark’s jaw. He went down, grazing his cheek on the edge of a gravestone. Blood slashed across his face.

  They were quickly separated by the other mourners. The next day, Mark had stitches on his face. The wound had not healed; Mark wasn’t like him.

  In that moment, Drew knew he was alone.

  But not anymore. Melinda was here with him.

  He looked toward the closed bathroom door. From inside, he heard the shower running.

  She peeked through the door and grinned. “Well, Drew? Aren’t you going to join me?”

  He leaped from the mattress. Half his clothes were off by the time he got to the bathroom door.

  MELINDA DODGED back into the bathroom and slipped behind the shower curtain. The beige-tiled stall was small but well-scrubbed, which she truly appreciated. Drew’s cabin had minimal accommodations, but it was clean. She tilted her head back so the hot water flowed through her hair, rinsing away the dirt from the road.

  Inviting Drew to join her might have been a huge mistake. She couldn’t allow herself to start thinking that they’d be together on a long-term basis. They’d made no commitments, hadn’t exchanged any kind of promises. Neither of them had spoken of love. She cautioned herself to remember: We’re lovers. But not in love.

  She couldn’t be with a man who thrived on danger, especially not when she was pregnant. And she would never drag a child into that kind of life.

  Not that she blamed Drew for their current problems. He was as much of a victim as she was in this situation. Still, they were on the run from mysterious villains who attacked her in her apartment, erased her memory, chased them from Sioux Falls and crashed into them on the road. Was all this really happening? It felt like she’d stumbled through a secret door into a world of espionage. Pretty darn exciting, she had to admit. But definitely not the way she wanted to live.

  He stepped into the shower with her. In the small tiled cubicle, there was no escaping him. And she didn’t want to try. If there was a possibility that they’d be killed tomorrow, she might as well enjoy tonight.

  Her breasts grazed his muscular chest, and he pulled her more tightly against him. The steam from the hot water wrapped around them in a moist cloud.

  His kiss was demanding and fierce, awakening a surge of passion in her. Her inhibitions washed away. Making love to Drew transformed her. In everyday life, she was a down-to-earth woman. With him, she was a regular sex goddess. Her tongue plunged into his mouth, tasting him, craving him.

  Their wet, slick bodies slithered against each other. His erection pressed against her belly as he maneuvered her around so the shower water beat against his back.

  His voice was husky. “I didn’t think you’d invite me in.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  She slid her hand down his lean flank. The man was all muscle. “I was being practical,” she said.

  “How so?”

  “I figured since we have to sleep in the same bed, we’d probably end up making love. Might as well start here so we don’t waste the warm water.”

  A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “You’re one hot librarian, Melinda.”

  She reached for the soap. “We should wash ourselves before the water runs out.”

  “Very practical.”

  She soaped up his chest, creating sudsy swirls in his light sprinkling of chest hair. Then, she washed his rock-hard abdomen. When she touched his sex, he tensed. She reveled in her power to excite him, and she teased with light strokes and pinches.

  He took the soap from her. When he washed her breasts, she trembled. Her nipples were hard and exquisitely sensitive. She gasped.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But don’t stop.”

  Her breasts felt heavy and swollen. Because I’m pregnant. Sensual electricity raced through her. This was an unexpected but delightful by-product of her condition.

  When he turned her around to face the shower, she asked, “What are you doing?”

  He picked up a bottle of shampoo. “Washing your hair.”

  The foamy lather dripped over her shoulders as he massaged her scalp. If this sensation could be duplicated in a beauty parlor, she’d be a weekly patron.

  Though he carefully rinsed her hair, she asked, “What about conditioner?”

  “This is one of those shampoos that have both.”

  A man’s shampoo. Her hair needed more, but tomorrow’s frizz was a small price to pay for the ripples of arousal that came when he glided his arms around her and cupped her breasts. His erection slid between her buttocks.

  The hot water had begun to run out. She turned off the faucet. “Let’s take this to the bed.”

  After drying quickly, she rushed to the mattress and snuggled between the two sleeping bags. Drew turned off all the lights except for one over the computer. The screens showed black-and-white pictures of the forest. Surveillance cameras like the ones in his apartment. The danger that drove them to this cabin was still a threat.

  He joined her under the sleeping bag. His hair was still wet, as was hers. It occurred to her that she should run a comb through it. Had he packed her blow dryer?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m going to get everything soppy with my hair.”

  He returned to the bathroom and came back with a fresh towel, which he spread under her head. “Problem solved.”

  She glanced toward the computer screens. “Do you think they’ll find us?”

  “I’ve taken every possible precaution. We should be safe.” Still, he looked worried. “But I don’t underestimate them. I never thought they’d pick up our trail in Pierre.”

  “A lucky guess?”

  “I don’t believe in luck.” He stroked her damp hair off her face. “Except for Helga the troll.”

  “She’s watching over us.”

  He pushed aside the sleeping bag, baring her upper body. His fingers traced a line between her breasts. On her belly he drew a light circle.

  She closed her eyes. His gentle touch reignited the flame of passion, and she sighed with pleasure. “You’re writing something on my belly.”

  “Am I?”

  “You’ve done that before,” she said dreamily. “Always the same pattern. What is it?”

  “An eight-pointed star. It’s an image that keeps popping into my head. I don’t know the meaning.”

  “I think it means you’re supposed to kiss me. Eight times.”

  He started on her forehead. Then, her left ear. Then, her throat. These were slow, nibbling kisses—erotic tickles. He lingered on each breast, teasing her nipples. He kissed lower, and she arched her back.

  Kiss number eight landed on her mouth, and she opened herself to him. He rose above her, parting her thighs. The tip of his erection probed between her legs. She needed to take him inside her.

  “Condom?” he asked.

  “Damage already done,” she said, vaguely recalling their earlier conversation. She didn’t care if he sent thousands of supersperm into her body. In fact, she welcomed them. “I want you now.”

  He entered her with a thrust, and she rose up to meet him, pulling him deeper inside her. More, I want more. To be joined to him, a part of him. Her need became aggressive, demanding. She arched against him. Her fingernails clawed at his back. No need to worry about scratching him. He’d heal.

  Harder and harder, he drove. She met and matched his passion with her own fierce need, until she exploded. Jagged lightning flashed behind her eyes. An earthquake erupted inside her, sending tremors of pure pleasure through her body.

  He collapsed beside her on the sleeping bag. They were both gasping, happily exhausted. She curled up beside him with her head resting on his shoulder.

  Blissful sleep and happy dreams should be the aftermath of such perfect lovemaking. She tried to push all the question
s from her mind, but her gaze lit on the surveillance cameras. Their lovemaking had not erased the danger.

  “Does it ever go away?” she asked. “The threat?”

  “Never.”

  “Then, we might as well deal with it.” She exhaled a long sigh. “The eight-pointed star. Have you tried to figure out what it means?”

  “A long time ago,” he said, “I looked it up online, did a little research. It’s a symbol in a lot of different religions and sects, including a possible reference to the Star of Bethlehem. Nothing seemed pertinent.”

  Mind-blowing sex generally left her as dumb as a stump, reveling in blissful sensation. But her brain was beginning to function. “Sensory memory,” she said. “Some people remember things by smell or sound or taste. There’s a cue from your senses that translates to an actual memory.”

  “Like hearing a song that reminds you of the first time you heard it.”

  She walked her fingers across his chest. “Maybe you have muscle memory. Doing a particular gesture—like drawing that star—reminds you of something. It makes sense that you’d remember with your whole body because you’re so…physical.”

  “That’s a damn good theory. You’re a pretty smart lady.”

  “Yes, well, I do a lot of reading.” She propped herself up on one elbow and looked into the emerald-green of his eyes. “Let’s see what happens if I draw the symbol on you.”

  He folded his hands behind his head. “Go for it.”

  Using her fingernail, she outlined a star on his naked belly. The way she would have drawn an eight-point star would have been with two interlocking diamond shapes, but she used the same process he did, making each point separately.

  “Does that make you think of anything?”

  “I want you again.”

  “Already?” A thought occurred to her. “This self-healing thing. Does it apply to sex?”

  He grinned. “I’ve always been quick to recover.”

  Though she wasn’t capable of self-healing or any other unusual ability, she was ready to make love again. Tonight was for them alone. She didn’t want to think of what tomorrow might bring.

  Chapter Ten

  Wide awake at half past six o’clock in the morning, Drew kicked off the sleeping bag. The tightly sealed cabin was warm enough that he didn’t need covers. Last night, their passion had generated enough heat to melt a glacier. That marathon of lovemaking was something he wouldn’t soon forget…unlike all the other blank spaces in his memory.

  Melinda was on her side with her back to him. Her creamy skin glowed enticingly. For a moment, he considered trailing a line of kisses along the sweet curve of her spine until she wakened, and they could make love again.

  When he touched her back, she shifted position and gave a contented-sounding moan before settling back to sleep. Lightly, he outlined the eight-pointed star between her shoulder blades.

  Her idea of muscle memory intrigued him. He was familiar with the concept as it related to sports. Once you learned how to ride a bicycle, your body never forgot how to do it. Could his body be holding thoughts that his mind didn’t recall? If so, how could he access those memories?

  Usually, he worked with words, typing into a computer. Never before had he attempted to draw what was in his head. If Melinda was right, that might be worth a try.

  He left the mattress, grabbed his jeans off the floor where he’d dropped them last night and got partially dressed. Not wanting to wake her, he crept through the cabin. Poking around on the tabletops that held his electronic equipment, he found a couple of pens and some plain white paper. He slipped outside.

  Sunrise streaked the skies above the treetops with pink and red. The chilly wind through the pine boughs felt good against his bare chest. He sat down on the porch stoop and balanced the stack of white paper on top of a book. He set the point of the pen on the paper and waited for inspiration.

  Art wasn’t his thing. He created pictures with his words. In his sports articles, he tried to give color and depth to his reporting. On occasion, he took photographs. But drawing?

  Start with what you know. He made the star and lifted the pen from the paper. Another star. Another. This exercise was getting him nowhere.

  Shuffling that paper to the bottom of the stack, he aimed his pen again and started doodling. A cube. A rose, like the one in The Little Prince. A tree. His sketches looked like a third-grader had done them.

  The door behind him opened, and Melinda stepped outside. Dressed in jeans and a pink sweatshirt, she paused from brushing her hair and held her arms wide as if to embrace the sky. “Wow, it’s a beautiful morning.”

  “Last night was beautiful, too.”

  “You bet it was.” She sat beside him and gave him a familiar kiss on the cheek. “What are you doing?”

  “Drawing pictures to find memories. So far the only thing I’ve learned is that I’m no Rembrandt.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She held up the paper with the tree. “This style could be called primitive.”

  “As if a caveman did it?”

  “Try another focus for your memory. Something you know. How about drawing a picture of the Andersons’ house?”

  While she continued to brush her hair, he made a rough sketch of a rectangular, ranch-style house with an isosceles triangle for a roof and a big picture window in front. “There.”

  “I thought you said you were near a forest. Were there trees near the house?”

  He added a leafy maple tree in the front yard and shrubs under the windows. The sidewalk made a straight line from the curb, as did the concrete driveway to the attached garage. These details fixed his mental image of the home where he’d lived for eight years. He drew the basketball hoop on the garage.

  “Did you play basketball with your foster dad?” she asked.

  “A couple of times.”

  “Draw it.”

  On a fresh sheet of paper, he sketched sticklike figures of himself and Harlan. Though his scrawls were pathetically sketchy, his memory filled in the rest. Clearly, he saw Harlan’s face and heard him speaking. The words echoed in his brain: You’ve had enough. But that wasn’t accurate. Drew spoke the words aloud. “He’s had enough.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “I think it was me. Harlan was telling someone that I’d had enough.”

  “Who was he talking to?”

  “Don’t know.”

  She pulled out a clean sheet of paper. “Show me.”

  Pressing down hard on the pen, he drew a square and filled it in, blanking out every trace of white. It was dank and cold, like a cave or a prison with heavy iron bars. Then, a long corridor. Where the hell was he?

  He tossed the paper aside but kept sketching. He saw a bright circle, a light above his head like in a doctor’s examination room. Pieces of pictures—images that made no coherent sense—formed and vanished as he furiously scribbled, trying to catch them.

  When he raised the pen from the paper, the memories slipped back into his subconscious mind. During the time he’d been drawing, the sun had risen. He’d been totally absorbed for over an hour.

  Melinda set a mug of instant coffee on the stoop beside him. “Looks like you wrote something,” she said.

  “Sykes.” Drew shook his head. The name meant nothing to him, but it was a damn good place to start his research. “Time to hit the computer.”

  While he’d been drawing like a madman, she had transformed his bunkerlike cabin into a far more pleasant retreat. The shutters over the windows were open. The sleeping bags on the mattress were neatly smoothed. And she’d put together something resembling breakfast from the odds and ends of groceries they’d bought yesterday and his canned foods.

  “Biscuits and white gravy,” she said. “With some of that canned stew you seem to like. There must be twenty cans of it in the pantry.”

  “Looks different in here.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She’d cleared a space on one of the computer tables
to use for dining. She sat him down in the only chair. “You should eat something. Or maybe not. Your self-healing body doesn’t need food.”

  “I’ve gone without eating,” he said. “But it uses up my energy reserves.”

  And he needed to stay at full strength, both physically and mentally. It would have been nice to let Melinda pamper him and turn this rough cabin into a home, but he couldn’t lose track of the fact that his enemies were still after them.

  “I’d love to go hiking,” she said. “The view from those granite cliffs above the cabin must be terrific.”

  “It’s not Mount Rushmore. But it’s nice. You can see the snow on the high peaks.”

  “It’s not too cold here. But I know that could change in a minute. March can be a snowy month.”

  He caught hold of her hand and pulled her onto his lap. His light kiss lingered on her mouth. Reluctantly, he leaned back in the chair and gazed into her lovely face. Her lips were full and slightly swollen from last night’s thousand and one kisses. Her eyes sparkled. She’d tamed her curly, light auburn hair by pulling it back in a ponytail. “You look good.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said with mock primness. “I had a chance to put on a dash of mascara. By the way, you did a great job of packing my toiletries.”

  “I wanted to make sure you had what you needed. In case we had to run away for a long time.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Her tone became practical. “You can’t run away from your problems.”

  “I’ve done okay. Managed to evade capture for the past ten years.”

  “Things are different now.” She climbed off his lap. “There’s a baby to consider.”

  And there was Melinda. As long as his enemies knew they could get to him through her, she was in danger. No way in hell would he let her come to harm.

  He finished off the breakfast, which was surprisingly good and definitely filling. Then he settled in front of the computer to research.

  Melinda stood over his shoulder. “I’ve heard that computers put out a signal that can be traced.”

  He scoffed. “Do you think I’d forget such an obvious way of tracking me?”