Frozen Memories
Amnesia made her forget him. His love will bring her back.Their mission is compromised. Their cover is blown. And FBI Special Agent Spence Malone has found his partner – and love of his life – disoriented and suffering from drug-induced amnesia. NSA Cyber Crimes expert Angelica Thorne has forgotten her name, her mission and worst of all, Spence and their nights of passion. And now they’re in a race against an unseen enemy bent on nuclear destruction. Spence vows to protect her and help her to remember…everything. All Angelica knows for sure is that when Spence holds her in his arms, she feels so right. Why then, does everything else seem so wrong?
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Amnesia made her forget him. His love will bring her back.
Their mission is compromised. Their cover is blown. And FBI Special Agent Spence Malone has found his partner—and love of his life—disoriented and suffering from drug-induced amnesia. NSA cybercrimes expert Angelica Thorne has forgotten her name, her mission and, worst of all, Spence and their nights of passion. And now they’re in a race against an unseen enemy bent on nuclear destruction. Spence vows to protect her and help her remember…everything. All Angelica knows for sure is that when Spence holds her in his arms, she feels so right. Why, then, does everything else seem so wrong?
Leaning down, Spence kissed her forehead.
The light touch of his lips set off a chain reaction of shivers that had more to do with her internal engine than with the snow and cold. Her inner machinery had definitely come back to life. She exhaled on a soft moan.
“What else?” he murmured.
Resisting him wasn’t going to be easy. “Nothing much.”
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
But maybe she’d better not. Though his tone was gentle and cajoling, she knew he was digging, probing, interrogating. If he discovered the gaps in her memory, what would he do? He said he was a federal agent, but that didn’t mean he was innocent.
She turned the tables with a question of her own. “What do you do for the FBI?”
CASSIE MILES, a USA TODAY bestselling author, lives in Colorado. After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. When she’s not plotting Harlequin Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.
A salute to the geniuses who work at NORAD and still
manage to run the Santa Tracker every Christmas. And, as always, to Rick.
Contents
Jagged branches clawed the arms of her sweatshirt and tangled with her bare hands as she fought her way to the edge of a clearing in the mountain forest. Falling snow blanketed the open space. Spears of afternoon light cut through the snow and clouds, but she still couldn’t see all the way across, to the wall of pines on the opposite side. She shivered violently. If she tromped straight through the clearing, she’d leave tracks. They’d find her.
Who were they, those men with guns? What did they want from her? She peeked over her shoulder but didn’t see them following. Her ears prickled, but she didn’t hear them coming after her.
They’d left her on the floor in the back of the van. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t opened her eyes. They must have thought she was unconscious. One of them had nudged her with his steel-toed boot, but she hadn’t given any sign of wakefulness. They’d talked about whether or not they should take her into the cabin with them. And they had decided not. They hadn’t wanted to carry her. If she froze in the van, they didn’t care.
Glad that they were so stupid, she’d waited until they’d gone inside. Then she ran. Without a parka. Without mittens. Without boots. Wearing only sneakers and a hooded sweatshirt over a flimsy pair of hospital scrubs, she’d staggered into the storm. The cold should have awakened her, but she’d felt lethargic. Her legs were heavy; her feet weighed her down like cement boots. She lurched through the trees, uncoordinated, unable to keep her balance.
As she’d gone farther, her physical abilities had improved. But that didn’t mean she was out of the woods—literally out of the woods. Making an unfunny joke, I messed up the punch line. Still, she chuckled. When she stretched her mouth, her lips cracked. I always wanted to die laughing.
My God, what was wrong with her? She ought to be terrified. Instead, she felt oddly giddy and confused.
The gusting wind threw icy flakes into her teeth. Her clothes were cold and wet. Her shoes soaked through. She’d seen photos of people who were frostbitten, with their fingers and toes turning black and falling off. But she’d also heard that dying of hypothermia was supposed to be peaceful, like drifting into a gentle sleep.
Sleep would be good, maybe just for a minute. Her eyelids closed. She imagined a boat pulled by snow geese with a glittering snow god at the helm. All she needed to do was climb aboard. Looking down, she smoothed the white feathers of her gown. Sleep was so very good. Or not! Delusions were a symptom of hypothermia. Her mind was going. She needed to find warmth as soon as possible. Leaving a track across the clearing was a small price.
She charged forward with the storm beating at her head and shoulders. The accumulated snow was almost up to her knees. When had it started? When would it stop? With the sun blocked out by the snow clouds, she could only guess that it was afternoon.
