Hard Night (11th Hour #3) Read online

  Jacob moved over to the fridge and pulled open the door, examining the contents. “It’s not a question of want, Mr. Blake. It’s a question of need. And yes, she needs all that stuff.”

  He’d given Kellan a brief rundown about what had happened, telling him the bare minimum, then had informed him that Faith was with him and they were going to lie low for a while, at least until whoever was after her had been found. Then he’d given Kellan a list of things that Faith might need since there wasn’t much in the way of feminine products stocked here, and although he paid a contact of his a lot of money to keep the bunker clean and prepared, he didn’t necessarily want them knowing he had Faith with him.

  The fewer people who knew she was here the better.

  “Okay, fine,” Kellan said, then paused. “I’ll go to your place and—”

  “Not you,” Jacob interrupted, making a mental note to get his contact to get another few six-packs of beer, just in case. “Miss Hawthorne can go. I’m sure she’ll know better what Faith may want in the way of clothing.”

  “Hey, I can choose a woman’s clothes. I’m not a total fucking idiot.”

  “I beg to differ.” Jacob straightened and shut the fridge door, moving over to the stainless steel cupboards. “Besides, it’s not a matter of who can choose the best clothes. Faith likes Miss Hawthorne and if anyone is going to go through her stuff without her being present, it’ll be her.”

  It was true, Faith did like Callie, Jack King’s fiancée. Jacob had debated whether to get one of the team to go out and buy new stuff, but Faith liked familiarity and having a few things she recognized around her would make this a whole lot easier.

  Not that any of it was going to be easy, but there was no point stressing her needlessly.

  “I want Ms. Leighton looking at any security cameras in the area of that bar,” he went on, checking over the contents of the cupboards. “I didn’t spot them so it’s not going to be easy but I want her going over any footage with a fine-toothed comb, understand me?”

  “Yeah, got it.” Kellan’s voice was uninflected—the soldier obeying orders and just as well. Jacob didn’t want any argument. He wanted whoever was after Faith found and dealt with ASAP. “Isiah is due back tomorrow so with any luck we’ll find something and be able to go over it with him then too.” He paused. “Any suspicions you might want to let us know about?”

  Kellan had not been happy when Jacob had told him what had happened and he was even less happy with the information Jacob was prepared to give him. Which was understandable since it was barely anything.

  But Kellan would have to live with it. Jacob didn’t want to give out any intel to anyone who didn’t need to know about it before they had to. Years of experience had taught him that it was better to keep your cards close to your vest before playing them. That way you were more likely to win.

  “No,” Jacob said flatly. “Just do what I said, Mr. Blake. Get Ms. Leighton to check any footage and we’ll go from there.”

  Kellan was silent a moment. Then he said, “Faith okay?”

  “Yes. She’s fine.”

  “Good.” Another pause. “Make sure she stays fine, understand?”

  There was an edge to his voice and it made Jacob smile. “You’re concerned about her?”

  “Of course I’m fucking concerned about her. She was shot at.”

  “Not by me, I can assure you.”

  “I never said—”

  “No, but you’re suspicious of me all the same.” He didn’t make it a question; he knew anyway.

  Kellan said nothing.

  “Rest assured, Mr. Blake, that Ms. Beasley’s continued good health is as important to me as it is to the rest of the team. That’s why she’s here with me. I don’t trust anyone else with her safety.”

  Another pause.

  “Can I speak to her?”

  Jacob’s grin widened, half-amused at the suspicious note in Kellan’s voice and half-pissed at the suggestion he’d ever hurt Faith. “No. Just do what I asked, Mr. Blake. I’ll contact you again this evening.” He didn’t wait for Kellan to respond, simply hitting the disconnect button.

  There were other people he needed to contact, but those could wait. He had to make sure there were enough supplies to last them for however long they were going to be here, check over the generator and the fuel stocks, and lastly disguise the jet before he got to anything else.

  Perhaps he should check on Faith first though.

  He moved from the kitchen down the short corridor that led to the lounge area, stepping through the doorway and surveying the room.

  The sun coming through the windows lay across the couches down one end and there was Faith, a book resting across her stomach, one arm thrown across her face.

  Was she asleep? She certainly wasn’t moving.

  Jacob walked soundlessly over to the couch and stood beside it, looking down at her.

  She’d taken one of his thrillers—his favorite title, coincidentally—though perhaps she hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he had since she was asleep, from the sounds of her breathing. Then again, after the disturbed nights she’d been having and then a morning full of people trying to kill her, he wasn’t surprised. She must be exhausted.

  Her hair was spread out on the dark leather, glossy in the sunshine, her pale skin almost glowing.

  The first month or so after she’d come to live with him, he’d had a camera installed in her bedroom with her agreement, basically so he could keep an eye on her. And he’d watched her sleep many times.

  She always told him she’d slept fine, but both of them knew she didn’t. That after the camera was no longer necessary, he still had a monitor in her room so he could hear her breathing, and knew when the nightmares came.

  It was never peaceful for her, no matter what she said.

  So he was loath to wake her now, when her breathing was regular and she was lying still, sleeping like a normal person.

  He bent to pick up the book on her stomach, intending to put it down, then find her a blanket from one of the bedrooms, but as he reached for the book, her hand abruptly shot out and gripped his wrist. Then her whole body twisted, fast and fluid as an eel, her strength irresistible, and he found himself on his knees beside the couch, with his arm twisted up behind his back while she knelt on the cushions behind him, holding it there.

  Fuck . What the hell just happened?

  Jacob blinked, shock holding him still, for the first time in years completely and utterly taken by surprise. Then adrenaline kicked in and it was only sheer force of will that had him remaining where he was and not twisting out of her hold, breaking her arm in the process.

  That move she’d made on him hadn’t been intentional, he was certain. It had been instinct. A killer instinct. Which meant . . .

  Joanna Lynn had been associated with a black ops mission, but what if she’d been part of it? What if she’d been one of the team members? It had been something he’d considered when he’d first discovered her association, but then dismissed the idea since she sure hadn’t acted like any black ops team member. Certainly while she’d been living with him, nothing about her had screamed military.

  But Christ, if she could move like that, taking him by surprise, then she must have been. Fuck and she was strong, too.

  Something lit inside him, catching fire, a heat that he’d always been sure to keep well banked. He liked a strong woman, especially when it came to sex, and if this one could have him on his knees and so fucking easily then . . . shit, he was more than up for the challenge.

  You’re not going to, remember?

  Behind him he could hear Faith panting. The grip she had on his wrist strong and sure. Oh yeah, he remembered. More’s the fucking pity.

  With an effort, he shoved away the heat, concentrating instead on the problem at hand which was how a woman with no memory of who she was could have him in a lock with comparatively little effort.

  “Any particular reason you’re holding my arm behind my
back, Ms. Beasley?” he asked calmly. “I wasn’t trying to steal your book, I promise.”

  She said nothing, but her fingers around his wrist didn’t budge so he shifted, twisting and using his strength to break her grip. He was half expecting her to move with him, to fight him, but she let him go almost immediately and when he turned, he found her sitting back against the couch cushions, a look of complete shock on her face.

  “J-Jacob,” she stuttered. “I’m sorry, I don’t know . . .” She trailed off, looking down at her hands as if they were someone else’s.

  Which, in many ways, they were.

  But then her shock began to turn to horror and he found himself crouching beside the sofa and taking her hands in his. Her gaze came to his straightaway, staring at him as if he had all the answers to every single one of her questions. “It has to do with my memory, doesn’t it?” The edge of fear in her voice was unmistakable. “It’s coming back.”

  Her fingertips were icy so he wrapped his own fingers around hers, gripping tight in reassurance. “I don’t know. Did you do that consciously?”

  She shook her head, making no attempt to pull away from him, her skin slowly warming against his. “No. I was asleep. And then I . . . I sensed you were there and I just . . .”

  “Got me in a lock.”

  Her eyes darkened. “How could I have done that?”

  A fair enough question and one he could hardly answer himself.

  “You took me by surprise,” he said after a moment. “I wasn’t expecting it. And you were very, very fast and strong.”

  “But . . . how . . . ?”

  “I think you know how.” He held her gaze. “You’re not just associated with black ops. I think you were part of the mission itself. You moved like you were trained and trained well.”

  She was silent, searching his face. Then abruptly she pulled her hands from his, looking away and smoothing her hair back.

  Jacob didn’t move. Because if this was, indeed, a sign that her memory was returning, then perhaps they needed to do more to encourage it. Not that she was going to want to, but Christ, if she was the kind of woman who could get him in an armlock on his knees, then she could handle whatever it was in her past that she was so afraid of.

  And then he could finally find out where Joshua was.

  “We should experiment,” he said calmly. “There’s a workout room near the laundry area and it might be a good idea to see if we can re-create what you did to me just then. When you’re actually awake this time.”

  She looked at him sharply. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.”

  “So you want me to . . . what? Fight you?”

  “That’s the idea.” His blood was pumping a little faster at the thought, and not wholly because it might return her memory. There was a part of him that was very interested in the thought of getting close to her physically, of matching her. He liked a fight when it came to sex, liked the whole resistance and surrender deal, though only with women who also got off on it because if they weren’t craving him, then there was no point.

  Would Faith be like that? Would she fight him? And would she end up surrendering to him?

  Why the fuck are you thinking about that? She’s not for you, remember?

  Of course he remembered.

  “I don’t think so,” Faith said, moving to the edge of the couch and smoothing down her skirt. “You’ll probably kill me.”

  Irritated at himself, Jacob rose to his feet. “I won’t kill you, Ms. Beasley. Give me some fucking credit.”

  “The answer is still no.”

  “Why not? Scared?”

  She gave him an exasperated look from underneath her lashes that did nothing to quell the heat burning in his veins. God, did the woman have any idea what she was doing when she did shit like that?

  “I’m not a coward, Mr. Night,” she said crisply. “And I don’t need to justify myself. I don’t want to fight you. The end.”

  “But if this is a sign of your memory returning, then don’t you want to take charge of the process?” He knew he was pushing, but if her memory was coming back, then maybe she needed the push. Sure, it was mainly self-interest on his part, but also the way she was dealing with it wasn’t exactly working for her, not if those nightmares were anything to go by. “Avoidance is not the answer to conquering a fear, Ms. Beasley. Facing it is.”

  She gave him another one of those long, cool looks before rising to her feet. “I think I might have a shower.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t a coward.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then you didn’t hear a word I said about avoidance?”

  Her delicate jaw tightened. “I got next to no sleep last night and this morning I was shot at, was involved in a high-speed car chase, then was whisked away by jet to a completely different state, where a mysterious man with who knows what kind of unarmed combat skills wants me to fight him.” Her gaze was steady, her voice level. “So you’ll forgive me if I take some time out to avoid reality for a little longer.”

  She was so very cool and calm with him, treating him as if he were nothing more than an irritating child or a bothersome pet.

  He rather liked it. Made him want to see exactly how bothersome he could be, which was not at all what he was supposed to be doing.

  “You’re forgiven.” He smiled, letting her see some teeth. Letting her know that he wasn’t at all put off or fooled by her apparent calmness. “And I’m not that mysterious. All you have to do is ask.”

  A flash of surprise flickered briefly over her face and he couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself that he’d managed to get that out of her. Again.

  “But I thought—”

  “You thought what? That I was deliberately keeping secrets from you? No, Ms. Beasley. You simply haven’t asked me the right questions.”

  Another flicker of emotion in her eyes that he thought might have been curiosity. Then she looked away again. “Yes, well, thank you for that, but I’ve had enough of questions for one day. I want a shower. And some clean clothes might be nice, though I don’t suppose you’ll have anything like that lying around.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised at what I have lying around. I’ve asked Mr. Blake to get Miss Hawthorne to visit my place and grab some of your belongings for you.” He paused. “I thought you’d want something familiar around you, though I’m afraid it’ll mean Miss Hawthorne will be looking through your things.”

  A tinge of red appeared on her cheekbones. “Oh, no, that’s fine. And . . . yes, I would like that. Thank you.”

  Her faint blush satisfied him for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint, which probably meant that now was a good time to get on with the stuff he had to do and leave her alone for a little bit.

  “Unfortunately, the items aren’t likely to get here until this evening, so you might have to be satisfied with whatever clothing I can find in the meantime.” He turned toward the doorway that led to the hall and the steps outside. “I have to check on the generator fuel stocks. I’ll leave the clothes outside the bathroom.”

  She said nothing but he could feel her watching him as he moved past her, heading toward the door.

  “Questions, Ms. Beasley.” He put his hand on the door handle. “You can ask me anything and I’ll answer.” He turned back and met her gaze. “But only on one condition.”

  She didn’t want to ask him what it was, he could see that, so he waited. Sure enough, eventually she asked, “And what’s that?”

  He smiled. “You fight me, of course.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The shower was heaven. The water was hot, the pressure divine, and though the only soap available smelled faintly masculine, Faith didn’t care. And if she could have washed away the rest of her problems like she washed away the sweat of the day, then it would have been perfect.

  Sadly, those problems remained, taunting her as she finally got out of the big, slate shower and went into the bedroom, a big white towel wr
apped firmly around her.

  A pile of neatly folded clothes was sitting on the bed. Obviously, Jacob had been as good as his word and had found her something to wear.

  She stared at the pile and bit her lip, the unease that she’d successfully managed to push aside as she’d had her shower returning once more. And this time bringing with it everything else that Jacob had told her on the plane.

  He’d said her real name was Joanna Lynn. That she’d been involved in a black ops mission. That she’d also been associated with an arms ring and a man named Smith. That she’d been his lover.

  Before, those things had felt abstract, a series of facts that didn’t feel like they related to her at all. But now . . . after what had happened in the living room, they didn’t feel so abstract anymore.

  She’d been drifting, half-asleep, half-awake, conscious only of a tall presence leaning over her, and something had woken to life inside her. An instinct she hadn’t realized was there. And she’d responded to it without thought, her body moving in a way that felt utterly familiar to her. She’d grabbed his wrist and twisted, using momentum to turn him around before jerking his hand up behind his back, forcing him down onto the floor.

  She hadn’t thought about what she’d done, she’d simply done it. And then a hot burst of triumph had flooded through her, that she could put a strong, powerful man like him on his knees.

  The feeling was a strange one and she wasn’t sure where it had come from since she’d never had the urge to fight Jacob physically before. But that didn’t make the feeling go away.

  You like matching wits with him, come on.

  Yes, but that wasn’t the same as actually fighting.

  Her heartbeat had picked up speed at the memory of him kneeling by the couch, his arm drawn up behind his back and his strong wrist in her grip, all his considerable strength at her mercy. Yeah, that had felt good. She’d felt powerful and that had been intoxicating, especially after six months of feeling afraid. But there had been something underlying it too, like an echo of memory, a familiarity. As if she’d done something like this before . . .

  Faith took a breath, then let it out.