Black Knight (A Black's Bandits Novel): HOT Heroes for Hire: Mercenaries Page 3

  “Do you want me to run a bath for you?”

  “As much as I think I’d love it, I don’t think I can get in and out by myself. So no. Thank you.” Accepting his help while she was naked and vulnerable was definitely going too far for comfort.

  He went over and drew the curtains without argument. “I’ll get that muscle relaxer for you. Get beneath the covers and I’ll bring some more water.”

  Libby toed off her tennis shoes but didn’t remove her socks. She also didn’t remove any clothing, including the jacket. She just climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up. The bed was chilly, but it would soon warm up with all the blankets.

  Jared returned with the pill and water. He also brought the book and set it on the bedside table. He switched on the lamp for her. She gazed up at him.

  “I hope you’re not a serial killer.” She said it jokingly, but a little part of her actually meant it. Serial killers could be charming, after all.

  He shook his head, frowning down at her. “Not a serial killer, Libby. My job is to help people, not hurt them.”

  It really seemed to be true. Her heart believed it anyway. “Do you think I’ll remember what happened when I wake up?”

  “I don’t honestly know. But I hope so.”

  Chapter Three

  Jared left the door to the bedroom open a crack, in case Libby called out in the night. His room was directly across from hers but he wasn’t bedding down just yet. He picked up his phone and placed a call. Ian Black answered on the second ring.

  “You tired of the solitude already?”

  Jared could hear the grin in his boss’s voice. “Haven’t had any yet.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah.” Jared frowned at the door to Libby’s room. “I found a woman.”

  “Oh boy, here it comes.”

  “No, I mean I literally found her as I was driving toward the cabin. She was on foot, dressed in tennis shoes and what looks like workout clothes. She was bleeding from a cut on the head and throat. She’s fine, though bruised and sore. She doesn’t know what happened and she can’t remember her name, but she’s wearing a necklace with the name Libby on it. No phone, no ID, no jewelry other than the necklace. I put her in the spare room.”

  “I’d wondered why you asked Dax for any accident info in the area. I assume you did recon.”

  The boss always got to the heart of the matter. “No car accident that I could see within two miles either direction but I needed to make sure there wasn’t one in the area in case she hadn’t been alone. I didn’t drive any farther because of the snow, but honest to god I don’t know how she could have walked farther anyway. No reports on the news of any accidents or missing persons. Domestic violence is a possibility too. Maybe she got in a fight with her boyfriend, or husband, and he kicked her out of the car.”

  “Could be. Could also be a trafficking attempt gone wrong.”

  “That too.” There were too many possibilities, and all of them sucked.

  “Guess I’d better see if we have any missing Libbys in the region. Description?”

  “Five-five, dark blond mid-shoulder-length hair, pulled back in a ponytail, brown eyes. Appears to wear glasses, but didn’t have them on her. Average build.”

  He said average, and she was, but when he’d held her against his side as he walked her to the bedroom, he’d been very aware of the dip of her waist beneath his hand and the thin slice of cleavage revealed beneath her jacket. Besides the antiseptic, he’d also smelled the flowery scent of her shampoo.

  “Got it. I’ll see what’s out there, if anything.” He could hear Ian tapping his pen. “Do you think there could be something deeper at work here? The closer we get to the inner circles of the Gemini Syndicate, the more likely they are to figure out who we are and where to find us.”

  Jared blew out a breath. “I thought of that. But why not pop me where I stood instead of going through an elaborate ruse? It seems like a lot of trouble to go to—and for what?”

  “Maybe they’re looking for an inside track. Get close to you, get information.”

  Jared sighed. “Yeah, that’s possible. I don’t think I believe it, though. She seems genuinely confused, not purposely so. I can’t explain it, but I’ve got no alarms ringing inside.”

  Anything was possible in this job. His instincts hadn’t been wrong yet, but there was always a first time. Since leaving the Air Force and joining Ian Black’s team, he’d learned a lot about the shadowy world of covert ops—and about the kind of people who inhabited it.

  Nothing was beyond them and not all of them were good. Not all of them had the best interests of national security and global stability at heart. Some of them were only concerned with wealth and power. It didn’t matter if entire populations teetered on the brink of catastrophic poverty and disease. It only mattered that they could fund their elaborate lifestyles and prepare for the next war they were certain was coming.

  A war where they’d hole up in bomb proof bunkers and wait it out. Survival of the fittest, they believed, though what they thought they would emerge to find was beyond him. Why not spend your money trying to fix problems rather than exacerbate them? Because if there was some sort of cataclysmic global event, you weren’t emerging in a year and going to Fiji for a five-star vacation. Who’d be left to wait on you if you did?

  “That’s a good sign. I’ll get back to you when I find something,” Ian said.

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “Keep an eye out for trouble in the meantime.”

  “I will.” Because it was second nature to him. Because it could mean the difference between life and death. His instincts hadn’t failed him yet, but that didn’t mean he was home free. Shit went wrong. He knew that better than most.

  The other end of the line went dead. Jared clicked the television on again, leaving it on mute, and picked up a thick tome about national security. He took the Glock from its hidden holster beneath his waistband and set it on the table beside him before opening the book.

  After a few minutes, he lifted his head. He’d been reading the same sentence over and over because he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Libby and how he’d found her.

  His gut told him she was in trouble, not trouble. He’d be careful, just in case his gut was wrong, but what he really wanted to do was go into her room and hold her close again. Tell her she was safe with him. Tell her that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.

  And then he wanted to kiss her softly and promise everything would be all right.

  Jared eyed her door. Then he shook his head to clear it and went back to reading. Or tried to, anyway.

  Libby woke slowly. Her head throbbed, though not from a headache, and her body hurt whenever she moved. She was stiff and sore and she groaned when she tried to push herself upright in bed. But she persevered, levering herself up on one elbow.

  The curtains were closed, but it was clearly daylight out. It wasn’t bright, but there was a large square of light behind the curtains. Last night, everything had been black. There was a sliver of light coming from the door too, which was slightly open.

  Libby blinked and tried to process what had happened. She remembered a man—Jared—and she remembered a fire and food. She remembered standing in the snow, the headlights of a car coming at her. She had an impression of riding in a vehicle at some point, but when she tried to seize on it, the memory slipped away.

  Memory.

  She tried to will herself to remember her name, but nothing came. Nothing but cold fear. She reached for the necklace and clutched the thin bar. Libby.

  Jared had said they could see what Libby was short for, but they’d never done so. She would ask him today, fear be damned.

  Her belly squeezed at a different thought. What if he was gone? What if he’d left and she was alone? She didn’t have a phone, or a way to call for help.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  She didn’t know that he would leave her. He’d helped her, and he’d said he wasn
’t a serial killer. Not that a serial killer would admit he was one, but Jared had helped her to bed and given her a book. He hadn’t done anything inappropriate. Not only that, but she was still alive.

  By degrees, Libby got herself upright. Movement was painful but not impossible. Somehow, she got out of bed and hobbled her way into the bathroom. Her face in the mirror was a surprise. She hadn’t looked last night, but now she studied herself in the glass. She was young, in her twenties probably, and she had dark blond hair. She’d seen her hair color because her hair was long, but to see it framing her face was a surprise. Her skin was clear, her eyes were brown, and her nose was thin. She wasn’t wearing makeup, though she felt like it was something she typically did. Not that she knew for sure.

  She was pretty, but not beautiful. Certainly not beautiful enough for a man like Jared.

  Oh well.

  She looked longingly at the tub but decided a shower would be better. The shower was walk-in, and that’s what she needed right now. There were thick, fluffy towels, a white fluffy robe, toiletries, and even a pair of slippers. She didn’t stop to wonder how any of that was possible. She just turned on the shower and thanked her lucky stars it was.

  After a long, hot shower where she thoroughly soaped, washed, and rinsed everything, she stepped out of the tub with muscles that didn’t scream quite so much as before. She had some bruises, but so long as she didn’t touch them they weren’t too bad. The bruises on her arm looked a little like fingerprints. That made her frown. She also had a bigger bruise on her hip and side, like she’d knocked into something. She pulled on the robe, gnawing her lip when she thought about underwear. But she couldn’t put dirty panties back on. If her luck held, there was a washer and dryer in this cabin. She could wash her clothes before putting them on again. By then, maybe she’d remember something else about herself.

  Like where she lived. Because if she didn’t, then what? Jared wasn’t going to keep taking care of her like she didn’t have a life somewhere else. He would take her to the police station and leave her so they could figure it out and he could go back to his vacation.

  She tamped down on the bubble of panic rising in her belly. What did it matter if he helped her or the police did? She shouldn’t care—and yet she did. She felt safe here, especially now that she’d spent an entire night in the same house with him and nothing bad had happened. Maybe it wasn’t a high standard, but it was something.

  Still alive. Check.

  Unmolested. Check.

  Libby shoved her feet in the slippers, belted the robe tight, and balled up her clothing. When she opened the bathroom door, the scent of bacon slammed into her nostrils and her belly growled.

  She clutched her dirty clothes and went out into the living room. A fire blazed in the hearth. The floor to ceiling windows on either side of it revealed a snowy landscape that made it seem like they were alone in the world. The living room was vaulted to allow for those huge windows that captured the view. It was spectacular, if a little fuzzy, and somehow lonely as well.

  When Jared said he liked to be alone, he wasn’t kidding.

  Movement in the kitchen drew her eye. He was standing at the stove, dressed in a plaid flannel shirt and faded jeans. He moved something in the pan and Libby went a little closer, clutching her balled up clothes, her heart suddenly in her throat.

  He turned to get something and his eyes met hers. One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. Hers went dry.

  Flipping hell, he was fine. And so out of her league…

  “Morning,” he said with that gravelly voice.

  “Morning,” she croaked. Sexy, Libby. Very sexy.

  “I hope you like eggs and bacon and grits.”

  “With butter?”

  “Is there anything else?” he asked, one eyebrow arching.

  “I think some people put sugar on them.”

  He made a face. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Disgusting. Sit,” he said, indicating one of the seats at the bar.

  She held up her clothes. “Is there a washer?”

  “Yep. Behind those doors.” He nodded to a set of double doors in the kitchen. “Drop ’em on the floor and I’ll put them in for you after breakfast.”

  “Okay.” Part of her thought she should protest that she could do it herself, but she also rather liked the idea of letting him do it. She thought maybe she didn’t get a lot of that at home, wherever home was. Libby climbed onto the bar seat, tucking the robe between her legs so it didn’t fall open to reveal all her secrets, and eyed the plate of food with a watering mouth.

  He put a couple of slices of bacon, some scrambled eggs, and a dollop of buttery grits on the plate. Then he added a slice of generously buttered toast and slid the whole thing toward her. “Go ahead,” he said as he fixed his own plate.

  Libby dug into the eggs, nearly moaning at the buttery goodness. The bacon was equally delicious.

  Jared eyed her with amusement as he ate a slice of bacon off his plate. Instead of coming around the bar to join her, he stood opposite. “Your appetite is good. How do you feel?”

  “I took a hot shower. I think between that and the muscle relaxer, it helped. I’m stiff though, and there are some bruises on my right side and arm. I feel like running a marathon is out of the question.”

  “Probably. Did you start the book?”

  She blinked before she remembered. “No, I fell asleep right away. I think I need glasses though. The words are a little fuzzy.”

  “What about outside?” he asked, pointing at the window.

  She glanced at the landscape. “It’s fuzzier the farther it gets. I can tell there are woods and snow. That’s about it.”

  “There are probably some readers around here, but I don’t think we can do anything about the distance just yet.”

  “It’s not bad. But I feel like I probably couldn’t drive without glasses.”

  “Good thing you don’t have to drive anywhere.”

  “Suppose so.” She crunched a bite of bacon. Apprehension was a low-level hum in her belly. “I still don’t know my name or what happened to me.”

  He didn’t seem surprised. “It happens sometimes. It’ll come back to you.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve seen it before.”

  “Because you’re an EMT?”

  His gaze was steady, blue eyes piercing. “No, because I’m a combat medic. Trauma does things to help the brain cope.”

  Libby processed this information. “A combat medic. I’m not sure I know what that means. I mean I do know what combat is, and what a medic is—but how do those two things get together?”

  He poured more coffee in her mug. She hadn’t realized she’d finished it. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He smiled as he put the pot down again. “So polite. A combat medic is someone who provides medical assistance on the battlefield.”

  “Oh.” It still wasn’t all that clear to her. “Is there much need for that?”

  “More than you think. The US is always engaged in a skirmish somewhere, and warriors get hurt. That’s where I come in, though I’m also a warrior.”

  Her head was reeling. Combat medics? “I see. And sometimes in these… skirmishes… people forget who they are?”

  “It’s happened. They remember eventually. Never saw one yet who didn’t.”

  Libby concentrated. “It’s all a blank. Well, most of it. I think I was in a car, but I don’t know if I was driving or not. Did you look up names for me?”

  He picked up his phone and swiped. “Libby can be short for Elizabeth, Isabel, Liberty, Lydia, or even sometimes Olivia. It can also be a name on its own. Any of that ring a bell?”

  “I think…” Her brain hurt with how hard she was thinking about it, but one name resonated with her. Was she right or just latching on because it was different from the others? “Liberty seems familiar.”

  “Liberty. Okay.” He typed and she heard the swoosh of a text message.

&n
bsp; “You’re texting someone about me?” If only she’d had a phone on her, the mystery of who she was would be solved. Why didn’t she have one? Didn’t everybody?

  He set his phone on the counter. “My boss. He knows how to get things done. If there’s a missing Liberty somewhere, he’ll find out.”

  “How can he do that?”

  He shrugged. “Finding people is part of what he does.”

  She wanted to ask questions, but she sensed he wouldn’t answer them. Besides, if his boss could find the answer, that’s all she really needed. “I could be wrong. I keep thinking it’s familiar, but what if it’s just unusual?”

  “It is that. I don’t think I’ve met any Libertys before.”

  Libby chewed her bacon. “It could also just be Libby since that’s what’s on the necklace. Maybe I always wished it was something cool like Liberty, but it’s plain old Libby.”

  Jared finished the food on his plate and turned to the sink to wash it. When he finished, he picked up her clothes and opened the folding doors to reveal a washer and dryer. Before she could protest, he unfurled the ball. Her panties and sports bra fell out and her cheeks heated when he calmly tossed them into the washer. Then he checked the labels on her shirt, jacket, and yoga pants before dropping them in too and adding soap.

  “What?” he asked when he turned back to her.

  “You read the labels.” And touched my underwear.

  “You don’t read the labels before tossing your clothes in the wash? That’s a good way to ruin them.”

  “I don’t know what I do, remember?” She said it defensively but he only grinned.

  “You knew the day of the week and the president. I’m guessing you know if you read labels or not.”

  Okay, so maybe he was right. “I think I do. I’m surprised you do.”

  “Because I’m a man, right? I was an only child and my mom worked a lot after my dad left us. I learned to do laundry the right way.” He nodded at her plate. “You done or you want more?”

  “I’m done. Thank you. I can get it,” she added when he took her plate and put it in the sink.