White Lies Read online

  “I have a suggestion,” she purred.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Leave your clothes on until you get here.”

  He laughed and kissed her again. Her mouth was driving him crazy; it had the most erotic effect on him. Kissing her was more arousing than actually making love had been with other women—and just for a moment, before they faded away, some of those other women were in his mind.

  “The doctor is already on his way back to Washington. Frank is staying until the morning, so it’s the three of us again. Are you hungry? Frank’s stomach is still on Washington time.”

  “Actually, I am a little hungry. We don’t keep late hours ourselves, you know.”

  He looked at the bed. “I know.”

  Jay hoped to have the chance to ask Frank about the agent’s name; she couldn’t take the risk of asking him in Steve’s presence, because the sound of his own name might trigger his memory, and she couldn’t face the possibility of that. She wanted him to remember, but she wanted it to be when they were alone in their high meadow. If the chance to talk to Frank didn’t present itself, she could always call him after they’d retired to their individual rooms for the night, provided Steve didn’t come straight to hers, but she didn’t think he would. He’d probably take a shower first, and put on fresh clothes. She sighed, weary of having to second-guess and predict; she wasn’t cut out for this business.

  Steve noted the sigh, and the faint desperation in her eyes. She hadn’t said anything, but that look had been there since he’d had that first flash of memory the day before. It puzzled him; he couldn’t think of any reason why Jay should dread his returning memory. Because it puzzled him and because there was no logical reason, he couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t in his makeup. When something bothered him, he worried at it until it made sense. He never quit, never let go. His sister had often said he was at least half bulldog—

  Sister?

  He was quiet as the three of them ate dinner at an Italian restaurant. Part of him enjoyed the spicy food, and part of him was actively involved in the easy conversation around the table, but another part of him examined the sliver of memory from every angle. If he had a sister, why had he told Jay he was an orphan? Why hadn’t Frank had a record of any relatives? That was the screwy part. He could accept that he might have told Jay a different version of his life, because he didn’t know what the circumstances had been at the time, but it was impossible that Frank hadn’t had a list of next of kin. That was assuming he was remembering “real” things.

  A sister. His logic told him it was impossible. His guts told him his logic could take a flyer. A sister. Amy. Unca Luke! Unca Luke! The childish voices reverberated in his head even as he laughed at something Frank said. Unca Dan. Unca Luke. Unca Luke Unca Luke…Luke…Luke…

  “Are you all right?” Jay asked, her eyes dark with concern as she put her hand lightly on his wrist. She could feel tension emanating from him and was vaguely startled that Frank hadn’t seemed to notice anything unusual.

  The pounding left his head as he looked at her and smiled. He’d gladly count his past well lost as long as he could have Jay. The sensory umbilical cord linking them was as acutely sensitive as the strings on a precisely tuned Stradivarius. “It’s just a headache,” he said. “The drive was a strain on my eyes.” Both statements were true, though the second wasn’t the cause of the first. Also, there hadn’t been that much strain. His problem was the precise, close-up focusing needed for reading; his distance vision was as sharp as ever, which was better than twenty-twenty. He had the vision of a jet pilot.

  Jay returned to her conversation with Frank, but she was as aware of Steve’s fading tension as she had been of the fact that he’d been as taut as a guide wire. Had something happened that afternoon that he hadn’t told her? A feeling of dread almost overwhelmed her, and she wanted badly to be back at the cabin.

  When they returned to the motel, she noted with relief that Steve went to his own room rather than stopping to talk with Frank or immediately following her to hers. She darted to the phone and dialed Frank’s room. He answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Jay.” She identified herself.

  “Is something wrong?” He was immediately alert.

  “No, everything’s okay. It’s just that something’s been bothering me, but I didn’t want to ask you in front of Steve.”

  In his room, Frank tensed. Had they failed to cover all bases? “Is it about Steve?”

  “Well, no, not really. The agent who died…what was his name? It’s been on my mind a lot lately, that he died and I never even heard his name.”

  “There’s no reason you should have. You’d never met him.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “I just wanted to know something about him. It could have been Steve. Now that he’s dead, there’s no reason to keep his name secret, is there?”

  Frank thought. He could give her a fictitious name, but he decided to tell her at least that much of the truth. She’d know his name eventually, and it might help if she could simply think a mistake had been made. It would give her a small fact she could focus on for reference. “His name was Lucas Stone.”

  “Lucas Stone.” Her voice was very soft as she repeated the name. “Was he married? Did he have a family?”

  “No, he wasn’t married.” He deliberately didn’t answer her second question.

  “Thanks for telling me. It’s bothered me that I didn’t know.” He’d never know how much, she thought as she quietly replaced the receiver. Lucas Stone. She repeated the name over and over in her mind, applying it to a battered face and feeling her heart begin to pound. Lucas Stone. Yes.

  Only then did she realize what a mistake she’d made. If it had been difficult before to refer to him as Steve, it would be almost impossible now. Steve had been a stolen name, but one she’d used because there had been no alternative. What if the name Lucas slipped out?

  She sat on the bed for a long time while she mentally flailed against the hall of mirrors that trapped her with its false reflections. The things she didn’t know bound her as securely as the things she knew, until she was afraid to trust her own instincts. She wasn’t made for deception; she was straightforward, which was one reason why she hadn’t fitted into the world of investment banking, a world that required a certain measure of “slickery,” that balance of slickness and trickery.

  Finally, too tired to open any more blank doors, she took a shower and got ready for bed. When she came out of the bathroom, Lucas—Steve! she reminded herself frantically—was stretched out on the bed, already partially undressed.

  She looked at the locked door. “Haven’t we done this before?”

  He rolled to his feet and caught her arms, pulling her to him. “With one difference. A big difference.”

  He smelled of soap and shaving cream, and the underlying muskiness of man. She clung to him, pressing her face into his neck to inhale that special scent. What would she do if he left her? It would be a life without color, forever incomplete. Slowly she ran her hands over his broad chest, rubbing her fingers through the crisp, curly hair and feeling the warmth of his skin, then the iron layer of muscles beneath. He was so hard that her fingers barely made an impression. Bemused, she pressed experimentally on his upper arm, watching as her fingernails turned white from the pressure but had noticeably little effect on him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked curiously.

  “Seeing how hard you are.”

  “Honey, that’s not the right place.”

  Her face was bright with laughter as she swiftly looked up at him. “I think I know all your other places.”

  “Is that so? There are places, and then there are places. Some places need a lot more attention than others.” As he spoke he began moving her toward the bed. He was already aroused, his hardness pressing against her. Jay moved her hand down to cover the ridge beneath his jeans.

  “Is this one of the places in need of attention?”

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