Page 18 of Hunted in Hope Town

Not much in the way of clothes, mostly sweatshirts and sweatpants and thick socks. It’d do. It was cold this morning. She could use a shower, but she needed to talk to Ellis first. Get an idea of how long this was going to last and what was expected of her.

So she dressed. She redid her ponytail so it wasn’t sleep-frazzled. There was a mirror over the drawers, and she winced at her reflection. Bags under her eyes, makeup from yesterday mostly gone but some smudge of mascara under her eyes. Her hair leaning toward greasy.

Okay, maybe she’d hunt up a shower first thing. On that thought, she left her room, which led into the cozy living room. It was dim, all the curtains drawn. She caught the scent of coffee but didn’t move for it immediately.

The little fake tree in the corner caught her attention. She crossed over to it. There was a string of lights around it, though unplugged. She crouched down and plugged it in. Colorful lights popped on and made her smile.

Life went on even when you weren’t certain, even when you didn’t remember. She had gone through two Christmases as Jessica Smith. She would go through the next one knowing who she really was.

And what are you going to do about it?

Yeah, she didn’t know yet, but she would before the holiday officially rolled around in a month.

She straightened. She felt sturdier this morning. Not happy. Not settled. But…better equipped to deal with the fallout of her real identity. She’d always known she had one. Maybe she hadn’t expected it to come with a husband, but she’d known there were years of her life unaccounted for.

She had always prepared for the moment she would have to face whatever caused her amnesia. A traumatic brain injury caused by a mobster, because her husband was an undercover FBI agent. No, her imagination hadn’t come up with anything like that.

In some ways, it was better. She was just kind of…collateral damage. She hadn’t done anything to deserve her injuries, her memory loss. She wasn’t someone who had failed or cowered. This was Ellis’s deal. She was just along for the ride.

With your husband.

She pulled a face. Okay, still complicated. But something she had to deal with regardless. And since she did, she surveyed the cabin. It was so quiet. Was he still asleep? He couldn’t be. Someone had made coffee.

The door of the little bedroom he’d gone into last night was open. So she moved toward the door, peeked her head in, half expecting to find him asleep in bed.

He stood instead, staring at a wall where he’d taped a bunch of different papers. She’d seen things like this in movies and TV shows. A board with all the pertinent information on a crime. His back was to her, his attention on the wall, giving her a chance to study him from behind.

He wore sweatpants and a T-shirt that seemed to fit him well enough she wondered if he’d somehow packed a bag. He was a tall guy. Broad. Then again, so was the man who’d driven them up here. Ellis’s dark blond hair was a little mussed, but the bed was made as though he hadn’t slept in it at all.

She’d seen him like this before. That she knew with a bone-deep certainty she wasn’t going to talk herself out of.

Fifteen years. They had been together for fifteen years.

And he has seen you naked.

She really needed to stop thinking about that.

“Whenever you feel up to it, I’d like you to go over all this and see if anything sticks out to you.” His voice was low, soft, gentle.

He’d known she was there the whole time. Yeah, that felt very familiar as well. She sighed and moved a little closer, though kept a careful distance from him. He’d clearly used the computer at the little desk in the corner to print out some things, as well as written out others in a surprisingly neat hand.

“You didn’t sleep,” she said, unable to hide her disapproval. This was hours of work, and that bed hadn’t been slept in.

“I tried. I needed to lay it all out.” She felt his gaze on her but didn’t meet it. “You slept.”

“Yes.”

“Good. There’s some coffee in the kitchen, though you might want fresh. I’ll make breakfast.” He moved to go, but…

She touched him. Just lightly. Just on the arm. Just to stop him from hurrying away so she could…say something.

But he stopped on a dime, and her words evaporated. She left her fingertips there against his forearm. Light hair dusted the skin over impressive muscle. Two scars stood out, one a kind of little dot, the other a line.

She felt a million little physical things riot through her. Warmth and relief and a little ache that centered itself low in her gut. Far lower than she was comfortable with.

She pulled her hand away, heat creeping into her cheeks. “You don’t have to wait on me.”

“We’ll take turns,” he said gruffly, then walked away. Leaving her alone in the room with her feelings.