She looked over at him. “Because I was worried about you. You vanished, and everyone else thought you were dead. But I…I couldn’t accept that.”
A tentative smile slipped up her face. “I knew you were alive.”
He studied her. She’d been crying, her eyes reddened, but that didn’t diminish the very down-to-earth beauty she possessed. The breeze tossed her hair, and she wore a floral shirt, jeans, and her Converse tennis shoes, and yes, at first glance she might have reminded him of Raven.
But this woman had a determined fix to her countenance that made her appear capable. The kind of partner a guy might trust.
“Are you a spy?”
She laughed. “No. But I do work for the CIA, as an analyst. Even then, I wasn’t able to find you until you made the news after the fire.”
Oh, that.
“You just can’t break free of your own heroism, can you, 007?” Her eyes twinkled, and for a second, he really, really wanted to understand her joke. To land with her in the sweet memory behind that smile.
It fell. “Nothing, huh? What do you remember?”
He stared out at the river. “I woke up on the side of the highway, wounded, my head on fire, completely confused.”
“Wounded?”
He leaned back and pulled up his shirt to reveal his again-healing wound.
“That looks deep.”
“Jethro stitched it up. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. I’m not sure why—instincts, probably—but I thought if I went in, they might report this as a stabbing, which would only bring the police, and I couldn’t shake the idea that I was a criminal.”
“You’re not a criminal, York.”
She said it softly but met his gaze, as if she knew he needed to hear it said with surety. “You’re one of the good guys.”
Shoot, the words nearly took him under and his stupid eyes burned, and he looked away because he couldn’t speak either.
She touched his arm. “You had to do things for the sake of your country. But you’re a man of honor, a man who cares about the people around him.”
He nodded. Blinked.
“You had a wife and a son once.”
He looked at her, the heat from her hand bleeding through his arm, solid, comforting. “What happened?”
She shook her head.
“Divorced.”
“No.”
Oh.
“It was a long time ago. But another reason I didn’t want to drag up the past.”
He rubbed his hands together. Stared out at the water. “You were leaving because you didn’t want me to remember.”
She said nothing.
“But I am remembering, RJ. I started remembering the moment you walked into Jethro’s.” He glanced at her. “You’re in my dreams.”
She stilled, her eyes widening.
“Yes, it’s exactly how it sounds. Because you’re in my dreams, and we’re kissing. And then suddenly—”
“You’re attacked.”
He froze.
“And you have to fight someone.”
“I throw him off the train, and I’m about to fall, too, but you grab me…”
“You didn’t fall off the train.”
Oh. “But I did kill someone.”
“A member of the Bratva.”
His gaze hadn’t moved off her face, and now it traced down to her lips, then back. “And we were kissing.”
She swallowed. Looked away.
“RJ, do I love you?”
Her breath caught. She closed her eyes.
He touched her cheek and gently moved her face back to his. “Do you love me?”
Her eyes glistened. “It doesn’t matter, does it? You’re with someone else now, and you have a new life—”
“It matters very, very much,” he said, his voice low. “I’m not with anyone else, and if someone loved me, then—”
She pushed his hand away. “Then she’d let you have the life you wanted.”
She met his eyes, and a tear spilled out.
He couldn’t move.
Because he saw her—flashes of memory really—but yes, there she was. Kissing him in the darkness of a Russian park, then trembling beside him as he gasped for air next to her, even clinging to him in the darkness of an alleyway as he pressed her against the wall, his hands buried in her hair, as he kissed her. I could find you when this is over.
“You’d better stay alive, Bristow.”
Her eyes widened. “You remember—”
“I just remember this.” Then he cupped his hand on her face, leaned in, and kissed her.
And everything that had lain dormant, all the desires and emotions he’d been trying to light for Raven, simply ignited, flashing over into a rush of longing, almost painful. RJ tasted like…like his. Like he’d come back from a very dark, foreign place to find home. She smelled of comfort and desire, and when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, he very nearly cried.
He didn’t know her, but he knew, yes, oh yes, every hidden part of him knew he loved her.
Pulling her tight against him, he deepened his kiss, nudging her mouth open, drinking in the sense of coming back to himself, to finding the lost pieces. To wholeness.
She made a sound, her body trembling, and he let her go, suddenly— “Why are you crying?”
She caught his face between her hands, looked at him. “Because I missed you so much it hurts. But I…I don’t want you to come back with me, York.”
He frowned. “I don’t—”
“You have a life here. The one you always wanted.”
“Did I? I mean…yes, but…”
“I met with Crowley. You probably don’t remember him, but he was the ambassador to Moscow, and you married his daughter. He works for the CIA now, and you always feared he would retaliate if you ever came stateside, but…you’re wrong. You’re forgiven. He…well, he said he was wrong about you.”
York just frowned at her. “But I thought you said the CIA took me in Seattle.”
“That’s what we thought. But now, we don’t know.” She pushed away from him. “But I’m going to find out. And when I do—”
“I’m going with you, RJ.”
She drew in a breath.
“Just because I don’t remember anything doesn’t mean I can’t help. That I don’t have a responsibility—”
“You have people counting on you here. And…well, it’s safer.”
He made a face.
“You’re not a killer anymore, York. I mean, you never were, but…”
“But that is a part of me that isn’t useful to you anymore.”
“You’re safer here.”
“I think I can fend for myself.”
“Stay here. Be free.” She rose, took a step away. “Be Mack Jones.” But her voice wavered.
“Aw, RJ. No way. I’m going with you—”
“No, you’re not.” The voice came from behind him, and he turned. Jimbo was striding toward him, out of uniform but flanked by two officers.
York stood up. “What’s going on?”
Jimbo came up to him and gave him a grim look. “I’m sorry, Mack—or rather, York Newgate. But you’re wanted for questioning in the kidnapping and murder of Jason Mack.”