Blank Slate (4 page)

The
warmth of the fire was at her back, and despite her current predicament,
Clarissa smiled to herself. She liked the snow. Maybe she always had? Or maybe
not. Regardless, it made her feel less like a stranger in her own skin.

Speaking
of which…Clarissa resumed her search for a bathroom, and consequently, a
mirror. Easing through one of the two closed doors, she found an office space, complete
with a heavy oak desk. A computer monitor stood on top of the burnished wood’s
surface, and Clarissa stopped to stare at it. She felt drawn to it, almost an
itch in her hands to sit down at the keyboard. How odd. Resisting the urge to
satisfy her curiosity, and seeing as there was no attached bath, she retreated.
Only a closet full of coats, boots, gloves and other assorted winter
paraphernalia lay behind door number two.

Which
left only one option.

A
clock above the fireplace showed a half hour had passed since the cop had gone
to bed. Surely he’d be asleep by now? He’d seemed exhausted, with lines of
fatigue around his eyes. Not that Clarissa should care if he was tired. Sure,
he’d saved her, but he’d been chasing her in the first place, accused her of
lying, and was going to turn her in to the FBI.

She’d
have to do something about that part.

Pausing
inside the doorway, Clarissa let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The glow from
the fireplace wasn’t much, but enough so she could just see the outline of the
bed. An inky rectangle to her left seemed to promise an open doorway to the
bathroom.

Clarissa
carefully skirted the bed, on which she could now make out a lumpy form that
could only be Agent Langston. Her gaze caught on a slight metallic reflection
on the table next to the bed.

Keys.

Okay,
change of plan. Apparently, she was adaptable. Forget the mirror, she had keys.
Keys that would get her inside the car outside and take her far away from this
man who’d hunted her, seemed to know way too much about her misdeeds, and wanted
to put her in jail.

Clarissa
stood very still, barely breathing, just listening. She could hear Langston
breathing too, slow and deep. Her steps on the thick carpet were silent as she
reached for the keys, her fingers brushing the cold metal.

A
hand clamped down like a vice on her wrist. Clarissa cried out in surprise, the
metal keys pressing sharply into the palm of her hand as she reflexively
clenched them.

“Going
somewhere?”

The
cop’s icy voice sent a shiver of alarm up Clarissa’s spine. She fought for
nonchalance as she said, “The thought crossed my mind.”

Keeping
a tight grip on her arm, Agent Langston reached out and flipped on the bedside
lamp. Clarissa blinked in the sudden glow, though it wasn’t very bright.

Despite
her attempts to resist him, Agent Langston turned her hand palm up and pried
the keys from her grip.

“Not
going to happen,” he said, pushing the keys into the pocket of his jeans.

Clarissa
swallowed hard. Agent Langston had taken off his shirt to go to bed, and the
light from the lamp revealed a broad expanse of male skin. The muscles in his
chest and arms were flexed as he held her captive.

It
really was too bad he was a cop, Clarissa thought.

“You
can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said sweetly, pulling at her arm until he
released her. She rubbed her wrist, not that it hurt, but for something to do
so she wouldn’t stare at him. Her heart was racing so fast she was sure he
could hear it, though she hoped he attributed it to her botched escape attempt
rather than him.

How
absurd, her reaction to him. You’d think she’d never had a boyfriend before.

Had
she?

The
thought sobered her. She had bigger problems than a sexy, half-naked FBI man.

“Looks
like we’re going to have to do this the hard way,” Agent Langston said.

Clarissa
watched with too much nonprofessional interest as he got up and grabbed
something off the bureau. When he turned around, her eyebrows shot upward.

“Oh
no,” she said, backing away. “You are not going to use those.”

Agent
Langston opened the metal handcuffs with a quick flick of his wrist. “You don’t
leave me much choice.”

“I
swear I’ll be good,” Clarissa offered. “I won’t try to escape.”

“You’re
right. You won’t.”

He
had her cornered now.

“Wait!”
she said.

He
paused.

“I
have to…you know…” She jerked her head toward the bathroom.

“Fine,”
Langston said. “You’ve got five minutes. Don’t make me come in after you.”

Clarissa
disappeared into the bathroom, flicking on the light before closing the door. It
was a windowless room; no help there. Turning on the faucet to cover any noise
she made, she began searching.

“Time’s
up,” Langston called through the door a short time later.

Clarissa
briefly contemplated putting up a fight, but he was a lot bigger than she was and
she’d probably end up being the one hurt. She decided to bide her time. The
more she cooperated, the more off guard he would become, the easier it would be
to escape. She opened the door.

Langston
was waiting, cuffs in hand. The cold metal locked around her wrist. She looked
up at him, but he was looking down, concentrating on making sure the handcuff
was secure. He was so close she could see the thickness of his eyelashes and
catch the scent of his skin.

It
wasn’t a bad smell at all. In fact, she rather liked it.

“Come
on,” he said, tugging the cuffs so Clarissa had no choice but to follow him. When
he approached the bed, Clarissa’s brows climbed.

“You’re
handcuffing me to the bed?” she asked, glancing at him. “If I’d known this was standard
operating procedure, I would’ve gotten arrested sooner.” To her surprise, the quip
caused a faint red to tint his ears. How adorable was that?

“I
have to keep my eyes on you, and I need some sleep.”

The
urge to see the cop get even more embarrassed was too strong to resist. “You
sure you don’t want to keep more than your eyes on me?” Clarissa asked with a
mischievous grin. So he was an FBI agent who believed her to be a criminal,
thought she was lying to him about her memory, but turned red at her teasing
innuendos. He was a bit of a contradiction. How interesting.

Erik
clenched his jaw, trying to hold on to his temper. He was tired, pissed off at
how this whole thing had gone down, and irritated that he was stuck in the
middle of Nowhere, Colorado, riding out a snowstorm with a woman who looked
more like a college girl wearing her boyfriend’s clothes than a hardened
criminal and murderer.

“Sit
down,” he ordered.

She
looked down, then back up at him.

“Sit,”
he repeated.

“On
the floor?” she asked, her tone bewildered.

“Yes,
the floor.”

O’Connell’s
forehead puckered. “No.”

Erik’s
eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me? ‘No,’ did you say?”

“It’s
cold and hard on the floor,” she pouted. “And I’ve been hurt. You shouldn’t
make me sleep on the floor.”

“The
carpet’s thick; you’ll be fine,” Erik said, ignoring the niggle of guilt in the
back of his mind.

For
a moment, he didn’t think she was going to do it, which left him wondering how
exactly he would make her, but she finally gave in, sitting down with a dignity
and grace that belied her overlarge clothes. After locking the other handcuff
around the bedpost, he gave it a jerk to make sure it was secure. He was
turning away when he saw a quick wince cross her face. Erik hesitated.

“You
all right?” he asked before he could think better of it.

O’Connell
gave a stiff smile of long-suffering that made Erik wonder how many times she’d
had to practice that in front of a mirror.

“If
it wouldn’t put you out too much for a pillow and blanket?” she asked.

As
Erik grabbed the requested items, he had a quick flash of what his mother would
say if she saw he was making an injured woman sleep on the floor, handcuffed to
the bed. She wouldn’t care that said woman was wanted by the FBI. Erik grimaced
at the thought of the lecture he’d get.

“Here,”
he said, depositing the pillow and blanket next to her on the floor. He watched
as she awkwardly struggled to position the pillow with one hand before
arranging the blanket. When her breath caught and she froze, her face draining
of color, Erik’s conscience reared its head.

Before
he even realized what he was doing, he’d unlocked the handcuff and picked her
up. After depositing her on the bed, he snagged the metal again, quickly
locking it around the iron bars at the head of the bed. They were topped by a
thick piece of wood, making an interesting headboard and a very convenient spot
to cuff O’Connell.

She
caught his eye and lifted a delicately arched brow. “Is this your side or
mine?”

“Yours,”
he bit out between clenched teeth. His tone didn’t seem to faze her, the tiny
smile she wore making him want to curse his mother for ingraining chivalry into
his very bones.

O’Connell
shook the handcuffs, causing an irritating clanging noise, which Erik ignored
as he rounded the bed. It wasn’t a big bed, but she wasn’t that big either, so
it would be fine. He certainly wasn’t going to sleep on the floor.

“Thank
you, Agent Langston,” she said as he lay back down, keeping a good distance
between them.

“Whatever,”
Erik sighed, closing his eyes. God, he was tired.

It
was blessedly quiet for a few moments before, “So where are we?”

Erik
didn’t bother opening his eyes. “A cabin. In the woods.”

“I
see that,” she said tartly. “I meant what country? State?”

Erik
cracked an eye, glancing at her. “Still going with the memory thing?”

She
did not look amused. “Just tell me.”

“Colorado,”
he replied, turning away again. “We were near Vail. Now I don’t know where the
hell we are.”

O’Connell
seemed to process this, and Erik thought he’d finally be able to sleep. She
quickly disabused him of that notion.

“What’s
going to happen tomorrow?”

“We’re
going to get out of here,” he replied. “I’ll drop you off at the office in
Denver.”

“Where
will you go?”

“DC.”

Silence.

“You
said I had family.  Where are they?”

“They’re
both in prison.”

That
shut her up, but only for a moment.

“What
did they do? How long have they been in prison?”

“Armed
robbery. Your dad’s been in for fifteen years. Your brother’s served two years
of a twenty-five-year sentence.”

“What
am I doing in Colorado?” she asked. “How did you know I was here?”

Erik’s
temper flared. He abruptly sat up and leaned over O’Connell. She flinched
backward in surprise.

“Stop
this bullshit!” he demanded. “You know why your family is all in prison and why
you’re here. It’s what Solomon had you doing — breaking into his competition’s
homes to embezzle their money and expose their secrets. I’ve been tracking you
for months and got a tip on who the next hit would be. Now, I don’t give a shit
if you want to keep playing the damsel in distress card, but I’m not buying it.
What I do want is for you to shut up so I can get some sleep!”

His
voice ended in a near-shout, which he immediately regretted. Keeping a tight
grip on his temper was something Erik took pride in; the fact that this girl
was able to undermine that was disconcerting.

O’Connell’s
green eyes were wide as she stared at him. For a moment, Erik didn’t move, his
breath coming hard after his tirade. He realized suddenly how close their
bodies were, his arms braced on either side of her as she lay half reclined
against the pillows. His memory conjured the image of her pulling on the
ill-fitting borrowed clothes while he’d watched from the shadows, unable to
look away.

The
firelight had danced across her skin, illuminating shadows and valleys and making
her skin appear like warm ivory. The red of her hair was an echo of the flames,
her fingers carelessly pushed through what Erik knew were silky, soft strands. Her
arms had stretched over her head as she put on the shirt, and the black lace of
her bra had seemed inadequate to hold the plump flesh that spilled from its
confines. Erik had nearly groaned aloud at the sight before her breasts had disappeared
from view.

In
a move he was sure she had done just to torture him, she’d turned her back and
bent at the waist to pull on the pants he’d given her. A light sweat had broken
out on his forehead, and Erik wouldn’t have blinked if a gun had been held to
his head.

Then
the show had been over, though the effect on his body had been damn
inconvenient, just as it was now as he struggled to dispel the images in his
head.

O’Connell
didn’t speak, but neither did she seem frightened. She looked more interested
than anything else, studying him curiously. Her tongue darted out to wet her
lips, and Erik’s gaze fell to her mouth.

The
electricity between them was suddenly thick, prickling Erik’s awareness and
heightening his senses. The silence was a living thing, the only sound the
pounding of his blood in his ears.

“It
sounds like you could really use a vacation,” O’Connell said thoughtfully. And
the tension was broken.

Erik
collapsed back onto his side of the bed, a huff of laughter escaping him. “You’ve
got that right,” he sighed. Especially if he was going to start being sexually
attracted to the criminals he hunted. He gave a mental shake of his head. Fatigue
and stress were getting to him, that was all. And obviously going too long
between one-night stands. Kaminski had been right, which was painful to admit.

Thankfully,
she was quiet then. The bed dipped slightly with her movements as she got
comfortable. He heard another sharp intake of breath, but Erik resisted asking
if she was all right. After a few minutes, she settled, and he closed his eyes.