Frozen Memories. Cassie Miles

she’d taken training. Every agent in her division was required to learn the basics of law enforcement and firearms. “Quantico,” she whispered.

      “That’s right,” he said. “You trained at the FBI facilities.”

      The FBI? She was an agent? It hardly seemed possible that a real federal agent would attempt to subdue an attacker with a violin bow. “I don’t think I’m in the FBI.”

      “You’re in the NSA, in the Cyber Security division.”

      Sure, why not? She turned away from Gorgeous Parka Guy, flipped the violin onto her shoulder and played the opening notes of “Blackbird” to show there were no hard feelings. Perhaps a silly, delusional thing to do, but it seemed like a positive gesture.

      Angelica asked Pastor Clarence, “Would you please reach inside his jacket and disarm him?”

      “Wait,” Parka Guy said. “I can save us a lot of time if I take off my own weapons.”

      “Fine.” Angelica perched on the edge of her hard-back chair and continued to play the classic Beatles song. She segued to “Yesterday.”

      Concern about Gorgeous lingered in the back of her mind, but she wasn’t scared of him. The opposite, in fact. She felt safe, ridiculously safe considering that she’d just escaped from four thugs and she was some kind of agent who had special training. She really ought to worry, especially since he was carrying two Glocks, an eight-inch serrated hunting knife and a small-caliber pistol in an ankle holster strapped above his heavy-duty boots.

      Stripped of his weapons and his parka, he approached her, stood and waited for her to finish her violin solo. Gently, he took the instrument and the bow from her hands and laid them on the long, wooden dining table. He came back to her, leaned down and gazed directly into her eyes. “Say my name.”

      Her breath caught in her throat. The whirlwind of confusion buffeting inside her head went still, and she was suspended, floating in midair. She felt neither cold nor hot, neither right nor wrong, neither safe nor terrified. She was simply there.

      “Spencer,” she said. “Spence Malone.”

      And then she was in his arms. The cold from outdoors still clung to his Irish fisherman’s sweater, but the internal heat from his body raised the temperature. She snuggled against him, inhaling the natural scent of lamb’s wool and warm man.

      He whispered in her ear, “You couldn’t forget me.”

      Apparently, she’d guessed correctly.

       Chapter Three

      Now she knew his name was Spence Malone, but Angelica had no idea what that meant to her. He was incredibly good-looking, just exactly her type. She glided her hand across his rock-hard chest and down his arm. Even through his thick sweater, she felt the ridges of his biceps. Were they lovers?

      He tilted her chin so she was gazing up at him. His blue eyes flicked from left to right, reading her expression. “Seems like you’ve forgotten a few things,” he said.

      “A few.” She shrugged.

      “What do you recall?”

      “There were four men, big guys, dumb as dirt.” His penetrating gaze was like a truth-seeking missile, and she wasn’t sure how much she should reveal. She turned toward Trudy and said, “Remember? I told you about them. One had a Texas accent. They were armed with HK417 assault rifles. They took me to a cabin.”

      “And she mentioned a van,” Trudy said helpfully, “a dark blue or black van.”

      Leaning down, Spence kissed her forehead. The light touch of his lips set off a chain reaction of shivers that had more to do with her internal engine than with the snow and cold. Her inner machinery had definitely come back to life. She exhaled a soft moan.

      “What else?” he murmured.

      Resisting him wasn’t going to be easy. “Nothing much.”

      “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

      But maybe she’d better not. Though his tone was gentle and cajoling, she knew he was digging, probing, interrogating. If he discovered the gaps in her memory, what would he do? He said he was a federal agent, but that didn’t mean he was innocent.

      She turned the tables with a question of her own. “What do you do for the FBI?”

      “Mostly administrative stuff,” he said in a silky voice. “Do you remember where we are?”

      “Near Peterson Air Force Base.” Luckily, the pastor had provided her with that much info.

      “Do you know why we’re here?”

      “For one thing, my parents live near here.” Before she could think twice, she said their names. “Peter and Lana Thorne.”

      “General Thorne?” Pastor Clarence straightened his posture, almost as though he was snapping to attention. “You’re their daughter?”

      “One of their daughters,” she corrected.

      Her memories came fast and furious as a mental family portrait formed. There were two girls and two boys. Angelica was second or third oldest depending on who was doing the counting. She and her sister, Selena, were identical twins, and they always argued about who was born first. The youngest—a boy who chose the marine corps over the air force, much to his father’s chagrin—had moved out last year. Though Dad was mostly retired, her parents kept their six-bedroom house in the hills above Manitou Springs.

      She was looking forward to visiting them and having them meet Spence, which meant he must be important to her. Since it wasn’t her habit to introduce casual lovers to the parents, Spencer Malone must have a different significance. Maybe she worked with him. He was a born leader, similar to her high-ranking father. Both were tough, competitive and feisty.

      She gave him a grin. “You and Dad are going to love each other.”

      The gleam from his cool blue eyes dimmed. “You introduced me to your father yesterday.”

      “Indeed.” Couldn’t be. That’s not something I’d forget. She treasured every moment with her mom and dad. Family was everything to her.

      “We were at their house for dinner. You don’t remember?”

      “Give me a minute. It’ll come back.”

      He sat her on the hard-back chair. His touch became less sensual and more clinical as he massaged her scalp. “Does your head feel sore? Is there a possibility of concussion?”

      “I was afraid of this,” Trudy said as she clenched her fingers into a knot. “It’s amnesia, isn’t it?”

      “Maybe,” Spence said. “She needs a CT scan. And she ought to be examined by a doctor.”

      “We put in a 911 call,” Trudy said. “It felt like an hour ago.”

      “I’ll call again,” Clarence said. “They warned me about slow response time on account of the weather. And there was a pileup accident on I-25. When I told the dispatcher she wasn’t bleeding and didn’t appear to have broken bones, he suggested I drive her myself if it was possible.”

      “I’ll take care of it,” Spence said.

      “Wait!” Angelica waved both hands to interrupt the plans that were being made for her. She was wide-awake, sitting right here, and she didn’t like having other people take control of her life. “I don’t need a hospital. I didn’t hit my head.”

      Spence hunkered down in front of her. He captured her fluttering hands and held them. “Would you remember if you had?”

      “Did you find any bumps on my head?” she demanded. “No, you did not. And my skull doesn’t feel concussed. There are plenty of other