Hidden Identity. Alice Sharpe

you?”

      There went that hope. “Kind of,” he said carefully.

      “I don’t remember you.”

      “Not at all?”

      Her eyes widened. “No. Should I? I mean, yes, of course I should—you called me by a name.”

      “Chelsea Pierce,” he said.

      “Then you know me?”

      “Yes,” he said, confused. He sat back on his heels. “Do you remember how you got in the helicopter, who the passenger was, the gunshot, the pilot? How you got here, what happened...anything?”

      She shook her head and winced. “No, none of that. I don’t even know who I am.”

      His throat went dry. She was talking about amnesia. He’d known she was confused but he hadn’t followed that trail to this conclusion. “We have to leave,” he said.

      “Now?”

      “Yes.”

      Her brow narrowed. “I don’t understand. Where are we going?”

      “We’re both in danger. We have to get away from here right now.”

      She sat up slowly and his heart went out to her. He saw no blood on her tan jeans and that probably meant the pregnancy hadn’t terminated. “Do you hurt anywhere besides your head?” he asked her.

      “My knee hurts a little.”

      “How about your...tummy or abdomen? You know, where the pressure from the seat belt might have...bruised you?”

      “No,” she said.

      He took her hands and pulled her upright, resisting the urge to hug her reassuringly, sensing it wouldn’t have that effect. His gaze dropped to her midsection. She’d lost weight since he’d last seen her, but there was definitely a small swelling that hadn’t existed before. He tried to figure out how far along she could be and decided on no more than four months. He handed her the rain gear he’d set aside to shelter her from the weather and helped her put it on. “Hurry,” he said with a last look around.

      They walked down to the river to the Jeep and he helped her climb aboard. The rain was coming down harder now. Once he’d stowed the rifle and jumped behind the wheel, she looked up at him, her face shaded by the oversized hood, blue eyes questioning. “What should I call you?”

      Would the name Steven ring any latent bells that might help her place him? Probably not, so he gave her his real name. “Adam.” He was done lying to her.

      “Nice to meet you,” she said with a wan smile.

      The Jeep waddled into the river like an old wrestler climbing back into the ring. Thanks to the almost daily treks along this river, he knew to stay close to the western bank, where the water was relatively shallow. When he spied a small grove of red-barked madrones, it would be time to cross the river to the opposite shore, but only until a dead pine tree signaled a pool ahead, at which time he’d cross back to the west. It was slow going, the river gurgling under the vehicle, water washing under the doors and dousing their feet during the cross to the other side. A few times he turned to look behind to see if anyone was there, or to stare up into the sky. It was during one such glance that he remembered he’d left the binoculars hanging under the eaves. Lightning flashed to the south and he counted under his breath. On six, a clap of thunder sounded to the east.

      At last he found the place to exit the river to access the logging road and jerked the steering wheel to the left. The Jeep grumbled its way out of the shallow water. The tires spun on the mud before finding purchase on harder ground. He drove forward a hundred feet, then ran back to scatter forest debris to cover their tracks. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do. He ran back to the Jeep and gunned the engine.

      The road was eroded and heavily rutted. He dodged the worst of it while steadily climbing. Every now and again, he’d have to stop to use the front mounted winch to pull aside fallen branches, or shift rocks out of the way, then restart their journey. During those short breaks, he listened for the approach of another vehicle or aircraft. All he ever heard was the sound of thunder getting closer.

      Chelsea silently allowed him to work. What did she make of this frantic dash in the rain with a man who was a stranger to her? When would she start demanding an explanation?

      And what would he tell her?

      Anything she wants to know, he told himself.

      From the first moment he’d seen her he’d been drawn to her humor and beauty. It was like a man standing in the middle of the desert being hit by a rainsquall. All the loneliness and restlessness that had plagued him for well over a year disappeared with the genuine wattage of her smile. For someone with no past he could ever talk about, suddenly having a future had filled him with renewed energy and that bred hope. Weeks of being with her, loving her, spinning dreams, well, that had been heaven on earth, until he had to leave without telling her, knowing he’d never see her again and that she would never know he’d faked his own death.

      Just as he’d faked almost everything she thought she knew about him.

      If she ever got her memory back, she’d hate his guts and he wouldn’t blame her.

      And now, wonder of wonders, here she was, carrying his baby and not knowing who either one of them were.

      “Why are you staring at me?” she asked.

      “You’re very pretty,” he responded.

      “I feel like a drowned rat and I’m the one with the rain parka. Thank you for that.”

      “You’re welcome. How’s your head feeling?”

      “Probably a lot like the tires on this Jeep.”

      “Hopefully we can stop pretty soon and you can stretch out.”

      “Hmm...” she said. Her face grew serious. “Back at the cabin you asked if I remembered a gunshot. What did you mean?”

      “Your pilot had a fresh gunshot wound in his arm,” he said.

      “Is that what caused the crash?”

      “I don’t know. I doubt it. I was hoping you could tell me.”

      “And who exactly are you?” she asked, her brow narrowing.

      He felt a vibration in his pocket and took out the monitor. Back at the cabin, a vehicle had triggered the road sensor. It would take about ten minutes to get to the cabin, another five or so to tear the place apart. Maybe they’d take a look at the downed chopper. For that matter, maybe the sensor had detected a police car or emergency vehicles sent to investigate the crash site. There was no way of knowing for sure who was on their way up the road. With any luck he might be able to see when the Jeep reached the top of this blasted mountain and he could chance a scan below.

      “What’s that?” she asked as she stared at the little electronic device in his hand.

      “Insurance.”

      She shook her head, then closed her eyes. “Why are we running away?”

      “Someone is after me. Or us, I guess. I promise I’ll tell you more but not now.”

      Speculation settled on her face as she peered at him. Of all her expressions he’d witnessed over the months, this one of wariness was new. He yearned for her to look at him the way she had before. Fat chance of that right now.

      “Okay,” she said at last. “I’ll wait.”

      Thirty minutes later the Jeep, as victorious as a wheezing climber, crested the hill. “I’ll be right back,” he told Chelsea, stopping under the trees where there was still some cover from the rain.

      She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded.

      He fetched a smaller, less powerful set of binoculars out of the glove box and walked