Silent Night Threat. Michelle Karl

      Natasha had a twelve-year-old daughter. His relationship with Natasha Stark had ended a little over twelve years ago.

      Every time he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye as they drove, he had to swallow down the lump that formed in his throat. They had been young and foolish and had made the mistake of becoming intimate before truly understanding the consequences. But even so, Chris had loved her with his whole heart. They’d stopped their covert trysts after attending a church youth rally, where Natasha had gone up to the front of the auditorium during an altar call to dedicate herself to living for Jesus and pursuing a life of faith. He hadn’t been fully convinced, but he’d respected her decision and tried to do right by her. He’d talked to the leaders in her church, read his grandmother’s Bible and decided that the right thing to do was propose.

      Even at the time, he’d wondered if Natasha had taken to her faith so suddenly because her family demanded it of her or because she really believed. As a state senator, her father had an image to maintain, a certain theoretical family standard to uphold in order to be better positioned for reelection. Her father had never approved of him, but he hadn’t interfered in their relationship. Chris had thought that asking Natasha to marry him would be enough to keep them together. Clearly he’d never been enough for her, either.

      She was too much like her father. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but what choice had he had? She hadn’t fought back or disagreed. Her father’s threat ensured that he left and never contacted them again, and Chris hadn’t been about to humiliate himself by groveling. And he hadn’t wanted to. He’d heard what Mr. Stark called his parents when he thought Chris couldn’t hear, and it wasn’t a description Chris would ever repeat in polite company.

      When an email had come from her, he’d deleted it. When a letter arrived, he’d burned it. If her faith and her father had turned her against him, made her believe she was better than him, he wanted nothing to do with it or with her, ever again.

      And now Natasha was in his FBI vehicle, wearing clothes from the hospital lost-and-found box—a button-down plaid shirt and a pair of oversize swim trunks tied tightly at the waist. Her clothes had been taken for testing. A twelve-year-old daughter, he repeated to himself. Could Natasha have kept something like that from me all this time?

      She wouldn’t be able to answer that question until she got her memories back. He tried not to care, and he tried to tell himself he could be patient. Now that he worked in the area, he could ask her about Hayley someday in the future. But something deep inside persisted in wanting to be near the girl now, or at the very least catch a glimpse of Hayley. At least then I’ll know, he thought. One way or the other. A father would recognize his own daughter, wouldn’t he? For both their sakes, he hoped his suspicions were wrong. Then he could put it out of his thoughts and concentrate fully on wrapping up this case and getting out of Natasha’s life as quickly as possible.

      “Do you think we could swing by my place first?” She held the sheet from the doctor out in front of her. “It can’t be too far of a detour.”

      Chris’s heart skipped a beat. “I don’t see why not. The NASA physician isn’t expecting you at a certain time?”

      “I’m supposed to get there as soon as possible, but there’s not a set time, no. Before everyone goes home for the day, I assume.” She chuckled softly, then sighed. “I’m already at an embarrassing disadvantage by not being able to remember critical pieces of information. I’d rather not further embarrass myself by showing up to my place of employment in lost-and-found couture.”

      “Point taken. Your address is on the sheet from the hospital, right? Punch it into the GPS, and we’ll make the stop.”

      He turned the volume up on the radio once she’d entered the address, and the cheerful sound of Christmas carols resonated through the SUV’s interior, discouraging further conversation. What would they say to each other, anyway? Any conversation would be one-sided and risk mentally taxing Natasha further. The whole situation seemed like a terrible mess, and in his professional opinion, it seemed like she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A mugging gone sideways, maybe—though that didn’t explain the drone or the car wreck. That was targeting, plain and simple, possibly by muggers who thought she’d caught a glimpse of their faces? It seemed a little extreme to go to such lengths, but he couldn’t discount any possibility.

      “It’s going to be a pain replacing my ID,” she muttered. “It’s not like I can call the credit-card companies and confirm my identity to replace the cards. And at Christmas, too! There’s no time to get this figured out and get all my cards replaced in just a week. I hope I’ve already done the shopping for Hayley’s gifts. No child should wake up to an empty space beneath the tree. Oh, I hope I already have a tree, too.”

      “Maybe the credit-card company’s security questions will jog your memory, or maybe those will be some of the details you didn’t lose,” he suggested. “You never know until you try.”

      “Good point.” She sighed again. “And thank you. For doing this, for driving me. You didn’t need to.”

      “I kind of did. It’s been my assignment to find you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you to fend for yourself after all that’s happened. Besides, you haven’t quite found all of yourself yet, so to speak.”

      She laughed, a strong, deep sound that warmed him from the inside. He’d forgotten how much he missed that sound—and he hadn’t counted on how much it would hurt to hear it again.

      “I appreciate that. And I definitely could use a friendly face for a while longer. Technically, right now you’re my oldest friend.” She grew quiet for a few minutes before continuing the conversation. “Are you married, Agent Barton?”

      “Christopher. Call me Chris.”

      “Okay, Chris. Are you married? Kids?”

      There was that lump in his throat again. “No, can’t say that I am.” He sneaked a look at her. She blinked at him with her wide-eyed innocence, and it took all his restraint not to blurt out the truth. But what good would it do? Her head had started pounding at the hospital after a few questions from the police. Tossing out information from a bad situation that had happened twelve years ago would serve only to exacerbate her condition. As soon as he thought she was healthy enough to handle it, they’d talk. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he wanted to delay any longer than necessary.

      She reached over and squeezed his upper arm. “Hey, it’s okay. These things happen when they’re supposed to happen.”

      “Did I look sad?” Well, that was embarrassing.

      “Kind of, yes. A muscle in your cheek has this tic...” Her voice trailed off as everything inside the car seemed to grow still. Even the radio had grown quiet, causing the silence to permeate every molecule of air between them.

      All those years ago, she’d used to kiss that very spot on his cheek every time he’d retreated inside himself. He’d been the glue holding his family together—between his mom’s ill health, his dad’s gambling addiction and his younger brother’s tendency to spend nights locked in a cell, someone had needed to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Natasha always knew when the weight of responsibility was beginning to crush him underfoot, and she used to tenderly place her lips against his cheek.

      “Make a left turn in fifty feet,” said the disembodied voice of the GPS. “Your destination will be on your right.”

      “Does any of this look familiar?” Jolted out of memory, he scanned the street as they turned onto it. She lived in a decent-looking neighborhood, a typical middle-class residential area. Inflatable Christmas decorations lay flat on a number of lawns, colorful fabric puddles waiting for nightfall so they could come to life. Other homes were decorated with strings of lights, plastic reindeer and garland streamers that rustled in the breeze. He’d grown up in Florida, but after a few years in the Midwest and farther north, in states that actually received snow in December, it was odd to reconcile inflatable snowman decor with green