CHAPTER 2
Sophie staredat the man for a second then she felt the wind pick up. She swiped her hair out of her eyes and looked at the horizon. The clouds that had been on the horizon were at the water’s edge and moving in. She felt the first drops of rain on her cheeks and knew she had to move fast to get the man inside before the deluge began.
“Mister? Sir? We have to move. Wake up!” She silently apologized to the man as she shoved against his shoulder and heard him moan. “Come on, we have to go inside. It’s starting to rain.”
He didn’t stir. As she stared at the guy, she knew if he didn’t help her, he’d be on the beach for the storm’s entirety. At least six inches taller than she, he also easily outweighed her. She shoved him again and then remembered his last words. If it worked to get him moving, she’d ask forgiveness later. “Hey, we have to move before he comes back,” she shouted in his ear. That did the trick.
With a dazed but determined look in his eyes, the man struggled to his feet and with her supporting him under one arm, they shambled to the house. Sophie leaned him against the wall as she quickly punched in the door code and then opened thedoor. The wind was coming in from the sea so the door facing the sound gave them a little protection, but the rain still had both of them soaked by the time they got inside and she shut the door.
Sophie struggled to get the guy to the leather sofa and watched as he fell onto the couch bonelessly. He was out again. She sighed and went to open the curtains covering the double window facing the sea. As she did, she watched the rain pound against the window and sighed. Hopefully, there would be a break in the storm so she could get her unexpected guest to the mainland and help for the concussion she suspected he had.
She remembered her phone and pulled it from her back pocket as she looked for a paper towel to mop up the water at the entranceway. As she swiped at the puddle of sandy water with her feet, she looked at the absence of bars on her phone. “Great,” she muttered then turned to examine the man.
“Wish you’d at least told me your name before you passed out again,” she said as she went into the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth and towel. She carried them to the kitchen and wet the washcloth then, with a shrug, opened the liquor cabinet and removed the whiskey. It would serve as disinfectant and maybe a pick me up to get her guy awake.
She looked him over again and noted the dirty clothes. Should she look for any cuts, she thought and then shook her head. Not now. There wasn’t any blood on his clothes, so if there was any injury underneath the jeans and knit shirt, they couldn’t be major. His head was another matter.
She leaned closer, looking at the mop of dark hair. There, near his left temple, a matted area revealed blood and when she gently parted his hair, Sophie saw a seeping gash. She grimaced and then looked at the pristine white cloth she held. Nope. She stood and pulled the paper towel off the vertical stand and brought it to the sofa, along with a bowl of warm water. Tearing off a generous amount of paper, she wet it with the water andstarted dabbing at the cut and hair around it. Several crumpled towels later, she had the cut as clean as it could be without shaving the area. She opened the whiskey, grimacing at the strong odor and the memories it evoked. She doused the paper towel with the stuff and then with a deep breath, pressed it against the man’s cut.
His eyes opened with a jerk and Sophie found herself starring into the icy blue depths. “It’s okay. I’m just cleaning your wound,” she said in as calm a voice as she could muster.
“My wound?”
“You’ve got a pretty bad cut on your head. What happened? Did you fall out of a boat?”
He looked at her, a small frown forming as he did. “Fall? No.” His frown deepened and he closed his eyes. “Don’t remember.”
Sophie’s mouth thinned. He might say he didn’t remember, but in the instant before his eyes had closed, she’d seen something there. Something that told her he was lying.
He openedhis eyes to find the room growing dim. The woman was standing at the large window where rain batted against the pane. From her stance, arms folded in front of her, he knew she wasn’t happy. The question was, did he know her?
His head ached with a fierceness that reminded him of being in the middle east after a particularly difficult mission, but this wasn’t the sandbox. No rain there, and it was pleasantly cool in the room.
He didn’t move his head when he surveyed the room, moving his eyes hurt enough. Nice, leather furniture, light, muted colors, and a pleasant, clean smell. Definitely not the sandbox he remembered.
He must have moved, or maybe she just sensed his wakefulness and she turned to look at him. “You’re awake.”
“Mmm.”
“We might not be able to leave the island tonight. The storm is not moving.” She advanced a couple of steps but stopped far enough away from him that he wondered if he’d threatened her or done something to frighten her.
“Where are we?” Had she said something before? Or had he dreamed her?
“Off the coast of Appalachicola in Florida. The west side,” she amended when he didn’t say anything.
He tried to remember why he’d be on this side of the state, or in the state at all, for that matter. The last thing he remembered was flying out of Montana after a meeting with Hank Patterson, but when? “What day is it?”
“Monday.”
“What day of the month?”
“The twenty- second of December,” she supplied then studied him. “Do you remember coming to the island?”
He started to shake his head then thought better of it. Had he thrown up earlier? His mouth felt like it. “No.”
“Did you have a boat? Did someone bring you?” she pressed and he quelled the urge to yell in frustration, both at himself and her.
“I don’t remember. I don’t even remember being in Florida.”
