She had no idea how completely. But over the next two days, locked together in that hotel room and barely coming up for air, she would find out.
Scott Taylor was everything she’d dreamed of and she just wanted to hold on to him for a little while. Was that so wrong?
• • •
Natalie blinked, recoiling from the light that set off an explosion of pain in her head as she slowly came back to consciousness.
Ithadbeen a dream. If only she could keep her eyes closed and never remember what had come next.
She opened her eyes and saw two worried faces leaning over her.
“How do you feel?” Becky asked.
Natalie lifted her head only to feel a fresh explosion of pain that made her put her head back down on the hard ground behind her.
“Easy,” the sheriff said, putting his hand on her arm. “You hit your head pretty hard on the pavement when you fainted. You’ve been out of it for a couple minutes. I was about to call an ambulance.”
Natalie winced as she reached around behind her head and felt the bump, which confirmed what he’d said. Fainted? Suddenly the memory came back to her in a hot rush. For one incredible, horrible moment she thought she’d seen the man she’d loved. Incredible because he was dead, and horrible because even in death she knew how much he must hate her.
Her chest squeezed with a fresh wave of pain. For the hundredth time, she wished she could go back and change things.
But what would she change? Meeting him at that bar and going to bed with him? Having Mick find out about him before she could get Scott away from her? Or falling in love with him when she was supposed to be spying on him? If she needed any more proof of her self-imposed Worst Spy Ever title—which she didn’t—that was it. What kind of “honey” falls in love with her trap? A foolish one who was courting heartbreak and misery. Most of all she wished she could change the message that hadn’t reached him in time to save his life.
“I fainted?” she repeated, and then frowned. “I never faint.”
Becky smiled. “Well, you gave a good impression. One minute you were standing there, the next you were white as a sheet and flat on the ground.”
Feeling silly, Natalie started to sit up. But the worldstarted to swim so horribly she had to stop for a minute so she didn’t throw up.
“Not so fast,” the sheriff said. “Maybe I should call that ambulance.”
“No ambulance, please,” Natalie said. “I’m fine.”
But clearly neither the sheriff nor Becky believed her.
“Okay,” the sheriff said. “But we’re taking you to urgent care. It’s just down the block.”
Natalie was feeling bad enough not to argue—even if she thought it would have done her any good. They helped her up and started to lead her down the block, supporting her on each side.
“You said a name,” the sheriff said, eyeing her sideways. “It sounded like ‘Scott.’”
Natalie hoped he would attribute the sudden loss of blood in her face to her injury. She shook her head—which was a mistake as she would have stumbled if they hadn’t been holding her.
When she found her equilibrium again, she was ready with an explanation. She hadn’t seen him, and she wasn’t going to say anything to make them curious. Scott was dead. Mick had been only so happy to tell her that her attempt to call off the mission hadn’t worked. The entire platoon had been killed in the missile blast.
“I said ‘shoot.’ I didn’t eat much today and low blood sugar must have caught up with me when I tried to move too fast.” She smiled at Becky. “Next time I’ll have some of that sandwich you offered me.”
“Or she could let you take a break for lunch,” the sheriff said with a reproachful glance at Becky. “All some people think about are their jobs.”
The diminutive brunette seemed to grow a few inches taller in outrage. She obviously didn’t appreciate the implication. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
Natalie rushed to Becky’s defense, even if she didn’t need it, as it looked as if an argument was brewing.“Becky tried to get me to take a lunch break, but I was in the middle of something and didn’t want to stop. I guess I learned my lesson.”
Fortunately, the conversation didn’t go any further as they arrived at the urgent care facility and Natalie spent the next hour in a number of medical rooms being poked, prodded, and scanned.
The sheriff and Becky were checking on her while she waited for the doctor in the final room where they’d wheeled her in after the scan. Dr. Peters, as he introduced himself, was probably in his mid-fifties, slightly paunchy, with thick wavy gray hair that was long enough to suggest he took pride in it, and a kind face.
He stood right beside the bed, looking down at her. “How are you feeling?”
