Page 32 of Unchained

Please, God, let his sister be alive.

CHAPTER 11

Cam sucked on the lip of her glass at the highway diner she’d insisted they stop at for food. After remembering he had a sister, Brooks had been almost too shaken to continue, let alone drive. She watched as he scarfed down his second cheeseburger then shoveled a handful of fries in his mouth. Amusement twisted her lips. “You don’t have to inhale it. We have time.”

Brooks froze, his eyes wide, reminding her of a deer in headlights. He wiped his hands on a napkin and chewed again, more slowly. “Sorry,” he said, taking a sip of water and washing everything down. “I can’t remember the last time I could eat whatever I wanted.”

She opened her mouth and snapped it shut. Jeez. Of all the insensitive things for her to say. “I wasn’t thinking,” she whispered. “Want the rest of my burger?” she asked, offering it to him. “I’m stuffed.”

He eyed it as if he’d resist then plucked it from her fingers. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

While he polished off her meal, she brought her attention to her phone. Figuring out he had a sister was a huge lead. He hadn’t told her Alexis’s last name. Did that mean he didn’t remember? Would asking him put up a mental block? She tapped his sister’s first name into the search bar. “Did your sister marry? I’m trying to figure out what last name to search for her.”

He snorted and swiped three fries into a dollop of ketchup. “Nah. I don’t think she married anyone. She was too much of a hard-ass. Her last name is Ivanov, too.” He froze and lifted his eyes to hers. “Jesus. I can’t believe how much I’m starting to remember about her.” He straightened in his seat and snapped his shoulders back as if he’d been given a double shot of confidence.

Warmth spread through her chest and into the deep corners of her heart. Something as simple as his name had been stolen from him, hidden under a wall of abuse and torment. She stretched her arm across the table and covered his wrist with her palm. “You’re free now. And everything’s coming back to you.”

His blue eyes, so large and bright they were almost the same shade of cyan water, danced. “With your help.”

She scoffed. “I’ve done nothing yet.”

He pulled her hand into both of his, enveloping it in a massive cocoon. “If it weren’t for you, I’d still be there. Don’t diminish that with modesty.” His palms were like a furnace. A tingling sensation shot through her fingers, up her arm, and then pooled between her thighs. He never broke his gaze. He seemed to be studying every feature on her face as if committing it to memory. God, she’d never been looked at with such intensity. Not like he wanted to own her, but like he wanted to know her. But there was desire burning beneath the curious embers, a fire that promised a lot of flame and delicious attention.

“Can I get you anything else?”

The perky waitress’s voice snapped Cam out of her reverie. She yanked her hand away from Brooks. “Uh, yeah. I mean, no. Just the bill, thanks.”

Brooks’s mouth twitched. “Any luck finding her?” he asked, nodding at her phone.

Cam turned her attention to her device and typed “Ivanov” after “Alexis.” Multiple articles popped up. Anticipation whirred in her chest as she scrolled through each one. “She appears to be a journalist?” She lifted her eyes to him to see if that tidbit of information sparked any recollection.

He nodded. “Yeah. Investigative journalist. Holy shit.” He scrubbed his hand over his face.

She perked. “What?”

Their waitress returned. Her dark brown eyes swung to Brooks with interest—probably because his face was changing color by the second. It landed on gray. “Sir, was the food okay?”

Brooks nodded. “Fine.”

Cam pulled out some cash, placed it on the receipt, and stood. Brooks got to his feet and headed for the door, one step ahead of her. He shoved on the glass, and she caught his forearm with both wrists before he could stalk off into the street and get hit by a car. “Brooks, what’s wrong?”

He turned to her, his mouth a quivering line and his shoulders bunched as if he were ready to fight in an octagon. She raised her eyebrows.

“Memories keep hitting me like bullets for fuck’s sake. I think I was a journalist, too.”

She brought her hand to his cheek, forcing him to swing his gaze to hers. Pain stabbed through his irises—a blizzard of worry and anger. His scruffy beard tickled her palm. Giving in to the need to stroke him, she ran her thumb over the gentle dip of his cheekbone.

As if the action had wiped away his angst, his shoulders relaxed and he caught her hand. “I just get overwhelmed when memories come back. It’s almost like seeing a vision of someone else, but I know it’s me, and as soon as I try to grab the memory it fades.”

“Don’t try so hard. Let it come back to you slowly,” she said softly. “Maybe your journalistic research was one of the reasons why you were taken. You got too close to some information.”

The wind kicked up and tossed her hair around her face. She swiped it away, and the scent of exhaust from an idling car struck her, reminding her that they needed to keep moving. Brooks lifted his fingers and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The movement was gentle yet intimate. His lips, so soft and pale pink, parted, and her pulse ricocheted through her veins.

He cupped the back of her neck. A horn blasted from the street on the other side of the parking lot and he stiffened. “We should go.”

Hope deflated in her chest. Goodness. Had she expected him to kiss her? She was losing it. Probably lack of sleep. And adrenaline. In no way, shape, or form should her panties be wet over Brooks. Granted, he was hot as hell, and fire licked her body every time he touched her, but the fact that he was on a murder hunt meant he wasn’t ideal boyfriend material.

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