Page 14 of From the Darkness

“She sent you?” he asked, surprise gathering in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Helen . .wouldn’t do that. She . .” He didn’t finish the sentence, simply let it trail off, as though he had forgotten what he intended to say. Or thought better of giving any more away.

She had gone beyond frustration to simmering anger. “Troy, I was in my bed—sleeping, when you came waltzing into my room in the middle of the night and started kissing me. You can’t do that, then act like we have nothing to talk about.”’

“Why . . not?” he asked slowly, as though social conventions were a deep mystery.

She needed to see the expression on his face. Was he having fun with her? What?

But the darkness made it impossible to judge his intent.

When the silence stretched, she got back to basics. “Are you Troy London?” she asked.

“I . . don’t know.”

The answer and the tentative way he spoke were so unexpected that it sent a sizzle along her nerve endings. “What do you mean you don’t know? How can you not know who you are?”

“Do you want me to lie?”

“Certainly not.”

It sounded like he was claiming he had amnesia. She thought about what she knew of the condition. Not much. But she remembered when the mother of a friend had been in a bad automobile accident—and had no memory of the actual event.

She sighed. “Do you remember what happened to you? I mean—do you know why you’ve lost your memory?”

“No,” he murmured, sounding so lost and alone that her heart squeezed.

In the darkness, she reached for his hand. Without speaking, she folded her slender fingers around his larger ones. Almost at once, he shifted his grip so that he was holding on to her, the pressure increasing as they stood in the blackness of the tunnel.

She remembered him as strong and vital. A man of action. A man without fear. She remembered the time they’d been walking on the ranch, and a rattlesnake had slithered out from behind a rock—and he’d beaten it to death with a stick while she’d gasped at him to be careful. There were other memories that were just as strong. Tender memories. Like the way he’d gathered a bouquet of wildflowers from the hills around the ranch and set them in a pretty blue and white pitcher to her room. He’d been tough and masculine, yet he hadn’t been afraid to show her his sensitive side.

Now—

Now it was hard to believe this was the same man.

Of course, he could be putting on an elaborate charade, although she didn’t think so.Somethingwas badly wrong, but she couldn’t say what. Not without more information. Which he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—give her.

Her mind spun with questions. Had he fallen from the cliffs? Had a stroke? Or had he been drugged?

And then there was his preference for the darkness. Why wouldn’t he let her see him? Fear shot through her as a ready explanation leaped into her mind. Hehadbeen in an accident—and his face was scarred, which was why he was staying hidden.

She reached up with her free hand to touch him, and he stepped quickly back as though he could see perfectly well in the dark and knew what she was thinking. The sudden withdrawal gave credence to her speculation.

“You were hurt,” she said.

“Yes.”

“It’s all right. I mean—if you don’t like the way you look, it’s not going to . . offend me. Is that it? Is that what’s wrong?”

“Stop trying to come up with explanations,” he said with more force than he’d exhibited thus far in all their interactions. “You’re not doing either one of us any good.”

She might have protested. Instead, she gave him the space he was demanding. He had come to her. That was a start. “All right,” she said simply.

In the darkness she heard him suck in a deep sighing breath and then let it out in a rush. Again, he reached for her, but this time his hand only rested lightly on her arm. “You should leave this place. If you stay here, you’re going to get into trouble.”

Her reaction was swift and sharp. “I came here to find out what happened to you—and to make sure Dinah is all right. Don’t you care about her?”

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