STOLEN MEMORY Page 3

  Simon's dark brows drew together over his perfect nose. "What?"

  "Chief Denko reassigned your case to Detective Palmer. He'll be out to talk with you tomorrow. Tell him whatever you want."

  "Why are you off the case?"

  He sounded annoyed, which for some perverse reason made her feel better. Not enough to confide in him, but enough to be reassuring.

  "You'll like Palmer," she said. "He has experience."

  "I want you," Ford said.

  She ignored the little thrill his words gave her. He didn't mean it like that. "Well, you can't have me. I told you. The chief gave your case to Palmer."

  "I want you," Ford repeated, unsmiling and intent, and her pulse kicked up a notch.

  "Very nice," approved an amused male voice from behind her. "Does she come with the handcuffs?"

  Laura jerked around.

  A preppie god in a white silk shirt with the sleeves rolled back lounged in the doorway, smiling at her with lazy charm. Tall, blond and very handsome. If Simon Ford was the Wizard King, then this dude was Prince Charming. No wonder she'd felt miscast on her way up the stairs.

  Quinn Brown spoke up from behind him. "Your brother's here, Mr. Ford."

  Laura turned back to the desk and pinned Ford with an accusing look. "You have a brother?"

  He had a brother.

  Simon sat and absorbed the shock, trying to keep it from his face. After three days of being alone except for his household manager, it should have been reassuring to discover he had some family. But he felt no instant connection. No recognition. Nothing at all.

  The younger man stepped forward, extending his hand. "Dylan Ford."

  "Laura Baker."

  Not "Detective," Simon noted. Her name was Laura.

  "Nice to meet you." Dylan smiled, revealing perfect teeth against his perfect tan. "I didn't know Simon had a thing for women in uniform."

  Perfect jackass, Simon thought.

  "Detective Baker is here to investigate the break-in," he said coolly.

  The smile faded. "'Break-in'? Here? When?" He sounded more startled than concerned.

  "Wednesday night, we believe," Simon said.

  "Before you got in?"

  So his brother kept some track of his whereabouts.

  "No," said Simon, watching him closely. "After."

  "Wow." Dylan ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Did you see anything?"

  He didn't ask if Simon had been hurt. Maybe it was a natural omission. The bump on his head wasn't obvious. Presumably the only person who even knew he'd been attacked was the one who'd struck him.

  "Not really," he said.

  "What did they take? TV? Stereo?"

  "Nothing like that." He glanced at Laura Baker, wondering how much he should say, but she was still staring at his tall, blond, handsome brother. "The safe was open."

  Dylan swore. "They didn't get the rubies, did they?"

  Laura Baker's attention snapped back like a rubber band. Simon could practically feel her vibrating.

  "I believe they did," he said slowly. "The safe was empty."

  "Damn it, Simon, I told you I had the people from Vulcan Gemstones lined up to look at them this week."

  He had no idea what the younger man was talking about. "Sorry. I forgot."

  "Of course you did," Dylan said bitterly. "You didn't care about my plans anyway. All you care about is the damn technological applications."

  "If you mean my laser research…" Simon said cautiously.

  "Of course I mean your laser research. Those rubies could be so much more than a byproduct. But you never understood their significance outside of the lab."

  "Probably not," Simon agreed.

  "I certainly don't," Laura said. "Are you saying you kept rubies in your lab?"

  "Solid-state lasers use synthetic ruby rods to emit energy in a specific wavelength," explained Simon. It felt good to know something. "Basically chromium doped aluminum oxide of a higher purity and quality than natural gemstones. Some of my research has focused on new methods for creating those rods."

  She blinked. "You mean, you make fakes?"

  "Cultured gemstones," Dylan corrected. "Simon developed a flux growth process that creates crystals without bubbles or thermal strain lines. And the depth of color is amazing. With the proper cutting and machining, his rubies are virtually undetectable from natural stones."

  "And they're missing," Laura said.

  "Apparently," Simon said.

  All that research, lost. With his memory gone, how long would it take him to retrace his steps, to duplicate his work?

  "How much?" she asked Simon.

  "Excuse me?"

  "How much were they worth?"

  "The investment in time alone—"

  Dylan laughed shortly. "You're asking the wrong man, sweetheart. He had over a hundred stones stashed in that safe at slightly over a carat each. Vivid saturation. Almost no inclusions. I'd say we're looking at a market value of almost half a million dollars."

  "But they're paste, right?" Laura asked. "I mean, they're good quality, but they're still fakes."

  Dylan shook his head. "Chemically, those rubies are identical to the real deal. There's not one jeweler in ten who could tell them apart. Which is why getting the patents and developing a marketing strategy is so important."

  "It's irrelevant," Simon said. "We're not in the business of selling jewelry."

  "You're not in the business of selling jewelry," his brother shot back.

  "And it's my business." A nasty little silence fell.

  Simon wondered if most of his conversations with his brother ended this way. If so, it would certainly explain why Dylan hadn't called.

  His pleasant face set. "You did agree to let Vulcan at least examine the stones," he said tightly.

  Did he? He could have. He didn't remember.

  "So, what's the problem?" Simon asked.

  "The problem is they're missing," Dylan said, his voice rising. "And I've got to wonder— Ah, hell." He broke off, again thrusting his hand through his hair.

  "Do you think your brother is complicit in the stones' disappearance?" Laura asked.

  She was supposed to be on his side, damn it. He wanted her on his side. Her question caught him like a whack across the shins.

  But it didn't trip his brother at all.

  "No, I don't. Of course I don't," Dylan said. "But it's hard to see how else this could have happened. This place has better security than the airport." He wheeled to face Simon. "What about Quinn? Did he see anything?"

  He sounded interested. Eager. Innocent?

  Or anxious to divert the blame to someone else?

  Cold settled in the pit of Simon's stomach. He didn't know enough about his brother or their relationship to even guess.

  "He wasn't with me that night," Simon said.

  "You mean they let you out without a keeper?"

  "One of the guards came with me from Chicago."

  "So where was he?"

  Simon breathed in deeply. He had to say something. Something intelligent, something that wouldn't betray his loss of memory.

  "Pete Swirsky is being sought for questioning at this time," Laura said, unexpectedly coming to his rescue.

  "Does that mean you think he did it?" Dylan asked.

  The detective's slim body stiffened. "It means he's being sought for questioning."

  "What do you mean, sought?"

  "According to E.C.I.P, he was scheduled to go on vacation this week," Laura said. "He hasn't reported for work since Wednesday."

  "So, he just happens to go missing at the same time as the rubies?" Dylan shook his head. "I don't think so. It's been four days. Why haven't the police picked him up yet?"

  Because they hadn't known about the rubies until now.

  They hadn't known because Simon didn't remember.

  And Simon didn't trust his own brother enough to tell him so.

  He searched Dylan's fair, handsome face as if it he
ld the clue to their estrangement. Why didn't he trust him? What else didn't he remember? Was the fault in Dylan or in Simon himself?

  He waited for Laura to say something, to defend herself and her department against his brother's criticism.

  But all she said was, "The police are pursuing every available lead at this time."

  "So how come you haven't found him yet? It's not like there are a lot of places to hide in a town this size."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Swirsky lives in Chicago."

  "So put the Chicago police on it."

  "It's not their jurisdiction."

  "Yeah, but at least they'd get the job done."

  Anger whipped through Simon.

  "Back off. I made the call. It was my call to make."

  The certainty in his own voice surprised him.

  But his brother appeared to take it in stride. "Yeah, that's what you always say." He gave Laura a long look up and down. "I guess I can't blame you for wanting to keep her around. Let me know if you find anything."

  He strolled out.

  Laura watched him go, her chin up and her hands in her pockets. Simon could see the outline of her knuckles through the shiny blue fabric.

  "Son of a bitch," Simon said.

  She jerked one shoulder in a shrug. "Don't worry about it. I'm the only female officer on a small-town police force. I've pretty much heard it all before."

  He admired her self-possession. But Dylan's chauvinistic attitude irked him. "Not from my brother."

  "You're not responsible for what he says."

  "Aren't I?"

  He didn't know. He felt he should be.

  She faced him squarely. "Listen, I've got a kid brother, too. And God help us both if I tried to take responsibility for him."

  Her gaze was clear and direct as a punch. He felt its impact in his gut, harder than recognition, deeper than desire. His breath went.

  How long they stood there, staring at each other, he didn't know.

  But then her thin face colored. She looked away, breaking their connection. "I've got to go."

  His heart was pounding, his chest felt tight, and he hadn't touched her, hadn't kissed her, hadn't… What the hell had just happened here? He didn't need his memory back to recognize lust. But this understanding was both more foreign and more seductive.

  "Go where?" he asked. "What are you planning to do?"

  "I'm on harbor patrol today."

  "I meant about Swirsky."

  "Nothing. I'm off the case."

  "No." His protest was automatic. Instinctive. "I want you to handle the investigation."

  "It's not up to you." Her mouth quirked ruefully. "Or me, either. Chief Denko has assigned the case to Detective Palmer."

  That long look had diverted the blood from his brain to below his belt. He couldn't think worth a damn. Which explained what he said next.

  "I'll pay you."

  She stiffened. "For what?"

  All right, he'd said it badly. But it wasn't such a bad idea.

  Laura Baker was intelligent. Stubborn. Discreet. She hadn't blurted out his loss of memory to his brother. She'd come to him directly to tell him about the new detective assigned to the case. And she had nothing personal at stake in the outcome of this investigation.

  "I want someone close to me I can trust." Pushing back from his computer, he stood. "I want to hire you."

  She shook her head. "I can't work for you."

  He came around his desk. "Why not?"

  Her soft lips set. "Well, for one thing, I already have a job."

  Her resistance made him want her more. He didn't take time to reflect on what that revealed about his character.

  "You can do it in your off hours," he argued. "Moonlighting, or whatever they call it."

  "No, I can't. I have a conflict of interest."

  "That doesn't bother me."

  "Well, it bothers me," she snapped. Her gaze flicked to his face. He didn't know what she saw there, but her own expression suddenly softened. "Look, I'm sorry, but … no."

  No.

  Simon sat on the corner of his desk. Well, that was clear. Confronted by a million unanswered questions, he'd pushed her for a response, and he'd gotten one.

  Too bad it wasn't the one he wanted.

  He continued to stare at her, trying to figure out what he could possibly say or do to change her mind, to persuade her to help him, to stay with him, to be with him.

  He closed his eyes, dizzy with the force of his need.

  She cleared her throat. "How's your head?"

  "What? Oh." He reached up to touch the swelling above his ear. "It hurts."

  "Have you had it looked at yet?" she asked.

  As if, he thought wryly, now that she had slapped him down, she was trying to soften the blow.

  "No."

  She took a step closer. His body went on alert. "Maybe you should," she said.

  His mind snapped into action, testing, weighing options.

  He angled his head. "Be my guest."

  She took another step forward.

  Cautious, he thought. But not a coward.

  Her hip, in navy blue polyester, brushed his thigh. She raised her hand; hesitated. And then, very gently, threaded her fingers through his hair.

  She smelled like sun and water, like shampoo and … gasoline? For a second he thought his mind might be playing tricks on him again, and then he remembered her boat.

  "It looks bad," she said.

  "It's clean."

  "Tough guy." His scalp tingled as her touch feathered through his hair. "You should have had stitches."

  "Too late now."

  "Yeah." She started to draw away. He grabbed her wrist.

  "Hey," she protested. "You've already got one bump on the head. Don't make me hurt you again." But her pulse thrummed under his thumb.

  Simon's grip tightened. Maybe he'd pushed for the wrong response before. Maybe he'd asked the wrong question.

  At least he could settle one damn thing.

  Leaning forward, he covered her mouth with his.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  If Laura had let herself think about kissing Simon Ford ahead of time… Okay, so she had thought about it. Big deal. Anyway, she'd expected him to kiss the way he talked. Cool. Controlled. Kind of dry.

  She missed the target all three times.

  His kiss was hot, wet and deep. He kissed like he was starving for her, like he wanted everything, wanted her. And instead of getting offended or disgusted or afraid, she yanked him closer and kissed him back.

  Tongues. Teeth. Heat.

  Sensation kicked through her system like rapid fire on a pistol range, all flash and fire and recoil. She was blinded, deafened, her palms sweaty and her mind a blank. She was operating on instinct and body memory, living purely in and for the moment. Her knees buckled.

  Simon made an encouraging sound deep in his throat and widened his stance against the desk. Wow. Pow. Even better.

  His body was lean and hard. It fit hers as if they'd been carved from the same piece of oak, every plane and curve lined up and matching. Her starved system sparked and exploded. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she fed and devoured him.

  But when his hand slid from Laura's arm and sought the shape of her breast through the heavy Kevlar vest she wore, another instinct kicked in. Something older and more urgent than sex.

  Self-preservation.

  "You… I…" She couldn't form words.

  "'We'?" Simon suggested, a hint of a smile in his voice. But she noticed with a pinch of satisfaction that his breathing was as ragged as hers.

  She shook her head, struggling for coherence and control. Oh, God. Oh, God. She'd really screwed up. "I don't mix sex with the job."

  There, a whole sentence.

  He arched an eyebrow. "You don't work for me. You can't call this harassment."

  She stepped back, tugging on the bottom of her vest. "How about assaulting an officer?"


  His eyes narrowed. "Is that what you think this was?"

  "No. Sorry." Her face flooded with heat. "I'm just… My brain's still on Planet Stupid."

  "I'm feeling a little out of this world myself," he murmured.

  It was geeky. And charming.

  Laura scowled. "Yeah, well, it's time to come back to earth. This can't happen again."

  "Why not?" he asked curiously.

  "You're the genius. You figure it out."

  "You're not giving me enough data to draw a conclusion."

  "There are cops who mess around on the job, okay? It's like a crime of opportunity. You'd be surprised how many people out there are willing to make it with anything in a uniform. Heck, I've been propositioned by guys I had handcuffed in the back of the squad car."

  He studied her with quiet intensity. "Did it work?"

  She couldn't tell if he was joking or amazingly clueless. "I don't get involved on cases I'm investigating."

  "You're not investigating my case."

  He had her there.

  "Doesn't matter," she said. "I don't get involved."

  His brows raised. "Ever?"

  "Not recently."

  "Define recently."

  She stuck out her jaw. This conversation was even more risky than sex. She didn't "do" intimacy. She couldn't afford it. "Are you asking for my sexual history, Ford?"

  "I think now that we've swapped saliva you could share the highlights." His eyes gleamed. "You might even start calling me by my first name."

  She didn't want to be amused, damn it. Or to share the messy details of her personal life. But maybe she could give him enough to shut him up. To shut him down.

  "I was married," she said. "A long time ago."

  "What's a long time? Two years? Five?"

  He was a scientist. It figured he wanted answers, specific, quantifiable data. As if all the fear and pain she'd felt then could fit some tidy little chart.

  "What does it matter?" she asked.

  His gaze never left her face. "I like numbers," he said simply.

  "Okay, fine. Ten."

  He couldn't quite keep the surprise from his face. "Ten years. And…?"

  "And what do you think?" Her shoulder jerked in an ill-tempered shrug. "I was eighteen. It didn't work out."

  "What happened? He cheated on you, beat you, broke your heart?"

  "He died."