She reached across the table, cut his pancakes and lifted a bite to his mouth. He opened automatically, thinking it the most intimate thing he'd ever done in his life. His gaze didn't leave hers as he chewed and swallowed. A slow smile welled up. Happiness. So this was what it felt like. He'd never known kindness or caring. He'd never known love. Maybe love was a woman feeding him pancakes. Maybe it was someone sitting across from him sipping orange juice just to please him.
"It seems I'm a good cook after all."
She grinned at him and a curious fluttering in the vicinity of his belly startled him. He took the fork from her, his fingers brushing hers. The contact gave him intense satisfaction. For the first time in his existence, he knew he was drowning and he wasn't thinking about survival. His head, his heart, hell, everything he was, rushed to take the plunge. What, after all, did he have to lose?
"You think it's safe to risk it?"
Her soft words startled him and for a moment, he misunderstood, certain she was reading his thoughts. Her eyes held amusement and a bit of a mischievous glint. Her face might not be expressive, but he could read it all, there in her eyes.
"I think you should," he agreed and settled back in his chair to watch her take her first bite of pancakes. Who would have thought something so simple could bring such pleasure? He'd made each pancake quite thin in the hopes the texture would bother her less.
She put a thin spread of peanut butter over one. Her knife made lazy little swirls that weren't quite as lazy as he first thought. Each circular wave was exact, creating a pattern. The top of the pancake began to look like the surface of the ocean. Her entire attention was on the peanut butter as she drew waves swelling, cresting and rolling over. Each stroke was deliberate and seemed to absorb her completely. He found himself nearly as mesmerized as she was.
"That's a beautiful drawing, Rikki." He kept his voice low. "Do you paint?"
She startled, raised her lashes and blinked several times before she focused on him. "What?" She frowned, processing his question. "Why would you think I paint?"
He indicated the top of her pancake. "That's a beautiful picture of the sea and it's in peanut butter. If you can do that with a knife, you must be good with a brush."
Her frown deepened and she turned the dish around and around, studying the decorated top from all angles. "I never noticed. It isn't art."
"It was very precise," he commented and forked another bite of pancake.
"I suppose it is. I count." She looked at him, obviously expecting him to find her revelation disturbing. "In my head, I count."
She actually muttered to herself, half aloud, mostly under her breath, but he didn't point that out to her. He liked the little talks she seemed to have with herself, especially when she was annoyed with him.
"It's the ocean." He ate more. His body needed fuel, and he downed a piece of bacon.
"It is, isn't it?" She smiled at the design. "I can't draw. This, apparently, is a secret skill." Her eyes changed and a little frown came back. "When I lived in foster homes or at the state home, whenever they forced me to eat something, I weighed the punishment for not eating it and if I didn't want to pay the price, I counted to focus my attention on what I was thinking and not on how the food felt in my mouth."
A stabbing pain pierced his chest in the vicinity of his heart. He reached across the table to still her hand as she raised her fork. "You don't have to eat the pancake, Rikki."
She shrugged. "I know that." She looked around her home with satisfaction. "Not here and not on my boat, but Blythe says I should always try to expand my comfort zone. It's hard to do when I'm alone. I just fall into a routine. When I'm with one of my sisters, eating at their houses or going somewhere with them, it's easier to make myself try new things."
There was just a hint--a note--of Blythe's voice in her tone. He knew it was unintentional, that she'd taken on a bit of the woman who she so admired.
He sent her a smile as she put the pancake in her mouth and watched her face. It was silly, really, but he actually felt privileged that she included him with her sisters, trying something new for him. "How is it you've never eaten pancakes before?"
She chewed thoughtfully, made a face and delicately spit the pancake into a napkin. "I probably did when I was a child," she admitted. "I got stubborn as I got older. I didn't like anyone telling me what to do and after a while I just refused to do anything. I got so I liked making people uncomfortable before they trashed me. I figured it was going to happen anyway, so why not? Especially the police. I dealt with them quite a lot when I was younger."
"Didn't anyone recognize that maybe you needed help?"
She blinked. Drew swirls in her peanut butter. Her gaze locked with his. "No one ever asks me questions like that."
"I'm interested."
She sighed. "Lev, everyone believed I murdered people by setting houses on fire. I was strange and that just added to their conviction that I was the guilty one. Maybe I even acted guilty. It occurred to me that I was setting the fires in my sleep."
Lev watched her push away the plate and cross to the breadbox. She looked over her shoulder at him as she extracted a piece of bread. "Why in the world would someone eat those things when they could put peanut butter on bread?"
He waited until she sank back into her chair, drawing her knees up, feet tucked up where no one could see while she spread peanut butter on the slice of bread. He wasn't going to get drawn into another discussion on the merits of peanut butter, not when she was giving him pieces of her childhood.
"You were thirteen when the first fire broke out?" He prompted. "Do you remember much about that night?"
She jumped up and paced across the floor with a quick, restless movement. She poured herself a cup of coffee before she turned and regarded him from what she must have considered a safe distance. There were shadows in her eyes and her mouth trembled. "I remember everything about that night." She took a small sip of coffee and turned to stare out the window. "My mother told me I could read in bed. I couldn't sleep much and she or my dad stayed up with me as a rule, but if they'd gotten a book I wanted that day, they'd often let me read. I loved reading." She turned around, leaning back against the sink. "They'd given me the complete works of Sherlock Holmes the week before and I was anxious to start it. I'd wanted it for so long, and when we'd gone to the bookstore to get it, there was a terrible wreck on the freeway. A huge pileup. Both my parents were injured and taken to the hospital. I'd been so scared, afraid I'd lose them. I didn't read a word. I sort of made this pact with God, you know--let my parents live and I'll be so good. The kind of thing kids do."
He watched her drink her coffee to steady herself. Her hands trembled slightly. He doubted if anyone else would have noticed that small sign. He wanted to put his arms around her and hold her but he knew she wouldn't allow it. She was holding herself together by a thread and one touch would shatter her.
She sent him a small humorless smile over the coffee mug. "I was already so strange, you know. I couldn't do things like other children. I was clumsy and never quite got their social cues so school was extremely difficult. My parents were my safety zone so you can imagine how frightened I was. My dad was able to leave that night, but my mom couldn't. So my idea was that I wouldn't read my book until she was home."
"Was Sherlock Holmes worth the wait?" He kept his gaze locked on her, observing--absorbing--her reaction. He knew he'd been trained for interrogation, for gathering information, and he automatically had fallen into the examination mode. In the back of his head he recognized--as he usually did--that this information was important and he needed to file it carefully for future reference.
She turned abruptly and dumped the rest of the coffee in the sink, set the cup on the counter and simply walked out the back door. He caught the glint of tears in her eyes as she turned her head. Lev sat there quietly finishing his breakfast while his mind turned over what she'd said, continuing to dig through the facts to get to the reasons anyone wo
uld target her for death in such a particularly ugly manner.
He sat back and contemplated what to do. His head wasn't completely better, despite all the energy he'd spent trying to heal himself. The force of the waves had been tremendous, slamming his body into the rocks. Even with his special gifts, he hadn't been able to combat the power of the ocean. He was dizzy most of the time and his head still pounded with alarming vigor, threatening to explode if he moved around too much.
All of a sudden, he felt a sense of urgency, and for a man who lived in the shadows with no real name and only one purpose, it wasn't a good idea to ignore his feelings. He had recovered enough memories to know he didn't want the man he'd been to come back from the dead. As far as Lev was concerned, Sid Kozlov was going to stay in the sea, his body lost for all time. He had already identified himself to Rikki as Lev so he'd already come up with a variation of that name, making it more American. It was time to put the finishing touches on his new identity, one he could use here with her, because he was staying and that meant he had to use his head and force his memories to cooperate.
He needed an untraceable computer to finish the process, and he needed to get into the small town close by. He'd left himself a few packages scattered around for emergency exits if the need was there--a major requirement in his profession. He just had to remember where his safety stashes were. He carried the dishes to the sink and meticulously washed them while he tried to force his memory to cooperate.
He knew how to make up a new identity that would pass inspection by any official--he'd been doing it for years. He was certain he had plenty of money and he'd hidden more weapons and ammunition, but he couldn't quite remember where everything was. That small, important fact continued to elude him. So, identity first. He had to get strong enough to go outside her home and study the surrounding terrain and set up warning systems. And he had to get on her boat. Her boat was far more vulnerable than her house. He'd been aware of the harbor, a small open community with a park right there where people could easily come and go. Her boat was tied up to the dock and anyone could rig it to blow, or rig her air compressor so she died of carbon monoxide poisoning while she was beneath the water.
He looked around the kitchen to make certain everything was in place before he went out onto the porch. Rikki was curled up in a chair, her bare feet tucked under her, her dark glasses pushed onto her nose, covering her eyes. He sank into the chair beside her and took possession of her left hand, tracing circles with the pad of his thumb.
"I didn't mean to upset you, Rikki."
"You didn't." She sighed and indicated the trees with her chin. "I love that grove of redwoods right there. That many redwood trees indicate water--a lot of water. I love that I might be living with water running just under me."
"I can see why that would appeal to you." The peace of her farm appealed to him. Trees surrounded the house, tall and majestic, as if guarding her property. She kept everything neat and orderly. There was no lawn, but she had terraces of plants, bright, colorful flowers and shrubs in every shade of green. The rockwork on the terraces was beautiful and obviously done with care by someone who handpicked each stone.
"Tell me about that night. Did you hear a noise? Did you see anyone? Were your parents acting different? Worried maybe?"
She was silent a long time. He waited patiently, giving her space, letting her work out whether she trusted him enough to give him something that personal. The wind rustled the tree leaves overhead and birds flitted from branch to branch. A squirrel chattered and another answered. He noted it all rather absently as he watched in the distance for the telltale dust rising that would indicate a car on the road leading to her house.
Rikki was utterly still, no squirming, no sound, she simply stared out into space, her face averted, her eyes hidden behind her dark glasses. She hadn't pulled her hand away, and Lev pressed his thumb into the center of her palm and closed his eyes, feeling his way. Immediately he "saw" numbers in his head. She was counting to herself, and she was on seventy-eight.
She took off her dark glasses, turned her head to look him straight in the eyes. The jolt was like a powerful punch straight in his gut. Hard. Encompassing. She did something to his insides, where he was tough as nails, strong and impenetrable. She slipped past his guard and managed to penetrate deep. His reaction to her bordered on primal.
"You think my entire family was a target and whoever killed my parents missed me and is still hunting me."
He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her close, but her entire demeanor screamed "hands off," so he continued to stroke caresses over her open palm, satisfied that she hadn't pulled completely away from him. "If it was a contract hit, they wouldn't stop, not until they were dead, and even then, the contract could be given to another hit man."
"Are you a hit man?"
A day earlier he wouldn't have been so certain. "No." He kept his gaze on hers. "I don't know exactly what I did, and I've certainly killed, but I'm not certain why. My memory is coming back in pieces, but it's definitely returning." And he wasn't all that happy about it.
She moistened her lips, shoved her dark glasses back on her nose and turned to look out over her trees again. "If someone is trying to kill me for whatever reason, why the gaps between fires? And why fire? Wouldn't that be an unusual choice for a hit man?"
"Yes, very unusual. My memory is coming back slowly, so maybe I'll eventually remember someone who uses that method. It isn't in any way familiar, but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen. Were your parents different? Upset? Was there anything unusual that you can remember in the days or weeks before that night?" He pressed her because he was certain he was on the right track.
"You have the instincts of a bodyguard," she pointed out.
He didn't allow his smile to surface. She had no idea what instincts he had, and he wasn't going to enlighten her and risk getting kicked out--but they sure as hell weren't that of a bodyguard. He remained silent, waiting.
She chewed on her lower lip for a few moments. "My mother was my stability. Without her I was lost and all I really remember is being alone with my father. He tried to understand me, but he was disappointed that I was so different. Don't get me wrong. He loved me and he tried to do all the things Mom did, but he was stiff and annoyed most of the time. He tried to hide it, and when Mom was in the hospital, we both were so miserable that anything else would have been impossible to notice."
"The car accident when she was hurt. Could that have been deliberate?"
She shook her head. "It was one of those pileup things, where everyone is sliding into everyone else. A couple of the cars caught on fire and the rescuers pulled everyone out fast and made us stand as far away as we could get, even those injured. There was such chaos that if someone wanted us dead, they could have killed us right there and no one would have noticed. Several people died in that accident. It was horrible."
"What happened to your mother?"
"Her leg was smashed. She was in the hospital for a week and I remember my father crying, afraid she was going to lose her leg. He was there the first night, with broken ribs and a concussion as well, but then they allowed him to come home with me."
Lev frowned as he brought the tips of her fingers to his mouth and rather absently scraped his teeth back and forth over the sensitive pads as he tried to make the pieces of the puzzle fit together. He had a feeling--more than a feeling; he was certain she was a target, and that meant if there was a contract, she was in very real danger.
"That night, how did you escape?"
"I was reading and the house was very quiet. I was listening to classical music while I read and I had earphones on, but I knew my parents had gone to bed. I checked a couple of times because I liked the sound of them moving through the house turning off lights and getting ready for bed. It always comforted me." She spoke very matter-of-factly and there was no expression on her face.
Lev held his thumb against the center of her palm and let his mind expand to
encompass hers. She replayed the sound of her parents moving through the house to herself often. He brought her hand back to his mouth and pressed a kiss there.
She jumped and swiveled around to face him, her eyes wide and startled behind the sunglasses, but she didn't pull away. "I read for a long time after they went to bed and suddenly I was coughing. I noticed it was difficult to see the words on the pages and blinked. Inside me, there was this strange calling, and I yanked off my headphones and looked around. The room was smoky and I could hear a roaring sound. I dropped to the floor and crawled to the door. I wanted to get to my parents. I tried, but every room was on fire. We had a carpet in the hallway and it melted into my skin while I crawled. I remember the sounds and the heat vividly."
"Do you remember calling water to you?"
She nodded. "The pipes in the house burst, at least that's what the firemen told me later. I hadn't realized I'd done it, of course, not until much later, and I still wasn't entirely certain it wasn't all a huge coincidence." She pushed her free hand through her hair in agitation. "My mother couldn't walk. It appeared that my father tried to carry her out and a piece of the ceiling fell on them. The fire burned hot and fast. There was an accelerant poured inside the walls as well as outside."
"Why not in your room?"
"At the time, the investigators said my light was on and probably whoever did it didn't want to risk getting interrupted. Later, of course, they figured it was to allow me an escape, although they couldn't figure out why I didn't go through the window."
He turned his head toward the road, his internal radar sounding off loud. "You're about to have company."
"Probably one of my sisters."
"I'll go inside and wait."
"Don't shoot anyone."
He grinned at her, leaned down and brushed a kiss across the top of her silky head. She felt alone to him. He knew exactly what that was like and he didn't want it for her. "I'll be close if you need me."