Out of Uniform (Wingmen Warriors 14)

“My family must be so worried.” Her words slurred together.

“Of course.” Lord, he hoped so.

“We’ll call the station again in the morning before we set out for the hospital.” Her breathing grew slower, deeper with each word.

“First thing. Bet you’ll be glad to see the last of that cleaning bucket.”

She seemed to have drifted off, so he eased forward a step. Dee burrowed her head into the pillow, and he hesitated.

“What did he look like?” she whispered.

“Pardon?”

“The man who left me here. What did he look like?”

Jacob called to mind the face of the man who’d signed the register, a scumbag he very much wanted to deck. “About five foot ten. Medium build. Midthirties with blond hair.” He struggled to remember more about a guy he’d seen for all of about five minutes. “His clothes looked expensive, good quality Gore-Tex as if he knew what he needed for this kind of weather. And no wedding ring.”

Now that he thought about it, he remembered glancing at the guy’s finger since he’d checked in as a Mr. and Mrs. “I wish I could give you more.”

Especially since it was her only hope for a link to her old life. Even if the link sucked, big-time.

“I guess it’s too much to hope for that he got lost looking for morning coffee.” Her voice faded into a final shaky sigh.

A tiny, scared sigh that stabbed clean through him.

“We’ll find out who you are,” he vowed.

No answer.

Jacob stepped away from the kitchen counter.

Sixty seconds complete. Dee’s chest rose and fell in the even pattern of heavy sleep. He ambled over and knelt beside her.

Only in his life for one day and he would never forget her. What made her so special? Sure she was pretty, but not a knockout by technical standards. And she was so delicate—but stubborn.

She had a fire and grit he respected. No whining or clinging-vine crap; she’d pulled herself through a day that would have sent most people diving into a bottle of Valium.

Jacob eased his arms under her, slowly, watching for signs of stirring. There weren’t any. She’d fallen asleep hard and fast, her slender body deadweight.

Dead? His gut fisted. He’d been so concerned with concussions, he hadn’t considered foul play.

He should have considered that straight up. Jacob forced himself to recall every detail of “Mr. Smith’s” face, his vehicle. Hopefully the Suburban plate number could be traced. He had it on file.

And if it couldn’t be traced…That implied a danger for Dee he didn’t even want to consider.

Jacob tucked her more securely against his chest. He couldn’t stop himself from dropping his head closer and inhaling, tightening his grip and savoring her softness she’d hidden beneath the sweater all day.

If John Smith had wanted her dead, it wouldn’t have been difficult. There must be another answer, and they would find it at the police station.

He would help her through the police procedural red tape in a way her tour bus buddy never could. The Tacoma PD would damn well do their best to find out who this Dee Smith/Jane Doe was. He would make sure of that.

Gently he lowered her to his bed. He draped the quilt over her and stroked the hair from her face. Silky strands slid through his fingers, glistening in the beams shimmering through the skylight. His battered knuckles skimmed petal-soft skin.

A man could lose himself in her softness.

But she needed to remember her past, and he was a man who wanted to leave his behind.

Standing by the lobby coffee machine, Dee sunk her teeth into a cream-filled chocolate doughnut. She would vacuum carpets until the end of time for more of these.