Jon frowned as she ran to her purse and retrieved a clear plastic bag. She held it up as if she had found a rare treasure. It was filled with a lavender blue powder. “You’re going to love this,” she told him mischievously.

  She filled a pot with water, tore open the package and threw in several handfuls of the blue powder.

  “Dare I ask what it is you’re fixing?” he asked.

  Lauren froze, her panic making any movement impossible. She had been so sure that this man was her husband. But the real Jonathan Michaels would have known what she was cooking. She had made it often while they were married. He had refused to eat the oddcolored cereal, teasing her unmercifully that the blob in her bowl looked like wallpaper paste and he did not want her lips glued together—he had better things to do with them.

  “Mush.” Act casually, she warned herself. Don’t give yourself away.

  “Blue mush?”

  “You’ll like it, wait and see.”

  She dished out the cereal into two bowls, stirred in sugar and poured the cream over the contents.

  “Take a bite,” she urged after setting the bowl on the table before him, trying to sound as if nothing was wrong.

  Jon picked up his spoon. “Are you sure you’re not trying to poison me?”

  She nearly lost her fragile composure. “Here, I’ll take the first taste.” Quickly she scooped up a spoonful and placed it in her mouth. The familiar taste overwhelmed her fear. “Heavenly,” she groaned. When she looked at Jon, his eyes were resting on her lips, and the hunger on his face had nothing to do with his stomach. His hunger awakened a corresponding sensation in her.

  Disturbed by her mixed feelings of attraction and fear, Lauren sat up straighter. “Eat.”

  Slowly he brought the spoon, filled with mush, to his lips. His gaze never left her as his mouth closed around the smooth metal spoon. She looked away, unable to bear the sensual message in his eyes.

  “How do you like it?” she asked after a moment.

  “How do I like what?”

  Her head snapped around, and her heart stopped at the fire dancing in his eyes.

  “The blue-cornmeal mush.”

  “It’s okay, but the taste of your lips would be better.”

  Lauren gulped. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she wondered why he couldn’t see the movement.

  He took another bite, and his brow knitted. He reached behind him and grabbed the bag of meal. “You’ve fixed this for me before, haven’t you?” He looked up expectantly.

  “Yes.”

  He rubbed his temples. “After the accident I discovered there were holes in my memory. There were certain times, certain incidents, that I discovered I couldn’t recall. As time has passed, most of the missing parts have been filled in.”

  Could she believe him? Memory loss was a convenient excuse, yet hadn’t he sort of remembered she’d made the cereal before? Or had there been something in her manner to alert him? Her heart ached, and she wondered if she was the biggest fool walking the face of the earth; whatever the truth was, she had to acknowledge she was attracted to this handsome man, whoever—whatever—he was.

  “Did you ever write How Tall Is Red?”

  His question jerked her out of her thoughts. She considered denying she ever wanted to write a mystery, but it seemed like a moot point since the man already knew the title of the book. “No.”

  He set down his spoon and studied her. “That’s a shame. I know that was a dream of yours. Holding on to dreams is important in this harsh world. If you can’t dream, you lose hope.”

  His comments were either a telling glimpse of his soul or a good diversion to keep her from asking if he knew the plot of her book and not simply the title. “Why don’t you tell me the plot?” she said with a small smile.

  “You’re still doubting me, huh?”

  If she believed him, his voice had been injured in the accident. The low, gravelly quality was as seductive as intimate words whispered in the dark of night. She cleared her throat. “Let’s just say I’m cautious.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, he fixed her with an unsettling look. “We were on the beach in Ayr. You were sitting between my legs, my arms were wrapped around your waist. We had just come from our little rented house where we had spent the afternoon making hot love.”

  She jerked back in the chair. Vividly she remembered that afternoon, the glory and joy she’d shared with Jon. To be reminded of it now was like acid on her raw heart. “I don’t need a commentary on the day,” she snapped. “Just tell me the plot.”

  He reached out for her hand, but she snatched it off the table, unable to deal with his touch when her heart was tearing in two. “Are you going to tell me?” she demanded, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.

  It was clear from his expression that he wanted to continue pursuing the point of their intimacy, but he resigned himself to talking about the book. “The reason I mention what happened is because that was the first time you admitted that you wanted to write mysteries. When I questioned you, all you had was the title of the book.” He pushed away his half-eaten bowl of mush. “The heroine’s name was Rachel something…. She goes to an inn in Vermont for a vacation. A man stumbles into her room and mumbles, ‘How tall is red?’ Then he collapses and dies.”

  Lauren tried to hold back the moan rising in her throat but was unsuccessful. This couldn’t be happening. There had to be a logical explanation for him knowing about the book.

  Leaning forward, he lightly brushed his fingers across her chin.

  Sparks of electricity danced over her skin. She turned away from his touch. “Who was the hero?” she tightly asked.

  His tired sigh filled the room, making Lauren aware that this man was trying to win her trust.

  “His name was Sam MacKinnon, and he was the man to whom the dead man was trying to relay the information. ‘How tall is red?’ was the code phrase that Sam needed to hear so he could recognize his contact. Sam’s response was to have been ‘Tall enough to see over the wall.”

  Lauren didn’t want to hear any more. He knew. He knew too much to be an impostor…and yet everything didn’t fit together as it should. She stumbled away from the table, wanting to put as much distance as she could between her and this confusing man. She heard him stand, followed by a muffled noise. He cursed. Then it sounded like wood hitting metal. Lauren winced but refused to turn around and see if he was okay. She couldn’t afford the softening of her heart if she saw him struggling with his cane. A moment later she felt his warm hands on her shoulders.

  “Lauren.”

  She tried to shrug off his touch, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “Sweetheart.” His lips brushed the back of her ear. “I don’t know what else I can do to prove to you who I am, but it is important that you believe me.”

  “Quit lying to me. That would be a start.”

  “I haven’t been, Lauren.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, not bothering to hide her skepticism. “Since when?”

  He looked chagrined. “All right, you have a point. What I mean is that I haven’t lied to you since I returned.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her back against his body. “Do you want me to tell you what I remember the most vividly about you?”

  She stared straight ahead. “No.”

  He placed a kiss on the sensitive spot at the base of her neck above her collarbone. Shivers raced up and down her spine. Jon had found that spot on their wedding night and bad used that knowledge to his advantage often and with relish. When he kissed her there, it never failed to make her knees weak, her heart race and her body want more.

  “That’s one of the things I remember about you, how that spot affected you. And there’s a place beside your right hip that when I kissed it—”

  Her heart couldn’t take any more, and she began to fight against his restraining arms. “Let me go,” she demanded.

  His hold tightened. “No, I need you to believe me.”

  The cynical thought occurred to her that this man realized his error with the blue cornmeal and now was trying to smooth over his gaffe. Lauren considered driving her elbow into his stomach or kicking him in his bad knee, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to deliberately hurt him.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. He grinned down at her.

  “Since I know you, it isn’t hard to know what you were thinking. And I’m grateful you didn’t kick me. I don’t think my knee could’ve taken it.”

  “Then let me go.”

  “All right, but only if you promise me you’ll kiss me.”

  “Why would I want to kiss you?”

  “To prove to yourself who I am. You always told me that kissing me curled your toes. I figure the best way to prove my identity is lip to lip.”

  Lauren clearly remembered telling Jon that his kisses were like bottled lightning, making every nerve ending in her body tingle.

  “Are you up to the challenge?” he asked. “Or do you still want to hold on to the idea I’m not Jonathan Michaels, your husband?”

  “All right. I’ll take your challenge.”

  His surprise showed clearly on his face. He nodded and released her. Turning to face him, she lifted her chin, waiting for him to kiss her.

  A laugh rumbled in his chest. He leaned close and said, “Why don’t you purse your lips and close your eyes like a virgin offering herself up as a sacrifice?”

  Caught between laughter at the picture he portrayed and anger that he was mocking her doubts, Lauren said nothing. A gentle smile curved his mouth, and his hands cupped her face. Slowly he lowered his head to hers.

  It was odd to kiss a man with a mustache and beard. His facial hair was soft and it tickled. But in spite of those distractions, Lauren felt something familiar, some old chemistry spring to life.

  Wanting to move closer to the warmth of the man, Lauren slipped her arms around his waist. Jon raised his head and searched her eyes. His brown eyes burned brightly with passion, the same passion she felt. The color of his eyes threw her off. She was expecting to see Jon’s blue eyes instead of brown ones.

  “Do you know now?” He didn’t wait for an answer but took her mouth again in a searing kiss. His tongue slipped inside, lightly caressing the inside of her lips, teeth and cheeks. Her confusion was zapped, like a wildfire bursting to life in the forest and consuming everything around it. Up to this point in her life, only Jon had been able to inspire this hot, out-of-control feeling. Was it possible that another man could spark this reaction in her?

  He trailed kisses across her cheek and down her neck. “Ah, this is what I remember about you. Your sweet passion. When I was flat on my back in the hospital in France, I remembered how you responded to me. The little sounds you made and how they would always send me over the edge every time.”

  His words penetrated the red haze surrounding her brain like bright sunlight through fog. The guy was good. He knew all the strings to pull to get a reaction out of her. If he was an impostor, he deserved an Oscar. If he wasn’t—

  The shock of the realization, which had been building in her subconscious since he’d first reappeared, hit her hard. She jerked out of his embrace and backed away from him. Her feelings were racing around inside her like the winds of a tornado, with the same speed and intensity.

  Her heart was saying, Yes, he is Jon. But her mind couldn’t accept it.

  Joy mixed with hurt. If he was Jon, then why had he let her think he was dead for the past three years? The question hammered her brain. Did he know the hell she’d gone through? Did he have any idea of the depression and grief she’d fought her way through and how hard it had been to put her life back together? And now he walked back into her life and everything was supposed to be peachy-keen, and they would go on as if nothing had happened?

  The sense of betrayal nearly knocked her off her feet.

  “Now do you believe me?” he asked.

  “If I believed you to be Jonathan, I’d also have to hate you.”

  That brought a look of shock to his face.

  “You want to know why?”

  “I can guess,” he replied sadly.

  “It’s taken me three years to put my life back together again. Three years of hell. And you stroll into my apartment, claim to be Jon, alive and well, and blow my neatly ordered life to pieces.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she spun away from him, not wanting him to see her grief. “And do you know how much I hate liars? How my mother’s husbands killed her by inches with their lies?”

  “Lauren.”

  He laid his hand on her back, but she couldn’t tolerate his touch without throwing herself in his arms and bawling like a baby.

  “I wanted to let you know I was alive, but it would’ve been selfish of me.”

  She whirled. “Selfish? Would it have been selfish to spare me the pain?” She tapped her forehead with her fingers. “Forgive me, it’s obvious.”

  “I deserve your cynicism.”

  “You’re damn right you do.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and watched her. Lauren knew he was waiting for her to calm down enough to hear his explanation. She moved to the couch and sat.

  “I’m ready to listen,” she informed him. “But this had better be good.”

  He nodded. “The hardest thing I’ve done in my life was not contacting you. But I couldn’t take the chance that the mole who betrayed me would hold you hostage if he discovered I was still alive.” He sat next to her. “If you’d come to France, our killer would’ve followed you—of that I’m certain. I was in no shape to protect you. And the only person I trusted at that time was my superior. We didn’t have the manpower to assign a guard to be with you twenty-four hours a day.” He started to reach out to her, then apparently thought better of it and pulled his hand back. “Not telling you was the only way to keep you safe.”

  There was nothing that irritated Lauren more than a reasonable argument. Her anger was justified…but if she had faced the same choices, would she have done differently?

  He struggled up from the couch and retrieved his cane from where he’d leaned it against the bookcase by the kitchen door. “I might have blown all that caution to hell when I contacted you the other night, but there was no other alternative. I doubt that a phone call to you would’ve sufficed. You wouldn’t have paid any attention to the warning.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His hands absently moved over the shaft of his cane, caressing it. The movement brought to mind the way Jon’s hands used to move over her skin and the pleasure they brought.

  “You develop an instinct over years of working in the shadows. That bruise on your wrist combined with what happened today leads me to think someone is using you as bait. Tell me about the accident.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I’d forgotten to tell the meat-delivery man I needed an extra fifty chickens next Thursday for a banquet. I ran out into the alley, but he was pulling away. When I turned to go back inside, some crates that were stacked by the back door tipped over. I jumped out of the way, but one caught me on the wrist.”

  Lauren didn’t like the ruthless light that entered Jon’s eyes. It hit her with the force of an atomic bomb just how dangerous this man was, and how little she knew him. A tiny sliver of fear edged its way into her heart.

  “Were there any other accidents?”

  “The night before last when I went home, the streetlight in front of my building exploded. I would’ve been hit by the flying glass if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Barn’s Yorkshire terrier. Tommy slipped out her apartment door and ran out to greet me. When I bent down to pet Tommy, it put me out of the line of fire.”

  “And you thought an exploding streetlight was a freak accident? How many other streetlights in London have spontaneously exploded?”

  Stated that way, the accident appeared not to be a random event. But then again, when it had happened, Lauren had questioned why a streetlight would just go off like a hand grenade. The incident had shaken her and added to her already jangled nerves.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “You’re sure? Think, Lauren. Anything unusual happen since I appeared in your apartment?”

  Lauren remembered the man she’d spotted following her for the past two days. She’d chalked it up to the man working somewhere close to her restaurant.

  “What is it? What are you thinking about?”

  Her startled gaze flew to his. His smile was gentle.

  “I could always read your mind. Remember, you could never hide anything from me.”

  “Too bad I can’t say the same.”

  His demeanor didn’t change, but Lauren felt something inside him harden.

  Feeling ashamed of her bitter reply, Lauren said, “Over the last couple of days I’ve noticed a man who seems to be following me.”

  “What?” The alarm in his voice set Lauren’s nerves on edge. “What man?”

  “I noticed him when I got on the Underground two mornings ago. Then I saw him later that day when I went to pick up my cleaning after the lunch rush. I spotted him again on the train the next day.”

  “Damn.”

  “There are any number of explanations for me seeing that man. Maybe he’s got a job close to my restaurant. Or maybe it was just coincidence.”

  “It could be a coincidence, but my instincts tell me it isn’t just fate.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m not sure, but you can bet your sweet life that guy and the runaway Ford are connected. Now all I have to figure out is who else they’re connected to.”

  Lauren didn’t like what he was suggesting, but it had a ring of truth that unnerved her.

  * * *

  “Your man did what?” Parker James asked, incredulous at what he had just heard.

  The other man stared at Parker’s outfit, then lifted one eyebrow in disdain. “Do you always dress so atrociously?”