He seemed . . . competent. Freakishly competent. Scarily competent. And strong. Really, really strong. A fact she couldn’t help but remember when the hand around her throat began to squeeze.
“I’m not going to ask again.” The words hinted at impatience, but he had the look of a man who could wait all day. Immovable object, meet very, very stoppable force.
“I don’t know!”
Her eyes were hot, but she didn’t cry. She wasn’t exactly sure why she wasn’t crying. She felt like crying. She felt like curling into a ball or maybe digging that snow cave. Maybe she was just too tired and hungry—and, let’s face it, probably concussed—for a proper breakdown. Yeah. That was it. Everyone knows that to do a breakdown properly, you need snacks.
“I don’t—”
“Stop lying.”
“Do I look like I’m lying?” she shouted. “Your hand is on my jugular, how’s my pulse? Look at my eyes. Look at my freaking tights.”
“What?” he said because a pack of thugs in the street he could handle, no problem, but the word tights was throwing him for a loop.
“Do you think I’d be walking around like this if I had someplace to go? If I knew . . . I don’t know!” she shouted even louder. Rage bubbled to the surface—like maybe there was a little fight left in her after all. Like there was a little of her left. If she could just remember where to find her.
She took a deep breath and met his gaze and was surprised, somehow, to realize that his eyes were blue. His eyes were pretty and soft and looked like springtime, but the rest of him was the coldest day of the year.
She tried again. “My entire memory goes back approximately”—she did the math in her head—“three hours? Four hours? When did you yell at me . . . the first time?” But she didn’t really wait for an answer. “That’s as far as I go.”
He huffed then, a humorless sound. “So . . . amnesia? That’s your story?”
“It’s not a story.” She turned her gaze away. “It’s the truth.”
He sunk his hands into her hair, cradling the back of her head in a way that should have felt really, really good. And sexy. And maybe kisslike. Yes. This definitely felt like a prekiss or midkiss or postkiss kind of situation, with those big strong hands running through her hair, except—
“Ouch!” Pain shot through her, sudden and quick, and she changed his name to Mr. Doesn’t Know His Own Strength Guy because he kept probing, searching. “That hurts!”
And finally he stopped. “You have a head wound.”
“Ya think?”
He didn’t let go, but at least he stopped pressing where it hurt. His gaze dropped from her head to her eyes to her lips, and when he spoke again, the word was a whisper. “Fuck.”
“Langu—”
“I thought she was lying.” He squeezed his eyes tight and looked down at the icy ground.
“Who?”
“Alex.” He looked at her like she was a puzzle and a missing piece. Both. “I didn’t think she really had a twin.”
He let her go and pushed away and, suddenly, it was colder without him blocking the wind and pressing all his muscly warmth into her. But then she processed what he’d said.
“Wait . . . Twin?”
He was looking at her oddly, like maybe he was the one who’d hit his head and woke up to find himself in a very bad dream.
“She used to say ‘be grateful I’m the bad twin.’ I thought she was lying.”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t you mean joking?”
He glared. “Alex doesn’t joke.”
“But she lies?”
For the first time, he smiled. “Better than anyone.”
Chapter Six
Him
It wasn’t Alex.
Sawyer believed her. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because no one—not even Alex—was that good an actress. Maybe because Alex had no reason to lie. Except no. That wasn’t true. If the last few days had taught him anything, it was that he’d never known Alex at all.
“Excuse me, Mr. . . .” The woman started then trailed off, as if she was running through a long list of options in her head. “Gun Guy . . . Alex’s Boyfriend Guy—”
But that made him laugh. Hell, that made him howl. He hadn’t thought he was still capable of it, so he felt as surprised as she looked.
“I only mean . . . you have a gun. And you just shot a lot of people with it—not that I’m not grateful. I realize it was devolving into a me-or-them situation, and I’m very happy you chose me. So thank you. I’m sure you must be disappointed that I’m not the love of your life—”