Caleb said without turning around. "Have a seat. I'm almost done."

Though this was an older home, the finest of appliances graced this room. Judging by the smells making my stomach rumble Caleb knew how to use them too. So far, most of our meals had been prepared by Mrs. Cribbs, a local woman who came out four days a week to do housework and prepare meals. Today was her one of her days off.

He set a plate of bacon, eggs and toast in front of me, followed by a steaming cup of coffee.

"Do you take milk or sugar?"

My mind stayed blank. "I don't know. I'll try it black and add if I need to." I sipped my coffee and felt a familiar satisfaction. Lifting my cup in a mock salute I said, "Black."

"Aren't you going to eat?" Caleb had sat down and noticed me staring when he took a sip of his coffee.

"I need to thank you."

"For what?"

"For looking after me. I mean, who am I to you?"

"I'm not sure how much I should tell you." He set his coffee down. "You're in the Witness Protection Program. Do you know what that is?"

I nodded.

"You were hurt when your house was blown apart. It's a miracle you survived. Because you have no living relatives, we've allowed everyone, including whoever set the explosives, to think you are dead."

The words no living relatives sank in.

"Is my name even Dixie?" Tears welled up in my eyes, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand. I felt anger at this show of emotion. I knew I wasn't an emotional crier. This had to come from something deeper. Something I hadn't figured out, or remembered, yet.

"No, but because of your memory loss the doctor says it's better if you don't know it right now. If anyone calls you anything other than Dixie you'll know not to trust them. There's a reason why your mind has blocked all this and when you're ready, hopefully you'll have full recovery."

I reached across and took his calloused hand in mine. "Thank you, Caleb. You've been good to me."

He attacked his breakfast. Between mouthfuls he said, "Eat up. I don't want you to die from hunger after everything else that happened to you."

With gusto I dug in. Caleb wouldn't let me help with the dishes, so I wandered around and finally found what could be called a library. Rich, mahogany shelves filled with books from floor to ceiling covered one whole wall. A desk with a leather chair took advantage of natural light streaming in through the large window.

I plopped down on the big leather couch with a book, but after a few minutes I scooted over to the other end. Nothing felt right. Finally, I shifted over to the big comfy chair, snuggled in deep and swung my leg over the side. That was better.

By late afternoon I was extremely fatigued and headed for bed. Every step to the second floor pulled energy from my legs and drained me.

Caleb called from the living room, "Do you need a hand?"

"No, I have to do this. I'll be all right. Good night."

I grabbed the railing and hauled myself up the last few steps. I heard a creak on the floor and knew he watched. He always watched. Probably waiting for me to tumble down these blasted stairs.

I stopped and caught my breath at the top. Sheesh. A baby kitten could take me right now. My legs shook, every step became an effort, but I made it to my room and collapsed on the bed, and fell asleep with my clothes on. Slow beginnings, but it heralded the start of my physical recovery. It took another week before I could stay up all day without nodding into my soup at supper.

One quiet evening Caleb and I were in the den. Seated at his desk he was going over bills and paperwork, chewing the end of his pen and scratching his head-a lot. Instinctively I know he didn't like to do bookwork. He was a hands-on kind of guy.

In my comfy chair I read a book his sister left behind, The Immortal Highlander. With a little tear in my eye from the happy ending, and a satisfied sigh I finished the book and looked over at Caleb.

A sense of dej-vu washed over me, watching him in the lamp light. Without warning, a man's face, achingly familiar with its ruggedness and strength, darted in and out. I tried to grasp the memory, hold onto it and complete the picture with a name or even a place, but it faded back into obscurity. A pang of sadness settled over me, a feeling of something profound being lost.

What if I never got my memory back? Would I ever get used to my brain skipping liked a scratched record? That was too scary a thought so I decided to ignore the sliver of memory and instead, asked Caleb a question which nagged at me all day.

"Caleb?"

"Hmm?" His attention remained on the papers in front of him.

"What did I do?"

He put down his pen and looked over. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...what did I do for a living? I can't stay with you forever and I must have had a job. Doesn't anyone miss me?"

I asked this because earlier that afternoon I'd been sweeping off the front porch for the millionth time and as clear as a bell I'd seen myself standing on the corner of a busy street with two other girls. They'd asked a few drivers if they wanted dates and I saw money in my hand and then the memory door slammed shut.

It made me wonder, as always, what I did for a living. Had I been a hooker and I was in the Witness Protection Program because I'd seen some heinous crime while I plied my trade? Why else would I be in the company of two street walkers?

All day this question had festered and I needed answers.

After a brief pause he said. "You were a Private Investigator and handled mostly divorce cases and missing persons."

My shoulders sagged and I let out my breath in a soft whoosh. Aunt Tillie would've killed me if I'd have been a hooker. Instant joy flashed through me. I have an aunt. Caleb said I didn't have any family, but I know I have an aunt. I rolled her name around on my tongue, savoring it. Tillie. A tiny frisson of excitement coursed through my veins and I almost missed what Caleb said next.

"Your last case ran parallel with one of ours and you got caught in the cross-fire. We believe the bomb was directed at our agent staying at your house."

I went to twirl my hair, something I did when I was thinking hard, but it was too short.

"Why would an agent be at my house? Was he hurt?"

"You two had a history. He was in town, following leads and wasn't at the house at the time of the explosion. I don't have any other details."

"So, I have n.o.body?"

Caleb nodded slowly. "The only other person involved with you on a daily basis was your secretary and I don't have any information on her."

"How long do you think I'll have to stay here?"

"I don't know, Dixie. Maybe a few weeks, months, maybe only days. You shouldn't worry about that right now. Concentrate on getting healthy."

I digested this information. Nothing, other than knowledge of an aunt, had twigged a huge jolt of memory. No choirs as I jumped to my feet singing, Hallelujah, I got my memory back! Just an annoying blank curtain drawn tight across my brain, with one small tear that Aunt Tillie crawled through.

I wondered what she looked like.

"I'm off to bed." I stood and stretched. "Good night, Caleb."

"Good night, Dixie."

From the window seat in my room, I gazed out over the mountains, drew my knees close, and rocked slightly. Maybe, just maybe, my life was trying to find me. For the first time in weeks I felt a surge of hope and I clung to it like it was my favorite teddy bear.

Chapter Sixteen.

Tank slipped in behind a group of laughing people and as soon as he'd pa.s.sed the bouncer, peeled off from the crowd and made his way down a long hall which led to private rooms. Keeping to the shadows he proceeded to the third door on the left and, without knocking, entered.

He almost backed out when he saw a half-naked woman gyrating on a small table in front of a man reclined on the couch. Until he realized the man was Rodie. Dressed in a vibrant purple silk jacket over an even brighter yellow shirt, Rodie, with a cheesy grin plastered on his face, watched the woman dance. Upon Tank entering, Rodie gestured at the woman to take some money he had in his hand and with a pat on the behind, sent her out of the room.

"You said you had to keep a low profile." Tank growled once the door was safely closed.

Rodie put his wallet back into his pocket. "Hey man, for me, this is low key. If I didn't go to a girlie club at least once a week my cover wouldn't stand up for nuthin'. They all think I'm a sleaze ball, so I sacrifice myself for the job."

He waved Tank over to a comfortable chair that faced the divan. Rodie's quick hand signal told him there were cameras in the room, no hidden microphones. Instantly on high alert Tank knew he had to follow Rodie's lead.

Rodie shrugged out of his brightly colored silk jacket. "Did you bring it?"

He'd sent encoded instructions for Tank to bring a small baggie filled with a mixture of white sugar and flour. Nodding the affirmative, Tank pulled a clear bag out of his coat pocket and tossed it to him. Rodie opened the bag, licked his pinkie finger and stuck it in the powdery substance. After he pulled his finger back out, he tested the powder with the tip of his tongue. With a satisfied smile he rubbed his back gums with the innocuous mixture.

Tank relaxed a bit as this was a gambit they'd used once before. When they both hunkered down at the coffee table to 'snort' a little c.o.ke, Rodie would pa.s.s whatever information he had while their heads were close. Anyone watching would think they were doing a line together. What they wouldn't see was Rodie pushing the powder off the table with his hand as he 'inhaled' his portion.

With their heads almost touching, Rodie didn't waste any time.

"Word out is that Big Boss is a tad peeved about Regis and how everything went down. He also thinks your girl is alive."

The memory of Shelby's funeral squeezed Tank's heart. Even after six weeks, the hurt cut straight to his gut whenever he thought of her being lost to him forever.

"Yeah, well he wasn't the one who saw her in the coroner's car."

Rodie handed Tank a tightly rolled one hundred dollar bill and Tank took care of his line of flour.

"No man. He's convinced this was a set up and he's had a few of us looking into things. Like, who called the Coroner? We know the cops didn't, and E.M.S. didn't, so how'd he get there so fast?"

Tank sat back on the chair and stared at Rodie. What the...?. Had he been played? At the time he hadn't given any thought as to why her casket had never been open for visitation. Even if it had, he couldn't have brought himself to look at her laying there on the satin pillow. But if what Rodie said was true then it would make sense. The casket had stayed closed because there was no body to be buried.

Not realizing what Tank was thinking, Rodie continued talking as he sealed the remaining powder in the baggie. "And here's another interesting fact. Immediately after the explosion, neighbors reported Shelby had been cared for by a concerned pa.s.ser-by. A pa.s.ser-by who conveniently knew C.P.R., told everyone Shelby didn't survive the blast and covered her face with his jacket."

Thinking fast Tank leaned toward Rodie. "How many people are on to this?"

"Me and Gizmo. I wouldn't worry too much about him. He's lazy and hates getting his hands dirty, if you know what I mean. Besides, with Big Boss still lying low, Gizmo don't do much more than call dial-a-p.u.s.s.y."

Tank held out his hand as if expecting money and when Rodie pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket he asked, "Any leads on Big Boss?"

Rodie laid the money in Tank's palm. "Last I heard someone said he's holed up in Taiwan, but I've got a hunch he's closer to home. I think he's in the Caymans, biding his time until he can come back stateside. He lost a good chunk of revenue when we snagged Regis."

Tank stood. "That's a fact. Regis made a lot of money for the sc.u.mbag. Thanks Rodie. I'm gonna check out my sources. Stay safe."

Rodie leaned back on the couch and spread his arms across the back, kicking his feet out on the now clean coffee table. When he grinned wide Tank saw he'd added a gold cap to his left incisor. His voice sounded amused. "Don't I always stay safe, T-man?"

Tank opened the door and Rodie called out, "Send in my women. I feel the need for some lovin'. Rodie's lonely in here."

Tank stepped aside and allowed two scantily clad women to pa.s.s by him into the room. As the door closed he heard them giggle and an answering chuckle from Rodie.

When a little over six weeks had pa.s.sed and the doctor gave me the thumbs up to start exercising again I asked Caleb if he'd teach me some self-defense. I'd seen him working a punching bag in his gym over the garage and thought he could give me a few pointers.

To my surprise he agreed.

Nervousness in the shape of a thousand b.u.t.terflies fluttered around in my stomach. It was only a little bit of self-defense but what if he accidentally caught me in the face and knocked out a tooth? Or worse, broke my nose.

When I entered the gym I almost choked to stop myself from laughing. Louis, one of Caleb's ranch hands, had on what looked like a baseball catcher's vest. Caleb told me I was going to punch, kick, and hit Louis and the suit would protect him. Louis looked utterly miserable.

"You okay with this Louis?"

Louis shifted from one foot to the other, a trickle of sweat edging its way down the side of his face under what had to be a padded catcher's mask.

"Yup. Boss said I'd get a weekend off if I did this for ya."

"Good deal, Louis, but I'd have held out for a week."

I could tell by the widening of his eyes he wished he'd thought of that too. Next time, if there was a next time, I knew he'd bargain harder.

Caleb stood in front of me and showed me how to hold my fist, the best way to maximize the punch without expending too much energy and stay on my feet.

"Okay. Now I want you to punch Louis in the stomach."

Louis braced himself for the hit.

I did my best Mohamed Ali footwork and pretended to be ducking some jabs, then without thought I let a punch fly straight for Louis' gut. The force of the hit surprised everyone and Louis fell hard, with a loud groan. I rushed to Louis and tried to help him up.

Caleb reached out and pulled my shoulder, to move me out of the way. The next thing I knew Caleb was flat out on the floor staring up at me after I'd flipped him over my back.

"Holy Mackeral, Caleb. Are you okay?"

Louis, forgotten, rolled away from us, and I fell to my knees beside Caleb.

"Caleb. Are you okay, did I hurt you?"

He pushed up onto his elbows and stared at me.

"I don't think I have to teach you any defensive moves. You appear to have yourself well in hand," came the dry reply.

I looked over at Louis who was still struggling to get off the floor in that ridiculous padded outfit and then down at Caleb lying beside me. Before I could think about it I started to giggle. The more I tried to stop and look remorseful, the harder I laughed. One little woman had just laid two men out flat without even trying.