According To Plan Part 12

I knew he didn't want to, but a smile pulled at the corner of Caleb's mouth. I stood and offered my hand. Ignoring it, he stood and dusted off his jeans.

"Come on, Dixie. Let's get Louis out of that oversized rubber band and see if you can shoot."

The gym disappeared and the distinctive odor of carbine burned the back of my nose. I held a tiny gun, I called it my baby. It had very little kick back and target, floating at the end of a padded gun range, showed a perfect circle of bullet holes where the heart would be.

"Dixie."

These flashes were becoming weird.

"Dixie!" Caleb shook my shoulders.

"What?"

"You lost all your color and your eyes glazed over. What happened?"

I tried to recall the details, but once again everything just danced around the edges of my memory, teasing me. I shrugged away from Caleb's grip. "Nothing. A memory, but I don't think you have to show me how to shoot. Something tells me I'd do okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "As sure as I am about everything else. Can you help Louis? I'm going to head back to the house. My head hurts a bit." I wanted to lie down before nausea set in. Lately the headaches made me sick to my stomach.

"Sure, Dixie. I'll see you at supper."

I'm standing on the beach and watch the light of the full moon glimmer across the water. A soft summer breeze lifts the hair off my neck and I appreciate its coolness. A pretty blonde woman grabs my arm. She's pointing out three men on the other side of the bon-fire. I immediately recognize Caleb, but not the other two. I'm angry that I can't remember who they are.

All three men are handsome, but the one furthest from me stands apart, in both looks and size. My awareness of him is instantaneous. He meets my curious gaze with bold eyes and I can feel myself blush. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around my midsection and break eye contact. s.h.i.+vers of awareness cause the hairs on my arms to stand on end.

A voice, whiny and needy grates in my ear and I feel a sense of urgency. I turn to leave and I b.u.mp into someone, losing my balance. Large hands steady me and I look up. It's the stranger from across the fire. Although his face is concealed by shadows, I catch a playful, roguish smile. Dark hair, a little long, brushes his shoulders. The fear and loneliness flee when he kisses me with a hunger that has my heart pounding. Heat lances through me, from head to toe, and brands me for life. I am his.

I'm on a beach again and it's now a beautiful sunny day. The man with the dangerous smile walks with me, our fingers laced together. My heart flies as free as the birds swooping down to tease the ocean spray before soaring away.

In a tangle of legs and arms, we fall to the ground, his mouth warm on my stomach and I watch his dark head move slowly down my body. When he reaches the very core of me, I shatter into a million pieces and cry out his name.

Tank!

I jerked awake and flung aside the duvet. The covers were all twisted and my clothes clung to me. The now familiar dream, although a bit disjointed had been so real that I ached low in my belly.

I swung my feet over the side of the bed and sat for a bit to get my bearings. A few things were evident from this dream. One: Pieces of my memory were finally pus.h.i.+ng through the fog. Two: I had a blond-haired friend. And three: I had a Tank.

Chapter Seventeen.

When I'd been on the ranch almost two months, Mrs. Cribbs said I had potential. Potential for killing everything in the garden, that is.

She faithfully showed me which plants were edible and which ones you pulled. My back ached from being stooped over, so I took a mini-break and sat back on my haunches to look at the pile of pulled weeds.

"Are you sure these are weeds?"

They looked exactly like the ones still protruding out of the ground.

She looked over from a few rows away where she picked raspberries. "Yes dear, except the one at your knee. If you look closely you'll see little potatoes."

Sure enough, baby potatoes dangled from the big green leaves I'd ruthlessly tugged out of the ground. Oh dear. Brus.h.i.+ng dirt off my knees I stood and pressed a hand to my back.

Gardening was hard work and the patch Caleb had at the back of his house was huge. We'd spent the last week peeling and dicing strawberries and rhubarb for pies. Some were in the freezer, but most had gone to the bake sale at Mrs. Cribbs' church. Mrs. Cribbs promised to show me how to can raspberries and make jelly.

I heard the familiar clip-clop of a horse on the gravel drive and turned. Caleb swung up the drive and cantered toward us. He sat the horse well. Broad shoulders, cowboy hat, muscular thighs gripping either side of the roan stallion. Shading my eyes I watched him. Leather creaked when he leaned toward me, resting his tanned forearm on the saddle horn.

"I've got good news, Dixie."

My breath stopped in my throat.

"There's been a break in the case and you can go home."

Home? This was my home. A bubble of panic rose and I squashed it down as best I could. Faking a smile I said, "That is good news. We should celebrate."

He swung off the horse and holding the reins loosely, stood over me. He chucked his leather-gloved hand under my chin. "That's exactly what I thought. What do you think about going to the town dance with me?"

I looked over at Mrs. Cribbs, but she tactfully kept busy with the raspberries. A dance? Moving together in close contact? To music? I stammered out, "Uh, yeah. I mean, yes. I'd love to go to a dance."

A slow smile lifted the corner of his mouth, "Great. It's a date."

He pivoted and placing one foot in the stirrup, swung himself easily onto the back of the big horse. He dipped his hat at me, "Dixie," and then Mrs. Cribbs. "Ma'am." He clicked his tongue in the back of his throat and turned the roan toward the stables.

"Caleb, wait!" I called out and he pulled up on the horse. Twisting in the saddle, he looked back at me and grinned as I tripped over the little spade I'd been using to dig at helpless green, living plants. Pus.h.i.+ng my hair out of my face I asked. "What was the break in the case?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

"No. My memory lapses are from before I got here, not while I've been here."

He grinned further. "We know who bombed your house and an arrest has been made. We're confident you can return home soon."

Chewing my lip I digested this latest piece of news. This was good news. Wasn't it?

"Anything else?" He patted the horse's neck as it whinnied and stomped, anxious to move again.

"Nope. Thanks for the invite to the dance."

"You're more than welcome, Ma'am." He pressed his heels on the sides of the roan and cantered off, whistling a tuneless song.

Mrs. Cribbs made a choking sound and I looked over to see her ample bosom jiggling from barely suppressed laughter.

"What?" I turned back to watch Caleb, disappearing down the road that led to the stables.

She tried to smother her laughter, but it echoed in every word, "Oh dear. He sure put on a show. Made me think of Gary Cooper in High Noon, the way he rode up, calling me ma'am."

"Yeah, I guess he did at that. He sure looked good on the horse."

Mrs. Cribbs smiled. "Yes, he sure did. Reminded of my late husband, Gerry. G.o.d rest his soul." She picked up her full basket of raspberries and started walking to the house. "I guess we should go shopping. It's only a few days until the dance."

Confusion must have shown on my face because she laughed again and said, "You can't wear what you got on to the dance. We have to find you the right dress, a nice pair of boots and get your hair cut. Come on." She put her arm around my waist, "I know just the place to take you."

I don't know what scared me more. Going on a quasi-date with Caleb or shopping for a pair of boots with Mrs. Cribbs.

"You look divine!" The salesclerk gushed.

I cast a wry eye over the outfit in question. I may look like a dumb blonde, but no way would I dress like one. Julianna, my personal stylist, insisted I pour myself into a slinky red leather dress which left very little to the imagination and could double as a rain slicker if required. She then produced a pair of mile-high stilettos and cooed that my boyfriend would simply adore me in them.

Caleb had given me his platinum card to shop with and after a quick call to make sure it wasn't stolen, I'd been subjected to speculative glances all afternoon.

I looked at the sultry siren reflected in the mirror and was suddenly tired of being nice to a woman who obviously thought I was being kept in the wrong sense of the word. This was just one more moment where I wished I had my own job and money and ident.i.ty. I pulled the curtain and poked my head out.

"Julianna."

She scurried over to my dressing room.

"Find me something quiet and understated. Something you would never wear. I also need a pair of shoes that are chic and not over three inches." Pivoting, I ignored her outraged gasp and drew the dressing room curtain closed. I tugged and pulled the dress over my head and hung it back up. The three dimensional mirror allowed me to see my whole body and I noticed a mark at the top of my hip.

Twisting as far as I could, my back to the mirror, I stared at the tattoo which looked like a T, with an artsy heart wrapped around it. I never thought I'd be the kind of girl who had a tattoo, but apparently I was. Maybe I should wear the come hither dress. Either that or a leather jacket with chains because I was a biker chick, although I didn't feel like one. A quick check revealed no more inked art and I was torn between relief and disappointment.

Maybe my name started with the letter T. I rolled a few names on my tongue to see if they sounded familiar. Theresa, Tara, Tiffany. None felt right. Tracey? Taylor? Trish? I sighed in frustration. None of them triggered name memories. Maybe I'd gotten a tattoo for the elusive Aunt Tillie.

Julianna returned and with an elegant sniff handed me a few more dresses and a pair of beige pumps.

"Thank you." I poked my head around the curtain, again. "Would you please see if the woman I was with has returned?"

Mrs. Cribbs had gone to make a hair appointment for me at one of the most expensive salons in town. Ignoring my protests, she insisted on booking me with Raymonde, who according to an ebullient Julianna had a waiting list ten years long. Apparently he worked with Caleb before he hung up his sniper rifle and picked up tinting gel.

I pulled a navy slip dress over my shoulders and settled it around my waist. It had a nice flare at the hips and when I twisted from side to side the skirt swirled around my legs. The ugly pumps would have to be changed to bright red and I could already envision a red belt and earrings completing the outfit. I'd found my dress for the town dance.

After changing back into my jeans and tee s.h.i.+rt Julianna informed me Mrs. Cribbs had returned and my hair appointment was in fifteen minutes. I rushed to lace my running shoes, grabbed my bag of clothes and found Mrs. Cribbs waiting patiently for me.

"Come on, dear. We only have a few minutes." She took the bag from me and with amazing speed for a woman her size, barreled through shoppers like an offensive tackle heading for the quarterback. I slid into her slipstream and allowed her drag me along.

After weeks of careful digging and a quiet call to someone higher up in the Agency, Tank discovered Shelby was in the Witness Protection Program and Neil was heading it. In the half hour it took him to drive to Neil's office he worked himself into a quiet fury.

Barging into Neil's office, followed closely by his secretary Bette, Tank enjoyed the look of irritation that swept across Neil's narrow face.

"I'm sorry, Mr.-" Bette apologized.

Neil stopped her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "That's fine Bette. I'll handle it."

Bette backed out of the office and closed the door quietly behind her. Tank stalked toward Neil's desk, wanting nothing more than to grab him by his scrawny neck and squeeze. Sheer willpower had Tank loosen his fists, determined not to lose his temper. His voice was deadly quiet when he asked Neil.

"Where is she?"

"I'm in a meeting, Steele. Come back when you've calmed down.

Tank glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see Liz seated in the plush leather seat facing Neil's desk. A rueful look on her face, she shrugged her shoulders. Mentally, he dismissed her. His mission was to find out where, exactly, Shelby had been placed.

He squared his shoulders. "Your meeting just got a little bigger. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me where she is. Don't make me lose my temper, Neil. You don't like me when I'm angry."

There was a long pause before Neil said, "Take a seat."

Tank slid into the leather chair beside Liz and tried to relax when all he wanted to do was race out and search for Shelby. She was out there somewhere. Living, laughing, and breathing.

Without him.

Tank watched Neil straighten some papers and place them neatly in a folder on his desk. His deliberate ploy to gain control of the situation made Tank's blood boil. Tank leaned forward in his chair. "Where is she and why didn't you tell me?"

Neil pushed back from his desk and a.s.sessed Tank through narrowed eyes. He tapped the folder on his desk. "She's in the W.P.P. You know the rules."

"Bull s.h.i.+t!" Tank rose to his feet. Liz placed a restraining hand on his arm and tried to pull him back into his seat. Tank glared at Neil. "You didn't tell me because you didn't want the case compromised. You're a pencil-pus.h.i.+ng, corporate wh.o.r.e."

"Tank-" Liz interjected.

He looked sideways at her. Tank realized the folder on the desk was Shelby's case and that could only mean Neil and Liz had been discussing her. Had they ever planned on telling him she was alive? All those months he'd crawled into a bottle Liz had known and said nothing.

His lip curled in a sneer. "You're no better, lady. You were in on it. Did Neil pimp you out to get me back on the case?"

"You're off base Steele and you know it. Liz did not create this situation." Neil's quiet voice cut like a knife through Tank's anger. He shrugged off Liz's hand and sat back in the chair.

Neil waited a few moments. "We sent an agent to the house. The plan was to put her into protective custody until the heat died down, but when he got there it was too late. She'd already been knocked unconscious from flying debris."

Tank remembered all the bits of board and plaster that had covered the driveway.

"He posed as a concerned pa.s.ser-by and kept neighbors away and called for backup. The Coroner is one of ours. He took the call and attended the scene. You were the wild card. Everything almost fell apart when you showed up, demanding to see the body."

It sickened Tank when he thought about how close he'd been to her and hadn't realized she was alive. He'd touched her. He should have known.

He had only one question when Neil was finished.

"Where-exactly-is she?"