Free Shadows at Midnight by Elizabeth Jennings Page A

loneliness and sorrow. A year completely alone, she falls into the arms of a dangerously attractive man—a very male man—and crazy Claire goes right off the deep end. It was totally humiliating and if she had any backbone at all, she’d stand up, apologize for bothering him and fly straight back to Safety Harbor.
    Except . . . her cold hands were encased in his large, brown, warm ones, and they felt so good there. She looked down at them, suddenly ashamed of herself. Of her weakness. Her inability to remember anything, the constant feeling of standing over an abyss.
    “No, we weren’t lovers. Why do you ask that?” Daniel Weston was watching her carefully, eyes dark and intelligent.
    She told the truth. “I don’t know. I have no idea why I said that. It wasn’t what I was going to ask at all.”
    His gaze was so steady. “What were you going to ask?”
    “If you were with me,” she answered simply, watching him. “That day. The day of the bombing.” The day her world died.
    He didn’t answer, simply bowed his head, eyes fixed on hers.
    Yes!
    There’d been no one she could talk to, no one at all. The entire staff had been at Crock-of-Shit’s reception, all the Marines at Marine House. Marie was dead.
    By the time she’d woken up from the coma, Crocker had retired and most of the staff had been reassigned. There was no one to ask that she knew of. She’d been alone with her nightmares and the black hole in her head instead of memories.
    “You were there, on guard,” she whispered. He had to have been. An embassy was never left without a Marine guard.
    She hadn’t even thought of that.
    Claire Day, able to write a report on threat levels based on scanty intel and still be right, had been totally unable to think her way through this. “You weren’t at Marine House?”
    “No. I was at the embassy,” he answered soberly.
    “Because I can’t remember anything,” Claire whispered, searching his dark eyes for answers. “Nothing at all. The last thing I remember was the reception at the French Embassy.”
    “November eighteenth.” He nodded. “A whole week before. My first official day of duty was November seventeenth, but I spent that day and the next being briefed. You don’t remember anything? Anything at all?”
    “No.” She didn’t tell him of her nightmares, the incessant heat, the whispers and gunfire. “Nothing. It’s like this huge hole in my head. And I’m sorry about the question about being lovers. I have no idea where that came from.” She gave a little half laugh that came out sad and unfunny, and decided to tell the unpleasant truth. “I sustained massive head injuries. I’ve had . . . problems since the bombing.”
    A swift knock, and the voice of the receptionist through the door. “Dan? Can I come in?”
    He released her hands, stood and walked swiftly to the door, opening it. Her hands immediately felt cold again.
    The receptionist stood on the threshold with a big tray holding a pot of coffee, two big mugs, a sugar bowl, a milk pitcher and two plates, each with a huge croissant on it. She set the tray on the coffee table and stood back, eyeing him, then eyeing Claire with a worried expression on her face.
    Claire was ashamed of the way she’d behaved earlier, falling apart in this man’s lobby, making this very nice lady worry about her. She drummed up a smile. “Thank you so much. The coffee smells delicious.”
    The woman’s worried expression lightened slightly. “You’re welcome. You two eat every bite now, you hear me?”
    Daniel Westin snorted. “Yes, ma’am.” He rolled his eyes at Claire after snapping off a military salute. “You’d better obey Roxanne here because her revenge is swift and brutal if her orders are ignored.”
    The receptionist smiled, showing dazzling white teeth, and swatted him on the arm. The air of affection between them was palpable. “Go on now. You just make sure that girl eats something. She looks like she’s about ready to