Perfect Assassin by Wendy Rosnau Page A

square jaw, eyes a deeper brown than her own, and a flawless tan complexion.
    He was the man, Vic had said. Sometimes ornery and always tough.
    “How are you feeling?”
    His eyes lowered to her legs. He studied the bandage, her wrapped swollen ankle, then his eyes started upward slowly taking in her bare knees and more.
    She wore only his flannel shirt.
    “Your friend stitched my leg.”
    “I know. I stuck around, assisted and put you to bed afterward.”
    She looked away, reminded that this stranger had seen her close to naked. She fidgeted in the rocking chair, feeling awkward.
    To take her mind off her uncomfortable situation, she continued to talk. “Vic says I have twenty-four stitches and a sprained ankle. And of course, a mess of bruises. I feel every one of them, but I’m alive.”
    “You were lucky.”
    “Yes. A miracle.” The word brought her thoughts to Koko, and she looked past him expecting to see the old woman. “Where’s your grandmother?”
    “Koko went home to sleep.”
    “She doesn’t live here?”
    “No.”
    “I thought this was her home. She said something about living with her grandson.”
    “She lives with Tate. They share a cabin across the lake.”
    “Tate?”
    “My brother.” He motioned to her bag. “I looked through your personal effects. There’s no ID. Do you remember anything yet? Your name.”
    “No, I don’t remember anything…yet.”
    “No one has come forward inquiring about a missing person, but it’s still early.”
    “What are you telling me? That I have no one who cares about me?”
    “I’m not telling you anything. Maybe no one expects you to check in yet. A family member or friend.” He shrugged out of his coat and she found herself scanning his body much as he had done hers moments ago. He was solid and muscular. Above average in height, there was substance to his shoulders. His thighs filled out his jeans, and when he turned to hang the heavy winter coat on the bedpost, she saw that he compensated for what appeared to be a stiff knee.
    He removed his hat, and hooked it on the post over his coat. His hair was shiny and longer than she had imagined it would be. It complemented his sharp good looks and the comfortable style of his clothes. He looked like a free spirit, and a man of experience in the games of survival.
    She had never imagined she would be one of those same people—a survivor. She’d been raised with little adversity in her life until a few months ago. But then tragedy had struck, and at age nineteen she’d been forced to step into her father’s shoes—her life suddenly mapped out in a way she would never have imagined. Not out of want, but out of survival, loyalty and love.
    “Once the reports are made and the newspapers get their stories out, someone will come forward,” he said.
    No one would come forward. Otto was the only person who would be looking for her, and he didn’t know where to start. But Pris nodded anyway, his comment needing some form of answer.
    Otto had told her that she was perfect for this game. She realized now she would have to keep playing, and at the moment, the game required her to look innocent and vulnerable.
    After all, she had lost her memory, right?

    A young woman this beautiful certainly had someone somewhere worrying about her, Jacy thought. Parents expecting a call, or a close friend. A regular boyfriend to check in with.
    “Like I said, I went through your bag looking for some kind of identification. I suppose that bag went up in flames.”
    He turned to look at her, and she offered him an innocent expression. Why did he get the feeling she was holding something back?
    “Vic said you didn’t eat much for breakfast. You’re not one of those vegetarians are you?”
    “I wasn’t overly hungry. Where is the closest town?”
    “Going somewhere?”
    “I’d like to.”
    “Why? You don’t know who you are, or where you came from. Seems pointless at the moment to strike out on your own when you