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  "Wouldn't want to go too long not wearing that," he muttered. "Feel naked without it."

  "Are you being sarcastic or making a joke?" She searched his face, her own worried, wary. He shrugged. The doors slid open and she shot a nervous glance at the people inside. It took her a minute, as if she had to study each face individually, before she made up her mind. About what, he had no idea. Ash caught the doors before they slid closed again.

  "We're holding people up, Joey. Is something wrong?"

  She blinked, met his eyes and gave her head a small shake. She stepped into the elevator. She stood very close to him, he noticed. Her attitude was damned strange. Not like some woman who was pulling a scam just to get him in the sack. God knew, it wasn't necessary. He'd have obliged her in a New York minute if she'd simply asked. One time and one time only, of course. Women like her were not the kind he had any real use for. Well, okay, one real use for. He knew her type. He'd sifted through enough of them in his search for "Miss Right." There were so many that seemed to fit the role he'd written for the woman who would be his life mate. But usually, when he got them home after an evening of wining and dining, they readily agreed to hop into bed with him. And that ended that. Qualification number one for the future Mrs. Ashville Coye was that she not be promiscuous enough to have sex on the first date. He'd prefer she not be promiscuous at all.

  Which is why he figured he'd have known this little cat was no wife of his even if the amnesia had been real. She had "loose" written all over her.

  It was in those bedroom eyes that seemed to look right through to your hidden fantasies. And it was in those luscious lips, so full and moist looking they made a man want to taste them.

  He scoffed at his own train of thought. Probably collagen.

  The doors slid open and she was the first to step out. She gave a quick glance around the lobby, following it with one over her shoulder to be sure he was right behind her. Then she started for the exit, her hips swaying enticingly. No less than seven male heads turned as she passed, he noted.

  She didn't seem to notice.

  Ha, she knows damn well the show she's putting on, he thought. Feigned indifference is all part of the game. Peaks their interest quicker. Makes her seem like a challenge. He almost laughed. The guy that would find getting her into the sack a challenge hadn't been bom yet.

  She strode purposefully across the parking lot and Ash followed. The July sun rebounded from the pavement, making the asphalt feel like an oven. Not even a hint of a breeze to put in an appearance, and the air was heavy and stifling. She stopped beside a monster-size, glistening black motorcycle. Grabbing a black helmet with an angular, tinted face shield, she pulled it over her head. When he stopped right behind her, she held out one that matched.

  "You're kidding, right?"

  She thumbed her visor back, tilted her head to one side. "You're right. God, if I'd known you were being released today, I'd have brought the car."

  "That's not what I—"

  "Look, why don't you go back to that coffee shop off the lobby? I'll ride home and get the car." She looked him up and down, frowning. "I hate to leave you alone, though." She snapped her fingers. "I know, we'll call a cab and leave the bike–"

  "You talk too much, you know that?" He grabbed the helmet and pulled it on, wincing as it slid past the bandaged wound on his head. The amnesia might be phony, but the damned concussion was real enough. "I'm fine. I was just wondering about you." He looked doubtfully at the bike as he fastened the strap under his chin. "Looks like a lot for a little thing like you to handle. Mind if I drive?"

  "The last time you drove, you wound up in the back of an ambulance." She flipped her visor back down with a snap and swung one leg over the seat. Well, he'd managed to tweak her temper. He'd been wondering if her concern for his health and happiness would have any bounds. The Harley was low slung despite its size. Still, her feet barely reached the pavement She kicked the motor to life and revved it. Ashville caught a whiff of gasoline and exhaust He sighed in resignation and climbed on behind her. His crotch slid forward on the slanting seat until he was pressed to her backside. Putting his arms around her waist, he decided he might not mind the ride so much.

  She caught his hands in hers and moved them until they just rested on her sides, above her hips. Again the visor was thumbed up. She twisted her head and shouted above the roar of the motor. "Move 'em and lose 'em...darling."

  He thumbed his visor back, too, and tried for a pained expression. "I'm sorry."

  Her anger vanished. Her huge eyes softened and she almost pouted. "It's just less distracting this way, Ash. That's all."

  He nodded, a little surprised at how easily he could skirt her anger by acting hurt. A con artist with loose morals and a heart. He could hardly wait to find out what she was up to...

  And whether it had anything to do with the Slasher murders.

  He pushed his visor down. She did likewise. A second later they lurched forward and shot into traffic.

  Chapter Two

  She'd done her research on him. In fact, she'd done little else for the three days since she'd heard of his highly publicized accident She knew him well enough to pull this off. She told herself that over and over again as she leaned into curves without easing her speed, and finally veered right, into the parking lot of the Three Rivers Inn. The bike dipped suddenly into the sunken lot, leaving her stomach somewhere in the region of her throat—God, she loved that sensation!—and zipped out the other side, onto Gaskin Road.

  His hands tightened on her waist. She ignored the warmth that settled somewhere under her skin where he touched her, and smiled. He must be hating this. Aside from being a confirmed bachelor and a notorious playboy, he was a die-hard conservative. It must be killing him to ride on the back of a Harley driven by a woman.

  But she couldn't take any pleasure in his discomfort. The man was in a terrible situation. More than likely, he didn'teven remember his political leanings. Even so, his remark about her letting him drive had rankled. Still did.

  She swung right again, into the long dirt driveway, emerged onto the strip of pavement and pulled to a stop at the front patio. Killing the motor, she heeled the kickstand down and leaned the bike onto it. Then she tugged the helmet from her head and shook her hair loose. She glanced over her shoulder to see he'd already removed his. He was looking at the big, white split-level and shaking his head.

  "This is yours?" He seemed skeptical. "What are you, independently wealthy?"

  "It's no mansion." She swung her leg up in front of her and over the seat, landing with a little hop on the sizzling blacktop. She smelled the river and a hint of rain in the sultry air.

  He got off, as well, following her around the side of the house, over the well-worn path and to the back door. "Your backyard's as big as a football field...and it's riverfront." He shaded his eyes with one hand and looked over the smooth green lawn to the narrow brown river at its edge, some sixty yards away.

  "Half a football field at best." She unlocked the back door and swung it wide, preceding him in.

  "You don't want to tell me, is that it?"

  She faced him and saw his suspicious eyes, and the persistence suggested by his set jaw. Uneasiness crept up her spine. But he was asking about the house, the property. Not her lies.

  Necessary lies. Necessary to keep him alive. And Caroline.

  "Ash, there's nothing I won't tell you. Just ask."

  "How does a woman your age afford a prime hunk of real estate like this?"

  She shook her head. The man was like a dog with a bone, and she wasn't certain she was ready to tell him about her business. If she told him a little, he was liable to go snooping around and find out more. He was just the type who'd write her off as a lunatic and count himself lucky to escape with his hide intact.

  "My age? Ash, I'm thirty, not exactly fresh from the cradle. Besides, I grew up in this house," she told him truthfully. "When Mom and Dad decided to move to a retirement village in Miami
, I didn't want to see it go. Parents are very understanding as mortgage holders, you know." She slipped out of her jacket and hung it on a hook near the door.

  "What do you do for a living, Joey?" His tone said he wouldn't give it up.

  "I'm an independent consultant"

  "To whom?"

  She wished he would drop it. "Businesses, mostly." To change the subject, she waved a hand to indicate the room they were in, a sparse area with cement floors and white walls littered with exercise equipment "This is my torture chamber, as you can see. There's a bathroom through here, and that other door leads to the basement"

  His gaze lingered on the weight bench and narrowed. "You pump iron?"

  "You disapprove?"

  "It's unfeminine."

  "The results aren't."

  He looked her over thoroughly, his gaze traveling a deliberately slow path over her. For the first time in her life, Joey felt uncomfortable in skintight pants and a skimpy bustier. "I'll let you know," he quipped.

  A small, hot shiver zapped up her spine, like an electric charge.

  "Why'd we come in this way, instead of through the sliding doors at the front?" He was glancing around with something a bit more intense than curiosity.

  "Habit. Mom was vigilant about her carpeting. It wouldn't have mattered if the president had come to the door, she'd have told him to go around back."

  He chuckled at that, and the sound was so comfortable she relaxed a bit. "Come on, I'll show you the rest." He followed her up the shallow stairs, emerging into the small kitchen. A doorway at each end led into the L-shaped living room. He moved around, eyes seeming to take in everything at once.

  It occurred to her that maybe he was looking for something familiar, something that would jog his elusive memory. She felt a twinge of conscience. "Ash, you really didn't spend much time here. Your own apartment will probably seem more familiar to you, though. We'll spend some time there later on, if you want. See if it stirs up the past for you."

  He frowned at her. "Why would you want to do that?"

  She frowned right back. "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Now there is an interesting question." Before she could form a reply, he was walking away from her. She swallowed. He must suspect that she wasn't being honest about their...relationship. She'd have to watch herself. He'd stepped into the living room and was looking up the stairs.

  "Three bedrooms and a bath up there. Go ahead, look around. I want you to feel at home here." She meant it, she realized. She wanted this to be as easy on him as possible. The man was going through what was probably one of the worst things any human could experience. Loss of his own identity. And to make things worse, she was giving him a false one to latch on to.

  He started up the stairs, but the sound of a horn blasting out front stopped him. He joined her in peering through the sliding-glass door with the broom handle in its tracks to prevent it being opened. He gave it a closer look, and shot her a puzzled glance.

  "Habit again. Same broom handle has been there since I was a kid. I told you, nobody comes in the front door."

  His smile was real, and for a moment it distracted her. Then she returned her gaze to the car outside. In the driveway, Caroline and the girls spilled from their station wagon and trooped over the path, waving gaily.

  Joey felt the bottom fall out of her stomach as she realized the implications of her sister's untimely visit. She hadn't been prepared to begin this thing so soon. She'd expected to have time to figure out a way to talk to Caroline.

  "What's the matter?" He said it as if he already knew and was poking fun at her. "You're so pale all of a sudden. Who is that?"

  "My...sister, Caroline." She closed her eyes. Think! "Ash, I...I haven't told her about you...about us." She felt sick.

  "You didn't tell your own sister you ran-off and got married?" His dark brows made surprised arches over his brown eyes and he shook his head, tsking repeatedly. "Shame on you, Joey."

  There was no time to beg him to keep his mouth shut There was no knocking among family...not in this house. Never had been. In a fraction of a second, two blond, giggling girls were racing up the stairs and hurling themselves into Joey's arms.

  "Aunt Joey, we came for a picnic!"

  "Can we go fishing?"

  "We'll throw them back, we promise."

  "Yes, please?"

  "Slow down, you two. Easy." Joey hugged her nieces, feeling the surge of affection they always inspired in her. She adored them, and she knew part of it was probably the unlikelihood of her ever having children of her own. "Go on to the kitchen. There's candy in the lazy Susan. Go on now."

  They peeled themselves from her and raced back into the kitchen. Their mother, dressed as always in baggy sweats and an oversize T-shirt, which she thought hid the fact that her figure had suffered a bit from carrying the two girls, stood behind them. Her hair, so like Joey's in length, texture and coloring, was pulled into a bouncy ponytail, and her smile was bright.

  "Hi, Joe." She saw Ash standing there and frowned. "Sorry we didn't call first. I never guessed you'd have company. We can go if—"

  "Oh, I'm not company." Ash stepped forward, extending a hand. "My name's Ashville Coye. You must be Caroline. You're more beautiful than your sister told me you were."

  Oh, his amnesia hadn't made him forget how to ooze charm. Stunned, Caroline shook his hand weakly. Her gaze jumped from Joey to Ash and back again, and then she blinked. "Ashville Coye—you're the reporter who's doing the series on the Slasher killings, aren't you?"

  He shot Joey a quick glance. "I guess that would be me.

  "Well, what a coincidence! It's nice to meet you." She seemed a bit confused. "I heard about your accident. I hope you're...better now."

  "Your sister is helping me through."

  Caroline smiled brightly, then glanced apologetically at Joey again. "Look, the girls and I will go to the park instead. I'm really sorry I—''

  "I think you'd better stay," Ashville said in a deep, steady voice. "Joey and I have some news."

  Joey swallowed hard, feeling as if a fist had just punched her in the solar plexus.

  "News? Joey, what does he mean?" Caroline's voice went a shade higher. "Is anything wrong, honey? You're not sick are you?" A hand immediately went to her sister's forehead, then her cheek. Why was that always the pattern with mothers? Any mother, anywhere in the world, would do it in exactly the same manner. Palm to forehead, then to cheek. And not just to her own brood, but to anyone, friend or foe, who showed signs of having a fever.

  Joey shook her head. "Nothing's wrong. I'm not sick, Caro."

  "It's this Slasher thing, isn't it? You've gotten yourself into some kind of tr—"

  "No, Caroline." Joey glanced up—because he was at least a foot taller than her—into Ashville Coye's face and knew there was no way out of this. Next she looked into her sister's blue eyes and felt her own sting. Caroline might never forgive her for this when she learned the truth, but it would be worth it to save her life. There was no one in this world closer to her than Caroline.

  "I...that is, Ash and I..."

  She couldn't go on. Her mouth felt as though she'd rinsed it with ashes. Caroline would never believe this. She knew her too well.

  She felt Ashville's hand close on hers and lift it. "I think this says it all."

  Frowning, Joey glanced down to see the simple gold band she'd bought and placed on her left hand. It was a prop. Nothing but a prop.

  Caroline's eyes widened. "This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. Look, Mr. Coye, no one knows how much my sister detests the institution of marriage better than I. You can't be seriously standing here and trying to tell me that she...that you... Oh, my God, you're not kidding. Are you?"

  When he saw the tears pooling in Joey's eyes, Ash thought maybe he'd taken his challenge a bit too far. He didn't have a clue why Joey wanted him to believe she was his wife. He'd thought she would cut the act if forced. He'd been wrong. Whatever was going on in her head, she must be damn
ed serious about it. Otherwise, she never would have continued the charade in front of her sister. It was pretty obvious how close they were.

  It was also increasingly and uncomfortably obvious that Joey had some kind of involvement in the murders. He'd wondered about that from the beginning, and her sister's cryptic comment about the killings added credence to his suspicion. But, damn, it was tough to look at her and suspect her of being a brutal serial killer.

  A moment later he found himself enveloped in a hesitant but genuine hug. Then Caroline hugged Joey, harder. Fiercely, really. And she was crying, too. She sniffed and straightened. "I never thought it would happen." She sobbed some more. "Joey, honey, didn't you even have a wedding?"

  "It was a...sort of a...spur-of-the-moment decision."

  Caroline frowned, this time at both of them, finally settling her gaze on Ash. "Did you get my sister pregnant? Is that what this is—?"

  "Caroline, please!" Joey diverted the woman's attention. "Look, you've been after me to settle down for years. You ought to be happy for me."

  Her lips thinned as her gaze moved downward to Joey's admirably fiat belly. "I'm sorry. It's just that it's so sudden.I'm in shock, that's all." She took Joey's hands in hers and stared into her sister's eyes. "Are you happy, Joey? Because if you are, then that's all that matters."

  Joey kept a remarkably straight face. The tears were a nice touch. "Yes, I'm very, very happy, Caro."

  Caroline swallowed. Without releasing Joey's hands or even turning her head she called, "Girls, come in here. I want you to meet your new uncle."

  The incessant stream of high-pitched chatter died abruptly. Two angelic blond faces peered into the room, quieter than they'd been since they'd arrived.

  "Ashville, these are my daughters. Bethany is seven, and Brittany is six. Girls, this is your Uncle Ashville...Aunt Joey's new husband."

  Two pairs of blue eyes rounded. "Husband?"

  "Uncle?"

  The older one came forward, and Ashville, feeling more guilty by the minute, dropped down to one knee. He felt a new anger at his make-believe wife. Playing head games with him was bad enough, but to start in with a couple of helpless kids, and, in effect, to force him to play along, that was too much.