More Than Friends (The Warriors) Read Online Free PDF Page A

luggage into the trunk of your car. It was dark, and you must’ve tripped on the curb. I wasn’t close enough to catch you before you tripped, fell, and hit your head on the cement," he lied.
    Two men were trying to wrestle you to the ground,
he remembered
, but you tried to fight them off. I was running toward you, shouting your name like an escapee from an insane asylum. I couldn’t use my gun, because I was afraid you’d get caught in the crossfire. One of the men shoved you when he spotted me coming at him, and you fell. I heard you cry out just before your head hit the pavement. At first, I thought they’d killed you. I wanted to die, too, but only after I made them pay for what they’d done to you.
    Brett gripped her hand, unaware that he was on the verge of crushing her fingers. "You scared the hell out of me when I couldn’t wake you up."
    "You took me to the clinic?"
    "Of course."
    "You were holding my hand then, too," she remarked. "I felt safe when you held my hand."
    "Why didn’t you tell the doctor you couldn’t remember anything?" he asked.
    "Would it have made a difference? Doubtful. And I don’t think a prescription is going to solve this situation. Besides, I hardly even remember the clinic, let alone the doctor, although I’m almost positive I said something to you after we got into the Jeep."
    "You were mumbling in your sleep," he recalled. "I should have paid more attention to what you were saying."
    "That’s alright. You couldn’t have known." She paused and glanced down at their entwined fingers. "Who exactly are you?"
    "Brett Matthew Upton."
Commander, United States Navy, attached to Naval Intelligence. The man who loves you. The father of your son. The fool who walked out on you and forced you to face the birth of our child alone, because my work came first in those days.
    "That’s it?"
    "Long–time… friend."
    She chewed on that for a long moment. "Since we’re taking a vacation together, I guess we must know each other fairly well."
    Brett almost smiled when he heard the speculative tone of her voice. Although he longed to tell her that they’d once shared a rare emotional and passionate bond, he restrained himself. "We’ve known each other for several years, Leah. We met in D.C. when you were working as a congressional aide. I was stationed at the Pentagon."
    "What are we?"
    "To each other?" he asked quietly.
    Leah nodded, her gaze sweeping across that hard–looking face for some clue about their relationship.
    "I’d like to think we’re friends."
    She frowned. "Friends? That doesn’t sound right."
    "Why?" he whispered.
    She shrugged. "We seem like… more."
    "We’ve been… more than friends, Leah. In the past," he said with care.
    "And that’s why you’re helping me now? Because we have a shared past?"
    "You… we were headed up to the Pacific Northwest for a vacation," he said, modifying the truth somewhat. He knew this wasn’t the time to tell her that he’d intended to follow her at a safe distance, stepping in only if she needed his help to defend herself against an unexpected attack. "Our game plan was to end the trip by visiting your family in Seattle."
    Leah sighed in obvious frustration and slumped back against the sofa cushions. Brett released his hold on her hand the instant she started to tug free of him.
    "I don’t remember anything. Not a trip, not my name, not my life or my family, and not you. This can’t be happening."
    "I’ve seen men with head wounds temporarily forget their entire lives, but their memories almost always return. The key is not to rush the process. I guess you’ll need to be patient."
    "I don’t feel patient," she grumbled. "I feel disconnected. Are we really friends? Or are you just doing a job of some kind?"
    He met her troubled gaze. Despite his desire to draw her into his arms and simply hold her, he conquered the impulse. "You aren’t a job, Leah. You never could be."
    "You carry a gun. At first, I thought I might be a