“No more than you are,” she replied easily.
“Tell me about your life, Isabella,” he said. Every time he pronounced her name, it sounded different from when anyone else said it. Everything about Colin was unique. Sympathy created a strong tie to him. Also, was she empathetic just because she had known him for years and remembered who he had been?
She did know he held a dazzling appeal for her, and he must have felt something, too. She had glimpsed his reactions, heard his voice drop to a husky note. But Colin was the last man on earth she would want to find captivating. He was hard, cynical and cold. She was appalled and saddened that he hadn’t seen more of his family or let them know sooner that he was alive. Still, she could remember Colin as the happy person he had once been. His harshness was easier to understand when she considered the trauma he had experienced.
No matter what the reason, it was an incredible loss and waste for him to give up on life. She looked at his thickly lashed, smoky eyes. They were startlingly pale and intense against his dark looks. Locks of black hair fell over his forehead. He was thin, the hollows in his cheeks dark shadows beneath the prominent bones. He was ruggedly handsome and she knew he would photograph spectacularly. In a picture, the brooding look in his eyes would tell its own story.
“Remember when you rode the roller coaster with me?” she asked, wishing she could get a smile out of him.
One dark eyebrow climbed and he stared at her. “I sort of recall that day. Don’t be insulted, but that wasn’t high on my list of unforgettable moments. You were a skinny little girl. How old are you now, Isabella? Seems like you ought to be about nineteen, but I guess that’s not right.”
She laughed. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to ask a woman her age? But then, to you, I don’t qualify as a woman. You still see a skinny kid.”
“No,” he answered solemnly, giving her one of those somber looks that stole her breath, “you definitely qualify as a woman, Isabella.” He stood and moved to the sofa beside her and leaned forward to take her braid in his hand. “A very beautiful woman,” he said in a husky voice.
She couldn’t move or take her breath. How could he have such an effect on her when he neither intended it nor cared and it was unwanted on her part?
“I know you’re a hell of a lot younger than I am.” He began to unfasten her braid. “Your hair is long. Let’s see it out of that braid.”
She felt faint tugs against her scalp as she watched his hands at work. He had well-shaped fingers, thick wrists, strong-looking hands. Tiny scars spread across the backs of his hands and wrists and upper arms. He had pushed up the long, black sleeves of his knit shirt and his forearms were sprinkled with short black hairs.
He smelled soapy and clean. He glanced up at her and met her gaze and tension running between them jumped another notch.
“You shouldn’t have to run all your life,” she said.
“I don’t intend to,” he replied grimly, giving her a hard look. She wondered to what lengths he would go to stop the killer. “If I can’t get my memory back, there are places in the world where a person can go and live and never see another living soul.”
“You weren’t meant for that kind of life, Colin!” she exclaimed. “What a waste that would be! You can’t become a recluse.”
“Being a hermit isn’t a bad life.”
“To never love someone else, never have a family—”
“I don’t see you with a family. Are you in love with someone?”
Startled, she blinked at him and was mildly annoyed. “No, but I’m out in the world and I enjoy people, and someday in the future I might have a family. Even if I don’t, I have a full, active life. I’m not hiding from the world.”
“I’m not exactly going to hide from the world, just from a killer,” he said as if explaining the situation to a child. He shot her a dark look and she knew she had touched raw nerves and hurt him.
“Colin, I just remember how friendly you were. I’m prying and being as pesky as a little sister, I guess.” She smiled at him and he touched the corner of her mouth, a touch that sent fiery tingles to the center of her being.
“Your intentions are good, but you know the old saying about hell being paved with them. Watch out, Isabella. I’m not a lost cause you need to save. I know what I want.”
He finished unbraiding her hair and began to comb his fingers through the long locks that fell to her waist. Her straight hair now held slight waves from being plaited for hours. He caught up a handful and rubbed the strands across his cheek. “You have beautiful hair.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. He’d leaned close enough that she could see the faint dark stubble on his jaw. His short hair was thick, an unruly tangle above his forehead.
“So tell me about your life. What have you done since that roller coaster ride?”
“I went to the University of Southern California on a scholarship and got into photography and found my field. By my senior year I was making so much money with my photography that I dropped out of college.”
“You must be good at picture-taking.”
“Good enough,” she answered in amusement. “After another couple of years I had my own business, and it’s grown. Then when Boone settled here and liked it so much, he talked me into moving my business to Stallion Pass. Photography is something you can do anywhere, and a lot of people come into Stallion Pass for one reason or another. In a lot of ways it’s like a resort town.”
“So where is the romance in your life?”
“At the moment it’s nonexistent.”
“Which I find surprising. All right, who was there, and why is he gone?”
“There was someone a while back, but he wanted to get serious and I didn’t. I’m not ready for marriage.”
“Why not?”
“My business. Right now that’s more important. It won’t always be, but it is now.”
“Well, maybe you just haven’t met the right guy.”
If he weren’t so solemn, she would think he was teasing her, but he looked incapable of teasing anyone.
“Maybe I haven’t.”
“Any other guy, any other time?”
“In college—same deal. He wanted to get married and I didn’t. I have my plans for my business.”
“Sorry I won’t be around long enough to see some of your photographs.”
“Well, you can see at least one or two because I’ve taken some of Mike’s little girl, Jessie.” She was aware Colin still toyed with her hair, combing it through his fingers, letting it slip over his hand. “Colin, why didn’t you go into the witness protection program?” she asked. “You could have had a new life that would be almost like normal.”
“The killer is someone high up in the Agency. He would know where I am and who I was. I can handle a solitary life and I won’t have to worry about what’s behind the next tree or around the next bend. Or have government agents constantly after me to do something. I’ve served my time with the government and I want to end it soon.”
“Living in solitude for the rest of your life is like a prison sentence,” she argued, hating to see him give up on life.
“Solitude isn’t always bad. So what do you take pictures of?” he asked, turning the conversation away from himself.
“People, mostly. I do all sorts of portraits. A lot of babies and little children, newborns. I do weddings. I like it all. I had one assignment with a national magazine that took me