Holiday Amnesia

by Lynette Eason

  Would Oliver call him back? Or was he on his own now? Time would tell.

  About a lot of things.

  NINE

  Robin blinked at the sun streaming through the window and sat up with a pained grunt. A glance at the clock had her blinking again. 8:40. In the morning? It had to be. She’d slept all night without waking or dreaming or tossing and turning? Wow.

  No doubt that was thanks to the stronger pain pill she’d swallowed before stretching out on the bed still dressed in her clothes. She squinted. No, wait a minute. She thought she remembered someone shaking her and telling her to wake up. Toby? Probably. She’d told him to go away, but knew he was just checking to make sure she could wake up.

  Thankful she didn’t seem to be getting any worse, she rose and readied herself to face the day. Twenty minutes later, with her stomach rumbling, she went in search of coffee and food. Coffee being the priority.

  Toby sat at the kitchen table reading the paper. He looked up. “Morning. Sleep okay?”

  “I did.”

  He glanced at his phone and frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” Robin asked.

  “Nothing. Just expecting a call from a friend. Two friends, actually. I’m just a little surprised I haven’t heard from them.”

  Surprised. Perturbed. Worried...

  The front door swung open and Toby bolted to his feet. Only to slump back into his chair when Sabrina hurried into the kitchen.

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m just here for a few minutes. I have to make those pies after all. Daisy called and said she’s already presold three of them.” She opened the drawer near the stove and pulled out an apron. Then she buzzed to the pantry and started pulling ingredients off the shelf.

  “Sabrina?” Robin said.

  “Yes?” The woman spoke over her shoulder, her movements jerky and hurried.

  “Stop.”

  Sabrina froze and turned, hands held midair. “What?”

  Robin walked to her and pulled the apron from where she’d tossed it into the crook of her arm. “I can do this if you have recipes. And I—or one of my many efficient bodyguards—can deliver them to Daisy’s restaurant.”

  “What?”

  “Are the recipes written down somewhere?”

  “Ah, yes,” Sabrina stammered, “but you can’t... I mean, you’re hurt. You should be resting and—”

  Robin tied the apron around her waist. “My head is better. Not perfect, I’ll admit, but it’s better. And I have nothing to do all day except think about all the things I can’t remember and then beat myself up about it. So, if you want to spare me that, then let me do something productive.”

  Sabrina’s shoulders wilted. “I’d love to spare you. Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Of course.”

  “Okay,” Sabrina said, “this is what I need.” For the next fifteen minutes, she went into teaching mode with Robin nodding and promising she could handle it. “But if you get tired or your head starts hurting worse, please don’t worry about it.”

  “I won’t. I’ll just put Toby to work.”

  Toby snorted, then coughed to cover it up. Sabrina smiled. Then hugged Robin. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “First tell me where Daisy’s is so I know where I’m going.”

  Toby laughed. “I can take care of that part.”

  “Good.” Robin turned back to Sabrina. “Go be with your grandmother and don’t worry about this. We’ve got it covered.”

  “Okay. Thank you. I just have to get a few more things that she’s asked for and then I’ll be gone.”

  True to her word, five minutes later Sabrina swept out of the door—after one more hug for Robin—and Robin turned back to the multitude of pans and pie ingredients. And recipes. “Wow.”

  Toby stepped up behind her. “Ah, Robin?”

  “Yes?” She turned and look up into his eyes. Eyes that held a tender wariness.

  “I don’t remember you knowing how to cook.”

  Robin sucked in a shaky breath. “That’s because I don’t know how, but...”

  “But?” he asked.

  “But you do.”

  He blinked, then his eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I just had a mental image of you cooking. Something. A steak and potatoes? Mixing a salad?”

  “Yeah.” Excitement tinged his voice.

  “I was sitting at the kitchen table and...”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. That’s it. But it made me hope that maybe we could help Sabrina together.”

  He took her hands and her heart thudded. The way he looked at her...like he wanted to hold her close and push her away at the same time.

  “Why are you so conflicted?” she asked.

  “I’m... I need to...say...” He broke off with a groan.

  “Toby?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know I’m sending you mixed signals and that’s because it’s all I’ve got, but let’s not think about that for now. All of that doesn’t matter at the moment. What does matter is getting these pies made and delivered, right?”

  Robin bit her lip. He wasn’t going to tell her what had him so tormented. Maybe with time he’d feel comfortable confiding in her. But for now, she’d take her mind off the fact that a killer was out there and knew where she was.

  And learn how to bake pies.

  * * *

  Toby helped Robin get the last pie in the oven and glanced at the ones they’d already finished and packed into the box sitting on the table. He’d have Lance or Trent carry them across the street to the diner as soon as the three cooking came out.

  He breathed deep. “It smells amazing in here,” he said. “Strawberry, cherry, blueberry, apple and peach. I can’t tell which one I prefer.”

  “It only smells so good because of you.”

  He smiled and swiped a finger down her nose.

  She wrinkled it. “What is it?”

  He showed her his finger. “Flour.”

  “Because you threw it at me.”

  “Only because you practically dumped the whole bag on my head.”

  “That was an accident,” she huffed. “You bumped me when I was getting ready to pour it into the mixer.”

  “I was looking for another bowl.” Truly, he’d been distracted by all the fun he was having doing something as simple as making pies with Robin. He’d been scavenging in the lower cabinet when his shoulder had knocked into her leg, sending her off balance. And the flour onto his head.

  He shook his hair and a cloud of white flew from the short strands. “I’ll never get all that out.”

  She giggled and he stilled. It was the third time he’d heard her do that during the last two hours and it sent his heart soaring each time the sound bubbled out of her.

  Tell her everything!

  Robin’s giggled settled into a smile. “A good shampoo will do wonders.” She went to the sink and grabbed the scrub brush. She paused, looking out the window. He simply watched her, wishing he knew what to do to help her remember.

  Tell her the truth.

  “Robin?”

  “Yes?” She didn’t turn to him but frowned, her attention caught on something outside.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “There are two guys coming up the front steps. Lance and Trent stopped them and then let them keep coming.”

  Lightning quick, Toby went to the front door just as the doorbell rang.

  “If they were going to kill me, I don’t think they’d ring the bell, do you?”

  “No. They’re not here to kill you.” Just interrogate her and try to force her to remember—and possibly clue her in on what he was really doing. Not that he didn’t want her to know. He did. Just on his timetable, not theirs. If she p
ushed him away now, he wouldn’t be able to protect her. And Ben knew that. But apparently, his friend couldn’t hold off his fellow feds any longer. “Stay back unless I ask you to come out, okay?”

  She frowned. “I’ll talk to them, but it’s not like I have anything to tell them.”

  “I want to avoid that for now,” Toby said. “The more stress you have on you, the more it may delay you remembering.” He cupped her chin. “And I want to make sure they’re legit before letting on that you’re even here. Will you trust me to handle this?”

  She blinked up at him. “Okay. For now. I’ll just clean up the kitchen then.”

  “Thank you.”

  Robin disappeared back into the kitchen and Toby opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  The one on the left, dressed in business casual slacks and a long-sleeved dark blue sweater, held up his credentials. “I’m Special Agent Donny McBride. This is Special Agent Emmett Young. We’re here to speak to Ms. Robin Hardy.”

  “What about?”

  “You’re Toby Potter, right?”

  “I am.”

  “We’re aware that you were working with Ben Little on the suspicious activities at the university lab. We’re not working that case and need to question her about the night the lab blew up. We know the explosion was deliberate and we need her help to figure out who’s responsible.”

  Toby frowned, stepped outside and shut the door behind him. “What do you mean, you’re working it now? Special Agent Ben Little is working this case, and he didn’t tell me about this. Where do you guys fit in?”

  The agents exchanged a look, and that bad feeling Toby had earlier returned full force. “What happened to Ben?” he asked softly.

  “He’s dead,” Special Agent Young said. “I’m sorry.”

  If the man had sucker punched him, Toby wouldn’t have been more stunned. He registered the words but couldn’t seem to process them.

  “Sir?” the man said.

  Toby finally gasped. Took a breath. Then another. “What happened?”

  “Looks like a freak accident,” Special Agent McBride said. “Ben was working under his car and the jack failed. It crashed down on him, crushing him and kill him instantly.”

  Pulling on his years of experience, Toby shut off his emotions. “I see.”

  “We were assigned Ben’s cases, and this one’s our priority,” Special Agent Young said. “We found your number in a file but can’t figure out exactly where you fit in with this or who you are—except that Ben trusted you and asked for your help.”

  “Which office are you out of?”

  “Nashville.”

  The same office as Ben—and his friend Oliver Manning. Toby pulled his phone from his pocket. “Hold on just a second.” He dialed Oliver’s personal number.

  “Toby? What’s up?” Oliver’s bass voice came through the line.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Hanging in there. I miss her every day.”

  Toby closed his eyes briefly. Oliver’s wife had been killed a little over a year ago. Yet another piece of Toby’s past that would always be with him no matter how hard he tried to put it behind him. “I know, man. Sorry I’ve been out of touch.”

  Oliver sighed. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve both got to move on.” He paused. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I got your message, but I was in a meeting and couldn’t take the call.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Oliver let out a harsh laugh. “But you didn’t call to listen to me whine. What’s up?”

  “You’re not whining. I do have a question for you though.”

  “Sure.”

  “Is Ben dead?”

  Silence. Then, “Who told you?”

  So, it was true. Renewed grief shafted him, and he grappled to get it under control. “Two agents,” he said. “Young and McBride from your branch. Creds are legit, but you and I know how much that means. You know them?”

  “I do.”

  “Describe them for me.”

  Oliver did so right down to the mole on Young’s left cheek. “Thanks,” Toby said.

  “What’s going on?” Oliver asked.

  “I’ll explain later.” He hesitated. “Why didn’t you tell me about Ben?”

  “I figured you’d already know.”

  “Right. Talk to you soon.”

  They hung up, and Toby considered the two agents waiting patiently for him to acknowledge them again. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Young said.

  “How did you know we were here?” Toby asked.

  “That file of Ben’s. There was a reference to Wrangler’s Corner in it. A waitress in the diner across the street told us she’d seen you two here.”

  Of course, she had. In a small town, if you wanted information, you simply visited the local diner or café and asked.

  “Now, will you tell us what you know about this case and what connection you had to Ben?” Special Agent Young asked.

  Toby crossed his arms. How much should he tell them? Did it matter at this point? “I was working with Ben,” Toby said. “He and I worked together back when we were both CIA.”

  “CIA?”

  “Ben was with the agency for about twelve years before he decided he’d had enough. He resigned and went over to the FBI. But when Ben quit, so did I.”

  “Why?”

  Toby narrowed his eyes, and tension tightened his shoulders. “Personal reasons.” Reasons he didn’t deem necessary to reveal to the men. “Ben was my handler and one of my best friends. And while I had only been there for five years, I was tired of it all, too. The lure of teaching at the university and living a normal life was too intriguing. So, I decided that I’d try it and see if I could do it. And I could.” At least until Ben had tracked him down.

  “And you were working with Ben on this case?”

  “He asked.” Actually, he’d begged. And now he was dead from an accident? Somehow Toby didn’t think so. “I was already working at the university when Ben was alerted to a possible threat coming out of the research lab. He asked me to use my skills to ferret out any information I could. Since Robin was the initial suspect, I...buddied up to her.” A fact that had blown up in his face along with the lab. If he could do it all over again...

  “And what did you find?” McBride asked.

  “It was soon apparent that Robin knew nothing about anything illegal going on in the lab, but I stayed with her on the off chance that she might have inadvertently heard or learned something and just didn’t realize it.”

  McBride leaned forward. “And?”

  “Nothing. At least not until the lab explosion. She must have heard or seen something that night because someone is trying awfully hard to kill her.”

  Special Agent Young nodded. “That was what we understood from reading the file. Now, we need to talk to Ms. Hardy.”

  “She’s resting right now. Look, Ben trusted me to help him get to the bottom of this. Stressing her out trying to remember isn’t going to help. She’s under a doctor’s care, those are his orders. Can you just give us a little more time? Time for her to heal and time for me to help her remember?”

  Special Agent Young pursed his lips and shot a perturbed look at his partner.

  Toby didn’t care. His job for now was to protect Robin—and be the one who was there when she remembered. Even though when she remembered the explosion, she’d probably remember why she’d never wanted anything to do with him again. And while last time, he’d been upset and furious with whoever had betrayed him, this time, Robin’s banishing him from her life would very likely break his heart.

  * * *

  Robin had been watching out the window for the past ten minutes. Toby’s expressions hadn’t been encouraging. He’d gone from guarded to pleading to determined. She’d give anything
to hear what they were talking about but couldn’t figure out how to eavesdrop.

  Then was ashamed she was even tempted to try.

  Then again, this was her life on the line and attempted eavesdropping was probably the least of her problems.

  Finally, the two men turned and left the porch with Lance, Trent and Toby watching them walk away. She opened the door and Toby turned. “Everything all right?” she asked.

  “For now,” he said and stepped inside. “Lance said he’d deliver the pies over to Daisy.”

  “They’re all ready.”

  Once Lance had retrieved the pies and left, Toby pulled Robin into the den and she dropped onto the sofa. “What did they want?” she asked.

  “To talk to you, of course.”

  “Of course. So, why didn’t you let them in?”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I told them that stressing you and pressing you to remember wasn’t going to help anything and they needed to leave you alone.”

  She raised a brow. “And they listened?”

  “For now.”

  “Who did you call?”

  “A friend I used to work with. I knew he could verify their identities. He did.”

  “Who’s the friend?”

  “His name’s Oliver Manning. We used to work together.”

  “One of the friends you were waiting to hear from earlier?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does Oliver do?”

  “He’s in law enforcement. He’s with the FBI.”

  Her jaw dropped. “And you used to work together? With the FBI?”

  “No. Not the FBI.” He trailed off and his fingers curled into fists on his thighs.

  “Toby?”

  “They killed Ben,” he said.

  A gasp slipped from her. “What?”

  “My friend, Ben. He was the one who helped us get away from the people who were trying to kill you the night of the explosion.”

  Robin palmed her eyes. “Okay. Stop.”

  “What?”

  “Stop and start over. Start at the beginning.”