Fatal Memories

by Tanya Stowe

  “You’re suggesting Jason Walker could be in danger...that maybe the Serpientes have him?”

  Dylan’s nod was slow. “That’s one possibility.”

  The captain gave him a sideways glance. “Another possibility is that Jason Walker is involved with the gang and dragged his sister into the middle of it. That’s what you really believe, isn’t it?”

  Dylan didn’t answer and the older man shook his head. “You’ve been gunning for Joss for weeks now. Why are you so sure she’s involved?”

  Dylan thought about the abrupt change in the woman’s outgoing demeanor lately. The downward tilt of her head when they discussed the gang. The sideways glances when he tried to meet her gaze. The tense poses when she thought no one was looking. And especially her nervous habit of fingering her gun holster when she was worried. She’d been doing that a lot over the past few days.

  “Let’s say I recognize a person with something to hide. Joss Walker is that person. I’d stake my career on it.”

  Holmquist ran a hand around his neck and looked away. After a few minutes he agreed. “It’s a substantial career to throw away. They don’t call you the ‘gang buster’ for nothing.”

  Dylan sensed a victory and pushed home his point. “Look, I’m not saying she’s guilty. I’m saying something is not right. We owe it to her to check it out. If we don’t do it, someone else will. The press...other agencies...everyone is hungry for answers. They’ll look at her quick advancement, at everything she’s accomplished, and question her integrity. More important, they’ll question your group. We owe it to her and to the rest of your officers to find the truth.”

  After a long while, the older man released a heavy sigh. “You’re right. I don’t like it, but you’re right.”

  With that, he tossed the last of his coffee onto the ground, crushed the cup in his fingers and stalked toward the entrance, where he threw the mangled container into the trash.

  Upstairs, in the waiting room, he called his employees together. “Agent Murphy has made a valid point.”

  Dylan ignored the virulent glares sent his way as Holmquist continued. “This looks bad for Joss. Those of us who know her know she’d never betray the department...or us. But the rest of the world doesn’t. They’re going to look at this situation and paint Joss dirty before she even gets out of that bed. So...” He shifted his shoulders, as if lifting a weight off, and looked around. “Instead of sitting around here like a bunch of whipped puppies, we’re going to go out and do our job. Let’s prove Joss innocent before the rest of the world has a chance to accuse her of being guilty.”

  The men and women nodded their heads. “Henderson, you’ve known Joss the longest. I’m sure you’d like to stay here and wait for word on her condition, but you know her best. Tomorrow I want you at her brother’s apartment. Rouse the neighbors. Get some answers. I want to know where he is or when he was last seen. You know his girlfriend too, right?”

  Daniel Henderson spoke up. “Maria... I do know her. I went with Joss to a birthday party for Maria’s little sister, at their house.”

  “Good. Take Cupertino with you. Go to the mother’s house. Question the girlfriend. I want to know everything I can about Walker. Evans and Hughes, go to that mechanic shop where he works. See what they know. I’m going back to the office to see about getting a warrant to search Joss’s apartment. One of you needs to stay here with her.”

  “I’ll do it,” Dylan spoke up before anyone else had a chance. “I want to be here if she wakes up.”

  Holmquist’s jaw tensed, but he worked it loose slowly. “Yeah. You’re right. It might be best if someone not from the department is here when she starts to talk. That way no one can say we covered for her.” That statement was aimed at Dylan. “The rest of you, go home. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

  The group gathered their things and tossed their empty cups into a nearby trash can. Angry glares shot in Dylan’s direction before everyone headed to the elevators.

  At last he was alone. He rubbed his hands over his face and sank into a nearby chair. He’d been up since 4:00 a.m., when he’d first gotten the call. The cave-in had created a sinkhole in a cemetery on the US side of the border wall.

  At one time, Dylan’s team of DEA agents and the border-patrol officers had a storage building near the cemetery under surveillance. They had detected an unusual amount of traffic at the empty building and suspected it might be the cover for a tunnel. It was the perfect setup. Drugs could be delivered via the tunnel beneath the wall into the building then loaded into vehicles to be shipped out, all inside the cover of the large structure.

  Unfortunately, traffic to and from the building had stopped so Dylan called a halt to the surveillance. This morning when a section of the cemetery collapsed, Dylan expedited a search warrant for the property. They found the opening of a tunnel and Walker trapped inside.

  Obviously the Serpientes knew about the surveillance, realized the tunnel had been compromised and were willing to let it be destroyed for another purpose.

  But what purpose was so great they were willing to lose a tunnel and five thousand dollars’ worth of heroin to accomplish it? Not a small amount to a normal person, but for a group with such perfect, undetected access across the border, the heroin’s value wasn’t much more than chump change. Dylan suspected the Serpientes could have transported three times that. Holmquist was right. The cave-in looked like the perfect setup. But why would the gang want to incriminate Walker? What did she know that they wanted silenced?

  Just one of the questions he prayed she could answer when she woke up the next time.

  Dylan jerked to his feet and strode to the door, to look into her room. The nurse was finishing her hourly check on Walker’s vitals. She looked up and motioned him into the room.

  “Any improvement?” He kept his voice low, almost at a whisper.

  “Not yet. But in situations like this, it helps to have someone the patient knows talk to them. You can touch her, hold her hand. It will help her to stabilize.”

  The nurse smiled and left the room. Dylan stared at Joss Walker’s still form. She had a tube around her face, an IV in her arm and an oxygen monitor on her thumb. When she’d arrived, the staff had done what they could to clean her, but gray dust coated her normally black, silky hair. Still caught up with a band, her long ponytail trailed across the white pillow. A raw, bright red scrape marked her chin.

  Her free hand rested limp and lax, palm up on the bed next to Dylan. He lifted it and turned it over on his, palm to palm. She had long fingers, with nice, well-shaped nails. He’d noticed those details before. It seemed there were lots of things he’d noticed about Joss Walker.

  “What happened?” he whispered. “What were you hiding? Did you find yourself trapped, like I did?”

  He hadn’t told Holmquist why he suspected Joss. He didn’t like to remember. But now, in the silence of this room, with tubes plugged into Joss’s body, he couldn’t stop the memories.

  An image of Rusty came to him, his best friend since they were in grade school. Hair to match his name. Fun-loving. Mischievous but never hurtful or mean. They’d stayed good friends...even when Rusty started using pills to keep him going.

  At first Dylan believed his friend’s claims that he could stop anytime. He just needed a little help. Needed to get that scholarship so he could go to college. After all, his parents didn’t own a ranch and have money like Dylan’s. Rusty had to pay his own way.

  Dylan believed him...even felt guilty for his own accident of birth. He turned a blind eye to the missed assignments and dark moods. He covered for his best friend...until the day his seventeen-year-old sister Beth was found with Rusty, both of them dead from overdoses. That day had changed Dylan’s life forever.

  All the dropped glances and lies he’d used to hide the truth about his friend were emblazoned in his memory like white-hot
embers. Those images were never far from his thoughts.

  That’s why he recognized the signs of deceit in Joss. He knew them well. Personally.

  He looked at her unconscious body. Black dirt was caked beneath Joss’s neatly shaped fingernails, evidence that she’d crawled away from the explosion. It was what saved her life. Dylan had seen the path she’d made as she’d dragged herself over the gritty gray floor of the tunnel. She must have woken in the stygian darkness, afraid, desperate...and crawled for her life.

  A wave of empathy swept over him. Guilty or not, she didn’t deserve that. He gripped her hand. “I’ll get them. I promise. I’ll make them pay.”

  His harsh, whispered words echoed across the silent room. He searched her face, hoping for some awareness, some movement. Nothing. Not a flicker of her eyes. Thick eyelashes lay on her cheeks. No thin, wispy lashes for this woman—they were thick and crisscrossed each other in riotous abandon. She didn’t wear makeup. She didn’t need it with those lashes. And eyebrows to match. Thick and dark, they defined her face, gave it character above her gray eyes. Straight nose. Slightly pointed chin. She had what Dylan supposed would be called classic features. Whatever that meant. He’d heard the expression and it seemed to fit Joss.

  And that’s where his wandering thoughts needed to stop. He put her hand on the bed and rubbed the bristles forming on his chin. The late hour was getting to him. He needed a break.

  Dylan left the room and headed for the coffee machine. He shifted his shoulders and twisted. Hours of inactivity and lack of sleep were a potent combination...even dangerous. The last thing he needed was to imagine Joss Walker as anything other than a suspect. He couldn’t lose sight of the suspicion that she was covering up for someone and had probably broken the law she’d sworn to defend.

  He punched in the number for a cup of coffee and took a sip of the scalding liquid. It burned its way down his throat, searing away any lingering images. After a while he felt loose and relaxed...enough that if he sat in one of the chairs, he might fall asleep. So he stepped around the corner from the waiting room, leaned against the side of the coffee machine and slid all the way to the floor. With his knees bent up and the hot coffee in his hands, he was uncomfortable enough to stay awake. He let his head rest on the cold metal wall of the machine and closed his eyes.

  Quiet slipped over the waiting room. The silence helped him think. Where was Jason Walker? Dylan was almost 100 percent certain that’s who Joss was protecting. Everyone knew she was close to her brother. Dylan had known her for a little over a month, and he knew the details of her past. Joss wasn’t secretive. They’d discussed many things, including how she hated monsoon season. Her father, the owner of a corner convenience store, had been killed in a robbery gone haywire right after a massive storm.

  Joss’s mother ran the store and took care of her kids until she contracted a rare kidney disease and passed away when Joss was still in high school.

  Jason Walker left college to take care of his sister and the family business, but it was too much for him. He lost the store and started to work as a mechanic, at the shop where he was still employed. Joss went on to college, graduated with honors and entered the academy, where she finished at the top of her class. She’d often spoken to Dylan about the sacrifices her brother had made and how much she owed her good life to him. When she talked about it, she almost sounded guilty...an emotion Dylan understood only too well.

  It seemed her father’s tragic death had charted her path, much as his sister’s death had set Dylan on his course. They had that much in common. Did they also share the need to protect someone they cared about?

  The click of a door opening interrupted Dylan’s stream of thought. Probably the nurse taking Joss’s vitals again. He closed his eyes. But when he didn’t hear the corresponding click of the door closing, it puzzled him. Peeking around the corner, he saw a man dressed in medical scrubs—but he’d come from the door leading to the stairs, not the nurse’s station, which was in the opposite direction. He’d held the door in a stealthy manner so it would not click shut. His head was shaved, and tattoos covered one arm and crawled up his neck. Dylan couldn’t see what they were. Something else caught his attention. The man carried a syringe in one hand. His efforts at silence and his furtive movements struck an alarm bell.

  The man paused to look around. Dylan ducked behind the machine. He wanted to know where the guy was headed before he acted. After a few moments he looked out again. The man was headed straight for Joss’s door.

  Dylan dropped his empty cup and lunged to his feet. He moved quietly so the man wouldn’t see him coming, but Dylan would never be able to stop him from entering Joss’s room in time. The man was too far ahead of him. He had to do something.

  “Hey!” His shout rang through the halls of the sleeping hospital. “What are you doing?”

  The man halted. Seeing Dylan running toward him, he spun and ran for the stairs. Dylan dashed across the space, to catch him at the portal. Just as Dylan reached for him, the man spun around, slashing crosswise with the hypodermic needle. Dylan dodged, hit the chairs behind him and tumbled over. He landed hard and was momentarily stunned. By the time he got to his feet, the man was out the door and gone.

  Torn between giving chase and staying by Joss’s side, he hesitated. A nurse came running up. “What’s going on?”

  “Someone tried to get into Joss’s room. Stay with her!”

  He dashed down the stairs, pausing at each floor. At the bottom, he ran into the hall. A security guard was looking out the window by the exit. Dylan moved toward him, holding out his badge. The guard straightened.

  “Did a man with a shaved head come by here?”

  “Yeah, just jumped into a truck and drove away.”

  “Did you see the license plate?”

  “No, but I got a good look at the truck. Older Toyota. Four-wheel drive with the tow bar. Gunmetal gray. Seen better days.”

  “Would you recognize the man if you saw him again?”

  “Maybe. Caught my attention, since he seemed in a hurry. Walked outta here pretty fast.”

  “Call the Tucson police. I think he might have tried to kill a patient.”

  The guard hurried to his desk and picked up the phone. Dylan pulled out his cell and dialed Holmquist’s number. The officer answered on the second ring.

  “I’m sorry to say we’re going to be dealing with another agency sooner than either of us wanted. I told hospital security to call the police. I’m going to arrange twenty-four-hour protection for Walker. I think the Serpientes just sent a man to kill her.”

  TWO

  Dylan strode down the hospital hallway and nodded toward the nurses at their station. He was getting to be a familiar face here. Five days, and Joss still swam in pain and memory loss. He’d barely left her side, but there’d been no break in her pain, no flashes of recollection.

  He was starting to worry. Every day the Serpientes grew stronger. Another body had been discovered in the desert, executed. The victim was another known gang member, but why he was executed and how he was connected to the Serpientes remained a mystery.

  The group was so new and close-knit, he had not yet found anyone willing to inform on them. But they were making enemies with the rival gang, and some of those members were beginning to talk. Information had begun to filter in, and Dylan had taken the time to meet with his agents. That meant precious time away from Joss.

  Holmquist stood outside her door, chatting with the guard. The supervisor gestured to the closed portal. “Her doctor’s in there now.”

  “I see.” Dylan nodded. “Any change?”

  Holmquist scuffed a foot in a frustrated gesture and shook his head. “Not a one. She’s asking for you though.”

  Dylan tensed. Everyone had noticed and remarked on Joss’s growing attachment to him. She asked for him continually and seemed agitated when he was gone. “I
was the first person she saw when she woke. I’m her only familiar face. That’s all.”

  The captain stepped closer, away from the guard so only Dylan could hear. “Yeah. She trusts you. But I gotta wonder what you’re gonna do when she finds out you think she’s guilty.”

  Dylan met the man’s level stare. “By that time her memory will have returned and it won’t matter what I think. Right now I want her to be as comfortable and relaxed as possible.”

  Holmquist worked his jaw, a habit that showed his frustration. “Right. So you can solve your case. That’s all that matters, right?”

  “That’s all that should matter to you too. The Serpientes are vicious and Joss could be their next victim. That’s more important than how she feels about me.”

  “There’s more than one way to be a victim, Murphy.” His tone was stone cold. “Joss has been through enough. I don’t want to see her hurt more.”

  Dylan met his gaze. “Trust me. Nothing hurts worse than knowing people are dead because of you.”

  Joss’s supervisor studied him, but Dylan said no more. Finally the man turned away. “This case is going nowhere. We have no new leads and it’s not even in my jurisdiction. We will have to return to our regular duties monitoring the border checkpoints like nothing ever happened. It’ll be turned over to the police now that they’re involved.”

  “And me.”

  Holmquist twisted his neck from side to side as if it hurt. “And you.” The words seemed to leave him with a sour taste.

  “You’ll be happy to know you’re still on the case. I just got word this morning. I’ve been given permission to expand the task force to include most of your unit. I need all the help I can get.”

  “With you as the lead?”

  Dylan nodded.

  Holmquist looked away. “I don’t like your tactics, Murphy. You’re a driven man. But I guess you’re the one for the job. The sooner we get these creeps, the sooner Joss will be safe...from all of you.”