Labyrinth

by Catherine Coulter

  “Now, Agent Savich, you said Griffin’s in jail, with a woman? That’s crazy. He doesn’t know anyone in town other than Jenny and me. Listen, let me call Jenny, close the café, and get over to the jail, see what’s going on.”

  “Another moment, Ms. Wallberger. You said nothing bad ever happens?”

  “Sorry, my head’s spinning about Griffin. Something terrible happened three months ago—a young local girl named Heather Forrester disappeared without a trace. Turns out two other girls—all of them sixteen, or close, I think—have disappeared a month apart from two other towns in the area. They’re all still missing, maybe kidnapped or dead. So far as I know there are no clues as to who did it. Our customers with teenage daughters are really scared. I mentioned the missing girls to Griffin, but how could he know anything? He only just got here. So why is the sheriff pissed enough to put him in jail?”

  Her voice had risen an octave. Savich said, “I don’t know yet, but the sheriff will have a reason. Call and ask if they’ll let you see Griffin and get back to me. Tell him I’m calling Bettina Kraus. I’ll try to be there tomorrow.”

  He punched off his cell, looked over to see Sherlock listening to his end of the conversation, an eyebrow arched. “Dillon?”

  He felt a leap of hope, she saw it and quickly shook her head, whispered, “I’m sorry. I used your first name because I heard Agent Noble call you Dillon. And since you’re my husband, I figured I did, too.”

  “Yes,” he said. “You do.” And he told her what he knew about Agent Griffin Hammersmith.

  He watched her take it all in. “You had a flash of memory of Griffin, that’s a good start.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t recognize the agents who visited.”

  “Like I said, seeing Griffin is still a good start.”

  She hoped so. She found herself looking at him again, really looking. He was a big man, tall and fit, muscular, no doubt about that, with his hard face, dark eyes, and thick black hair, a little too long. If she saw him on the street she’d think he was hot, maybe turn around, slip her phone number in his pocket. And this man was her husband. She’d slept with him, had a child with him, fought with him, played with him. In her mind, such as it was at the moment, that meant she could trust him. She looked at his hands—like the rest of him, they were large, competent, but his fingers— “Why do you have scars on your fingers?”

  “I’ve whittled since I was a kid, it’s part of the package.”

  “Are you good?”

  He blinked. “Some people think so.” He wanted to tell her about his grandmother, the painter Sarah Elliott, and his talented sister, Lily, a cartoonist, but he didn’t want to overload her with information.

  “How long have we been married?”

  She’d already asked him that, another sign of concussion. He said again, “Six years in November. You were pregnant right away with Sean.”

  “But I’m an FBI agent, how could I let that happen?”

  He laughed. “It’s still a mystery. We woke up one morning and evidently something happened during the night, and then we were parents.” He gave her a sexy grin.

  She started to smile at him, but she didn’t know him. She drew back. “You know I didn’t mean it that way. Listen, I heard your side of the conversation on your cell. If this Griffin is in trouble, of course you need to go to this Gaffer’s Ridge, and I’ll come with you.”

  He stared at her, swallowed, and shook his head.

  She bulleted it out fast, before he could speak: “Dillon, here’s the thing. I don’t want to stay here by myself. You heard Dr. Loomis, she said I could leave. You’re the person I must know best, the person who knows me best and cares about me. I trust you. Staying together with you feels right. I want to get my memory back, and being with you could help me remember.

  “You told me I’m a good agent and we work together. So let’s go to this Gaffer’s Ridge and rescue Griffin Hammersmith.”

  He was silent, and she gave one last push. “Really, I feel fine, it’s only my ID brain that’s offline.”

  He spoke before he thought. “No, absolutely not. You were hurt, Sherlock.” It was odd, but even as he said that, he knew he’d lose this round. She didn’t realize it yet, but Sherlock could be the captain of a debate team. And she was right, they’d be together, he’d tell her more about their life. He could keep an eye on her, protect her. Savich knew he’d worry constantly, but then again, he’d worry constantly no matter where she was.

  He walked to her bedside, bent over, and settled on a kiss to her forehead. He felt her stiffen, and absorbed the blow. He kept his voice light and easy, his expression never changing. “All right, we’ll leave tomorrow morning, if Dr. Loomis clears you. I’ll take Sean over to my mom’s, tell him it’s an early birthday present for both him and his grandmother. Would you like to see him before we go?”

  She stilled, then slowly shook her head. “I want to, but I don’t think it would be good for him, Dillon. You’ve told me he’s very smart, so he might very well guess something was different about me and ask questions.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to take the chance of scaring him or leaving him with doubts.” It was an adult decision, but still, she hated it. If she saw her small son, would she recognize him? Would everything come rushing back? No, probably not, but maybe by the time they returned, she’d remember everything.

  Savich said, “I’ll tell him you’ve got the flu and don’t want to infect him. He’ll stay with his grandmother until you’re not contagious. How does that sound?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know him.”

  Savich swallowed. “He’ll buy it, plus the early birthday present for him and his grandmother. Now, it’s a four-hour drive to Gaffer’s Ridge. The Porsche—that’s my car—can shave that down some.”

  Sherlock blinked. She saw a red Porsche, clear as could be. She said, “You love that car. It’s blast-out red and it drives cops wild to see it whiz by and not be able to give you a ticket when you have the siren on the roof.” She drew back, whispered, “I saw it, I saw the Porsche, I heard the siren.”

  She’d seen his car, of all things. He said, smiling, “Excellent. It’s been quite some time since we’ve had the siren on the Porsche.” It was an old memory, but that didn’t matter. He wanted to ask her what she was thinking—about herself, about him, about the bizarre situation they found themselves in—but he realized it would be for his sake, not hers. And so he smiled at her again and said nothing.

  21

  * * *

  GAFFER'S RIDGE SHERIFF'S STATION

  WEDNESDAY EVENING

  Fayreen grinned as she slid the two dinner trays under the bars on the dark green linoleum floor.

  “Imagine your girlfriend making dinner for the two of you. Jenny said it was your favorite, and then she asked me all sorts of questions I didn’t answer. They’ve been waiting to see you.” She checked her watch. “Deputy Brewster should be done with them any time now, making sure they’re not carrying any weapons or phones. He already checked your spaghetti, no telling what she could have stuffed under those meatballs.” She turned to Carson. “Mrs. Clapper—she rented you your house—found your purse on the front steps. She gave it to me. I don’t like to be without my purse myself, so here you go, all except your cell phone. We’re going to keep that for you. She said your bag of groceries was spilled all over your front porch. She put the stuff away for you, didn’t want the nonfat milk to go off.”

  Fayreen forced Carson’s big black cloth messenger bag through the bars. “Thank you,” Carson said to her retreating back. It seemed to her spilled groceries, a handbag on the front steps were big clues that something had happened to her. Evidently not. Carson unzipped her handbag and began looking through it—recorder, small notebook, her current paperback mystery, makeup bag, rental car keys, small brush, the usual odds and ends. She realized she basically carried her life around with her.

  But there was one big thing missing. “He took my wallet, Griffin. Rafe
r Bodine took my wallet. I remember he told me he’d looked at my driver’s license, knew my name. I’ll have to ask for it back, if they admit they found it. Everything else is here.” She pulled out her makeup bag and checked her mirror. She burst out laughing. “I surely do look squirrelly, Fayreen was right about that. Goodness, Griffin, why didn’t you say something? I could have at least finger-combed my hair, maybe washed my face in that bowl over there, though I don’t see a water faucet.”

  “That bowl is the toilet,” he said, and grinned at her appalled look. “Don’t worry, I don’t think we’re going to have to spend the night in jail. Like I told you, my boss, Dillon Savich, must have called the SAC in Richmond by now—”

  “What’s a SAC?”

  “That’s special agent in charge. Bettina Kraus is the SAC of the Richmond Field Office. She’s a mover and a shaker. I predict she’ll be here pretty soon and she’s going to bring the cavalry. She’s involved in Civil War reenactments, so who knows what she’ll bring.” He looked down at his watch. “I spoke to Savich about two hours ago, so half an hour, more or less.”

  “You mean you’re so important an FBI field office is going to assemble a team to come rescue you?”

  “Yep.” No need to tell her Savich would have called in the troops if a summer intern was in trouble. “Carson, you don’t look all that bad, really. If you have a Kleenex, you might wipe your face off. Just here.” He pointed to his left cheekbone.

  He watched her spit on a Kleenex and scrub at the dirt on her face. She brushed her hair quickly and pulled it up in a ponytail, tying it expertly with a new elastic band from the depths of the messenger bag. He saw a notebook and a beat-up paperback, and that was only the first layer.

  He watched her dab on a bit of pinkish lipstick, look over at him, and smile. “Well? Would I still scare chickens and small children?”

  He grinned. “I think small children are safe, but I’ve got to be honest here, I’m not sure about the chickens.”

  “Har har.” She zipped her messenger bag. “That was very nice of Fayreen to bring me my bag. Maybe she likes me after all.” She looked toward the toilet. “Well, maybe not.”

  They fell to the amazing spaghetti with Jenny’s special sauce and managed to get halfway through before Fayreen appeared with the two deputies and unlocked their cell. “You’re lucky,” she said. “Sheriff Bodine said you can speak to your visitors, said he didn’t want to give you one more thing to complain about to Judge Pinder whenever he gets back. Twenty minutes, no longer.” She looked over at Carson. “You cleaned up, did you, missy? Well, the two of you look so perfect and buffed up, makes me wonder if you’re waiting for the TV vans to roll up any time now, drum up publicity for your movie? That’s what I’m guessing this is all about.”

  Griffin said easily, “I suggest you contact the sheriff again, Fayreen. I’m expecting a squad of FBI agents in about”—he looked down at his watch—“twenty minutes. Believe me, you don’t want to face them alone.”

  Did he see any doubt in her eyes? He didn’t think so. She said, “Now, that sounds like another whopper to me. I mean, where are your wing tips? And your black FBI suit and white shirt and buzz-cut hair?”

  “Do you wear your uniform on vacation?”

  “Don’t get smart with me. And you stop trying to scare me with talk of the FBI coming. It won’t work. I’m not about to bother Booker with your tall tales. He’s eating barbecue with the family tonight, the whole family. Rafer’s daddy and mama will be there, that’s Mr. Quint and Mrs. Cyndia, trying to figure out what this is all about, after, of course, they go to the hospital to visit their poor boy.”

  Griffin shrugged. “Up to you, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I’m going to take you to the interrogation room. It’s not comfortable like Booker’s office. You walk in front of me and don’t try anything funny.”

  Griffin raised an eyebrow. “Interrogation room? You have so many criminals running around in Gaffer’s Ridge you need a designated interrogation room?”

  Fayreen shook her head, curled her lip at him—an amazing feat, really—and directed them down a short hallway that gave onto the station’s central room. She pointed right, to a room labeled INTERROGATION, and opened the door, waved them in. “Sit down and don’t even think about trying to run. I’ll bring in your visitors.”

  Griffin and Carson walked into the room with Jewel and Brewster on their heels. The room was at least larger than the cell Griffin and Carson were sharing.

  Fayreen said from the doorway, “Here they are, all worried about you.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Jenny said, and ran over to Griffin to hug him.

  Brewster stepped in front of her. “Step back, Ms. Wiley. No touching the prisoners. All of you, sit down, keep your hands on the table where I can see them.”

  Jenny looked Brewster up and down. “These hands make your tacos. Be nice to these hands.”

  22

  * * *

  Griffin nearly burst out with a laugh, but not Aimée Rose, she was nearly sputtering. “Come on, Brew, you think we’re here to bust them out of jail? And what is this ‘Ms. Wiley’? You’ve eaten more meals Jenny’s cooked for you than your wife has. Carollee told me so herself.” Aimée Rose shut her mouth then, better not to rub salt in the wound. Word was Brewster was a bully, mean as a snake, and he sometimes knocked his wife around after a bender, but who knew what would set him off?

  Brewster said from between seamed lips, “Don’t you call me Brew, like I’m a damned beer. I’m Deputy Sheriff Brewster.”

  “Why not?” Jenny asked. “Everyone else does, like they call Jewel FJ—Family Jewels.”

  Jewel’s face turned crimson.

  Jenny said, “It’s all right, it’s all in good fun.”

  Griffin grinned. “What about the sheriff? Does he have a nickname?”

  Brewster wanted to flatten the pretty boy. He couldn’t right then, but he was going to talk to Carollee for sure, ask her what she’d been saying about him. He’d probably have to rearrange her thinking a bit. He felt Jewel’s hand on his sleeve, shook it off. He looked down at his watch. “You’re only running out of visiting time, shooting off your mouths.”

  Griffin nodded. “You gentlemen can leave now.” But they didn’t, probably on Sheriff Bodine’s orders. They stood by the door, their backs to the wall. Griffin ignored them, said to Aimée Rose, “Come on, babe, time to calm down. Last thing I need is for you guys to be tossed into our cell with us. It really isn’t big enough for four of us, and there’s only one john.”

  Jenny looked ready to burst. “Don’t you dare joke about this, Griffin Hammersmith. It isn’t funny, it’s fricking outrageous. You know your boss called Aimée Rose, told her about your call to him? He asked her all sorts of questions about the sheriff. Why didn’t you call us?”

  Griffin glanced over at Jewel and Brewster. “I’d hoped Savich could deal with the sheriff without any fuss. Plus, the sheriff took my cell.”

  Carson sat forward, raised her voice. “Griffin said the Richmond Field Office should be here soon to bust us out.”

  Brewster straightened up like a shot. “What’d you say?”

  Griffin said, “Don’t worry, Brewster, as long as you don’t resist, I doubt they’ll shoot you or throw you in your own cell.” He shrugged. “But I could be wrong.”

  “Lying little punk,” Brewster said under his breath, but not under enough.

  Jewel’s young voice broke a bit when he whispered to Brewster, “Maybe we should call the sheriff, warn him the Feds are coming?”

  “Don’t pee your britches, Jewel. Pretty boy here is trying to scare us, that’s all. This is only one more of his lies.”

  Jenny said, “Agent Hammersmith isn’t lying. Wait until the FBI wagons pull up, you’re going to be in big trouble. And Brew, you can forget coming in for your tacos and meatloaf. You’re no longer welcome in our eating establishment.”

  If Griffin wasn’t mistaken,
Brewster stared at her with horror, shaking his head. “No need to be unpleasant, Jenny, I’m only doing my job. Really, only doing my job.”

  “Then you’d best be careful how you treat Agent Hammersmith.”

  Brewster opened his mouth, probably thought about his meatloaf and tacos, and shut it.

  Jewel swallowed, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He shot another scared look at Brewster. “But why would he lie?”

  Brewster called out, “He thinks he can rile us, worry us enough to let him go. Not going to happen, so stop your twittering. As for you and the girl, the sheriff said you two are going to stay in jail until Judge Pinder gets back with his walleye and bass and decides what to do with you. But like everyone knows, you never can plan on anything with him.”

  Griffin said quietly, “Deputy Brewster, do you have any idea how many laws you’ve broken, interfering with a federal officer? Do you have any idea what I could make happen to the lot of you, beginning with Sheriff Bodine?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” Brewster said, and took a step forward and raised his fist. He shot a look at Jenny, stepped back. “The Bodines won’t let anything happen, you watch.”

  “Brewster—”

  Brewster ignored Jewel. “So you keep a civil tongue in your mouth, boy, or I’ll show these visitors out right this minute and put you two mutts back in your cell.”

  Jenny ignored him, leaned forward. “Griffin, if your boss hadn’t called Aimée Rose, we wouldn’t have known where you were.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Except, of course, this is one of the first places we’d have come if we couldn’t reach you, hoping for help from the sheriff to find you.” She pointed at Carson. “Okay, now, who is she and why are you two together?”