by Alice Sharpe
“What do you mean ‘what happened’?”
“You left here a while ago and came back minutes later kind of...I don’t know, touchy.”
“Touchy? Okay, maybe I am. Maybe it’s because your story doesn’t hold water. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid. Maybe it’s because I survived a crash that killed two other people and I don’t know who you are and I don’t even know who I am.”
“I told you who you are and who I am,” he said.
“How do I know you aren’t making it up? What proof do you have that I even know you, that my name is Chelsea and my parents are Troy and Susan?”
“Troy and Helen.”
“Whatever.”
“Why in the world would I lie about that?”
“Because,” she said. “Because nothing makes sense. We’re only kind of friends and yet I’m flying to see you? Why would I do that?”
“They forced you.”
“Then why shoot the pilot and not me?”
“I don’t know.”
She shook her head and winced. “Adam, or whoever you are, all I do know is I’m confused and very tired and I wish you would go sleep outside.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I need to be in here with you.”
“And I need you to be somewhere else.”
She might not recognize that tone of voice, but he did—he’d heard it a couple of times before, never directed at him, but once with a thieving employee and again with a pushy salesman. She had drawn a line in the sand and it would take a fool to cross over it. She needed space.
“Fine,” he said, getting to his knees and bunching his sleeping bag in his arms. “Have a great night.”
“Leave the revolver,” she said.
“Why?”
“In case the bad guys find us.”
“I’ll be right outside.”
“Just leave the gun.”
“Whatever you want,” he said, sorry about the sarcasm dripping in his voice but unable to curb it. He zipped open the flap, scooted outside and pulled a sleeping bag and the rifle out with him.
“Adam,” she said, and he met her gaze. Her heavily shadowed eyes and fatigue sunken cheeks touched his heart. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair that I keep the tent. I’ll sleep outside—”
“Not on your life,” he said. “And I’m the one who’s sorry. This whole thing is my fault. I’d give anything if it meant you weren’t in danger.”
“You’ve been nothing but kind to me,” she said, her eyes now growing bright with tears. “You saved my life.”
He reached inside and touched her face. To his relief, she didn’t sweep away his hand and instead covered his fingers with hers. “Don’t cry,” he said softly. “It’s going to be okay. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. Now get some sleep, okay?”
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up with all my memories intact,” she whispered.
“I hope so,” he said, and once again fought the urge to kiss her. As he zipped the flap closed again, the lantern light inside the tent went out.
He used the flashlight to make a bed on the ground, curled into the sleeping bag and closed his eyes. If she was determined to leave him, he’d have to let her go, but somehow he’d have to come up with a way to prepare her for the return of her memories. How would she handle the moment when she realized he was her beloved Steven, and that instead of dead and gone, he was very much alive and on the run?
And maybe not so beloved anymore...
He thought of the picture he carried. Taken in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, where they’d gone to picnic, they’d stood arm in arm while Chelsea trusted a stranger with her phone to take their photo. She had printed it out, written their names at the bottom, drawn in a small red heart and given him a copy.
Every photo on his phone had been destroyed when his plane hit that lake. This picture was the one memory he allowed himself of the woman who had stolen his heart and now he’d gutted his opportunity to use it to reassure her by giving her his given name of Adam. Could he explain it away? Should he show her the note she’d written with the roses? Would it make things better or worse?
Maybe it would shock her memory into hyperdrive. Or maybe it would force it further underground.
I’ll sleep on it, he decided. But an hour later, he was still staring into the dark.
Chapter Five
They broke camp as soon as there was enough light to travel back through the underbrush to the old road. Neither of them said much. Poor sleep, stiff joints and worrisome thoughts didn’t make for sparkling conversational gambits and Chelsea was just glad to be on the move again.
“Is it my imagination or are we going back the way we came?” she asked.
“You’ve always had a great sense of direction,” he said. “We’re looping back to an outlet from this forest that we bypassed yesterday, headed to a small town called Black Boulder. My hope is that the bad guys decided we went on ahead and are miles away when we surface.”
“That sounds kind of chancy.”
“Chance is all we really have,” he said. “We’ll temper it with caution. After Black Boulder we’re aiming for a town called Spur. I know a guy there. Well, I think he’s still there. He’s a retired doctor. He can check you out.”
“Not again with the doctor thing,” she said impatiently. “You’re like a broken record. Anyway, don’t you remember what I told you last night? I’m going home. If there’s a bus station in Black Boulder, I’m getting out of here. We’ve been over this.”
He glanced at her before looking once again at the road. “What if I take you to a bus as soon as a doctor—?”
“Stop it already,” she demanded.
“Chelsea—”
“No more arguing. It’s not just my doubts about our...relationship. The fact is you’ll be better off without me to worry about.”
“I like worrying about you,” he said with another glance.
“Please,” she said. “My mind, or what there is left of it, is made up. Let’s just see if we can find a bus station.”
Within an hour they’d turned west, and within minutes of that, the ruts and weeds in the road started to disappear. Eventually, road signs announcing a wilderness area ahead appeared. Gradually, the road became graded and the ride smoothed out. The engine had a new knocking noise, but it kind of blended in with all the others, sort of like a calypso band. Things were looking up until Adam mentioned their diminishing fuel supply and expressed hope that Black Boulder wasn’t too far away.
They eventually found a bare-bones gas station, and as Chelsea warily eyed the empty road in front of it, Adam filled the tank and paid in the office. Within a few miles, a sign announced Black Boulder ahead and at this point, Adam left the main road and started traveling small arteries, always headed in the right direction. They stopped when they found a larger gas station and parked off to the side. He turned back to face her after climbing out of the Jeep. “Put the rain gear on, okay?”
“Why? It’s dry and warm—”
“So no one sees your face,” he said softly. “I’m going to go buy some phone minutes so we can prepare your parents for your arrival.”
“Prepare them?”
“By now they either think you’re missing or dead,” he said gently. “It’s risky to alert them of your safety—I mean, they’re bound to react and if anyone is keeping an eye on them. Well, on the other hand, they’ll need to meet your bus if there’s one available in this little town. I’ll ask at the station. Stay low, okay?”
She nodded and put on the dreaded rain gear that was still damp from the day before. He was back within a few minutes. “The bus station is down the street a few blocks,” he told her as he started the engine. “I’ll park in the alley on the off chance they know about
the Jeep and go inside to get a schedule. If there are any buses leaving this morning, I’ll buy you a ticket—”
“I can buy my own.”
“With what?”
“Good point. I’ll pay you back—”
“Let’s worry about that later,” he interrupted. “If there is a bus, we need to talk a little more before you leave. There are things you need to...well, be prepared for and maybe you’d like some breakfast to hold you, or coffee or something.”
“I’m starving,” she said.
“Me, too. First things first—let’s see if there’s a westbound bus today.”
There was the slight feeling of anonymous safety sitting in a hooded coat inside a car even if it didn’t have a roof. Adam eventually pulled into an alley and parked. She could see the closed back door of the bus station across the way.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
She caught his hand. “Be careful, Adam. You’re the one they’re after, you know.”
He pulled out the eyeglasses and settled them on his nose. Reaching into the back, he produced a baseball cap and shrugged that on over his bright blond hair. With his beard growth, he looked like a lot of the guys they’d passed while driving along the streets of this tiny mountain town.
“The keys are in the ignition,” he said, his voice intense. “At the first sign of trouble, get out of here. The guy at the gas station said the sheriff’s office is four blocks farther down—turn left, go about a half a mile. Tell them whatever you want, just stay safe.”
“Adam. Don’t you want to take a gun or...?”
“Not into a bus station, no. Bad idea. You keep it, I’ll be right back,” he repeated and walked off as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
She moved over the gearshift and sat behind the wheel, eyeing the ignition key and the empty alley in turn.
* * *
BACK IN ARIZONA, before his mother was murdered, Adam often rode out into the desert alone, but he always carried a rifle. Because his father was a cop, he was familiar with firearms. They’d seemed a part of his equipment: a saddle for the horse, a sleeping bag to protect against cold nights under the stars and a rifle in case he crossed paths with a coyote or a rattlesnake and he couldn’t avoid confrontation.
So here he was in another kind of wilderness, a civilized grouping of people and buildings, knowing there was a fifty-fifty chance a killer could be lying in wait. Really, he’d rather take his chances with the coyote.
He let go of that thought and concentrated on doing what Chelsea wanted no matter how ill-advised it seemed to him. Maybe there wouldn’t be a bus headed west for hours. Maybe he could get Chelsea to change her mind if she had to sit around all day or, at the very least, he’d have time to explain what he could.
No need to call her parents until they had more of a plan. That call was dangerous, he knew that, because of a wild card named Lindy, Chelsea’s chatty younger sister, whose idea of a secret was something you kept to yourself until the first opportunity came to share it. He’d have to make sure Chelsea understood she had to keep his name out of it.
Running had seemed like a good idea after he’d been the star witness during Holton’s trial. And running with the help of the government had been interesting as well as annoying. Getting a new identity, starting over, leaving people and places behind—it really hadn’t seemed like that big a deal at first.
Eventually, however, the novelty had worn thin and he’d begun to feel like a caged bird. Ballard had been his direct link and the guy was a jerk, and that didn’t help. During that time, Adam had started making plans for the day he’d either had enough or someone came after him. That’s the plan he’d set in motion when he got home that night and found a gunman waiting for him.
And then he’d met Chelsea and the bars on the cage had just melted away and for a little while there, he’d been more content than he had been in years.
Having Holton’s man show up at his house and having to kill him to stay alive, well, that had taken massive amounts of adrenaline and focus. Escaping without Holton’s paid assassins or the government knowing where he went was something of a feat of derring-do. Leaving Chelsea without a word of goodbye or explanation had taken more guts than anything he’d ever done until now. In less than twenty-four hours and with no sense of self or a single memory of him, she’d nonetheless reawakened every powerful emotion she’d originally engendered, rebuilt the home she’d established in his heart and hand-delivered a reason to figure out how to get his life back. Thoughts of watching a bus take her off to San Francisco and away from him for the foreseeable future were depressing.
Maybe he should drive her back there himself, take what time he could with her, take his chances that Holton’s men wouldn’t figure he’d return...
And keep her in the path of mortal danger? Risk his unborn baby? Don’t be such a selfish jerk, he scolded himself.
He rounded the corner before making a U-turn to walk back up the block. The bus station turned out to be a narrow building filled with chairs and little else, including people. Obviously there weren’t any imminent arrivals or departures planned. He walked to the window at the back, where a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair sat behind the glass, filing her fingernails. “I need a schedule for California routes,” he said.
She tapped on her side of the glass with the file, directing his attention to a rack of brochures and he chose the right one. A bus left for San Francisco in two short hours. Fate was against him or for him—depended on your point of view.
He opened his wallet and bought a ticket, explaining it was for his sister. The woman seemed totally disinterested in his small talk so he shut up.
He left the building and started back the way he’d come, rehearsing what he was going to say to Chelsea. He’d find them some fast-food place where they could get coffee and something to eat and claim a booth at the back. He’d have to come clean, he’d have to man up and shoulder her anger and answer her questions and prepare her for the realization she was pregnant and alone. He absolutely dreaded it and for a second toyed around with tearing up the ticket and lying to her.
No more lies.
He was so caught up in thought that his usual sensors didn’t warn him until two men grabbed him from either side, looping their arms through his and almost lifting him from the ground. Linked together, the three of them rounded the corner into the alley, Adam struggling to free himself while the men clamped his arms like vise grips. He tried kicking and yelling, but a punch in his gut took the wind out of his lungs.
“Thought you could ditch us, didn’t you?” one of the men said and proceeded to jab a knife into his ribs. Adam sagged.
“Put that thing away before someone sees it,” the other said, both men now all but supporting his weight. “You can do what you want as soon as we get him inside the van.”
He had to rally. Once inside that van, he was as good as dead. And maybe then one of them would figure out he must have parked a car somewhere and maybe they’d figure out it was actually in the same alley as their van and then they’d find Chelsea—he couldn’t let that happen.
The thought streaked through his mind as fast as a comet—she was right, she didn’t belong in the middle of this. He couldn’t protect her 24/7.
What would happen to her now? Even if these guys didn’t recognize the Jeep and left her out of this, what would she do? Go to the police. What if she mentioned the witness protection program? What if the one who sold him out was on that team? Would they come after her?
He looked down the alley and saw the Jeep. Before he could see if Chelsea was still in it, he felt one of the men’s grip lessen. Adam tore an arm free. The motion sent searing pain tearing through the knife wound. Using momentum, he swung the weight of his body around to ram into the other guy. That had as much effect as shaking a finger at a charging bull.
The next thing he knew, he’d been slammed against a boarded-up building. His drugstore glasses and favorite cap went flying. The man who had been pushed away came back with the knife held low and pointed up, positioned to gut him. Adam kicked the knife out of his hands. The guy switched to his fists, throwing one punch after another as Adam attempted to fend off the blows until a particularly sharp fist near his puncture site doubled him over and he fell onto his knees. The two reached down to grab Adam’s arms and haul him back to his feet. Ready to use the leverage of his body to topple them over, Adam wasn’t prepared for the sound of a gunned engine. A black blur brushed by the gun wielder, clipped him on the side and sent him sprawling. Gunfire thundered. The other man clutched his arm and retreated down the alley. The vehicle braked to a stop and Adam looked up to find Chelsea, all but invisible inside the oversized rain gear. “Get in—hurry,” she said.
Blood seeped through his fingers as he held his hand against his bloody ribs. The man who’d been clipped struggled to his feet. Adam climbed into the passenger seat and Chelsea made a U-turn. She stepped on the gas. Adam spotted the thug who had gotten away—he was throwing open the back of a dark van last seen in front of his cabin. Exhaust from the tailpipe signaled the engine was already running. That meant there were three of them. The door slammed behind the thug just as Chelsea, one hand on the wheel, shot out a rear tire and kept driving.
Adam’s jaw dropped open as he stared at her profile. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?” he croaked.
“I thought you taught me,” she said. “What direction do I drive?”
“Just keep going southeast. Not that I’m complaining, but those gunshots must have drawn attention.”
She handed him the gun and almost dumped him out of the Jeep as she made a tight right turn and sped up.
Chapter Six
“Now who needs a doctor?” she asked.
He groaned.
With one hand she groped around in the back until she found a pillow and handed it to him. “Hold it over that wound, keep applying pressure.”
