Collision Course: A Romantic Thriller

by Susan Donovan

  “I’ve still got my sources at Metro,” Kovac said, leaning closer to him. “And I’m gonna let you in on a little secret—the word’s out on you and your sidekick here. Nobody’s gonna give you shit about nuthin’ anymore. They don’t trust you.”

  Ruben nodded silently, absorbing the full meaning of Kovac’s words, and the threat they held. He had to hold it together. This was too important. He leaned in toward Kovac and spoke in a very soft and calm voice.

  “If you fuck with our evidence story, in any way whatsoever, you’re meat. And I’ll let you in on a secret – you’re the one who can’t be trusted, by any of us who work at this paper.”

  This was getting way too personal, and Cooper stood up at his desk. “Hey, Kovac. Ruby. C’mon.”

  Work had come to a standstill in the newsroom as everyone watched with fascination. The ringing phones sounded extraordinarily loud in the silence.

  Cooper watched as Ruben took a breath and let the tension roll off his shoulders. “Fine, Dave. I’ll give you the story, but not with my name on it. I don’t want my byline on something that’s not ready to run.”

  Kovac let out a sigh. “Why should that bother you now, all the sudden?” He grinned. “Thanks for your cooperation, Ruben. You’re a model employee.”

  The eyes of every reporter followed Kovac back to the city desk, then back to Ruben, who returned to his computer as if nothing had happened.

  “What a complete dick,” Cooper whispered. “I say we go to Howard about this.”

  Ruben shook his head and continued his work. “He’ll know everything in five minutes. Take a look around.”

  Cooper broke out in a grin as he scanned the newsroom. At least forty sets of eyeballs were focused on their little corner of the world.

  “How right you are,” he said.

  This wasn’t home. She was certain of it.

  Nothing seemed correct or comforting or normal to her. It seemed odd the way the afternoon shadows fell black upon the red-gold dirt. It was bizarre the way the mountain changed to deeper shades of pink as the day progressed. She didn’t know how to pronounce the name “Jaramillo.”

  But if Albuquerque wasn’t home, why was she here?

  Where was home? Who was she? Oh God, how could she have done something so awful?

  A social worker named Gina Kravitz brought her some extra clothes earlier that day—a navy blue ribbed shirt, a pair of jeans that were a little too tight and some new underwear.

  The nurse told her that her black leather pants and gloves had been shredded during the accident, but kept her skin from being scraped raw. A sleeveless tee shirt and the leather jacket were folded on the chair.

  Black leather? Dyed red hair? It didn’t seem like her, but then again, what would she know?

  The social worker told her she could stay in the hospital for one more day, and then she’d be taken to a women’s shelter to wait for her memory to return. The news left her numb. Did it even matter where she was going if she didn’t know where she was supposed to be?

  Gina reassured her she wouldn’t be alone, but they both knew that was a lie. She was alone. Completely alone in her own head, where she knew the most useless things—like the Pledge of Allegiance and the times tables—but not what her family looked like or her own name.

  Right now she was just Zia, who sat on the wide window ledge, looking out over the University of New Mexico campus in the City of Albuquerque, in the Land of Enchantment, just like the nurse told her.

  She was enchanted, all right.

  Ruben stopped in the doorway and tried not to make a sound. He stared at her. Her hair glowed in the sunlight and a long, lean arm encircled her knees. She was barefoot, and her toes tapped up and down as if she listened to music no one else could hear.

  He was hypnotized by the sight of her and wanted to stand there forever, where he could watch her, study her, follow the movement of her feet without having to explain himself to anybody.

  She must have heard his heart beating, because she turned. The honey-gold hair swung around her shoulders and her face blossomed into a wide smile.

  “Ruby Jaramillo!”

  He nearly dropped the things he held in his arms for her—a cactus, a People magazine, today’s Star, a mystery novel, and a takeout order from Sadie’s.

  She was moving off the ledge and walking across the room to him. The first thing he noticed was that she had a slight limp. The next thing he noticed was that she had an incredible body – lean, long, and confident.

  “Hi Zia.” He said it! He actually said it! And it wasn’t so bad, really. “You look very nice.” Oh for God’s sake. If his arms weren’t full, he would’ve smacked himself in the forehead for saying something that stupid.

  “Thank you. Is this for me?” She reached up and took the pottery bowl that held a large, blooming yucca, and she carried it over to the bedside tray. She turned around, waiting for him to bring the rest.

  He did.

  “How are you feeling?” Ruben glanced at the sling

  cradling the cast on her right wrist. “Is your headache better? Does your arm still hurt?” He fought to remove his gaze from where the sling separated her breasts, but only ended up staring at the tight jeans at her hips.

  Zia opened the bag of food and sniffed. She looked up, delighted and perplexed. “What is it?” She pulled out a foil-wrapped package.

  “A carne adovada enchilada,” he said. “With green chiles.”

  Her eyes shot open. “What in the world is that?”

  When he laughed, it released some of the tension in him. Why was he nervous? “Basically, it’s slowly marinated pork wrapped up in a tortilla. Green chiles aren’t really spicy, they’re just… well, bomb-ass delicious. You’ve had enchiladas before, right?”

  “Sure,” she said. She sat down on the edge of the bed and unwrapped the foil, her hair falling over her face.

  Ruben sat down next to her. Once again, he didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he folded them in his lap like a nervous schoolgirl. He watched her take a bite.

  “Ohmygod,” she mumbled, dropping the enchilada into the foil and cupping her hand beneath her chin. She looked shocked as she chewed and swallowed. “This is fabulous!”

  Ruben smiled at her and felt ridiculously proud that he’d brought her something she liked.

  “I’ve never tasted anything so good in my life,” she said, now seriously devouring the messy dish one-handed.

  “Here, let me help you.” Ruben held the foil wrapper beneath her chin.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I was starving. I didn’t realize it. The food here is awful.” Her eyes scanned his face. “Thank you for everything,” she said, gesturing to the bedside tray full of gifts.

  “So your memory’s coming back, then?”

  She stopped chewing. “It is?”

  “You just said you’ve eaten enchiladas before, and that you’ve never tasted anything as wonderful in your life.”

  Zia shook her head and took a moment to swallow. “I also seem to know all the words to No Scrubs, so a lot of good that does me, especially in a hospital.”

  Ruben laughed and took the empty wrapper to the trashcan across the room. Man, she ate that fast.

  “I’m not staying here,” she said suddenly, and Ruben stopped before he could turn back to her. “The doctor said my MRI looks a lot better and I’m stable. I going to a shelter tomorrow, I guess.”

  “A shelter?” Ruben swiveled around and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Who says?”

  “My social worker,” she reached over and grabbed a business card off the tray. “Gina Kravitz, M.S.W.”

  “Gina?” Ruben returned to the edge of the bed, grinning. “She lives across the road from me. She was a witness to the accident, did she tell you that?”

  Zia nodded. “She told me she was there. I didn’t know she was your neighbor, though.”

  “Where are they sending you? Did she say?”

  “She mentioned the Sa
lvation Army Women’s Shel—”

  “Nope. No way.” Ruben was on his feet again. “I’ll talk to her about it. I’d hate to see you go somewhere like that, with—”

  “Other women in trouble?” Zia laughed bitterly. “I think I fit that category just fine. More than you know, really. Excuse me.”

  She went into the bathroom and Ruben heard her get a drink of water. She walked back in, still limping.

  Ruben’s studied her. In her bare feet, she was maybe four inches shorter than he was, probably five-eight. She had stopped a respectable distance from him and folded her good arm over her sling, a gesture of self-defense, he thought. She started to say something but stopped and looked down at the floor.

  “What, Zia?” He’d said it again!

  She looked him squarely in the eye. “Are you really not doing a story on me, or were you lying?”

  Ruben pulled his mouth tight and ran a hand through a shock of hair. He’d forgotten to get it cut, he realized. “I don’t make a habit of lying to people,” he said. “So if I said I wouldn’t do a story on you, then I won’t. But you should consider that the publicity might let someone know where you are, and—”

  “No!”

  Ruben was surprised at the terror in her eyes. Her chin began to quiver.

  “No? You don’t want anybody to know where you are? But what if your fam—?”

  “No!” The tears spilled down her face and without thinking, Ruben stepped up to her, took her in his arms and pressed her against him. She stood there and cried, and he felt the hard edge of her cast poke him in the ribs.

  He felt the rest of her, too.

  “Please promise me you won’t put me in the paper.” Her

  sobs were muffled against his chest. “Oh God, please…”

  Ruben didn’t want to release her, so he kept her against him for another moment and let her relax into the curve of his chest. Why in the world wouldn’t she want anyone to know where she was? He breathed in the clean smell of her hair and skin.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” He felt her stiffen against him as soon as he whispered the question. “Do you need a lawyer, Zia?” He waited a moment. “Look, it’s okay. You can tell me your real name if you want and I’ll help you get in touch with an attorney.”

  “What?” She pulled back and shoved him with her good

  arm. “Do you think I’m lying?” Her face was contorted with fear and anger. “Jerk.”

  She twisted away from his touch and limped toward the windows. He followed her.

  “I’m not a jerk, but I don’t like being jerked around.” He also didn’t like talking to her back. “Look, I’m willing to help you out, Zia, but you have to tell me the truth.”

  She ignored him.

  “I already gave you my word I wouldn’t write about you without your permission. So what would it hurt to confide in me? I know a lot of people in this town who might be able to help you.”

  She finally looked over her left shoulder, and Ruben

  was struck by the aristocratic profile—pretty turned-up nose, deep-set eyes, classic cheekbones, full mouth. Whatever this woman had done it couldn’t be that bad, right? She looked like a blueblood, a rich girl who might have made a few poor choices along the way at the worst.

  “I murdered somebody, Ruby.” She turned to him.

  He staggered back.

  “I took a sword with a bright red handle and I sliced somebody’s neck open, and there was blood between my fingers and on my arms.”

  She blinked her wide blue eyes, stunned by the memory. “I don’t know where I did it, when I did it, or whom I did it to. And I have no idea who I am. That is all the truth I can give you. Now, which friends of yours can help me with that?”

  “No way,” Ruben mumbled. His mind raced a mile a minute, and all he could see was the headline: “Amnesia Victim Confesses to Grisly Murder.”

  But there was absolutely no way this woman could have cut somebody’s throat, right? She was obviously educated, privileged…it didn’t make sense. And she certainly didn’t look like any homicide suspect he’d ever seen, and he’d seen hundreds over the years.

  And God help him, that was the story. He couldn’t stop himself, and the next thing he did was write the lead in his head: “A mystery woman claiming to have amnesia confessed to a bloody killing Wednesday, but says she can’t remember who, when, or where she killed, leaving police scrambling to find the truth.”

  Page 1, top of the fold, definitely. New Mexico State Press Association 1st Place news story, probably, if the cops eventually discovered she really did it.

  Ruben came out of his daydream to see the young woman standing in light from the window. She looked confused, sad, and utterly alone. Ruben reached out for her hand. “Zia,” he said. “Did you tell anyone else about this?” He wondered to himself: Channel 12? News Radio 710?

  She shrugged. “I already confessed the whole thing to two detectives.”

  “Oh really?” Ruben dropped her hand. “Do you remember their names?”

  “Yes. Richard Chisolm and Leroy Salazar.”

  Ruben coughed a little and nodded. “And what did they say about your…uh, confession?”

  She frowned. “They just kept asking me about the money and the key, but I didn’t know what they were talking about.”

  Money? Key? The blood rushed through Ruben’s brain. He was getting the buzz he always got when a good story stared him in the face. He slowed his breathing. Planned his next words very carefully, and he retraced his steps. When was it, exactly, that he’d promised not to write about her? Yesterday? Today? And how had he worded that promise—exactly?

  “So you had a lot of money on you when you—we—no collided?

  She scrunched up her face and reminded herself she had no reason to trust this man. No reason at all. “They said I had seventeen thousand dollars cash in my bra.”

  “Your bra?” Ruben couldn’t help it – he stared at her chest. Lucky money! She blushed a little, and Ruben felt awful for making her uncomfortable.

  “And a loose key in my pocket.” Her hands went around her neck and pulled out a long piece of twine holding a single brass, mass-produced key.

  It looked like it was to a door, Ruben thought. “Do you know what it’s for?”

  “Of course not.” She let it drop back into her shirt.

  Lucky key… “So where’s the money now?”

  “The police told me they’re holding it as evidence.”

  “Evidence of what?” Ruben frowned. “Did they say you’re a suspect? Did they say they planned to charge you with something?”

  She stared at him through long, wet eyelashes, and shrugged.

  “Okay, Zia, whoever you are. Let’s just say, hypothetically, that you did kill somebody.” Ruben paused thoughtfully. “You’ve already confessed to the police, so what’s wrong with going public? If you’re not afraid the police, who are you running from?”

  She blinked. “I wish to God I knew.”

  “But you’re sure you’re hiding from someone?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She blinked again.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I feel it,” she said, standing very still. “They’re coming for me.”

  Ruben hated Gina’s geese and they knew it. They’d always known it. And as he stepped carefully over runny goose poop to reach her front door, he fought the urge to kick the one nibbling at his heels.

  Stupid birds. Why couldn’t Gina just have a watchdog like everyone else?

  He ducked under a display of red chile ristras hanging from the porch roof and knocked on her wood paneled door. Pookie answered it and let him in.

  “Hey, Pook.”

  “Yo, Ruby. How’s it goin’? Mom’s in the kitchen.” The ten-year old boy went back to his video game and Ruben smiled. For Pookie, that brief exchange was a heart-to-heart conversation.

  “Gina?” Ruby called out before he walked through her house.

  She popped h
er head around the kitchen doorway.

  “Did you eat? You want to eat with us? We’re having Spaghetti, with homemade sauce, not from a jar.”

  “Wow. I’d love to.” He sat on one of the kitchen stools and nibbled on a piece of celery.

  It was an unspoken arrangement between them that if Ruben showed up between the hours of six and seven, he was there to eat. Gina smiled at him now. She had a soft spot in her heart for Ruby, especially since his parents died three years ago. Besides, she enjoyed the adult company.

  Ruben watched Gina’s peach colored gauze skirt fly around her bare ankles as she retrieved pans and opened jars and chopped vegetables, talking all the while. He noticed she wore long dangly earrings of crystal and pottery beads – unusual even for Gina.

  He smiled, observing how her pleasant, round face went through countless expressions as she described the results of Pookie’s parent-teacher conference.

  “So at least he’s making progress,” she finished with a sigh. Gina threw the diced cucumbers in a large wooden bowl and tossed the salad as she looked at him. “I’m glad you came over, Ruby. I had something I wanted to talk with you about.”

  “Zia?”

  “What?” She cocked her head and the earrings jangled.

  “The woman on the motorcycle. I know you’re her case manager and you’re taking her to a shelter tomorrow.”

  “Shit, Ruby. You scare me sometimes,” she said, shaking her head and smiling despite herself. Gina carried the salad bowl to the table. “Why in the world are you calling her ‘Zia?’”

  Without being asked, Ruben went to the cupboard for three plates and three drinking glasses and began to set the table.

  “That’s what she wants to be called.”

  “Oh, so you’re the one who brought all the goodies to her hospital room?”

  Ruben nodded. “I feel sort of responsible for what happened.”

  “Except you’re not. You know that, right?” Gina let her hand fall to Ruben’s shoulder as she walked by him to get the silverware. She handed the bundle of knives and forks to him and he finished the table settings.

  “I do know that, but Gina, I need to ask you a few things about her,” he said. “Only as background. I won’t quote you. But I need to …”