by Adrianne Lee
His laugh held no humor. “For the first time in my life, I have money, prestige and power. I’m on top of the heap. King of my own realm. Everything should be smooth sailing. No more worries. But damned if complications don’t keep popping up like zits on a teenager.”
“I thought Elvis was going to see to it that Betty and Kayleen were laid quietly to rest as Mary and Louise Dickerson.”
“He is.”
“Then what are you worried about? Who is this ‘she’ I heard you discussing? This.Jane Dolan?”
He didn’t answer. His head ached with anxiety. What if this woman Elvis had bumped into today really was Barbara Jo? What if she had the pages Kayleen had stolen from his personal journal five years ago? The pages that hadn’t been found in Kayleen and Betty’s cabin.
“Sometimes I wish I’d never made friends with Kayleen in college.” Joy’s voice rang with hatred. “The only favor she ever did me was leaving you. But then, I should have had you from the beginning. Not her.”
He had to get those papers back.before they landed in the wrong hands. Before they landed him in jail.
“Marsh?” Joy snuggled up to him.
But Marshall was as far away as Ellensburg. His mind on the past, not the present. If Barbara Jo was alive and she didn’t have the papers, would she know what had happened to them?
“Marsh, if you’re out of the mood,” Joy sighed and stepped away from him, “I’ll take a shower. I’m going skiing with some of the gals at Snoqualmie Pass this afternoon, at Hyak.”
Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t see the hard glint in Joy’s eyes that would have told him skiing might not be the real reason she’d decided to drive over to the pass. He just nodded absently and the second she closed the door, flipped the tablet over again. The name “Jane Dolan” glared up at him.
All the bad possibilities.
And one good one.
A pinch of hope tweaked his heart. If this woman was Barbara Jo, was there a snowball’s chance that Melissa had also survived?
He stared at the phone, trying to decide a course of action.
THE MAN WITH GREASY black hair and a nasty scar slicing the left side of his face answered the telephone on the third ring. “Boss, didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon. What’s up?”
He bent over, lacing on leather boots—one, then the other—as he listened in silence, grunted where appropriate, then straightened. “Sure thing, boss. I understand. If I get right on it, I should be able to eliminate this problem as easily as the other two.”
Chapter Five
The afternoon deteriorated faster than the morning for Jane. With fury lashing every nerve, she’d driven from Cle Elum to Ellensburg as recklessly as a drunken divorcée. To her further annoyance, the dark morning shaded patches of ice along the freeway a gray blue, the same hue as Chad Ryker’s eyes. His face kept flashing clear and bold into her mind, his grin teasing her with sensual suggestion and hinting at knowledge of a past that she could not remember.
Knowledge that she both craved and feared.
Upon arrival at home, she’d hurried immediately inside and begun throwing Missy’s and her clothes into their three pitiful sports bags. But the hollow rattle the last drawer in her daughter’s bureau made as she shoved it back into place, stopped her cold. What was she doing? Where was she going?
Anywhere! her brain screamed.
Recognizing the panic in that answer, Jane sank to the floor and buried her head in her hands. What had she told Chad Ryker that could be so serious she needed to uproot a little girl from the only home, the only world, she’d ever known? She forced herself to take several calming breaths, then slowly, mentally walked through her conversations with the reporter. Nothing. She’d told him nothing that justified this frantic upheaval of Missy’s life.
Then what had caused her panic? She considered and eventually recalled his saying he wanted to know why Kayleen Emerson was using an alias, why she was living in hiding, and whether or not the answers to the first two questions were why someone had killed her and her mother. A chill swept through Jane. His questions were too close to her own, and, she realized with a start, they meant that neither of them really believed the police had the culprit in custody.
She knew why she didn’t believe it: her overall uncertainty about everything during the past two days. But what was his excuse? She shoved herself to her feet, swearing. She suspected why Chad Ryker wasn’t satisfied: He wanted a scandal—juicy headline material. The story of a couple of women killed after interrupting a burglary wasn’t the kind of exciting stuff that won Pulitzer prizes.
The hell with Chad Ryker. He was a jerk. A real friend of Kayleen’s would never use her death to further his career. But as sure as cowboys loved the Ellensburg Rodeo, Ryker would print such a story. Only his would be more detailed than most. Thanks in part to her.
She growled and barely stopped herself from slamming Missy’s door. What good would breaking the door do? It wouldn’t prevent Ryker from meeting his deadline. Nothing could do that. Let the traitor run his story. What harm could come from it?
The question brought on a blinding headache.
HOURS LATER, JANE’S headache lingered, a dull pain at her temples, aggravated by the thumping beat of the jukebox and the smoky air in the Buckin’ Bronc where she tended bar.
The lounge sported photos of past Ellensburg Rodeos displayed in red frames to match the upholstered booths and barstools. Recent renovations had updated the rustic appeal of the place, a popular hangout of locals and legalage college students.
Jane plunked another six glasses into the dishwasher, then straightened to find Edie standing across the counter from her—the first welcome sight she’d encountered all day.
“You look as whipped as I feel.” Edie plopped her purse on the bar and gave Jane a shake of her blond head. Dark smudges underscored each of her blue eyes and the lines around her mouth seemed more noticeable than usual. “I could use a giant margarita. Pronto.”
Jane complied, making the strawberry drink the way her friend preferred, and setting the frothy pink concoction in front of her moments later. Edie took an immediate gulp and glanced around the lounge. Two couples with fresh drinks occupied the first two booths. “At least you’re not too busy tonight.”
“Actually, we’ve been slammed—until about ten minutes ago. Suited me fine. I needed the diversion. I’m tired of dwelling on my problems.”
“Tough day, huh? Me, too, kiddo. I’ve been going to call you since noon, see how the morning went, but I haven’t had a minute to catch my breath since those three semis decided to go ice-skating on 1-90. Luckily no one was critical.”
Jane stifled a shudder at how close she’d come to being in the accident that had tied up the interstate for the past eight hours. If Chad Ryker had detained her any longer. This time the shudder would not be suppressed. “I must have gotten out of Cle Elum minutes ahead of them.”
Edie’s face went bright red. “Well, that was pretty insensitive of me.”
“No, it wasn’t. Accidents are your business. I don’t expect you not to talk about them.” But occasionally, like today, the subject made her queasy. “I heard they’ve only just reopened the freeway.”
Edie nodded, and managed a smirk. “Took them two hours to get all the people in and six more to clear away all the spilled hay and tires and computer parts.”
Edie swallowed another sip, then looked questioningly at Jane, her expression querulous. “So, how did your morning go?”
Jane pressed her lips together, drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “I didn’t claim the bodies.”
Edie froze with the glass halfway to her mouth. “Why not?”
“Remember the handsome devil I told you about from the cabin? Well, he was waiting for me at the funeral home. Turns out he’s a former friend of my sister’s.”
“Really?” Edie’s tone sounded cautious. “Was he able to fill in some of the blanks for you?”
I
t seemed to Jane that her friend was as anxious on this subject as she was. “He told me my mother’s last name. And that Kayleen was married to a Dr. Marshall Emerson. I’m assuming his practice is in the Seattle area. Have you ever heard of him?”
“No.” Her lips drew into a thin line as she considered. “Can’t say I have, but mine is a huge profession. Is he a GP or a specialist?”
“We didn’t get that far. I tell you, Edie, every time I try to remember it feels like my head will explode with pain. Doesn’t make the process enticing in any way.”
Edie scowled at this. “That’s odd. The kind of amnesia you have shouldn’t cause that reaction to remembering. That’s a symptom of fugue.”
Jane gaped at her. “What—oog?”
“Fugue. Commonly called hysterical amnesia. A person suffers memory loss brought on by a psychological trauma. In other words, the precipitating event is so horrible the person’s psyche can’t assimilate it, so it represses it. Any time the person gets close to the memory of that event, they are traumatized again. That’s the psyche’s way of protecting the individual. Ergo, fear or awful anxiety, blurring vision, terrible headaches, sweating, nausea, disorientation.”
Jane blanched. “That’s exactly the kind of reaction I’ve had the past few days to every flash of returning memory.”
Edie frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose you could have both retrograde and fugue.”
Jane knew the term “retrograde.” Edie had used it when she’d first diagnosed her condition after the accident. Said it was caused by the bump she’d taken to her head. “It’s possible to have both?”
“Yes.” Edie fell silent, but her scowl deepened and the worried look in her eyes seemed to build as she sipped her drink.
Jane scanned the customers in the bar, decided no one needed immediate attention, then leaned toward Edie. “Is it worse for me that I have both kinds of amnesia?”
“Worse?” Edie tilted her head. “I wouldn’t say worse. Just different.”
“In what ways?”
Edie pushed her hand through her hair, mussing it unconsciously. “While there’s no guarantee you’ll remember any memory lost to retrograde, the other is lost to repression. It may or may not come back. But since you’re starting to remember, it seems inevitable that it will.”
Jane’s muscles ached with tension as she swiped the counter with the bar rag. “Could the accident have caused both amnesias?”
Edie shrugged. “That’s the only trauma in your life that I know of. It would have been enough. But there may be something else. I’m sorely afraid, Jane, that only you know what triggered the fugue.”
Fear clawed the corners of Jane’s mind. “I’m not so sure I want to know.”
“Of course not. Like I said, that’s symptomatic of the condition.”
Symptomatic. The tightness in Jane’s chest eased as she considered this. “Are you saying once I’ve recalled whatever caused the trauma, this awful fear and anxiety will disappear?”
“That’s my understanding.” Edie sighed as if in sympathy. “But getting to that point will become increasingly more difficult.”
“Great,” Jane said without enthusiasm. But pleasant or not, she now wanted to remember. She wanted her history restored—even if it meant facing whatever had set her family on the run. Whatever had kept Kayleen and her mom in hiding. Doubt dampened her palms—doubt that her fear was only symptomatic.
The thought was disrupted by one of the remaining couples calling, “Good night.” The other couple, she realized, were signaling for another round. Jane mixed the drinks, delivered them and cleaned off the vacated table, then returned to Edie. “Want another?”
“Oh, all right. It’s Dirk’s turn to fix dinner and tomorrow is my day off.”
“How are you and Dirk doing?” Jane asked, in reference to Edie’s recent marital distress.
“Better. He’s finally ready to try for another baby.” Edie shoved the glass toward her. “Hey, you didn’t tell me how the handsome, former friend of your sister’s stopped you from your morning’s mission.”
“Some friend.” Jane mixed the cocktail ingredients in the blender, then poured them into a clean glass. “Turns out he’s an investigative reporter for the Northwest Courier—after a story for the paper.”
“Good God.”
As Edie downed the second margarita, Jane apprised her of the meeting with Chad Ryker and all that she’d done upon arriving home, including her panic to run away and finally her decision to stay.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t just take off.” Edie shoved her empty glass aside and reached for her purse. “But if things drive you to that point again, before you actually leave.talk to me first? Promise?”
Something in her tone sent a chill through Jane, but she promised.
“Guess I’d better get home before Dirk sends out a posse. If you remember anything else—I’ll be home all night and tomorrow.”
Jane nodded. “Drive carefully. Those roads are getting slicker by the hour.”
As Edie left the bar, a man brushed past her. He glanced around for a moment, then strode to a back booth. Jane arrived seconds later. “What can I get you?”
“A menu and a tall Jack Daniel’s and Coke.”
Jane felt there was something vaguely familiar about the dull blue eyes beneath the mop of brown hair, but no name bounded instantly to mind, no connection of place or time, no mental point of reference she could explore.
But since nothing about him revived her headache, she guessed that however or wherever she’d known this man, it was likely sometime within the past five years. Not knowing for certain, however, hardened her resolve to regain her memory. She fixed his drink and returned to his table. She laid the menu down and informed him of the night’s specials.
All the while the man stared at her as if he knew her, too. But unless he broached the subject, she decided not to pursue it. Most likely, he merely reminded her of someone. God knew, there were hundreds of strangers in this bar each week, customers who pulled off the freeway to wet their whistles, or stopped in after visiting their college kids. “I’ll give you a few minutes to decide. Signal when you’re ready.”
But when she glanced at him again a few seconds later, he didn’t seem to be studying the menu at all. Instead, his pale eyes followed her, making her feel as though he were touching her. Studying her. Her stomach pinched. She took her time returning to his table. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” His tone suggested he was ready for more than food.
She sighed in exasperation, realizing his interest in her was plain old lust. Just another dog looking to satisfy an itch. His expression altered, became more smug as though he had a secret he might or might not share with her. Her tolerance thinned to snapping, but she held her temper. “What?”
“Steak,” he said. “Medium, baked potato with the works and salad, ranch.”
“Sure thing.” She spun away from him, stuffing her anger. He wasn’t the first unpleasant man she’d encountered. Hell, he wasn’t even the first one of the day.
That one, she realized with a jolt, was walking toward her now.
Jane froze. Ever since she’d left Cle Elum, ever since she’d seen Chad Ryker in her rearview mirror as she backed out of the parking lot of the Sunset Café, she’d had the urge to pack up Missy and disappear. One look at that handsome face, those haunting gray-blue eyes, and the feeling returned to slam her gut.
If she could walk out this moment and go home and repack, she would. But she was the only one on duty for another half hour. She retreated behind the bar. A moment later he hitched onto one of the stools. She glared at him. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“What do you want to drink?”
He half grinned at her. “Irish coffee, please.”
She mixed the drink and shoved the cup across the counter, recalling she hadn’t turned in the other man’s order. She hurried to the kitchen, then linge
red as long as she dared. She hoped Ryker would be done with his Irish coffee when she returned. But his cup remained full as he dragged a spoon around and around in tiny circles. She began unloading the dishwasher, feeling the eyes of the man in the back booth on her, feeling Ryker’s eyes on her.
“I would have been here sooner,” Ryker said, stopping her cold. “But I got stranded in Cle Elum.”
She glanced sideways at him. “Too bad you weren’t stranded there permanently.”
He let that go unanswered for four heartbeats, then said softly enough that only she could hear, “I thought you wanted to know your name.”
Jane dropped the glass she held. It shattered on the hard floor. She swore, started to pick up the broken pieces, but tears sprang to her eyes and pain rammed into her head. Flustered, she railed at Ryker in a fierce whisper, “I can’t deal with this. Not here. Not now.”
She scooted out from behind the bar and made a beeline for the back exit, passing the man with the pale eyes at a wind-stirring clip. She shoved outside, into the freezing air. Her body, flushed with fear, welcomed the cold. She crossed her arms over her chest. If she could just hold on until Vesta arrived. Just a few minutes more.
The door opened behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Chad Ryker stood there, concern etched on his face. That his traitorous heart held any compassion amazed her. He asked, “Are you all right?”
She laughed without humor, unable to recall the last time she’d felt “all right” or normal or like her old self—whatever, whoever that was. Frustration fisted like a band around her heart, and she knew then that it didn’t matter how terrified she was, she had to know. “Tell me.”
The second the words left her mouth, panic grabbed her breath. She closed her eyes and fought it.
Chad stepped up beside her, then gently gripped her upper arms. He’d seen her collapse once today. He didn’t know what to expect, but she was trembling beneath his grip and he wasn’t sure the cold had caused it. He shrugged out of his coat and pulled it around her shoulders.
While he’d been stranded in Cle Elum, he’d been too busy covering the Interstate story for the late edition to do any research on amnesia. But he had Bonze looking up and E-mailing him some articles on the subject.
