He stood and slowly took a pocketknife from his jeans. She moved back into the shelter. She couldn’t make it past him, but maybe she could break through the back. He tossed the knife to her. She grabbed it and opened the blade. He squatted again and pushed the flashlight, handle first, toward her and moved back. She grabbed it and shone it in his eyes. He squinted.
“You said you’re Cherokee, but the beadwork is Shoshone.”
The corners of his mouth turned up in a grin. “Yes. Some friends gave them to me. You know that. You are remembering.”
She shook her head. “I seem to know things. I remember nothing.” She spat that last out like a bite of sour apple.
“I’m going to sit in here with you. I’ll move slowly.” He worked his way opposite her, staying at arm’s length. “Nice shelter.”
“I must live in the woods,” she said.
“Actually, you do, but in a house. Your name is Lindsay Chamberlain. You’re a professor at the University of Georgia’s Archaeology Department. You’re also a forensic anthropologist and do consulting work for law enforcement people.”
“Lindsay Chamberlain. Linda Chambers. Maybe I am remembering,” she whispered. “Who are you?”
“My name’s John West.”
“Are you a professor at the university, too?”
He laughed. “No. I own a construction company.”
“Why have you come looking for me?”
“You’re my girlfriend . . . most of the time.”
“Do I have a family?”
“Your parents are in Europe. We haven’t called them. Your brother, Sinjin, is on his way from California. He’s a firefighter, a smoke jumper.”
“A smoke jumper? That sounds dangerous.”
“It doesn’t come close to being an archaeologist.”
Lindsay Chamberlain cocked her head and narrowed her eyes at John. “This has happened to me before?”
“Not like this. You’ve never lost your memory of who you were, but you’ve had some scary adventures.”
“How did you know to look for me?”
“You went to a conference in Knoxville last weekend, something about primitive technology. We argued before you left, and I hadn’t seen you for a couple of weeks.”
“Argued? About what?”
“It doesn’t matter now. I wanted to talk to you, so I called the UGA Archaeology Department looking for you. They said the conference at Knoxville ended two days ago, but that you hadn’t come back to campus yet. I called Harper Latham, a faculty member friend of yours on campus. She said your plans had been to leave the conference, spend a few days with a friend of yours named Jane Burroughs in Asheville, North Carolina, and then come back to Georgia. You were supposed to call Harper from Jane’s to let her know when you would be arriving back in town, and the two of you were to meet and have dinner together. You hadn’t called, and Harper was worried.”
“Harper is a nice name.”
“She’s a good friend. Harper called Jane in Asheville, and Jane said you never arrived at her place. Harper called Derrick . . .”
“Derrick?”
“He’s an archaeologist friend of yours. He was at the conference in Knoxville with you.” John hesitated a moment. “You dated him before me.” He hesitated again. “You were engaged.”
Derrick. She tried to remember.
“Derrick said you had left Knoxville two days ago, and he said you also told him you were going to Asheville to visit Jane Burroughs.”
“Were Derrick and I, were we . . . well, seeing each other again?”
“No. I hope not.”
“You said I was your girlfriend most of the time . . . is that because of Derrick and me?”
“No. It’s because you and I argue about your work.”
“But you came to find me.”
“Of course.”
“How did you know where to look?”
“That was part of the problem. We thought you might be somewhere between Knoxville and Asheville, but that’s a huge area. We know you well enough to know that you probably wouldn’t take the interstate highways, and there are hundreds of miles of mountain roads between Knoxville and Asheville, by a dozen different routes. We called local sheriffs and police, the highway patrol in three states . . . everyone we could think of. There were no reports on anyone fitting the description of you or your Explorer.”
“I drive an Explorer?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“They haven’t found it yet. We tried to find you, Lindsay. It’s hard to get the authorities to look for an adult, particularly one with a certain reputation for independence and adventure.”
“What reputation?”
John just smiled. “Then, this morning the FBI called your department head. The sheriff’s department here in Mac’s Crossing had submitted your fingerprints for identification. The FBI has your prints on file—apparently, because of the work you do—and they made a match. Harper called me from campus to tell me where you were, and I came to Mac’s Crossing to get you. When I arrived at the hospital, you were gone. They still hadn’t gotten the word on your identification. They told me how you had been found wandering down the middle of the highway, and the condition you were in, and about your memory loss, and they said you had run away from the hospital. I knew something must have happened.”
“Someone else tried to claim me.”
“Yes. They told me about that. I called the local sheriff to report you missing. Because of some glitch, he had just received the FBI fingerprint match and hadn’t yet notified the hospital. That’s why they didn’t know who you were. Do you know the man who was posing as your fiancé?”
Lindsay wanted to trust John. His stories hung together like the truth, and she desperately needed to trust someone. She put down the knife. “No. But he called me Lisa Christian. A lot like Lindsay Chamberlain.”
“So, he knows who you are.”
“It would seem so. How did you find me in the woods?”
“When you ran from me earlier, I went the wrong way looking for you. I thought you would run toward town and buildings. When I couldn’t find you there, I retraced my path and saw the woods, and realized you would feel safe in the woods. Your father and uncles took you fishing and camping weeks at a time when you were a little girl.” He paused and reached for her hand. “Let’s go home.”
She moved her hand from his reach. “The woods are dark now.”
“We have a flashlight. We’ll be able to see the town lights in a short distance.”
“No, there’s something terrible in the woods. I don’t know what, but I know it’s there.”
John was silent for a long moment. He lowered his head and shook it again. “You want to stay all night in the woods. My ex-wife wasn’t this much trouble.”
“I’m afraid.”
“I know. Okay. We’ll stay the night. If you get cold, I’m here.”
John settled in the shelter, trying to make himself comfortable. Lindsay stuck his knife in the ground beside her. Off in the distance they heard an owl screech.
Chapter 4
Moon Pies And Dr Pepper
WHEN LINDSAY AWOKE, John was stretching and kneading his lower back. His long black hair fell across his shoulders, his Indian profile silhouetted against the bright morning light shining through the opening of the small makeshift shelter. He looked strong, and she had been asleep and defenseless. He could have harmed her if he had wanted, but he hadn’t. That was a definite positive.
“I can tell you one thing.” He turned his face toward her. In the shadows created by the sunlight shining from behind him, the only features visible in his face were the white teeth in his smile. “Knowing how to sleep in the woods and wake up refreshed isn’t genetic.”
“Do we ever camp together?” Lindsay asked.
“No. I’m not a happy camper. I like a soft bed and a roof over my head.” He held out his hand to her. “Let’s get out of the woods and go se
e the sheriff.”
“The sheriff? Why?” She felt a return of uneasiness.
“He has his men keeping an eye out for you. He needs to know you’ve been found safe.”
Talking about it brought back all her fears of yesterday. “Let’s just go.”
“We really need . . .”
In the closeness of the small enclosure, Lindsay suddenly felt confined . . . trapped. She scrambled from the shelter and stood in the open, drinking in the air like it was water, surveying the woods around her.
“I don’t know who to trust. I just want to go home. I’m taking a chance trusting you.”
“All right.” John held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’ll call his office from down the road a ways. We don’t have to see him.” He extended his hand to her.
Lindsay stared at it for several moments before she took it, and they walked hand in hand out of the woods. Every few feet, she looked over her shoulder to see if the thing that cast a shadow over her sanity was pursuing them.
John squeezed her hand softly. “It’ll be all right. You’re safe now. I’ll keep you safe.”
“You don’t know from what, and I’m not able to tell you.”
“I will still keep you safe.”
She hoped that it would be true. It didn’t take long to leave the asylum of the woods. As they walked out into the open field, the dew-covered grass brushed her ankles and the dampness soaked into her socks. She shivered. How long could she have lived in the woods without turning wild, she wondered. With no memory and no resources, what would she have become—a forest creature, sitting on her haunches eating raw meat?
As they approached the row of converted offices, Lindsay spotted the midnight blue pickup parked on the street. It had dark tinted windows—good for escaping the town unseen. But if John West turned out to be a villain, no one could see her inside. She examined his profile. The movement of her head caught his attention, and he looked at her and smiled.
“We’re out of the woods.” He smiled again, as if that were a joke.
He took his remote from his jeans pocket and pointed it at the truck as they approached. Lindsay heard the clicks of the doors unlocking and wished he could point the remote at her and unlock her brain. Trying to remember was dizzying, frustrating—it made her want to cry. She climbed into the truck and slammed the door shut. John climbed into the driver’s side.
“I need to call your brother and tell him you’re safe and coming home.” He reached for the cell phone mounted on the dashboard.
“Let’s get out of town first.”
He looked at her a moment. There was what might have been gentleness in his eyes. “All right.” He started the truck. “Fasten your seat belt.”
They were silent riding out of town, but Lindsay noticed John glancing over at her. What was he looking at . . . or watching for?
“I have to stop and get gas.” He slowed down as they neared a convenience store.
“Why?”
“I’m almost empty.” He pointed to the gauge.
“Can’t we get farther out?”
“It’ll be okay . . . nothing to be afraid of.” He turned off the highway and drove up to the gas pumps. “I won’t be long. You can sit in the truck with the doors locked.”
Lindsay didn’t take her eyes off him as he pumped the gas, and her gaze followed him to the store to pay. He looked relaxed. Everything seemed almost normal. But she lost sight of him after he went inside, and she felt panic swelling in her.
What if he doesn’t come out? What if he calls the sheriff and they come and get me?
She broke her stare from the store and looked at the keys dangling from the ignition. She could take the truck and leave, get out of town fast, go someplace safe. Did she know how to drive? Surely, she did. John came out of the store carrying a sack and a couple of drinks, and she abandoned any thoughts of leaving him behind. She unlocked the door and he slid into the driver’s seat, handing her a Dr Pepper.
“Do I like these?” She snapped the can open.
“Sure do.”
Lindsay took a long drink. He was right about that. Another mark in his favor.
“I got you a sausage and biscuit.” He handed her the paper bag.
The smells coming from the bag made her mouth water. How long had it been since she had eaten? Twenty-four hours? She pawed through the collection of other things John had bought: Reese’s Cups, Moon Pies, and peanuts.
“Do I like all of these?”
“You like the candy. I like the Moon Pies.” He took one from the bag and tore open the wrapper. “We both like the peanuts.”
She unwrapped the sausage and biscuit and took a bite. “I’m glad I didn’t have to catch and cook my breakfast.”
“That doesn’t bear thinking about.” He followed a bite of Moon Pie with a long drink of Coke.
A car—familiar, like a roach or a snake is familiar—drove into her field of view and parked in front of the store. Is this what John was waiting for? Is this why he chose this place to gas up the truck?
She shook, wanting to throw open the door of the truck and run. But they would catch her. Right now they didn’t even see her. Her faux fiancé got out of the car and hurried into the store, not even glancing in their direction.
She stole a glance at John. He started the truck and was putting it in gear, ready to ease away from the pumps. He seemed not to notice her would-be kidnappers. Maybe it was a coincidence that Mark Smith and the skinny man with the cornflower blue eyes showed up here, now, at this place.
Lindsay knew she should tell John who they were, but he would want to call the sheriff, and she couldn’t chance it. Even if the sheriff wasn’t in on whatever there was to be in on, they would all know she was here.
John was looking at her. “Are you all right? Are you sick?”
She shook her head. “I’m just anxious to go home, wherever that is, and sort myself out. Please, let’s go.” She lowered her head so she was not visible inside the truck as John drove onto the highway. It was a while before her pulse slowed and her stomach settled.
They rode in silence. They were all the way to Interstate 24, and Lindsay had eaten her sausage biscuit, the Reese’s Cups, and the whole bag of peanuts before John spoke.
“I do need to call your brother. He’s at your house waiting to hear something.”
“I understand the reasoning.” Food made her brave. She could think again. Maybe it would fuel her memory, too.
John punched a series of numbers into his car phone, put it to his ear, and started speaking almost immediately. Her brother must have been waiting by the phone.
“Sinjin, John here. She’s fine. Like the doctor said, she doesn’t remember anything. But she’s okay. Yeah, I found her late yesterday, but couldn’t call until now.”
Lindsay could hear the relief in John’s voice as he spoke.
“No, she doesn’t know anyone. But small things seem to be coming back.”
He paused and Lindsay could hear the distant voice on the other end. No words, but a voice. An unfamiliar voice.
“About four and a half or five hours. Hold the phone a moment. Lindsay, I’m going to have Sinjin call the sheriff in your county. He’s someone who knows you. You trust him. We’ll let him call the sheriff in Mac’s Crossing and tell him you’ve been found and you’re safe.”
She nodded and listened to John explain things to her brother. Sinjin’s a strange name. She wondered how he got it.
“Five hours? That long before we get there?” she asked.
“It’s about 280 miles.”
“I was a long way from home.”
“Yes.” John picked up the phone again. She fought the urge to put her hand on his to stop him.
“Who are you calling now?”
“I need to call Derrick. He’s worried, too.”
“You and I must have a very civilized relationship, for you to be so considerate of my old boyfriend.”
“We do—as
long as we aren’t fighting about your work. Derrick’s an all right guy.”
John called Derrick and told him everything he had told her brother. He paused and handed the phone to her.
“He wants to talk to you. He understands you don’t remember him.”
Lindsay took the phone and put it to her ear, almost afraid to speak. “Hello?”
“Lindsay. I—I just wanted to hear your voice. John says you’re well, except for—”
“I’m fine, except for a few bruises. Really. I’m sorry I worried everyone.”
All these people, she thought, so worried for her, and she didn’t know any of them. The conversation didn’t last long. With no memory, there wasn’t much to say. She replaced the phone and looked over at John, wondering what their relationship was like. He cared. She believed that now. She heard the worry in his voice—unless he was really worried about her regaining her memory.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“You’re sitting there staring at me. I just wondered if you trust me yet.”
“Almost. I’m sorry I’ve brought everyone such anxiety. You say I’ve gotten into trouble before?”
He sighed and waved a hand in the air. “There have been times when you’ve been out doing what you do, and . . . if I had discovered you were really with another man, I’d have been relieved.”
“Oh . . . I’m that bad at getting into trouble?”
He nodded. “You’ve been in deep trouble before—shot, kidnapped, stabbed, lost in a cave, lost at sea in a hurricane—all really frightening and dangerous things. But, as bad as those things were, you’ve always come through with your intellect intact, never lost your memory this way.”
His jaw clinched and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “The thing that worries me—really worries me this time—is what could have happened that was so terrible you don’t want to remember?” He took her hand in his and looked at her. “It scares me. It scares me as much as when we discovered you were missing.”
Chapter 5
The Black Stallion
LINDSAY WAS SNATCHED out of a disturbing dream by the bouncing of the truck. John had turned from the highway, and they were heading down an unpaved wooded lane. A strip of uncut grass grew in the center of the pastoral road between two narrow tracks worn bare by the travel of vehicle tires. The road seemed to disappear into a green wood ahead.
Airtight Case Page 3
