He was silent. There was little he could offer. Besides, outside opinion could change or even implant memories, somehow change her reality or how she perceived what had happened. He smiled, remembering her off-the-cuff psychology lessons all those years ago. He’d taken behavioral courses. But no course was as fascinating as seeing the passion in her eyes as she shared her enthusiasm for what made the human brain tick.
“Darrell Chan,” she said unexpectedly.
“Who?” He leaned forward, the tension palpable. He knew that they were getting somewhere. “Was he on the yacht?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Who is he? How do you know him?” Too many questions, he chastised himself. He was threatening to overwhelm her and yet time had never seemed so tight.
She shook her head. Her lips were taut and her face was almost devoid of color. “I don’t know.”
Yet she’d given him the name as if it were the key to a national treasure. He looked at her. She was looking straight ahead as if she were deep in thought or more importantly, trying to capture her thoughts.
Two names. Two men. How did they fit together?
“Who are they?”
Again, she shook her head, her lips pinched.
“Do you know where either of them are from?” He hoped to at least narrow the names down geographically if nothing else.
She shook her head and began to look distressed. “Ben...” she murmured. “He had a gun,” she said. Her voice was weak but determined. “And he said he’d kill him.”
“Ben was there?”
“Yes.”
“Was Darrell Chan there?” he asked. The repetition was only a precaution, a test on the blips of moments that she was remembering.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Ava,” he whispered.
“Dad was going to report him,” she whispered. “Ben,” she said before he could ask. “He was so angry at my father.”
Faisal leaned forward.
He stopped questioning her. She wasn’t a prisoner and he’d almost begun an interrogation. He stood up, leaning over her and taking the hand that was free of the intravenous line between his. It felt soft and vulnerable against his skin. He thought of all she’d been through and tried with the small gesture to reassure her that he was on her side. That he was her friend and that... He killed the thought. There was no time to think of other things, of other longings, of other needs. And yet, in a delicate state of health or not, she still did things to him that no other woman could.
Ava was noticeably fading, her eyes were half-closed and her voice was trailing off.
Silence filled the room. Her eyes finally closed and her breathing was even. It was like she’d fallen asleep. He knew the pattern of this now. He waited, letting her gather her strength and, he imagined, weave together her fragmented thoughts.
Another minute. His patience was shredding and yet none of this was her fault. It was a ludicrous thought. The only thing he could give her was comfort and little of that, considering he couldn’t bring back her father by his will alone.
“Ben,” she whispered. “Whyte.”
“Your father was going to report him?”
“Yes.”
In the hallway, outside the closed door, another cart rattled past.
“Ben was there,” she whispered. Her full lips chapped and pale. “That night...”
“On the yacht,” he encouraged. It was information he already knew—at least he knew about the stranger. Now he had a name.
“Where is my dad and the yacht?”
He shook his head. He couldn’t tell her this and yet he couldn’t lie. “I don’t know, Ava. We’re searching for him.”
A tear slid down her cheek. He clasped her free hand tighter wanting to take the pain of what he’d told her away. She shuddered and turned her face away; the seconds ticked by, but when she turned to face him it was like her mind was elsewhere.
It was then that Ava said, “Phony land. Big trouble,” and then she passed out.
They were bizarre words and a simplistic way of speaking that was not like Ava. It was as if she had taken a step backward after all her progress. But considering the trauma she had been through he supposed it wasn’t unusual. Still he worried. He sat by her side and wondered how it had all come to this. Her dark hair hung in lackluster tangles that framed her face. He arranged her pillow so that she was raised to the angle the physician had recommended.
The monitor began to beep a warning. Her blood pressure had just dropped. He hit the call bell and rolled her onto her side, propping her in that position with one of the pillows. It was one of many things he’d learned in his emergency medical training when he’d certified for sea rescue work. Before he could get to the door to shout for help, two nurses were in the room. They assured him that the physician was en route. He was directed to the hallway with an efficiency that would have impressed him at another time.
He hung back in the corridor until she was again stable. What was clear in the aftermath was that there would be no visitors of any kind for the next few hours. The attending physician had been adamant.
He could deal with that. There were things he needed to do now that she was safe once again. No thanks to him, he thought rather ironically—he believed that it had been his questions that had upset her and brought her close to another medical crisis.
He was left with the sure knowledge that time was running out.
* * *
“WHAT DO YOU HAVE?” Faisal asked as he answered his phone. He’d just left Ava’s side and was about to put in a call with the new information when Barb’s number showed as the incoming call. Barb didn’t call unless she had something. She’d been with the company long enough that minor research was immediately dumped to one of five other employees. Interestingly enough, they were all women. He wasn’t sure what that might mean, if anything.
“I have a name of someone else on Dan Adams’s yacht that night. Ben Whyte,” she said briskly. “It isn’t much but I thought that I’d at least give you what I know so you have something to go on.”
That was part of what made Barb great in the office. She was aware of the pieces that needed to link together to make a case work. She was always one step ahead of the investigators in the field, getting information to them quickly and efficiently. She’d unearthed the most difficult piece of evidence in record time.
“Ben Whyte was picked up on the beach of Paradise Island. The identity pickup was just good luck. Anyway, goes like this. The local fisherman who took him out said he dropped a driver’s licence. State of Florida,” she said before he could ask. “He found it later at the back of his boat but by the time he had a chance to return it, Ben was gone. He turned it in to the local authorities but it wasn’t really of much interest until now.”
“Ava just confirmed that he was on board. Interesting turn of events.”
“So she’s conscious?” Barb asked.
“Most of the time,” he replied. “She said that a man named Ben Whyte joined them later.” He remembered that she’d also said that it was unexpected. “If he’s connected with Dan he may have spent some time in the Caribbean where Dan lives part of the year. Just a guess but...”
“I’ll get what I can on this Whyte character,” Barb said before he could ask. He could hear her clicking away and knew she was digging answers out of the internet. He waited. Sometimes she was so quick that there was no point ending the call, she would only end up calling back.
A minute passed and then two. He’d learned a lot in the field, working on so many cases that involved a mystery. Two of the things he’d learned were determination and patience.
“Several people by that name but only one who has recently been in the Caribbean,” Barb said as if there had been no break
in the conversation. “Not sure if there’s any relevance, but he changed his name thirty-six years ago from Tominski to Whyte.”
“No criminal record?”
“None that I can find. Not sure why the name change,” Barb replied. “But I’ll let you know what else I find. By the way, I’m still working on your Vancouver connection.”
“Look into land transactions and also a man by the name of Darrell Chan. I know I just keep piling it on.”
“I love the challenge,” she laughed.
“That’s good because there’s more. I remember Adams talking about some land speculation. I didn’t think anything of it. But then Ava said something that was odd. ‘Phony land.’”
“Phony land?”
“I know, strange. And then she said big trouble.”
“The mind works in mysterious ways, especially when it’s been through a shock,” Barb said.
“True,” he agreed. “It’s got to mean something. I know that Adams wanted to meet about land. In fact, he said that it was nothing he wanted to talk about over the phone.”
“Interesting,” Barb replied.
“Exactly,” Faisal agreed. “See if there’s anything recent, and then go back as far as you have to. Use all three names, Adams, Tominski and Whyte.”
“Done,” she replied. “And stay safe,” Barb demanded. She had been with them for so long she was like family, watching out for each of them, worrying from the safety of the office.
“I will,” he said, ending the call and thinking only of how his safety was secondary to finding Ava’s father. He needed to find Dan Adams soon for he sensed that time was running out.
Chapter Ten
Sunday, June 12—9:30 p.m.
Ava took a deep breath as the nurse left her room. She had bounced back in the last few hours. She knew that from the way everything seemed clearer rather than a confusing cloud of sound. She also knew she was better by the fact that she didn’t want to constantly sleep and, most telling of all, she was now remembering big chunks of previously forgotten events.
Faisal had been here again and just left. She admired and appreciated his dedication. Something came alive within her just knowing that he was near. But there was something she needed to do without him. He’d just left—that meant that he wouldn’t be returning again for at least a few hours. She’d encouraged him to get some sleep but she knew that he would get the minimal necessary before returning to be with her. She’d demanded that he stay at the hotel and at least get a night’s sleep. She’d finally gotten that promise out of him.
The machine on her left beeped but the one on her right was quiet. It was only a blood pressure machine, which the physician had just used, assuring her that her blood pressure was normal.
Ava was remembering things that she hadn’t told Faisal, things she hadn’t told anyone. Truthfully, she’d remembered none of it when he had asked. And if she had, she didn’t know if she would have told him.
Faisal.
She’d once fancied herself in love with him. But she’d been young, what had she known about love or life or any of it for that matter? She pushed the thoughts away. The past didn’t matter. She knew that she kept returning to it because it was the only clarity she had, that and a gut instinct that she had to get out of here. She also knew that she couldn’t involve anyone else, for to do so would be to place them in danger. Even Faisal couldn’t know what she planned, for despite what he did for a living, it didn’t make him invulnerable. She needed to get out of here, alone. It was on her shoulders to put a stop to this. She didn’t consider the irony that she didn’t know what she needed to stop. All she knew was that if she didn’t succeed both she and her father were in trouble. That is, if her father was still alive. The thought choked her and tears trembled on her lashes.
She shook her head. She couldn’t think like that. She’d survived and her father would too. She clung to what she did know. One place and a memory that were branded in her mind. She didn’t know what they meant. She only knew that she had to get to that place to find answers.
But her emotions were raw as she thought of the feel of her hand in Faisal’s. Her heart felt like it stopped at the thought of him. He was gone. She hadn’t seen him in five years but she’d thought of him often. She tore her thoughts from Faisal and to what she needed to remember. A tremor ran through her. Her father. The last time she’d seen him was when she’d been in the life raft. She remembered a feeling of panic of wanting to reach out and help. He’d been on the yacht and then she’d lost sight of him and remembered only the feeling of horror and helplessness that had enveloped her. Where was he now?
She could remember that the doctor had told her that her memory would come back. She remembered studying about memory. She remembered studying a lot of things. What she didn’t remember were the last hours on her father’s yacht and they were the most important hours of her life. There were things she remembered—what she had told Faisal for one. But there were other memories that seemed to fade in and out. Things she knew were important and she hadn’t told Faisal because they’d faded too quickly. She knew in her gut that knowing that time, reclaiming that last bit of her life might provide the one clue that would save her father’s life.
She shuddered. She remembered everything that had happened at the hospital during the times she had been conscious. It was only the time before that, on the boat, that was in question.
She knew with a surety, that her father’s reputation needed to be saved. She also knew that Faisal had been searching for her father. She had to help him and to do that she knew she had to go back to where it had all begun. She had to do it alone. She couldn’t endanger anyone else.
She was certain of that, that and the face of a man she could now see in her memory. The threat to her father’s life, the name of the town. All of it was engraved in her mind and all of it culminated in a strange little place, and a strange phrase. She’d heard him say it, Ben Whyte, her father’s partner. She’d overheard him on the yacht when he thought he was alone. “A little piece of hell in the heart of Texas,” she whispered. Whoever threatened her father, the secret to it all began there. Both her father and Ben had confirmed it.
She’d already shared with Faisal what little she remembered, including the names her father had given her. She couldn’t share this new memory. She shook her head as if reaffirming her thoughts. He couldn’t be involved. Already she and her father had been marked for death and it appeared only one of them had survived. She choked back a sob. Alive, dead, she was unable to hold a conviction either way on her father’s plight. All she knew was that she needed to stop this before any more people died.
She’d had solid food since this morning but they’d left the intravenous in to keep her hydrated as an extra precaution. The physician had spoken of having it removed today or tomorrow. Considering the time, she guessed it would be tomorrow. She couldn’t wait. She looked at the intravenous tubing, at the needle in the back of her hand, took a breath and yanked. A sharp bite shot up her arm and then the needle dropped to the sheets along with a trickle of bright red blood. She took an end of the sheet, pressing it to the back of her hand and with the other hand she fumbled for a tissue. This was proving to be a messy endeavor. She didn’t want to leave a trail of blood behind her. She pressed for a minute and then lifted the tissue. The wound was weeping more than bleeding. Good enough. Her legs shook. She took a deep breath and then another. She could hear voices in the hall. She lay back down and pulled the thin blanket to her chin.
The door opened.
She closed her eyes, sensed a presence and then heard the door click and opened her eyes. She was alone.
She waited, one minute and then two. She didn’t have many minutes to waste. Her father needed her. And whoever wanted her dead would not stop. She wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she knew that her being near
anyone endangered them. She needed to get out, get to Texas and get her memory back. For it was only then that she could stop whatever evil had been set in motion that night on the yacht.
She pushed the door slowly open. The hallway was quiet. She slipped out turning left past an empty staff room where she slipped in and saw the strap of a purse in a drawer. Someone had forgotten to lock up her purse or meant to come back quickly. She didn’t think. She’d never done this before but she was desperate. Two minutes later she was out of the room with fifty dollars in her hand and was heading for the emergency exit. On the way down the utilitarian stairs she stopped at each floor. Three flights down there was a floor that appeared to be more for supplies than patients. It was there that she found a pair of scrubs and a pair of shoes. She changed right there in the empty, open hallway. It was her last stop before emerging on the bottom floor and into a back parking lot. She took a deep breath. Her heart pounded. She knew only one thing. She had to get out of here, out of Miami, out of Florida. Her memory was coming back and with it fear. She had to get far away, for there was one thing she knew for sure. The man on the yacht, Ben—wanted her dead. While her memory didn’t give her all the facts, her gut told her that he would stop at nothing. She also knew that finding the evidence her father claimed existed was up to her—she was her father’s last chance.
Chapter Eleven
Miami, Florida
Sunday, June 12—10:45 p.m.
Ava had ridden two city buses and fallen asleep on the second. Fortunately, she’d told the driver where she wanted to get off. Now, in a drugstore almost ten miles from Mercy Hospital and across the street from the intercity bus station, Ava looked in a small cosmetic mirror above the eyeshadow display. It was the first time she’d seen her reflection since this ordeal had begun. She grimaced at the tangled hair, the pallor of her face and the dark circles under her eyes. She was a mess. If nothing else, she needed to take a brush to her hair and add some life to her face with some cold water. But the only thing she could get here was a brush and maybe a tube of lip gloss. Then she remembered her financial state and dropped it all from her list. A finger combing was all she could afford for now. Later she’d wash her face in a public restroom.
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