Stolen Memories

by Liz Johnson

  Well, that escalated quickly. “What?”

  “I can’t help you. Call me next time you’re looking for someone who won’t tear what’s left of my teeth out if I rolled on him.”

  The line went dead, and he stared at the screen on his phone for a long time. What on earth just happened? Apparently Frank Adams was more notorious than he’d suspected. How had he never heard of the guy? He clearly had a street rep and probably a rap sheet to match.

  Maybe Phil would talk to him in person. The promise of a warm place to stay for the night—even if it was a jail cell—might entice the guy. But tracking Phil down wasn’t always as easy as just wishing to find the guy.

  Pressing a single button to call the station, he checked on Julie again. She’d drawn Marge into the conversation with Fish Man.

  “MPD, this is Hazel.”

  “Hey, it’s Jones.”

  “Well, well, Detective. You never call. You never write.”

  “I’ve been too afraid you wouldn’t write back.” Flirting with a woman at least twice his age. What was his world coming to? He’d rather it was Julie.

  The realization knocked the wind out of him, and he had to lean against the side of the railcar to keep his feet. He had to solve this case. Fast.

  And then what?

  And then Julie would go back to wherever she should be. Wherever she didn’t make him wish so hard that they’d met under different circumstances.

  Working Homicide was hard on a man. It was harder on the woman he cared about. Julie deserved better than half his attention, better than haunted nights and pain-filled days. He had to send her back to her home.

  “What can I do for you?” Hazel asked.

  “Can you trace the call that just came through my cell phone?”

  Her fingers punched the keyboard on her end of the call with a ferocity that suggested the keyboard had insulted her. “This’ll take just a minute.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  Julie provided a pleasant distraction for an instant before he reminded himself that he had to stop thinking about her as anything other than a witness in his protection. She wasn’t staying, and as long as he was thinking about what it would be like if she was, he risked missing a clue or a lead that could wrap her case and put the man responsible behind bars.

  “It looks like it originated at a pay phone.”

  “Seriously? Are those still around?”

  “A few of them.” She gave him the address and the number for the phone, and he scribbled it into his notepad.

  “Thanks, Hazel.”

  “Call me anytime, young man.”

  Pocketing his phone as he stepped back inside, he plopped onto his seat and popped a cold French fry into his mouth.

  Julie spun toward him and raised her eyebrows to ask her question without saying a word.

  “I need to run an errand.”

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  He tossed enough money on the counter to cover their lunch bill and a generous tip for Marge. “Thanks, hon!” she called as they left the same way they’d come in.

  On the road back to his place, he said, “I’m going to drop you off at home, all right?”

  “Okay.” Her lips pursed to the side, and she didn’t sound as positive as her response suggested.

  “I need to go see someone about the case.”

  She sat up a little straighter. “Can I go with you?”

  “No.”

  The silence was thicker than a redwood, apparently neither of them eager to cut it. He didn’t want to go into detail with her, and he certainly couldn’t invite her to meet with a junkie informant about a man who may or may not have tried to kill her at least three times.

  As he pulled into his conspicuously empty driveway, he pulled on the door handle.

  “Listen, Samantha should be home soon. I’m sorry I can’t take you with me.”

  She twisted toward him, long lashes fluttering over her doe eyes. “I thought we were in thi-is together.” The catch in her voice lit a flame of fear in her eyes that tugged at his chest.

  “You’ll be fine here. Just lock the door, don’t answer it if anyone knocks and keep your phone with you. Gizmo is probably downstairs sleeping. Wake him up if you need some company.”

  When her eyes dropped toward the center console, he couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out to cup her cheek and tuck her hair behind her ear. Maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed to lean into his embrace for just a moment before pulling back, swinging her legs out of the car.

  “I’ll be right back. And I’ll call a black-and-white to drive down the street a few times until Samantha gets back.”

  She nodded and rushed to the front door, unlocking it and slipping inside without a glance over her shoulder.

  He slammed the car into Reverse as he called the station to request a drive-by, backing into the street before the clench in his gut convinced him not to leave her alone. She’d be fine. His sister would be home in a few minutes, and no one knew she was staying with them anyway.

  She’d be just fine.

  So why was he working so hard to persuade himself?

  *

  Julie pressed her back flat against the front door, checking again to make sure that the key had twisted far enough to engage the lock. Jiggling the handle, she checked one last time. Stuck.

  Just like Zach had said. She was fine.

  Maybe she should check the back door, just to be safe.

  The late winter sun had warmed the house through the big bay window in the living room, but as it set, shadows danced across the room. She skipped and hopped with each shape-shifting illusion, reaching a dead run halfway down the hall. Her heart beating a cadence that threatened to send it flying out of her chest, she slammed into the back door, pressing hands flat against two of the nine small windows that made up the top half of the door.

  She peered hard into the growing darkness of the backyard but could make out only the pile of wood against the side fence. Something moved beside it, and she jerked on the key stuck in the interior lock. It didn’t budge. She tried the knob. It rattled, but held.

  No one was going to get inside tonight unless they had a key.

  Besides, no one was going to try to get in. No one knew she was staying with Zach’s family.

  “Quit being so silly.”

  Her self-reprimand didn’t slow the rush of blood that made her skin feel too tight and her temples throb.

  Finding Gizmo would help. Tiptoeing down the stairs toward Zach’s domain, she listened for the dog, his great snores bouncing up the walls. Well, he wasn’t going to be good company. Closing the door against the coolness of the basement behind her, she spun in a slow circle in the middle of the kitchen.

  Maybe a hot cup of tea would help. As she filled the teapot with water, a dog barked next door, and she dropped the pot. The noise was enough to wake even Keaton, who often snored heavily on the couch after a night shift.

  If only he were snoring there now.

  But he wasn’t. The house was oddly silent without the Jones siblings teasing and hollering at each other.

  Despite a shaking hand, she managed to light one of the gas burners and set the teapot into place. Crossing her arms, she stared at it. Nothing happened. Probably nothing would happen as long as she hovered over it.

  Pulling a mug from the cupboard and setting a tea bag into it, she carried it to the far window overlooking the breakfast nook. The last of the big oak tree’s shadows had disappeared, and she reached for the light switch. The room awash in light, she couldn’t see anything but her own reflection in the window, so she flipped it off again.

  Nothing but rustling grass out there.

  She slammed the curtains closed anyway and turned the overhead back on.

  The teapot whistled. Jumping, she nearly dropped her mug, juggling it twice before catching it.

  Great. Now she was scared of a little noise. What next? Puppies and kittens?

  Just
because this was her first time all alone since the car crash—since the hospital actually—didn’t give her liberty to lose her mind. Or assume that another attack was right around the corner. But it wouldn’t hurt to have a little backup.

  She glanced at her phone, wishing it would ring. Maybe she could just give Zach a call. But she tamped down that urge as soon as it welled within her. He was doing important work. Work that might find Kay. Work that might solve her own case.

  Now was not the time to let her imagination get the better of her.

  “Just let him do his job,” she chided herself, before scooping up her phone and wandering toward the living room.

  Settling into Keaton’s favorite couch spot, she turned on the television and blew into the steaming mug. Both hands were wrapped around the warm ceramic more to keep them from shaking than from the cold. Tucking her legs beneath her, she sank into the corner of the sofa, the back and an arm holding her up.

  Lucy and Ethel were in the middle of another black-and-white catastrophe when the front door handle jiggled.

  Julie nearly missed it for the laughter from the audience on the show. But it squeaked a little and then stopped.

  Her heart leaped to her throat, and she set her mug down.

  “Samantha?” More croak than not, she cleared her throat and tried again. “Samantha, is that you?”

  No response.

  Maybe it was the wind rattling the old house.

  The knot in her stomach quickly squashed that dream.

  Holding the curtains back, she peeked out the window next to the front door just in time to see a dark shadow disappear around the corner of the building, headed for the backyard.

  Scrambling for her phone, she dialed Samantha’s number, which went immediately to voice mail. She must be on her way. She had to be.

  Julie set her phone on the end table and picked up her tea again, her gaze never wavering from the black screen as she battled the urge to call Zach. But that would interrupt him while he was working the case. Her case.

  Glancing toward the ceiling, she prayed for deliverance, but fear seemed to strangle even the thinnest threads of hope. “God, I need You.” The words died on the tip of her tongue. God still felt like a distant figure, like someone she hadn’t spoken with in far too long. How had she let Him get so far away? He’d been so close just a few days before in church. Where was He now when she needed Him?

  Something clattered in the back of the house.

  She couldn’t wait for Samantha. There was someone out there. Punching the emergency call button on the landline phone, she wrapped her arms around her knees as she waited for the operator to pick up.

  “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

  The words caught on her constricted throat, and she had to push them through the fear. “Someone’s trying to break into the house.”

  “What’s your address?”

  Blurting out the location of Zach’s home, she tried to calm the tremors that threatened to dump her tea in her lap.

  “An officer is on his way. Please stay on—”

  The line went dead, as cold as the chills racing down her arms.

  A crash on the back porch set Gizmo to barking in the basement and had her out of her seat and scrambling for something—anything—she might be able to use to defend herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Reese’s hockey stick leaning into the corner by the stairs, waiting to be taken to his room. If someone was on the back porch, maybe the hockey stick would scare him off.

  Snatching it to her chest, she flew toward the back door to make sure it hadn’t been breached, skidding to a halt before the window panels.

  She jerked toward the curtains covering the window. If her attacker was back for another round, she had to know where he was. Knowing was better than not.

  And then a pane on the back door shattered, and she fell to the ground.

  ELEVEN

  Julie covered her head with her hands and screamed as glass showered over her. The shards peppered her back, and when they stopped, she risked a glance toward the door, where a black-gloved hand slithered through the hollow of the broken window.

  Heart pounding and ears ringing, she pushed herself up, rushing toward the fingers that grazed the interior key still in the lock. If he unlocked the door, she’d be dead. She didn’t doubt that.

  She didn’t really have any choice but to fight back. There was no time to go for her phone or wait for help.

  God, save me!

  She swung the hockey stick toward the door, chanting the phrase over and over in her mind. Slashing awkwardly at the disembodied arm, she battled for control of the key. If she could just swipe his hand out of the way, she could get the key out of the lock.

  The tips of her fingers had just pinched the edge of the key when the black glove grabbed her weapon, wrenching it enough to throw her off balance, sending her head slamming against the immobile frame.

  White lights flashed before her eyes as fire blazed a trail across her scalp.

  “Let me in!”

  His growl was enough to keep her fighting. Yanking her arm, she nearly dislodged his grip on her elbow. He shifted his stance, and she saw his face for the first time—or rather the ski mask that covered it. But the sneer in the mouth opening couldn’t be denied.

  Baring her nails, she dug into his arm, which was protected by a leather jacket.

  Like the one the guy on the motorcycle had been wearing.

  “Let go of me.” Her words were hoarse; her throat burned. Had she been screaming? The entire night ran together in one mad scramble as another window smashed, his other arm snaking through the opening to grab her hair.

  Her head snapped back, tears flooding her eyes as the pain registered off the charts.

  Gizmo’s sharp cries and scratches at the basement entrance only added to the cacophony.

  “Let. Go!” She coughed and sputtered as he pulled her against the wall, banging her head again.

  As quickly as he’d grabbed her, he let go.

  Julie crumpled to the ground, her attacker’s clomping footfalls ringing down the back porch and vanishing as the front door swung open.

  A gust of cold wind swept down the hall, leaving goose bumps up and down her arms. Or maybe it was the relief that she wasn’t alone anymore and that the masked man had taken off.

  “Julie?”

  From her kneeling position amid the broken glass, she looked toward the voice.

  Samantha, arms full of grocery bags, stared at her as though she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. Then she dropped everything and rushed forward. “Julie!”

  “Careful.” Julie’s shoulders couldn’t hold her up any longer, and she slumped forward, bending at the waist. “Broken glass.”

  “What happened?” Samantha’s question came out on a breath, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

  Julie pointed toward the door with one hand; the other rested on the floor by her knee. “He tried to break in. Tried to unlock the door.” She swallowed, her throat raw. “Grabbed me.”

  “Okay.” A professional calm passed over her face as Samantha straightened her shoulders. “Do you need an ambulance? I can have one here in four minutes.”

  “No.” She didn’t want to go back to the hospital. “Nothing’s broken. I’m not bleeding. Already called nine-one-one.”

  Samantha squatted in front of her, running a thumb over Julie’s forehead. Pain flared, and she jerked away. “It looks like you bumped your head pretty good. Are you dizzy?” Just inches away, Samantha had to raise her voice over Gizmo’s frantic cries.

  “Just—” She tried to lift an arm, but it flopped back to her side. “Just tired.”

  “Come on.” Samantha slipped an arm around Julie’s back, helping her stand and shuffle three feet to the bench next to the table in the breakfast nook. “Your adrenaline is fading, and you might be going into shock.”

  “It’s not shock.” Julie sank onto the bench, resti
ng elbows on the table and her head in her hands.

  Samantha spoke into her cell phone, but Julie couldn’t make out any distinct words, just the low hum of talking and barking at the door leading to the basement, all below the high-pitched buzzing that echoed in her ears.

  *

  “Whoa. Slow down.” Zach did the opposite of his directive to his sister, slamming his gas pedal to the floor. His car lurched in response.

  “Someone tried to break in and get his hands on Julie.”

  Like a stone in the lake, his heart sank. “Is she hurt?” Still three miles from home, he zipped between traffic, swerving around slower cars and staring hard at the road. If he didn’t, he was liable to slam into another vehicle, a risk he couldn’t take.

  He had to get back to Julie.

  “I don’t think so,” Samantha said. “Pretty shaky, but in one piece. She did get hit in the head.”

  “Call an ambulance.” She needed to be checked out again. There was no telling what kind of damage a bump on the head could cause.

  Samantha skirted the subject. “Uniforms are already on their way to take an official statement, and they’ll bring the crime scene guys to check for prints.”

  A murmur in the background sounded, and Samantha was silent for a long moment.

  “What? What’s going on?”

  “Julie said that he had on black gloves. She’s sure there won’t be any prints.”

  Zach slammed on his brakes at a red light, glaring at it until it flipped to green and he could sail through the intersection. “How did he get inside?” His throat constricted on the last word, leaving it mostly unspoken.

  Why hadn’t he taken Julie with him? He hadn’t found Phil anyway. The phone booth and surrounding area had been deserted.

  And if she’d been with him, she wouldn’t have been at home.

  Alone.

  Attacked.

  God, forgive me. I promised I’d keep her safe, and I’ve failed in every possible way.

  “Well, he didn’t get all the way in.” Samantha sounded as surprised as he was at her words. “He broke out a couple little windows on the back door and tried to unlock it, but Julie fought him off with a hockey stick.”

  “Oh, Lord,” he breathed the prayer, a cry for mercy and guidance and Julie’s safety all rolled into two words.