Stolen Memories

by Liz Johnson

  If he was too late to save her, he’d never forgive himself.

  “Jones, you there?” A voice from dispatch crackled over his radio rather than through his cell, and he clicked the receiver to respond.

  “I’m here.”

  “Ramirez says that your backup is on the way. ETA seven minutes.”

  As he slipped across the double yellow line and eased the car back into the correct lane, he calculated the distance. His backup was going to be at least five minutes behind him. And he couldn’t wait.

  “Ten-four.”

  Asphalt disappeared beneath his tires as he flew toward the farm that was supposed to be only a couple hundred more yards away. Trees blocked his view of anything beyond the ditch, and he had to slow down or risk missing his turn.

  Just in time, he saw the clearing and pulled off to the side of the road. But he wouldn’t risk alerting anyone to his presence by actually driving down the lane. He jumped out of his car and popped the trunk. Pulling out his blue, Kevlar vest, he shrugged into it before replacing his coat and zipping it up to his chin.

  He checked the ammunition in his service weapon and put an extra magazine in his pocket.

  God help them all if he had to use any of the bullets.

  But he’d do whatever it took to protect Julie and find Lonnie and her baby. Just, please, let them still be alive. Closing the trunk lid with a soft click, he rested both hands on the edge and shut his eyes, sending up a prayer for strength and wisdom beyond anything he could muster on his own.

  The dark clouds split open for a moment revealing only the edge of the sun, which still peeked above the horizon line, the entire landscape painted in stunning strokes of pink and orange for the briefest moment.

  Any other day, he’d have paused to take in the beauty, taken a picture if he could. Today it just felt unfair. How could something so pretty happen on such an ugly day?

  Pushing all thoughts out of his mind, he hurried into the ditch, sloshed through a muddy mess and emerged at the base of the tree line. Weapon at the ready, he let out a slow breath before setting out at a dead run. Every half dozen trees or so, he paused. Leaning against the rough bark of a pine, he closed his eyes and listened for any noise.

  All was silent, save the call of the whip-poor-will.

  Taking a breath, he moved to pass six more trees. A vibration in his pocket stopped him short.

  Pressing the phone to his ear, he offered a simple grunt in greeting.

  “It’s Reese. My partner and I are on the far side of the lane opposite you.”

  Zach spun from his cover just enough to make out two forms in shadows on the other side of the driveway. One of them raised his hand, and Zach let out a low sigh, releasing a bit of tension with it. “I’m glad to see you, man. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  The fear that had nearly choked him at Reese’s call that afternoon warred with the gratitude that his brother had shown up just when he needed him. Relief outweighed the previous fear, and he shot Reese a half smile—even though there was no way he could see it. “Wearing your vest?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Zach shot a glance at them across the road and pointed toward the end of the lane, where he assumed they’d find the house that Dunn had told him about. “You ready?”

  “See you up there.”

  Tucking his phone away, he jogged toward the house, keeping his steps as silent as the pair opposite him. Two hundred yards from the crossroad, the lane turned at almost a ninety-degree angle, and the old house appeared like a mirage in the desert. Its windows were black, its door flimsy, but he had never been so happy to see a building in his life.

  “Windows.” He mouthed the word to his brother, who had drawn closer as the trees angled toward the small clearing.

  Reese nodded, motioned to his partner and hustled to the front window on the far side. Zach followed suit, cupping his hands around his eyes and staring into the house, which looked as empty as a swimming hole in December.

  Just then a scream split the air and lightning zigzagged across the sky.

  “Julie.” Her whispered name was a prayer for safety, a prayer of hope, as he dashed toward the towering barn behind the house.

  The frame of the door was outlined in white light and a solid thump seemed to rattle the whole building as he reached the door.

  Reese had his hand on the sliding door, prepared to open it, his partner standing by with his gun in hand.

  “Ready?” Zach asked in a hushed tone that seemed distinctly at odds with his position.

  Reese nodded. “You?”

  Zach nodded. His insides disagreed, flipping and gurgling, but he didn’t have more time to prepare for what was beyond that door. “On three.”

  His brother agreed, and Zach ticked off his fingers. One. Two.

  Three.

  SIXTEEN

  Emma jerked hard to the side as the back of Frank’s hand connected with her cheek again.

  “I asked you a question!”

  “I know.” She spit at him, but her mouth was so dry that nothing came out. “I’m still not going to answer it.”

  He pressed his nose so close that it was almost touching hers. “Who did you tell about the kid?”

  “You tell me where she is first.” She rocked back and forth on the chair, which groaned under her weight, but the twine still hadn’t let go.

  Frank lifted his hand for another swipe at her face, but Grady grabbed his arm. “Stop it, man. She’s not going to tell you anything else. Let’s just do this and be done.”

  The murder in Frank’s eyes shifted to his partner just as the barn doors flew open, groaning with the effort it took for them to move quickly. Three men with guns drawn filled the opening. Somehow her mind registered that Reese was one of them—alive and well—but she couldn’t really focus on anyone other than Zach, whose eyes never wavered from Frank.

  Grady dropped to his knees, holding his hands high above his head, and one of the other men stepped forward to handcuff him.

  But Frank wasn’t interested in an easy resolution. He ducked behind her chair, and suddenly all muzzles pointed in her direction.

  Her throat felt like the Sahara as she swallowed, her gaze focused on the three guns pointing directly at her. The fourth in the room poked her in the ribs, and she flinched as far away as she could while tied to a chair.

  “I wouldn’t move if I were you,” Frank growled low, his words directed at the man he perceived as the greatest threat.

  Zach.

  She tried to tell Zach to do what Frank had said. She tried to tell him to be careful. But her swollen tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her words felt like gelatin, unformed and shaky.

  “Drop your weapon. You’re outnumbered. This won’t end well for you, Adams.” Zach sounded so confident, so certain, and she tried to borrow some of his strength. She just needed a word of assurance from him, but he didn’t even look in her direction.

  Something cool and hard pressed against her arm, and Frank yanked it up. For a moment, she thought he’d cut her, but then the bonds holding her in place fell away. She was free for only a moment as Frank’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, the hunting knife in his hand dangerously close to her face. With his other hand, he prodded her back with his gun.

  “I’m thinking this is going to end worse for you than for me,” Frank said, a low-level chuckle coming from his throat. “You don’t have anything I want.”

  Zach matched the other man’s laugh. “Oh, I know exactly what you want. You want to know who knows about the baby.”

  Frank’s grip tightened, and she wheezed out a breath, scratching at his arm around her neck. “How do you know about the kid?”

  “Come on, man.” He tipped his chin toward Emma. “Do you think she’s been staying with me for weeks and didn’t tell me?”

  Letting out a sigh, Frank took a step back, his hold around her letting up just enough for her
to swing an elbow into the center of his stomach. His air came out in a whoosh, and she dropped to the ground as a gunshot exploded.

  Frank jerked back like someone had grabbed his shoulder, firing his handgun once before falling to the ground.

  The silence after the gunshots was deafening.

  Everything moved in slow motion. Zach fell to his back, clutching at his chest. Emma tried to reach him, but her muscles felt like she’d run a marathon, every inch of her aching. Sobs racked her body, and she doubled over, unable to even crawl toward the man that she loved.

  She’d failed to tell him how she really felt, and now she’d lost her chance. He’d been hit, and she’d never get to tell him the truth.

  Reese and whoever the third man was—maybe his partner—rushed past her, kicking Frank’s gun away.

  “Help him. Help him!” she screamed, pointing at Zach’s splayed form. But the words didn’t make it out of her mind, much less her throat. Reese seemed unconcerned. Had he not noticed?

  Scrambling across the floor toward Zach, she ran her hands over his chest, searching for the blood. She could put pressure on it and save him until the ambulance arrived. Just like he’d done for her in the park.

  But there was no blood. His coat was blocking it. Wrenching the pull on his zipper, she steeled herself for the crimson pool below.

  Instead she found a blue vest with a smashed silver bullet right in the middle of his chest.

  Her gaze shot to his face, where his beautiful brown eyes flickered open, and his mouth pulled into a tight line.

  “You’re not bleeding.” Even she had a hard time believing the statement.

  “No.” He grunted, pulling at the Velcro tabs on his vest. “But it still feels like I got hit in the chest with a sledgehammer.” His breathing was staggered at best, but she’d never seen anything as reassuring as the rise and fall of his chest.

  She helped him slide his vest off, holding his head up until he collapsed back against the hay-covered wood. Somehow she couldn’t move her hand from his shirt, checking and rechecking that he hadn’t been seriously injured.

  He caught her hand in his. “I’ll be fine.” Reaching up to run a thumb along her cheek, he said, “I’m a lot better than you, Julie.”

  She flinched away from his caress. Everything hurt, but she managed to smile with the side of her face that hadn’t suffered a split lip. “It’s Emma.”

  “Emma?”

  “My name. I remembered.”

  By the time she heard the sirens, they were already upon them, swarming the yard, and paramedics pulled her away from Zach. He reached out to her, his fingers stretched long, but it didn’t do any good.

  Expert hands rolled him onto a yellow board, slid him onto a gurney and whisked him away.

  “I’ll never forget you,” she whispered as they did the same to her, slamming the rear ambulance doors. Closing her eyes against the bright lights inside the bay, she succumbed to the sleep that had been calling her name.

  *

  “You have a visitor, Miss Bullock.”

  Emma glanced up from the magazine that the nurse had loaned to her, her heart firmly lodged in her throat. Had Zach finally come for her? It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since he’d rescued her from Frank, but each minute had felt like a lifetime.

  Her parents weren’t expected for a few more hours, so she let herself believe that it would be Zach, no matter how strange that he would wait to be announced instead of showing himself in. After all, he’d visited her ICU room dozens of times during her first stay in the hospital.

  Could he be as nervous as she was?

  “Send him in,” she managed to croak.

  The nurse nodded and disappeared in the direction of the waiting area.

  Sitting up a little taller, Emma rearranged the skirt of her robe and pulled the lapels closer together over her hospital gown. She bunched the pillow behind her to find a more comfortable spot. Butterflies danced in her stomach, and she nibbled on her bottom lip.

  What was she supposed to say to the man who had risked his life to rescue her?

  Maybe he’d just kiss her, and then she wouldn’t have to think of something to say.

  She still wore a silly grin when her visitor arrived.

  His shoes clicked on the polished floor as he strolled toward her bed, his hand outstretched. “Andre Zuri, Associated Press.”

  Her shoulders fell, and she sank into her pillow. A visitor.

  Just not the one she wanted.

  She shook his hand anyway. It was clammy and limp like a fish. Definitely not the kind of shake she’d get from Zach. “Emma Bullock.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you. I write for the Midwest bureau, and I got a tip that you’ve had a pretty eventful time in Minneapolis. Care to tell me about it?”

  Not really.

  She could come up with at least a million things she’d rather do, and at least the top one hundred involved staring at her ceiling and wondering what Zach was doing right at that minute. None of them included rehashing being stalked, attacked or kidnapped by Frank Adams and his goons.

  “I heard there’s a child still missing.”

  Her eyes opened wide. Of course. An AP article about Kay and Lonnie. Maybe it could help to locate and reunite them. If she could do nothing else, if her memories were good for nothing else, she could spread the word and pray that God brought the scared young woman and her baby back together.

  It was the only thing she could do, and she had to do something.

  Taking a deep breath, she offered a wavering smile. “What do you want to know? I’ll tell you everything I can remember.”

  *

  Zach paced the hallway at the police station, arms crossed and head bowed. He glared at the nondescript white door that led to an interrogation room. He knew that Frank Adams sat on the other side, and he ached to confront the man who had kidnapped Emma. A twinge in his right arm, where he’d slammed against the ground after being shot, was the only remaining physical evidence of their altercation, and it stung every time he thought about Adams.

  But he’d promised to wait until Serena and Josh arrived. They were on their way, and a quick glance at his watch confirmed that they should arrive anytime.

  The staccato click of her heels around the outskirts of the bull pen alerted him that Serena had arrived, and Josh followed right behind her. Both wore their typical attire—black suits and crisp, white shirts. Serena had done something different with her hair, twisting it up into a neat knot at the nape of her neck. And Josh, who never seemed to smile when they met, boasted a half grin.

  “Good to see you both,” Zach said.

  “You, too.” Serena ran a hand over her collar, straightening a miniscule wrinkle. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to Emma. I wish we could have found Frank first. How is she?”

  Guilt, hot and sharp, seared his midsection. He wished he’d have found Frank first, too. More than anything, he wished he had a personal report to give them. But between the cleanup at the farm, booking Adams and seeing to his own injury, Zach had had little chance to see her.

  “I called the hospital this morning, and it sounds like she’ll be released today. Her memory is coming back, and she was strong when I saw her last night.”

  “That’s good news.” Serena gave him a knowing smile, like she knew the truth about his feelings for Emma, but she gracefully changed the subject. “Thanks for waiting for us to talk with him.”

  “No problem. We have all the evidence that we need to try him for kidnapping and assault and attempted murder of a police officer, so we’re happy to make sure that you get everything he can offer. I’ve already spoken to the assistant district attorney, and she isn’t interested in a plea bargain. But the U.S. Attorney may feel differently about any federal crimes.”

  Josh nodded. “Let’s see what Frank has to say.”

  Zach put his hand on the doorknob, but stopped before opening it. “Before we go in there, what’s going
on with the other cases—the other missing babies?”

  Crossing his arms, Josh let out a slow breath. “Have you found Kay?”

  He shook his head. “No. There was no sign of her at the farm where Frank was hiding out.”

  “We’re not much further than that with the other cases, either.”

  The hair on his arms stood up, a shudder running the length of his back.

  Serena’s mouth turned grim. “Maybe Frank will be able to give us something useful. We haven’t been able to locate Don Saunders, so maybe he can shed some light on the bigger picture.”

  Saunders. They’d mentioned him the first time they’d come to question Julie—Emma.

  Zach turned the knob in his hand.

  He ushered them in before him, letting the marshals settle into seats at the table opposite Frank, whose hands were tethered with clanking chains. “Mr. Adams, I’m Detective Jones. We met last night.” Adams nodded slowly, sucking on his front teeth with the tip of his tongue. “These are U.S. Marshals Summers and McCall. They’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Adams’s eyes, nearly black, swept over all three of them before settling back onto Zach. “And if you like what you hear?”

  So the guy was ready to play the game and drop some names. Well, he could hope for a deal all he wanted. It wasn’t likely to happen.

  Zach shrugged. “There’s little chance of that. Pretty much everything you have to say will be colored by the fact that you tried to kill a good friend of mine last night.”

  “You mean that…chick?”

  The image of Emma at this thug’s mercy buzzed through his mind, and Zach had to take three deep breaths to get his head on straight. “You know exactly who I mean.” His tone was more growl than he’d expected, so he paused to clear his throat. “So start talking. No matter what, you’re pretty much guaranteed convictions for assault, kidnapping of an adult and a minor—and if you took her across state lines, that’s a federal crime—attempted murder and whatever else our D.A. thinks will stick. Then you’ll face a federal court.”

  “You saying there’s a deal in this if I talk?” Frank’s eyes were filled with enough hatred to knock over a small man, but Zach pressed flat hands against the table and leaned in.