She was at a crime scene; there had been another torture-murder. She knew that much, though only as words, like Dispatch was reporting directly inside her head. In terms of really seeing things, really having the memories, the last thing she remembered was—ow! She moved to grab her head, then groaned when the motion made things worse. Grayness washed her vision and things went swimmy around her.
“Jenn!” Nick said urgently. “Come on, stay with me.”
“You didn’t want me to—” She had enough presence of mind to shut that off, clamping her lips together while she rode out a surge of nausea. Her mind raced, bringing more stabs of pain in her head and behind her eyeballs, but memories started coming back, too.
She remembered walking up the stairs to the fifth floor, coming in to find Gigi already working.
“Gigi!” Her eyes flew open and she tried to shove up off the floor, fighting through the pain and the too-bright glare of the winter sunlight and apartment fluorescents. “Where’s Gigi? She was here!”
“Chill!” Nick gripped her shoulders, holding her down. “It’s okay. You’re okay. She’s okay. She left on another call. You were here alone.” He paused. “You don’t remember her leaving?”
“I…” The fear had leveled off when she learned that Gigi was okay, but now it came back full force, roaring through her, sweeping through a jumble of memories. She remembered Gigi photographing the scene, the two of them talking about Nick. And after that…
What happened after that?
“Okay. It’s okay. Don’t stress about it. Just relax.” But there was something in his eyes that she didn’t like—it was too much like the looks she had gotten back in her old life, after Terry died and things started coming to light. It said, There’s more, and it’s bad.
“What is it?” she demanded, grabbing on to his wrists and digging in, her heart suddenly pounding even harder. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He hesitated, then said, “The bastard got your evidence kits.”
“No!” Horror lashed through her. Shame. Guilt. The cases held everything from the scene. If it was all gone… She surged against him. “Let me up! I need to—”
“You need to stay the hell down!” he said fiercely, leaning in so their faces were very close and she could feel the heat of his body, his grip. But then a sudden clamor erupted at the door and two paramedics came in, puffing from the climb. At the interruption, Nick’s expression flattened and he straightened away from her. “You need to let these guys have a look at you.”
She tried to wave them off. “I’m fine.” Which would’ve sounded more convincing if her voice hadn’t broken. But she wasn’t fine. She was down and hurting. And, worse, she had lost crucial evidence in the Death Stare case…otherwise, why else would the killer come back for it?
The killer, she thought, and closed her eyes as it started to penetrate. She’d been attacked, knocked out. Logic said that was what’d happened, but when she tried to remember, all she could picture was her and Gigi gossiping about Nick. Who was here, hovering over her with a gruff protectiveness he’d never shown while they were together, probably because she had been careful to never let him see her be anything but breezy and self-reliant. Now, she was anything but. She wanted to cling, wanted to cry. She had been attacked, knocked out, robbed.
Why couldn’t she remember any of it?
The paramedics dumped their gear and moved in, asking questions and starting to tug at her clothes.
She tried to fend them off. “I don’t—”
“Just let them have a look at you,” Nick said. “You were unconscious for a good five minutes, and there’s blood.” She would’ve kept arguing, would’ve kept trying to brush them off when they tried to look in her eyes and feel the growing lump on her skull. But then he leaned in closer and said, “Please.”
She stilled, caught in his eyes and the low-voiced request. Had he ever asked her for anything before? She didn’t think so, and the impact was palpable. He was still holding her hand, she realized. He followed her eyes to where their fingers were twined together, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip.
Warmth kindled, making her want to lean into him, lean on him. Her head hurt; her eye and the whole side of her face hurt. More, her heart ached at knowing she had lost the evidence. Maybe even the key to the whole case.
Damn it. She needed to let go for a few minutes, needed to know she could trust someone else to handle things, needed… She needed exactly what he was offering right now, she realized with a sudden cold-water dose of reality. Which meant it wasn’t real; it was just a means to an end, just like all the other roles she’d seen him play over the past month.
Stiffening, she pulled away, even though it took effort. “Whatever it takes to get the job done, right?”
He frowned. “What?”
“Never mind.” Going numb now, she submitted to the paramedics, no longer trying to fight them off as they asked her to follow a pen with her eyes and answer stupid-simple questions about what day it was and who was the President.
Nick stood, moved to the back of the room and took a good look around. Moments later, he and Tucker had their heads together and were conferring in low tones, with lots of looks in her direction. She was so busy trying to focus on them that it took her too long to notice that the paramedic working on a small scalp laceration—which had started bleeding when she began to move around—was tossing bloody gauze into the spatter pattern from the murder vic.
“The scene,” she protested, reaching for his arm. “Please!”
“Forget the scene,” Tucker said, more to the paramedic than to her. “A living victim gets priority.”
It was protocol, and normally she agreed wholeheartedly—the emergency responders needed to do their jobs without worrying about evidence. But she wasn’t critical—a headache and some memory gaps weren’t going to kill her—and this was the Death Stare case. “Not here. Not now. Not with me.”
His expression darkened. “Stow it. You’re damn lucky to be alive, you know. If Nick hadn’t come in when he did, the bastard could have—” He broke off, cursing under his breath as he turned away to take a long look out the window.
Nick, though, didn’t seem to have nearly as much of a problem with the prospect. He stared at her, expression unreadable and nothing like the gentleness that had been on his face when she was first waking up.
In a way, she was grateful, because the irritation she wanted to aim at him helped her steel herself against the picture Tucker had painted in her aching head. She hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t really questioned why or how Nick had gotten there. Now, though, she was forced to admit she was damned lucky to be alive. It wasn’t like the Investor made a habit of leaving witnesses. Exactly the opposite, in fact.
Nick had interrupted him before he could finish the job. He had saved her life.
What was she supposed to do with that?
“Yes, I am lucky,” she admitted, struggling to keep her voice from wavering. “I’m grateful Nick got here when he did, believe me. More grateful than I can
really say right now. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not seriously injured.”
“You were unconscious for way too long,” Nick said flatly, “and you’re still out of it.”
“I’m fine.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Describe the attack.”
She glared at him, but the reality was that she wasn’t frustrated with him anymore—she was mad at herself. Why couldn’t she remember what happened?
“You want the scene preserved? Then get out of here,” Nick said with maddening logic. “Let the paramedics take you to the hospital for stitches and make sure that hard head of yours is fully intact.” To Tucker, he said, “We’ll want guards on her, starting now.”
“Who did you have in mind?” The question seemed more pointed than it should’ve been, though Jenn couldn’t be sure. Things were getting fuzzy all of a sudden, like a gray mist closing in on her.
“Send a couple of uniforms with her,” Nick said flatly. “And have Alyssa or one of the others meet her there. I don’t want… Hell, she should have a friendly face waiting.”
Jenn didn’t know why he sounded angry but couldn’t worry about it just then, as the paramedics transferred her to the waiting stretcher. She moaned as the world around her began a big, sickening spin.
Nick took a couple of steps toward them. “Damn it, don’t—”
“It’s okay.” She waved him off, gritting her teeth and forcing herself to cling to consciousness and not give in to the nausea. “I’m…I’m fine.” Or she would be fine once she got out of here, got someplace dark and quiet, where she could be alone and process everything that had happened—and chill out enough to remember the rest. The memories had to be in there, they had to be.
She didn’t know whether she had seen the Investor himself or one of his underlings, but it was an important break, a crucial turn in the case…if only she could remember what her attacker had looked like, what he had said. Had he asked her about the evidence? He must’ve come back for something specific, but what?
“Go on,” Tucker said to the paramedics. To her, he added, “I’ll have Alyssa meet you there. Gigi, too, if she’s free.”
“Thanks,” she said softly. But it was Nick she reached out toward, though she didn’t make contact. “Thank you for chasing him off. Lucky break or not, I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me a damn thing.” His expression was unreadable, his body utterly still. “I should’ve gone after him, should’ve caught him.”
“I should be able to remember what he looks like. We don’t always get what we want.”
And he was exhibit A on that little fact of life, wasn’t he? Because even with her woozy and concussed—or maybe because of those things—she was very aware of the imprint his body had left on hers, and the way her clothes now smelled slightly of him, a mix of new leather and his own uniquely masculine scent. She wanted to inhale him, remember him. But he wasn’t the one she was supposed to be remembering, was he?
He had been the one to point out the memory gap to Tucker, but now he softened a little, saying gruffly, “Give it time. It’ll come back.”
* * *
BUT JENN’S MEMORY OF THE attack didn’t come back. It didn’t magically return that afternoon as she submitted to a battery of tests and grudgingly agreed to spend the night for observation, all too aware that there was a uniformed officer at the door. And it didn’t come back later that night when she lay in the not-very-dark room, staring at the shadowy pieces of hospital equipment and trying to force the memories to return.
She remembered coming into the apartment and seeing the blood, the ropes, the chair, Gigi…then nothing. It wasn’t even that she was fuzzy on the details, or her mind had been frozen in fear. She just didn’t remember. Her world skipped from telling Gigi there wasn’t anything between her and Nick anymore, and then waking up practically in his arms.
Unfortunately, every time she got to that part, she remembered all too well other times that she’d woken up in his arms. Then, when she deliberately steered her mind away from that, she skipped back to the attack, and how she owed him her life. If he hadn’t walked into Dennison’s apartment when he did, she’d probably be dead now. And that was a hell of a thought. As was knowing that she’d probably seen the Investor’s face, making her a valuable witness…and possibly, as far as the killer was concerned, a loose end.
So it was no real surprise that she tossed and turned as if it was an Olympic sport and she was going for the gold, until the painkillers and her body’s need to heal overrode her churning thoughts and she finally conked out.
She slept poorly and woke near dawn, but felt a heck of a lot better than she had. She could see out of her right eye and move without wanting to whimper or throw up, and that was a huge relief. Still, a few hours later when Tucker, Nick, Gigi and Maya all filed in past the uniformed guard, she could only shake her head, answering the question before it was asked. “No, I haven’t remembered anything new. I’m sorry.” Then, seeing their expressions—different mixes of anger and sympathy—she added, “And don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. The doctors said so.”
She didn’t look fine, though. She’d seen herself in the mirror, bruised and battered, with a bandage at her hairline where they’d glued the gash shut rather than stitching it. And she’d seen Nick’s wince when he’d first looked at her…and then looked away.
“Don’t push yourself,” Maya advised. “Post-concussion syndrome is nothing to mess around with. You might feel okay now, but if you overdo it you could set yourself back, or worse.” Trim and petite in dark wool pants and a soft, creamy sweater, the exotic brunette could’ve been a model. She wasn’t, though; she was the Bear Claw P.D.’s resident psych expert. Which made her Jenn’s next best hope.
“Help me,” she said, reaching out to her coworker from where she sat on the edge of the bed, wearing the yoga pants and hooded sweatshirt Gigi had brought from her apartment. “I don’t care what it takes. Drugs, hypnosis, I’ll do anything.”
“You can do yourself a favor by not rushing things,” Maya said. “We can try hypnosis later. For now, just relax.”
“How can I?” She gestured to the window. The view of the parking lot wasn’t terribly scenic, but beyond the cars rose the skyline of Bear Claw City, and beyond that the mountains. “He’s out there killing people. I need to do whatever I can to help bring him down.”
“Trust me, it’s not worth killing yourself over this one case,” Nick said bluntly. He didn’t say especially when it’s not even your hometown. She’d bet he was thinking it, though, given that he’d said similar things when they’d been together, as if to remind her that he was just passing through.
Should’ve listened. Now, though, she narrowed her eyes in his direction. “This is the case for Bear Claw, Detective. Hopefully there won’t be another one like it here, ever. And I’m not trying to grandstand, here, I’m just trying to be part of the team.”
His expression flattened. “You’ve earned your place. You don’t need to keep earning it.”
That hit close enough to make her wince, especially when he wasn’t one of the ones who would be reviewing her probation…but Tucker was. “I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’m just trying to do my job.”
“Which doesn’t include you needing to solve the case single-handedly.”
Jenn was sucking in a breath to retort when Tucker said mildly, “She’s not trying to fling herself into the middle of a firefight, Lang, so dial it down.” He cut a look at Jenn. “Both of you, take a breath and keep the personal stuff out of this, okay?” His tone was mild, but there was an undercurrent of steel, a subtle reminder that he was the boss here.
“But I wasn’t…” She subsided, though, because Tucker had a point—she might’ve had the same debate with him or another of her teammates, but there wouldn’t have been the same sort of emotion behind it: frustration, annoyance and the need to prove herself, not to her bosses, but to Nick.
Except that she was over him, damn it.
Letting out a sigh, she shook her head. “Sorry. You’re right. I’ll chill.” And not just because her head was suddenly throbbing once more, her face gone sore and tender. “But I’m not backing off. I want to get these memories back and help get this guy, and his drugs, off the streets of my new city.”
Besides, closing the case would mean that Nick would leave Bear Claw for good and she could get her mind back where it belonged—on the job, and eventually on finding a nice, uncomplicated guy for a nice, uncomplicated relationship with no manipulation, no heartbreak and no nasty surprises when she least expected them.
Chapter Four
To Jenn’s intense frustration, it was two long weeks before she was cleared to put a foot inside the P.D. The doctors had wanted to play it safe with her concussion, and Tucker and the others hadn’t trusted her when she promised to take it easy. As G
igi had put it, “Jenn has two speeds—on and more on. There’s no way she’s going to give herself enough recovery time unless we make her take it.”
Jenn had been touched—if also irritated—by the way her coworkers-turned-friends had bundled her off to a safeguarded mountain retreat owned by two of the more elusive members of the Death Stare task force.
The getaway had come with state-of-the-art security and fortresslike reinforcements. That, along with a careful leak of details on her attack and inability to remember anything, had cocooned her away from the danger, while the safe house’s amenities—hello ridiculously luxurious interior, stocked cabinets and king-size hot tub—had made her feel as if she was on a strange solo vacation.
She certainly hadn’t been roughing it. If anything, she’d lived far better than she would have at home. More, she might even have to admit that the time alone, out in the middle of the woods, had given her some perspective on the situation in Bear Claw—not so much on the case, as there was only so much she could do on that front, but more on how she had handled things with Nick. Because that was the thing…she didn’t need to handle things with him, not really.
He was just passing through, after all. And she was determined to stay put.
She loved the city, her job and her coworkers. She didn’t just want to help solve the Death Stare case; she wanted to be a part of things in Bear Claw, not just now, but in the future, too. With Matt as the new mayor, determined to turn things around, the city was poised for some major positive changes. She wanted to be there when it happened. She wanted to make the city her new home, her new life.
Which meant she needed to not screw up during the last bit of her probationary period. She knew Tucker and the chief were happy with her work so far, but she didn’t dare get complacent. Her gut said that the past could still come back to bite her in the butt somehow.
Which meant that, for all that she might have needed the not-quite-a-vacation in the woods—the bruises had faded and the cut had healed over to an angry red that would mellow in time—by the end of the second week, she was raring to go, packed and ready an hour before she was scheduled to be picked up.
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