by Cat Connor
“Thank you.”
“Just returning a favor,” he said. “Turn on the news.” And hung up.
Who was that masked man? A horse whinnied. Away in the distance I heard the words ‘Hi ho Silver! Away!’
I dropped my phone onto the sofa. “Tim said to turn on the news. Seems we have two fewer problems. Hospital killer is behind bars, and Arbab is in the process of being removed from the United States.”
Kurt and Lee grinned.
“Coffee is almost ready,” Lee said.
Kurt switched on the television while I tried to sit without hurting my ribs any more than I already had. There was no waiting to see what Tim meant. A red banner trailed across the bottom of the screen announcing breaking news in Lexington. Moments later a stern-faced newsreader filled the screen, Doug someone or other. With careful enunciation he told his listeners of the drama which had unfolded at Stonewall Jackson Hospital in the early hours of the morning.
“A doctor and her sister were arrested for killing patients and their last victim was Rylee Henderson, wife of Supervisory Special Agent Kurt Henderson, a doctor in the FBI.” He went on to say Rylee was admitted suffering from a severe migraine.
I breathed a sigh of relief. No mention that Rylee was me.
The newsreader stopped talking and then said, “New information has just come to light. Rylee Henderson was in fact Supervisory Special Agent Gabrielle Conway, working under cover with SSA Henderson. Conway was ill and receiving medical care when the killer struck without warning.”
Numbness spread to my limbs from my very core. Lee set a coffee on the table in front of me. “Okay?”
I nodded and kept watching.
“Conway has reportedly had a bad week, with her death prematurely announced in Washington several days ago, followed by the explosions that destroyed her home. She’s probably best known as the ‘poet with a gun’ and for the creation of the Butterfly Foundation with her deceased husband Special Agent Cormac Connelly. Conway’s work with ‘at risk’ children of mentally-ill parents hit the headlines when her poetry book became a bestseller.”
Every phone in the room rang.
Over the noise I heard the newsreader still talking. “Conway was linked to rocker Rowan Grange. She is survived by her father, brother, and daughter, Carla.”
For the second time in a week my death was announced on television. This time I knew we needed to leave it be. If I rode in hollering about not being dead, Arbab’s friends may hear of it. Arbab had always struck me as someone who would shoot his mouth off at the drop of a hat; I didn’t for one second think he hadn’t told others what he was planning on doing in the USA. Hollering about my non-dead status might also trigger someone else from my past to surface. I’m very good at pissing people off and often they’re not the forgiving type. I’m sure Tim and his team didn’t want to stage another rescue anytime soon. It needed to blow over by itself.
I wanted to lean back but it hurt. I gritted my teeth and did it anyway. Phones still rang. No one moved to answer them.
Everyone stared in silence at the television.
It was me who broke first. “I have a daughter?”
Probably not what either of them wanted to hear.
Kurt turned off the TV, moved my coffee cup, and sat on the table in front of me.
“It will come back, Ellie. Your memory will come back.”
Until then, I didn’t know it was missing.
“I remember a kid calling me mom in a graveyard, and how relieved I was she was okay.”
“It will come back.”
“That was her? My daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Something I did must’ve put her in danger. She’s probably better off without me.”
I jumped as Lee hit the wall with a closed fist. He didn’t so much dent the wall as punch a hole right through to the bedroom.
The ringing stopped for about five seconds then started up again.
Kurt reached for my phone first, he read the display. “You need to take this, it’s Rowan.”
“Rowan?”
Who the hell is Rowan?
“Grange.”
Oh bullshit!
“Just because the TV said I was linked to Rowan Grange … which must be crap. Hello, they don’t have a great track record where truth is concerned! You don’t have to fuck with me!”
He tried to thrust the phone into my hand. I wouldn’t take it.
“Answer it.”
He turned the phone so I could see the name and photo of the person calling. Maybe he had a point. Mac laughed in my mind and responded with, “Maybe’s ass.”
If I didn’t know Rowan Grange, why would I have his picture on my phone, flashing at me along with his name?
I hang out with jokers, was the lone answer I could come up with while the phone rang or, more accurately, sang. One of Rowan’s best-known stadium rock numbers.
“Everything’s gone pear-shaped and you think now is the best time to screw with me?” I snarled. “Death wish, much?”
“Answer it,” Kurt said, keeping his tone even yet insistent.
I took the phone and pressed talk. “Hello?”
“Ellie, you okay?”
Whoever it was sounded like Rowan Grange.
“I am,” I replied, trying very hard to keep suspicion from my voice.
“You don’t sound it.”
“I’m fine.”
He started talking but nothing he told me would gel into anything resembling parts of my life. I tried hard to remember why Rowan Grange would be calling me. There had to be something there. Katrina. The conversation I had with her meandered through my consciousness as Rowan told me how he’d spent the night. I sensed he was trying to get a handle on what was happening with me and I didn’t know what to tell him.
Everything Katrina said scrolled by; I paused the conversation at the part where she said I looked like the woman who was dating Rowan Grange.
If I am, then that would be why he called. It seemed reasonable that I should say something girlfriendish. Yet a large chunk of me was going totally fan-girl over having Rowan call me and I couldn’t concentrate. Oh. My. God. He’s Rowan Grange!
Time to stop him talking.
“Rowan?”
“Yes?”
“I’m fine. Can I call you later?” My heart pounded, I totally blew him off. Guess that doesn’t happen to people like him very often.
“Can I talk to Kurt or Lee?”
“Sure.” I handed the phone to Kurt who stood up and moved away speaking in hushed tones.
“It’s rude to talk about someone when they’re in the room,” I said.
Kurt smiled and carried on. I heard him explain to Rowan that I’d had a migraine, there was an incident in the hospital, and there were some lasting effects to my memory. He didn’t go into detail. Just as well. I wasn’t sure how a person would respond if they were told their significant other had no memory of them. I wasn’t sure how being Rowan Grange’s significant other sat with me. I put it in the surreal basket along with motherhood.
Lee passed me his phone. “Here, it’s Caine, and Sam is on Kurt’s phone for you.”
“Awesome.”
I spoke briefly to Caine, then Sam. Kurt gave me my phone after he’d hung up and it rang again. He reached into my lap and picked it up. Kurt answered it then handed it to me, saying, “Jonathon Tierney.”
I had a very brief conversation with Tierney – long enough to assure him the team he’d sent were on their way to their destination. Which he already knew; Jonathon for all his cold exterior and aloof mannerisms was checking on me, not the rendition team. It struck me as odd that I had a vivid memory of working with the bird-eyed, beak-nosed man all those years ago, yet recent life seemed foreign.
The minute I hung up the phone rang again. Singing in my hand. I looked at the display. One word: Dad.
I answered it.
“Kid, you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
/> “The correct response is yeah, I’m okay or sure. It’s never fine. Where’s Lee?”
“He’s here. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Yes, please.”
Why is everyone calling me when they keep asking to talk to Lee or Kurt?
I yelled at Lee, “Incoming.” The phone flew through the air. He caught it and lowered himself onto the other sofa.
“Simon, she’s okay. There was an incident. We’re charging two women with attempted murder of a federal agent.” He stopped talking for a second then said, “Yes, she did code, but Kurt brought her back.”
I couldn’t hear my father’s response but I expected it to be measured and calm. Throughout the conversation I tried to picture my father in my head. When I succeeded, I attempted the exercise with my brother, Aidan. It wasn’t easy. There was something blocking him from being a whole person to me. I let my broken mind drift. Bam! There he was, a scared little kid being beaten by our Mom. I could see it all happening. Stepping in front of her as she raised the electric cord, it came down on my back. Aidan screamed. I pushed him away, yelled at him to run. Then he was an adult sitting on the front porch of my house in Mauryville. The image I had of him faded in and out, it just wouldn’t stick.
I moved on to trying to visualize Rowan in my house with me. All the time there was a figure hovering about me, one I didn’t need to imagine. Mac.
My eyes closed. It was time to go back to see what I was missing. I started with the memory I’d found earlier. The graveyard with Kurt, Sam, Lee, and Carla. If I could imagine Carla as a real person, maybe I could see her and remember life with her and the Rowan thing would just fit into place.
Remote feelings followed disjointed images. Nothing involving a teenage girl would cement. I let my mind wander back. Why were Kurt, Sam, and Lee so clear, but Dad, Carla, Rowan, and my brother, Aidan, so difficult to grasp hold of? Part of me expected to see Will Smith waltz in the door and zap me with the flashy thing again. Pretty sure they’re supposed to erase all memory not just bits and pieces.
I whistled out air and opened my eyes.
“Your coffee is going cold,” Lee said. He was slouched on the sofa, legs stretched out, one hand holding a cell phone and the other tapping on his coffee cup.
“Where’s Sam?”
“Washington.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
“He’s working on a case.” A smile crossed Lee’s lips.
“It’s amusing in some way?”
“Yeah, someone is sending boxes of meat to people … you’ve had three boxes of ass yourself.”
“Boxes of ass.”
Bingo. Something came back.
“Earlier this week – the delivery guy was shot, we captured the shooter.”
“Yep.”
There was a feeling of needing to regurgitate everything I could recall before it evaporated or became buried again. “I picked … Carla up from Dad’s and took her to a hotel. People were being killed. Conways. The next day I found out Arbab was in the country.”
Carla was just a name. I found out about Arbab but couldn’t remember who told me. Why couldn’t I remember? Man, the whole forgetting shit was getting old. With a swift kick my cup flew from the table and smashed against the wall by the television.
Lee leaped to his feet.
“What the hell was that for?” Kurt asked, gawping at the cold coffee running down the wall.
“Why can’t I remember?” I snarled and struggled to my feet. “Why can’t I?”
Lee took a dish towel and started to wipe the wall.
Kurt sighed. “Come on, let’s see if we can figure this out,” he said to me. My feet didn’t walk, even though I told them to. “Ellie?”
Waves of anger rolled through me.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?”
His tone changed. He turned special agent on me. “Conway, sit back down.”
Swarming crazy thoughts of never filling in the gaps flooded over everything. Kurt took my hand. I slapped it away. My wrist twisted behind my back, in two strides the side of my face was pressed against a wall. I kicked backwards hoping to connect with his shins. Kurt’s grip tightened, he bent my wrist further. His object was instant submission and he achieved it.
“Hit me once, shame on you … hit me twice, shame on me,” Kurt whispered in my ear.
“Everything okay over there?” Lee asked.
I couldn’t see him, but I knew one word from me and Kurt would be on his ass. How could I know that and not remember my kid? She was just a name. I needed more than a name.
“We’re good,” Kurt replied. “Aren’t we, Conway?”
“Yeah, fuc’n awesome.”
Kurt released his grip a little. I pushed back, twisted, and pulled my arm free. I couldn’t even feel my ribs anymore. Blind rage flowed in my veins. My right fist connected with the side of Kurt’s face. My left hit him under the jaw. I connected with his face again with my right fist and the next thing I knew I was on the ground with Kurt straddling me. He had my arms pinned to the ground above my head. I bucked, getting my feet flat on the ground. His face was three inches above mine. “Stop!”
“Get off me.”
“Calm the fuck down.”
“Get off!”
“No.”
Energy sparked. His eyes grew dark. His tongue flicked over his lips. Things stirred within me. “Doc, I …”
“Yeah, Conway,” his voice matched mine. Quiet. Husky. Unsteady.
So close.
He rolled off me and lay on the floor. Lee looked down at me.
“You two kids had enough now?” he asked, reaching out for my hand to help me up.
I hurt. Maybe there was something I could say but I didn’t know what, so I said nothing. Phones were still ringing. I took myself into the bedroom and crawled across the bed, burying my face in a pillow and stretching out. The best I could hope for was suffocation. All I could see was Kurt’s face above mine. His darkening eyes. Heat from his body burning.
I tightened my grip on the pillow, pulling it harder over my head.
Twenty-Five
Start Me Up
I smelled coffee. When I opened my eyes Kurt was there holding a cup. He sported a decent bruise on his right cheek. It matched his left side, color-wise, but the bruising was more compacted and defined on the right. Purple and blue spread out along his jawline on the left, almost making it to his cheek bone.
“You look like shit,” I said as a smile broke free.
“You hit like a girl,” he replied, grimacing as he tried to smile.
The knuckles of both my hands ached. I glanced at the backs of my hands. Red grazes and patchy bruising across my knuckles. Looked like I’d been in a bar fight.
“Where’s Lee?” I shuffled up until I was sitting. My ribs complained loudly causing me to wince. That was when I noticed a blanket over me. One of them must’ve come in while I was smothering myself.
“He’s calling people back and dealing with the fallout from the hospital,” Kurt replied. He sat on the edge of the bed and passed me the coffee. “How you feeling?”
“Confused.” I didn’t want to say what was playing on my mind when I fell asleep. As I sipped the coffee I noted something was missing. “Do I smoke?”
“You used to. When I first met you, you were a smoker.”
“I’m not now?”
“No.”
Odd, I feel like I am.
“I want a cigarette.”
“Okay. Lee smokes, I’ll get you one.”
He left the room, leaving me feeling I was in a foreign land. Kurt came back with a burning cigarette in his mouth and an ashtray in his hand. He handed the smoke to me. The most natural thing in the world was holding that cigarette between my index and middle finger of my left hand. Coffee in my right, ashtray balanced on my knee.
It felt right.
I took a big drag on the cigarette, tasting the chemicals and tobacco as the warm smoke rush into my lu
ngs. My head spun. Dizzy beyond belief. I couldn’t stop the spinning. Kurt’s hand held my wrist. His grip loosened and he removed the cigarette stubbing it out in the ashtray. He took my coffee cup too.
My lungs went into a spasm. Coughing made me more lightheaded and hurt my ribs. A laughing shadow fell across me.
Lee.
“Chicky, you quit a long time ago,” he said, openly amused as I coughed until my head spun again.
Kurt passed me my coffee. “Have a drink.”
I did. The taste in my mouth was disgusting. I was no smoker. I swallowed more coffee.
“I don’t smoke.” But the act of smoking reminded me of something. “Rowan does?”
They both nodded.
“Sam does?”
Again they nodded.
It felt like progress, but if everything was going to take such extreme measures I may not survive to see my memory return.
“I have an idea,” Kurt said. “It’s time we left Lexington, but before we go, let’s take a trip out to your old home.”
“Really?”
It sounded great. Going home. That’s gotta be the right thing to do. “Okay, sounds good.”
“Road trip,” Lee said with a grin. “I’ve never been out to your place in Mauryville.”
“Should be interesting all round then,” I replied. “I’ll have a shower, and then we can go.”
“I’ll get our gear packed from the living room,” Lee said and ambled from the room.
Kurt didn’t move.
I avoided eye contact while I tried to get a handle on what was happening. Throwing Kurt on the bed and screwing his brains out or inviting him into the shower were the first things that occurred to me and nothing anywhere indicated that would be wrong, except the tiny, waving red flag in a far corner of my mind. I was supposed to be dating someone. Even the television said so.
Lee bounced back into the room. “Chicky, Sam called. Another box arrived for you, this time it was sent to work.”
