Flashbyte (Byte Series - Ellie Conway Book 4)

by Cat Connor

  “It never occurred to anyone to tell police?” Color me silly, but it would’ve been so much easier than changing an identity.

  “I asked once, when I was older. Mom said Saville was a lying scumbag, but one who led a charmed life. Everyone believed him, they always had. She didn’t see how what he’d done to me would make any difference. Nothing seemed to make any difference and she couldn’t risk me being back in that situation.”

  I’ve met people like that. People who appear to blind authorities to their true selves and leave regular folk, who can see through the bullshit; dumbfounded as to how it keeps happening.

  “Where’s your mom?”

  “She died three years ago.”

  “And your adoptive family?”

  “They raised me, I call them Mom and Dad. Dad is in a care facility for Alzheimer’s, and Mom, she’s a nurse there. Are they going to be in trouble?”

  I shook my head. “I have no interest in destroying the lives of people who saved you. All I want to do is close the case.”

  “Do I have to use Leticia as my name now?”

  “No.”

  “What about my husband?”

  “He doesn’t know?”

  She shook her head.

  “Secrets have a way of unfolding, Katrina. You might want to let him in on this one.”

  “It won’t be in the newspaper though?”

  “If it is, it won’t be any of my doing. I’m going back to Washington, DC, and I’m closing the case. There will be no press announcement.”

  “Thank you.”

  “One more thing. You had an older brother?”

  “I did. Adam was four years older than me.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He died in a car crash in Los Angeles eight years ago. Adam left for college about a year after I disappeared. I never knew where he was. I assumed he thought I was dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Sadness enveloped Katrina. “He was in all my happy childhood memories.”

  I was glad she had some happy childhood memories. I turned the pen recorder off. We were done.

  She smiled but it wasn’t the lighthearted smile she’d had when we first met.

  “You are that woman?”

  Kurt interceded, “She’s definitely that woman.”

  “No, Kurt, I mean, she’s the FBI agent dating Rowan Grange?”

  Kurt grinned. “She’s a busy woman. Married to me and dating Rowan.”

  “You know, I believed you two were married. You look good together.”

  And that was my cue to leave. I didn’t need anything else confusing my missing memories.

  Twenty-Eight

  Strangers In The Wind

  We were at a café, about halfway to Washington, DC, having something to eat when my phone rang. I looked at the display. Rowan’s smiling face. I had a quick flash of a concert, police, and a feeling of utter horror. Not what I expected.

  “Hi.” I kept it light.

  “You doing all right, honey?”

  Yeah, sure, just wish I knew you from Adam.

  “Sure, I’m …” What’d Dad say, oh, that’s right. “I’m okay.”

  “Sean O’Hare called me and suggested I bring Carla down.”

  So everyone has Rowan’s number?

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re heading home now. Just wrapped up a case.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Where’s home, baby?”

  Okay, that’s tricksy.

  Events prior to Lexington emerged. My house exploded, but Kurt picked me up from the Marriott at Metro Center.

  “The Marriott.”

  “Good guess. You could go to your dad’s and we’ll meet you there.”

  “Dad’s sure?”

  “Ellie?”

  “Okay. Dad’s.”

  I hung up. Kurt and Lee waited with about as much patience as a couple of starving lions.

  “Do we know where my dad lives?”

  “Yes, we do,” Lee replied. “Had more than one barbeque at Simon’s.”

  Interesting.

  “Do I know your parents?” They evidently knew mine. I looked at Kurt. “Well, not yours, they’re dead.”

  Lee and Kurt grinned. “Somethings haven’t changed. You’re still as tactful as ever,” Kurt said.

  I brushed it off.

  “Lee, do I know your parents?”

  “No, Ellie, you do not. They moved outta state a few years ago.”

  “Florida?” Never could see the attraction of Florida to old folk.

  He shook his head. “Santa Barbara, California. Mom took a job with the Justice Department there.”

  So his parents aren’t retirement age. That’s quite a move. I looked at Lee and had a feeling I should know what his mother does.

  “She’s a judge, Ellie.”

  “I knew that, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. Only because I told you when Mom took the job in California.”

  “What about Sam’s?”

  “Yes, we’ve met them. When Sam was stabbed. His parents came up from North Carolina.”

  “And everyone knows my dad?”

  “Simon? Hell yes.”

  “Elaborate on that.”

  “He runs the Butterfly Foundation with Mac’s dad, Bob. We’re all involved Ellie.”

  Great.

  “Seems my life is an open book.”

  “Only to us, Conway. Only to us,” Kurt replied.

  “Good to know.”

  We left the café. Kurt drove me, Lee followed behind in his car.

  I closed my eyes and hoped my missing memory pieces would return before we were home. I wanted to recognize my child and my boyfriend. I wanted to remember my dad properly. The smell of pancakes washed over me. As clear as day I saw myself in my kitchen making pancakes. Breakfast. I placed plates in front of Carla and Lee. Lee?

  My eyes opened, I picked up my phone and called him.

  “Lee, why did you have breakfast with me and Carla the other day?”

  “I came by early to tell you about your death.”

  I blew out a sigh of relief. Lee laughed.

  “I thought something was going on.”

  “I guess to a person who has memory issues, a family breakfast scene with big ol’ me in it would be disconcerting.”

  “Shit, Lee, over the last twenty-four hours I’ve had three, no four names. Been hunted. Been murdered. Been shot at and met my secret past. Discovered I’m dating Rowan Grange. Have a daughter. Found out Kurt loves me.” Kurt made choking sounds. “Oh, and solved a cold case on an ancient memory. Really, Lee, making you breakfast is just par for the course.”

  “Whoa there, Ellie … Kurt does what?”

  I hung up on Lee and stole a sideways glance at Kurt. He was a little flushed looking.

  “I’m sorry, it just slipped out.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I doubt it was that big a secret.” His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

  “Liar.”

  Twenty-Nine

  All I Want From You

  As ridiculous as it felt I still couldn’t get it together and remember life with Rowan. We walked around my father’s back yard in the dark. The edges of the garden beds were glowing with solar-powered lights. The whole area had the feel and appearance of a fairy garden. There was peace. Quiet. Cool. Peaceful.

  I knew Carla was watching from within the conservatory. Sitting in the dark, looking out the large windows, hoping everything would go back to normal. I thanked the stars above that I remembered her. I remembered everything about my daughter, right down to how messy her room was and her favorite nail polish color and brand. It didn’t take long for Carla to come back. Joey too was fairly quick. I liked Joey. He was Carla’s most consistent best friend. Being a girl she seemed to have endless best friends.

  Rowan touched my hand.

  “Penny for them?”

  I
smiled. “I think these are worth all the gold in Fort Knox.”

  “Must be good thoughts.”

  “Uh huh. Was thinking about Carla.”

  He nodded. “Fort Knox.”

  I saw the dark outline of the garden seat and opted to sit. Rowan sat next to me. He exuded patience.

  “Why don’t I remember us?”

  “You’re the only one who can answer that.”

  I considered his response for a few minutes.

  “Does it bother you?”

  “Yes.”

  That seemed an excellent response. “Why?”

  “Because …” he faltered and tried again. “Because I like you. We’re good together.”

  “We’re so different.”

  “Not so much. Yes, we have remarkably different occupations but we share the same level of passion for those occupations.”

  “And that makes us not so different?”

  “Yes, it does. We’re similar, Ellie.”

  “What did we do together?”

  He smiled. It felt like the first time I had witnessed such a warming event.

  “We went out to dinner, away for weekends, hung out at your place, took in the occasional movie, spent lots of time with Carla, and we laughed. We laughed a lot.”

  “We didn’t live together?”

  The smile was back.

  “No.”

  I sensed something, like maybe he wanted to and I didn’t.

  “Why not?”

  “Your choice. I accept it.”

  “But why? It sounds like we were very happy, so why not live together? I gave a reason?”

  “You were trying to provide a stable environment for Carla. My lifestyle is about as unpredictable as yours. It makes sense.”

  “Okay.” That did make sense. I was juggling a demanding vocation, parenthood, and a rock star. Awesome. I rock!

  Rowan’s hand took mine. I watched in the semi-dark as our fingers entwined.

  “How close are we?”

  “I thought very. You don’t tell me much about your work.”

  I heard it. The phrase I used and recognized from my recent past. I grabbed it with enthusiasm. “You’re not one of us. My work makes you sick.”

  His smile creased the skin around his eyes. “In my defense I have not actually been sick. But you are right, I am not one of you. I don’t see what you do on a daily basis. I don’t know how you deal with the things you see, and still carry on.”

  I took a breath as a memory crept in. A memory of twinkling flatware and red roses.

  “It was sunny and warm, we had lunch alone. In a hotel room. Red roses, champagne.” I looked at him for confirmation. His eyes met mine but he said nothing. Another scene swamped me, one that felt earlier than the red roses and sunshine. I wished I could forget some things forever. To have the ability to choose what memories I retained would be awesome.

  Rowan interrupted my musings. “You remember?”

  “I remember how sick you looked when I told you about the kid who had been kidnapped, drugged, and raped. I remember we were in Christchurch, New Zealand, and that you took me to the Casino for dinner.”

  “You remember,” he repeated, throwing an arm around my shoulders and hugging me to him. I slid my arm around his waist and hugged back. The smell of his cologne triggered a host of memories, including a good number of very personal ones that I would never speak of.

  “Darlin’, you’re hanging on awful tight – and I’m not complaining, just want to make sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m okay.”

  Everything I always knew flew through the air and landed tidily. No more jumbled mess and missing pieces. All the corners were in place and the memories stabilized.

  “Ellie, are you back?”

  “You smoke Winstons and we wrote a few songs together.”

  “Welcome back.”

  “What were you doing in Japan?”

  “Promo for the new album.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “Poetic Explosion.”

  “Poetic Explosion?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s how it is. One minute you’re traipsing along and suddenly you meet this girl who writes poetry and it all changes.”

  Seriously? Come on.

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  I could hear the women screaming. “The whole album?”

  “The album is a story.”

  “Mine?” I remembered him writing when we finally put the Abbasi brothers where they belonged. I was talking, he was writing. I closed my eyes for a minute and remembered a few long nights we’d spent since. Throwing lines back and forth. I could already feel the hatred when they figured out who the record was about.

  “Yes, you helped. Why is it I think you don’t quite remember everything?”

  “I knew about this?”

  “You have co-writing credit on four of the songs.”

  Yep, that qualifies as forgotten information.

  “Okay.”

  “Where to now?”

  I didn’t know if he meant that minute or the future or what. A few frozen seconds later I went with my gut. I know this man. Flashes of life with him glued everything together. And still I could make no sense of him being with me.

  “I don’t want to sound weird …” My words were silenced by out-and-out laughter. I waited for him to stop. “I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t want to sound weird? Really? You don’t get it?”

  “Not that. Jeez – I know why that was funny. I don’t get you and me.”

  He frowned and choked back his amusement. “Elaborate.”

  “You’re this huge rock star women fawn all over, people clamor to be near. Christ, I’ve seen the behavior around you. People can’t do enough for you.” He nodded.

  What else could he do? It was all true.

  “Why haven’t you ditched me for one of those women?”

  “What makes you think I like the attention?”

  We both laughed.

  Hello, rock star, attention seeker extraordinaire.

  “Seriously. I ignore you for days on end, disappear with little or no warning, and ask enormous favors when it comes to my child and as far as I can tell I appear to carry on as if you don’t exist – most of the time.”

  “It’s all the time. I’m treated very badly,” he replied with a smile that melted my underwear. “I’ve dated women who hang on my every word and refuse to have an opinion that I didn’t give them. Then years ago in a DC hotel I saw you.”

  “But—”

  He held a finger to my lips.

  “I saw you. In those twenty seconds you said more with your eyes and body language than anyone I’d ever met.”

  “God, you talk shit.”

  “Eric Clapton is God. I’m just Rowan,” he replied.

  “You still talk shit.”

  “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

  I could see I was getting nowhere.

  “Is this life?”

  “Yeah, Ellie, this is life.”

  “And we’re okay?”

  “We’re okay.”

  I believed him.

  “I have one more investigation to complete and then I’m taking some time off.”

  “You wanna come on tour?”

  I grinned. “Not even a little bit. I remember the last concert I went to. I remember Christchurch.”

  It was right there in front of me and I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t un-remember it. The noise, the crowd, and Sam yelling in my ear. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the acrid smell of exploded flesh. I could cope with never having to smell that combination again. I wanted to forget but the memory was stuck. Maybe remembering things like that had the potential to save lives.

  “Christchurch was hell. I don’t ever want to go back to that.”

  Rowan nodded. His day-old beard growth caught my hair.

  “One day I’l
l get you to a gig.”

  “One day.”

  Pigs might fly.

  Thirty

  Five Minutes From America

  With my left hand holding the doorknob, I leaned my head against the cool wood and rapped with the knuckles of my right hand.

  It felt like I’d been there for the longest time when the door handle turned beneath my hand. I let go and steadied myself as the door slowly moved away from me.

  “Chicky Babe,” Sam said, still half asleep. “S’up?”

  “Gerrard has a lead from the lawyer dude. I’m going with him.”

  “Lawyer’s dead. Arbab probably killed him,” Sam replied rubbing his face.

  “We expect that to be the case, but a body would remove all doubt. Arbab had friends – the plumber Abdul-Bari Bin Qasim Sabbagh and the research assistant – we thought they were the same person but Gerrard thinks they’re not. It’s possible whoever has turned up is linked to Arbab.”

  “Yeah.” I could see his brain switching on. “Who is he after?”

  “Ben Fisher.”

  “I’ll run him and let you know if I find anything. Where you heading?”

  “West Virginia.”

  “He’s taking you over the state line.”

  “I’m over twenty-one.”

  Sam grinned. “What do you want Delta to do?”

  “Find the corpses that belong to the meat packs. I keep hearing Elvis every time I think about those boxes. He’s singing ‘Return to Sender.’ It’s making me edgy. I’m thinking this whole thing with the meat has something to do with the mail service.”

  “Hot damn. Elvis is never wrong. I’ll get onto to it and see if they have any interesting threats on their books.”

  “Keep me posted.” I said.

  Sam grinned back, “I’ll keep you posted about the Postal Service and hope no one’s gone postal.”

  “Damn that was bad!”

  Postal workers were prone to going postal and whether the USPS approves of the term ‘going postal’ or not it exists for a reason. Hell, Wikipedia even has a list of notable postal shootings. It’s not a new phenomenon. “Gerrard is waiting downstairs.”

  “Yeah, it was bad, might have some truth to it though.” Sam checked his watch. “It’s almost five a.m. Early start. Where’s Carla?”

  “I wasn’t asleep so may as well be working. Carla is with Rowan at Dad’s.”