Dead Reckoning

by Stanalei Fletcher

  “Thank you.” Kosov’s head bobbed on his scrawny neck, making the man look like a duck. Nikolai couldn’t help but think Marcos would have no problem dispatching the doctor. All Nikolai had to do was give the word. But not yet. The doctor might still prove useful.

  After the men left, Nikolai poured another drink and sat in his chair. Solonik had been sloppy. Even as a Colonel in the Red Army, Viktor Solonik was a vor, a common thief, better suited to the mafia than the military. The idiot should have used his head and waited. If he had, Petre would still be alive.

  But who had killed Petre? O’Neal? Or perhaps the girl. To escape one of his best, the girl must have shown spirit. In spite of the fact she might have killed one of his men, pride swelled his chest.

  Nikolai swirled the last of this drink. When Petre hadn’t returned, Solonik assumed the hurricane had interfered. So Solonik offered a weapon and car to Petre’s brother, Oleg Vasiliev, to search the evacuees for the girl. Nikolai had been encouraged that Oleg had located Katya so quickly, using only a copy of Yelena’s picture. He had been on the girl’s trail for a day now. And although she was not yet in Oleg’s possession, she would be soon. But now Nikolai faced the unpleasant task of telling Oleg about Petre. Perhaps it would work in his favor. Oleg was a tiger on the hunt and would thirst to avenge his brother’s death. When he gave Oleg the word to grab Katya, there’d be no hesitation.

  Nikolai smiled to himself. Soon he’d have his daughter and defeat O’Neal at the same time. Revenge and family—nothing could be sweeter than these things. It was time to take back what that zhulik, that cheater O’Neal, had stolen from him.

  ****

  After Egan listed his set of rules, Kellee sat frozen on the car seat. Late afternoon sunlight glinted on the cars in the department store parking lot as she stared out the SUV’s window. She didn’t notice the plush leather she was sitting on, nor the cool air as it brushed across her skin. His words had literally brought all her senses—every thought—to a standstill.

  She’d been scared after the hurricane when she awoke with no memory. The long hours before connecting with Tresha had been fraught with a hopelessness of ever finding her way home after the evacuation. But Egan’s warning of a greater danger was a hundred times worse than any of those things.

  Who had died in her apartment? What if the man had died because of something she did—or didn’t do? What if she could have saved him, but instead, just left him there? She’d been injured during the storm. The same could have happened to him. If he died because she didn’t help, maybe the authorities were looking for her. Was Egan trying to keep her from being arrested? Her palms turned clammy, and a bitter taste rose from her throat. The more questions that swirled in her brain, the worse she felt. She hated that her life was one big unknown.

  “Kellee, this is important.”

  She swallowed hard, pushing down the foul taste in her mouth.

  “Kellee!”

  Her head jerked, and she looked at him.

  “Tell me you understand the rules, and will do exactly what I say.” Egan’s tone was serious and commanding.

  This couldn’t be happening. His directives were restrictive, almost barbaric, and coupled with the last few days it was too much to comprehend. “Okay,” she finally said. “Okay. I’ll do as you say, but I need to know why.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, seeming to consider the sincerity of her answer. Something in her face must have satisfied him because he nodded and brought his sunglasses up to his face. “I promise I’ll tell you.” He stared out at the parking lot for a moment and then put the car into gear. “But not here. We need to leave this area.” After looking over his shoulder, he revved the engine and drove onto the street and into the flow of traffic.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, buckling her seatbelt.

  “It’s late. We’ll find a hotel for the night, and start early tomorrow. That should put us on the coast close to noon.”

  Kellee watched the shops fly past her window. Nothing looked familiar. “Where are we?”

  “Just outside Macon.”

  “I was evacuated out of Panama City. Isn’t that where I live?”

  He nodded. “You have an apartment there, but I doubt you’ll want to live there again.”

  “Because of the body,” she said with a shudder.

  He glanced at her. “Do you remember something?” His tone was expectant, as though everything depended on her answer.

  Kellee shook her head, knowing her amnesia disappointed him. It disappointed her, too. “Only what you told me earlier.” The prickling cold that raced down her skin wasn’t the air-conditioning. If she could forget something as horrific as a dead man in her apartment, what else had she forgotten?

  He turned his attention to the road. “Don’t push it. It will come.”

  “Easy for you to say. It’s not your head, your memories…your life.” She bit back a sigh. She’d thought once she got away from the storm, she’d feel safe. Her time with Tresha had been limited, but she had appreciated the relative safety of their companionship. She’d even protected herself and Tresha from the attacker in the restroom. Now that she was with Egan, she should feel secure, not confused and frightened. Nothing made sense. Nothing felt as though it would ever be right again.

  Her stare fixed on Egan’s hands as they rested on the steering wheel. He guided the car along the streets with steadfast confidence. Confidence she envied.

  “Relax,” he said, after a moment. “You’ve been through some extraordinary circumstances. Be patient.”

  He must have sensed the tension building in her. “How do you expect me to be patient? I didn’t even know my name until today. I still don’t remember my last name. How weird is that? I have a first name and no last name.”

  Egan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “O’Neal.” His reply was brusque.

  “What?” Was there a problem with her name?

  He glanced at her and then back at the road. “Your last name is O’Neal,” he repeated, before taking a deep breath and stretching his fingers open.

  “Kellee O’Neal.” She tested the syllables on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine her life before the storm. Something at the edge of her memory tried to surface, but disappeared in a fog. The two things she could recall were her martial arts training and Egan.

  Why couldn’t she remember anything else? She sighed and laid her head against the seat.

  “Are you okay?” Egan asked.

  At his gentle question, tears welled behind her eyes, making them ache. Tresha had been the only other person who’d bothered to ask. Doctors had inquired about her health, but when they’d determined she didn’t have a life-threatening injury, they’d assigned her to a group of evacuees with less immediate needs. That’s why it had taken longer for her to evacuate from the storm-damaged areas and, in the process, she’d encountered some of the very best and the very worst of human behavior. Kellee had tried to help others when she could, but no one could provide the assistance she’d wanted—clues to her past.

  “Kellee?” Egan prompted.

  She blinked away the tears. “I’m fine.” She would be fine, too. She didn’t know when or how, but she would find a way out of this void of self-pity.

  “We’re almost there. You’ll feel better once you’ve cleaned up.”

  “Sure,” she mumbled, as a sudden depression threatened to overwhelm her. She stared out the passenger window so Egan couldn’t read her face.

  Chapter Seven

  Egan went a few more miles before driving the SUV into the lot of a small motel that had a neon vacancy light missing the letter N. Kellee stared at the building in dismay. The white, wooden, two-story building boasted maybe forty rooms. Rust from the wrought iron railing bled onto the cement steps, and paint peeled off the façade. At least the roof appeared new.

  “It doesn’t look like much,” Egan said as he shifted the car into park. “But I’ve stayed here befor
e. It’s clean. More importantly, it’s safe.” He opened the door. “I’ll only be a minute. Stay put.”

  Like she had anywhere else to go. Which rule was it? Right. Rule number one.

  Egan strode into the office. Through the glass door, she saw him leaning against the counter talking to the pretty manager with bleached-blonde hair. He smiled at something the woman said and a pang of jealousy clenched in Kellee’s chest. She had no claim on him. He didn’t see her. He saw a pathetic, bedraggled waif who’d lost her way.

  Besides, she had enough problems without pining over a lost teenage crush.

  Whoa. Where had that thought come from? Instantly, another memory flashed. The image was so clear it was as though it had happened yesterday.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw Egan’s bare, masculine feet gliding fluidly on the mat—his solid chest peeking from between the gap in his gi top. As her instructor, he’d unselfishly shared his knowledge of the art, and his supple strength had captured her young imagination. She remembered mindless fantasies about Egan as her sexy warrior. Together, with their martial arts, they’d save the world by day. And the nights…

  Kellee sighed. She hoped she’d kept the fantasies to herself. A secret she’d continue to keep if she knew what was good for her. Egan still thought of her as his teenage student, which explained why he treated her as child. She wondered about their current relationship. The look he’d given her earlier had triggered sparks like Fourth of July fireworks. She was positive that kiss in the parking lot wasn’t her imagination, either. It proved he wasn’t totally disinterested.

  As she watched, Egan leaned over the counter to sign a paper and gave the manager another smile as he slid the paper back to finish the transaction. Kellee’s stomach did a slow roll. Her crush wasn’t gone, after all.

  She dragged her gaze from the motel office and eyed the traffic along the street to take her mind off the scene before her. Rows of cars queued up at the intersection. The evacuation seemed to have doubled traffic in many of the larger southern cities. People escaping the devastation, trying to find a place to recover.

  A dark sedan sped up to beat a yellow light, but slammed on the brakes at the last second. The driver must have spotted the police cruiser sitting in the next lane. Seeing the car reminded her of the sandy-haired man she’d talked to at the truck stop. How strange that he’d taken an interest in her necklace when no one else had commented about it, not even Tresha.

  She lifted the pendant from under her blouse and held it up to the light. The man had told her this ugly bird thing would bring luck. She glanced through the motel doors again at Egan, who was handing some cash to the manager. Egan had found her, so maybe her luck was changing.

  Egan stepped out of the office and headed toward the SUV. She tucked the pendant inside her shirt as he opened the door.

  “Here,” he said, handing her a key card and sliding onto the seat. “Hold this.” Although the motel looked dilapidated, it apparently had updated card locks. He drove to a parking slot in front of a ground-floor room at the corner of the building. “This is us.”

  “Us?” Kellee glanced at the door he pointed to. “We’re sharing a room?”

  “Rule number two. You go where I go.”

  “Right.” She flashed him a tight smile. “And you promised me some answers as to why these rules are so important.”

  “Be patient,” he said. “First, clean up and eat something. Then I’ll answer your questions the best I can.”

  Kellee climbed out of the car, dragging her backpack with her and hoping nothing of her newfound recollections showed on her face. She didn’t want Egan guessing that she’d remembered a girlhood crush and taking pity on her.

  Swiping the card in the lock, she waited for the indicator to flash green, then turned the handle and opened the door.

  Light from the doorway security lamp spilled into the darkened room and cast an eerie shadow across the queen-sized bed that took up most of the space in the room. A television on a stand with drawers, and a small round table with two chairs completed the generally beige-and-mint-colored motel room ensemble. Kellee found the light switch and flipped it on, needing the sense of security from the light, but not knowing why. Then she headed straight for the bathroom at the far end.

  ****

  Egan watched Kellee disappear into the bathroom as he kicked the door shut. He automatically locked both the deadbolt and the chain lock before dropping his rucksack on the floor next to the table and laying the package of clothes he’d bought on the bed.

  One bed. He’d wanted a room with two beds, but more importantly, he’d wanted a room close to the street exit.

  He was exhausted, and the prospect of sharing the bed was tempting. Regardless, he’d sleep on the floor. A hard, uncompromising floor would keep his libido in check. Kellee accused him of treating her like a child, and she was right. His defense against the feelings that had started to surface was to remind himself that she was his student and the boss’s daughter—nothing more. The Hounds of Hell would have him if he started treating her like the woman she was, the woman who’d haunted his dreams since—

  Kellee stepped out of the bathroom, stopping his thoughts midstream. He took that moment to study her. Not stolen glances while he drove, but a careful assessment.

  Her shirt and shorts looked like she’d rolled through a swamp while still wearing them. Unwashed hair—shorter than he remembered—hung in a limp, tangled mess around her face. The bruise on her forehead was turning greenish-yellow around the edges. None of these things detracted from her heart-shaped mouth, the gentle swell of her breasts, and curved hips tapering to long shapely legs.

  He took a quick breath and let it out slowly to ease the sharp heat weaving through his middle. He tore his eyes away and picked up the TV remote. “The package on the bed is for you,” he said, clicking the screen to life, thankful his voice sounded mostly normal.

  Kellee didn’t seem to notice his lapse. She crossed to the bed, picked up the sack and peered inside.

  “I guessed on the sizes.” He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Will they fit?”

  She sorted through the items. A blouse, tank tops and a pair of shorts. The underwear and bra he’d picked out were white, with hardly any lace. Egan had enough temptation on his hands without visualizing Kellee’s body in the colorful, slinky items he’d seen on the rack.

  “I think so.” She held the shirt up, then glanced at him “Do you…?” She motioned toward the bathroom.

  Egan shook his head. “Go ahead,” he said. “Take your time.”

  She gave him a watery smile and for a moment tears shimmered in her eyes. Then she blinked and the tears were gone. Turning abruptly, she hurried into the bathroom.

  Egan smiled as he heard the bathwater start to run. She should have broken down long before now. Damn if that woman didn’t have the stubbornness of her old man.

  Which reminded him—time to make that call. He dug the prepaid cell phone out of his rucksack and dialed. When he heard the answering system pick up, he punched a sequence of numbers and then disconnected the call.

  The anonymous owner of the voice-mailbox would be notified of the message and convert the encryption to text. The message—FOUND KELLEE ALIVE—would be forwarded to O’Neal.

  For now, that was all Egan was allowed to offer a father desperate for news of his missing daughter.

  ****

  Kellee sank into the bathtub, sliding her head under the hot water. She held her breath and let the heated moisture soak through the grime and into her skin, wishing all of her problems could be washed away as easily as the dirt. What was she going to do if she never regained the rest of her memories? Could she rebuild a life based on spotty recollections of Egan and her martial arts training? What about her family? Why couldn’t she remember them?

  She lifted her head out of the water and released her breath. Then she opened the courtesy shampoo, dumped half the contents into her palm and started scrubbing
her filthy hair…Her short filthy hair!

  A memory burst into her mind. She’d recently cut her hair for a job with a private investigation agency. Short hair was easier to care for. Made it faster to get out on a call when her boss had a case for her to take.

  Had she been on a case when the storm hit? If so, maybe she hadn’t been in her apartment when the man died. What other explanation was there for her to leave him if he’d needed help? And what else had happened to her in the hours during the storm?

  These tiny morsels of recollections left her unsatisfied. Ruthlessly, she rinsed her hair, and then pulled the plug on the bathwater. As the tub drained, she turned on the taps and set the switch for the shower. She lathered up and scrubbed her body until her skin turned pink, even taking time to clean the grit from under her fingernails. After turning off the water, she grabbed a white towel off the rack. The towel was worn and scratchy, but it felt good to be clean after three days without a shower.

  Once dried, she dressed in the clothes Egan had bought. The panties were a bit small and the bra a size too big. Plain white underwear didn’t seem quite her style, but after wearing the latest in post-hurricane fashion, she wouldn’t complain. Unfortunately, the shorts hung to her knees and the baggy white blouse draped off her shoulders like a curtain. However, the clothes smelled wonderfully clean. A flare of embarrassment warmed her cheeks when she visualized Egan picking out her underwear. What made a man go that far out of his comfort zone? Was he feeling protective, like a big brother, or was there something more?

  She took the ends of the blouse and gathered them into a knot at her middle. All it had taken was a bath and clean clothes, and she felt ready to face the world. Even better, parts of her memory were returning. Regardless of all the other disappointments, remembering her job was a big deal. She couldn’t wait to tell Egan.

  As she opened the bathroom door, the smell of pizza greeted her. Food! A loud growl erupted from her empty stomach.