by Vicki Hinze
“So you’re sticking with your disgusting memory-loss story.”
“I don’t have a lot of choice.” Her hands shook. She clenched them into fists at her sides, lifted her chin, and looked up into his eyes. “It’s the truth.”
“I don’t believe you!”
More afraid than she’d been when the abductor had shattered her car window, she stilled. Everything in her warned her to back out of his reach, but she was too afraid to move.
“Ben!” Peggy Crane stepped between them. “That’s more than enough. Back off.”
He turned his glare on Peggy. “This isn’t your concern.”
“This is very much my concern. I’m the director of Crossroads Crisis Center, and that makes everything that goes on in it my business. You will not come in here and browbeat a victim. Now, calm down or I’ll call Detective Meyers in and have you removed.”
His jaw dropped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“That’s my exact advice to you.” She turned her back on him and looked at Susan. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Her knees wobbled. If they folded and she fell flat on her face, she’d never forgive herself.
Peggy gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Lisa, why don’t you walk Susan down to the ladies’ room so she can freshen up a bit and get rid of some of the mud? I’m sure it itches.”
It did. “I’ll be fine on my own,” she said, knowing somehow it was true. Had she been on her own a lot? Or had she wished she was but wasn’t? Blank slate.
“It’s no trouble.” Lisa rose.
Susan waved her back to her seat. “Stay. I need a few minutes to myself.” She looked at Ben, hoping she wasn’t taking her life in her hands by speaking to him. “I’m sorry for my part in whatever is happening here, but I am more mystified by it than you.” Her mouth stone dry, she licked her lips and removed all emotion from her voice. “That said, I’m going to say something to you—only once—and I suggest you remember it.”
She paused to make sure she had his full attention. “I understand that you’re under duress and that stress makes people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. I’m under duress too. But I have suffered the indignities you’ve shoved on me with the most dignity and grace I could manage. I agree that I fall really short of perfect. But at least I’ve made the effort. You haven’t.”
“This is what I need to remember? A lecture?”
“No, Mr. Brandt. This is what you need to remember.” She dipped her chin. “Don’t scream at me again. Not now, not ever. You may not respect me enough to restrain yourself, but I respect myself too much not to restrain you.”
His jaw clamped shut; his eyelids snapped to slits.
She gave him a moment to get a grip and then went on. “I do see the same multiple connections you see. I intend to find out who I am, and I hope that includes gaining some insight on your wife’s cross and why it was in my pocket. If you want me to share what I learn, then you need to adjust your attitude toward me, because I’ve tolerated all the indignity and disrespect from you I’m going to.”
Forestalling any response, she turned to Peggy. “I saw a chapel down the hall. If and when you want me, after I freshen up, I’ll be there”—she spared Ben a glance—“praying for patience.”
Glass shattered.
From the reception area, Mel screamed.
“Stay here.” Ben shot past Susan, then rushed out the door.
Something exploded.
“Mr. Johnson?”
His New Orleans recruit. “Yes?” His cell phone at his ear, Paul stepped out onto the terrace and checked to make sure none of the staff was lurking. He wasn’t happy about the recruit knowing his name, but when you cut off a man’s finger, you get close.
“Something disturbing has come to light here this morning.” He paused, then added, “One of my men found a tap on my line.”
Very disturbing news. “How long has it been there?”
“Long enough that some of our conversations might have been intercepted.”
“I’m not going to ask how this happened—I don’t care. I want to know who made it happen and that you’ve neutralized any threat.”
“Yes sir. I’ll let you know as soon as the problem’s resolved.”
Paul flipped his phone shut and flattened his mouth to a slash that had his jaw aching. Losing a finger hadn’t made the man more cautious, but he had to be worried now about losing his head. He should be—and he’d have good reason to worry after he corrected the problem.
Paul went back inside. Maybe Chessman had been smart about using throwaway cells and text messages. No voiceprints. No indisputable proof of who had sent them.
That he had could be helpful.
7
Mel!” Ben got to the front of the building first, scanned frantically through flame and smoke, and spotted her near a group of sofas. “Are you hurt?”
“It won’t work!” Mel wrestled with a fire extinguisher nearly as large as she was. She pushed and pushed on the release button. “Nothing’s happening!”
Ben took it from her, released the pin, and began spraying foam on the blaze burning the rug under the table and the flaming magazines atop it.
Billowing acrid smoke stung his nostrils, burned his eyes. Soon, two other streams flanked his, and the hiss of fire fell to the gush of retardant. Minutes more and the smoke settled enough for him to see beyond the end of his nose. Harvey Talbot stood beside Ben. That woman—he refused to call her Susan—was at the far end of the extinguisher line, the canister strap slung across her chest.
She might not know who she was, but she knew how to use an extinguisher. At some time during the process, she’d torn loose the bandage on her head. Her wound had started bleeding again; fresh blood soaked her blond hair and trickled down her face to her jaw.
The last of the flames snuffed out.
“Is everyone okay?” Peggy yelled out, fluttering around, surveying the damage. Once-white foam clung to her shoes, and shattered glass crunched on the tile under her feet. Some of the stinging smoke drafted out through the broken window, but enough remained that her eyes were red rimmed and watering.
By rote, everyone answered: Mel, from her desk, the phone at her ear. Harvey and Lisa, both within sight. Lisa looked flushed and worried, no doubt thinking her crazy stepfather had gone nuts again and done this. Everyone looked uninjured … except that woman. She stood statuestill, staring at the soot-streaked floor, the extinguisher still in her hand.
Lisa stepped toward her. “Susan, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She frowned at the damage, clearly anything but fine.
“You’re bleeding.” Lisa coughed, then coughed again. “I need to check your wound and put on a fresh bandage. Let’s get to the exam room.”
“No.” Ben set his extinguisher down near Mel’s desk. “Stay with the group.”
“Ben’s right. This could have been a diversion.” Peggy moved toward the exam room. “I’ll get the supplies you need.”
“Go with her, Harvey,” Ben said. “Run a perimeter check.”
“You’ve got it.” Harvey fell into step with Peggy.
“You handled that extinguisher like a pro, Susan.” Lisa caught the woman by the arm and led her to a chair in a sitting area away from the damage. “Let’s get you seated for a second.”
She sat down, seemingly unaware she’d been swaying on her feet. Ben studied her. Shock, maybe?
Harvey returned from the back offices. “No other breach to the building.”
That was a relief. Peggy’s comment about diversions had crossed his mind too. Let go of it, Ben. It wasn’t a diversion. Everyone’s fine. He skimmed the damage—more mess than structural damage—and his gaze automatically pivoted back to the woman.
Now that the immediate danger had passed, he saw things a little more objectively. Pale, slumped from exhaustion, and he couldn’t mistake the horror haunting her eyes. It was all reflected on her face—a face, sans the bruise
s and cuts and smudges of blood and soot, remarkably like Susan’s. She was shaking too. Good thing Lisa had her sitting. There was no way her knees wouldn’t buckle.
Lisa spoke softly to her; he couldn’t make out the words, but the woman didn’t appear to be making them out either. She gave no outward sign she heard a word. Her lips didn’t move, though her jaw quivered and tears brimmed in her eyes, then spilled in jagged trails down her cheeks.
Smoke? Or delayed reaction to being involved in another attack? He rested a hip on a table against the wall. Depended on whether or not there’d been a first attack. The beating had been real enough; her injuries proved that. But had her carjacking and abduction been real or manufactured?
She’d convinced Lisa, Harvey, and Peggy. They sided with her against him. He had always trusted their judgment implicitly, but this was an atypical situation. He didn’t dare to even trust his own.
“Hot line call,” Mel said.
“I’ll take it,” Harvey told her, then took off down the hall.
Ben watched him go, then looked back at the woman. No change. Silent tears.
If she had been working with someone else to pull a scam, then obviously that person had turned on her. Frankly, though, that didn’t fit. She’d acted to protect his property and her shock now wasn’t faked. No one was that good an actress.
She could be the real thing.
And he’d treated her … He didn’t even want to think about how he’d treated her. He didn’t want to think at all. Sweating profusely, he swiped at his brow and then turned to Mel. “Did you get through to the fire department and sheriff’s office?” They’d need both for the insurance reports.
“On their way.” She swiped her nose.
He was tempted to do the same. The stench of burned fabric and paper permeated everything. “Thanks.” Ben gave Mel a pat on the shoulder. She was young and unorthodox and she dressed a little funky, but she was one of the center’s best success stories. On her own and trying to make something good of her life, she had earned everyone’s respect and admiration. “Good initiative.”
She responded with a wobbly smile.
“Here you go.” Peggy passed Lisa the supplies, then joined Mel and him.
“You okay?” Peggy asked while conducting her own visual inspection.
Since Mel had shown up at the center nearly two years ago, they’d all pseudoadopted her. The kid didn’t have anyone else. Even before she had run away from her drug-addict mother and stepfather, she’d been on her own. For all intents and purposes, she’d had to be self-reliant since she was eight years old and her real father died.
Mel stood with her hand soothing her abdomen. “Yeah, I’m okay, Mrs. Crane.”
“Everything in order back there?” Ben asked Peggy, motioning toward the exam rooms.
“Yes. Damage is restricted to just the reception area. It appears from the glass shatter that they tossed something burning through it. A little fire and smoke damage right in here and up through the attic, but otherwise it’s just the glass and foam mess to clean up. Harvey ran a perimeter check, but he’s taking a look outside as a precautionary measure.”
Ben surveyed the damage. If someone wanted to cause damage, this was a poor effort. “Better alert the cleaning crew. They can get started right after the sheriff and fire chief are done.” He motioned to the plate-glass window, half of which now lay in soot-stained shards on the floor. “Better get Clyde Parker to come in and board up that window. I’m assuming he still does handyman repairs.”
Peggy tilted her head. “Would that be the Clyde Parker you couldn’t place a couple hours ago?”
Caught red-handed, Ben confessed. “Yes, that would be the one.”
“Ah. Good.” Peggy smacked her lips. “Your memory is returning.”
His memory hadn’t left. It just hurt too much to recall things once normal in his life with Susan and Christopher—a fact Peggy knew well, and she still attempted to shove Ben through the past into a future. What she failed to understand was that he had no incentive. The past was rich and full, the future bleak and empty. Why stretch for a bleak and empty future?
He slammed the door shut on his thoughts. “Mel, did you see anything?”
“The car stopped right out front.” Hand at her jutted hip, she pointed through the window near the center of the reception area. “The guy in the front seat on the passenger’s side was straining his neck to see in here. He glanced left, like he was talking to the driver. A second later, he sticks this thing out the window, lights it on fire, and then hurls it at the window. Boom, it explodes, and glass and stuff flies everywhere.”
Mel sucked in a shuddery breath. “Then the fire and smoke—I didn’t see where he went. I just had to try to put out the fire.” She pursed her lips, looking spitting mad and remorseful. “I should have yelled sooner or checked for his tag number or something, but it never dawned on me he’d actually throw a bomb into the building.”
“He?” Ben asked for verification. “So, the passenger who threw the bomb was a man?”
“Definitely.”
“What about the driver?”
“I don’t know.” She paused to watch Clyde Parker come through the door, carrying two bags of burgers, then added, “I didn’t see the driver.”
“I saw him.”
Ben turned to Clyde. “Where were you?”
“On the sidewalk, walking back from Burger Barn. The car passed right by me.” Clyde lifted the fragrant bags of burgers that smelled a whole lot better than the burn and chemicals from the extinguisher. “I figured Susan had to be starving. She hasn’t eaten a thing today and it’s nearly noon.”
“What did the driver look like?”
“Not too big, dressed kind of like Harvey does in those golf shirts. Late twenties, maybe a little older.” Clyde shrugged. “When you get to be my age, it’s harder to tell. Most everybody looks like kids. The driver had dark hair too. Did I mention that? I’d guess he’s fussy about his appearance. Clean-cut and everything.”
“The guy I saw—the passenger—was older.” Mel sniffed. “About like you, Mr. Brandt.”
No offense was intended, and Ben tried not to take any. A decade and a half made a lot of difference to someone barely twenty.
Oblivious, Mel went on, swiping an ash smudge from her black slacks. “Red hair. More redneck. Kind of cute, but in a goofy way.”
Vague but apparently close enough, gauging by Peggy’s expression. “The descriptions match the woman’s?” Ben asked, referencing her alleged abductors.
Peggy nodded and then relayed the descriptions that the woman had given her and she’d reported to the police.
Mel confirmed them, and then Clyde added his opinion. “Sounds like the same guys to me, Ben.”
He frowned. So the men who allegedly abducted her knew she was alive and here—and they had come back to finish the job? It made sense, particularly if they’d left her for dead in the woods. They wouldn’t want her to identify them. “What kind of car was it, Mel?”
“I’m not into cars.” She shot him an apologetic look. “About all I can tell you is that it was red and looked expensive.”
Expensive to Mel could be anything with a windshield and without rust to a Lamborghini.
“Very cool, though.” She dipped her chin. “That’s why I noticed the redneck in the first place. He didn’t fit, you know? In a pickup truck? Yeah. But in a sweet thing like that sporty dream machine? No way. Yet,” she slid her gaze to Clyde, “from what you say, the driver fit. It must have been his car.”
“I suppose you could say he fit. He drove it like demons were on his heels—nearly sideswiped your SUV, Ben—but he didn’t strike me as out of place in the car.” Clyde scratched the back of his neck. “If it’s his, though, I’d guess it’s new.”
“Why is that?”
“The guy shifts like a novice.”
Sporty. Dream machine. “Mel, you said it was red.” When she nodded, a sinking feeling punched him. “Y
ou’re sure about that?”
“Definitely.”
Ben looked to Clyde for confirmation.
“I’m sure. It was red.”
Red. Sleek. A sporty, cool dream machine. Tense, Ben walked over to the woman. The color was back in her face, and she’d taken off the strap. The extinguisher was on the floor near her feet. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She sounded fragile and frail but determined to put on a strong front.
“Good.” Ben glanced at Lisa, who signaled that the woman really was okay, which freed Ben to ask the question nagging at him. “When you were abducted, what kind of car were you driving?”
“My Jeep,” she said, then paused. “No, wait. That’s wrong. It wouldn’t start.” She hesitated a second, flinching as if recalling her abduction. “It was a Jag.”
Ben planted his feet to keep from staggering back a step. “You were driving a Jag?”
“It wasn’t mine.” Frustration lined her face. “In my mind, I see this man handing me the keys, but I don’t know him.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then reopened them. “I don’t know. There’s nothing familiar about him, and I don’t feel anything when I see his face. He must have been a stranger.”
“A rental, maybe?” Lisa suggested.
The woman shrugged. “No idea.”
Ben prodded. “But you’re sure it was a Jag?”
She paused; uncertainty flitted across her face and then faded. “That’s what I recall, Mr. Brandt.” Her gaze darted back and forth, as if she was searching her mind. It stopped suddenly. “Yes, I’m positive it was a Jag.”
His skin crawled and he broke into a cold sweat. “Um, what color was it? Do you remember that?”
“It was red.”
Red. A red Jag.
Just like Susan’s …
“Tell me again why we’re crazy enough to be driving this Jag to pipe bomb a crisis center in broad daylight.” Harry looked over at Edward from the passenger’s seat of the car. “The only person in there was that kid at the front desk.”
