Identity_Unknown

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Instead, he watched as she touched the horse.

  The animal snorted, nervously sidestepping, but Becca moved with him. “It’s okay, baby,” she murmured. “Everything’s going to be okay…Shhh…” She ran her hands down the horse’s neck. “Yeah, everything’s all right now. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She looped the reins over the animal’s head, leading him gently toward the barn. “Casey here will take care of you,” she added, still talking in that sweet, soothing voice, “while I take care of the idiot who hurt you.”

  She looked up at Mish, reaching out to hand him the reins, and just like that, the warm calm in her eyes flickered and changed—replaced by sheer, cold, nearly murderous anger. She was going to “take care” of the rider, indeed.

  But first she turned toward the young girl who’d nearly been run down in the driveway. “Are you all right, Ash?”

  Ashley and Chip were standing alongside the barn, arms still around each other. The girl nodded, but she was clearly shaken.

  “Chip, run to the office,” Becca crisply ordered the little boy. “Have Hazel crank up the cellular phone and locate your parents.” She turned back to Mish. “Get that horse inside the barn.”

  Mish gently tugged on the reins, leading the huge animal into the quiet coolness of the barn. He looked up into the beast’s big brown eyes, and could see mistrust. He tried to gaze back confidently, but knew he was failing. Truth was, he didn’t have a clue what to do.

  He wrapped the reins around one of the bars on the nearest stall, keeping one ear tuned to what was going on outside of the barn.

  “Mr. Brown, you have exactly fifteen minutes to pack your bags and get down here to the ranch office,” he could hear Becca tell the man who’d been riding the horse, her tone leaving no room for any dissent.

  There was a buckle that seemed to hold the saddle on and Mish tried to unfasten it, but the animal shifted away, snorting. He was no Dr. Doolittle, but he couldn’t miss the horse’s message. Don’t touch me.

  Outside, Brown sputtered. “I’m the one who was thrown—”

  “You’ve had your warnings,” Becca cut him off, her voice tight with anger. “You’ve been told again and again that you may not wear spurs with any of our horses. You’ve been told again and again not to yank the reins, to treat the horse the way you’d want to be treated if you had a bit in your mouth.”

  Mish put his hand on the horse’s neck. He just rested it there, steady and firm, trying to push all of his uncertainty far away, knowing the animal could sense it. He could do this. He’d seen enough Westerns. He had to get the saddle off, and the blanket underneath, then somehow cool the horse down.

  “You’ve been told again and again that horses must be kept to a slow walk around the ranch buildings,” Becca’s voice continued. “This time you might’ve badly injured Ashley Alden. And this time, I’m done giving you warnings. This time, I’m telling you to pack your bags and get off this ranch.”

  “I want the sheriff! I want an ambulance—I hurt my back in that fall! I’m going to sue—”

  Mish reached for the buckle again, this time his movements steady and sure. The horse twitched and blew air out of his nose, hard, but Mitch got the job done. He lifted off the saddle and set it on top of a rail. And then he couldn’t resist sneaking a look out of the barn door. A crowd had gathered—guests and ranch hands silently watching.

  Becca had Travis Brown backed against the split wood railings of the corral, her eyes shooting fire. When she spoke, her voice was soft but it carried in the stillness.

  “Go ahead and call the sheriff, Hazel,” she said to the gray-haired woman on the ranch office steps, her eyes never leaving Brown. “It’s entirely likely that Ted and Janice Alden will want to press charges against Mr. Brown for nearly killing their daughter. Reckless endangerment—isn’t that what it’s called?”

  “You can’t kick me out. I’m a shareholder.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Becca said sharply. “Get the hell off this ranch.”

  He moved toward her, threateningly. “You little bitch! When Justin Whitlow finds out about this—”

  “Fifteen minutes, Brown.” He towered over her, but Becca didn’t back down. She stood her ground, chin raised, as if daring the man to raise a hand to her.

  The man pushed past her, exaggerating his limp as he headed toward the guest cabins.

  Becca turned, looking first at Hazel. “Did you reach the Aldens?”

  The plump older woman nodded. “They’re on their way.”

  “Call the sheriff, too—in case they want to register a complaint.”

  “Already done.”

  Becca’s gaze swept across the crowd and landed on Mish. He realized suddenly that he’d come all the way out of the barn, toward her, ready to jump in if Brown had tried to strike her.

  “How’s Stormchaser?” she asked, heading directly toward him. “The poor baby’s going to have to go into therapy after this.”

  “He doesn’t seem to want me to touch him,” Mish admitted, following her back into the barn.

  She gave him an odd look over her shoulder. “She doesn’t know you. She’s bound to be a little spooked.”

  She. The horse was female. He hadn’t even thought to look. He’d simply assumed that since the animal was so big and powerful…Thou shalt not assume. He’d broken one of the biggest rules, and he’d given himself away.

  Rules. Rules of what? God Almighty, it was back there, just out of his line of sight. All of the answers, dancing at the edge of his mental peripheral vision. He wanted to close his eyes, to somehow grab hold of the truth, of his identity. But Becca Keyes was talking to him.

  “Why don’t you get her cooled down,” Becca said, obviously repeating herself as she gazed at him with her seemingly average brown eyes.

  She was challenging him. Her words were a test—she wanted to know if he could do it.

  But he couldn’t.

  Mish met her gaze levelly, honestly. “I’m afraid that’s a little out of my league. But if you tell me exactly what needs to be done, I can—”

  She’d already turned away from him. “Perfect,” she was muttering. “Incredibly, amazingly, stupendously perfect.” She spun back to face him. “You’re telling me you don’t know how to cool down a horse, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a quick study,” he said quietly. “And you’re short of hands—”

  “Short of brains, too, obviously.” There was a flare of that hot-burning anger in her eyes, but the heat was weakened by her frustration and disappointment. “Dammit. Dammit!”

  The disappointment was hard to take. He would have far preferred her anger. “I didn’t intend to deceive you.” He couldn’t explain. How could he?

  She just laughed as she took the saddle blanket from Stormchaser’s back. “Right. Go and make sure Brown’s packing his bags. He’s in cabin number 12. Walk him back to the office, finish up the stalls, then stay out of my sight for the rest of evening. I can’t handle this right now—we’ll talk in the morning.”

  Mish may not have known a thing about horses, but he knew when a situation called for silence.

  He turned and left the barn. He’d awakened again this morning with no past, no name, no sense of self. Yet somehow he now felt even emptier inside.

  Chapter 3

  It was after two o’clock in the morning, and someone was pounding on her apartment door.

  Becca sat up, groping for her flashlight in the darkness and coming up empty. The pounding continued—a frantic tattoo accompanied by a high-pitched voice calling her name. She flung herself out of bed and nearly stumbled as she made her way to the light switch on the wall.

  Grabbing her robe from the hook next to her closet, she moved toward the noise and opened the door.

  Fourteen-year-old Ashley Alden stood on the other side of the screen, her face streaked with tears. “Chip’s gone,” she said.

  Becca pulled the girl inside and shut the screen before the entire mosquito population o
f New Mexico came into the kitchen with her. “Gone where?”

  “I don’t know! I was in charge, and I fell asleep, and when Mom and Dad came home, Chip was gone! He took the blanket off his bed—I think he’s playing cowboy and sleeping outside somewhere.” Ashley was trying her best to hold back her tears, but a fresh flood brimmed in her eyes. “And now they’re fighting, and a storm’s coming and someone’s got to go find Chip before he’s struck by lightning!”

  The girl was right. A storm was coming. Becca could hear the ominous rumble of thunder in the distance. Although dangerous, lightning was the least of their worries. If Chip had set up his bedroll in one of the arroyos, or on the gentle valley of the dry riverbed…It didn’t have to be raining here for the arroyos and river suddenly to flood. It only had to be raining upstream.

  She looked at the kitchen clock. Two-fifteen. No doubt the Aldens had stayed at the local roadhouse, drinking until the two o’clock last call. And if that was the case, they weren’t going to be a whole hell of a lot of help in finding their son.

  Thunder crackled again, closer this time.

  Still, she was going to need all the bodies she could get.

  “Go get your mom and dad,” she commanded Ashley, already on the cordless phone to Hazel. “And wake up as many of the other guests as you can. We’ll meet in front of the ranch office.”

  Ashley disappeared out the door.

  Hazel sounded dazed as she answered her phone, but she rallied quickly.

  Becca pulled a pair of jeans on over her nightshirt as she rattled out a stream of orders to her assistant. “Wake up Dwayne and Belinda—tell them to saddle up the horses. The search’ll be easier on horseback.” She yanked on her boots and jammed her hat on her head. “I’ll wake the hands in the bunkhouse.”

  The bus ride was interminable, but as the driver pulled up to the checkpoint at the first of the fences, Mish didn’t want it to end. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the gate shutting behind them, locking him in. He kept his eyes closed. There was no point looking at the security. No point studying the watch towers and the fences. He was here. And he’d stay here until Jake got him out.

  The bus jolted to a stop, but Mish didn’t move until one of the guards approached and unlocked him. He had been wearing both arm and leg shackles.

  Mish stood up, and the guard roughly pulled his arms behind him, cuffing his hands behind his back. He still wore a tether, a short length of chain that connected his two ankles. It was hard navigating the steps down from the bus, and he jumped the last two, landing lightly in the dusty prison yard.

  Prison. He was in prison. He felt sick to his stomach as he looked up at the harsh gray buildings towering above him.

  “Move it,” one of the guards barked. “Inside. Let’s go.”

  Mish started to sweat. Out here was bad enough, but at least out here he still had the sky, open and free above him. Inside would be only walls, only bars, only these chains that marked him as a very, very dangerous man.

  The guard shoved him and he stumbled, but he forced himself not to react, to find serenity from deep inside, that same serenity that had saved him so many times before. He was here. He didn’t have to like it. He just had to endure it. Jake was counting on him. Jake needed him to…to…

  The answers were there—who Jake was, and what he needed Mish to do there in prison—but they were just beyond his grasp.

  Everything shifted then, the way dreams often do. And then Mish was in an alley, thunder rolling as the first huge drops of rain began to fall. In an instant, he was soaked.

  He pushed his wet hair back, out of his face, wishing he had a ponytail holder. Dim light gleamed on the barrel of his side arm and he ducked into the shadows, waiting for the footsteps to come closer. Closer…

  “Casey! Come on, Casey, wake up!” Rough hands shook him, and Mish opened his eyes, instantly awake, Rebecca Keyes leaned over him, her hair tousled from sleep.

  He was shocked. What was she doing in his bed? Not that he didn’t want her there, because he did. Badly. But he couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. And he couldn’t imagine acting on his attraction for this woman. It would be flat-out wrong to become intimately involved with anyone until he’d reintroduced himself to himself.

  He couldn’t imagine Becca allowing herself to be seduced, either. She’d been so frostily angry with him. How had that happened? He couldn’t remember how he’d convinced her to warm up and sleep with him. And maybe worst of all, he couldn’t even remember the sex. And that was shockingly alarming.

  Was this more amnesia? It didn’t make sense. He could remember going to bed—alone—and turning off the light. He could remember the way Becca had looked straight through him during dinner. He could remember waking up in the shelter, his head pounding. He could remember Jarell, the motel, the bus ride to…

  Prison.

  He’d dreamt about prison. Being cuffed and chained. Remembered someone named Jake…

  She shook him again. “Snap to, dammit! I need you to help.”

  Reality crashed in. Mish was lying in a cot barely large enough to sleep one, let alone two. And Becca wasn’t dressed for a night of one-on-one—unless her idea of one-on-one was a cattle-roping contest. She was wearing jeans and boots and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat on her head.

  He sat up, the blanket sliding off of his bare chest, and Becca took a step back, as if afraid he wasn’t wearing anything at all beneath those covers.

  He was. Boxers. He also remembered keeping them on last night.

  “Chip Alden’s gone AWOL,” she told him bluntly, “and we’ve got a storm moving in. I need all the manpower I can get—searching for the kid before the riverbed floods.”

  Mish nodded, clearly reading her silent message. She needed all the help she could get—even from a low-down, good-for-nothing, lying snake such as himself.

  He swung his legs out of bed and pulled on his jeans and the T-shirt he’d worn yesterday, slipping into his boots as she turned and sprinted away. He followed her, quickly catching up. Thunder continued to rumble as the crowd of guests and employees gathering outside the ranch office glanced worriedly up at the dark sky.

  Becca quickly split them into groups, sending them off in different directions, some on horseback, some on foot.

  “Check the barn and public buildings,” she ordered Mish before easily swinging herself up onto a horse and riding out.

  He could hear the echoing voices of the search parties as they headed into the darkness, calling loudly, hoping to awaken the sleeping boy.

  His was a throwaway job. He knew Becca didn’t think they’d find Chip in the barn or the dining hall or even the arcade room. But someone had to look there, and he was that someone.

  He went into the barn.

  Stormchaser was the only horse left in the stables, and she cocked her ears curiously at him, as if amazed by all of the predawn activity.

  It had been Stormchaser’s stall that Mish had been cleaning when Chip had come into the barn just that afternoon, to try to con him into saddling up a pair of horses.

  Mish froze, suddenly hearing an echo of Chip’s prepubescent voice. There’s this place, about a half a mile east of here where there’s these big, creepy-looking rocks, kind of like some giant’s fingers sticking out of the ground….

  There was a relief map of the ranch on the barn wall, and Mish quickly measured the scale with his fingers, trying to find those rock formations Chip had mentioned. He knew how to read maps, and he easily found something six-tenths of a mile east-northeast that might’ve been those rocks. It was right next to a low-lying area—the dry riverbed.

  Thunder cracked, closer this time, and the first plump drops of rain began to fall, hissing on the dry barn roof.

  If Chip had set up camp in that riverbed…

  Mish ran out toward the corral, but everyone was gone. He could hear their voices in the distance. Most of them had headed south.

  He went back into the barn, where a huge
flashlight hung by the door. But even using that, it would be impossible for him to achieve any real speed running more than a half a mile over the rough terrain.

  He turned and looked Stormchaser directly in the eye.

  She whinnied nervously as another bolt of lightning flashed, the boom of thunder close behind.

  “Yeah, I don’t like this weather, either,” Mish said to the horse, opening the stall door, “but I know where this kid is, and I’ve got to get out there, so what do you say we make this a team effort?”

  Stormchaser didn’t disagree. Of course, she didn’t exactly agree, either.

  “I’ve never done this before in my life.” Mish took a bridle down from the wall, speaking in a low, soft, soothing voice, the way he’d heard Becca talk to the horse.

  “But I spent most of yesterday watching the procedure, so let’s just give it a try, okay?”

  As Mish drew closer, the mare clenched her teeth.

  “I think this bit thing is supposed to go behind your teeth, not in front of them,” Mish told her, still in that low voice. “And I think I saw the other guys touch you back here a bit, and just kind of wait until you’re maybe not paying quite so much attention and then…slip it in. There we go. Good horse. Atta girl. Way to go.”

  Stormchaser snorted, chomping disgruntledly on the bit.

  “I can’t imagine that feels very pleasant,” Mish continued, slipping a saddle blanket onto her strong chestnut-colored back. “I can’t imagine any of this is a whole lot of fun for you, especially after the way that idiot treated you this afternoon.”

  He took a saddle off the wall, gently placing it in the center of the blanket, and secured the belt around the horse’s belly. As he’d seen the other ranch hands do, he waited until Stormchaser relaxed, and then tightened it several notches.

  The stirrups seemed to be about the right length for his legs, so he looped the reins over the horse’s head and led her out into the night, tucking the flashlight under one arm.

  The rain was falling heavier now, and Stormchaser tried to back away, into the barn.