by Linda Conrad
If she were ever going to find out what had happened to her in the first place, she would have to go. Now.
Jericho heard a popping sound behind his back. Spinning around, he scanned the area trying to make out where the noise had originated.
“Was that a gunshot?” Fisher asked, as he too checked out the scene in front of the church.
In his peripheral vision, Jericho spotted a woman he’d never seen before. A woman seemingly out of place for a wedding, dressed in fancy jeans and red halter top. And she was racing at top speed across the grass straight in his direction. What the hell?
Another pop and the woman fell on the concrete walkway. From off to his left, someone screamed. Then tires squealed from somwhere down the long line of cars. When he glanced toward the sound, he saw a sedan with two men sitting in front as they roared out of the line and headed down the narrow shoulder of the highway.
Chaos reigned. Car horns honked. People shouted. And the sedan spewed out a huge dust plume as it bumped down the embankment.
Jericho took off at a run. He dropped to one knee beside the woman, checked her pulse and discovered she was breathing but unconscious and bleeding.
“Is she alive?” Deputy Rawlins asked, almost out of breath as he came running up. “I got their plates, Sheriff. But I didn’t dare get off a shot with all the civilians in the way. You want me to pursue?”
Son of a gun. It would figure that he didn’t have his weapon just when an emergency arose.
“Stay with the woman,” Jericho ordered. “You and Fisher get her to Doc O’Neal’s as fast as you can. My rifle’s in the truck, and…” He looked over his shoulder toward the church door. “Tell Macy…”
Right then Macy appeared at the top of the church steps and peered down at him. He was about to yell for her to get back out of the line of fire. But within a second, he could see her quickly taking in the whole situation.
“You go do what you need to, Jericho,” she called out to him. “Don’t worry about us. Just take care of yourself. The wedding’s off for today.”
Chapter 2
I t was one of those spectacular Texas sunsets, but Jericho had been too preoccupied to enjoy it. Now that the sun had completely dropped below the horizon, he retraced his steps to the Community Church and the pre-arranged meeting with his deputy.
“Sorry you didn’t catch them, Sheriff. I searched the grounds like you told me when you called in, and I came up with just this one bullet casing. From a 9mm. Pretty common, I’m afraid.”
Jericho felt all of his thirty-five years weighing heavily on his shoulders tonight. “Yeah, but just in case there might be anything special, send it off to the lab in San Antonio. Okay?” It wasn’t often that a trained lawman witnessed an attempted murder and couldn’t either catch—or identify—the perpetrators. So why him? And why on his wedding day?
The deputy nodded and put the plastic evidence bag back into his jacket pocket.
“What happened with the victim?” Jericho asked wearily. “Is she still alive?”
“Last time I checked she was sitting up and able to talk, still over at Doc O’Neal’s clinic. But she wasn’t giving many answers.”
That figured. Why make his job any easier?
“Did you run the plates?”
Deputy Rawlins frowned. “Stolen. Not the car. The plates were stolen in San Marcos day before yesterday.”
Jericho’s frustration grew but he kept it hidden as he rolled up the sleeves of his starched, white dress shirt. “When I checked in the last time, everyone else was okay. That still true?” He was concerned about Macy. How had she handled postponing the wedding?
“I never saw an assemblage of people disband so quickly or so quietly.” The deputy removed his hat and fiddled with the brim. “Mrs. Ward was amazing. Once we were sure the immediate danger was over, she told everyone to go home and that she’d notify them when there would be another try at the wedding. Had everybody chuckling pretty good…but they went.”
“I’d better call her.”
“Yes, sir.” With a tired sigh, Deputy Rawlins flipped his hat back onto his head. “Doc O’Neal needs someone to take charge of the woman victim. Says her condition is not serious enough to send her over to the Uvalde hospital, but she isn’t capable of being on her own, either. You want me to handle it, Sheriff?”
“No, Adam. You’ve had a long day and you’ve done a fine job. You go on home. I’ll clean up the odds and ends.”
The deputy nodded and turned, but then hesitated and turned back. “Sorry about the wedding, boss. Don’t you think that whole shooting scene was really odd for broad daylight? What do you suppose it was all about?”
When Jericho just raised his eyebrows and didn’t answer, Adam continued, “Wait ’til you try to question that woman victim. She’s a little odd, too. Wouldn’t say much to me. But she’s sure something terrific to look at.”
“Thanks. Good-night now.” Jericho would talk to the victim, and he would take charge of her and this case. But he had a mighty tough phone call to Macy to make first.
As Jericho stepped into Dr. O’Neal’s clinic, his shoulders felt a thousand times lighter. Macy had been wonderful on the phone—as usual. She’d tried hard to make him feel better about ruining the wedding. She had even told him that she’d been considering postponing anyway. When he asked her why such a thing would occur to her, she said they would talk tomorrow.
In a way, he was curious and wondered if he’d done something inadvertent, other than being the sheriff, to make her mad. But in another way, his whole body felt weightless. He had meant to marry Macy today. Still did, in fact. He’d given his word. Besides that, recently he’d come to the conclusion that it was important for him to become a family man in order to honor his father.
But before Macy had suggested it a couple of weeks ago, he had never planned on marrying anyone. He’d begun thinking of himself as a lone wolf. The idea of turning into the old bachelor sheriff had somehow taken root. He’d had visions of ending up like his father and having a girlfriend or two stashed away—ladies he could visit on Saturday nights. But in general the single life suited him just fine.
Now that Macy was hedging, Jericho felt ashamed to admit that her change of heart would seem like a reprieve. His only sorrow if they didn’t marry would be T.J. But maybe things around the county would settle down enough now for him to spend more time with the boy despite not being his stepfather.
“Sheriff Yates.” Dr. O’Neal met him just inside the front door. “I’d like to speak to you in private before you see the patient. Let’s sit out here in the empty waiting room.”
Jericho followed the doc. “What’s wrong? Did the bullet do serious internal damage?”
Dr. O’Neal sat down on the flimsy, fake leather couch and removed his glasses. “No. Her gunshot wound is superficial. The bullet went right through the flesh on her left side and completely missed her ribcage. She twisted her ankle when she fell, but it’s not broken or sprained. She also has some old bruising and a few nontreated cuts that appear to be at least twenty-four hours old. All things considered, her physical condition is unofficially ‘beat-up’ but not serious.
“That’s not the worst of it, though,” Doc added thoughtfully.
Jericho leaned against the edge of Doc’s desk. “What are you trying to say?”
“She can’t tell me how she got the bruises or the cuts. In fact, she doesn’t remember a thing before this morning. I’m no expert in head trauma, mind you. But even with the small bump on her head, I don’t believe she’s suffered any major jarring of the brain. Certainly there’s not enough outward damage to suspect a physical blow caused her amnesia.
“There is a condition known as a fugue state or psychogenic amnesia,” he continued. “It’s caused by a traumatic event so frightening to the patient that they flee from reality and hide themselves in another, safer life—one with no memories. I don’t have a lot of training in psychology, but I do remember learning that
this kind of state may last for months or years.”
“Amnesia? But it’s just temporary. The memories will eventually come back, right?”
“Hard to say,” Doc hedged as he blew dust from his glasses. “I understand that in some cases snippets of memories will flash through the mind and memories may fade in and out until the full picture emerges. Sometimes…nothing comes back at all.”
Jericho took a breath. He couldn’t imagine how hard that would be. To never be able to bring back the memory of growing up or the memory of his mother’s face. What would that do to…?
He jerked and straightened his shoulders. Whatever would possess him to think such a thing? His mother had been a drunk and had left the family when he was only a kid. Truth be told, he hated her. Why would he care to remember what her face looked like? That was one memory he wouldn’t mind losing for good.
“Let’s go talk to the patient, Doc. What’s her name?”
Dr. O’Neal shrugged. “No clue. She doesn’t remember and your deputy said he couldn’t find any ID in her clothes or at the church scene.”
Now, that was one thing Jericho would hate to forget. The Yates name meant something. There were generations of Yates men who had been lawmen, sportsmen and landowners. It was a name to be proud of and to do right by.
Sheriff Yates. He’d worked hard to get that title. He’d paid his dues as deputy, been appointed when the old sheriff retired, and finally had been elected on his own merit. He anticipated continuing to be a man worthy of everyone’s respect. And it was high time to do his job.
As Jericho walked through Dr. O’Neal’s office door to meet the mystery woman, he didn’t know what he expected to find. But it was definitely not the most gorgeous woman he had ever beheld.
Yet there she sat on one of Doc’s plastic chairs. Miss America, Miss Universe and Venus de Milo all wrapped into one—with a bad haircut and wild, sky-blue eyes. Jericho had to swallow hard in order to find his voice.
“Good evening, ma’am. I’m Sheriff Jericho Yates. How’re you feeling?”
She lightly touched her temple, but continued to stare up at him, those strange electric eyes boring holes straight into his. “The headache and the four stitches in my side are the worst of it. No, I take that back. Not knowing my own name is the worst of it. Did Dr. O’Neal tell you that I can’t remember anything? He says I have amnesia.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand. But we need to talk about what you do remember. Can you start with your first clear memory and tell me everything that happened up until the time when you were shot?”
“Um…I guess I could do that.” She reached up and rubbed the back of her neck. “But can you sit down first? I’m getting stiff just looking up at you. How tall are you anyway?”
Jericho found a chair and dragged it over while Doc moved to sit behind his desk. “Six-three.” They both sat. “There you go, Red. Is that better?”
“Yes, thanks.” Lost and feeling vulnerable, even in the presence of someone as safe as the sheriff, the woman had to take deep breaths in order to calm herself down.
“Did you just call her ‘Red,’ Sheriff?” The doctor was scowling over his desk pad.
The sheriff looked perplexed. “Well, I suppose. We’ve got to call her something. ‘Hey you’ just won’t do and she has all that bright red hair. Seemed to work.”
“Bright red hair? Do I?” She put her hands in her hair. “But that doesn’t feel right.”
“Don’t upset yourself by trying to force the memories of your lost past,” the doctor said soothingly. “Not yet. Give it some time.” He turned back to address the sheriff. “Jericho, I want you to take things slow. Pushing her to remember will only make it worse.
“Oh, and I don’t believe ‘Red’ is the least bit feminine,” the doctor continued. “It doesn’t fit this beautiful young woman and it doesn’t sound respectful to me. Can’t we come up with something else?”
Still with her hands in her hair, she worried that more seemed wrong with it than just the wrong hair color. Though God only knew what she meant by that.
“Okay, Doc,” the sheriff conceded. “How about ‘Rosie?’ That’s in the same color type.”
“Rosie’s okay with me,” she agreed quickly. The name didn’t nauseate her nearly as much as the wrong feeling about her hair.
“Okay, Rosie,” the sheriff said with a deliberate drawl and a tight smile. “You can call me Jericho. Now tell me what you do remember.”
She wasn’t sure she could do this. Every time she thought of how terrifying those men had been, her whole body started trembling. Looking up at Sheriff Jericho for support, she was surprised to find an odd softness in his eyes as he waited for her to speak.
She’d thought he had looked so tough. Scary-tough, with all his hard angles and rough edges, when he’d first walked into Dr. O’Neal’s office. Now, it seemed that at least his eyes held some empathy toward her, and the idea made her relax a little.
“The…um…first thing I remember clearly is two men pushing me around. One was pointing a gun at me while the other kept shaking me by the shoulders, hard. I felt as though I’d just woken up from a deep sleep. But now I’m not sure that was the case.”
“And these two men didn’t look familiar?”
“Not at all.”
“Where was this? What do you remember of your surroundings?”
“After a few minutes, I decided it had to be a cheap motel room. But I…never found out whose.”
“Okay,” the sheriff said as he rubbed a thumb across his neat mustache. “Don’t strain for answers. Let’s just take this nice and easy.”
She must’ve been wearing a frown as she’d tried to bring the images to the front of her mind because that tender look had returned to Jericho’s eyes. “Can you tell me what the men said to you?” he asked gently.
“Oh, yeah. They wanted to know where some special thing was.” At his curious expression, she shrugged her shoulders. “I never found out what the ‘thing’ was they were looking for. But they said I had stolen it and their boss wanted it back.”
“You believe what they were saying was the truth? Like perhaps you had stolen something?”
Yeah, God help her, it kinda did. But with that strange thought, she began shuddering again. A lone tear leaked from the corner of her eye. “I don’t know.”
“Sheriff…” The doctor cautioned him with his tone.
Jericho scowled briefly then nodded. “Sorry, Doc. I won’t push.
“Okay, Rosie, what did the men say or do after you couldn’t give them what they wanted?”
She sniffed once and wiped her hand across her face. “They beat me up a little. You know, like slapping me and punching me in the arms and shoulders. And the whole time they kept demanding that I talk. I was so scared they were going to kill me that what they were doing hardly even hurt.”
The doctor cleared his throat. The sheriff fisted his hands on his knees.
“What did they say then?” Jericho asked in a rough voice.
“Finally, they looked at their watches and said I was going to go with them to see the boss. That he would make me tell where it was. Then they pushed me outside and into the backseat of their car.”
“Did anything outside look familiar?”
Dr. O’Neal huffed and opened his mouth to chastise the sheriff’s choice of words.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry again,” Jericho put in quickly. “What I meant was, what did it look like outside the motel room?”
“I couldn’t see much. But what I did see wasn’t anything special. Like the poor side of lots of small towns, I guess.” Now how would she know that? She couldn’t even come up with her own name and yet she knew what the poor side of town would look like?
The sheriff gave her an odd look. “Do you know where you are now?”
“Your deputy told me. Esperanza, Texas.”
“Does that hold any meaning for you?” Jericho glanced over at the doctor and then held up his hand in self
-defense. “Don’t answer that, Rosie, not unless something comes to you. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Jericho was more than a little frustrated. He didn’t want to hurt her by asking the wrong questions. But the only way he could help her was by getting answers. He promised to think longer before he opened his mouth.
“Okay. Let’s get back to the men. Can you describe them?”
“I guess so.”
But while Jericho watched her open her mouth to try, he noted her wincing as another one of those slashing pains must’ve struck her in the head. “Never mind. Give it a rest for tonight. We’ll try it in the morning. In fact, if you’re feeling well enough by then, you can go through mug shots.”
Rosie sighed and her shoulders slumped. She glanced up at him from under long, thick lashes with a look so needful, so vulnerable, that it was all he could do not to sweep her up in his arms and keep her bogeymen at bay. He’d never before acted as some female’s sole link to the world and to safety. He was just a county sheriff. But whatever had frightened her badly enough to erase her memories needed to be dealt with soon. He vowed to be the one to take care of it.
“Jericho,” Doc interrupted his thoughts. “Rosie needs a good night’s sleep. We’ve determined that she doesn’t have a concussion, but we haven’t got any place to make her comfortable here. What can you do for her?”
“Leave this place?” Rosie folded her arms over her very generous chest in a self-protective move that stirred his own protective instincts even further.
There were no motels in Esperanza. The nearest one was a half hour away. It was too late to call anyone in town to find her a place for the night.
“But what if those goons come looking for me again?” Rosie’s voice was shaky and her eyes wild and frightened again. “Will they? Do you think it’s possible?”
Hell. It actually was a possibility that those men might double back and finish what they’d started. Rosie needed to be in protective custody. But where could he be sure she would be safe and comfortable? The deputy’s substation in town had only a small holding cell. That would never do.
