by B. J Daniels
“I was thinking about what might jar your memory,” he said.
She looked up, swallowed and waited, her green eyes wide with innocence and interest.
“The only thing I could come up with was your prized possession. You waited months for it, special ordered it loaded.” He shook his head. “I know it cost a small fortune at the time. If you’d like to see it, I might be able to pull a few strings.”
Her expression was priceless. “Jasmine’s car?”
“Your car quite possibly,” he said.
She swallowed again. Clearly the car was the last thing she wanted to see. She looked…scared. He felt a start. Was it possible she wasn’t faking her amnesia and she was afraid to go out to that barn because a part of her remembered the horrible thing that had happened in the car the day she disappeared?
And if she wasn’t Jasmine? Why would a total stranger be afraid to see Jasmine’s car?
THE MUSIC BLARED in the Mello Dee as the bartender smiled at him and, drying her hands on her apron, moved down the bar toward him.
Kerrington watched her, wanting to run. Maybe if he just turned around and left—but it was too late.
“Hi.” She put a cocktail napkin down in front of him and smiled. “I know you, don’t I?” she said, cocking her head to one side as she studied him.
“No. I’ll take a martini.”
She arched a brow at him.
“Sorry. I’ve had a bitch of a day.”
“Haven’t we all.” She wore flip-flops, blue jeans and a halter top, four inches of her midriff bare above the waist of her jeans. She wasn’t bad looking, about his age and she beat the hell out of the alcohol-less motel room, except for the fact that he’d recognized her.
She put the drink on top of the cocktail napkin without spilling a drop. “I never forget a face. I just can’t put my finger on where I know you from, but it will come to me. It always does.” She held out her hand. “Name’s Teresa Clark but everyone calls me T.C.”
“Bob. Bob Jones.” He lied but wasn’t even sure why, since he didn’t think she’d ever known his name. Just his face. Now if she would just go away so he could enjoy his drink and a little peace and quiet. With luck, Bernard would call and give him an excuse to leave without making her suspicious.
“Bob Jones,” she repeated.
He picked up the drink and turned on the stool to watch the couple playing pool, hoping she’d take the hint and go away. The first sip burned all the way down.
The alcohol buzz he’d had going earlier was gone. He needed a drink and then he would get out of here. So what if she remembered who he was? But he knew the answer to that one.
“It’s driving me crazy,” she said behind him. “I’ve been told I have three talents. I never forget a face, I’m great in bed and I make the best damned margaritas this side of Mexico. Do I know you from Seattle? I spent five years out there.”
“Sorry, never been there,” he said without turning around. He drained his drink and slid off the stool, turning to put the glass on the bar while he dug in his pocket for his wallet.
“Wait a minute!” T.C. cried. “I’ve got it. You used to come to the Dew Drop Inn outside of Bozeman with that snotty blonde.” Jasmine. “And her uptight brother. Oh hell, she’s the one I saw in the paper. The one whose car was found near here.” Then her eyes narrowed and Kerrington knew what she’d remembered. The last time she’d seen him with Jasmine.
North of Las Vegas
“WELL? DOES THE STUPID THING work or not?” Angel demanded, looking over at the computer screen on Vince’s lap.
“It works,” Vince said, more relieved than he wanted to admit. If he’d lost Molly, he wasn’t sure what Angel would have done. He was beginning to wonder if he had the stomach for this anymore.
“So where is she?” Angel snapped.
“She’s in Montana.”
Angel looked over at him. “What would she be doing in Montana?”
Vince shrugged. “Her car isn’t moving.”
“You sure she hasn’t dumped the car?”
He wasn’t sure of anything right now. “She’s in Antelope Flats, Montana.” Or at least her car was.
“So we’re going to Montana.”
So it would seem. Vince hoped he was right about Molly not finding the tracking device and ditching her car.
“We’ll have to pick up another car,” Angel said. “This one is too hot. I’m thinking a car lot. Might not be missed for a while. We’ll have to borrow more plates, too.”
Vince nodded. He left all of that to Angel. His job was to find Molly. And now that she’d set the cops on them, they wouldn’t be safe anywhere. They had to find her fast, get the diamonds and get out of the country.
“Molly wouldn’t have run unless she had something to hide,” Angel said. “And she wouldn’t have called the cops on us.”
“She’s scared,” he said. He knew scared.
“Well, when we find her, she’s mine.”
Vince looked over at him, imagining what Angel had in mind. It made him sick to his stomach, but he tried not to show his disgust. Angel was on edge, all that nervous tension back in his movements as he drove north.
“Once we have the diamonds, we’ll get out of the country.” Vince could tell his brother wasn’t listening. Angel had his head cocked to one side, hearing another voice, one that seemed to be getting stronger, a voice Vince now knew he wouldn’t be able to override.
Antelope Flats
“YOU’VE CONFUSED ME with someone else,” Kerrington told the bartender as he slapped money on the bar and turned to walk out.
“No way,” she called after him. “I never forget a face.”
The door closed behind him and he grabbed the wall to hold himself up. T.C. had recognized him, remembered that he’d been with Jasmine at the Dew Drop Inn. What else did she remember?
“Oh hell,” he groaned. What was he going to do?
He hurried toward his rental SUV, wanting to get away from the bar in case she followed him outside.
She didn’t seem like the type to just let it go. He couldn’t believe how badly he’d handled that. He should have admitted the truth. No big deal. Instead he’d pretended he wasn’t the guy.
What would she do now? Call the sheriff? He groaned at the thought.
His cell phone rang, making him jump. He fumbled it from his pocket and snapped it open as he climbed into the SUV. “Landow.”
“What the hell kind of message did you just leave on my phone?” Bernard barked. “If this was supposed to be some kind of joke—”
“Jasmine’s alive. I saw her less than an hour ago.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Sober as a judge. She’s staying with the sheriff.” He could hear Bernard’s breathing increase and knew he had his undivided attention now. “She calls herself Molly and is pretending she has amnesia, but believe me, it’s Jasmine and I’m afraid she knows exactly what she’s doing.”
Silence.
“You still there?” He rolled down his window, needing air. He looked back at the Mello Dee, thinking of T.C. “That’s not all. Remember that bartender at that out-of-the-way place we used to go to up by Bozeman? The Dew Drop Inn?”
“What?”
“That bar where we used to meet up with Jasmine,” Kerrington said. “Remember the bartender who called herself T.C.? She had that line about she was only good at three things: never forgetting a face, great in bed—”
“And she made the best margaritas this side of Mexico,” Bernard finished.
“She’s working at a bar here in Antelope Flats.”
Silence. Then, “What is it you think Jasmine’s up to?”
“I don’t know. Why are you taking this so calmly?”
“Because it can’t be Jasmine,” he said. “There’s no way. And who the hell cares if a bartender from seven years ago is working in Antelope Flats.”
“She recognized me and put me with Jasmine.”
“I tol
d you not to go up there,” Bernard said. “You should have just let me handle it.”
“Yeah? Like you did seven years ago?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Bernard snapped.
“You’re the one who came to me for an alibi.”
“That’s right, Kerrington. And I never asked you why you so readily lied to give me one.”
Kerrington said nothing into the silence.
“Why, after seven years, would Jasmine show up now?” Bernard finally asked.
“She says she saw the story about her car being found, saw her resemblance in the photograph and had to find out who she was.”
“What about all that blood the cops found in her car? When the sheriff called me, he said the cops were treating it as a homicide. I doubt they would do that if there was any chance—”
“I don’t know, all right? You didn’t see her. I did. It’s Jasmine. The sheriff sent off her fingerprints. He’s waiting for the results. He didn’t even want me to tell you that I saw her.”
“Who else have you told?” Bernard sounded strange.
“No one. Just you. Who the hell else would I tell?” He thought of Sandra. Is that who Bernard had meant?
Bernard covered the phone and said something Kerrington couldn’t hear.
“There someone with you?” Kerrington asked.
“I was talking to my pilot as if it is any of your business,” Bernard snapped. “Jasmine mention where she’s been?”
“I just saw her for a few minutes before the sheriff threw me out.”
“Where are you staying?”
“You know there’s only one motel in town. The Lariat.” He felt depressed and told himself Sandra wasn’t with Bernard. He’d been stupid to think she’d been with him in the first place. And what did it matter if she was? She’d pretty much tricked him into marrying her. Maybe she would go after Bernard. Would serve him right.
But if she was with Bernard, she was on her way to Montana.
“The sheriff ask you any questions about Jasmine’s disappearance?” Bernard asked.
“No. Why would he with her being alive?”
“Because this isn’t over. Maybe Jasmine is alive. Maybe she’s faking amnesia. Or maybe not. Either way, you think the sheriff is going to stop looking for the person who hid her car in that barn? And now you’ve got some bartender after you?”
“Not just me. The bartender remembered you, too.”
“We’ll talk when I get there. The sheriff said the state investigators were still searching the farm.”
“They are. I saw lights out there as I was driving here, to the bar. They don’t know that Jasmine is alive yet.”
“Go back to the motel and stay there. You’ve done enough damage for one night.” Bernard hung up.
Kerrington thought he couldn’t feel any worse. He wished he hadn’t called Bernard, hadn’t told him a damned thing. He wished he had a drink. He wished he’d worn a coat. He was cold. And depressed as hell. He rolled up the window. It was colder here than in Georgia.
He tried his home number, left a message for Sandra to call him on his cell and hung up, wondering if she was on the plane with Bernard. Or if she was sitting in the living room refusing to pick up the phone.
He had no choice. He’d have to go back to the motel. Idly he wondered what time T.C. got off work and what would happen if he was waiting for her in the parking lot.
Somewhere over the Midwest
“WHAT’S GOING ON?” Sandra said, putting down the magazine she’d been reading as Bernard came back into the airplane cabin.
She was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs, her long legs crossed, that same rabid-dog look on her face that she’d had when he’d boarded his company jet and found her waiting for him.
“I’m going with you,” she’d said.
“What are you going to tell Kerrington?”
“I don’t give a damn what you tell him. I’m hitching a ride. Plain and simple.”
Nothing was ever plain and simple when it came to Sandra. He’d wanted to argue, list all the reasons this was a really bad idea. But he’d seen by her expression that she was going. He could have had her thrown off, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that wouldn’t have massive repercussions.
“That was Kerrington who called you, wasn’t it?” she said eyeing him. “Why else would you leave the room?”
Business. A woman. Any number of reasons. But he wasn’t up to arguing with her.
“Good news,” he said sarcastically. “Kerrington says he just saw Jasmine.” He knew the effect that would have on her. He took a sick pleasure in it when Sandra turned the color of skim milk.
“What?”
“He says she’s alive.”
“How is that possible?” Sandra asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.
Bernard shook his head and considered telling her the rest. But bringing up a bartender from a place where Kerrington met Jasmine in secret didn’t seem the wise thing to do. Not if Bernard wanted any peace and quiet on this trip.
Sandra already looked stunned from the other news. He decided to leave well enough alone.
But as he sat back down, he gritted his teeth just thinking about Kerrington. The damned fool had done more stupid things in his life than anyone Bernard had ever known, starting with marrying Sandra.
Now he had a bartender who could place him with Jasmine on the day she disappeared. A bartender who had also seen Bernard that day.
Antelope Flats, Montana
CASH WANTED HER to see Jasmine’s car?
Molly swallowed, trying to think of a good reason it would be a bad idea. Wasn’t it bad enough to steal the woman’s identity—even temporarily and for a good cause? Molly was pretty sure that Jasmine had died in that car. Talk about bad karma.
“Is there some reason you wouldn’t want to see the car?” Cash asked.
Molly nodded and put down her fork, her appetite suddenly gone. “I’m afraid.”
“Of remembering?”
“Just the thought of seeing the car terrifies me,” she said truthfully. “But if you feel it’s necessary…”
He shook his head. “It can wait. Maybe we’ll go out to the ranch early tomorrow. Do you know how to ride a horse?”
Had Jasmine? She hesitated. “I love horses and have ridden some.” At once she saw his surprise. Wrong answer?
“You didn’t ride seven years ago. In fact, you said you didn’t like horses,” he said, studying her.
She raised a brow. “More proof I’m not Jasmine. Or maybe I changed my mind.”
“Maybe. But it’s good that you ride. We have several gentle mares and we wouldn’t go far. From horseback is the best way to see the ranch.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said truthfully.
From what she had gathered, the Sundown Ranch was a good ways outside of town. Which meant there was little chance of running into anyone she was supposed to have known.
He smiled. “Good. Let’s just have a nice day tomorrow and not worry about anything. How does that sound?”
“Heavenly. Thank you.” She wondered why he’d let her off the hook so easily. It didn’t matter. She felt as if she’d been given time off, but maybe that’s exactly what Cash wanted her to think.
She’d felt him studying her during the meal and several times caught him frowning. Tomorrow could be a trap. She’d be a fool to let down her guard. And then there was his mother.
Still, she thought even Shelby McCall was a better bet than Jasmine’s brother Bernard. She hoped to put off that encounter as long as possible.
“Did you have enough to eat?”
She nodded and groaned. “Are you kidding? It was the best meal I’ve ever had.”
He laughed, not realizing she really meant it as he shoved back his chair and began clearing the dishes.
She stood as well and took her plate over to the sink. “Dinner was amazing. Thank you again.”
He didn’t look at her as
he began to rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. The old-fashioned kitchen felt cozy and warm, rich with the wonderful smells of dinner. She noticed that he’d made some improvements in here, unlike the rest of the downstairs.
Her gaze lit on his face and she experienced a jolt. Was that a guilty conscience she’d felt? Whatever it was, it made her uncomfortable. She dropped her gaze.
He put soap in the dishwasher and started it. “I could make us some coffee….”
“Not for me, thanks.”
“Don’t you drink coffee?” he asked.
Immediately she saw that this was a test. Jasmine must have loved coffee.
Well, too bad. She hated coffee and she wasn’t drinking it. “I don’t like the taste.”
“Jasmine didn’t like coffee either,” he said, surprising her. “At least not unless it was a latte or something that hid the actual taste of the coffee.”
Molly said nothing, feeling as if she’d just dodged a bullet.
“I didn’t ask you if you’d like dessert. I have some fudge brownies—”
“Please. Don’t tempt me.” She grinned, licked her lips just thinking about brownies and realized he was staring at her mouth and frowning. “So was it love at first sight?” she asked quickly, wondering if there was something about her mouth that was giving her away.
“What?” He jerked his gaze up to her eyes.
“You and Jasmine, was it love at first sight?”
“Something like that,” he said. His gaze settled over her, making her feel too warm. “You must be tired.”
She nodded. “It’s been quite the day.”
“Why don’t we talk tomorrow on the way out to the ranch?” he said. “It’s been quite the day for me as well.”
“I’m sorry I have so many questions.”
He shook his head. “It’s understandable. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, not knowing who you are.”
She nodded, feeling more like a fake than ever. “You’re right, I am tired.”
“I put some towels out in the bathroom,” he said.
Suddenly the option of sinking into that claw-foot tub up to her neck in bubbles was all she could think about. “Thank you. For everything.” She met his pale blue eyes. They reminded her of bright sunny mornings, clear blue skies and the short periods she’d felt happy in her life.
