Heir to Secret Memories

by Mallory Kane

  She disconnected and slammed the phone down. Leonard had better hope his goons didn’t botch the job this time, or he might find out he’d lost his meal ticket.

  Crushing her cigarette out, Serena sighed. It was so hard to get good help these days.

  “WHERE ARE WE GOING NOW?” Paige asked as they left her apartment.

  “To the library. I need to dig up everything we can find on the Yarbroughs.”

  Paige nodded. She knew he had so many questions about the life he couldn’t remember. Yet, ever since he’d opened his apartment door to her, he’d spent his time helping her. Helping his daughter. “What time is it?”

  “Around six o’clock. I think.”

  Paige considered. “All the public libraries are closed by now. If we take the Riverfront streetcar downtown, we can switch to the St. Charles Line. That’ll take us to the Monroe Library at Loyola University. I think it’s open late.”

  They climbed onto the streetcar and she leaned wearily against the hard seat back.

  Johnny sat stiffly, his sharp eyes assessing the other passengers, scanning the street signs, alert to anything unusual.

  She took the opportunity to study his face. “Katie looks so much like you.”

  He glanced at her in surprise. Then his expression softened as his gaze searched her face. “In the picture in your room she looked like you.”

  “Look at this.” Paige dug her wallet out of her jeans and pulled out a school picture. It was wrinkled. She smoothed it out, her fingers lingering on Katie’s precious face, then handed it to Johnny.

  “It’s this year’s. See those blue eyes, and the way she cocks that eyebrow?”

  Her vision grew blurry and she had to blink to see.

  Johnny held the little square of paper gingerly, as if he were afraid he’d damage it.

  “What grade is she in?” he asked without looking up. His voice was hushed.

  “She just got out of first grade. She’s so smart.”

  He ran his thumb across the little face. “She looks happy.”

  The lump in Paige’s throat almost choked her. “She is.”

  “What about—I mean…” Johnny paused and glanced sideways at Paige. “Has she ever had a father?”

  Paige looked at the only man she’d ever loved and shook her head. She had to swallow before she could speak. “No. It’s always been just Katie and me.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “My parents?” The word called up old regret and grief. “It was always just my mom. My father was married. He disappeared when Mom got pregnant with me.”

  “That must have been tough for you.”

  Paige uttered an ironic little laugh. “Hey, he wouldn’t have been much of a father if he didn’t even care enough to stick around.”

  Johnny glanced at her sharply, and she realized what she’d said. She opened her mouth to apologize, to tell him she wasn’t deliberately drawing a parallel between him and her absent father.

  The parallel was there. She just hoped she had not become just like her mother, spending her life mourning a man who had walked away and left her without a word.

  The streetcar clattered to a halt at a car stop and Paige realized Johnny was still staring at Katie’s picture.

  As the car started up again, he spoke. “She must be a handful. She has your stubborn chin.”

  Paige watched his gaze devouring every detail of the photo. Finally he held it out to her.

  “Johnny?”

  He lifted his gaze to meet hers. She touched his hand.

  “You can keep it.”

  He blinked. “Are you sure?”

  The yearning in his voice almost made Paige cry. She swallowed hard and smiled. “I’m sure.”

  He looked at the picture again, then tucked it carefully into his shirt pocket, his hand lingering there over his heart for an instant.

  “We should get off here,” she said, noticing that they were coming to the Canal streetcar stop. “Then we can walk up Canal to Carondolet and catch the St. Charles car.”

  As they climbed off the streetcar and walked away from the river, Paige felt an overwhelming exhaustion and despair.

  Johnny seemed to sense it, because he put his arm around her shoulders for a brief squeeze. Her throat closed. What would she have done without him? He’d kept her safe, kept her focused.

  The shadows were growing longer as they approached the end of Canal Street, and a slight breeze lifted strands of her hair.

  Johnny put his hand on the small of her back. Unlike his earlier, comforting squeeze, this touch was hard with tension. “Slow down,” he said softly.

  “What is it?” Her heart sped up at the warning in his tone. Her knees wobbled, but she managed to keep from stumbling.

  “Look at that van that just pulled over in front of us. Do you see it?”

  Paige slowed her pace, matching it to Johnny’s. She looked at the vehicle several yards in front of them that seemed to be keeping pace. It was white. Dirty. Old.

  And one taillight was out. Paige’s heart pounded and her skin tightened. It was them.

  Johnny’s hand slid down to take hers. He lifted it to his lips. “Just walk calmly,” he said, his breath warm on her skin. “It could be nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” she said without taking her eyes off the van. Dark shapes moved inside it. Cars honked, trying to get around it.

  “I know.” His voice was harsh.

  “What do we do?”

  “Keep walking. Where does this cross street go?”

  Paige tore her eyes away from the van. “This is Tchoupotoulas. We can head out toward Loyola.”

  “Okay, when I stop, you turn to me and give me your other hand, then we’ll walk up that street, okay?”

  Paige swallowed. “Okay.”

  They stopped. Johnny met her eyes and nodded, then they turned and started walking on Tchoupotoulas.

  The normal street sounds of the early evening were split by a screech of brakes and a grinding of gears as the van stopped, then reversed, backing toward them. It slammed into a car and spun halfway around in the street.

  Horns blared and people shouted as the van bullied its way across three lanes of traffic.

  “Run!” Johnny shouted.

  Paige ran.

  Johnny caught her hand and pulled her along until she felt like her feet barely touched the ground. Her sore shoulder cramped with pain.

  Behind her she heard the commotion created by the white van. Then suddenly the air was split by the wailing of a police siren.

  Her heart leapt into her throat as Johnny urged her faster and faster.

  Her breath whistled in her ears as she ran, leaving the commotion farther and farther behind them.

  She heard more screeches, and metal crunching, then the sound of an engine gaining on them.

  Johnny slowed down a bit, glancing back.

  Something flew past her ear.

  “Paige!”

  He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist. He practically threw her into an alley between two sets of buildings, an alley too small for the van.

  “Are you all right?” he puffed as he pulled her past piles of garbage, boxes, gas cans and broken beach chairs.

  She nodded, just as their feet got tangled in a snarl of fence wire and they almost fell. A sharp piece of wire scraped her arm.

  Johnny regained his footing before she did. He picked her up and urged her forward. She clung to his arm, running with him, her chest burning as she gasped for breath in the cloying stench of the alley. They dodged cardboard containers and garbage bags.

  She looked behind them and saw two figures stop at the entrance to the alley. One of them shouted and pointed.

  “They’re—right behind us!” she panted.

  A shot ricocheted off a building.

  “Johnny!” she gasped, shock stealing what little breath she had left. “That was a gunshot!”

  They were shooting at them!
>
  Johnny grabbed her up and they hurtled down the alley. A break in the buildings opened up and he paused for a heart-stopping second, then pushed her ahead of him.

  “What are you doing?” she cried.

  “Run!”

  He pulled the gun from under his jacket.

  Paige felt like she was watching a video in slow motion. Time seemed to stretch out forever as Johnny whirled, wrapping his long artist’s fingers around the grip of the deadly weapon. He leaned one shoulder against the corner of the building, then leaned out, his left arm still braced against the building.

  Then her vision returned to normal speed as he quickly fired off two shots, then two more.

  Paige heard a yelp.

  “Be careful,” she gasped.

  Johnny whipped around and pushed her. “I told you to run!”

  She overbalanced but caught herself. Her tennis shoes slapped on the hot asphalt as she ran.

  Behind her, she heard Johnny’s longer strides. They made it to the street and crossed it, then ducked behind another set of buildings.

  Johnny stopped, leaning against the building, trying to catch his breath. Paige’s chest hurt. She’d long since forgotten how to breathe. She heaved, desperate for oxygen.

  “You—hit—one?”

  Johnny nodded, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I think so. But we’ve got to get out of here.”

  Paige looked around.

  “Do you know where we are?”

  She shook her head, still gasping for breath. “There’s a big—street over there. If we could—find a streetcar—”

  He nodded and took her hand. “Let’s go.”

  But as they changed direction, their pursuers appeared at the edge of the buildings behind them down the alley. The bigger man lifted his gun and shot.

  Someone inside one of the apartments screamed, and the squeal of sirens echoed in Paige’s ears.

  “Police!”

  Johnny nodded. “I know. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Johnny hugged the side of the building, putting his body between her and the men. Another shot ricocheted off brick with a screech.

  Paige’s muscles cramped as she cringed, waiting for a bullet to tear into her flesh, or Johnny’s.

  They flung themselves around another corner and suddenly they were out in the open, on a busy street. A streetcar stop was only a few yards away, across the street. A crowd of people stood around waiting, probably headed home after work.

  Johnny’s hand was hot and strong on her back as they walked quickly over and insinuated themselves into the middle of the crowd. Paige tried to breathe normally, praying they weren’t putting these innocent people in danger by standing in their midst.

  She and Johnny both watched the street, expecting any second to see the white van coming at them, or the two men barreling toward them, but although the street was filled with traffic, the dirty white van didn’t show up.

  A police car with lights flashing and sirens wailing stopped at the alley where their pursuers had been. Two policemen got out, pistols drawn, and walked between the buildings.

  Paige winced and wished she and Johnny could turn invisible. She waited for the sound of gunfire, but then the streetcar came, its clatter drowning out all other sound.

  When they finally got onto the car, still out of breath, they had to stand because of the crowd.

  Johnny grabbed on to a pole and Paige held on to his arm. His chest still labored. Her own heart was beating frantically.

  “Do you know where we are?” Johnny whispered.

  Paige looked around, trying to identify a street or an intersection.

  A little old woman dressed in a shapeless house-dress and clutching a shopping bag smiled at her. “This is the St. Charles line, honey. You’re headed out toward Carrollton. The French Quarter is the other way.”

  “Is that good?” Johnny muttered.

  Paige nodded against his chest. “We’re going toward Loyola.”

  She felt him relax slightly. As the streetcar bumped along, she wrapped her arms around his waist under his windbreaker. Her hands encountered the still-warm gun. She avoided touching it.

  “Johnny? Those men were shooting at us. Do you think they were trying to kill us? Or just frighten us?”

  He looked down at her, his blue eyes steely and hard.

  “But that means—” She couldn’t finish the thought.

  “They have no intention of giving Katie back. They want us dead.”

  JAY WATCHED PAIGE RUB her neck as she stared at the computer screen. She was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open, yet she hadn’t complained once.

  His hand that held a cup of water shook slightly. He was still spooked by their latest encounter with the goons chasing them. He couldn’t believe he’d actually hit one of them. He’d never even shot the gun before.

  “How’s it going?” he asked Paige, looking over her shoulder.

  She let out a frustrated sigh. “There are dozens of references to the Yarbroughs,” she said. “Your family has always been very prominent. This is going to take all night.”

  “Drink this,” Jay said, handing her the cup of water.

  She took it and drank gratefully.

  Sitting down at the computer workstation next to her, he asked, “What are we looking at?”

  She slid a CD into his computer. “I’m searching for any articles about your family. This one is dated around the time you graduated from Harvard.”

  “I went to Harvard?”

  She sent him a tired smile and manipulated his mouse until a screen came up. Then she rubbed her eyes.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded and raised her tired gaze to his. “I’m fine. You search those articles and I’ll work with another CD.”

  She turned back to the stack of CDs beside her computer and selected another one.

  For a moment, Jay just watched her. She looked small and innocent in the big wooden library chair, her hair falling out of its restraining braid. A strand of hair tickled her cheek and she pushed it away. It fell back, and he resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it for her.

  He thought about the men chasing them, and the gunshots that had come so close to her. He’d only known her for two days, and already he knew that he would give his life to protect her.

  As if she felt him watching her, she turned her head and met his gaze, her face pinched and worried. “Do you think they’d kill her?”

  He wished he could give her a guarantee. But all he could offer was what he thought was true. “I don’t think they’d hurt a child. They’re after me, remember? And they probably think I know who they are. They don’t know I have amnesia.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “No, you’re right. They don’t.” With a tiny smile, she turned back to the computer screen.

  He scanned the archives room of the library. He’d chosen the last two workstations so they could have a clear view of the entire floor.

  In front of them on the other side of the long room were the elevators, and directly beside them were the stairs. If anyone approached either way, he would know.

  He turned to the computer, and entered the word Yarbrough in the search function.

  One of the references that came up was subtitled “Son Follows in Father’s Footsteps.”

  He stared at the screen. The article was a feature about shipping magnate Madison Yarbrough and his son, John Andrew Yarbrough. Jay studied the picture that accompanied the article. A solemn young man stood next to a distinguished-looking older man. The two looked remarkably alike.

  Jay studied the faces. Was that younger face his? If pressed, he’d admit the face looked familiar. But deep within him, where hope wouldn’t die, he couldn’t find a real memory of either of the men. Was that straight, tall, confident businessman his father?

  Leaning close, he studied the older man dispassionately. He had no feeling of connection with the man in the picture, but it was grainy and faded.

 
A look in his eyes and his grip on the younger man’s shoulder made Jay uncomfortable for some reason. Somehow, the weight of that hand felt heavy on his own shoulder. He shrugged, trying to rid himself of the feeling.

  It was hard to imagine himself as a businessman. Easier to envision a young man who wanted to be an artist, but was pressured by his father to enter the family business. But then how would he know?

  He checked the date of the article. January, over a year after he’d left Paige alone. Alone and pregnant, just like her father had left her mother.

  His gaze went back to the younger man’s face. Was he John Andrew Yarbrough? He didn’t want to be, if that meant he’d left Paige alone and gone back to his wealthy, privileged life.

  Irritated, he hit the print function.

  An hour or so later he had found several more articles, most of them having to do with his kidnapping. He printed them out and stacked them up, then sat down and rubbed his eyes.

  He picked up the top article and began to read, hope and dread warring inside him. Contained in these pages was the past he’d been seeking.

  He was about to learn who he had been.

  PAIGE OPENED HER EYES and squinted at the sunlight pouring in an unfamiliar window. She realized she was sitting at a computer workstation with her chin propped on her hand.

  Awareness came rushing over her like a tidal wave. Katie was out there locked up in the dark, and she had fallen asleep.

  “Johnny, it’s morning,” she cried, shaking her numb hand. The feeling rushed back into her fingers, prickling them like pins and needles.

  He looked up, bleary-eyed.

  “We fell asleep!”

  He squinted at the clock over the elevator, then stretched and groaned. “Only a few hours. I told you the security guards would believe we were with the group of students studying for exams all night.”

  Paige groaned as her stiff muscles protested. “Only a few hours? That’s great. What about Katie?” She felt frantically in her jacket, her hand closing around the cell phone. “Did they call? Did the phone ring?”

  Johnny shook his head. “No. Nobody called. I gathered up the printouts. Take a look at this.”