by Alana Terry
I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the thick layer of emotion that threatened to strangle my voice. “What about my father?”
Marx’s face was drawn with sadness. “He didn’t make it.”
I sucked in a slow, shallow breath and released it with equal slowness, trying to control the burn of grief in my chest. I couldn’t remember my mother, but I remembered a moment with my father. And in that moment I had loved him and trusted him implicitly. “My father was still alive when I left.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me to climb out the window.”
Marx sat up straight in his chair and gave me an interested look. “You didn’t tell me that. When did you remember?”
I tapped my fingers on the cup of tea in my lap as I looked down at the blanket. “The night the killer broke into Jace’s apartment. I don’t know if it was the sound of his boots on the wooden floor or the moment when I opened the window.” Maybe it had been a combination of the two.
“What happened in your memory?”
“My father was in the room where my mother died. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him. He told me to climb out the window and run until I reached ‘his’ house. I could hear the killer coming back down the hall that night. Heavy boots, and I panicked. I just . . . climbed out the window. He brought someone else into the room. I could hear her crying before I ran.”
When I glanced at Marx, he was quiet and his head was bowed. He could’ve been praying, but I could see the flutter of his eyelashes as he blinked. His words came slowly. “That was your sister.”
“I have a sister?” I asked with a glimmer of hope.
“Had a sister,” he whispered, and his voice was tight with sympathy.
The memory of my brief conversation with the killer as he stood on my front patio floated to the surface of my mind: I’d told him I didn’t have a sister, and he’d said, “Not anymore.”
“He killed her too?” Marx’s face blurred behind a veil of tears as I looked at him. I had always wanted a sister, and now I knew why. I might not remember my family, but my heart still longed for what had been taken from me.
He lifted his eyes to mine and said with difficulty, “You were . . . the only survivor.”
Somehow I managed to hold onto my breath as that news hit me somewhere between the ribs. For once I was grateful I couldn’t remember them, because I didn’t think I would be able to hold myself together in the face of those memories. I wiped away the few hot tears that burned down my cheeks. “What were their names?”
“Your father’s name was Cristopher Anthony Cross, and your sister was Ginevieve Eliza Cross. Accordin’ to a friend of the family, she had a bracelet like yours with three letters etched into it: Gin.”
Gin. I closed my eyes and tried to envision her face, but the mental barrier gave me nothing. The sound of her name made me think “gentle,” and I wondered if she’d been the grace to my mischief.
“I’m sorry, Holly.”
I released a shuddering breath and nodded. It was heartbreaking to finally learn that I had a family only to realize they were all gone and I would never know them.
Chapter 31
I TRIED TO FIND A WAY to breathe in the spandex pants that Jace had lent me for the trip home from the hospital. They were like a second layer of skin—an absurdly long second layer of skin.
“Are you dressed yet?” Jace’s muffled voice called impatiently through the hospital door.
Apparently, there was some girlfriend code I had violated by asking her to leave the room while I changed, because she’d given me an affronted look when I told her I wanted some privacy.
“Yeah,” I grumbled as I pressed a hand to my head and breathed through the wave of dizziness. Leaning forward to roll up my pant legs was obviously a bad idea with a concussion.
“I’ll get them,” Jace said as she wheeled into the room. “Before your dizziness makes you face-plant and you get an even worse head injury.” She leaned forward and rolled the extra three inches of pants up to my ankles. “You’re like a dwarf.”
“You’re like a popsicle stick,” I retorted. “How do you wear these things?” I slid a thumb beneath the waistband and tried to loosen them.
“Don’t stretch them out,” Jace scolded. “It’s really hard to find extra-smalls for someone my height. And they’re supposed to be formfitting. I think you look cute.”
“That’s not really what I’m going for,” I mumbled. Not that I could manage it with a bruise the size of Africa on my face and a split lip.
The resultant headache had faded to a dull, consistent hum between my ears, and I didn’t flinch at a pinprick of light, but I had the balance of a drunken pelican—and they weren’t terribly coordinated to begin with.
She pulled back and looked me over with a critical eye. I was wearing her spandex pants and one of her pink hoodies that read, I put the hot in hot-wheels. It honestly made me a little uncomfortable wearing that logo . . . not that I had wheels.
“You look . . . almost normal,” she said with a brittle smile. A fine mist clouded her blue eyes as she stared up at my face. Crap. She was going to cry. I wouldn’t know what to do if she cried.
“Yep, all I need are my green streetwalker heels to go with these skintight pants, and I’m in business,” I said.
She hiccupped a laugh and wiped her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Those shoes would look absurd with your pant legs rolled up.” She sniffled and blinked away the remainder of her tears.
I thought about telling her they were just cuts and bruises and they would fade within a week or two, but I was afraid even mentioning them would tip her over the edge. I could only imagine how she reacted when someone called to tell her I was in the hospital.
“Who told you I was in the hospital?”
She blushed.
Ah, Sam. He’d gotten in touch with her. Probably the moment he figured out what was going on. “So . . . you two exchanged numbers?”
The crimson in her cheeks deepened. “I was in the city with Mom, and I sent you a text about how overbearing she was being. When you didn’t answer, I got worried. So I sent Sam a text. He didn’t get back to me for almost two hours, and then he told me where you were.”
“So are you two—”
“I just have his number because . . . he was watching over my best friend,” she interrupted.
I tilted my head thoughtfully. “So you have Marx’s number too? And Officer Meredith’s?”
“No.” She froze like a deer in the headlights when she realized she’d just undermined her own excuse for having his number. “Fine. Yes. Sam gave me his number, but he doesn’t want anyone to know. Not until this is all over.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s worried that if Mr. Southern thinks his focus is split, he’ll pull him off protective detail, and he really does care about your safety,” she explained.
Someone knocked lightly. “Everybody decent?” Marx called out.
Jace’s eyes widened, and we exchanged a slightly concerned look. If he’d been out there for longer than ten seconds, he would’ve heard what she said about Sam.
“Yep,” I answered. “You can come in.”
Marx strolled into the room and paused at the foot of the bed. His gaze flickered over me from head to toe, and he frowned. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”
Jace cleared her throat. “I’m gonna grab a drink. I’ll be back in a while.” She slipped out of the room.
I fortified myself with a breath. I had come to a decision I knew he wouldn’t approve of, but it was my decision to make. “I’m going to Kansas.”
I had waited my entire life for a family. I knew now that they were dead, and all I had left of them were memories trapped somewhere in the back of my mind. I wanted every single one of those memories back, and if I had to go to Kansas to get them, I would.
Chapter 32
THE ROOM WAS STARTLINGLY quiet after my declaration, and for a mome
nt I thought I hadn’t spoke loudly enough. Marx leaned forward and rested his hands on the footboard of the bed. “Run that by me again.”
Of course he thought he’d misheard. It was an outrageous idea, and one that I never thought I would entertain given everything that had happened. “I’m . . . going to Kansas.”
“Absolutely not,” he said. The finality in his tone made me bristle.
I folded my arms and lifted my chin defiantly. “It’s not your decision to make.”
He stared at me, his jaw set in a hard line. I had a feeling he wanted to shout, but he’d learned that particular tactic didn’t work so well with me.
Sam, who had materialized silently in the doorway, glanced back and forth between us. “Holly, that’s exactly where the killer wants you to go.”
“I’m aware of that, Sam. But it also happens to be where I wanna go.”
It really didn’t matter if I stayed here; the killer would only keep coming until I chose to go to Kansas—where he wanted me to be—or until he was able to abduct me and take me there himself. Personally, I thought the road trip would be better if I wasn’t drugged and stuffed into a trunk for the duration.
“Why?’’ Marx asked in a measured voice.
“Because I wanna remember my family. Everything is in there somewhere. He’s in there somewhere. And maybe going back will help me remember.”
“You really wanna walk into the lion’s den?”
God was in the lion’s den with Daniel. He was also with me. I was absolutely terrified of the idea of going to Kansas and finding the killer there amidst my memories, but I knew I could do this. I pushed determination into my voice. “Yes.”
“You’re not goin’.”
Anger ignited in my chest. “You can’t stop me.”
Marx lifted his hands an inch off the footboard, and I braced myself for him to slam them back down in the anger I could feel building around him, but he caught himself and returned them to the footboard with deliberate slowness. “Do you have any idea what this man intends to do to you?”
I swallowed the knot of fear that lodged in my throat. I didn’t know the details, but I knew what he’d done to my family was too awful to put into words.
“What he did Sunday night . . . druggin’ you and puttin’ his hands on you . . . doesn’t even compare, Holly. This isn’t a fun road trip down memory lane. He has no intention of lettin’ you leave that town alive,” he explained.
“And if I stay, is he just gonna leave me alone?” I asked. The answer was as clear as glass in their grim expressions. “Our only hope of learning who he is and how to find him is if I remember him. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me we have some evidence that will do that for us.”
Marx pursed his lips. “Please. Do. Not. Do this.”
The desperation in his voice gave me pause. “I’m going.”
“I can’t protect you there, Holly!” I flinched involuntarily at the volume of his voice, and he bit down on his lips and clenched his fingers into fists as he tried to rein in his temper.
“I’m not asking you to come,” I said softly.
“This is reckless,” he replied in a much quieter voice.
“I’ve made up my mind.”
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. After a long moment of tense silence, he pushed away from the bed and walked out of the room.
I sagged back against the pillows. I had expected him to argue with me, to even be angry, but I hadn’t expected him to leave. I wasn’t sure why, but it kind of hurt that he just . . . walked out.
“Holly, you can’t go by yourself,” Sam said, and his voice held only calm reason.
“Yes, I can.” I would find a way to get there.
“Okay, you shouldn’t go by yourself.”
I rubbed my face with my hands before looking over at him. “I would rather go alone than put anybody else in danger.”
He frowned. “Noble but illogical.”
I sighed in frustration. “And why is it illogical?”
“Don’t get angry with me for saying this, but of the two of us, I’m bigger, stronger, probably faster, trained to defend myself, and I have a gun. What do you have?”
“Mmm . . . experience?” I couldn’t argue against most of his points, but I doubted he was faster than me. I was pretty quick on flat ground.
“In what?”
That was a good question. I had plenty of experience with danger and trying to wiggle my way out of it with as few scrapes and bruises as possible. I also had plenty of experience in running away, staying under the radar, avoiding social interaction. “Rolling with the punches?” I said.
He shot me an irritated look. “That’s not funny.”
Apparently, he was still sore about the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect me. “Sorry.”
“My point is, it doesn’t make sense to go alone in order to protect a cop when we’re better equipped to protect ourselves and you. The logical choice would be to take one of us with you if you insist on going.”
“It’s gonna be a long trip, and I know that you guys have some sort of jurisdictional stomping ground issue. And Kansas is like . . . way out of your jurisdiction.” I didn’t really understand how all of that worked.
“True, but if there’s a way to make it happen, Marx will find it,” Sam assured me. “Besides, if you go alone, how are you gonna get there? You don’t drive. You don’t even have a car. You won’t involve your only friend who has a car because it might put her in the line of fire. You don’t have any ID for a flight. That leaves city buses and hitchhiking.”
“I’ve been moving from place to place for ten years, Sam. I’m familiar with the methods of travel,” I said hotly.
“So you understand the potential dangers.”
I did. But apart from being stared at or hit on by guys who thought the bus was a speed-dating bar, I had rarely encountered a problem on the city buses. I did witness a gang fight that broke out on one of the buses and then trickled out onto the sidewalk, and I was fairly certain someone had gotten stabbed. But other than that . . .
“I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But you don’t have an ID for a cross-country bus, so how do you get across state lines? And if you say hitchhike, I will explain in vivid detail all of the awful things that can happen to you if you hitchhike. I’ve already had this conversation with my sister, so I’m well prepared.”
I blinked in surprise.
“Yes,” he said unhappily. “The younger sister of a cop hitchhiked. She got lucky.”
“Sometimes hitchhiking is the only option.”
He sighed as if I had disappointed him, and came to sit in the empty chair near the bed. “You have no idea how vulnerable you are, Holly.”
I glared at him.
“I don’t mean that in a chauvinistic or insulting way. There are women out there who can take down a full-grown man under the right circumstances or with the proper training. You’re just not one of them,” he clarified.
“How . . . is that not insulting?”
“It’s reality. Hitchhiking is a bad idea for anyone, but especially a woman.” His gaze slid over me, considering. “I’ll tell you what I see when I visualize you standing on the side of the road, trying to get a ride. You’re a young woman traveling alone, which means you probably have no friends or family in the area and no one knows where you are. That means you could likely disappear without drawing too much attention. You have a jitteriness about you, which makes you look even more vulnerable. You’re small, so you probably can’t put up much of a fight and you’re easier to pick up and carry off. And you’re . . . well, you’re somewhat attractive, which . . . won’t do you any favors.”
I stared at him, stunned.
“All of that makes you a prime target for a sex offender or murderer looking for a victim.”
“Well, I ask them if they intend to murder me before I get in the car, just to avoid
that uncomfortable confusion later,” I replied, keeping my voice serious.
He frowned at me, clearly unamused. “Even if you do manage to make it to Kansas in one piece, the killer will probably grab you at the first opportunity.”
“Nobody’s ever accused you of being an optimist, have they?” If his intention was to scare me away from ever hitchhiking again, he was heading in the right direction.
“No,” he said evenly.
“I’m not stupid, Sam. I don’t get in cars with men.” I was very careful about whose vehicle I climbed into, and it was always an elderly couple or an older woman driving alone.
“Whether you get in the car or not, standing on the road and waiting for someone to pick you up puts you in a very vulnerable position. It takes less than ninety seconds to abduct a person, especially a woman your size.”
I gave him a wary look. “Why do you even know that?”
He offered me a ghost of a smile.
Marx stepped back into the room, his expression closed off. He tapped his phone against his palm as his eyes came to rest on me. “You’re sure you wanna do this?”
I drew myself up in the bed. “I am.” I would figure out the details of the trip after another night of sleep, but I knew without a doubt that I needed to find my way there.
“Sam, what are your thoughts on this?”
“I think she’s gonna go one way or another, and if we don’t want her taking a bus or worse, we should probably find a way to make it happen.”
“My thoughts as well,” Marx agreed. “I spoke to the captain and informed him that I believe you will go with or without protection. I’ll have no more authority in Kansas than I had in Maine, but since you’re the only witness to the murder of an NYPD officer, he wants you protected so that you can testify when we catch this guy.” I would never testify and he knew it. “He’s not happy with your decision. Neither am I. But since we have no grounds to keep you from leavin’, this seems to be our best option.”
