Killer Amnesia

by Sherri Shackelford

  Her hand drifted to her throat. She hadn’t imagined the man’s hands squeezing her—the breath trapped in her lungs. He’d been toying with her. He’d wanted to scare her. He’d enjoyed her fear.

  A shiver snaked through her. When she thought about him, she felt as though she’d never be warm again.

  The sheriff made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I’m going to put my best man on the case. Deputy McCourt is the lead investigator. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s him.”

  Deputy Bishop’s head snapped up. “But—”

  “No arguments.” The sheriff flashed his palm. “I need you on the fraud investigation. Ms. Lyons will re-create her life with McCourt’s help. I want to know everything there is to know. Start with where you went to kindergarten and don’t stop until you know what you did last week.” He replaced his Stetson. “Now for the bad news. The department doesn’t have the time or the money for twenty-four-hour security. Tim is out of commission, but you’ve got McCourt for the rest of the day. I’ll make some calls, see if I can shake some cash loose. Until then, stay vigilant. No more wandering off alone. I’m going to clear out and let you get some rest, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his cowboy hat in a courtly gesture. “Liam here will take good care of you. I’m only a phone call away if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” she replied automatically.

  In light of everything that had happened, his words were kind—though hollow. He was trying to warn her that catching her attacker was going to be nearly impossible even without the additional handicap of her amnesia.

  She didn’t need her memory intact to read between the lines.

  Deputy Bishop sullenly trailed the sheriff from the room while Liam stayed behind, and the silence stretching between them grew heavy.

  There was part of her that wanted to stay in the dark—to deny she wrote about killers for a living. Deny that she may have unleashed a monster. Her life was returning in odd snippets. She recalled all the details around the crime scene, but the rest of her life was blank. The only thing she knew for certain was that someone wanted her dead.

  Liam braced his hands on the foot of the bed, leaning forward, his hair falling across his forehead. “The sheriff is right. Let’s see what we can piece together about your life first. That should tell us something about your state of mind.”

  At the resignation in his voice, her heart sank. He was the only person she trusted, and he clearly wanted no part of the case. Even taking into account his obvious reluctance, she much preferred his company to Deputy Bishop’s. At the very least, he was better looking.

  She pressed her fingertips over a revealing smile. She didn’t have to know who she was to know she found him attractive. He was even nice in a gruff sort of way. She obviously liked brusque, bearded men with silvery blue eyes.

  Liam tilted his head, his expression awash with concern. “You all right?”

  “Yes,” she said, heat creeping up her neck. “Fine.”

  She silently chastised herself for the lapse. This wasn’t the time for daydreaming. He was only doing his job. It was up to her to take charge of her forgotten life.

  “I’m fine.” She cleared her throat and dropped her hand. “Trying to digest everything that’s happened.”

  “We don’t need to start now. You need rest.”

  Her temper flared. There it was again. The assumption that she didn’t know her own mind. She had a brain injury. She wasn’t a child.

  “I don’t need to rest,” she said through gritted teeth. “I need to find out who wants me dead.”

  Liam pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, and his small act of kindness was nearly her undoing.

  “Are you sure you don’t need a little time?” he asked. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  Unwelcome tears burned behind her eyes, and she nearly sobbed aloud. She was tired and hungry and unbearably alone. She was confused, and the adrenaline from her encounter was wearing off.

  An overwhelming lethargy had taken its place. “I feel as though today started two weeks ago and won’t end.”

  “That’s normal,” Liam said. “To be tired after an attack.”

  “I can’t remember when I last ate,” she mumbled. “I’m hungry.”

  “Then let’s take care of that.”

  The way he said it, as though she was a child who’d forgotten to eat when actually she’d been assaulted and questioned for half the day, made something snap inside her.

  “That’s what I was trying to do!” she replied with a little too much attitude.

  “Okay,” he said, his expression devoid of censure.

  A battle raged within her. She wanted to trust him, but something held her back. She appreciated his kindness, yet she was repaying him with hostility. What instinct from her forgotten past was urging caution?

  She stilled, a question raging in the deep recesses of her brain. What if she grew to count on him, and he let her down when she needed him most?

  The tick-tick-tick pounded in her skull, forcing her away from the question.

  She had to concentrate on something within her power to control—things like getting something to eat. This introspection was getting her nowhere.

  A covered meal, long since cooled, languished on the rolling tray beside her bed. It had been sitting there since she woke, but maybe there was something salvageable. Her stomach growled, and she reached for the stainless-steel dome.

  Sucking in a breath, her fingers went slack. The lid clattered to the floor, the jarring sound echoing through the unnatural silence.

  One moment the deputy was behind her, the next he was before her, his arms splayed protectively.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

  Her pulse racing, she pointed. “My attacker did leave a calling card.”

  A scattering of bullets, gold with copper tips, rested on the plate.

  FIVE

  Liam’s phone buzzed and he jumped, then glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. He was on edge, his control inching away with each breach of security. There was no way to know how or when the bullets had been left.

  This guy was toying with them while they flailed around in the dark like idiots.

  Keeping Emma safe was his top priority, and judging by today’s events, he was failing miserably. His darkening mood hadn’t gone unnoticed, and he’d stepped outside to get his head straight. The anger was directed inward, and it was eating at him.

  His phone buzzed again. He glanced at the number and groaned. It was his landlady. He’d left the dog in her care hours ago with assurances of a speedy return. So much for keeping his promises.

  “Yes, Mrs. Slattery?” he answered, bracing for a rebuke.

  After discovering the bullets, he’d called the county crime lab and they’d bagged and tagged the evidence. The sheriff was skeptical they’d find anything useful, but they had to go through the motions. The team was getting close to wrapping up, and a painfully young technician was loading the last of his equipment into the van.

  “I’ve got dinner in the crockpot,” Mrs. Slattery said. “It’s a pot roast.”

  Because he’d been expecting annoyance, Liam’s brain took a moment to translate her words. A pot roast filling the house with a mouthwatering aroma sent his stomach growling. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten beyond a bite or two of sandwich sometime that afternoon.

  He replayed Emma’s earlier irritation when she was hungry and allowed himself a moment of amusement. Her annoyance hadn’t bothered him; he’d recognized her frustration. Especially now, when he was starving himself.

  He checked the technician’s lingering progress. “You know I can’t resist, but I probably won’t be home until late.”

  “Another hour won’t hurt a crockpot meal,” Mrs. Slattery said. “Everything all right? I spoke wi
th Bill at the mailbox. He heard there was a stabbing at the hospital this morning. I also talked with Rick at the meat market. He said there was a car accident and an amnesia case. I thought for certain he was lying, but Jessica at the checkout said she’d heard the same thing. Amnesia? Of all things. Does that actually happen in real life?”

  “Not a stabbing. There was an...incident.” The rumor mill in town never ceased to amaze Liam. Although he didn’t mind as much when Mrs. Slattery was curious. She asked questions, but she never pressed him for answers. “I should be wrapping up soon. Sorry to leave the dog with you all day. I’ll make it up to you. Didn’t you say the upstairs sink was running slow? I’ll clear the drain.”

  “After all you’ve done for me, I’m happy to do you a favor now and again,” she said. “Oh! I almost forgot. About Duchess. I called the vet. He said he’d swing by when she delivered.”

  Liam held his phone away from his ear and stared at the screen. “Delivered what?”

  “Puppies, I presume.” Mrs. Slattery chuckled. “Why did you think she was waddling around with her stomach practically brushing the floor!”

  “I thought she was fat.” Liam hadn’t been around animals much growing up, and he’d never had time for one as an adult. Still, Mrs. Slattery had a point. He’d been distracted as of late, but even he should have recognized the dog’s condition. “So. Uh. Is there anything we should do for her?”

  Puppies? That was out of his wheelhouse. Asking Mrs. Slattery to look after a dog for a few hours was far different from asking her to take care of a litter. What on earth was he going to do with a bunch of puppies if he couldn’t find the owner? He didn’t have the time or the resources to care for them. Sending the dog off to the shelter didn’t feel right either. Not in her condition.

  “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.” Mrs. Slattery’s voice rose an octave in that way people did when they were trying to reassure someone without being patronizing. “Dogs seem to know what to do. She’s made a bed in the dining room. It’s better if she stays here. She’ll be all alone at the shelter. I’m more worried about you. Are you sure you’re all right? You sound tired. I don’t think you’ve slept more than a few hours this whole weekend. You’ve got to take better care of yourself. You’ll come down with something.”

  “We’ve been swamped around here,” he said, rubbing a weary hand over his eyes. “And it’s not letting up anytime soon.”

  “Is it the amnesia victim?” Mrs. Slattery trilled. “It’s true then, isn’t it? It’s such a coincidence. I’m reading this book where the killer forgets he murdered his wife. I’m practically an expert on amnesia now.”

  “You’re a worse gossip than the mailman.” Liam chuckled. Despite her zealous curiosity, he trusted Mrs. Slattery to keep a secret. He had a professional responsibility, though, and nothing trumped duty. “You know I can’t talk about my cases.”

  “I know.” She huffed. “But you can at least let me use my imagination. Nothing ever happens in this town. Don’t worry if you get home late. I’ll be up past midnight reading Deadly Memories tonight.”

  Mrs. Slattery didn’t know the half of it. “No promises. Eat without me.”

  “Take care of yourself. This might be a sleepy little town, but I worry about you.”

  The declaration startled him until he recalled that Mrs. Slattery had lost her only son in Afghanistan a decade before. Her grief over the loss was as fresh as if he’d died the day before. That probably accounted for her concern.

  “You know me,” Liam said. “I’m always careful.”

  “We’re not immune out here, you know. There was that murder twenty or so years ago. Also they found the body of that girl in the next town over last year. Course, they don’t think that was a murder. They think she overdosed, but still.”

  “It’s a real crime spree.”

  He mostly kept Mrs. Slattery at arm’s length, but she didn’t make it easy. Sometimes he hoped the odd friendship they’d forged might last. But he knew better. He’d passed through enough homes during his childhood to realize she wouldn’t miss him when he was gone. Out of sight was out of mind, which was probably for the best. When he returned to Dallas, he didn’t want anything tethering him to the town. No loose ends. No regrets.

  She’d find another boarder. Someone to fix the sink and rake the leaves. Someone who was home more often and was better company. Liam didn’t have any illusions as to his worth. But when she fussed over him, he worried he was taking advantage of the situation.

  “You know, Liam,” she said. “You’re always welcome to bring a guest for supper.”

  “Who?” he asked automatically.

  “A girl, perhaps. You know, as in, a girl who is a friend.”

  He mentally slapped his forehead. He’d walked right into that one. She’d been trying to fix him up lately. He hadn’t taken the hints right away, so she’d ramped up her efforts.

  “You know I’m not seeing anyone,” he said. And had no plans to change. As a kid, he’d watched movies about happy families like other kids watched fairy tales—they were fantasies that didn’t happen in real life. “You know me.”

  “Which is your own fault. I could have three dates lined up for you with a snap of my fingers.”

  The sheriff stepped through the hospital exit, and Liam straightened away from his SUV. “I gotta go, Mrs. Slattery. I’ll try and make it home by six.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to snap my fingers?”

  “Positive.”

  She kept sending him to the grocery store for the oddest items, and he had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to fix him up with one of the checkout workers. Not that there was anything wrong with the checkout workers; he simply wasn’t looking for a relationship. Especially not now. One of these days she was bound to give up.

  “I’ll make sure there’s a plate set out for you,” Mrs. Slattery said. “No matter how late you are.”

  “Thanks.”

  He stowed his phone once more. Her quiet confidence only increased the pounding in his skull. If he missed another dinner, he’d be letting her down. He seemed to be letting everyone down these days. Maybe that’s why she’d been trying to fix him up. He’d overstayed his welcome. If the case in Dallas didn’t wrap up soon, he’d look for other accommodations.

  “Sheriff!” he called. “Wait up.”

  “Whaddya need?” Garner’s hand dropped from the handle of his truck and he stuck both of them in his pockets. “I gotta get something to eat before my stomach chews a hole all the way through to my backbone.”

  “I think we should call in the FBI on this one.”

  Liam hedged his bets against asking for the Texas Rangers. They’d take the case, but the FBI was less of a threat as long as the sheriff felt he had control of the situation.

  “Huh.” The sheriff rocked back on his heels. “The FBI? We don’t need those boys tromping around our little town.”

  Liam was accustomed to working with the guys from the Organized Crime and Gang Unit. Law enforcement around here wasn’t as comfortable sharing jurisdiction. They tended to circle the wagons when there was a problem.

  “We’re in over our heads,” Liam said. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the parking lot island a trampled, muddy mess beneath the overcast sky. “We don’t have the manpower to take on a case this size. There’s a chance this guy has committed crimes across multiple jurisdictions. If he’s acted before, they may already be trying to track him.”

  “Look, I know you like this girl.” The sheriff rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger. “But what do we know about her?”

  A flush of heat spread across Liam’s face. “She’s the victim of a crime. That’s my only interest.”

  “A pretty victim.” The sheriff winked. “I can’t call in the FBI without more evidence. No one saw Ms. Lyons get run off the road. We’ve got no video pro
of that anyone was in the hospital. For all we know, she planted the bullets herself.”

  “Tim didn’t drug himself,” Liam said with a hardness he didn’t normally use with his superior. “And don’t forget the paint on the car.”

  “We don’t know how long that paint’s been there. Ms. Lyons was prescribed sleeping pills the last two evenings. What if she didn’t take them? What if she saved them up?”

  Anger building inside him, Liam widened his stance. “I believe her.”

  His faith had nothing to do with his feelings for her—however confusing those might be. He was trusting his gut. There was no way she’d drugged Tim.

  “I believe her too,” the sheriff said. “I’m only telling you what they’re going to tell me. I can’t exactly call in the Feds with nothing but a bucket of circumstantial evidence.” The older man seemed to read something in Liam’s expression, and he shrugged. “All right. I’ll see if I can call in a favor. Until then, stick to her like duct tape on a broken taillight. This thing isn’t going to be easy. You’re not gonna be happy about what I have to say.”

  Liam’s nostrils flared. “Why?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you until I was absolutely certain. I know you like this girl, but she’s wrapped up in something real bad. The Feds might come to us. This thing goes deep.”

  The sheriff had a few quaint euphemisms for common problems the deputies encountered. “Real bad” was code for drugs. Redbird was too far north for the worst of the violence, but no one in Texas ever remained unscathed.

  Illegal substances poured across the border and hemorrhaged through the spiderweb of roads linking Texas to other lucrative markets.

  Liam kept his expression impassive, hoping the sheriff didn’t see the blood draining from his face. He felt as though someone was sucking the life out of him, depleting him.

  “What did you find?” he asked, his voice deadly calm.

  How had Emma gotten mixed up in something real bad?

  The sheriff heaved a great sigh and closed one eye, his head tilted, as though he couldn’t quite face Liam with the news full-on. “We got a preliminary DNA hit from a cigarette butt left on Emma’s porch. Struck me as odd, you know. She doesn’t smoke.”