Colton's Amnesia Target (The Coltons of Kansas)

by Kimberly van Meter - A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)

  “Your house is not a certified safe house,” Placer reminded her. “If you’ve located his people, turn him loose. The department can’t afford the liability of you harboring him under your roof.”

  “The department didn’t assume any liability. I took him in under my own recognizance.”

  “Did you run that by me?” he returned pointedly.

  “No, sir.”

  “Right, because you knew the answer would be no.”

  “He didn’t know anyone or have access to any resources. It seemed...cruel to toss him onto the street.”

  Placer waved away her explanation. “Be that as it may, it wasn’t your job to house him. You don’t know anything about the man. It was foolish and reckless on your part, and frankly, I find that surprising coming from you. You’re not usually this foolhardy. Do I need to worry about you, Detective?”

  “Of course not,” she answered with a clip to her tone. “As it turns out, Broderick is a respected businessman in Chicago. We only just discovered his contact information, which I gave to him today. I respectfully ask for a little leniency in this regard. It should only take a few more days before he can safely return to Chicago.”

  That seemed to soften the captain’s hard line. “A few days?” he repeated.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered, assuring him, “I understand your concerns. I promise he’s been a perfect gentleman and a polite houseguest.”

  “That’s not the issue. I’m concerned that you made the offer in the first place.”

  “Sometimes you have to listen to your gut,” she said, refusing to allow herself to be second-guessed. “Besides, his case is still unsolved. Someone tried to kill him. I’m still the detective on his case. I thought it best to keep Broderick close for his own safety.”

  “We’re not the FBI, Colton. We’re a small-town police force with enough resources to keep the peace, but we’re not equipped to take on cases that require that level of protection for the witnesses. Look, I admire your heart. It’s one of your best qualities, but I can’t have you set a precedent of bringing home victims to lodge at Chez Colton. It’s just not sustainable or smart. Understand?”

  “Of course,” she answered, but she felt the captain was making a bigger deal out of her decision than it warranted. It wasn’t as if she were opening her doors to every person in Braxville with a sad story.

  “So we’re clear? Broderick goes home ASAP?”

  “Unless I have a break in the case, yes,” she replied.

  “Detective,” Placer warned, irritated by her stubbornness. “I’m not playing around here.”

  “Understood.”

  He sighed as if knowing she was going to do what she felt best, no matter what he said. “I can tell by that look in your eye that you’re gonna do what you damn well please. Look, the only reason I’m not putting Broderick on a plane right now is that your gut is usually right, but I don’t like this, not one bit.”

  “I feel a certain level of responsibility for what happened to Broderick. He came to Braxville to tell me something about the Crane case. He got whacked and left for dead because of me. Letting him crash in my spare bedroom, for the time being, was the least I could do. As it turned out, it was an acceptable risk.”

  “Lucky for you he didn’t turn out to be a serial killer.”

  “That would’ve worked out badly for him if he were.”

  Placer’s gruff expression broke around a grudging smile. “Can’t argue with you there.” He leaned back in his chair, his girth causing the chair to groan. “Okay, you’ve got your few days to put the pieces together, but after that, I’m pulling rank and putting Broderick on a plane back to his people.”

  “That’s fair,” she conceded. “Was there anything else?”

  “No, one shitshow a day is my limit. Keep me in the loop if anything pops up on either case. I’ve got too many eyes on our department and it’s giving me indigestion.”

  She smiled. “Or it could be the pastrami on rye that your wife has told me you shouldn’t be eating.”

  “And I’ll tell you what I tell her, ‘Don’t waste your breath. Some things ain’t worth living without.’” With that, he shooed Jordana out of his office.

  When she sat down at her desk, she narrowed her gaze at Reese and mouthed the words, Big mouth.

  Reese just grinned without so much as a mouthed Sorry back because she knew he wasn’t, and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. Okay, she kinda liked that about Reese but not when it backfired on her.

  She only had a few days to produce some kind of results.

  Nothing like an impossible goal to galvanize one’s motivation, right?

  * * *

  Clint stared at the paper with the phone number. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes vacillating on whether or not to place the call.

  Sure, it seemed an easy decision—make the call, possibly trigger a memory, maybe even go home.

  But what was waiting for him back in Chicago? Who was he? Did people like him? Was he a jerk boss who everyone secretly hated and talked about behind his back? The loss of his memory wasn’t a cakewalk but it certainly freed him up to be whomever he chose without the burden of the past.

  He was being a baby and delaying the inevitable. He couldn’t play house with Jordana forever. At some point he had to face the music back in Chicago.

  No matter the tune playing. With a heavy sigh, he picked up the phone and dialed. Within the first ring, a female voice answered.

  “This is Jeana Erickson, may I ask who’s calling?”

  Well, that was the name Jordana had given him. He supposed he was on the right track. He cleared his throat and threw his cards out there. “Hi, Jeana, this is...uh, Clint Broderick. I heard you might be looking for me.”

  The sharp intake of breath on the other end wasn’t surprising. “Mr. Broderick! Where have you been? When you didn’t answer your phone for several days I became worried. Are you okay?”

  He waited a beat for recognition to hit him like a thunderbolt, and while there was something about the timbre of her voice that sounded familiar, he couldn’t picture her face or recall any memories.

  Clint smothered his disappointment by assuring the woman he was fine. “I’m sorry, Jeana, I didn’t mean to worry you. I had some business here in Kansas and then lost my wallet and cell. I’ve had a bear of a time trying to sort the details in this town but I can’t leave just yet. I still have some unfinished business to take care of.”

  “Oh, heavens! Do you need me to call and cancel your bank cards?”

  “Yes, that would be great. Thank you. Also, I can’t get access to my accounts right now. Can you wire me some cash?”

  “Right away. Just tell me where to send it.”

  Clint gave Jeana the information for the Western Union in town with the amount. When she didn’t seem to blink an eye, it seemed to support Jordana’s intel that he wasn’t hurting.

  “Is there anything else you need?” Jeana asked. “How long will you be staying in Braxville? Should I cancel your upcoming meetings?”

  He must’ve told his assistant where he was going, but had he told her why? “Yeah, go ahead and cancel. I’m going to be here for a few more days.”

  “Yes, sir. Oh, Mr. Locke has been asking for you. Should I let him know that you’re still in Braxville?”

  His business partner. Jordana hadn’t cleared Locke of being a suspect. He hated to be so paranoid but losing his memory had made him second-guess everything. “No, I’ll give him a call later, tell him myself,” he told her. “Hey, quick question, what did I tell you about why I was going to Braxville?”

  The confusion at his question was evident in her voice as she answered, “I don’t recall you saying why. What I remember you saying was that you had private business to deal with and that you’d be gone a day or so. Did I miss something?”
<
br />   Clint let the poor woman off the hook. She sounded like she ate antacids for breakfast. “No, no, you’re fine. I was just wondering. You’re good.”

  Her relief was evident. “Thank you, sir. I’ll get that wire transfer to you immediately and take care of your bank cards. Is this a good number for further contact?”

  “No, I’ll get in touch after I buy a new replacement phone.”

  “All right,” Jeana said. “I’m so happy you’re safe. Everyone will be so relieved.”

  “Thank you, Jeana. You’re a big help.”

  “Oh! Gosh, yes, of course, I’m on top of things on this end.” Then the flustered woman clicked off. Clint replaced the phone on the receiver, silently amused that Jordana still had a landline and wondered if Jeana’s reaction was proof that he was seen as a real jerk back at the office.

  She’d been practically tripping on herself to please him. If that were the case, maybe the list of people who wanted him dead was deeper than he thought.

  And that wasn’t a nice feeling at all.

  Did he have more in common with his dead relative, Fenton Crane, than he cared to admit?

  He had to find out.

  Chapter 9

  Jordana planned to spend her day off working on background files for both cases but Clint had other plans.

  “We need to get out of this town for the day,” he announced, causing her to look up from her notes with a quizzical expression. “Now that I’ve rented a car for the time being and I have some cash in my pocket, I say you let me treat you to a distraction.”

  “You really shouldn’t draw so much attention to yourself,” she warned, worried that whoever had been after him still hadn’t left town. She had a hard time believing someone local had perpetrated the crime but she remained open to the possibility.

  “What? I needed a car to get around.”

  “Yes, but did you need to rent something so...flashy?”

  “A convertible Mustang was the only vehicle they had in an upgraded coupe,” he apologized. “I’m not trying to be flashy. It was either the Mustang or some kind of boxcar that looked like it wouldn’t withstand a stiff wind. At least the Mustang is made from steel.”

  She supposed she could understand that explanation. The rental agency in town was notoriously small without much of a selection. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up with a Buick LeSabre. That’s Bonnie’s favorite car in her fleet, which no one wants to ever rent but she won’t replace it.”

  “Do they even make LeSabres anymore?”

  “I don’t think so.” She shook her head.

  He clapped his hands, rubbing them together, excited to get back on topic. “Back to my original suggestion. Let’s distract ourselves from the noise and do something fun.”

  She frowned. “A distraction is the last thing I need. I need to focus,” she said, pointing at the piles of paperwork all around her. “I need to double down if I’m going to find answers.”

  He immediately countered with, “Actually, you’ll be more productive if you give your mind a break to recharge. Right now you’re spinning in mud and not getting anywhere.”

  “How would you know this?” she asked dryly. “You can’t even remember if you like pineapple on your pizza much less what makes someone more productive.”

  He paused for a minute to give her statement some thought, then decided definitively, “I do not like pineapple on pizza. Just thinking about it gives me hives. Seems unnatural. And, Miss Negative Nelly, I actually just read about a study conducted by the University of Illinois that concluded taking breaks helps the brain to reboot and aids in the formation in critical problem-solving.”

  She regarded him with a curious frown. “Are you pulling my leg?”

  “Not even a little bit. So, it’s science. Time to take a break.”

  The warning from the captain rang in her head, but if Clint was right and taking a break actually helped her with the case, it seemed warranted.

  A break would be great, though. Her eyesight was swimming from all the paperwork she’d been wading through with little to show for it.

  “Let’s say I was open to the idea in theory—what did you have in mind?”

  “I did a little digging around and there’s an indoor climbing place in Wichita that looks right up your alley.”

  “Like, rock climbing?” she asked.

  He nodded with a grin.

  “What if I’m afraid of heights?”

  “Are you?”

  “No, but what if I was?”

  “Then I guess I’d say, time to conquer your fears,” he answered, his grin widening.

  Jordana bit her lip to keep from smiling. She knew all about the place he was suggesting. She actually went there when she could spare the time away. Since the warehouse bodies were found, it’d been a while since she could sneak away.

  Was she impressed that Clint had accurately guessed what she’d find relaxing and enjoyable on her day off?

  Okay, yes, a wee bit.

  Was she going to take him up on his offer?

  Not sure.

  “I probably shouldn’t,” she hedged, still mulling the idea in her head. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to be out socially together.”

  Clint balked. “Am I not good enough for you, Detective?” he asked with mock offense. She couldn’t stop the laugh that followed. Jordana shook her head and rolled her eyes. His gaze met hers, a twinkle matching the dimple in his cheek. “Look, it’s just an offer to climb a fake rock and sweat our asses off, not a marriage proposal. It’ll be good for both of us to blow off some steam. I may not remember much but I do recognize the signs of cabin fever and I definitely have it.”

  Jordana should say no but she wanted to go. A day away from Braxville at her favorite place to hang out and, as Clint put it, “sweat their asses off” seemed like the perfect plan to her.

  “Fine,” she relented, but not before reminding Clint of the ground rules. “This isn’t a date by any stretch of the imagination. We’ll pay our own way. I can pitch in for gas. Understood?”

  “Buzzkill,” he teased, but nodded. “Understood. Like I want you slobbering all over me, anyway. You probably kiss like a Saint Bernard.”

  She laughed harder at his obvious overkill in that department. Popping from her seat, Jordana grabbed her purse and jacket, saying, “I guess you’ll never know.”

  Clint smiled. “Guess not,” he agreed, but there was something about his tone, or maybe it was his expression, that told a different story.

  She suppressed a shiver and forced a bright, completely unaffected smile, saying, “I can’t wait to critique your driving skills. Not to make you nervous or anything but I’m a harsh critic. Between military and police training, I’m a stickler for the rules of the road.”

  But Clint just laughed, taking her challenge with a level of confidence she found alluring. “Bring it. I’m impervious to intimidation.”

  That shiver she was trying ardently to keep under wraps morphed into a full-body warmth that raced from her toes to the top of her head. She recognized trouble when she felt it but it was like trying to fight a food craving when she was starving. Even though she knew she ought to stop, Jordana couldn’t fight the urge to reach for the very thing she knew was bad.

  Bad for so many reasons.

  The man had amnesia, for crying out loud. He couldn’t possibly know what was good for him. It didn’t matter that his energy matched hers—he wasn’t in a position to act on those feelings.

  But even if he wasn’t working on two instead of four cylinders, the fact didn’t change that she was investigating his case. There simply wasn’t any wiggle room for feelings.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Woman, I was born ready... I think,” Clint answered with a wink.

  * * *

  A change of
scenery was just what the doctor ordered—a fact hammered home the minute they got out of Braxville. In spite of her promises to the contrary, Jordana was quiet and seemingly relaxed as a passenger. He liked to think it was because she trusted him but it was likely because he hadn’t been the only one needing an escape.

  “What’s it like to grow up in Braxville?” he asked, making conversation during the drive. “Is it stereotypical to think that small-town life is all bake sales and community picnics?”

  She chuckled, admitting, “Sometimes. I did go to my share of community barbecues and picnics. Also participated in quite a few bake sales.” Jordana smiled in memory. “I’ve definitely eaten my weight in chocolate chip oatmeal cookies in my day.”

  “Are you an oatmeal raisin fan?” he asked.

  Jordana made a face. “God, no. Throwing a raisin in a cookie is a quick way to ruin a perfectly good cookie.”

  He laughed. “Okay, so tell me more about being a Braxville native.”

  “Well, growing up in a large family in a small town is very insulating. It’s like you can’t breathe without someone asking you about your business. It’s bad enough when you have your siblings poking their nose into everything you do, but it’s made ten times worse when the neighbor down the street does, too.”

  “Sounds like hell.”

  “For a kid who wanted some space, it was, which was why I left and joined the Navy.”

  “That must’ve been a culture shock,” he said.

  Jordana nodded. “At first, yeah, it was overwhelming, but I liked the idea of a new adventure, seeing places I’d never been and meeting people outside of my bubble.”

  “So you enjoyed your time serving?”

  “Mostly, yeah.”

  “So why’d you leave?”

  “Because at the end of the day, I realized I wasn’t cut out for a lifetime in the military. I wouldn’t say I have a problem with authority but I definitely don’t like someone telling me what I can and can’t do every single moment of the day.”

  “Makes sense. Do you miss anything about the service?”