Broken With You

by J. Kenner

  On the sidewalk, I lean against a signpost as I tap my phone and order an Uber. It’s five minutes away, and I take a moment to close my eyes, draw a breath, and enjoy the sounds of the night.

  The cool steel of a blade presses against my throat and my eyes fly open. I stay perfectly still, trying not to breathe, and cursing myself for inexplicably dropping my guard.

  Whoever is holding the knife is behind me. About my height, and his hand doesn’t shake, so it’s clear he knows how to handle a knife.

  When he leans in close to my ear, I catch the smell of jalapeños and tequila, and I make a note to have one of the tech team pull the receipts from Westerfield’s and use the security feed to match them with patrons. Maybe I’ll get lucky.

  “I’m not the only one who can get to you,” the man whispers. “Keep that in mind. Tell him he needs to remember. If he wants you to stay safe—to stay alive—he needs to give back what he took. Tell him.”

  “Who?”

  “Cunt,” he says, and I gasp as the knife presses harder. There will be a thin line of blood on my neck, I’m certain of it. “You know who.” But then, as if he wants to be sure there’s no confusion, he whispers, “Mason Walker. You tell him. You tell him you’re a dead woman walking unless he comes through.”

  Something hard smacks my head, knocking me forward at the same time he yanks the knife away. An instant later, he shoves the back of my neck and I fall to my knees as a black Lexus squeals to a halt, and he turns just enough for me to see greasy hair, bushy eyebrows, and a bulbous nose. Then he leaps in. The car races away down Sunset Boulevard, the Arkansas plate undoubtedly stolen.

  I stumble to my feet at the same time my Uber arrives, and I climb in, draw a breath, and pull out my phone.

  12

  It was almost three in the morning, and Jack still hadn’t made it back to Liam’s place. He’d left Westerfield’s intending to return to the Malibu condo, but instead he’d let the bike take him where it wanted to go.

  Or, more accurately, where his subconscious wanted to go.

  He assumed he’d lived in LA before they’d stolen his memory, but no one had specifically told him that. Hell, no one had told him shit. And even though he knew the reasons, it was still damn hard to stomach.

  So he drove the streets of Los Angeles County, praying that some spark of familiarity would strike him.

  He recognized a lot of things. Malls. Restaurants. Tourist attractions. He remembered The Getty Center and the Santa Monica Pier, the MOCA downtown, and Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.

  He didn’t wander the hiking trails off Laurel Canyon, but he had a feeling that if he did, he’d remember every twist and turn. And when he closed his eyes he could almost remember the swell of music bursting from the Hollywood Bowl amphitheater.

  Goddammit, he wanted his mind back. His life back.

  Unbidden, Denise popped into his thoughts, and he swerved the bike onto one of the Mulholland Drive turnouts, killed the engine, and let his head fall down to rest on the handlebars.

  There it was—a living, breathing reason why he had to get his memory back, and sooner rather than later. Because damned if he didn’t want her. If he hadn’t wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her. And the hunger for her was only getting stronger with each passing minute.

  He’d stood in that club tonight surrounded by beautiful women in revealing dresses and low-cut shirts, and he hadn’t felt the slightest twinge of interest. Then he saw Denise in her simple jeans and plain white tank top and he’d just about lost his shit. The way the denim hugged the curve of her ass. The way the white of the tank contrasted her tan skin. The hint of bra he could see when she bent to put her drink on the table. The sweet curve of her lips when she smiled at him.

  His fingers had itched to touch her, and he’d closed his eyes and imagined what every silky inch of her body would feel like against his fingers, his lips, his cock.

  And when he’d seen her with Peter … well, that had really fueled the fire.

  God, he was an asshole.

  She trusted him as her partner. She was helping him pull his life back together. Most of all, she belonged to another man. And yet there he was, fantasizing about getting her naked and beneath him.

  No. He drew in a breath and sat up straight. No, that wasn’t entirely true. He wanted her—damned if he didn’t—but not just physically. He wanted to be with her. Wanted to talk with her, walk with her. Laugh at silly things and soothe her through the sad ones.

  He didn’t know if this was new or if he’d been enthralled by her for months. All he knew was that whatever barriers had held him back before seemed to be crumbling.

  Most of all, he knew that if he wasn’t careful, this uncontrollable infatuation would be the death knell of a friendship that he cherished.

  A wave of exhaustion overtook him, and he yawned deeply, then pulled out his phone to check the time, only then realizing that he’d turned the thing off in the club and forgot to turn it back on. What was the point considering he’d been with Denny, and barely even knew half a dozen other people?

  Even so, he switched it back on. Almost immediately it emitted a cacophony of buzzes and pings signaling missed texts and phone calls.

  He glanced at the screen, saw that almost all the calls and messages came from Liam, and started to dial his host back, feeling like an ass for making Liam worry about his whereabouts.

  The call hadn’t even connected before headlights appeared behind him. He ended the call, then turned, squinting into the lights from an SUV that he couldn’t identify in the glare. The door opened, and a mountain of a man stepped out.

  Jack didn’t have a weapon, but he flipped on the bike’s ignition, prepared to speed away if he needed to.

  The man walked forward, his back to the SUV’s headlights so that his face was in shadows. “Christ, Jack. What the fuck have you been doing?”

  Liam.

  “I tried calling, but your phone’s off. I had to log into the tracker I keep on the Ducati. I’ve been tailing you for almost an hour. What the hell are you doing riding in circles around the damn city?”

  Jack dismounted, trying to process everything Liam was saying. “I should have called—sorry. I just needed a ride in the fresh air to blow out some of the shit floating around in my head.”

  “I hear you, and normally I wouldn’t play babysitter, but Denise was freaked when she couldn’t get a hold of you, so I—”

  “Wait. What?” He took a step toward Liam. “What happened? Why was she calling? Why was she freaked?”

  “Somebody attacked her outside the club. A man, she says. She’s fine,” he added quickly, holding up a hand to forestall Jack’s burst of terror and fury. “But she said it might have been your face?” He shook his head. “She didn’t explain, but she did say that you’d understand. And that the bastard told her that you needed to remember. That you needed to return what you took. Ring any bells?”

  “Not a goddamn one.” And now Jack was kicking himself for not trying harder to track the Face down in the club.

  “Well, I told her I’d find you.”

  “I need to go to her.”

  Liam took a step toward him. “No, she’s asleep. As soon as the bike pinged on the tracking map, I called. Said I’d catch up to you and that she should get some sleep. I finally got her to agree—she sounded bone tired—and she said she’d see you at the office at ten.”

  Jack nodded slowly, considering. “Fine. Then I’ll show up at her house at eight.”

  “Jack…”

  “Best I can do, man. May as well not even bother arguing.”

  Liam chuckled. “Fine. I’ll let Denise shoot you down. God knows she’s capable.”

  “Hey,” Jack said. “Thanks for running me to ground. Sorry to lead you all over the city. I had a lot of thinking to do.”

  “No surprise there. Just glad I found you.”

  “How’d your job go tonight? Security for Ellie Love, right? I heard on the radio
that the concert was a sell-out. I like a few of her songs. She as good live as they say?”

  Liam shook his head, looking a little frazzled. Jack didn’t know him well, but he had a feeling that frazzled wasn’t a usual state for Liam. “For such a tiny woman, she’s got some serious pipes. And one hell of a lot of talent. She’s also a royal pain in the ass with some serious attitude, but as it’s SSA policy not to speak ill of a client, you didn’t hear it from me.”

  Jack chuckled. “Sorry about that.”

  Liam shook his head, looking both amused and exasperated. “Honestly, man, I still don’t know what to think of her, and I didn’t see a damn thing that suggested a threat, so I don’t know what game she or her manager was playing. But the woman’s like a damn force of nature, and woe to anybody who tries to get her to do something she doesn’t want to do. But at least it’s over. A one-night gig and the cord was cut. I don’t expect she’ll be back in LA until she puts out her next album.”

  “And maybe then she’ll hire some other security company.”

  Liam’s teeth shone in the moonlight with his smile. “We can hope.” He pointed at the bike. “Stay out as long as you want, but keep your damn phone on, okay?”

  “Deal,” Jack said, then waited until Liam and his SUV disappeared over the hill.

  Then he dialed the phone, feeling absolutely no guilt when a groggy voice answered with a sleepy, “Hello?”

  “It’s Jack,” he said. “How soon can you meet me?”

  Despite seeing him at four in the morning, Dr. Tam looked completely awake and perfectly put together. Jack had to give her props; she hadn’t protested when he’d insisted on the early morning emergency session.

  Then again, he had a sneaking suspicion that he might be the most pressing unanswered question at the SOC at the moment, so helping him was in everyone’s best interest.

  “So this man, this face, triggered a reaction,” Dr. Tam commented. “But you don’t have any specific memory?”

  “None. And I need to know where I’ve seen him. I need to figure out who he is. Name. Location. Anything. This fucker attacked Denise and he’s going to do more unless I reveal something I don’t even remember. So, dammit, make me remember. Use hypnosis if you need to.”

  Dr. Tam leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Jack, we’ve talked about this. Walking you through your memories—something you reported or something we can find in hypnosis—is dangerous. We could literally short-circuit your memory centers. You’ve seen the videos.”

  “I saw. But I’ve also poked around online, and despite what happened to those men, the technique has a high success rate.”

  “You poked around online?” Her brows rose above her glasses. “You managed to log into the government’s confidential files regarding memory work and treatment with affected intelligence officers? Because my guess is that you’re looking at bullshit articles that your phone pulled up with Google. I know you’re good at your job, Mr. Sawyer, and with time, I’m sure you could find the right files. But you haven’t found them yet, or you’d know I’m telling you the truth.”

  She was right, of course. And while he wanted to shout curses and demand she do anything and everything to make him whole, he wasn’t quite that rash. “All right. Then explain to me the difference. Why is someone like me who’s trained to control their mind, reactions, and emotions more susceptible to melting down than some traveling salesmen whose mind got wiped after his car went over a bridge?”

  “You just answered your own question.”

  He shook his head. “I guess I’m not as smart as you think I am. Spell it out for me.”

  She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You may not remember it, but your training was quite extensive. You learned how to withstand torture, both physical and mental. And because of your affiliation with the SOC, that training went further and deeper than most of our intelligence officers ever experience.”

  “And that’s good, right?”

  “Of course. But no program can render you entirely immune to torture. At some point, you reach a limit. You reached yours, Mr. Sawyer. For purposes of this discussion, we’ll say you snapped.”

  He swallowed, hating that his own failure to hold it together had led to this condition. “Go on.”

  “In our salesman, that snap happened much sooner. He barely fought it at all. The bad guy—in this case the accident and nature—didn’t have to torture him too much before he reached his limit. To make the concept visual, we’ll say that he sunk three inches into the hole.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “In contrast, you fought and fought and by the time you snapped, you were six feet under. His little hole is easy to climb out of. Yours, not so much. You try, and you end up pulling more dirt down on top of you. If you don’t climb out slowly and methodically, you’ll end up buried alive. Do it right, and you can find yourself on the green, hugging all those memories close.” She looked hard at his face, staring him down. “Don’t bury yourself.”

  “So, what are you saying? I shouldn’t even try? Shouldn’t talk to people I used to know or go places I used to visit?”

  She shook her head. “No, no. I’m not saying that. But you have to move with care. Go too fast or dive to deep and—”

  “What?”

  “You’ll feel it. When I say you could lose those memories forever, it’s not just a psychological break, there’s a physical one, too. You can burst a vessel, damage a lobe. You could end up with a migraine that keeps you down for a few days or fried synapses that put you in a catatonic state for the rest of your life. It’s not an exact science, Jack. And the bottom line is that you were on that mission for a reason. We need to know what you know. And we can’t risk losing all that intel forever.”

  He nodded, recalling the headache that had come on so unexpectedly at the club. Wasn’t that about the time he first noticed the face? Had that memory been pounding hard to get back in?

  “Tell me you understand,” Dr. Tam demanded. “And promise me you won’t be reckless.”

  “I understand. And I don’t know myself well enough to know if I’m the reckless sort.”

  “Jack…”

  He stood and shrugged. “I’m not going to let them hurt her.”

  “That’s a noble outcome,” she said. “But protect her with your brawn, Agent Sawyer. And keep your mind intact.”

  He was free of Dr. Tam and on his way to Denise’s house by five-thirty. He’d been up all night, and was too exhausted to think straight, so he decided to wait an hour before waking her for the conversation about their work and his mind.

  Unfortunately, it was hard to nap on a motorcycle, and she had no furniture on her front porch.

  Undeterred, he slipped through the gate and into the backyard, pleased that it wasn’t any trouble to do so, and also irritated that someone with a job where she saw all types of nastiness in the world didn’t bother to lock her back gate. Or the glass and screen door of her patio sunroom, he added a few moments later.

  At least the door between the patio and the kitchen was locked tight. He considered picking the lock—both to judge the level of security and to prove that he at least remembered that—but he was too damn tired. So instead he moved to the eastern wall, laid down on a lounge chair with forest green cushions, closed his eyes, and drifted off almost immediately.

  The next thing he knew, the sun was spilling over him, a gentle hand was on his shoulder, and when he opened his eyes he was looking into Denny’s beautiful face.

  “Denny,” he murmured, and heard her gasp in response.

  He pushed himself up onto an elbow. “You okay?”

  “I—yes. What are you doing out here, anyway? You should have just knocked. Or let yourself in.” She grinned. “We both know you could have, even with my alarm system.”

  He sat up, matching her grin and relieved that she didn’t seem annoyed that he’d camped out on her patio. “I was completely wiped, and I didn’t see th
e point in bothering you, especially when this patio’s perfectly comfortable.”

  “All right.” She’d been standing beside him. Now she settled herself on the cushion by his legs as he sat up to give her more room. “That explains why you crashed on the patio. Now tell my why you came here at all.”

  “I need you to walk me through our missions. Hell, our lives. How we started working together. What you know about my background before the SOC. Any details of the last job I was on. Introduce me to our sources. Pull files so I can review mission briefs. Arrange meetings with mutual friends. Start from the first thing you know about me and take me step by step through to today.”

  He rattled the words off, afraid that if he paused at all she’d shut him down. She didn’t. But she did stand and move to window, her back to him, the morning breeze through the screen catching the loose waves of her golden hair.

  “Denny?” He frowned, noticing that he’d called her by the nickname. He liked it, though. It felt right. “Denny,” he repeated. “Are you listening? I need you to do this for me.”

  “Why? What changed? I thought you were supposed to take it slowly.”

  “I saw Dr. Tam this morning.” Not a lie. “And I need to jumpstart my memory.” Also not a lie. Not technically, anyway.

  She turned around, her arms crossed in front of her chest, and studied him. “You talked to Liam.”

  “I’m not going to put you at risk because my mind is Swiss cheese.”

  “I’m not a civilian. I can take care of myself.”

  “Not disagreeing. But even if some asshole hadn’t attacked you, we still need to know what’s trapped in my head.”

  She nodded slowly, as if considering. “So you want to move faster. Amp up our efforts to get the memory ball rolling. Not just put you back into your life, but sit down and tell you specific stories about your past and hope it all sticks.”