“Are you sure that’s what you want? According to what we’ve been able to discover, he’s your closest relative. You need someone looking after you.”
You’re doing that job just fine.
Once again, she was thankful he couldn’t see her. She was coming to depend on him too much.
Even though Jordan could explain the dream, she wasn’t going to risk Liam speaking to her stepbrother first. Not until she knew her role in the events that summer. Her feelings around the memory were muddled. There was fear but there was also shame. She wasn’t ready for Liam to look at her the way Jordan had looked at her the last time they’d spoken.
“I’m sure,” she said, forcing back a flood of grief. “Really. If he does get in contact, tell him it was a false alarm. He’ll believe that.”
A childhood memory was the least of her worries. She pictured a stack of boxes and recalled that she’d decided not to unpack her Christmas tree after the move. She was working on the book. Jordan was out of town. Her friends were back in Denver and busy with their own lives. She’d been busy too and had done a poor job of keeping in touch. There wasn’t much point to a Christmas tree for a holiday spent alone. She’d called Jordan on Christmas Day, but he hadn’t answered. She’d missed his return call.
They were both focused on their work, and friends and family were bound to suffer. That was months ago.
“Are you okay?” Liam asked quietly. “You sure you don’t want me to come up there?”
“No, no. Of course not.” She held the phone against her chest and sniffled, then took a deep breath before holding the receiver to her ear once more. This was precisely what she’d hoped to avoid. “Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t worry about it. If you remember anything else, I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
“Listen to me, Emma,” he said quickly, preventing her from hanging up. “You’re not alone. You know that, don’t you?”
The conversation between them was quiet and intimate, and her pulse drummed. He deserved a whole person, and her life was nothing but a heap of fractured memories.
“I know.” She bit the inside of her lip. He was wrong; she was entirely alone, and her solitude was of her own making. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Really. The jigsaw puzzle is coming together, just like the doctor said.”
Each piece connected to another. Huge gaps remained, but there were also moments of clarity. She was fascinated with serial killers. She investigated them for newspaper articles and wrote about them in her books.
The Lonestar State Killer had launched a black hole for her, and she’d fallen into the void. He was out there, and she had to find him. To stop him. Everything and everyone in her life had suffered because of it. She’d followed leads down the rabbit holes of internet message boards where amateur sleuths dealt in information sharing and backstabbing in equal measures. Everyone online was in a competition to find the killer, and trust was in short supply. The subterranean internet world was shrouded in shadows and operated apart from the regular channels of law enforcement.
“We’re going to get through this,” Liam insisted. “I won’t quit until you’re safe.”
She snatched a tissue and smashed it against her nose. There it was again. His uncanny ability to know what she needed, even when she didn’t even know herself.
“Thanks,” she squeaked over the lump in her throat and winced. “Sorry I woke you,” she added, modulating her voice.
“No problem. Good night, Emma.”
She hung up the phone and sat for a long moment. Tilting her head, she studied the light beneath the door. The sheriff’s shadow hadn’t returned. She crossed the distance and reached for the handle. Resistance met her efforts.
She yanked again. Nausea rose in the back of her throat, and she frantically rattled the handle. The edges of her vision blurred, and she scrambled for the phone once more.
She was alone. Someone had locked her in this room.
Footsteps approached, and Emma backed away, frantically searching for a weapon. She yanked the rolling table before her and braced her feet, her hands fisted before her.
A sharp staccato knock sounded, and the door swung open.
Deputy Bishop appeared, a frown puckering his brow. “Everything all right? I just took over from the sheriff, and I thought I heard voices.”
“I’m fine.” Trembling, she unfurled her hands and tucked her hair behind one ear. “Did you lock the door?”
“Come again?”
“The door.” She clutched the table, keeping the flimsy barrier between them, just in case. “I tried to leave just now. The handle was locked.”
“Not sure I follow. The door was open.” He was thin and gaunt, his face an almost jaundiced shade of orange, his hair barely more than wispy wires atop his head. “How ya feeling? You remember anything more?”
He appeared genuinely bemused, and her pulse beat erratically. The dream had rattled her, that was all. She was letting her imagination get the better of her. Maybe the door had simply been stuck. She was tired and not thinking straight.
“I’ve remembered some.” She swallowed. Hard. “A little here and there, but nothing important.”
She glanced around him into the corridor. The lights were dim, but she caught sight of the redheaded nurse crossing toward the duty station and heaved a sigh of relief. Even if he was a threat, there was nothing he could do to her. Not here. Not now.
“It’ll come back,” he said, circling the brim of his hat between his skeletal fingers. “Memory is a funny thing, isn’t it? I forget things that happened this morning but remember things from my childhood clear as a bell. It’s like we cling to the stuff that’s been taking up space in our heads the longest.”
Her knuckles had turned white where she clutched the table. “I never thought of it like that.”
Maybe that’s why her thoughts had drifted to her childhood. She was rebuilding her past from the base up. Her memories were coming back like connected rooms in a sprawling mansion. Each one led to another and another and another.
He scuffed his feet and stared at the patterned tile floor, then cleared his throat. “Ask McCourt to look into case file 1701. Might be something of interest there.”
“Shouldn’t you tell him?”
“No.” The deputy replaced his hat in a gesture that told her he’d said all he had to say on the subject. “After everything that’s happened, it’s better that it comes from you.”
He left, leaving her brittle and confused. His only crime was being a jerk. He didn’t fit the mental image she had of her attacker. Closing her eyes, she recalled the feel of his hands around her neck. Bishop was too tall and slender. Or was he? Everything had happened so quickly that day, she didn’t trust her memories.
She stared at the silver door handle, and her stomach dropped. Believing in God’s charity didn’t make her a fool.
Only one thing was certain. She no longer felt safe in this hospital, and she wasn’t staying here another day.
* * *
“You’re sure you’re ready to leave?” Liam asked.
Standing beside her, he felt like the clumsy giant from his high school days, all elbows and knees and always taking up more space than everyone else. He’d grown too fast during those awkward years and hadn’t always understood his own strength. He was forever knocking things over. Breaking things.
“I’m at a disadvantage no matter what,” Emma said, appearing more fragile than the day before. “I could walk right past my attacker on the street and not even realize it.”
“Exactly.” Liam hadn’t taken the danger seriously before. He wasn’t making the same mistake twice. “Because of your memory loss, you’re exposed outside of these four walls. At least think about staying here another night or two. The security cameras are all hooked up now. We’ll be
ready for him if he’s stupid enough to try again.”
He’d discovered no connection to Maximo Reynosa, but the cartel was careful to never leave a trail.
Not unless they wanted to.
What if the attacks were a warning? Something to do with Emma’s work as an investigative journalist? A drug dealer operating around these parts made more sense than a serial killer. There were a couple of people in Redbird he had his eye on—people whose expensive cars didn’t fit their lifestyles.
Liam made a mental note to run the hospital security footage past Rose just in case. She’d lived in town the longest of anyone in the department. She’d spot someone who was out of place instantly.
Guilt flickered across Emma’s delicate features, and she rubbed her forehead. “Here’s the truth. I can’t stay here any longer. I’m going stir-crazy. I feel trapped. Dr. Javadi said that reminder treatment was unreliable, but he didn’t say it was worthless. I need to go home. I need to at least try. I need to find out if something familiar will jog my memory.”
No one had seen or heard anything unusual the day of her disappearance. The department didn’t have the manpower to keep watch over the empty house, which meant they were relying on the occasional drive-by of the property and observations from her neighbors. Not the most reliable surveillance, although Liam never underestimated the usefulness of a nosy neighbor.
“Is there anything else you’re not telling me?” he asked.
“No, no. Of course not. Nothing.”
Emma stared out the window, and he put himself in her shoes. As much as staying in the hospital kept the situation contained for law enforcement, they were no closer to discovering answers. She was gaining her memory in bits and pieces. If there was a chance something in her life might trigger a breakthrough, that was a chance worth taking.
“This guy wasn’t scared off by a hospital full of people,” she said. “Answer me this—what’s the difference between sitting outside my room and sitting outside my house?”
“Not much,” he grudgingly conceded.
He could easily install cameras at her house, as well. He happened to know they were in stock at the hardware store. He’d put in a set for Mrs. Slattery a month or two before.
“I rest my case.” Emma stared out the window, her face half in shadows, sunlight glinting off the honey-colored streaks in her chestnut hair. “Maybe it’s better if someone else takes over my case.”
“Hold on.” He felt as though the air had been suctioned from the room. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’ve been trying to shed the responsibility since Friday night, but it keeps falling back into your lap. Where does that leave us?”
The walls closed in around him. She was backing him into a corner. When they were dealing with a possible hit-and-run, Bishop was adequate for the job. The hospital attack had raised the stakes, but she obviously didn’t have much faith in him. Why should she?
“I never said I didn’t want the case.” He clenched his back teeth. “But if you’re formally requesting someone else, I’ll transfer the assignment to Bishop.”
Even if it killed him. But he wasn’t leaving the case to Bishop without pressuring the sheriff to call in outside help. When lives were in danger, pride went by the wayside.
“It’s just you and Bishop?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “No one else?”
“Just us two,” Liam said. Though the sheriff assisted with cases, he had other duties demanding his attention. Garner also had a ranch on the outskirts of town that took up most of his free time. Unburdened by distractions, Liam was the best choice. “Whatever you think of me, I’ve never dropped the ball on a case, and I’m not about to start now.”
Dallas wasn’t a failure. Not yet. Not while there was still breath in his lungs and blood pumping through his veins. He’d make it back if he had to crawl. Swerve had the inside knowledge to take down the top stratum of leadership in the gang. If they cut off the head of the Serpent Brotherhood, the body died. Once that happened, Jenny’s death wasn’t in vain. He’d go back to his undercover work. His real undercover work.
As long as Emma didn’t know about his past, she’d never know about his failure.
“Then you have to believe in me,” she said, a quiver in her voice. “Really believe in me. Otherwise, this isn’t going to work.”
He was torn. She sensed his doubts, but he couldn’t tell her that this job was temporary. That he was waiting to resurrect the man he’d been in Dallas. That he didn’t want to start something he couldn’t finish.
“I do my job to the best of my abilities,” Liam said. “That I can promise you.”
Frustration had him wrapped in knots. The timing was all wrong. After twiddling his thumbs for months, he finally had a reason to stay. He’d simply have to wait and hope that God had a plan for all of them.
“I don’t doubt your ability,” she said, absently flicking at the blankets on the neatly made bed. “The sheriff told me you were the best man for the job, and I believe him. I also understand that my case is...unique. I understand if that’s too much of a challenge.”
“I like a challenge,” he said, meaning every word. He didn’t add that he liked her too, even though he meant those words, as well. “I won’t quit until we have answers.”
“I believe you. You haven’t let me down yet.”
Hadn’t he?
Her throat worked, and he turned away, giving her a chance to collect herself. She saw him too clearly, and that was dangerous. For both of them. He’d grown accustomed to closing himself off over the years. Another skill he’d learned growing up—how to be invisible. The less he drew attention to himself, the better chance he had of staying in one place for more than a couple of weeks. Invisible kids flew under the radar.
He was the ideal guy to send undercover. People knew him from the old neighborhood, which made him trustworthy, but no one had known him well, which made him anonymous. Jenny’s only memory of him was the time he’d prevented Bobby Wilcox from stealing her lunch money. The incident hadn’t left much of an impression on her, though. She hadn’t even remembered his name. She’d called him “Shiloh” because of the book they were reading in class.
He couldn’t share any of that with Emma, but he owed her some sort of explanation.
“My life is complicated right now,” he said gruffly. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to give away something that risked endangering her further. “I have some unfinished business in another town. I hesitated before because I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t follow through until the end. No matter what, I’m not leaving until this case is solved.”
“Is it personal?” Emma asked, her attention focused on a loose button on her cardigan. “Like a girl?”
“Not a girl.” He nearly laughed out loud. Faking his death had been shockingly easy. He’d lost track of the friends he’d had on the police force as a rookie. During his time undercover, the only other person he’d spoken with on a regular basis was his handler. Even clearing out his apartment had been simple. He’d packed a few personal belongings and left his furniture behind. “It’s not important.”
“We both know that’s a lie.” She took a step toward him. “I shouldn’t have asked about your personal life. That wasn’t fair.”
Liam took a step backward in an awkward two-step. “You can ask whatever you want, but I can’t always give answers.”
“Okay.”
Hurt flickered in her beautiful, exotic eyes, and his defenses crumbled. “Look, here’s the truth. I’m developing feelings for you, Emma. This has never happened to me before. I don’t know what to do. The way things are, what’s happening, it’s not right. There are things I can’t tell you. I’m not who you think I am.” The words tumbled from his lips, more words than he ever recalled telling another person about his feelings. More than he’d even
been willing to admit to himself. “I’ll step aside. You’re right. You shouldn’t have to deal with everything that’s happening and whatever is going on with me. This isn’t your problem.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, her voice husky. “This is my problem too, because I feel the same way. I don’t know who I am, not fully. But I know how I feel right now. Right here.”
She reached for him, and he didn’t resist. Of their own volition, his hands moved down her sides and he pulled her flush against him. For once he didn’t feel big and awkward. He was strong. Protective. Maybe there was something nurturing inside him after all.
“I feel safe with you,” she said, her breath whispering against his skin. “And nowhere else.”
She tipped back her head. As he gazed into her stunning topaz eyes, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him. Hesitant, at first. Softly. Then harder and more insistent. After a brief shock of hesitation, he kissed her back. He slid his palms down her shoulders, cradling her nearer. He kissed her until the room spun and he thought his heart might explode in his chest.
All his life he’d felt out of place. Out of time. Wrong. As though he didn’t belong anywhere. In that moment, he felt as though he was home. As though there was no other place in the world he belonged but here.
Emma broke the kiss first and pulled back to gaze searchingly into his eyes. For a moment he glimpsed a mirror of his own bittersweet longing. She shook her head at the same doubt and confusion he knew must be swimming there.
“Did you feel that too?” she asked.
He framed her face between his palms and tipped her head up. “Yes, but...”
She held her fingers to his lips. “No. I understand. It’s all right.”
“There’s a lot I can’t share with you, Emma,” he confessed, torn between wanting to open his heart to her and his duty to the people he’d left behind. The people who’d died because of his secrets. “Things about my life...about myself... I want to...”
Unable to help himself, he bent and touched her lips with his own. The kiss was soft and warm and lingering, a gentle apology.
Killer Amnesia: Faith In The Face 0f Crime Page 8
